The rifle wasn’t exactly easy to get hold of either, purpose designed for the US special operations community. The first batch had actually been used by my old unit, the 75th Rangers, but it was after my time; I’d been used to the good old AR15.
The new weapon was good though, and I’d zeroed it in on one of the outdoor ranges earlier that evening. That session had actually turned into something of an impromptu shooting contest, and was the reason why I had the rifle, and the guy lying next to me was the spotter; it had soon become apparent that I was a better shot than any of the other Vanguard employees. The guys had bitched and moaned, but the results spoke for themselves and I was taking the lead on this little two-man fire team.
My spotter – an ex-Marine I’d buried in the shooting comp – was obviously still pissed, and kept his communications with me to a minimum, which was just fine by me. I’m not the most talkative guy at the best of times, and I had absolutely nothing to say to the Vanguard man next to me. He could scan the area in front of us, and give me a target to shoot at if any came up, and that would be it for our interaction.
Kane was out with us too, lying on the opposite side to my spotter, his fur warm against my skin. I would be more likely, I believed, to get a decent conversation out of him.
The variant of the FN SCAR I was using tonight was the SSR, the Sniper Support Rifle, and it was accurate out to a range of a thousand yards; but with its twenty round magazine it was also designed for rapid semi-automatic fire, and it was easier to get rounds down quickly than with a standard hunting or sniper rifle, which was why I was using it.
I was on overwatch duty, protecting the man who had paid Badrock one hundred thousand dollars to go hunting lion.
Ian Garner was an international banker, a big shot financial whiz kid from the Big Apple who wanted to trade the urban jungle of Wall Street for the real one lying here in New Mexico, at least for a couple of nights. He was part of the hunting party booked for tomorrow night, but had turned up a day early. Not wanting to turn down his offer of a hundred grand for an extra night’s hunting, Badrock had quickly adapted, and agreed to his demands.
Garner had explained to me over dinner that he simply didn’t have time to get over to the game reserves in Africa, he was far too busy; and so why not visit the famed Badrock Park? If he enjoyed it, he would become a regular here.
The man made me sick to my stomach, and it had taken everything I had not to bury my fish knife through one of his bespectacled eyeballs.
But I knew that if I did, my chances of destroying the general’s little hunting wonderland here would be seriously damaged. And so instead, I did as I was told – I went out with the hunting party, responsible for observing the area around the client from a nearby ridge, my own rifle primed and ready to defend him from anything that might be creeping up on him.
Would I shoot if I saw something? Or would I let the banker get ripped to pieces?
I still wasn’t sure, to be honest. He was a vile little man who wouldn’t be missed, but I had to be seen to be doing my job, at least for now.
There was also the fact that the general was right next to him, lying there in wait for their prey. If something attacked Garner, it would get Badrock too. And what a way for the man to go!
But I wasn’t the only Vanguard employee keeping an eye on things out here – several more snipers were out and about securing the area, and I suspected that some of them might even have their weapons trained on me.
So I had to keep the two men secure, despite myself.
I traced my sight across the prone form of General Badrock, thinking how satisfying it would be to put a 7.62mm round through his spine. I wondered if I could do it and get away with it; shoot the general, disable the man next to me, and escape from the park before the rest of the men knew what was happening.
But I knew that such an escape would be unlikely – the Vanguard crew had night vision, thermal imaging, and they probably had access to helicopter support too, not to mention enough firepower to lay waste to half of New Mexico.
No, I decided in the end, there had to be a better way.
A way that would result in the good general getting what he deserved, and me getting away safe, sound and alive.
I considered the mission I’d given – or perhaps offered would be a better word for it – to Talia earlier that evening, wondering how she was getting on. I’d asked her to try and access her father’s computer systems, to see if she could come up with any hard evidence against the man, and I hadn’t had to ask twice. She was motivated to get back at the man who had given her so little, and was taking so much, and the danger of being caught no longer seemed to phase her. It was as if my presence there lent her a strength that she had previously lacked.
And now – with this surprise nighttime hunt, and her father and a large contingent of Vanguard staff out of the house – she had a great opportunity to go through with it.
I prayed that she might have something for me when we returned.
Putting her out of my mind, I turned my attention back to the hunters. They were on a raised hillock right out on the plain, close to a herd of antelope drinking at the edge of a small, winding river which sparkled in the moonlight. Through my scope I could see Garner and Badrock lying on their sniper mats, the general acting as a spotter while Garner aimed through the thermal scope of his own rifle.
The lions which stalked the herd of antelope didn’t have access to thermal scopes or high-powered rifles; but then again, they didn’t need them. Evolution had equipped them with incredible night vision of their own; and razor-sharp retractable claws, massive canine teeth, and the ability to run at fifty miles per hour and clear almost forty feet in a single bound, meant that they were more than capable of hunting down and killing their chosen prey without any hi-tech equipment.
But the human ability to manufacture weapons to overcome our natural shortcomings was, of course, the reason that we are the apex predator on the planet. Without claws, sharp teeth, strong jaws, speed or endurance, we rely upon technology to see us through; and in the arms race, we have no equal.
Which is why I knew it was only a matter of time before Ian Garner put one of his North Fork 300 grain .375 PP rounds through one of the lionesses that were quietly stalking the antelopes. The cartridge had a small ring cut into the ogive that guaranteed full expansion of the bonded-core softpoint within two inches of penetration, creating an extremely effective kill shot.
It disturbed me somewhat to discover that cartridges were being specially manufactured for the express purpose of taking down big cats, but it didn’t surprise me. Human ingenuity was capable of being used for any endeavor. And, I supposed, if people were going to hunt these animals anyway, it was actually better for them if they were killed quickly. Inefficient cartridges would only prolong the agony, the animal limping off to safety before succumbing to its painful wounds perhaps days later.
I still wasn’t sure what I thought of hunting anyway. In a way, it was a part of our human history, encoded in our very DNA. The hunting – and then cooking – of meat had enabled us to evolve shorter guts than our primate cousins, allowing us in turn to use the spare energy to evolve ever larger brains. In a way, hunting animals is what made us who we are today.
But that was to eat, to survive. I had no problem with cultures or societies that killed things in order to eat them; it made sense to do so. And hunting also made sense if it was used as part of a tactic to limit animal populations, such as the legal hunting of cougar in several US states.
Trophy hunting, however, was something I struggled to come to terms with; especially here, where the animals were supposedly protected, quite often members of an endangered species.
I’d killed my fair share of men, yes; I had even sometimes hunted them down.
But it was never as a trophy. The men I’d killed – and sometimes women too – were dangerous, a threat to others. Terrorists, assassins, the leaders of criminal gangs – they were my targets,
and the world was a better place without them.
The animals here were supposed to be protected, to have sanctuary so that their numbers could be rebuilt; it seemed wrong to hunt them, to kill them.
But, I supposed, if I was willing to kill my own fellow human beings – sometimes in cold blood – what right did I have to preach to others?
Kane nuzzled me from the side, and I stroked his warm fur.
That’s right, I thought to myself. Animals are innocent.
And some humans aren’t.
Kane’s body jerked under my hand as a muffled shot rang out in the still night air, and I saw the thermal signature from Garner’s rifle through my sight.
I quickly swept my rifle toward the big cats, praying that a lion had not been hit.
I adjusted the focus, and was relieved to see that the animals were running, along with the antelope as they all reacted to the shot.
But one of the lionesses was moving slowly . . . Too slowly.
‘Yeah baby,’ the spotter to my left breathed lecherously, ‘that hurt the bitch for sure.’
I watched helplessly as she managed to crawl twenty feet from the killing field . . . thirty . . . and then she stopped moving altogether, collapsed to the floor.
I stared through my scope, saw the chest continue to rise and fall; and then, finally, that stopped too.
‘It’s a kill shot,’ I heard Badrock announce through my earpiece. ‘Delta team, approach on foot and confirm. All other teams keep watch.’
I confirmed the message with a blip of my radio, then swept my sight back to the raised hillock, saw the two men still in their positions, Garner’s rifle still trained on the animal.
I looked again toward the lioness, once so proud and majestic and now just meat, to be sliced up and put on Garner’s wall, and felt slightly nauseated by the thought.
‘Good fucking shot,’ the man next to me said admiringly, but I just ignored him; it was safer for him that way.
Two men then emerged from concealed positions near to the river, and approached the animal. One knelt by its side while the other aimed a shotgun at the big cat’s head.
But there was no need – the first man’s hand swiping across his own throat in the classic ‘kill’ symbol confirmed that the lioness was dead.
Back on the hillock I saw that Garner was on his feet now, rifle pumping up and down in the air in a victory celebration, stout little legs hopping about in a sick little dance.
‘One shot,’ I could hear him across the plain even from this distance, ‘one fucking shot! Fuck yeah!’
I watched him through the scope, the reticle sighted directly on his chest.
It took everything I had not to pull the trigger.
Chapter Six
I woke late in the morning; kills were traditionally celebrated in the bar, and after getting back to the ranch at one o’clock, we’d continued drinking until four.
Badrock, knowing that we would be out again that night – and possibly for a lot longer – had told us to get some rest, duties for key security personnel not starting until midday.
Normally I enjoyed a drink or two – but the company at the in-house bar had been seriously below grade. The Vanguard men still held a major grudge – not only had I beaten up a few of their number, received the promise of a huge paycheck, and slept with the general’s beautiful daughter, but now I’d also gone and embarrassed them all in a shooting contest. It had only added insult to injury, and after a few drinks I could tell that the only reason they weren’t burying their beer glasses in my face was because doing so would upset their boss.
Ian Garner was also pretty unpleasant, a jumped-up little asshole who thought he was better than everyone else just because he had money. And now he’d bagged himself a lioness, he loved himself even more. If I’d heard the story once last night, I must have heard it a thousand times – and his skill, bravery and manliness only grew with every telling. It was enough to make me want to ram his ruddy little face through the bar’s panoramic window, if only so I wouldn’t have to listen to it again.
And Roman Badrock – the charismatic man who had so impressed me initially – was now an enemy, pure and simple. Anyone who did what he’d done to his own daughter didn’t deserve to be breathing the same oxygen as the rest of us; he was a waste of the planet’s resources.
But despite my disgust, appearances had to be maintained and so I remained in the bar for the celebrations with everyone else, knocking back the beers to make the whole thing seem more tolerable.
I was only on six when a pair of park employees wheeled in the dead animal’s head, severed from its majestic body and mounted on a rosewood shield. They didn’t waste any time around here, I’d give them that.
The whole room had erupted into terrific applause and cheers, and I could have sworn I saw a tear in Garner’s eye as he hugged Badrock. He’d then picked up the mounted head, gripped both sides of the backing plate, and waltzed around the room with it to the sounds of the Blue Danube. Everyone had fallen around laughing, but the disrespect being shown toward the dead animal had only served to enrage me further.
‘You don’t find this funny?’ Badrock had asked me, eyebrow raised.
‘I see you’re not laughing either,’ I’d replied.
‘Just because I’m taking his money doesn’t mean I approve of his behavior. But I’m a facilitator, not a moral judge.’
‘Me neither,’ I’d said, and that had been that – Badrock had sidled back over to his rich client, and I’d returned to drinking by myself in the corner.
‘Pretty sick sonofabitch, isn’t he?’ said a voice to my side, and I’d turned to see Hatfield sitting there watching Garner thoughtfully.
‘I won’t argue with that.’
‘Put him in a real battle, he’d shit his pants,’ Hatfield had opined.
‘Wouldn’t we all?’ I’d rejoined.
‘Hah! You got that right, my friend. We sure as hell would. But we’d still get the job done, right?’ He’d shaken his head at the waltzing Garner with his dead lion’s head partner. ‘Pathetic,’ he’d spat. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got no problem with people killing things, no problem at all. But that?’ He’d shaken his head again. ‘It’s not right. Not what men like us need to do. We understand. Right?’
‘Men like us?’
‘Killers,’ Hatfield had said. ‘When we kill, there’s no pleasure. It’s just business. If I ever saw one of my men dancing with a corpse on the battlefield, I’d put one right between his eyes and leave him there for the fucking crows.’
We’d continued to chat, and it made me smile now to think that this man who’d been ready to shoot me during our first meeting was the only person I’d managed to get a decent conversation out of all night.
The smile faded instantly as I rolled over in bed and remembered that I was alone; Talia had been nowhere to be seen last night, and had never come to my room.
I worried that she’d been caught trying to access those computer files, then felt guilty – was I scared for her safety, or for what she might tell her captors about me if she was questioned?
It was possible, however, that she had been sent to Garner’s room as his ‘prize’; a horrifying thought made only slightly more bearable by the fact that he’d consumed so much brandy that he’d almost certainly been incapable of doing anything except sleeping and snoring loudly.
I checked my watch, saw that it was only just after nine in the morning. I had plenty of time, but I was unaccustomed to lying in so late anyway, and rolled slowly out of bed, padding across the oak floorboards to the open doors which gave way onto a wide verandah with magnificent views of the grasslands and mesas beyond, which rose imperiously into the deep blue sky above. The sun was already getting strong, and Kane was bathing happily in it, in a position unchanged since he’d got back here last night.
I yawned loudly – which drew only a single, rapid check with one eye from Kane – and slowly stretched out my aching body. I wa
sn’t sure that bed’s agreed with me; it couldn’t possibly have been the dozen beers I’d consumed.
I went back into the room to get myself an espresso from the professional-grade machine on the dresser, then carried it back out to sit with my little buddy.
‘How you doing, boy?’ I asked as I plunged into a wooden chair by his side, ruffling his hair. My question was rewarded by complete silence and utter disinterest, but I continued petting him anyway. Even if he wasn’t bothered, I liked it. I sipped slowly at the strong black liquid as I stroked Kane’s back, and went through my plan of attack for the day.
We had to report to security headquarters at midday, when Hatfield would give us our briefing. The guests were due to arrive throughout the afternoon, in time to have dinner with Badrock at five. As far as I understood it, I would be responsible for liaising with the armorer to get them equipped, then supervising weapons handling and zeroing on the range. Other people would familiarize them with the park grounds, and general hunting tactics.
I would learn more at the briefing, but right now all I wanted to do was find Talia.
After all, I considered once again as I stood, I didn’t have to report in until midday.
There was plenty of time to find her if I got started now.
Chapter Seven
Midday came around all too quickly, and I’d had no luck in finding Talia. The closest I’d come was a cryptic she’s busy now, you’ll get to see her later from Hatfield; and it wasn’t so much the words as the strange half-smile on his face that had unnerved me.
But there was work to be done now, and I wanted to do some intelligence gathering of my own; Hatfield was about to tell us who was coming for tonight’s hunt.
The Vanguard employees who would be working the hunt tonight – there were about thirty of us, a platoon-sized contingent – were gathered in the meeting room of the security base. We were seated on a mixture of easy chairs and sofas, and Hatfield was holding court at the front, stood in front of a lectern with a projector screen behind him.
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR HUNT: Colt Ryder is Back in Action! Page 8