Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

EASTERN SHORE, MARYLAND

JULY 16 3:30 P.M. EDT

Julie Webber had worked as a rental agent for Terrapin Estates for four years. During that time she’d seen scores of people in colorful outfits, many covered with sand or mud. The rental units, after all, catered primarily to anglers and crabbers who spent the week or weekend trying their luck on Maryland’s Eastern Shore.

The man standing before her was soaking wet and his pants and shoes were caked with mud. Julie barely registered his disheveled appearance, however, because he had the body of a gladiator. Most Terrapin Estates patrons were balding, middle-aged men with paunches who couldn’t have spiked her interest had she spent the last decade in solitary confinement. So she patiently accommodated the man’s inquiries despite the fact that company policy forbade giving out customer information.

“Sir,” Julie said sweetly as she viewed the desktop computer screen, “we don’t show any rentals to Bobby Martin. Could he be under another name?”

Garin made a show of looking puzzled. He’d come to Terrapin to track down the people who had been trying to kill him the last few days. The piece of paper he’d retrieved from the dead Iranian in Chevy Chase was a paper napkin bearing the local address of a Phillips Crab and Lobster House about a quarter mile down the road from the Terrapin Estates rental office. A friendly Phillips waitress hadn’t remembered anyone fitting the dead Iranian’s description, but she helpfully pointed out that a number of her customers were renters from Terrapin. Garin traveled over to the rental office and made up Bobby Martin and a story about joining Bobby and his fraternity brothers for a few days of drinking and fishing.

“Maybe the rental’s under the name of one of my other buddies,” Garin said. “Do you remember a party of five or six guys checking in?”

“I don’t. But they could’ve checked in late afternoon after I’m off. Any party larger than five would probably be in either the Anne Arundel or the Severn. Those are our biggest units — four bedrooms and a rollout in the living room. They can comfortably sleep eight.”

“Could you check to see if anyone’s checked into either of those cabins?” Garin asked. “The guys probably arrived a few days go. I was supposed to join them earlier but couldn’t get away from my job until now. And unfortunately for me, they’ve probably drunk up all the beer already.”

Julie moved the mouse and clicked the icon on the screen for Severn. “This might be them. Yep. Eight guys. Checked in to Severn a few days ago. Rental’s under the name Joe Jones.”

No points for originality, Garin thought.

“It looks like maybe some more of your friends checked into the Anne Arundel, too,” Julie continued as she manipulated the mouse. “Seven other guys checked in at the same time as the Severn boys. But they checked out on Saturday. Is a Jim Smith one of your fraternity brothers?”

“Yes,” Garin lied. “I didn’t think he was coming down.” Joe Jones and Jim Smith. The Iranians hadn’t wasted any effort on cover names, but they had sent an army to kill Garin and the rest of his team. Garin guessed that the seven who had checked out of the Anne Arundel on Saturday consisted, in part, of the four-man team Garin had killed in Broome County, New York.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr.…?”

“Webster. No. You’ve been a great help. Do you mind if I go over to the Severn and check on my friends?”

“Will you be staying?” Julie asked hopefully. “The rental fee for an additional person is only eighty-five dollars per day.”

Garin pulled out his wallet and handed Julie ten twenties. “That should cover two nights. Do you mind if I fill out the rental agreement and get the receipt later?”

“No need to fill out a separate agreement. The one signed by Mr. Jones will suffice. I’ll just put an endorsement on it noting the new number of guests,” Julie said as she pulled out a drawer in a beige filing cabinet behind her. “But you’ll need your own key.”

Garin smiled as he took the key from Julie. A bit of charm to soften the mendacity. He hoped he wouldn’t cause any problems for her by damaging any of her nice cabins. “Maybe I’ll see you again in the next couple of days.”

Julie intended to make sure of it. “Do you need help getting to the Severn?”

“If you just point me in the right direction, I’m sure I can find my way.”

“Turn right as you go out the door. Go an eighth of a mile down the access road until it dead-ends. Then a left down the hill toward the bay. It’s right on the water. Parking in the rear.”

“Thanks,” Garin said as he walked toward the door of the rental office.

“Julie.”

Garin turned. “Pardon?”

“The name’s Julie. Shorter than writing ‘the hot blonde from Terrapin with the great ass’ in your diary.”

Garin smiled and walked out the front door.

The approach to the cabin would be problematic. Garin didn’t know how many Iranians were in the cabin, or their security arrangements. Some of them could be on sentry duty or patrolling the surrounding woods. Although the cabins had a fair amount of distance between them, other residents nearby would easily be able to hear any gunfire coming from the Severn. And given the clothing he was wearing, Garin couldn’t easily conceal a weapon with a suppressor attached.

Terrapin Estates was hilly and densely wooded. Most of the cabins ringed the bay, with approximately a hundred yards between them. A dirt path sloped from the access road to the Severn, a distance of approximately two hundred yards. Approaching the cabin on the dirt path would be suicide. Instead, Garin threaded his way carefully through the trees and brush leading to the rear of the cabin. When he was within thirty yards of the building, he lay on a soft mat of pine needles and surveyed the surroundings.

The cabin was a relatively modern two-story wooden structure. A wide porch wrapped around the exterior and a large deck spanned the width of the second floor. A simple wooden door flanked by two large windows covered most of the building’s rear, allowing a view of the upper portion of the first floor and through the windows to the blue-green waters of the bay.

For several minutes Garin saw no movement within the cabin or in the area immediately adjacent to it. Then a bearded man dressed in black cargo pants and a light gray T-shirt appeared in the center of what appeared to be the kitchen. He was powerfully built. Garin put his height and weight at approximately six feet four inches and 250 pounds. He looked as if he was placing a kettle on the stove.

A few moments later the bearded bull disappeared in the direction from which he came, only to be replaced by a smaller, athletically built man dressed in garb similar to the bull’s. The smaller man helped himself to the kettle’s contents and disappeared in the same direction as the bull. Neither man appeared to be armed.

Garin remained prone for several minutes before advancing slowly toward the cabin, pistol drawn, using the trees and brush for cover. He was able to see enough of the interior to determine that there probably were no more than two or three men inside the cabin. He wanted at least one of them alive.

Garin proceeded to within a few feet of the back door. He could see the head of the smaller man, who was seated on a couch in a living room to the right. As Garin was beginning to calculate the time it would take him to enter the cabin and disable the Iranian, he felt a powerful blow from behind and found himself airborne, the SIG jarred from his grasp. He crashed onto the porch with the bull landing on top of him, momentarily stunned.