Jeremy Robinson - SecondWorld

There wasn’t a car in sight.

Then he saw it. A massive bull moose stood in the middle of the road watching them drive away. The giant easily outweighed the tiny car and towered over it. If they’d collided, he had no doubt the moose would have walked away after turning the car and its passengers into a metal-and-flesh pancake.

“Sorry,” Adler said. “Sorry.”

Miller sat up, raised the reclined seatback, and closed his eyes. The close encounter had set his heart pounding and adrenaline surging.

“It stepped right out in front of me,” Adler said, her voice full of apology.

Miller opened his eyes. “Haven’t been to New Hampshire before, I take it?”

“No,” Adler said. “Are moose common here?”

“They have bumper stickers that say, ‘Brake for moose.’” He smiled. “I nearly shot the bastard.”

“I don’t think your nine-millimeter would have done much.”

Miller looked at the gun. She was right. While it was great for putting deadly holes in a human body, the eight-foot-tall, fifteen-hundred-pound herbivore with a quarter-inch-thick hide would just be irritated by the small-caliber rounds.

“It’s a good thing we’re not going up against Nazi moose, then,” Miller said. He took stock of their surroundings. They were on a small winding road that lacked signs or even a double yellow line. A forest of pine, white birch, and maples lined both sides of the road. The windows were open and the eighty-degree air smelled of earth and trees with a hint of something sweet. After breathing inside the rebreather for so long, the fragrant air felt like a dream to Miller. “Where are we?”

“You looked tired,” she said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Miller rubbed his eyes. He probably could have slept for a few more hours, but felt a good deal better with the time he’d got. “Thanks.”

“We’re almost there. Maybe ten minutes out.”

This came as a surprise to Miller. “How did you find the way?”

She pointed to the iPhone propped up on the front dash cup holder. A map displayed a moving car and a series of winding roads surrounded by a flat green landscape. “Phone has GPS. Two more left turns and we’re there.”

Miller picked up the phone and scanned ahead on the map. He followed the blue trail marking the roads they would take. A small bridge crossing the far side of a lake lay a mile ahead. A left turn after that would take them along the side of the lake and another left onto Huber’s street, which looked like it crossed onto a small island. He zoomed in on the residence and found the house on the outer edge of the island, overlooking the lake.

Miller looked up and saw the bridge up ahead. It was big enough for just one car. A large lake emerged on the left of the bridge. A small pond lay to the right. Big houses with skylights, large decks, fire pits, and hammocks had been built along the shore. The water’s edge was lined with docks holding Jet Skis, pontoon boats, and an assortment of smaller canoes and paddle boats. As they passed over the small bridge Miller looked out over the lake and saw a streak of white. A boat cut across the surface pulling a large inner tube to which a bikini-clad girl clung.

The peaceful surroundings and summertime scene gave Miller hope that things could return to normal. And maybe they could stay here in New Hampshire where there was no real target of significance to worry about. With the populations of most major U.S. cities dwarfing that of the entire state of New Hampshire, he doubted it was high on anyone’s target list.

It was also the perfect place for an ex-Nazi to drop off the radar.

As they approached the left-hand turn just after the bridge, a large black SUV rounded a corner and headed casually toward them. Adler put on the blinker and waited for the beast on wheels to pass. Instead, it turned down the road before them.

“No one uses their turn signal anymore,” Adler grumbled.

But Miller didn’t hear her. He was focused on the SUV. Nothing about the vehicle stood out, really, but the men inside were a different story. He saw the driver through the front windshield as he steered the vehicle onto the street. He had a shaved head and pale skin. A man in the backseat was skinnier, but had the same close-cropped hair. Neither had the look of men about to hit the lake for a BBQ, fishing, or boating. Miller recognized the expression on their faces. He’d seen it on his fellow SEALs before every battle. They had the look of men about to spill blood. As they passed, he saw the silhouettes of two more men on the other side of the car. A hit squad if he ever saw one.

Miller tensed, hand on weapon, but the SUV kept on going, bouncing over a field of potholes before reaching the smooth pavement of the lake house association. They’re not here for us, he thought. They’re here for Huber!

“What’s wrong?” Adler asked, looking down at the Glock clenched in Miller’s hand.

“Get us up behind the SUV. But not too close.”

“Why?”

Miller pointed toward the SUV. “There are at least four hit men on their way toward Huber and if we don’t find a way to get there first, or stop them, we’ll be interviewing a corpse.”

The blood drained from Adler’s face, but she nodded and steered onto the road. The SUV disappeared around a corner as the Mini Cooper struggled with the potholes. Free of the rough road, Adler punched the gas and shot forward. The road was still small, but the Cooper had plenty of room to maneuver and its low center of gravity made hugging turns a snap.

But they only made it around the first corner before everything fell apart. The SUV was parked on the side of the road. All four occupants were out, standing across the road, aiming an assortment of weapons straight at them.

“Steer left and get down!” Miller said, and jammed his foot on top of Adler’s. The car shot forward as a barrage of gunfire peppered the front of the car. Glass flew. Adler screamed. A sound like giant popcorn kernels popping filled the car. The first impact to shake the car was accompanied by two shouts of pain. Their assailants’ strategy had been sound, but they’d staged the ambush too close to the corner. There wasn’t enough time for them to fire and get out of the way.

The second impact loosed a shriek of metal on metal. They’d struck the guardrail Miller had seen a split second before ducking. He sat up when the shriek stopped. They’d cleared the turn and had a stand of trees between them and the shooters.

“You hit?” he asked Adler as she sat up.

“I don’t think so,” she said, then looked out the windshield. “My car…”

The front hood had large dents on either side from where they’d struck the two men. The windshield had been shredded by rounds as the shooters had focused on hitting flesh first instead of stopping the car. But when white steam began billowing from the front of the car, Miller knew the engine had taken a few high-caliber hits.

Miller glanced at the iPhone map. They had half a mile to cover before the turn for Huber’s street, and then a quarter mile to his house. “Gun it for as long as you can,” Miller said.

Adler did an impressive job keeping the Cooper moving fast and on the street. But the increasing amount of steam and ruined windshield made it nearly impossible to see. Before Miller could tell Adler to pull over, the engine coughed and died. They rolled to a stop just thirty feet from the left turn onto Huber’s road. The road dropped away on their left. The lake lapped against a rocky shore twenty feet down. To their right and directly ahead was nothing but forest.

“Get out!” Miller shouted as he snatched the iPhone, stuffed it in his pocket, and kicked open his door.