Chapter 27

Alpha 1

Monday, Memorial Day – Morning / Afternoon

Alpha 1 was a better than average shooter. MUCH better than average. But he wasn't a sniper. He lined up his shot on the passenger who'd gotten out to relieve himself.

"You're gonna meet your maker with your pecker in your hand," he thought to himself, with a chuckle.

He took the shot and cursed. The son of a bitch leaned back at that exact instant to say something to his friend. The shot hit him in the shoulder instead of the middle of his chest. The passenger staggered for a second, then lunged toward the car's back seat.

Alpha 1 had chambered another round and was taking aim at the target's side – that was all he could do with the man draped over the side of the car. Before he could shoot, the terrorist's body jerked violently toward the front of the car and the windshield was awash in his brain matter. He quickly scanned to his right and found the driver's side also covered in blood. He couldn't see anything.

Bringing his rifle up he began to search the area behind the car for another shooter.

This has to be the Gold Level Navy NCO we're been looking for. Son of a bitch is a good shooter, that's for sure, he thought.

He found the Hummer and the unusual lump on its roof. He saw the business end of a rifle buck and the muzzle blast come out of the end of the gun. A fraction of a second later he heard the suppressed cough of the shot, as a branch of the tree below and to the right of him exploded in splinters. He flinched involuntarily and lost the Hummer in his sights. When he looked again, it was not to be seen. He thought about his chances of finding the target again. They were not good. If the guy just stayed with the Hummer, he'd be far away before Alpha 1 could even get to his car. The only chance he had was if the guy decided to swim out. He was a Navy guy, so he must be a pretty good swimmer. Maybe he'd figure that he'd be safer in the water, or under the water.

He pulled out his map. Where would he go if he was trying to swim out and get away? The golf course? No, you'd be too conspicuous. Here, he thought, fingering a spot on the map – near Reedy Lake was a nice isolated road. He could get to Reedy Lake well before a swimmer could. He could run overland. True, it was running through the swampy, overgrown woods. While he wasn't a very good sniper, he was very good at the obstacle course.

He was good at the obstacle course, good at cross country running, but the real reason he excelled at his work was his ability to put himself in the target's place. To figure out what the target would do. He'd follow his hunch again.

If it didn't work, he'd just hit his walkie-talkie after a while, later this afternoon, and get his team to pick him up. Assuming that he could stay uncaptured that long.

He got to the bottom of the tree, wiped down his rifle, to obliterate finger prints, and tossed it into the canal. Then he set off running at an angle to the canal: northwest. It was not as easy going as Alpha 1 had thought it would be. There were small streams, swampy areas and places where the muck just wanted to suck your feet into immobility. He had to run around a service installation, then there was another canal to cross. He decided that he'd throw off any pursuit – including dogs – by jumping into the canal and splashing through it for several hundred yards.

Several hours later, he found himself running at the edge of a mostly open area, with an expressway beyond. There he could see the strobe lights of police cars. He ducked further into the woods.

By 2:30 pm, he was at Reedy Lake. Now what? Work around it on the west side. Get between the target and a possible rescue car.

And wait.

By 3:30 pm he thought he could hear the sounds of dogs in the woods. Maybe it was his imagination. Maybe it was a loose dog barking at a cat. Maybe it was the Florida and Federal police canine units. He'd had time, during his run, to double back on his trail, climb trees and jump to other trees, slog his way through swamps and canals, on his long route to here. He knew that, in time, the dogs would beat all that. Their sense of smell was astounding; they could detect exfoliated skin in minute quantities. They could trail people who were in cars! It was only a matter of time.

Time to get out. He thumbed his walkie-talkie to the 'on' position. He heard the chatter of the police. They were using the same channel that his team used. Next time, he'd have to establish a backup channel – if there was a next time. SHIT! He would never have made that mistake when he was in the SAS! Well, nothing to do about it now. He was cut off and hunted.

There was nothing to do but wait some more.

Edited By TeNderLoin and a mystery person who doesn't want a credit.