Jillian's Way
The backpack was less than 300 yards away, but I couldn’t take a direct route without being seen. The mercenaries, however, weren’t under the same restrictions. Because we had picked a campsite close enough to see the boys, they had direct sight and a direct trail to where Ron and I had laid out our bags.
I moved as quickly as I could back the same way I had come. As soon as I was confident they couldn’t see or hear me behind a small hill, I began to sprint. If I could grab the bag and disappear before they got to the camp, I had a chance. If they got there before me, I would have to figure something else out. And if we arrived at the same time . . . well, that wouldn’t be good.
I tried to quiet my breathing as I came out of the pines into the campsite. The pack was sitting on the ground where I had left it, along with my tarp and sleeping quilt. The place where Ron had slept was cleaned up and pristine—like no human had ever been there. Sometimes I wondered if Ron really was human.
I couldn’t hear the mercenaries, but they had to be getting close. I didn’t want to run or act hurried in case they saw me. If they thought I was ignorant, it might give me an advantage.
I slowed down and moved out of the trees. I took three steps toward the pack before I knew I was in trouble. I could sense them before I saw them. They were in the shadows of the trees to my left. Waiting for me. They had arrived first. It was time for me to do what I was trained to do. I gripped the latrine spade tightly in my hand and turned toward them.
“Oh, hey, guys,” I said. “I didn’t see you there. But then again, by the looks of your guns, you must be hunters, and you’re probably used to being stealthy.” I didn’t mention how odd it was that hunters would be hunting with handguns. “You didn’t by chance happen to see which way my Scout troop went, did you? I made a latrine run, and it appears they might have left me behind.”
“Yeah, we seen ’em.” The man who spoke had a crop of curly black hair that spread out under a knit cap. My guess was that he was the one they called Woolhead. The other man was the giant. He wasn’t just tall but big all over too, and not in a soft sort of way. This would be Tiny, of course. Criminals were really funny people sometimes.
“We can take you to them if you want,” Woolhead said.
“Hey, that’s awfully nice. You know, I’ve heard that hunters are some of the most decent people in the world. You look all scary with your guns and stuff, but underneath that hard exterior and rather pungent scent, there truly lies a heart of gold. Would one of you mind holding this for a second?” I tossed the spade in their direction and bent down to dig inside the pack. Tiny caught it, blade end first. “I forgot to take my baby wipes with me and I thought it might be good to clean that thing before putting it away. I don’t think wiping it on the grass really did much good at all.”
Tiny dropped the spade on the ground. I began to dig inside the pack. I had them a little off guard for a minute, but it wouldn’t take them long to recover. “Ah, here they are,” I said as I dug in the pack, trying to get my hand around the butt of Ron’s Glock. “I’ll get that cleaned up in no time, and you boys are welcome to some of these wipes if you need to freshen up. I find they are almost as good as a shower when you’re out in the wonders of nature.”
“Jackson’s way or Jillian’s?” Tiny asked quietly.
“I always try to side with either the meanest one or the hottest one, and in this case, Jillian is both,” Woolhead replied.
“Agreed. Do you want me to do the honors?”
“Nah, I got this.”
When I saw the red dot appear on the backpack, I knew I was in trouble. I’d noticed that Woolhead’s pistol had a laser sight under the barrel, and he was apparently lining it up on me. Then the dot disappeared. This could mean a couple of things: either Woolhead had decided not to shoot me, or the red dot was sitting squarely on my shoulders or the back of my head. I guessed it was the latter. Either way, the time for talking was over.
Woolhead had already started shooting when I dove to the side, brought the gun out of the pack, chambered a round and fired three times. They told us in training that if we practiced the actions enough, they would be forever stored in our muscle memory. Like riding a bicycle.
The movement itself was smooth, but my aim was high. I hadn’t fired a gun in quite a while. I was aiming for Woolhead’s center mass, the most likely spot for me not to miss. Instead, all three of my shots caught him in his forehead right under his ball cap. He sank to his knees and fell onto his face.
I leveled my gun on Tiny. “I would drop that if I were you.”
Tiny stood there with a dumb look on his face. His gun was in his hand by his side. He hadn’t even brought it up. My actions had completely surprised him. But then again, they had completely surprised me. He let the gun fall to the ground.
A voice came from the body of the dead man, and I jumped.
“Were those gunshots?” The voice was angry and filled with static. It took me a moment to realize that it was coming from the radio attached to Woolhead’s shoulder. “I told you no killing. Your portion of the take just got cut in half.”
I was thinking that Woolhead’s portion was going to be a lot less than that when I realized my mistake. Tiny had been holding his gun in his hand, but he still had a bulge in his waistband. The voice on the radio had distracted me long enough for him to go for his second weapon. I snapped my focus back to him, but I was too late. He hadn’t gone for his second gun. Instead, he’d taken the opportunity to turn and flee. I could hear him crashing through the trees as he ran away from me. I thought about firing at him but couldn’t get myself to shoot at a man’s back.
“Woolhead, you answer me. What’s going on out there?” the voice from the radio continued to bark.
I heard Tiny answer between gasping breaths as he ran. “Woolhead is down,” he said. “Dead. And that guy is no innocent nerd. He put three rounds in Woolhead’s face before I could even blink. He was about to do the same to me. I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s no Scoutmaster. More like a paid assassin. What kind of job did you get us into?”
I wasn’t an assassin and had never been one. But in my previous line of work as a covert antiterrorist agent, I had been trained well, from hand-to-hand combat to all kinds of weapons. Despite my training, the secret nature of my identity had always been my biggest advantage. But today, my cover had been completely blown. Whatever happened next, I would not be able to take them off guard.
I looked at the backpack and noticed that there were several bullet holes piercing the exterior—right where my back would have been had I not moved. I prayed that none of them had penetrated the satellite phone. I needed to warn Hope, and I needed to do it before it was too late. But there was something else I needed to do first.
I took a quick glance at Woolhead’s body. The disembodied voice from his radio had gone silent. Everything had gone silent. Especially for Woolhead. He would never see or hear anything again.
In my entire career, I had never killed anyone. I didn’t much like it now.
I went into the bushes and threw up.