Cliff Ryder - Aim And Fire

The modified Ford F550’s powerful V-10 engine roared as it ate up the miles between Tracy and her target.

Although the road was narrow and winding, her driving skills made all the difference as she navigated the dirt lane, gaining on the truck ahead of her with every passing minute. It helped that the terrorist was having a hard time controlling his vehicle, having to sacrifice speed for safety.

Tracy powered around a final turn and her headlights lit up the back of the fleeing truck just as it sailed down a small hill. She followed, gaining enough speed to draw to within inches of his rear bumper.

Okay, now what? Tracy frowned as she realized she had been concentrating so hard on catching him that she hadn’t thought out much of a plan beyond that. The road was too narrow to pull alongside and force him off the road.

Shooting at him was also out of the question; not only would it be a wasted attempt here, but she needed both hands to control the steering wheel. That left only one thing to do.

Flooring the accelerator again, Tracy crept up to within a yard of the other truck’s bumper, then surged ahead, tapping the lighter truck with her much heavier vehicle.

The pickup slewed from side to side as the terrorist fought to regain control.

One more oughta do it… Tracy pulled up and rammed the rear bumper just as they were about to head into a turn.

The additional force kept the first truck going in a straight line. It crashed into the desert scrub, destroying trees and brush as it plowed across the land.

While Tracy had hoped to overturn it, she wasn’t about to miss her advantage. Dropping the SWAT truck back into four-wheel drive, she followed the trail of destruction into the plain, scanning the hardpan for any sign of him.

About twenty yards ahead was the pickup truck, its driver’s side facing the front of her truck. Al-Kharzi was trying to get back to the road. Every detail was highlighted as if the truck were parked in daylight, from its dust-caked fenders and windows to the face looking through the window at her.

Tracy grinned and crushed the accelerator to the floor.

She surged ahead, aiming squarely at the midsection of the truck. Frozen between driving away and running, Sepehr made a halfhearted attempt to move the truck out of her path, then ducked out of sight a second before impact.

The big truck slammed into the pickup’s side with a tremendous screech of crumpling metal and broken glass. It sent the smaller vehicle skidding across the ground with enough force to flip it over, crushing the roof of the cab as the truck completed its roll and landed on its side, the undercarriage facing her.

Thrown into the seat restraints by the impact, Tracy gasped in a breath before extricating herself from the straps and getting out. Her ribs ached each time she inhaled.

Drawing her pistol again, she approached the wreck, every sense alert, waiting for him to pop out and try something.

A part of her hoped he would.

Leading with her weapon, Tracy came around the twisted and dented hood, covering the passenger compartment first.

Sepehr was lying there, half in and half out of the truck. He had smashed out the shattered safety windshield, which lay in one huge, fragmented piece on the ground in front of him, but he hadn’t gone any farther. His face was a mask of blood, and one leg was twisted under him.

Tracy aimed her pistol at him as he stared back at her.

For a moment, the agent and the terrorist looked into each other’s eyes.

Then Tracy lowered her pistol slightly. “Sepehr al-Kharzi, you are under arrest on the charges of intent to commit a terrorist act against the United States, conspiracy to commit a terrorist act against the United States and illegal possession of nuclear materials and a weapon of mass destruction. And by the time we’re done, I’m sure the U.S. government will have come up with plenty more charges to pile on you.”

Through the blood and broken teeth, Sepehr began to chuckle, then laugh. Tracy let him, figuring he’d let her in on the joke soon enough.

“Stupid American cow. There is no more American government. It has been destroyed. Washington, D.C….

New York…all burning now…”

Tracy shook her head. “I thought you might say something like that. But you’re wrong. We stopped your rocket, brought it down in a lake in Illinois. That bomb never got the chance to take out those cities or anywhere else. In fact, we’re recovering the warhead right now. It’s over.”

The terrorist pushed himself up on one arm. “You… lie…you’re lying…”

“I don’t have any reason to lie. You’ll see that your mission has failed soon enough.” Tracy produced a pair of handcuffs. “There are some people back in D.C. who can’t wait to talk to you.”

“No American woman is going to arrest me!” The wounded man grabbed the window frame of the truck, seemingly oblivious to the pieces of broken glass that sliced into his hand. He hauled himself to his feet.

“Stand right there and raise your hands over your head.”

Tracy adjusted her stance and aimed at his chest.

“No American whore is going to arrest Sepehr al-Kharzi!” Biting his lip, he took a step toward her.

“Stop right where you are!” Tracy ordered, lining her pistol sights on him. “Stop or I will shoot!”

Sepehr took another step, and as he did so, he brought his left hand out from behind his back, bringing up a small black pistol. Tracy squeezed the trigger of her SIG Sauer twice, the bullets entering the terrorist’s chest and making him collapse against the hood of the truck. He tried to raise the pistol, and Tracy fired once more, this one carving into his neck. Sepehr al-Kharzi slid to the ground.

Tracy holstered her pistol. “No, but an American woman killed you, you psychotic fuck.” She took a deep breath and walked back to the truck, spotting lights from the rest of the Border Patrol in the distance. Opening the passenger’s door, she picked up the phone and flipped it over.

“Stephanie? It’s Tracy. I’m afraid you’re not gonna like this.”

Tracy sat on a park bench, watching Jennifer play on the wooden equipment. Paul played with her for several minutes, until she joined a larger group of children on a merry-go-round. Then he let her run off, and walked back to Tracy. But every few seconds, Jennifer looked over, making sure she was still there.

Her return flight had touched back down in D.C. two days earlier, but Tracy still wasn’t used to being back. The humid dampness seemed oppressive after the dry, hot desert, and the buildings and corridors of power no longer held the same interest for her. Even as she watched Jennifer laugh and run and play in the summer sunshine, even as she smiled and waved back at her near stepchild, her mind was more than a thousand miles away, at an abandoned barn in the middle of the Texas plains.

“Tracy?”

With a start, she realized that Paul stood next to her and had said something. “I’m sorry, Paul, I was—distracted.”

“Yeah, much like you’ve been ever since you returned.

Look, I know you asked me not to pry but…is there anything you wanted to talk about? Anything at all?”

Tracy looked at Paul, secure and comfortable in his short-sleeved shirt and L.L. Bean chinos, with leather deck shoes on his feet. Oh, Paul, there’s so much I want to tell you—and so much you’re not going to understand, she thought. She shifted her position on the bench, wincing a bit as her sore shoulder twinged.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Paul.” Tracy stared at Jennifer, her blond hair flashing in the sun, and tried to imprint the image in her mind, to take with her when she began her journey. “I resigned from DHS today.”