Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

Garin resisted the temptation to run toward Tanski’s body. There was nothing he could do for him, and the sniper would be able to cut him down easily in the open field. Instead, he continued to listen for sounds of the assassin making his retreat — branches snapping, the crunch of leaves underfoot. He heard and saw no signs whatsoever of the gunman. Had the sniper seen Garin stand up a split second before shooting Tanski? Garin thought it unlikely. The sniper had probably had Tanski in his scope for several seconds before taking the shot and with his concentration on his target wouldn’t have seen Garin. Garin wondered, however, whether the sniper had noticed the confused expression on Tanski’s face just a moment before the shot. He should have, and if he was good, he wouldn’t dismiss it. If he was good, he would wait a moment. He would try to determine if Tanski had spotted something — a person, an animal — or if his target had just remembered a forgotten errand. He would wait until he was reasonably certain there was no one else in the vicinity before making his exit.

The sniper would be the first to move. He had no evidence that anyone was around, and he held the weapon that killed Tanski. When someone came looking for Tanski, they would come looking for him, too. So Garin kept his head down and waited for a moment. And listened.

It took less time than Garin expected. Within a few minutes his trained ear heard the barely perceptible sound of fabric against underbrush. He looked in the direction of the noise and saw movement approximately one hundred yards down the ravine. The sniper was good — he had moved an appreciable distance through dense woods making nary a sound. Garin crawled back behind the tree line and rose to his feet. He couldn’t get a clear visual on the sniper but detected a slight movement of branches and leaves. He momentarily raised his weapon in the direction of the movement but considered the noise the discharge would make reverberating through the ravine and stopped. Given the distance, and with all the trees and brush in the way, the odds of hitting the sniper with a pistol were poor. If he was going to alarm the neighbors and alert law enforcement with gunfire, he’d better make it worthwhile. He decided to pursue the sniper and see if he could get a clear shot.

Garin scrambled down the ravine toward the creek as fast as he could while making as little noise as possible. At the same time he kept his eyes trained in the direction where he’d seen movement and prepared to hit the ground if he saw a raised rifle or heard a shot.

A minute later Garin crossed the creek and paused to listen for movement. He saw and heard nothing. He climbed the other side of the ravine rapidly, once again feeling the sensation of being in a sniper’s sights. If the sniper had gotten near the crest, he might easily be able to pick Garin off.

He emerged from the ravine about sixty yards north of where he’d hidden the Jeep. As he turned toward the vehicle, he heard tires spinning on the gravel access road, as if someone was trying to leave in a hurry. Sprinting through the tall grass, he could see a cloud of dust billowing upward approximately one hundred yards south of the Jeep. Upon clearing the grass, he leveled his weapon at the receding car, the rear of which was completely concealed by a curtain of the chalky dust kicked up from the gravel.

Garin held his fire. He couldn’t shoot what he couldn’t see. For the moment, Tanski’s assassination would go unavenged.

And Garin’s predicament had worsened.

NORTHERN VIRGINIA

JULY 13 5:42 P.M. EDT

Tanski’s assassination confirmed Garin’s initial suspicion that someone had taken out his entire team, but part of him insisted on remaining in denial. After all, how could seven of the most skilled operators in the world, plus, apparently, their support, be eliminated so effectively? Who had that kind of capability? What was the motive?

So after leaving Tanski’s he drove quickly to the residences of each and every member of Omega and its support team to confirm whether they were dead or alive. First, Cal Lowbridge’s, where an inconsolable Jerri gave Garin the news. Then to Manny Camacho’s, where an ambulance crew was in the process of taking his wife, Miriam, to the hospital and a neighbor hovering nearby explained that the cops had found the bodies of Manny and someone named Calhoun. Garin made an anonymous call to the Prince William County Sheriff’s Office after finding Rod Mears lying on his side on his kitchen floor, the back of his head blown away.

And on it went — Joe Calabrese, the members of the support team — yet after each confirmation, Garin held out hope that someone had escaped the slaughter.

But any remaining doubt evaporated when he drove to John Gates’s house in Dumfries, to check the last member of Omega. Garin stopped a block from his destination. The place now consisted only of a brick fireplace and damaged chimney surrounded by smoldering embers that had once been Gates’s home. Much of the yard was surrounded by yellow police tape. Two yellow fire department SUVs were all that remained of the crew that had extinguished the blaze several hours earlier. Several arson investigators and technicians were picking through the rubble. Garin knew, if they hadn’t already done so, they would soon find the remnants of Gates’s body. And he knew that he was now the only surviving member of Omega.

Garin turned the Jeep around and headed back to his apartment in Dale City. He needed to tend to the grim matter of body disposal. He considered dispensing with the chore — in the big picture, neatly getting rid of the corpses of two killers didn’t exactly qualify as a high-priority item. On the other hand, in the summer heat the bodies would begin decomposing and the stench would lead to their quick discovery and yet another problem Garin didn’t need.

The Saturday evening traffic on I-95 North was moving slowly. Garin, normally impatient, barely noticed, consumed by the events of the day. As he drove, it occurred to Garin that perhaps the only person he could trust now was Clinton Laws. The old soldier’s counsel and assistance might be essential to staying alive. So while the traffic inched along, he punched Laws’s number and waited. The phone rang but there was no answer, unusual for Laws. He disconnected and hit redial. Again no answer.

Garin took the Dale City exit and proceeded west on Dale Boulevard toward Minnieville. It didn’t take long for him to determine that body disposal wasn’t going to be on tonight’s agenda. Well before pulling into the apartment complex off Minnieville, he could see a number of official-looking vehicles surrounding his building. When he drew closer he could see more than a dozen individuals in distinctive blue FBI jackets standing on the grass immediately outside the open door of his apartment. Several floodlights shone on the entrance. Milling about just beyond the circle of FBI agents were dozens of apartment residents. Several Dale City police officers were standing next to cruisers occupying the parking spaces where Garin’s Jeep had been just a few hours earlier.

Flitting about the perimeter of the crowd was Emilio, searching for gaps in the ranks of the curious for a view into the apartment. Unsurprisingly, it took the hyper-vigilant Emilio only a few seconds to notice Garin’s Jeep seventy yards away in the drive off Minnieville. Garin put a finger to his lips, and Emilio, barely able to contain himself, gave a slow conspiratorial nod in response. That act alone would assume mythic proportions in the next Señor Lofton tale Emilio would tell his friends.

Garin carefully examined the scene for anything amiss, anything that might provide insight into who was behind the attack on his team. No one seemed out of place. Everyone appeared to be either law enforcement or residents of the complex. But one thing seemed obvious: Whoever had directed the attempt on his life, having failed, was now setting him up to take the fall. No one had seen him kill his two assailants. No one had cause to call the police, let alone the FBI. And no one had cause to enter his apartment. Yet the place was overrun with law enforcement. Someone wanted the authorities to know he had killed the two men whose bodies were now being carted out of the unit.