David Morrell: The naked edge

"At three hundred hours tomorrow morning, we'll secure the four approaches to the park." Using a red flashlight beam, Rutherford indicated areas on the map. "Once we know he can't escape, we'll wait until daylight. There's no use going in blind. The northern flank will progress into the search area, checking every conceivable place where someone might hide. The other flanks will remain in position to make sure the target stays trapped. Some of you might be wondering why every flank doesn't converge on the park, squeezing him into the center. That way, all of you would be part of the action. The answer is, we don't want you shooting each other in a crossfire if the target puts up a fight."

The group was so confident about their skills that they assumed Rutherford was joking. They chuckled, continuing to bond.

"We've got a great deal to accomplish in a very short time. Equipment. Weapons. Transportation. Timing. There'll be two staging areas: here and a high school a half mile from the park." Rutherford looked toward an official at the side. "West High. Is that right?"

The official nodded.

"After the students go home, we'll conduct practice drills in the track behind the school. Before we enter the search area, the streets near the park need to be blocked off. We also need to evacuate the homes that border the park. This is Special Agent Murphy from the FBI office in Des Moines. She'll organize you into north, south, east, and west units, as well as traffic diversion and evacuation teams. After that…"

One hour later, with the briefing almost concluded, Rutherford said, "Finally I want to introduce a man who knows the target intimately. They grew up here. They played in that park so often that it was practically their backyard. They served in the military together. They worked as protective agents together."

Cavanaugh climbed to the platform. Hundreds of faces studied him. New personnel entered through a door in back. He took the microphone from Rutherford. It made an electronic hum, then settled down.

"I won't take long. You're tired of listening. You want to get started."

They nodded, their eyes bright with the urge to hunt.

"When you see the park, you might conclude that there's little cover and it won't be hard to find him. You might feel confident because there are so many of you and you're going against only one man. Those attitudes could get you killed. Never forget that your quarry is ex-Delta Force. He has world-class training in camouflage and concealment. Fighting in unexpected ways is one of his specialties. Death is one of his specialties. When you go into that park tomorrow morning, you're entering his world. Suspect everything."

An FBI agent raised a hand. "But surely he realizes there's a good chance you won't show up alone tonight. Why would he gamble you won't turn him in?"

"Actually, I think he expects me to betray him by bringing help," Cavanaugh said.

The group looked puzzled.

"He wants to prove how superior he is," Cavanaugh continued. "For him, everything's a competition. He doesn't care if I bring even a small army to catch him. He's telling me he can outsmart all of you."

"Ten feet apart! No more than that!" Rutherford shouted. "We don't want any gaps in the line. On command, you'll step forward at the steady pace you've been practicing. Supervisors will follow, making certain each line remains straight. Most of you will keep your eyes toward the ground. Every eighth man will study the trees in case the target tries to hide in one. Each hollow. Each pile of leaves. Each fallen tree limb. Assume they conceal the target. Some of you will be in the creek bed. Look for tracks. Look for evidence that someone dug into a bank. If any of you think you've spotted something, blow the whistle you've been given. The line will stop while a team behind you checks the area in question. Your supervisors will tell you when to move forward again.

"Each of you has a firearm. Remember to keep it aimed ahead of you toward the ground or, if you're the eighth man, upward toward the trees. You know the basics. Do not point your weapon at anything you don't intend to destroy. Do not put your finger on the trigger unless you intend to pull it. Do not fire unless you're aware of what's behind your target. In other words, gentlemen and ladies, don't shoot each other. The rules of engagement are as follows. Capture, if possible. But remember, the target is ruthless and dangerous to an extreme. We want to interrogate him, but not at the expense of anyone's life."

"The personnel at the armory will be driven to the high school before dark," Rutherford told Cavanaugh after the briefing. "We'll use school buses. No one will pay attention to school buses going to a school. Starting at two hundred hours, each unit will walk the half mile from the school to the park. I don't want the noise from a lot of buses warning the target that we're coming. He might slip away before we're all in place. En route to the search area, the teams will be under orders not to talk.Can you think of anything else?"

"Rig a plane with an infra-red camera," Cavanaugh said. "Tonight, have the pilot fly over the park while someone takes photographs. Maybe you'll get Carl's heat signature on the pictures. You might find out where he's hiding."

"Please, remember my client's cooperation when his trial starts," William said.

The teams consumed hundreds of pizzas and sodas in the school's cafeteria. Afterward, they sprawled in the corridors and the gymnasium. Knowing that they'd soon be on the move, they dozed as best they could. At 1:30, they were wakened. They used the toilets whether they felt the urge or not. At two, they left the building. In the dark, a cold breeze made them zip their coats shut and shift from one foot to the other. As they assembled in their assigned groups, they heard a plane fly over.

Obeying the command not to speak, they hiked to the park. By three, they reached their appointed areas, spread out in lines that flanked the park, and waited. Lights came on in houses behind them. Troubled questions prompted orders to evacuate, automobiles soon driving away. Then the night became quiet.

Just before five, it started to drizzle.

"Rain!" Rutherford's voice was loud inside the van. "The forecast predicted it wouldn't start until late afternoon!"

"Inexact science," Cavanaugh said.

"By then, we'd have caught Duran! We'd have been out of here!"

The downpour pelted the van's window. At 6:30, what should have been a brilliant dawn was a dismal gray.

"Where are we going to find rain gear at this hour!" Rutherford complained. "The men are soaked! They'll get hypothermia!"

A car sped toward the van and skidded to a stop on the slick pavement.

"Finally," Rutherford said.

A man hurried from the car. Flecked with moisture, he scrambled inside the van and handed a manila envelope to Rutherford. "Here are your photos."

Impatient, Rutherford sorted through them. Frowning, he handed them to Cavanaugh. "See anything?"

"A few hot spots," Cavanaugh said. "This one's so small it's probably a squirrel. This other one looks like a dog."

"But no heat signature that looks like it came from a human being?"

Cavanaugh studied the photos a final time. "No."

"Then he lied to you, or you misunderstood the place he meant. He's not in there."

"Wrong," Cavanaugh said. "This is definitely the place, and this is part of his game."

"But a human being gives off heat. The infra-red image would show it if he's in the park."

"Unless he shielded himself so a camera wouldn't detect the heat."

"Buried himself?"

"It's one possibility."

"In that case, we don't have to worry because he's drowned by now!"