4:27 A.M.
3 MILES WEST OF
RABUN GAP, GEORGIA
Sitting in the passenger seat of Sheriff Winston’s four-door Chevy Impala, Jacob leaned left, snatched the keys from the ignition, and cuffed the man’s hands to the steering wheel.
The bound man winced. “Is that really necessary?” He looked down at his boxer shorts, muscle shirt, and bare feet. “I mean...”
Jacob returned to an upright position and gave the surrounding area a quick look.
“...how would I get anywhere, even if I did escape?”
With wooded terrain on either side of the Impala, its trunk facing more forest, its headlights off, the police vehicle was parked at the end of a Forest Service road. A sliver of a moon overhead did little to dispel the enveloping darkness.
Jacob eyed the driver, “Never underestimate your opponent,” before staring down the length of the dirt road. “What’s your status, Stockwell?”
*******
Behind the wheel of Jacob and Stockwell’s rented SUV, which was parked a quarter mile from the start of the Forest Service road, Stockwell looked through the windshield. “Nothing yet. All’s quiet. Not much traffic.” She checked the time and resumed her lookout duties. “Two minutes to go.”
Winston had contacted a member of the compound and set a 4:30 a.m. meeting at this location, a spot he had used for past meetings with members of the group.
In her ear, Jacob’s voice: “Let me know the moment you see anyone turning onto this road.”
“You got it.”
*******
For the next four minutes, Jacob and Winston sat in silence while the former used a night vision monocle to get a feel for what lay deeper in the woods around him.
In his ear, Stockwell’s voice: “We’re on, Jake. You have a pickup truck heading your way.”
He lowered the monocle and gaped through the windshield. “Can you see how many are in the vehicle?”
“Two in the cab...bed appears to be empty.”
“Copy that. You know what to do.” He peered through the monocle and saw what looked like an older model Dodge Ram—its headlights off—clear a stand of trees and roll to a stop a hundred feet from the Chevy Impala.
The handcuffs around his wrists rattling, Winston reached for the dashboard left of the steering wheel.
Jacob whipped his head toward the man. “What are you doing?”
“We have a signal.”
“What signal?”
“Each car flashes its headlights twice.”
Squinting at the man, Jacob read him for tells. Not picking up any, he nodded. “Then you better do it.”
Winston leaned forward.
“And make damn sure it’s only two, Sheriff.”
Following a moment of hesitation, he worked a knob two times.
The truck’s headlights flashed twice in return and remained on.
Winston spied his passenger out of the corner of his eye before shutting off the Chevy’s lights.
Jacob reached for his door handle. “Now what usually happ—”
The pickup’s rear tires spun, and the vehicle lurched backward.
Jacob confronted Winston. “What did you do?”
The pre-arranged signal called for both vehicles to leave its headlights on after two flashes. If one vehicle or the other shut its lights off, then that meant something was wrong.
Jacob glimpsed the fleeing Dodge, “Cut them off, Stockwell!” before cocking his right arm and smashing his fist into Winston’s right cheek.
The sheriff’s head bounced off the side window. His chin flopped down to his chest, and his body went limp.
Piloted by Stockwell, the Chevy Suburban raced down the dirt path and skidded sideways as it came to a halt.
Cut off from escape, the Dodge stopped.
Jacob peeled out of the Impala while drawing the Coonan from under his left armpit.
Both doors on the Dodge flew open.
Two men scrambled out.
The passenger side man opened fire.
Nine-millimeter bullets connected with the police cruiser’s front grille, windshield, and light bar.
Jacob ducked, took cover near the right fender, and let loose with three rounds of 357 Magnum.
The gunman went down.
Firing blindly, the driver crossed in front of the beam from the Dodge’s headlights and bolted into the woods.
“Jake, you all right?”
He ran up to the truck, “I’m good,” and checked the fallen passenger for a pulse. “One tango down. The other’s gone into the woods.” Standing, he donned his night vision goggles and jogged after Driver while swapping out his Coonan’s partially spent magazine for a full one. “We need him alive, Stockwell. He’s the only one who can lead us to Miranda.”
“Copy that.”
“Try to get a bead on him with your thermal night vision.” Activating his NVGs, Jacob slipped into the woods, as the world around him turned green. Navigating between trees and stepping over fallen limbs, he whispered, “Anything?”
Five seconds later, in his ear, a female whisper: “Got him. Fifty feet in front of you. Eleven o’clock. I’m going ahead. I’ll try to flank him.”
“What’s your position?”
“On your two o’clock.”
“Copy. I’ll push him your way.” Jacob weaved his way through the trees, his NVGs showing him glimpses of Driver between the thick trunks ahead. He skirted around an oak and watched Driver sprint away from him. What the...
*******
Coming to the beginning of a clearing, Stockwell dropped to her knees.
Jacob: “Something’s wrong. He’s run—”
“He’s in a clearing.” She went prone and rested the nine-millimeter rifle on a downed log. “I’m taking the shot.”
“We need him alive.”
Drawing in a breath and letting out half, she peered through the EOTECH HHS holographic sight on her MP5 and found the fleeing man. Reaching up with her left hand, she rotated the EOTECH G33 Magnifier into place behind the sight.
The running Driver grew bigger.
Her shoulders rotating clockwise, Stockwell kept the red dot on her target.
Driver glanced backward, stumbled, caught his balance, faced forward, and continued running.
She touched the H&K’s trigger.
“Talk to me, Stockwell.”
Still pivoting right, her brow wrinkled, her lips puckering, “Shh,” she continued shushing him while easing back her right index finger.
The suppressed MP5 murmured once.
Driver’s gait never wavered.
“You’re killing me, Stockwell. What’s going—”
“Jake,” she snapped. “Please.”
Her fifty-yard shot was now sixty.
She went through a hurried version of her pre-shot prep.
Sixty-five yards.
At the seventy-yard mark, her target ten yards away from disappearing into the forest again, she let loose with another single shot.
Yelling, Driver lifted his left leg and reached back for his ankle. One hop later, he lost his footing and landed hard on his right shoulder before tumbling and rolling a few feet.
“Tango down.” She looked along the tree line on her port side.
Jacob burst from the trees and went into an all-out sprint. “I got him. Cover me.”
She placed the red dot on Driver’s writhing form. Please, Lord... She continued her silent prayer that she would not have to take the kill shot on the agents’ only chance at locating the abducted teen.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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