MAGGIE’S HEAD JERKED UP AS SHE HEARD THE ROAR OF AN ENGINE AND THE SOUND OF TIRES CHURNING GRAVEL. She stood and looked through the front window. Field dust covered the pane of glass, but through the grime she saw the Suburban whipping around and veering down the field lane.
She cursed under her breath and ran toward the door. Bursting onto the porch, she watched the Suburban get smaller as it sped away from the house.
The rod-iron and glass porch light beside her head exploded from the impact of another bullet. Shards of glass shrapnel streaked out and ripped the skin of her face. She cried out and grabbed the side of her head. Another shot struck the wall nearby, driving her back into the house.
From the floor in front of her, Andrew screamed, “Maggie! What are you doing? Stay down and get over here.”
She removed her hand and saw some blood, but nothing to worry about now. She shook off the shock and said, “What can I do?”
“I think the bullet punctured the subclavian artery in his shoulder,” Andrew replied.
“What can we do about that?”
“I would recommend percutaneous endovascular repair by using a self-expandable stent graft. But since we don’t have that, I need you to get me a tampon.”
“What?”
“Just do it!”
She bounded up the stairs and into her and Marcus’s bedroom. She wondered where the hell Marcus had been going. Was he rushing the shooter? Through the second-story window, she saw the Suburban reach the end of the lane that connected with the main road. The patch of trees that Craig had thought might hide the shooter lay to the left. Marcus went right.
“Maggie!” Andrew called from downstairs.
She refocused on the task at hand. A small bathroom connected their bedroom and the one that Claire was using. Maggie rushed inside and fumbled through the travel bag containing her make-up, haircare items, and feminine hygiene products. She pulled out a large plastic container which held a multitude of small pull-out compartments. She had organized the compartments alphabetically by their contents. Her finger traced a line down the Ts and pulled open the tiny drawer containing her tampons. She grabbed three of them, just in case. Then she rushed back down the stairs.
Handing one of the tampons to Andrew, she said, “What now?”
Andrew didn’t reply. He just ripped the tampon out of its packaging and jammed it into the Director’s shoulder. The Director cried out. His feet and head banged against the hardwood floor as he fought the pain. Andrew ripped off a strip of his shirt and wrapped it around the Director’s shoulder.
He looked up at Maggie and said, “That should help with the bleeding, but we need to get him to a hospital soon. The wound’s pretty clean, but he needs surgery to repair the artery.”
Maggie turned to Fagan who was still crouching in a corner behind the large brown recliner. “Fagan! Where’s your car?”
The bureaucrat replied, “It’s a Lexus. I parked it in the barn so it would be out of the weather.”
Craig said, “That’s a hundred yards. Our van’s over there too.”
“And the Director’s Buick,” Andrew added.
“We could make a run for it,” Maggie said.
Craig shook his head. “Even if you made it—which isn’t likely—that sniper will be all over you while you’re loading your friend into the car. You need to take the sniper out first.”
“What about you guys? Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of black-ops badasses?”
“No, we’re hired mercenaries who are getting paid to capture and contain Ackerman. There’s nothing in our contract about getting shot by snipers.”
Maggie gritted her teeth and bit back a comment. “Fine. We’ll just call in the locals and have them come at the sniper from behind.”
Fagan stood up from his hiding spot and said, “Oh no, you won’t. We can’t get any local police involved in this.”
“Why not?”
“Think about what you’re saying. They might want to know why we’re being attacked by some sniper, and then they may wonder why we’re holding one of the country’s most wanted fugitives in an old farmhouse. I won’t allow this organization to be compromised. Not on my watch. Not for you, the Director, or anyone. That’s a direct order.”
Maggie’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the little man. “And I don’t intend to let anyone die on my watch,” she said. “We have to get him to the hospital as quickly as possible. We’re calling in backup.” She pulled a cell phone from her pocket and started to dial.
Fagan said, “Mr. Craig, stop her. Shoot her if you have to.”
Craig aimed his weapon at Maggie’s chest and shrugged his shoulders. “You heard the man.”
Maggie gripped the phone so tightly that she thought it would snap in half at any second. Her gaze lingered on Craig for a moment and then moved to Fagan. Reluctantly, she jammed the phone back in her pocket and stepped toward the window.
There had to be another way to get to the sniper.
If they had more time, they could wait for the cover of darkness to provide more options, but the Director didn’t have that long.
The patch of trees was between a quarter of a mile and half a mile away. It rested on a hill not far from the field lane. A wide ditch, maybe three feet deep, ran the length of the lane.
But fifty yards of open ground lay between the ditch and the front of the house.
Maggie moved to the side window. A small brown and white shed covered with rotting wood siding sat to the south of the main house. The split-rail fence ran a few feet behind the shed, separating the yard from the empty field. The fence ran down to the lane.
If she could reach the shed, then she could reach the fence. If she reached the fence, she could use it as partial cover to crawl up to the ditch. If she could reach the ditch, she could crawl out to the sniper’s nest and come at him from behind. If he didn’t see her. If he stayed in one spot. If she didn’t get shot between the house and the shed or between the ditch and the patch of trees.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. That was a hell of a lot of ifs.
But it was also the best shot they had.
She walked back to Andrew and said, “I think I can get to the sniper by crawling through the ditch that runs along the lane. But I need a distraction so that I can reach that old shed.”
Andrew shook his head. “I should be the one going.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Now’s not the time for chivalry. I’m not a doctor. You need to stay with your patient.”
“I’ve done everything I can for him right now.”
“And what if his condition changes?”
Andrew said nothing. Maggie asked, “So what about that distraction?”
A voice called out from the next room. It was strong and confident despite being muffled by the layers of old wood and plaster. Maggie opened the solid oak door leading into the dining room. The two guards raised their shotguns in her direction, but she ignored them. Her feet creaked against the hardwood as she walked over to the killer. Pulling off his hood, she said, “What do you want?”
Ackerman replied, “I said send me. I’ll be your distraction.”