800 miles an hour. Not a pretty picture, especially if you’re on the business end of those slugs.
Here goes.
Nathan timed it perfectly. When the man swung toward his position, he leaned out from behind the tree and said, “Don’t shoot.” He said it loudly and forcefully, somewhere between a command and a request. A tense movement of shock and surprise raked the spotter’s body with a predictable result.
He ducked behind the ponderosa a split second before the MP5 erupted. With his back to the trunk, he felt a continuous vibration as dozens of bullets slammed home. Pulverized chunks of bark shot out from either side of the tree as if sprayed with a fire hose. When the gunfire stopped, he knew he had two or three seconds while the shooter ejected the spent magazine, slammed another home, and cycled the bolt.
“Hold your fire. I’m on your side.”
“Bullshit.” The unmistakable voice of a woman. He knew she’d already communicated with the rest of her team and he figured he had less than thirty seconds to get control of the situation before being surrounded by angry FBI SWAT agents who were-as Harv suggested-going to shoot first and ask questions later. What he said next was perfect for the situation he faced.
“My name is Nathan McBride,” he shouted. “I’m not one of the bad guys. I fired that warning shot before the claymores went off.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“You’ve got a pair of field glasses?”
No response.
“Take a look at your five o’clock position, two hundred yards. My partner has a rifle trained on you. If we’d wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be talking right now.” He figured it would take about five seconds for the spotter to verify his claim. It happened faster than that. What the agent saw must have caused her some concern. Nathan knew what seeing a sniper lined up on you felt like, he’d just seen it a few minutes ago.
“Very slowly, I want you to step out from behind that tree.”
“You aren’t going to shoot, are you?”
“That depends entirely on you.”
“Okay, I’m coming out. I’m wearing a sidearm. Don’t shoot or we both die.” He slowly pivoted from behind the trunk and faced the spotter, holding his arms out to his sides. Nathan watched her whisper something into the boom mike of her combat helmet. He knew she was strung tight from the claymore detonations. He also knew she was now facing a large, menacing man in a woodland combat uniform with his exposed skin painted in black, green, and brown. Nathan’s sidearm closed the deal. In essence, she was face-to-face with a special forces soldier whose colleague had a sniper rifle trained on her. Harv wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if she made a wrong move. He hoped she’d be delicate with her actions. Nothing sudden. Nothing threatening.
“Place your hands on the top of your head and lace your fingers together. Please do it now.”
She’d said
She whispered something into her boom mike again, probably responding to the other team members who were on their way. Nathan glanced to the right and saw three camouflaged figures advancing in leapfrog progression again. He figured he had twenty seconds before being surrounded. “I need to give my partner an all- clear sign.”
“Please don’t move,” she said, her tone more relaxed.
Nathan saw her backup was seconds away, and security came with numbers. He kept his hands atop his head and turned to face the first SWAT member to arrive. Under his olive-colored helmet and clear protective goggles was a four-part expression of pure intensity: one part curiosity, three parts anger. His woodland combat uniform had turned tannish gray from being blasted with dust and debris. Charred pine needles clung to his backpack. He’d been up front when the mines detonated. Had to be hell on earth. His MP5 aimed from the hip, the SWAT member stopped ten feet short. With a bloodstained hand, he issued a crisp signal for the others to advance. Two more SWAT figures appeared in front of Nathan, seemingly out of nowhere. They too were covered with dust and burned pine needles. A hand signal was given to the woman near the fallen tree branch and she assumed a sentry’s demeanor again.
“Are you McBride?” the man asked.
That question spoke volumes. Ortega had gotten the word out. This man knew he would be here, but the woman who shot the hell out of the ponderosa hadn’t.
Nathan nodded.
“All right. Let’s do this delicately. I want you to ask Mr. Fontana to stand down.”
“I need to give him a hand signal.”
“Please.”
Nathan unlocked his fingers from the top of his head and turned to face Harv’s position. He slowly took his right hand, formed a fist, and placed it across his chest with the knuckles touching his right shoulder. He interlocked his fingers atop his head again.
“Thank you,” the man said.
“No problem. Your teams are top-notch,” Nathan added.
The slightest hint of a smile touched the man’s lips, but vanished instantly. “You fire that warning shot?”
“Yes.”
“At ease.”
Nathan brought his hands down from his head.
“We’ve got three down, one dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Took a fragment down through his shoulder close to his neck. Clipped his carotid. The toll could’ve been a lot worse.”
Nathan looked at the man’s bloody hands again. “There’s probably another ring of claymores closer to the buildings.”
“We’re on hold for now. I’m Assistant Special Agent in Charge Larry Gifford with the Sacramento Joint Terrorism Task Force.” He closed the distance and held out his right hand.
Nathan shook it, ignoring the sticky feel of drying blood. “I’m sorry about your man.”
“Me too.”
“How are the other two?”
“One has a concussion from a tree branch. Clocked him pretty good, but he’ll be okay. His bucket saved his life. The other has a separated shoulder. At least his vest worked. I heard a shot about a minute after the mines detonated, followed by several shots coming from the compound.”
“I killed the man who detonated the mines. He was in a tree platform sighting in on your team with scoped rifle when I nailed him. I’m damned sorry I didn’t get him sooner.”
“This isn’t your fault. If our teams hadn’t been on the ground when those claymores went off…” Gifford looked at Nathan’s fatigues. “You’re bleeding.”
“Those shots you heard,” Nathan offered. “The rock face above our heads took a few impacts. The shooter was hoping for a cornering shot. Nearly got one.”
“Do you need medical attention?”
He shook his head. “Fragments.”
“I’ll have our medic look at them anyway. Please bring Mr. Fontana forward.”
He turned toward Harv’s invisible position and signaled him with a slight nod. Two hundred yards distant, Harv stood and began jogging toward them, weaving his way through the trees.
Harv arrived thirty seconds later. Introductions were made.
“Nobody else knew we were here but you,” Nathan said.
“That’s right.” There was no apology in his voice.
“Understood. If you had told your team there were friendlies in the area, they might hesitate at the moment of truth, which could get them killed. They needed to know anyone not in a SWAT uniform was fair game. I would’ve played it the same way. Risky, to us.”
