Cold Day in Hell (44 page)

Standing next to her at the west corner of the house, Loren eyed the cliff, also. “The front of the house is well-protected from the bluff. Let’s get you situated.” She headed for the place she’d chosen to set up her rifle. “Here look good to you?” Loren moved to where she’d left her rifle bag and eye-balled the view. “Perfect. I only hope my position is as open and all-encompassing. I want to check walkway access from the back of the house.” He moved off and she began to unload her bag. The guys had partially assembled the Lapua so she didn’t have much to do but check over their work.

Several minutes later, Loren came at her from the opposite direction from which he’d started. “There’s another walkway egress than the one through the attic.” He motioned her to follow; they walked around toward the rear of the house. “See?” He pointed to something attached to the side of the house. “The owners installed a series of external drop-down ladders from the attic-level to the ground. Probably an alternate fire escape in case the residents are trapped above the first floor.” She nodded. “The ladders would also give an enterprising person a chance to get up from the ground. All they’d have to do is get into the backyard and then pull down the first ladder and then again for the next one. Maybe with a grappling hook?” Loren took her arm and urged her back to the front of the house and her setup.

“Yeah. I’ll keep a close eye out on the top of the crag. My roof is so flat I’ll have a three-sixty view.” When they reached her position, he turned to her and tapped the end of her nose. “Okay. Headset on?” She nodded. “Listen for my cue on the first shot. After that, take any you feel are necessary. I’ll alert you to any others I see that are dire.” Meaning one of their guys was in danger of getting his ass capped.

“I’m worried I might miss and…” Shooting live humans was far different than hitting targets. The kill shots she’d taken at Conn’s had been different—she’d been in direct danger then. Sniping was planned, not reactive—more a calculated choice to take a life, not an instinctive one. If she froze, if her brain decided to rationalize the shot …

someone, Risto, could die because she got wussy.

“I’m not worried. You’ll hold it together. What did our dads always tell us about shooting in battle situations?”

“If you’re going to shoot, shoot to kill. If you aren’t going to shoot to kill, then what the fuck are you doing on the battlefield?”

“This is definitely war. Cruz and his men are coming here to kill your man and take you. We have been sanctioned to take them out as enemies of the state. You have the skills, use them. Don’t think, just shoot. If it helps, picture them as targets, not people.” He leaned over and brushed a brotherly kiss over her chilled forehead. “Take care—and good hunting.”

She kissed his cheek. “You, too. Go. I can handle my set up.”

“I know you can.” He nodded. “There are five pre-loaded magazines and enough ammo to reload. I’ll use the emergency ladders at the back of the house so no one sees me leave.”

She nodded and hoped to hell twenty-five shots would be enough. The Lapua mags she was using held five .338 cartridges. Re-loading magazines in the cold and while a battle ensued would be tough; she was used to indoor shooting and had trained in a warmer climate. She waved at Loren as he disappeared around the corner of the house.

She listened carefully and couldn’t hear the ladders drop. But then SEALs were trained to be swift, silent and deadly.

She laid her rifle aside on the bag, then cleared a spot on the widow’s walk on which to spread a waterproof tarp. She sat on the dry surface and attached the bipod to the rifle since she didn’t plan on moving around to take shots. The bipod would give her the maximum stability for her shots and was much more desirable than using a bean bag or some other mobile positioning device some snipers used when changing their sniping positions. She also checked the butt pad for proper spacing as compared to the length of her arm from her hand to her shoulder and for comfort. Loren or Paul had guessed correctly and she would not have to make any adjustments to the butt pad spacing.

Finally, she looked over the three scopes the guys had put into the bag. She attached a scope that could deal with the unique glare provided by cloud cover and snow. The Weather Channel had predicted the snow would not end for the next twenty-four hours; so clouds were assured. If the sun peeked through for a bit, well, the scope could handle it also with a slight adjustment. Then she plotted and tested distances against her hand-held targeting computer and her scope’s site.

The gusting winds were tricky and would have to be accounted for. The Lapua was made for cold-weather shooting and had been used in much harsher weather than today’s.

She patted the stock.

It didn’t take long to get the rifle positioned, and only a few minutes more to locate targeting points and find their ranges. To check her scope sightings, she plotted every nook and cranny of Osprey’s Point within her direct line of sight into the computer. She sighed with relief when the computer data matched her skills with the scope. Every shot she might need to take was less than the maximum range, upping her chances to make a lethal or crippling shot.

Everything done, she had time on her hands until Loren gave her the word. She lay on her stomach and sighted through her rifle scope toward the roof where Loren should be setting up. She couldn’t see him.

She tapped her headset, putting her on the private link to Loren. “You set?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Roger that. I can’t see you.”

“Good. I can’t see you, either.”

“Should we go to the group frequency?” she asked. She suddenly needed to hear Risto’s calm voice.

“No, not until we see the bad guys. Then we’ll need to talk to the guys and let them know who’s on their asses. Right now they’re scouting and it would be distracting for them and you.” She heard the emphasis on
you
and knew if she hadn’t been there, Loren would be on the group frequency with the guys, sharing in some sort of pre-battle ritual bullshit. “I don’t see any bogies yet,” he said.

“Okay. Since I don’t have to shoot yet, I’ll put my hand warmers on.” She had Thinsulate shooting gloves made specifically for cold-weather shooting. She slipped on her ski gloves with built-in battery-powered heating units to keep her joints limber. “It is frigging cold up here.”

Loren’s chuckle came over the headset clearly. “Yeah, my dangly parts aren’t happy, either.”

“Way too much information.”

He snorted. “You’re not shocked. I can remember we boys used to moon you and Imp to get you to shriek and giggle.”

She laughed. “That you did. But my marine would cut those puppies off if you did that now.”

“That he would. Just checked your six. Didn’t see anyone on the cliff behind your position. This flat roof does have a nice view.”

“Appreciate that.” Her gut clenched at the thought Cruz might have found local help who’d know all the various approaches to the town. “Going to silence.” Callie could hear Loren’s slow, calm breaths and the whistle of the wind over her headset. She rechecked her set-up once more and was happy with it. Bored and needing to do something, she picked up a set of mini-binoculars to scan the road leading in and out of Osprey’s Point. Yeah, that technically was Loren’s job, but two sets of eyes were always better than one.

The town was located on an inlet of Thousand Islands Lake and surrounded by the Ottawa Forest. Thick stands of trees hugged the main roadway in and out of town, only interrupted where a house or a commercial building was located. The woods backed up to most of the residences along the main street, except where the rocky crags were located; there, the trees grew right up to the edge of the cliffs. If Cruz and his force decided to come in through the forest, she and Loren wouldn’t see them until they popped out.

Vigilance was paramount.

She scanned the marina area and the few side streets to the extent of her field of vision. She saw no movement anywhere—from bad guys or her guys, which proved to her how good their side was. Big Earl’s was the only building of any type, commercial or residential, lit up. It stayed open 24/7 for the year-round residents. Closing it would have made anyone who’d scouted the town suspicious.

Making another full sweep of the area, a movement at the edge of town caught her eye. She focused the binocs on the road coming from Watersmeet where it entered the town’s limits. There it was again, a shadow cast on the snow-covered berm; no, there were several shadows and they were in motion. “Loren. My three o’clock, south side of the main road, just before the gas station.”

A several second pause and all she heard was Loren’s slow, calm breaths. “Good eye. I’ve got more movement on the north side. See it?”

“Switching to my rifle scope.” She set the binocs down and sighted through the rifle.

There you are.
The scope was so powerful she could almost count the facial scars on the first man she made out. “Yeah. Got ’em. They’re just under fourteen hundred meters from my position.”

“Roger that. Get ready. Shit is about to fly.” Loren’s voice was unruffled.

She had to remind herself to breathe slowly when all she wanted to do was pant as the adrenaline flowed into her bloodstream. Breathe in. Breathe out. Keep the heart rate down so she could hear Loren and the others instead of her heart thudding like a marching band’s bass drum. Her eye still on the scope, her breath stuttered. A man in Arctic snow gear scuttled along the ditch, paralleling the shoulder, on the south side of the main road. This was the movement she had seen first. He ran up and over the road and disappeared into the north side ditch. She could barely see his white-hooded head move toward the docks. “Loren! Marina approach.”

“I see the fucker. Wait for my signal. Switch to group frequency, Callie.” She did so and heard Loren tell the others, “Heads up, guys. We’ve got company coming from the east. One tango is going for a boat. I see maybe ten others approaching. Could be more behind them. Fuckers have Arctic battle whites.”

A series of calm acknowledgments came over the headset.

The plan was premised on two facts: one, the bad guys didn’t know they were anticipated and, two, they would need a boat to reach Risto’s island. Big Earl’s was the only place on this part of the lake with a year-round dock navigable at this time of the year with boats available. They’d taken the chance that Cruz wasn’t savvy enough to obtain a boat elsewhere, tow it to the general area, and then attempt to launch in the early winter snowstorm from a public launch site farther up the shoreline. Even if the Colombian had thought of the latter scenario, all the public launches would be under six feet of snow and ice, making it damn tricky and near impossible to launch a boat safely.

So, the trap would be set and sprung at Osprey’s Point Marina.

Their premise had a ninety-seven percent probability. The other three percent, an air approach, was covered by Keely and Tweeter who monitored the lake area using the feed from an NSA satellite miles above the Earth. They’d have called if Cruz had found a way to accomplish an air approach.

Loren’s voice startled her from her brain fade. “We’ve twenty bogies total, gang.

They have snow gear and are loaded for bear. Fuck, they’ve got a rocket launcher.” Several different voices swore.

Callie’s narrowed gaze swept the line of men approaching the marina. She singled out the guy with the rocket launcher. His scarred skin was swarthy against the white of his hooded parka. He didn’t look Hispanic, more like Middle Eastern. Maybe a survivor of the war in Bosnia or any number of places in the war-torn deserts of Asia Minor and Africa.

The rocket launcher was on the man’s back and extended above his head. He could do a lot of damage with that weapon. And wasn’t she glad she wasn’t stuck on the island at the mercy of that thing. She’d remember to tell Risto that very fact … later.

Callie pulled off her mittens, flexed her fingers encased in the thinner shooting gloves, took a deep breath, blew it out, then sighted for the shot, her trigger finger at ready. She acquired his forehead, her target centered between his thick bushy eyebrows and up a quarter-inch. She also checked a shot for the bag the man carried, probably containing the rocket-propelled grenades for the launcher. She had two shots she could take. No matter which, the shot was less than a thousand meters and moving ever closer.

If the man headed toward a boat dock behind the profile of Big Earl’s she’d lose her shot.

She couldn’t wait.

Her finger was poised on the trigger, she increased the pressure slightly, waiting for Loren. She could take out the man or the bag. If the bag exploded, it would take care of the explosives, the gun and the man. The chatter in the background washed over her as she debated. The first shot wasn’t her call. It was Loren’s. “Loren, if I take out the bag, will my shot blow the munitions?”

Loren’s voice, “Fuck, maybe, if you hit a grenade at just the right place with enough percussion.”

“Go for it, baby.” Risto’s calm, confident voice came over her headset. “If nothing else, it will start something. We’re all in position and ready to rock. The fact they have a rocket launcher is all we need to justify shooting first.” The theory being, no one would come armed to the teeth if they hadn’t wanted to start a war. She took in a deep breath and let it out. Her eye to the scope, her world narrowed to the bag as the man carrying it trotted along the road. On her next breath, she took the shot as she exhaled slowly. The bag decimated, but did not explode. The man went down, the bullet passing through his hip. He might manage to crawl, but he wasn’t walking anywhere for a while.