Balance of Trust

by Charles Geoffrey

  He wove in and out of trees. The forest still blocked his view of the cabin but moving closer would risk repeating Brad’s fate. Climbing a tree also increased the odds of getting shot.

  He assumed the terrorists would try to escape in a preplanned action. It was something he had already played out many times in his head.

  Charlie needed to arrive at the lake fast enough to cut off any escape by boat. The enemy wouldn’t know how many men were coming at them from the rear of the cabin so they wouldn’t be eager to make a run west. If he had to pick an exit strategy, it would be by boat first, and as a backup send someone north or south along the lake shoreline—maybe both at once.

  A boat motor started up.

  “Charlie?” he whispered.

  A rifle report reached him, quickly followed by Charlie’s voice in the earpiece, “One target down. No others visible.”

  “Hold your position.” Bender ran in a crouch, veering due east, estimating he was still far enough from the perimeter Brad had broken. It took him less than a minute to reach the trees bordering the lakeshore.

  A small fishing boat with an idling outboard was floating a hundred yards out on the lake. Barely moving. A man sat slumped over near the engine and appeared dead. Charlie wouldn’t have risked a wounded man escaping and must have put a bullet in his head. It gave Bender more confidence in him.

  He didn’t think anyone could have slipped past him up the shoreline. Still, to be sure he dug out the binoculars and scanned the strip of sand next to the water, looking for any sign of footprints or broken brush. Nothing.

  He looked south. The edges of the cabin were visible through the branches and leaves. No windows in the north wall. A hint of movement caught his eye. He peered through the binoculars. A figure was running north along the shoreline.

  “Eyes on the river,” he whispered. “One target fleeing north. Hold your position and eyes on the back of the cabin.”

  “Roger that.”

  He ducked down, set the Rattler on the ground, and pulled the Glock.

  Scrambling, he moved to within a dozen yards of the shoreline, stopping behind a big pine. He grabbed a hand-sized rock. With one terrorist dead, he couldn’t afford to kill this man right away. Now more than ever they needed to verify the terrorists’ plans.

  He listened for soft footfalls. Even though he only had a glimpse, he knew the man held a machine gun in his right hand—it looked like a FN P90. That also ruled out amateurs. P90s had armor piercing fifty-round magazines and were illegal for civilians to own.

  The man ran past him in a steady pace at the water’s edge, wearing a gray sweatshirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. Wiry and fit. A smooth runner.

  Bender tossed the rock high and out over the lake twenty feet from the shoreline. Leveling the Glock, he strode out of the forest, picking his steps carefully to avoid making noise.

  The rock hit the water with a loud thunk!

  The terrorist stopped and whirled to face the lake, his P90 leveled.

  Bender was already running by the time the man figured it out and turned. Crashing into him from the side, Bender allowed his weight and momentum to topple the terrorist to the ground. The man’s gun arm flopped wide.

  Bender put a foot on the terrorist’s neck, the muzzle of his silenced gun close to his forehead. “Drop the gun, stay quiet, or die.”

  The man’s eyes widened and he released his gun. In his early twenties, the man had curly dark hair and was light-skinned. Bender recognized him from one of the three photos Colonel Danker had shown him. The man reacted like an amateur. Frightened and cooperative. Which didn’t fit the profile of a serious terrorist threat.

  Bender said, “Turn over, clasp your hands behind your back, and look north. If you lift your head or move your feet or hands, I’ll shoot your legs.”

  The man complied.

  Bender stepped to the side and grabbed the man’s weapon. He used zip ties to secure the terrorist’s wrists and ankles. Satisfied, he walked into the water, looking south with the binoculars.

  The cabin sat fifty feet from the water’s edge on a short peninsula that jutted out past the lake’s northern shore. They couldn’t see him from the front windows. An open front porch, two feet off the ground with no railings, was partially visible.

  He scanned behind the cabin. Through the trees he caught glimpses of a grassy area. To the south past the cabin he spotted Charlie kneeling behind a large tree near the shoreline, also staring at him with binoculars. He lowered his and said, “Hostile in possession. Continue holding.”

  “Roger that.”

  Bender hustled back to his captive and cut the man’s ankle zip tie. “Get up and walk into the trees.”

  He herded the terrorist into the woods, where he ordered the man to lie down on his stomach. Using zip ties, he again secured the terrorist’s ankles, and then bent the man’s legs so he could fasten another zip tie around each wrist and one ankle.

  He hurriedly searched the terrorist and found a wallet with four hundred U.S. dollars and a Minnesota driver’s license. Had to be forged. Another pocket yielded a cell phone. On it he found three stored phone numbers.

  The area codes were for Minnesota numbers. Three people to contact. For what? Bombs? Memorizing the numbers, he pocketed the phone.

  He stared again at the terrorist, whose eyes betrayed fear. He decided to allow himself one minute. Shoving the Glock into the back of the man’s thigh, he said tersely, “Tell me what the three U.S. phone contacts are holding for you. Nod your head if you’re ready to talk.”

  The man didn’t respond.

  Bender tilted the gun so he would avoid arteries and veins, and pulled the trigger, scoring the side of the man’s thigh. The terrorist jerked his leg, groaning fiercely, his jeans darkening against his skin and his eyes now wide with fear.

  Bender knelt on the man’s thigh and this time shoved the Glock between his legs. “This time you’re losing your manhood. What are they holding for you in Minnesota?”

  The man nodded.

  Bender pulled the gag off his mouth, keeping the gun barrel pressed into the man’s nether regions. “If I don’t like or believe your answer, I’m firing.”

  “Don’t, please,” gasped the man. “I’ll tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  The man groaned. “Chemicals.”

  “What kind?”

  “Liquid VX. Three barrels.”

  Bender stared at the man as he adjusted to the much more serious threat. He doubted any terrorist would lie about VX when they could just as easily admit to a lesser crime. And he didn’t detect anything in the man’s face or voice that indicated a lie. The easy confession also fit his assessment of the man’s amateur status. “To use where?”

  “Small lakes, city drinking water.”

  “Why are you waiting here?”

  “Confirmation that the barrels have arrived. They were late. The less time we spend in Minnesota the better.”

  Bender grimaced, imagining screaming children coming out of a swimming lake and dying on the beach. Odorless and tasteless, VX was deadly in small quantities and classified as a weapon of mass destruction. Three barrels could kill millions if put into drinking water—or cause a massive health crisis. Even small amounts on the skin were lethal.

  Kim Jong-nam, the estranged half-brother of North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, was murdered when a cloth soaked with VX was rubbed against his face. North Korea had probably supplied the terrorists with the VX. Bender guessed it was a way for North Korea to retaliate against U.S. sanctions without risk.

  The potential environmental and wildlife impact bothered him as much as the threat to civilians. If put into lakes the chemical could kill fish, waterfowl, and any wildlife drinking the water.

  He pulled out the terrorist’s phone and checked the battery. Almost dead. They had to have hiked in here and the cabin wouldn’t have electricity. They also hadn’t planned on a delay.

  He debated calling Colonel Danker. Aga
inst protocol. But the VX worried him. He punched the number. No juice. He clenched his jaw.

  The man’s lips twitched. A nervous tic.

  Bender kept the gun pushed into the man’s crotch. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  The man paled. “We have hostages.”

  He frowned. That made no sense. “How many?”

  “Four.”

  “Why take hostages?”

  The man groaned again. “They were hiking nearby and one of them saw us with a machine gun.”

  It didn’t look like the man was lying. If true, that made everything more complicated. He considered his options for approaching the cabin. The terrorists could have set up command-activated claymores along the beach. He assumed the woods were also a risk.

  “What’s your role?”

  “Guide them south to a boat so they can cross the river.”

  “Without you they can’t make it across?”

  The man shook his head, looking fearfully at Bender. “They won’t be able to find the boat.”

  “Where are you planning to cross the river?”

  “Due south.”

  “Where are the other claymores?”

  “I didn’t set them up.”

  He stood up. There wasn’t anything else he needed from the man and he couldn’t risk this terrorist staying alive. He shot him in the head.

  He hustled away, dropping the P90 in a bush and returning to collect his Rattler. Holstering the Glock, he whispered, “Get all that, Charlie?”

  “Roger that.”

  He unfolded the stock on the Rattler and ran out across the shoreline, stopping in an inch of water. From that position he was even with the open front porch. Walking south, he aimed his weapon at the cabin.

  Every dozen yards he used the binoculars to check behind the cabin. He also scanned the shoreline to see if he could spot any claymores. Looking south, he spotted Charlie still holding his position close to the shoreline.

  Halfway to the cabin he asked, “Any south-facing windows?”

  “Negative,” answered Charlie.

  “Approach in the water in case claymores are set.”

  Charlie quickly walked into shallow water too, his rifle shouldered and aimed at the cabin. The cabin peninsula allowed Charlie to approach from an angle, like Bender, which made it impossible for anyone to get a shot at him from inside the cabin. They had to hope no claymores were set in front of the cabin.

  Bender prepared himself. The remaining terrorist had limited options. The man would be able to see if anyone approached from the rear of the cabin, but he wouldn’t know if anyone was hiding in the forest.

  The front cabin door opened.

  Bender stopped, raising the Rattler.

  Charlie stopped too, aiming his rifle at the door.

  Chapter 3

  A man with a white beard stepped into the doorway, arms raised. Appearing about sixty, he wore jeans and suspenders over a red flannel shirt. Overweight but robust. Bender assumed the man was one of the hostages.

  The man looked left and right nearly a hundred-eighty-degrees, from Charlie to Bender, and called out in a shaky voice, “I’m unarmed! I’m unarmed!” Then he lowered his head, as if listening to someone.

  Bender couldn’t hear the words, but assumed the terrorist was using the hostage to find out his and Charlie’s position.

  The bearded man lifted his head. “He wants me to tell you that he’ll kill me, my daughter, and my ten-year-old granddaughter if you don’t back off.” He swung his gaze from Charlie to Bender. “He wants you to know that he has explosives and he’s not afraid to use them. I believe him. He’ll kill all of us. They killed my son-in-law when they grabbed us.”

  Bender clenched his jaw. The mention of the ten-year-old girl wrenched his gut. It reminded him of Rachel.

  Charlie continued moving closer to the cabin until Bender said, “Hold, Charlie.”

  Charlie stopped, keeping his weapon aimed at the old man.

  Bender called out, “Tell the man to come out, unarmed, if he wants to live.”

  The older man grunted and arched his torso as if something had been shoved into his back. “He’s going to kill me, then my daughter and granddaughter. He wants you to retreat or I’m dead.”

  Bender hesitated.

  A shot sounded, followed by a child’s shriek. The older man toppled face forward onto the porch. Bender swore and sprinted through the shallow water, his gun aimed at the open door.

  Charlie moved out into knee-deep water and began shooting.

  Bender couldn’t see the windows, but he heard glass breaking. He couldn’t take a shot unless he moved farther out into deeper water too. Deciding to keep an eye on the area behind the cabin, he maintained his current approach angle.

  A woman cried out, crawling out the door on all fours and stopping to kneel by the body.

  Bender halted fifteen feet from the front porch and whispered, “Cease-fire, Charlie.”

  Keeping his weapon up, Charlie quickly moved laterally back to shallow water so he wasn’t a target.

  Appearing about thirty and lean, the woman wore a blue blouse and jeans. She sobbed and placed a hand on the back of the dead man. Bender guessed it was her father, and she had already lost her husband. He could hear a child yelling inside the cabin—which abruptly stopped. It spiked his adrenaline further, but he calmed himself by slowing his breathing.

  The woman slowly got to her feet and looked at him, and then Charlie. She wiped her eyes and said angrily, “They’re going to kill me next, and then my daughter. Please!” Her voice broke and she said, “Please, just back away.”

  “All right!” Retreating would yield no advantage. He whispered to Charlie, “Get ready to move in.” Then louder, “We’re listening.”

  Another shot rang out and the woman collapsed beside her father.

  “Damn you!” Bender said under his breath. He rushed forward, glad to see Charlie also running.

  He was concerned the terrorist would kill the girl, but he had to push that thought aside. This wasn’t his daughter Rachel, and if he didn’t focus he would get himself and Charlie killed.

  As he neared the cabin, pine trees along the side of it blocked visibility of the back.

  They reached the front corners of the cabin at the same time. Bender climbed onto the two-foot-high porch first, while Charlie covered the doorway. Then he covered for Charlie.

  Narrow, shot-out windows were on either side of the front door. Curtains hid what was inside. Both windows were centered between the corners of the cabin and the door, four feet above the porch.

  The bodies lay in front of the door, which was now closed. Bender gripped his gun, anger choking his throat for a moment. He didn’t hear the girl. Maybe she was already dead. The terrorist might be bolting out the back. He was also wary of the terrorist setting a claymore inside the cabin facing the front door.

  Charlie glanced at him.

  Bender pointed to himself and Charlie, and then drew an outline of a rectangle in the air to signal the windows, and then pointed at himself and then the door. They would both shoot into the windows, then Bender planned to duck the window near him, boot the door, and enter.

  Charlie nodded.

  He was about to step out to fire, when he heard a soft scrape. Whirling, he glimpsed a large bald man rounding the corner of the cabin, carrying a pistol. Using his nearest leg, Bender spontaneously kicked the man’s gun arm into the cabin wall—he didn’t have time to bring his gun around.

  The terrorist fired, missing Bender, but grabbed his arm and yanked him off the porch.

  Bender leapt with the man’s pull, trying to land on him, but the terrorist twisted and Bender hit the ground face first, hard. Another gun burst sounded from across the porch. He let go of the Rattler—there was no way to lift it up quickly—and rolled to his side, kicking at the pistol in the man’s hand, knocking it away.

  The man kicked him in the chest.

  Bender grunted, sat up, and
rammed a fist at the man’s groin, partially connecting. Gasping, the man fell forward, his weight driving Bender into the ground. Pushing a meaty hand against Bender’s face, the man ground the back of Bender’s head into the dirt, while Bender grabbed the man’s pistol arm.

  The gun fired near Bender’s head. Ears ringing, he frantically struck the man with rigid fingers in the front of his neck.

  Toppling to the side, the man crawled toward the front edge of the porch.

  Bender grabbed his Rattler as bullets bit the edge of the porch. Remaining low, he scrambled to the side of the cabin. The big man had crawled out of sight in front of the deck. Bender peeked around the corner.

  A slender dark-haired man holding a FN P90 was stepping over Charlie—who lay prone on the porch.

  Bender jerked back as bullets hit the corner of the cabin near him. When the shooting stopped, he angled his gun around the corner and fired a spray of bullets, aiming high and hoping to hit the terrorist without hitting Charlie.

  He pulled his gun back. Silence. He peered around the corner. Charlie was the only one visible. The terrorist must have flung himself off the front of the deck.

  Bender figured he had seconds before one of the two terrorists fired on him from the front corner of the porch. He needed cover. Ducking through pine trees, he ran toward the back corner of the cabin.

  Bullets chewed the trees around him, forcing him to run around the corner without hesitation. Something hard hit him in the forehead and he collapsed.

  Chapter 4

  Rachel stood before him, wearing her white shorts and red tee, her hands on her hips, her long auburn hair in disarray. Disappointment was etched into her eyes. He had promised to do the chute cave with her when she was more experienced, but now he had to leave and didn’t know if he would be coming back…

  When he came out of the dream, Bender had a headache and his ears were still ringing—but not as loud as before. It took him a few seconds to shake off the guilt he had dredged up in the dream. He heard voices, but still felt groggy. He kept his head down to listen and observe without signaling that he was awake.