They put on all their tactical gear and applied fresh face paint to the exposed areas of skin. Satisfied, they nodded to each other and climbed out. Harv locked the sedan and placed the keys on top of the left front tire. They both knew an untimely jingling of keys could blow a stealthy approach-especially with dogs.
“Nate, you still have those quarters in your pocket from the payphone?”
He removed them and tossed them into the bushes.
“Let’s mask our scent,” Nathan said. He reached up and yanked a small branch from a eucalyptus tree. Harv did the same. They crushed the leaves and rolled them like dough in their hands before rubbing the pungent leafy mix all over their clothes and exposed skin. It wasn’t perfect, and certainly not adequate against trained tactical dogs, but better than nothing. Too bad some road apples weren’t available. They never used deodorant on missions, and they’d both showered with scent-free soap prior to the Long Beach raid. Dogs were always a concern. Their keen sense of smell didn’t miss much, especially human traces.
Nathan kept his voice low. “Let’s cross the street. If anyone drives by, we can hop that rail fence and duck behind the hedge. When we get to the west property corner, break out your thermal imager and take a peek. It should see any dogs or guards. I’ll be on the NV for infrared beam sources and tripwires. If there’re dogs patrolling the property, we won’t need to worry about trip wires or beams unless they’re higher than the dogs. What do you think, four or five feet AGL?”
“That’s where I’d place them if I used dogs.”
“Ten yard separation. I’m on point.”
Over the next five hundred yards, they crossed several driveways, snaking up to huge estate homes. The driveway just west of their target was shorter and wider and flanked with mature cypress trees. The rail fence they’d been following turned 90 degrees to the north and paralleled the colonnade of cypress. They’d reacquire the fence on the opposite side of the driveway.
Nathan inhaled deeply through his nose, but didn’t detect anything other than eucalyptus, which tended to mask all other odors. “I’m going to cross the driveway and hop the fence,” he whispered into the lapel mike. “We’ll advance on the inside and use the hedge for cover. I’m almost there. Twenty-five yards to the property corner. Switching to NV. Lasers on.”
“Copy.”
The lasers would stay dark until they pressed the activation buttons on the butts of their weapons. He reached up to his visor, pivoted the NV monocular down to his left eye, and powered it up. Once again, the nighttime world around him turned bright green. He adjusted the input to a slightly lower gain and slowed his pace. At the property corner, the rail fence converged into a Y intersection. A second fence, presumably the western boundary of the target property, joined the obtuse angle and ran in a northerly direction. At the convergence of the fences, he crouched down and held up his right fist, putting Harv on hold. He conducted a slow sweep of the area on both sides of El Camino Real.
Nothing moved. All quiet.
The absence of wind made their job more difficult. It was eerily quiet. Every snapped twig or crunch of leaves under their boots would be detected if dogs were present.
He motioned Harv up to his position and whispered, “Thermal sweep.”
To prevent bleed light, Harv kept the rubber eye shield pressed firmly against his face and scanned through an arc covering everything between themselves and the property’s driveway.
“Affirmative,” Harv said. “Ten o’clock, plus thirty.” Harv moved slightly left to get a better look. “Body down. Not bright enough to be alive.”
“Anything between us and the signature?”
Harv made another sweep. “Negative, nothing showing.”
“Okay, let’s advance up the property line until we’re parallel with the signature. Ten yard separation.”
“I’ll stay on the thermal imager.”
He followed the rail fence, taking slow, deliberate steps, avoiding the thickest areas of dead leaves. With a little luck, he might hear an approaching dog crunch through the dry ground cover before it lunged for his throat. So far, he hadn’t seen any signs of canine activity. No worn trails or droppings. Through sporadic breaks in the landscaping, he caught glimpses of what looked to be a mansion. All of its second floor windows were dark. He couldn’t see the ground floor windows along the north side of the house, but the glow they produced revealed a large, open area, presumably a paved parking area surrounded by trees.
A hand signal brought Harv up to his position. They knelt. He nodded toward the body several yards away. “Good guy or bad guy?”
“Probably a good guy. Montez could be long gone.”
“I’m gonna check him.”
He approached slowly and crouched down. The image in his NV scope revealed a single bullet wound to the back of the head. He didn’t bother checking for a pulse. This man wasn’t Hispanic. He looked African-American and wore black SWAT-type clothing with tactical body armor.
“Dead body found,” he whispered. “Single shot to the back of the head. Never saw it coming. If there were any dogs, it’s a good bet they’re dead too. We-”
They both heard it.
Cars doors closing-up at the house.
Then an engine started. Someone was leaving.
The vehicle’s headlights snapped on, turning the surrounding area painfully bright through his NV scope.
“Harv, form up.”
Within seconds, Harv joined him at the dead man. “That could be Montez.”
“Let’s move.”
The twin headlight beams swept through the trees as the vehicle turned around and started down the driveway. They both took off at a dead run.
They weren’t going to make it.
They had to cover more than a hundred and fifty yards. An Olympic sprinter couldn’t do it, especially over this terrain.
Ignoring the low branches whipping against his face, Nathan dug deeper for more energy and angled toward El Camino Real to gain speed from running downhill.
He stole a glance to his left and saw it. A light-colored van, probably white was halfway down the driveway already and he still had seventy yards to cover.
“You got a shot?” Harv asked.
“No.”
Fifty yards.
“Harv, beeline for El Camino Real. If the van turns right, you might get a shot. Dalton’s daughters could be in the van. Tires only.”
“Copy.”
In a full sprint, Nathan brought his suppressed Sig up and toggled the laser, but the beam couldn’t penetrate the low-hanging branches. What if it wasn’t Montez? It could be a neighbor. Or a friend. Or relative. Anyone could be in that van. It could even be Director Cantrell’s people. He couldn’t risk killing an innocent, even it meant letting Montez get away.
Thirty yards.
The van slowed to negotiate a hairpin turn in the driveway.
Fifteen yards.
As it rounded the corner, the face in the passenger’s window turned.
And looked directly at him.
In the green image of his NV scope, the face smiled. A face he knew as well as his own. A face from the depths of hatred and insanity. A face he’d vowed to remove from its skull if ever given the chance.
“It’s Montez. Passenger seat.”
“I’m almost to the road.”
In a gesture of brazen mockery, his former tormentor blew a kiss good-bye.
You son of a bitch. He brought his Sig up and toggled the laser. He’d only get one shot.
It had to count.
He skidded to a stop, took a deep breath, and painted the laser on Montez’s window-
And didn’t pull the trigger.
A second face had materialized.
A young girl. In the backseat. One of Dalton’s daughters. He couldn’t risk it. And the foliage along the driveway kept him from targeting the van’s tires.