Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

As Garin peeked out the window he saw the passenger-side door of the vehicle to the right of the house open. The dome light didn’t come on. Garin’s hand gripped the pistol in his pocket as he watched a man in a dark polo shirt and trousers walk across the street to a head-high row of hedges, probably to relieve himself. He appeared about five foot ten and 175 pounds. As the man disappeared between two hedges, Garin looked for any activity from the other sentinels. A few moments later, the man reemerged, his face turned toward the house. There wasn’t enough light to identify any features other than two large jug ears.

Seconds after the man got back into the car, Garin heard the muffled pounding of several feet coming down carpeted stairs. The three kids, each clutching a sleeping bag, descended. Four-year-old Kimmy came down first, followed by Nicholas, six, and Alex, eight. It was clear that they were excited to see their uncle Mike and believed they were embarking on some grand adventure. Despite having been awakened only minutes earlier, each was alert and grinning like it was Christmas morning. They gathered around Garin at the foot of the stairs. Smiling, he knelt and gave them each a hug.

Katy followed a few steps behind, carrying a large duffel bag. Her expression was one of concern, but she smiled fleetingly as Garin rose to give her a hug. Behind her, Joe was carrying a matching duffel bag.

“Guys,” Garin said to the kids, “go wait in the living room for a second.” They shuffled off obediently.

Garin turned to Katy and Joe standing in the hallway. “Katy, I’m sorry,” Garin said. She frowned as if offended that Garin thought it necessary to apologize. The tall brunette was smart, mentally tough, and utterly devoted to her little brother. Garin liked to tease her that she was at least partially responsible for making him the son of a bitch he was. “Joe fill you in?” Garin asked her.

Katy nodded.

“We need to move quickly. I’m pretty sure they’re only after me, but for all I know, those guys outside are just waiting for backup before they move in. My car’s on Elmwood, behind the house. I’ll lead us out the back, take up a position next to the pool, and provide cover until you and the kids get to the back fence. Wait for me there. Don’t go over the fence until I catch up and make sure it’s clear.”

“Do you need me to cover too?” Joe asked.

“What are we talking?”

“Shotgun. I’ve got a Benelli Nova Pump in the basement.”

“We’ll scare the kids if we come out heavy.”

“No, they’ll love that,” Katy countered. “We’ll say we’re hunting for bears or something.” Katy Burns, thought Garin, suburban mother of three and part-time commando.

“All right,” Garin said. “I’ll still lead us out, but instead, Joe, you cover the rear. Car’s a Crown Vic. It’ll be tight, but it should fit all six of us. We go in thirty seconds.”

Katy went into the living room to tell the kids they were going camping and to keep an eye out for bears and coyotes. Joe retrieved the Benelli from the basement. Garin checked on the sentinels one last time. They appeared to be in their cars.

Garin looked back down the hall toward the sliding screen door, where Katy’s family was gathered, and felt nervous. Once they went out that door, they would be exposed. If the sentinels spotted them, their assignment could turn from surveillance to execution. Garin regularly placed the lives of highly trained warriors in danger, but placing the lives of family members in jeopardy was far more difficult.

Garin stepped out the sliding screen door and scanned the perimeter of the yard before waving Katy and the kids forward. Joe came out last, duffel bag strapped over his left shoulder, shotgun cradled across his chest and right arm, and closed the door behind him.

Garin heard a soft thump that came from somewhere up front, possibly the closing of a car door. He held his arm up, motioning for everyone to stop, the kids hoping that some mythical creature might be nearby. Looking at Joe, Garin jerked his head to the left, indicating that Joe should look around the side of the house to see what was going on out front.

Joe glanced quickly to the front yard. Seeing no change there, he turned around, shook his head, and motioned for Garin to proceed.

Once everyone was over the fence, they crossed the street to the Crown Victoria. Garin popped the trunk and they placed the bags inside. Then they piled into the car, Joe literally riding shotgun, with Katy and the kids in the back.

“When I say ‘go,’ everyone close your doors, gently, at the same time,” Garin instructed. “Go.” The doors closed in unison, one soft thump.

“Everyone in back put your heads down so the bears don’t know how many of us are in the car,” Garin directed. It didn’t make sense, but neither did hunting for bears in the middle of the night in suburban Cleveland.

Garin started the car, drove to the next intersection, and turned right — away from where the sentinels were parked. After driving for a minute, checking the rearview mirror for any signs of a tail, he gave everyone permission to sit up, which the kids also took as permission to speak. A fusillade of questions was fired, most of which dealt with why Uncle Mike was taking them bear hunting in the middle of the night. Since Katy had proposed the story, Garin decided to let her handle the questions. As she did, he turned to Joe and said, “I’ll tell you as much as I can when we’re outside the kids’ earshot.”

“Mike, where are we going?”

“A place no one else in the world knows about,” Garin replied. “If they’re capable of finding us there, we never had a chance to begin with.”

NORTHEAST OHIO

JULY 14 2:05 A.M. EDT

They had been driving for several minutes on an isolated two-lane road in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park approximately thirty miles south of Cleveland when Garin turned left onto a dirt path barely wide enough for the Crown Victoria to pass. As he drove along the rough ground, brush and tree branches scraped along the sides of the car. The middle of the path was overgrown with tall weeds and was crisscrossed with low-hanging vines from adjacent trees.

After they’d driven for nearly half a mile, the path ended. They drove up a slight grade for another two hundred yards until the density of the trees prevented them from proceeding farther. About seventy-five feet ahead, barely visible through the foliage, was a small cabin in a miserable state of disrepair. The steps leading to the porch were rotting away, the porch railing was askew, and the two front windows were broken. Nailed to a tree twenty-five feet from the front door was a superfluous NO TRESPASSING sign that Joe surmised had been posted sometime during the Hoover administration. Next to the tree was something that at one time may or may not have been a well.

Joe turned to Garin with a look that said, “You’re kidding me.”

Kimmy asked the obvious question. “Mommy, why are we stopping here ?”

“I’m not sure but I’m hoping Uncle Mike is about to tell us there’s a Holiday Inn behind this house.”

Garin turned off the lights and engine. They were instantly enveloped in total blackness.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” Garin declared as he opened the car door. “Follow me. Be careful, and watch your step. There’s a lot of exposed roots.”

The other doors opened and the Burns family emerged from the vehicle with trepidation. The kids’ expectation of an exciting Uncle Mike adventure had been replaced by doubts about his sanity.

Garin produced a flashlight from the trunk and led Katy’s family to the cabin’s front door. Katy couldn’t imagine any reason why the door would be locked and, indeed, her brother simply pushed it open and entered, floorboards sinking beneath his feet.