Andrew Peterson - Forced to Kill

“Copy.”

The lasers would stay dark until they pressed the activation buttons on the butts of their weapons. He reached up to his visor, pivoted the NV monocular down to his left eye, and powered it up. Once again, the nighttime world around him turned bright green. He adjusted the input to a slightly lower gain and slowed his pace. At the property corner, the rail fence converged into a Y intersection. A second fence, presumably the western boundary of the target property, joined the obtuse angle and ran in a northerly direction. At the convergence of the fences, he crouched down and held up his right fist, putting Harv on hold. He conducted a slow sweep of the area on both sides of El Camino Real.

Nothing moved. All quiet.

The absence of wind made their job more difficult. It was eerily quiet. Every snapped twig or crunch of leaves under their boots would be detected if dogs were present.

He motioned Harv up to his position and whispered, “Thermal sweep.”

To prevent bleed light, Harv kept the rubber eye shield pressed firmly against his face and scanned through an arc covering everything between themselves and the property’s driveway.

“Affirmative,” Harv said. “Ten o’clock, plus thirty.” Harv moved slightly left to get a better look. “Body down. Not bright enough to be alive.”

“Anything between us and the signature?”

Harv made another sweep. “Negative, nothing showing.”

“Okay, let’s advance up the property line until we’re parallel with the signature. Ten yard separation.”

“I’ll stay on the thermal imager.”

He followed the rail fence, taking slow, deliberate steps, avoiding the thickest areas of dead leaves. With a little luck, he might hear an approaching dog crunch through the dry ground cover before it lunged for his throat. So far, he hadn’t seen any signs of canine activity. No worn trails or droppings. Through sporadic breaks in the landscaping, he caught glimpses of what looked to be a mansion. All of its second floor windows were dark. He couldn’t see the ground floor windows along the north side of the house, but the glow they produced revealed a large, open area, presumably a paved parking area surrounded by trees.

A hand signal brought Harv up to his position. They knelt. He nodded toward the body several yards away. “Good guy or bad guy?”

“Probably a good guy. Montez could be long gone.”

“I’m gonna check him.”

He approached slowly and crouched down. The image in his NV scope revealed a single bullet wound to the back of the head. He didn’t bother checking for a pulse. This man wasn’t Hispanic. He looked African-American and wore black SWAT-type clothing with tactical body armor.

“Dead body found,” he whispered. “Single shot to the back of the head. Never saw it coming. If there were any dogs, it’s a good bet they’re dead too. We-”

They both heard it.

Cars doors closing-up at the house.

Then an engine started. Someone was leaving.

The vehicle’s headlights snapped on, turning the surrounding area painfully bright through his NV scope.

“Harv, form up.”

Within seconds, Harv joined him at the dead man. “That could be Montez.”

“Let’s move.”

The twin headlight beams swept through the trees as the vehicle turned around and started down the driveway. They both took off at a dead run.

They weren’t going to make it.

They had to cover more than a hundred and fifty yards. An Olympic sprinter couldn’t do it, especially over this terrain.

Ignoring the low branches whipping against his face, Nathan dug deeper for more energy and angled toward El Camino Real to gain speed from running downhill.

He stole a glance to his left and saw it. A light-colored van, probably white was halfway down the driveway already and he still had seventy yards to cover.

“ You got a shot ?” Harv asked.

“No.”

Fifty yards.

“Harv, beeline for El Camino Real. If the van turns right, you might get a shot. Dalton’s daughters could be in the van. Tires only.”

“ Copy .”

In a full sprint, Nathan brought his suppressed Sig up and toggled the laser, but the beam couldn’t penetrate the low-hanging branches. What if it wasn’t Montez? It could be a neighbor. Or a friend. Or relative. Anyone could be in that van. It could even be Director Cantrell’s people. He couldn’t risk killing an innocent, even it meant letting Montez get away.

Thirty yards.

The van slowed to negotiate a hairpin turn in the driveway.

Fifteen yards.

As it rounded the corner, the face in the passenger’s window turned.

And looked directly at him.

In the green image of his NV scope, the face smiled. A face he knew as well as his own. A face from the depths of hatred and insanity. A face he’d vowed to remove from its skull if ever given the chance.

“It’s Montez. Passenger seat.”

“ I’m almost to the road. ”

In a gesture of brazen mockery, his former tormentor blew a kiss good-bye.

You son of a bitch. He brought his Sig up and toggled the laser. He’d only get one shot.

It had to count.

He skidded to a stop, took a deep breath, and painted the laser on Montez’s window-

And didn’t pull the trigger.

A second face had materialized.

A young girl. In the backseat. One of Dalton’s daughters. He couldn’t risk it. And the foliage along the driveway kept him from targeting the van’s tires.

“Hold your fire!”

“ Copy. ”

Five seconds later he heard the van screech onto El Camino Real. With a sickening twist of his stomach, he knew they’d never reach Harv’s Mercedes in time to follow.

And just like that, Montez was gone.

Montez caught only a glimpse of the dark figure sprinting toward the van. Whoever he was, he wasn’t going to make it. A third bodyguard? Not likely. A few jolts of the stun gun to Duane Dalton’s exposed nerve endings verified there’d only been two bodyguards and two dogs patrolling the property. Arturo had eliminated all four threats with ease.

So who was that man back there? Could it be the same man who’d taken down his assault team in Clairemont? This guy was big-not just big-huge. And probably military or former military. Just like at Bullfrog Bay. The same person? The more Montez thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

His trap to capture or eliminate his pursuers was set, but would it work? He pulled his cell and called a phone number he’d extracted from Dalton.

“Harv, double-time back up here. We’re going inside the house. Let me know when you’ve got me on the TI.”

“ Copy. ”

The bastard had blown a kiss. What an arrogant jerk. Let’s see you do that again after I’ve burned your lips off with a cigar torch. He’d been so close. Now Montez could be going anywhere in the world, and being a master at disguise, he’d disappear without a hitch. And to make matters worse, they might’ve just signed the death warrant for Nichole Dalton’s daughters. Cantrell had told him not to approach this house. Had she known Montez was here? No, Montez would’ve been intercepted and taken into custody. So what was Cantrell’s concern? Why did she-

“ I’ve got you. The edge of the driveway at the hairpin. ”

He clicked his radio and heard Harv crunch up the slope through the leaves-all stealth abandoned. “What happened?” Harv said, winded from his sprint.

“I saw one of Dalton’s girls in the backseat. I couldn’t see the other.”

“You made the right decision.”

“I had him. The son of a bitch blew me a kiss as he went by.” He kicked the ground, fouling the driveway with dirt.