'Where in the hell did you get that thing?' he demanded suspiciously.
Much too late, it occurred to Lightstone that an experienced wildlife agent like Boggs would certainly know that Common Blacksnakes were anything but common in the Pacific Northwest. In fact, as far as he knew, other than the ones that Bravo Team now possessed, and perhaps a very few more in a couple zoos, they were simply nonexistent
… which should have made it extremely difficult, at best, for Lightstone to find one anywhere near the Chosen Brigade's training compound.
But before he could think of something to say to distract Boggs, Wintersole interrupted.
'Never mind where he found it. Worry about what he's going to do with — '
The sound of animated voices and running footsteps distracted the Army Ranger first sergeant, and he opened the shed door just as one of the other young Rangers came running up.
'First Sergeant, we've got FBI agents at the compound gate.'
'How many?'
The young soldier hesitated. 'Uh, just two or three, I think. They're in a stand-off position at the entrance. When I left my post, they were arguing with Colonel Rice, and he ordered all of the prisoners taken to the barn to begin the trial.'
'What's our status?'
'We're all standing back… completely out of it so far.'
'Excellent.' Wintersole smiled as he turned back to Lightstone and the young soldier. 'You two get that information on Lightstone out of him, right now!' he ordered. 'And keep your mikes live. I want to hear what's going on.'
And before Lightstone could say or do anything else, he disappeared.
The young Ranger interrupted Henry Lightstone's thoughts as he stared at the door of the shed, ignored the frantically thrashing poisonous snake in his hand, and tried to make sense of this latest development.
'You heard the sergeant, we're running out of time,' he reminded Lightstone. 'Let's get going.'
'Yeah, I guess you're right,' Lightstone agreed, and then casually tossed the writhing Blacksnake into the other man's hands.
The soldier instinctively caught the snake, but then an expression of horror replaced the surprised look on his face, and he emitted a high-pitched scream as the snake whipped around and buried its fangs into the fleshy base of the young man's thumb.
Lightstone swiftly grabbed the snake by the tail and — in one quick motion — ripped it loose from the young Ranger's hand, swung it and lightly slammed its head against the back leg of Boggs's chair.. and quickly popped the stunned reptile back into the bag.
'Don't panic, I milked it before I brought it here. Not enough poison left to kill you,' Lightstone softly assured the hunter-killer staring down at his bitten thumb. Then before the young martial-arts-trained soldier could react, Lightstone hammered him to his knees with a pair of punishing body strikes to the solar plexus, then finished him off with a sharp elbow strike to the base of the neck that dropped him to the floor, un-conscious.
Wilbur Boggs observed Lightstone in wide-eyed silence as the covert agent brought his left index finger up to his lips while working the collar mike and belt pack loose with his right hand. After setting the mike unit on the floor next to Boggs's feet, he leaned down and whispered into the battered agent's ear:
'It's okay. I'm Henry Lightstone, Special Ops, Bravo Team. What I need you to do, right now,' he instructed, pointing to the communications unit on the floor, 'is groan as loud as you can, and then say some-thing appropriate.'
To Boggs's credit, his eyes blinked and lower jaw dropped for only a brief instant before he recovered… and emitted a loud and very realistic agonized groan, followed by a muttered curse.
'Okay, good.' Lightstone grinned. 'Keep it up.'
As Wilbur Boggs continued to groan, and curse and thrash around in the chair, Henry quickly cut away the duct tape binding the resident agent's wrists, arms, and legs. Once he freed Boggs, he quickly knelt, collected the young soldier's pistol belt, night-vision goggles, and communication equipment, then searched the pockets of his flak jacket for the transmitter.
'Here, take this,' Lightstone whispered, handing Boggs the heavy pistol belt.
'Thanks,' Boggs whispered back between groans and curses, 'but you take it. I can't even stand up.'
Lightstone ignored the offered handgun.
'You going to be okay if I shut off the light and leave you in here with this kid?'
'Oh, hell, yes,' Boggs replied in a tired whisper.
'Then just keep groaning and cussing — but like you're starting to come around,' Lightstone softly instructed the battered agent, 'and keep your head down. Things could get crazy around here any minute now.'
Then before Boggs could say anything else, the covert wildlife agent turned off the light and disappeared into the darkness.
Crouching behind the shed to avoid the powerful flashlight beams now flickering back and forth around the distant trial site, Lightstone put on the communications mike and earphones and adjusted the night-vision goggles he'd taken from the Ranger.
When everything he viewed appeared in bright, contrasted shades of green, and he could clearly monitor the occasional terse commands and acknowledgments Wintersole and his troops exchanged as they hid in the forest surrounding the compound, he began moving toward the milling crowd.
Lightstone specifically looked for Takahara and Wintersole, but as he got closer, he could see at least twenty people moving in and around the barn now: the members of the Chosen Brigade, and Charlie Team… and a much smaller group, consisting of three clean-cut-looking men wearing blue jeans, boots, and down jackets who apparently argued with Brigade Colonel Rice, and three other Brigade members armed with M-16s standing about twenty-five yards away from the barn entrance. Plus he saw another Brigade member guarding Special Agent Natasha Marashenko, with her hands tied behind her back and a pistol at the back of her head.
Come on, Mike, where are you?
It took Henry Lightstone a few moments to realize that one of the men in the jeans, boots and down jackets — the one in the center arguing with the self-appointed colonel-looked vaguely familiar.
When the man turned to say something to one of his companions, Lightstone smiled in sudden recognition.
Grynard?
Well I'll be damned. What are you doing here?
But before Lightstone could factor the unexpected presence of his old nemesis into the picture, a cold and demanding voice crackled over his earphones.
'One-one to one-four, what's your status? I need an answer, now!'
Shit! Lightstone thought, surveying the area even more intently now, knowing Wintersole wouldn't wait long if he didn't get a response.
Come on Mike, where are you?
'One-four, report. What is your — ' Wintersole demanded again over the hunter-killer team's scrambled communications net. Only this time, a deeply furious voice interrupted him.
'You want to talk to this kid, Sergeant, then you get your ass back over here, and we'll discuss the matter,' Wilbur Boggs rasped harshly. 'And by the way, you and your little toy soldiers are all under arrest.' The sound of a 9mm round being jacked into the chamber of a military-issue 9mm Beretta semiautomatic pistol clearly echoed over the earphones.
Boggs, you idiot!
Almost immediately, Lightstone saw the easily recognizable figure of First Sergeant Aran Wintersole moving deliberately toward the shed.
Henry Lightstone, too, turned toward the shed, knowing all too well that Wilbur Boggs had just committed a brave, but foolhardy and very likely fatal, mistake. But then a loud voice thundered out of the darkness to his right.
'HENRY, LOOK OUT, BEHIND YOU!'
Lightstone only had a brief moment to recognize Mike Takahara's voice before he heard the figure coming, ducked under the downward sweeping butt-stroke, and spun on his hands to kick the legs out from under his swiftly
