Chris Kuzneski - The Hunters

‘McNutt,’ Cobb said to his sniper.

‘Already on it,’ McNutt assured him.

Agent Callahan had no idea what he had stumbled into.

Fortunately for him, McNutt had his back.

He fired four times in rapid succession. The first three ripped through his targets’ knees, instantly dropping them to the ground. The fourth hit a guard in his ass cheek simply because McNutt was tired of shooting them in their knees. From this distance — with this rifle and this scope — he could have shot off a nipple if he had wanted to.

Callahan seized the opportunity to hide, diving behind a red canoe that was upside down in the sand. He didn’t know who had shot the guards or why they were willing to rescue him, but he said a short prayer of thanks while keeping his head low.

The guards on the street heard the gunshots on the beach. A moment later, they heard the wails of men who had never taken a bullet.

The sound was unmistakable.

Like injured coyotes calling to their pack, the screams of the injured men were an announcement to the entire community. Their message was loud and clear: Everyone, come quick! They’re right here! Just follow the sound of my voice!

The gunmen came in astonishing numbers.

Cobb drew his pistol and turned toward Kozlov’s mansion. He couldn’t see them yet, but he knew the Russians were coming. They weren’t the most highly trained guards, but they were headstrong and dedicated to their cause. And there were dozens of them. He and Sarah crouched low, waiting for the inevitable firefight.

‘Get moving!’ McNutt demanded. ‘Get to the water behind me! You’ll be okay once your feet hit the surf.’

Cobb argued. ‘We’ll never make it if we don’t slow them down. Without a show of force, they’ll-’

‘Just get to the water!’ McNutt shouted. ‘Let me worry about the show of force. You guys just turn and run.’

Neither Cobb nor Sarah moved.

McNutt kept shouting. ‘Do it now, or I’ll shoot you myself!’

With that, Cobb and Sarah sprinted toward the water.

As gunmen emerged on the beach, McNutt picked them off, one by one. Eventually they slowed down and hunkered behind garbage cans, sand dunes, and whatever else they could find to offer them protection from the hail of bullets.

But the break was only momentary.

They quickly realized they severely outnumbered the intruders, so they spread their troops out wide. McNutt tried to keep pace — sweeping his rifle from left to right and back again — but he couldn’t compete with the sheer numbers. It seemed that every man he shot was instantly replaced by another, who was equally willing to take a bullet. McNutt was happy to oblige, but his single-shot rifle limited his effectiveness.

‘Screw this,’ McNutt said. ‘I’m going to plan C.’

Cobb glanced at Sarah. ‘Plan C? What’s plan C?’

‘No idea,’ she admitted.

‘Me, neither,’ Garcia said in their ears.

McNutt pulled a flat controller from the pocket of his cargo shorts. It looked as if he had installed two rows of light switches in a small cigar box. ‘Plan B stands for beach bum . That plan ain’t working, so I’m moving to plan C.’

‘I say again,’ Cobb yelled as they ran past McNutt’s position, ‘what the hell is plan C?’

McNutt smiled. ‘C stands for cars .’

The sniper put his forearm against the first row of switches and flipped them all at once. A split second later, ten cars exploded in the neighborhood. Some of them had been parked near Kozlov’s mansion. Others had been parked on surrounding streets. All of them were now little more than twisted piles of burning fuel and melting metal.

McNutt grinned like a mischievous kid.

One of the targeted cars was parked less than a hundred feet from the surveillance van. The explosion was so powerful it shattered the van’s bulletproof windows and knocked the surveillance feeds off the air.

Koontz, who was calling for backup at the time of the blast, was thrown violently to the floor. He quickly scrambled for cover in the corner of the van.

‘They’ve got missiles!’ he shouted into the phone. ‘The Russians have missiles! Someone call the President! We’re being invaded!’

Crouching in knee-deep water, Sarah could see flames shooting higher than the roofs that lined the beach. ‘Holy shit! What the hell was that ?’

‘ That ,’ McNutt laughed, ‘was plan C.’

Kozlov’s forces, once unified in their assault, were now thoroughly confused. Most of the gunmen retreated to the house. They knew protecting their boss was their first priority, and whatever this was — whether a diversionary tactic or the start of World War III — could be dealt with after they were sure that Kozlov was safe.

However, a few hard-core assailants held firm in their pursuit of McNutt. He watched in amazement as they fired aimlessly toward him.

‘Persistent pricks,’ McNutt said under his breath before turning his attention to Cobb and Sarah. ‘You guys alright?’

Cobb answered. ‘We’re fine. What about you?’

‘Don’t worry about me. I have one more surprise for these bastards.’

‘Do I want to know?’

‘Probably not.’

Cobb glanced out into the water where two single-rider jet skis were anchored in the surf. He and Sarah would use them to flee the scene.

‘You’re sure you’re okay?’

‘I’m better than okay,’ McNutt bragged. Then, as if to prove a point, he fired one more shot at the guards. In the distance, one of them squealed in pain.

Cobb nodded. ‘Nice shooting. See you soon.’

‘You got it, chief.’

Whistling to himself, McNutt dismantled his rifle while Cobb and Sarah swam toward their jet skis. Once they were out of range, McNutt flipped the second row of switches on his controller. In a flash, a wall of flames rose from the sand. It stretched the entire length of the beach — Cobb, Sarah, McNutt, and Callahan on one side, the fleeing mob on the other. It was as if the coast had been hit with a strafing run of napalm. In reality, it was all the devices he had planted while he was pretending to look for treasure.

McNutt cackled with glee as he jumped from the roof of the lifeguard shack. He jogged over to a nearby fence where he uncovered the motorcycle he had stored there hours before. He stowed his rifle in the saddlebags then climbed aboard his bike as if mounting a horse. He even patted its side while making horsy sounds.

To complete his charade, McNutt tipped an imaginary cowboy hat toward Callahan, who was still trying to figure out why the mysterious stranger had saved his life. Then, before the Fed could see his face or try to question him, McNutt revved his bike’s accelerator and roared up the beach into the darkness.

Friday, August 24

Fort Lauderdale, Florida

The early-morning sun streamed into Terminal 1 at the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport. The overworked air conditioner tried to compete, but it was fighting a losing battle. During the summer months, the local weather forecast rarely changed: temperature in the mid-nineties with a chance of afternoon thunderstorms. And when it did change, it was only because a hurricane was passing through.

Needless to say, Cobb wasn’t thrilled about the locale.

He had spent enough time in Iraq to be an expert on stifling heat, but there was something about the shirt-drenching humidity of Florida that really pissed him off. He was dressed comfortably — black T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers — yet he could already feel his clothes sticking to him as he strolled up the walkway.

Of course, Cobb had no one to blame but himself. If he had used the first-class ticket that had been bought for him, his flight from LaGuardia wouldn’t have landed until later that afternoon. But due to his careful nature, he decided to fly in several hours early under an assumed name. And he wouldn’t be traveling from New York.