C. Box - Force of Nature

“Yes.” He nodded. “Unless that guy back there was lying or somehow tipped off Nemecek. But I don’t think so, given the circumstances.”

She cringed at the word circumstances and said, “You made that poor man back there make a call on his cell. What was that about?”

“I told him to call his team leader and tell him they’d lost Oscar and you. That you broke out of the cabin sometime during the night and they didn’t know where you went. That you were on the loose and they were coming back to reconnoiter.”

Haley looked over, puzzled. “Why?”

“So it would throw a huge kink in Nemecek’s operation. The idea was to eliminate all the operators in Camp Oscar so they wouldn’t be able to help me. But if two of you got away, Nemecek would need to figure out how to track you down before you went to the cops or the media. It throws his timetable off and threatens the entire operation.”

“Did Nemecek buy it?”

Nate said, “It appears so. He got real quiet and told our operators to meet him at his command post.”

“Is it possible Trucker Cap told him something in code? That Nemecek will be expecting you?”

Nate shrugged, “Unlikely, but possible. I was right there with him, and I could hear both sides of the conversation. Nemecek got very calm and cold. That’s how he reacts to pressure. He doesn’t scream or threaten, he just goes dead. That’s when he’s the most dangerous.”

“So why tip him off that his plan went screwy?” she asked. “Why not just let him think everything is sailing along?”

Said Nate, “It’s a diversion. I want him to coil up for a while and stew in his own juices. If he’s trying to figure out what his next move will be, that family in Saddlestring might have a chance to get out of there before he turns on them. And it could give me the opportunity to get close enough to him to do some damage.”

“Then let’s go get him.”

Nate snorted.

“What?”

“If only it was that easy.”

“What do you mean?”

Nate took a few moments, then turned to her.

“He’s got me right where he wants me, but he doesn’t know it yet. He doesn’t need to send operators to flush me out or set up traps. I’m delivering myself straight to him.”

She gestured that she didn’t quite understand. “If we surprise him, won’t you have the advantage?”

“Yes,” Nate said.

“But what?” she prompted.

“I’m very good at this,” he said. “But John Nemecek is better. He’s my master falconer, and I’m his apprentice. I don’t expect to get out of this alive.”

Haley slowly covered her mouth with her hand in alarm.

He slowed the Jeep and edged it to the shoulder of the highway. A double reflector emerged from the dark, indicating the mouth of a two-track road that exited onto the highway. He turned on it and drove over a cattle guard and continued over a hill. On the way down the other side, the headlights illuminated an ancient wooden barn that stood alone on the edge of an overgrown field. The roof of the barn had fallen in years before, and the open windows gaped wide and hollow like eye sockets on either side of the rotting half-open barn door.

Haley sat in silence, but he could feel her eyes probe the side of his face, obviously wondering what his intentions were.

He stopped in front of the barn and kept his headlights on. Light snow sifted through the air.

“You’ve fired a gun,” he said, killing the motor but keeping the lights on.

“Yes,” she said, hesitating. “I used to go grouse hunting with my dad, but I didn’t like shooting them. And Cohen took me out to the range a couple of times, but I’d rather read a book than shoot.”

“Can you hit anything?”

She shrugged.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Get out.”

Nate found an aluminum beer can in the opening of the barn-there were dozens more inside, and he guessed the structure was a meeting place for wayward ranch hands-and speared it aloft on a nail that stuck out from the weathered wood on the barn door. It was eye level, fifty yards from the Jeep.

While Haley stood in front of the vehicle shuffling her feet and hugging herself against the cold, Nate drew out the Ruger Mini-14 Ranch rifle and handed it to her. He showed her how to load a round into the chamber by pulling back on the breech-bolt feeder, where the safety was located underneath, and how to raise it to her shoulder so the stock rested against her cheek.

“It’s called a peep sight,” he said, touching the small steel ring near the back of the action. “Look through it until you can see the front sight, which is a single blade.”

“Okay, I see it,” she said.

“Find the front sight in the middle of the circle. Exactly halfway up, and centered in the circle from side to side.”

“Okay.”

“When you aim, think of a pumpkin sitting on a post. The post is the top of the front sight. Put that beer can right on top of the front sight, remembering to make sure it’s in the center of the back circle. Make sense?”

It took her a few seconds, then she grunted.

“Keep both eyes open and squeeze the trigger.”

He stepped back. He was impressed that she held the rifle firmly and the barrel didn’t quiver.

The boom was sharp and loud, and the muzzle spit a tongue of orange flame.

“Wow,” she said.

“You missed,” Nate said. “High and to the right of the can by an inch. That means you flinched just as you pulled the trigger. Now breathe normally, don’t hold your breath, and do it right this time.”

“I was close.”

“You don’t get extra credit for trying and missing,” he said. “Instead, you get killed.”

“You can be an asshole sometimes,” she said as she raised the rifle again.

“Relax,” he assured her. “Pumpkin on a post.”

The second shot ripped the bottom of the can away.

“Do it again,” he said.

She fired until she’d emptied the thirty-round magazine and the air smelled sharply of gunpowder. Hot spent shells sizzled in the snow at their feet.

Nate said, “Twelve direct hits, nine near-misses, seven bad shots because you flinched. Overall, not so bad. Just remember: breathe, relax, both eyes open.”

She grinned and handed the rifle back to him. “Pumpkin on a post,” she said.

He nodded while he loaded fresh cartridges into the magazine and rammed it home. “Haley,” he said, “you’re a very good beer-can shooter. In fact, you’re a natural, as long as you remember all the steps. But I want to tell you something important, and I need you to listen carefully.”

His tone made her smile vanish, and she looked up at him openly.

“Knowing how to shoot is a small part of killing a man. Too many of these damned gun nuts think it’s all about their hardware, but it isn’t. It’s about keeping things simple.”

She nodded, urging him on.

“Don’t shoot unless you have a fat target. Aim for the thickest part of the target. Don’t try a head or neck shot-aim for the mass of his body. That way, if you flinch a little you still hit something vital. And don’t assume one shot will do it. That only works in movies or unless I’m shooting. Keep pulling the trigger until the target goes down. Then shoot him a few more times and run like hell. Got it?”

“Got it,” she said. “I just hope I won’t have to put all this advice into action.”

“Me, too,” Nate said, sliding the rifle back beneath the seat.

When he turned she was there, right in front of him. She reached up with both hands and pulled his head down and kissed him softly. He could taste her warm lips along with melting flakes of snow. His hands rested on her hips, and he could feel her fingers weave through his hair.