CHAPTER
62
PULLER DROVE WHILE Robert sat next to him. Knox was in the back giving directions while glancing at her phone screen from time to time. It was now quite late and they had left D.C. and the suburbs of northern Virginia behind. They could just make out the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains up ahead. Puller turned off the highway and the car continued to roll along on surface roads that grew increasingly rougher and narrower.
“How much farther?” asked Puller.
“Looks to be about ten minutes. I’ll tell you when we get close enough to ditch the car. We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”
“Where are your folks who are tailing her?” asked Puller.
“Stationed to the north and west of the cabin but a hundred yards back, forming a perimeter.”
“How many are there, in case we need some backup?”
“Two teams of three. Loaded.”
“Well, let’s hope we won’t need them,” said Robert.
About six minutes later she had Puller stop the car and they pulled over to the side of the road.
Knox’s fingers flew over her phone’s keys but the text didn’t go. She stared at the loading bar on the screen. It seemed stalled halfway through the operation.
“Reception is shitty around here,” she complained. She punched in a number on the phone. It didn’t go through.
“I’ve got no bars,” said Puller, glancing at his phone.
“I don’t either,” said Knox. “Okay, we’ll just have to wing this. But there are three of us and only one of her.”
Puller gripped her arm. “This mission is too important to just wing it. We need reliable communication up here or else we could be divided and taken out one by one.”
“We’ll stick together as long as we can. Then we can figure out a way to communicate.”
“I don’t like this, Knox.”
“Are you telling me whenever you were in combat the conditions were perfect?”
“Of course not, combat is never perfect.”
“Then what did you do, soldier?”
“He adapted,” answered Robert. “And so will we. Let’s go.”
They climbed out of the car, their guns drawn. There were no homes on this road, which edged higher into a crevice between two of the foothills where the land flattened out. A fog had started to spread.
“The ground conditions aren’t great,” said Puller to Knox.
Robert said, “And keep in mind that, as Reynolds clearly pointed out to you both, she has guns and is really good at using them.”
“Especially long-range sniping,” said Knox grimly. “Olympic-caliber.”
“Well, then we can’t give her the chance to deploy that particular skill,” said Puller.
Knox led the way up the road, staring at her phone screen as she did so. Puller noted this and drew next to her.
“Memorize where we’re going, Knox, and then turn the damn phone off. It’s like a spotter beacon right into your chest.”
She nodded, did a quick but focused study of the screen, and clicked her phone off.
They moved up the road and then Knox led them to the right, over a stretch of ground that was uneven, rocky, and slippery. However, all three were surefooted and made their way across it without trouble.
They had progressed another five hundred yards when Knox held up her hand and stopped. The two men drew next to her. She pointed up ahead. In the distance about another hundred yards to the east they could make out a dim light.
“That has to be the cabin up there,” she said, pointing at the light. “It’s the only structure around here.”
Puller gazed around on all compass points before returning to the light.
His brother looked at him and said, “What do you think, Junior?”
“Junior?” said Knox staring at Puller. “That’s your brother’s name for you?”
“Well, he is a junior,” said Robert. “He’s named after our father.”
“But you’re the older son,” pointed out Knox. “Why aren’t you the junior?”
“It’s not always the oldest that’s called junior,” pointed out Robert. “And our mother named me,” he added. “Her brother’s name was Robert.”
Knox gave Puller a quick glance but said nothing. Puller didn’t look at her. His gaze was on the target up ahead.
“What I think, Bobby,” said Puller, apparently choosing to ignore the discussion around his nickname, “is that the approach to the cabin on all sides is entirely open. The ground is flat; there is no cover. You wouldn’t have to be an Olympic-caliber shot to pick us off easily enough.”
“But it’s foggy and it’s dark,” pointed out Knox. “That favors us.”
“If I were Reynolds I’d have some sort of perimeter security. We trip that and then we’re sitting ducks. Later-generation NVGs work just fine even in the fog. I bet she has them in there, and we don’t.”
“Well, we can’t just sit here,” retorted Knox. “This is your area of expertise, Puller. Pretend you’re back in Kandahar and trying to clear a house. What would you do?”
He studied the area ahead for a couple of minutes. “Okay, what we can do is split up and approach on three sides.” He pointed up ahead. “This is the east side, which faces the back of the cabin. I think we should approach from the west, north, and south, meaning the front and two sides, because her natural instinct might be to guard her rear flank.”
Robert said, “On the south side the foothills pick up again and the land starts to rise. I doubt she would be expecting someone coming from that direction.”
“Well, then let’s just hit it from that way,” said Knox.
Puller shook his head. “We can’t put all our eggs in one basket. Unless she has a bunch of other shooters in there with her, she can only defend one position at a time.” He pointed at Robert. “You circle around, Bobby, and approach from the south. I’ll go from the west, which faces the front of the cabin, and Knox, you go in from the north.”
“How do we communicate and coordinate?” asked Robert. “My phone still has no bars.”
Puller said, “We’ll be close enough to use a quick flash of phone light to communicate. We’ll each do one flash when we get in position. After that, I’ll flash twice when I’m ready to approach the cabin. Do a sixty-second countdown from that point. And then we attack.”
Knox smiled at him in the dark. “See? You do adapt well to conditions on the ground.”
He ignored this and said, “And it’s confirmed that she is there?”
“Her car is in the driveway. It’s confirmed.”
“Roger that,” said Puller. “Okay, let’s hit it. But keep your head down, move slowly and methodically. And watch for my signal.” He looked at his watch. “Five minutes to get in position. That should be plenty for you, Bobby. You have the farthest to go.”
Robert headed off. Before she left Puller, Knox said in a joking tone, “So do I call you Junior now?”
Puller said curtly, “No one called me Junior except my brother and my father. And my mother. And my father doesn’t call me anything anymore except ‘XO.’”
Knox’s smile faded, and she gave a curt nod and set off.
Puller gazed around one last time. He didn’t like any of this. He had sized up many potential battlegrounds and his instincts had been honed to a fine degree. Everything about this was problematic. Their intelligence about the target was spotty and now the communication chain was broken. They had no idea what awaited them inside the cabin. Knox said it was confirmed that Reynolds was in there, but for Puller there was no real certainty about that.
However, the plan had been set, the forces deployed, the intel was what it was, as was the terrain they were confronting. He checked his M11 and set off, quickly making his way to his designated compass point and then squatting down in the high grass that was situated about fifty feet from the cabin.
He studied the structure in the poor light. One room was illuminated. He was facing the front door. The lighted room was to the left of that. Whether a bedroom or perhaps the kitchen, he didn’t know.
Reynolds’s Lexus was in the small gravel drive to the left of the front door. At least that much was confirmed to him. The cabin was small, rustic, with a front porch that ran about halfway along the front. The door was wood, the siding the same. It was unpainted. What bothered Puller the most about this was it didn’t match what he believed Reynolds to be.
She was a woman who obviously liked fine things and had the money to pursue those likes. So why a crappy cabin in the middle of nowhere? Just as a clandestine meeting place? He didn’t think so. And how could Reynolds have allowed herself to be so easily followed?
Everything about this seemed out of whack, but they were ready to execute. He checked his watch and watched the second hand sweep to the five-minute mark. When it reached it, he pulled his phone and gave a quick flash of the light. A second passed and then he saw a corresponding flash from the right and then the left. They were all in position. He immediately started to count off sixty seconds on his watch. At fifty-eight, he tensed his legs and readied his weapon. At fifty-nine he was starting to move. At sixty he commenced a zigzag trek to the front porch, keeping low and to the side, never exposing himself full on to sightlines from the cabin’s front.
The light in the house never went off. No other lights came on. No shadows moved in front of that light. He could hear no sounds other than the occasional scurry of an animal in the nearby woods, and his own heartbeat.
Then he was on the porch and standing with his back to the left of the front door. It was a simple door lock. Again, that seemed off. He checked up, down, and along the eaves of the roofline. No surveillance cameras. He had encountered no tripwires. If the porch had a pressure plate embedded in it that would trigger an alarm, it must have been a silent one.
He faced the door and kicked right at where the lock met the frame. The door crashed inward and he was through the opening, his M11 making broad, precise sweeps in front of him.
To the left and right he heard glass crashing inward, then footsteps.
An instant later Bobby appeared in the hall to his left.
“Clear my way,” he said to his brother.
They both headed to the right.
They started to run when they heard the shots fired.
“Knox!” called out Puller.
They kicked open doors and cleared rooms until a few seconds later they reached the last room. The door was partially open. And the light was on.
Puller pushed the door open fully and he and his brother filled the doorway, their guns pointed in front of them.
There was glass from the broken window on the floor.
Reynolds was sitting up in her bed, holding her shoulder, and blood was streaming down her left arm.
Knox had her gun pointed at the other woman’s head. She glanced at Puller. “I had the misfortune to fall right into her bedroom,” she explained.
She pointed to the gun on the floor. “She drew down on me and fired, but I’m the better shot, I guess. Even if I’m not an Olympian,” she added, casting Reynolds a snide look. She pointed at the bullet lodged in the wall near the windowsill.
“Never doubted it,” said Puller with a grin.
She eyed Reynolds’s bloody arm. “You want to triage her? I’m no good at that.”
Puller kept his weapon out and walked over to Reynolds.
She looked up at him, pain in her eyes. “She tried to kill me.”
“I’m sure she had a great reason.”
“You broke into my home.”
“Again, with good reason.”
“I’m calling the police.”
Knox barked, “What you’re going to do is confess.”
Reynolds swiveled her gaze to her. “You really aren’t thinking very clearly. I have nothing to confess to.”
Knox said, “It’s over, Susan. The goons you sent after Robert Puller got slammed by his little brother. The cops have them in custody. They’re talking like you wouldn’t believe. Your best bet is to cooperate and get a lighter sentence. But you’re still going to prison for a long, long time.”
Reynolds eyed Robert Puller, who still had his gun pointed at her. “You really should have just left it alone, Robert.”
“How could I? You sent somebody to kill me.”
“Then you should have just died.” She grimaced, grabbed at her arm, and exclaimed, “Shit. You hit the bone.”
“Sorry,” said Knox, though her tone was not sorry at all. “Puller, you better tourniquet it so our star witness doesn’t bleed to death.”
Puller holstered his gun and sat next to Reynolds.
Robert put his gun in his waistband and went to stand next to Knox. “It went down easier than I thought,” he said.
“For me too,” said Knox.
Puller started to examine Reynolds’s wound, drawing up the sleeve of her shirt.
“Uh, Junior?”
Puller was frowning because he couldn’t see— He said, “Knox, where the hell did the round go—”
“John!” exclaimed Robert.
Puller turned to his brother. “What is—”
He stopped.
His brother’s gun was gone from his waistband. It was now in Knox’s hand and pointed at Puller.
In her other hand Veronica Knox had her pistol pressed against Robert’s head.
She smiled apologetically at Puller. “I told you that you couldn’t trust me—Junior.”