Hostage Zero

When the distance felt right, she turned to the left and moved to the tree line again. With great effort, she lowered herself to her left knee, and peered out from behind a sheltering oak. At first, it appeared that the chopper hadn’t moved. It just sat there, parked in the air over the distant forest, well out of range. Were they radioing someone for instructions? Awaiting reinforcements, perhaps?

The thought of backup forces made her heart skip, but then she rejected the idea as unlikely. If they’d had more troops, they would have waited for them. No, whatever they decided to do, they would either do it alone, or they would do it another day.

“Okay, I’ll come with you,” Navarro said, a propos of nothing. “I’ll testify.”

Gail had almost forgotten he was there. “Yeah? Why the change of heart?”

He chuckled wryly. “I’d say my cover’s kind of blown, wouldn’t you?”

Gail didn’t respond. There was more, and he’d either share it or he wouldn’t, but that answer was too easy.

“Nobody should have this kind of power,” he said. “Too much violence, all to cover up a murder.”

Gail liked that. She acknowledged his decision with a nod.

“So, do you think they found me by following you?” he asked.

“Must have,” she admitted. “I don’t know how, but I guess that doesn’t matter now.”

He pointed. “I think they’re coming back.”

At first, she didn’t see it, but then she did: the chopper was definitely getting bigger. It was keeping out of range, but it was circling in closer. It seemed to be on a course that would take them to the front side of the house. “What are they doing?” she wondered aloud.

“Maybe they’re just looking for us. You know, cruising around to see if we’re hiding out there.”

Gail didn’t like it. “No, they have to know we’re still in the woods somewhere. If we’d crossed into the open, they’d have seen us.”

“Even from that far away?”

“A clear day like this, you can see amazing detail when you’re on the lookout for it.” So, what could they be up to in the front of the house? When the shooter reappeared in the doorway, she knew exactly what their plan was.

“Oh, hell,” she said. “They’re going to take out my Jeep. Trap us here.”

“But I have a truck of my own,” Navarro said.

“Pray they don’t know that.”

A plan blossomed in Gail’s mind. “Okay, Bruce, listen to me,” she said. She spoke so quickly that her words ran together. In the distance, the Jet Ranger began its run. “When I say, I want you to do exactly what you did before. I want you to point that rifle directly at the chopper and unload it on full automatic. Then I want you to curl up in a ball behind that tree and not even peek out until the shooting is over.”

His jaw dropped. “What-”

The door gunner started shooting at the front of the house.

“When I say,” Gail reminded, and she sprinted ten strides farther to the right. Her leg screamed at her as she slid to a halt on her left hip, and she shouldered her AR-10. On the far side of the house, a column of smoke rolled skyward from the murdered Jeep.

“Now!” she yelled.

Her words had barely evaporated before Navarro unleashed another twenty-round string.

This time, the pilot had been setting a trap, and he was ready for it. Again with amazing speed, it pivoted in the air and raced sixty yards closer, presenting a broadside target. The shooter opened up on Navarro’s hiding spot.

And Gail opened up on the shooter. With the selector on full automatic this time, she fired two three-round bursts. The first nailed the door again, but it startled the shit out of the shooter. He pivoted on his knee and pointed his weapon directly at Gail’s muzzle flashes. Her second burst caught him as he was still moving. She noted the pink mist in the doorway, and was dimly aware of the man falling away from the chopper to the ground, but by then she’d shifted her target.

From this angle, she could no longer see the Jet Ranger’s windscreen, but she could clearly see the bulkhead that separated the cockpit from the cargo section, and she knew that the pilots’ seats were just on the opposite side. Even as the chopper’s nose dipped and attempted to race away, Gail pressed the foregrip tightly against the trunk of the tree, and she squeezed the trigger, unleashing all her remaining ammunition in a single uninterrupted blast.

This time, not a single round was wasted. Fourteen, fifteen, whatever was left in the magazine plowed into the helicopter. The bird hesitated in midair, rocking slightly on its center axis as the pilots struggled to bring stability to the critically wounded bird.

As the receiver locked open, Gail dropped out the spent magazine, slapped in a second, and slid the receiver home. She braced against the tree, instinctively held her breath, and opened up again, pouring more bullets into that bulkhead. Only five or six rounds into the second burst, it was over. The aircraft wobbled, then heeled over to its starboard side.