by Paul Kirk
“Yes sir, it’s what I've kept in mind while forming a plan. I think we should try and breach the perimeter guard undetected and then disable all four guards on the house. At that point, we can gain entry by the rear door. We’ll send a two-man team to recon. They'll withdraw and provide us best assessment. We’ll re-enter with a full team to disarm or disable. Flash-bangs would make this easier but we're seeking a silent takedown, so no go. I'd like not to bring attention from outside in the takedown. The leader's likely in the upstairs room above the front porch. There’s a lot of movement in that room—it'd be my guess that’s the primary command post.”
“Agreed, captain. Good work. Keep in mind that they're revved up from our fly-by. You'll need to treat this with the utmost caution.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Proceed.”
CHAPTER 1.19-The Hunter's Home
“Snuff, this place is trashed. There’s nothing here worth a crap.”
“Don’t be so sure, Mac.” Amanda was keenly interested in this particular house. They climbed to the second floor and entered the master bedroom. Immediately, she was intrigued with the large walk-in closet, but suspended her investigation, sensing Connor’s unease. “Are you okay, Mac?”
“Shh. Lower your voice. I’m fine—I just...there’s something going on. My senses are tingling.”
He stared through the bedroom window, far enough away from it to be unseen from the ground. The house across the street had attracted his attention. It had a crumbling blue stucco façade with green trim and its yard sported a well-worn path in the grass indicative of recent activity. That, combined with the tripwires and the voices he had heard, left him uneasy. He sensed Amanda’s gaze and he relaxed his iron grip on the binoculars.
“I’ll understand if you want to leave, Mac.” Amanda failed at keeping the disappointment from her voice, but she had learned to trust Connor’s instincts.
“No, Snuff, we don’t have to leave just yet. Go ahead and play, but do it quietly. I think there’s a lot more to this subdivision than meets the eye.”
“Like what?”
“Like maybe we have a few reasonably experienced hunters waiting for the next batch of fresh meat to come walking in.”
“An ambush?”
“There’s something going on here and they're keeping out of any visual tracking. I don't like the absence. I’ll give you about ten minutes of searching. After that, we’re gone.”
“Okay.” She entered the walk-in closet and began reviewing its meager contents. “Hey, Mac? I think this house might have some surprises.”
He walked toward Amanda, but continued his surveillance on the house across the street. “Nah. I think this place is trashed. I don’t think there’s squat here, but explain your reasoning.”
“Well, there are lots of fancy built-ins downstairs, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“The den or library or whatever it was had tons of little cubby-holes. And those two deer heads. And the moldy Field & Stream’s. Not to mention that there was a bird-dog painting in the corner and—”
“What’s your point, Snuff?”
“The guy who lived here liked his hiding places and he was a hunter.”
Connor recognized the glint of excitement in her eyes. He entered the huge closet, inspecting the area, considering Amanda’s argument. He peered out the small window set above a window seat for ease in dressing.
“Okay, so he was a hunter. Sure, he had a beautiful gun cabinet right there, but it’s busted and cleaned out. You ready?”
“Not just yet, Mac.” There was nothing on the wall to her left, but she continued to stare at it, deep in thought for a minute.
“Snuff? Come on,” whispered Mac.
Amanda re-entered the bedroom, spun toward the closet, and compared the depths of the wall. “Wow!”
“Snuff, be quiet!”
“I found it, Mac,” she whispered. “I fucking found it!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I knew he had a cubby-hole in here. Come on—help me figure it out.”
“Show me what you discovered.”
“You see this wall? The depth? There’s something inside there, I know it.” The closet was eight feet wide and about ten feet deep. One wall of the closet was located about two feet from the hall. Yet, the hall only widened about one foot beyond the master bedroom doorway. There was an area approximately one foot by ten feet unaccounted for.
They felt around the wall in the closet and, upon closer inspection, they discovered a fine line, nearly undetectable, in the drywall. The line ran vertically from the floor to the ceiling, three feet from the doorframe. Amanda inspected the doorjamb adjoining the wall, but there was nothing to suggest a button or any hidden release.
“It’s just a drywall crack, Snuff. Let’s go.”
She found it difficult to hide her disappointment. “Yeah, I guess we better go,” she said. She turned and, as she did, she noticed a small brown notch on the other side of the doorjamb. She reached up and felt a small lever. She pushed the lever with her index finger and heard a soft click behind her. Connor tensed at the sound as if a grenade had exploded.
“Gotcha!” Despite whispering, Amanda's excitement bubbled to the surface. The vertical line in the drywall was now split—one side was raised while the other hadn’t moved. “I get first dibs.” Thrilled, she pulled open the panel.
“Of course, but let’s make it quick. We need to go.”
The hidden compartment was quite large and they were momentarily overcome with awe about what was inside. Numerous rifles were lined up vertically in neat slots of a beautifully carved gun rack. There was a large shelf above and two wide drawers below the hidden gun rack. There were thick stacks of one hundred dollar bills and other papers on the shelf—their only value now was if you needed them to start a fire. There were four one-ounce Golden Eagle coins in individual holders placed atop the money stacks to keep them in place. Amanda quickly grabbed all four and handed two to Connor. They both barely smiled at this useful discovery, so focused were they on the remainder of the cabinet contents. They slipped the coins into their front pockets and Connor nodded for Amanda to continue.
She reached into the cabinet, removing a scoped rifle. The extensive filigree etching and a dusty black walnut stock begged to be touched. She felt the silky smoothness of the stock and the light dust fell away easily. “It’s beautiful.”
“It better be. Let me see it, Snuff.” She handed it to him carefully and he held it up toward the window. “That’s a Bennelli. What a beautiful weapon. It probably set this guy back about $5000. Maybe more.” He handed the Bennelli back to Amanda and inspected the remaining guns. “Check this out.”
Connor removed a Weatherby shotgun that was more beautiful than the Bennelli, at least to him it was. He noticed the smooth finish of the stock. These guns, each one, represented excellent treatment and care. “This guy knew his guns. This thing is beautiful.”
“I guess you found your shotgun, Mac.”
“No, this is an old over/under two-shot. I need something with a bit more—yes, there it is!” He withdrew the shiniest weapon from the cabinet. It was also the ugliest by far. Amanda recognized it as a shotgun by its large bore.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s loaded,” said Connor. He cracked open the barrel and confirmed the shotgun shell in the breach. “It’s probably the only weapon in here that’s loaded.”
"So?"
“Snuff, this guy knew his weapons. He selected only the best to store in here. The rest, over there in that gun cabinet were probably junk.”
“Yeah?”
Amanda pulled out another shotgun, a Beretta, turning it over in her hands. Immediately, she felt an extra attachment to this shotgun. It too, was an over/under like the Weatherby, but had a weight and touch that fit perfectly. Impulsively, she decided to keep it. That is, if there was some way to carry it as a secondary weapon, since it had n
o shoulder strap.
“Snuff, you’re a fuckin’ miracle worker. I can’t believe you found this. I just can’t believe it. I knew you were a serious good luck charm but—”
“What's so damn special about that one? Is it stainless steel or something? It’s kinda ugly, don’t you think?”
Connor jacked the slide and confirmed that a three-inch magnum buckshot shell was already in the chamber. Additional inspection established it was fully loaded.
“This, sweetheart, is a Remington 870-Marine Magnum. It’s affectionately known as a utility weapon or a deck sweeper. This guy obviously used it as the primary choice for home defense—that’s why it’s fully loaded. But, more important, it’s the perfect weapon for today’s in-close combat conditions. Absolutely fuckin’ perfect. See? It stores six rounds and one in the pipe. Look at this, he set up storage on the stock. Nice.” He grabbed her, spun her around once and gave her a long, sharp kiss.
“Well, Happy New Year, Mac.”
He let her go and dropped to a knee in front of the cabinet drawer. To his delight, he found six boxes of twelve-gauge shells among the ammunition for the other guns. There were four boxes of magnum buckshot loads. He placed fourteen buckshot shells in his front pockets and stashed the balance in his pack. He barely noticed the additional weight in his excitement, but a feeling of dread quickly assaulted his good mood. “We need to get the fuck out of here, now. Grab what you want, lock and load, and let’s move!”
He shifted his M-4 into a comfortable carrying position across his back and carried the shotgun as his primary weapon. Amanda sensed his urgency and grabbed four boxes of ten-gauge shells for the Beretta. She fully loaded the weapon and put the rest in her pack.
They exited the closet and Connor walked to each window, checking for movement. There was nothing.
“Mac, you’re scaring me.”
“You have your knife handy?”
Amanda touched her right front hip. “Yeah. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure, but it's not right and I don’t know why. It could be nothing. Snuff, stay behind me. Five feet to my left when we exit. You know the drill.”
CHAPTER 1.20-A Better Bead
“What’s your name?”
“They call me Sarge.”
“Military?”
“Yeah, like you, from the looks of it. Was anyway, years ago.”
“Unit?”
“101st Airborne. You?”
“Any of your men unaccounted for? We don’t want to have to kill,” said Major O’Malley. He stood in front of a large window in a spacious bedroom clearly used as a command post. Sarge was standing in front of the major in zip cuffs and he took his time considering the question. His eyes contained the telltale spark of intelligence and they were quick, missing nothing. He wasn’t pleased that he and five of his group were captives.
“Depends. If you're not killin’, what you here for?”
Major O’Malley turned to Captain Daubney and nodded. The captain approached Sarge from behind.
“Whoa!” said Sarge, sensing the captain’s movement. “What the fuck you gonna do now?”
Major O’Malley raised his hand to stop the captain and gain the attention of his captives. “Sarge, to show you that I’m serious, I'll release you and your men from those cuffs. I’m doing this for two reasons: one, with the cuffs on, you’re going to spend every waking minute trying to figure out how to escape. I know that's how you were trained, so, I’d rather you stay on your own accord; and two, I’m here for info only and I can trade some food and other supplies for that. We’re not here to kill anyone—slaughtering gives us nothing we need and we weren’t sure how you'd react to our presence. I found it necessary to take you by force so that nobody was hurt.”
“Huh, if that’s the case, lower your weapons and we can talk.”
“Well, we won’t lower our weapons just yet, Sarge.” Major O'Malley nodded to the captain who cut the zip cuffs binding Sarge’s wrists. “Release the rest of the men, captain.”
“Yes, sir.”
Major O’Malley kept focus on Sarge. He was a short and balding man who carried himself with more self-respect than most. There was a calm confidence about him and he and his men were relatively clean and neat, a clear sign of a well-run military unit. “Sergeant, my name is Major Michael T. O’Malley of the United States Army. We're pressed for time and I’d rather not have to kill any of your men. We used infrared from the air and confirmed a minimum of thirty-five to forty people in this area. With six of you here, that leaves at least twenty-nine people unaccounted for right now including your perimeter and house guards. You with me?"
"And?"
"I’m asking you to provide a status for these people. Keep in mind that my men outside have orders to treat them as hostiles. Those orders will change if you can bring your people into a meeting here peacefully.”
The sergeant braced to attention, regaining all his military bearing at that moment.
“Sir! My name's Sergeant Robert Jensen of the United States Army 101st Airborne. Retired.”
“At ease, sergeant.”
“Will you permit me to talk with my men, sir?”
“Permission granted.”
The sergeant approached his men, speaking to them in a low voice. “I think this guy’s for real. I want you guys to calm the fuck down—I know you’re pissed. Shut up, Johnny! I know we got taken easily, but they’re a superior force and highly trained for this type of takedown. I want you and Rob to tell the perimeter to come in. They’re to report to the front lawn. Tom and Mark, I want you chasing down the two scouting crews—they’re probably about a mile out by now.”
“But, Sarge—"
“No fucking buts, Do nothing else, hear me? All weapons safe and stowed. Failure to follow this simple rule will probably get us all killed. Joey, you gather up the rest of the group. Lay it out for them crystal clear.”
“Okay, Sarge,” answered Joey. The other men nodded assent and the sergeant turned back to the major. “Major O’Malley, I want to deploy these men to bring in the others. Are there any objections, sir?”
“No objections, sergeant. Trust has to start somewhere. I want your men to instruct the rest of your group to enter this area carrying all weapons in a non-threatening manner. They can keep their weapons, but the weapons must be stowed for now. If any of my men feel threatened in any way, we'll fire. You and your men understand?”
The sergeant turned to his men. “You guys hear me? You understand what the major is saying?”
“Yeah, Sarge,” came from some of the men. The others simply nodded their assent.
“Okay. Bring our people in safely. I don’t want anyone killed. Do it.” The five soldiers moved away in opposite directions and Sergeant Jensen turned his attention back to the major.
“Major, can I interest you in a shot of Jack Daniels and a cigar?”
Despite the major’s near exhaustion, he smiled at the sergeant. He was easy to like—there was an inherent trust about the man. Captain Daubney visibly relaxed.
“Sergeant, that sounds like a great idea.”
“Would you care to join us, captain?” asked Sergeant Jensen.
“If it’s okay with the major, sergeant.”
“Of course, captain.”
“This way, gentlemen.” Sergeant Jensen led them to a spacious master bedroom at ground level. Inside, the room had enough food stockpiled to sustain a large group for many months. Besides the food, the large bedroom closet contained a well-stocked armory.
“Sergeant, we need to ask you some questions about a man that may have passed through here recently. I want to wait to ask the questions to your entire group.”
“Okay, major. It'll take an hour or so to round up the rest of my men. In the meantime, I’d appreciate if you could fill me in on the state of the world. I 'd guess that you’re more informed about this than I am, sir. After all, you have a helicopter—I never thought I’d see another bird airborne.”
“Yes, sir!” answered the sergeant, removing a half-empty fifth and three shot glasses from a battered hutch in the corner of the room. He poured liberally and the three men raised their glasses in a toast to their budding alliance.
SECTION 2: Marty Catches Up
CHAPTER 2.1-A Marine Magnum
“Snuff,” said Connor, barely above a whisper, “we need to leave by the side door—the one next to the garage. I don’t think we can use the back door now.”
“Why?”
“Tactics. In an urban setting, people tend to leave by the same door they entered. It’s human nature. Anyone seeing us enter would naturally expect us to exit the same—that’s where any primary concentration of firepower will be located.”
“Mac, you’re scaring me—I’ve never seen you this keyed up.”
“Listen and learn, okay?"
"Alright."
"I’m following the feeling that’s kept my ass alive through some serious shit. If I tell you to run, I want you to move your ass."
"Okay."
"Act on all my commands without question, understood?”
“Yeah, Mac, I get it.”
“I don’t want to be worried about you if the shit hits the fan. I'll be a bit busy."
"I said I get it."
"Good. We need to stick as a team and, if we do, we’ll stay alive.” Connor snuck a peek out the bottom windowpane of the garage’s man door. He caught no movement, but shook his head in dismay. His gut told him a huge shitstorm was brewing. He cracked the door slightly, grateful that the squeak of the hinges was barely audible. His ears perked at a faint sound, possibly a bird landing on a gutter.
"Dammit, I shoulda just said no to the sub-huntin'," said Connor, mumbling, "Oh, make her happy, Mac. Go ahead—"
“What?"
"Nothing."
Amanda slipped a hand onto Connor's shoulder.