Special Access

by Mark A. Hewitt

  Hunter was in midstep when he heard Lynche's shouted warning and froze. He slowly turned his head toward one o’clock and saw the huge, round thing on the stick, but he didn’t see what was attached to it. The silencers he was accustomed to seeing and what was in his eyepieces didn’t register. He thought it was an old soda bottle and waffled in incredulity and disbelief.

  “You’re too close!” Lynche shouted. “Back up, back up, back up! Get out of there!”

  Lynche helplessly watched Duncan slowly reverse course. Fear filled him, as he screamed into the microphone, “Get out of there! Move!”

  *

  The pizza delivery man braked to a stop, shut off his lights, and put the transmission into Park. He jammed to the music coming from the subwoofers and checked his cell phone for the time, making sure he would receive the $100 tip for delivery of three pizzas at exactly 9:30. He had one minute to go.

  *

  McGee knew he and the driver would be shot unless he acted fast. He shifted the plate on his chest, stood, and ran to all of the lamps, knocking them over and plunging the house into darkness.

  He jumped back over the sofa and checked the NV spotting scope. It recovered, and, in the viewfinder, he saw Hunter stepping back very slowly. Hunter was in mortal danger and needed to run.

  *

  Miller heard something to his left. He slowly pulled his face away from the scope and faced the noise. He blinked at the silhouette of a man wearing a helmet and NVGs slowly stepping backward.

  Adrenalin led shock. His heart jumped, as his mind realized someone knew where he was. His finger slipped from the trigger guard. His hand slid off the stock grip and into the cargo pocket of his pants. His hand went around the metal handle, and his finger went through the trigger guard while his thumb slid the safety to Off.

  In one continuous motion, Miller pulled a silenced 9mm Sig Sauer from his pocket, aimed the laser pointer center mass, and shot the silhouette three times.

  *

  Hunter thought he was making great progress retreating quietly when he was suddenly blinded by light, pressure, and pain. The impact of the first bullet in his sternum threw him straight back. The second also found his sternum, and the third bullet slammed him hard and continued his rearward trajectory.

  The soft-point bullets over-centered his body mass and overwhelmed his brain to respond to the fall. He went down flat on his back. The double jolt to his system knocked all the air from his lungs, replacing it with fire. His head hit the plowed earth hard enough to dazzle his eyes. Astonished at being shot, he struggled to breathe and fought to remain conscious.

  *

  McGee watched Hunter suddenly jerk backward and fall on his back. He moved to the Weatherby and fumbled with the stock and sight picture in a coordinated effort, forcing himself to remain calm. Through the NV scope, he acquired the huge silencer.

  *

  In the FLIR, Lynche watched the thermal energy of the hot bullets trace their impact into Hunter’s chest. The energy expended in the body armor flared slightly in the FLIR, as Hunter fell.

  “Nooo!” Lynche wailed. Hunter didn’t move.

  *

  Miller slipped the NVGs over his eyes, looked, but didn’t see anyone else. The interloper wasn’t moving much. His body shook with shock. He raised his head toward McGee’s house, where all the lights were out. The timing seemed odd.

  He realized he’d been made and followed. He needed to abort the mission and leave. His mind racing, he realized going back through the woods would take too long. He needed to get out of there. First, he had clean-up work to do.

  *

  McGee jammed the stock into his shoulder, trying to steady the reticule bouncing in syncopation with his pounding heartbeat. The scope settled down in a few seconds, and he watched a dark mass emerge from the wood, the grotesque silencer on the rifle in one hand, a machine pistol in the other. He took up the slack in the trigger and was surprised when the firing pin slammed, sending the soft-point bullet downrange. He extracted the spent case, reacquired the dark mass, and fired twice more.

  *

  The Weatherby .300 Magnum belching fire from the doorway was enough to make the pizza driver freeze, turn down the music, and try to understand what just happened. When the second round cracked overhead four seconds later, a primal urge to flee took over.

  He slammed the transmission into Reverse, stomped on the accelerator, put his head down, and backed up as fast as he could.

  *

  The dark mass of burlap, cloth, and twine moved purposely from the hide toward the downed man, a pistol visible in his hand. McGee knew the sniper would quickly close the distance and fire two shots into the body on the ground; he'd double-tap Hunter.

  McGee's first round cracked over Miller’s shoulder, making him duck and start for the body on the ground when a second shot cracked and tore through the heavy material at his waist, and jerked him around.

  Miller stopped, reassessed the folly of going after the body, and fled. The third round cracked over his head, encouraging him to run hunched over along the treeline.

  *

  Lynche watched in rapt fascination as three white-hot laser beams traced a long path from the farmhouse to the wood, getting close to but missing the shooter. The minimal thermal signature of the shooter turned and ran along the edge of the trees toward the parking area. Lynche wondered what materials the man was wearing.

  But he had to stop him. Lynche hadn’t given much thought how he’d do that when he saw the shade of white thermal image of Hunter roll to his hands and knees, stand, stagger, and move after the shooter, in an arc like Hunter had just gone three rounds with Dizzy Izzy.

  Lynche yelled and bounced around the cockpit like a frenzied cheerleader at a ball game.

  *

  “Yeah!” McGee shouted, seeing Hunter stand up.

  In his excitement, he lost sight of the sniper and took several seconds trying to reacquire him in the scope. He saw Hunter chase the man down the treeline. McGee leaped to his feet, shed his body armor plate as if removing his shirt for a fight, grabbed his M-4, and raced out the front door.

  *

  The pizza driver had tried to drive in reverse, lost control, and found the only tree stump in the front yard with which to collide. His rear axle was suspended on the stump, wheels spinning.

  When a huge black man came flying out of the house with an assault rifle, the driver squealed, “Shit!” stood on the brake, selected Drive, and mashed the gas.

  When nothing happened, he fumbled for his phone and tried to call 911 on the touch screen, but his hands shook too hard and he couldn’t manage it. When his fingers didn't work, he became petrified.

  A truck approached from the house. The pizza driver knew he was going to be killed when the truck stopped next to his and the driver shouted, “Get into this truck. Now!”

  After a one-second delay, the pizza driver did what he was told.

  *

  Hunter stumbled, wobbled, before finding his footing. He saw the different shades of the shape disappearing into the night, paralleling the treeline. His chest was on fire. Incendiary air filled his lungs with each step.

  Hunter pressed his arms to his sides to keep his obliques still and moderate the pain that ran through his chest. As he closed the distance, he removed the helmet from his head and swung it at the top of the dark mass.

  *

  Lynche scanned his instruments and saw he was still in a level turn. He returned to the FLIR scope and shouted, “You’re a fucking animal, Maverick! Get him! Get him! Get him!”

  He watched Hunter collect himself and run toward the sniper, closing the gap with each stride. In a few seconds, which seemed to take forever from 1,000 feet, Lynche watched Hunter collide with the man, knocking both of them down in a heap.

  “Tase him! Tase him!” he shouted.

  The dark mass was down but recovered quickly. In seconds, it looked as if he was getting the best of Hunter. Lynche raised his head from
the scope and looked around the cockpit for something—anything—to help Hunter. He paused, lurching forward as his brain tried to formulate a plan. In a flash, without looking, he reached left and down to the Laser Designator and Weedbusters control panels like he’d practiced in the simulator and flipped two switches on. The left multifunction display panel came alive.

  Glancing at the FLIR scope, he saw the big man kicking Hunter’s ass. Hunter fought back in slow motion, trying to kick the man’s knees, only to miss like a drunken flailing fighter. Lynche returned to the instrument panel and punched a few letters on the multifunction display, keyboard, and selected FLIR under Control Options. Advisory system status illuminated on the MFD: LD Ready. WB Ready.

  Lynche returned to the FLIR to watch the dark mass uncoil his shoulders faster than the rest of his body, and hit Hunter with a roundhouse with the back of his arm. Hunter took the blow hard and fell on his face. The white image of Hunter didn't move.

  The hulking mass of shades of white rocked back and forth slightly. Lynche realized he would watch Hunter be killed a second time when the man started looking around for his rifle and pistol.

  *

  McGee shouted at the shocked, skinny youngster as he closed the door, “What’s your name?”

  He raced out of the driveway, spinning back wheels tried to find purchase after bouncing across the asphalt on the road, as they headed for the distant copse of trees.

  “S…Steve. Steve Krasic.”

  “Steve, Bill McGee. We’re heading across this field, hopefully to catch the motherfucker who almost killed you.”

  “What?”

  “I shot at him first. Let’s hope I tagged him before he gets away. Hold on.”

  *

  Lynche programmed the dot on the FLIR viewing scope with the joystick, placed it a few feet in front of the slowly moving dark mass, and mashed the thumb button on the joystick.

  BANG appeared before the mass of white. The laser designator carved out two-foot bright-red letters in front of the thermal mass. The software used for laser light shows at basketball arenas and carving Arabic letters in Afghani poppy fields produced the desired effect.

  The man stopped, his arms hung out and forward as if catching a medicine ball.

  “Come on, Asshole. Look up and smile for the camera,” Lynche oozed ominously.

  *

  Miller was slightly dazed but furious that he’d been attacked. He had to get away, but he had to get his guns first and kill the infidel. He saw his rifle in the moonlight ahead and walked toward it when BANG appeared before him in big red letters.

  He froze; he tried to understand where the laser came from. It had to be from above. He looked up and scanned the sky.

  *

  The FLIR captured every small movement in the varying shades of black and white of the mass. Adrenalin pounded at Lynche's temples, as he waited for the moment to attack. The man clearly saw the letters appear before him and was shocked still.

  He stopped, trying to make sense of where the letters came from. The hulking glob of white energy decided it should investigate, not run, and slowly looked up.

  *

  Lynche read the man’s body language perfectly. He pushed the coolie hat switch on the top of the control stick to select IR.

  WB Armed appeared on the multifunction display and in the FLIR’s symbology.

  He zoomed the FLIR to max and placed the laser designator low on the man’s forehead. His thumb pressed the button on the control stick to Laser.

  *

  Miller’s eyeballs exploded as the invisible laser beam shredded his corneas, irises, sclera, and eyelids, as if a hundred razor blades raced across his face at the speed of light. Vitreous media burst with the release of pressure and gushed down his cheeks.

  Lynche released the switch after one full second. Miller’s hands went to his eyes, but he was too late. Screaming in agony, he fell to his knees.

  “You don't fuck with my partner, Asshole,” Lynche screamed.

  *

  The primal scream of a man in agony jolted Hunter back to the present. He pushed his face out of the dirt and spat to clear his bloody dirty mouth. In the moonlight, Hunter saw the large mass writhing and screaming in agony a few paces away. Unsure what happened to him, Hunter struggled with a sense of urgency to make his arms and legs move and pushed himself up. He staggered for a moment, his damaged ribs screamed against any sudden or radical movement.

  Nearly exhausted, Hunter slapped a pocket to check for the Taser. He struggled to draw the stun gun from the pocket and wobbled over to the screaming man who lay on his back, jammed the Taser against his side, and pulled the trigger. The man's body went rigid as 50,000 volts burned into his body.

  Hunter collapsed and fell over. The Tasered man’s body snapped taut, like instantaneous rigor mortis, and he stopped screaming. Points of light danced in Hunter’s vision. He was in extreme pain but adrenalin flooded his body, as he anticipated the man recovering and fighting back once again as the Taser's shock wore off.

  Forcing himself to reload the Taser, he rolled on his side and zapped the man again, this time in the neck. Feeling more energized, Hunter knew he didn’t have much time. He pushed the pain of cracked ribs to a far corner of his mind and rolled the tall sniper onto his face.

  Laboring with every breath, Hunter extracted the locking plastic handcuffs from his pocket. His ribs fought him with every exertion. Lights exploded before Hunter’s eyes, as he pushed the man’s hands through the openings and pulled the remaining strip of plastic tight. Hunter heard the zip of the strip across the tiny metal stop.

  Sitting on the ground, Hunter looped plastic restraints over the man’s legs, drew the straps tight, and fell over with exhaustion and pain, and curled up to protect his ribs. He rolled onto his back for sweet bliss and the release of pressure and pain.

  *

  One minute later, McGee and the pizza driver drove up to two humps on the field. They got out of the Toyota and McGee drew his pistol, running toward the mess of cloth and burlap. He didn’t expect to find the man in the ghillie suit sobbing like a girl, hogtied, face down, ready for transport.

  He saw Hunter on his back, breathing hard. Hunter rested, trying to catch his breath and look for Lynche and Wraith in the night sky. He didn’t see anything, but he felt a disturbance in the air as the long-winged black bird flew low, right over his head.

  The air shook as if an eighteen-wheeler doing 100 mph passed them standing on the roadside. The pizza driver, trying to make sense of what happened to him, was almost knocked down by the invisible pressure wave.

  “What was that?” he asked. “Shit!”

  Hunter looked at the kid and McGee, then asked, “Who are you?”

  “The pizza guy,” McGee deadpanned.

  “You ordered pizza?” Hunter asked incredulously, his ribs killing him with the effort to speak.

  “Steve, there’s a flashlight in the glove box,” McGee said. “Get it and see if you can locate any weapons out there. Duncan, are they in this area?”

  Hunter labored to answer. “Yes, Sir. Thanks for coming to the rescue. There has to be a rifle…and a pistol. My helmet’s out there. The asshole also had NVGs.”

  “Man, I thought you were dead. I saw you go down.”

  “Owww! I must’ve broken some ribs when that asshole shot me. I didn’t search... him. Check him. The bastard’s huge.”

  “I’ll get him. What did you do to him?”

  “I didn’t do anything. He hit me hard and rang my bell. When I looked up, he was screaming, holding his face.”

  Miller, recovering from the debilitating stuns from back-to- back Tasers, whimpered from his shredded eyeballs. Steve returned, wide-eyed after collecting a rifle, a pistol, a fighter pilot's helmet, and a pair of night vision goggles with a head harness.

  Duncan stood gingerly, relieving Steve of the helmet. “I have to get my NVGs. They must’ve fallen off when he shot me. I can get another battery pack. I hit th
at dude in the head, battery first. He has a hard head.”

  “Let’s get him in the truck,” McGee said, his tone menacing. “I want to talk with him.” Duncan Hunter was too tired and hurt too much to reply.

  The pizza driver and McGee dragged the trussed man to the back of the pickup and lifted him onto the tailgate, rolling him unceremoniously onto his side. Blood covered his face.

  Hunter staggered toward where he thought his NVGs fell off.

  Minutes later, aided by McGee’s headlights, he found them, leaned over, and held them up for the others to see. He slowly walked to the truck and gingerly crawled into the rear seat, then he moaned with every bump as they drove out of the field. The pizza driver watched Hunter with fascination.

  “Could someone please tell me what happened in the last five minutes?” Steve asked.

  “Sure,” McGee said. “The guy in the back seat stopped a terrorist trying to kill me after he killed five of my friends. Your terrorist buddy tricked you to get me to the door, so he could shoot both of us with that crazy rifle you picked up.”

  “Oh.” Steve thought for a few moments, realizing the big man beside him probably saved his life. “What will happen to me?”

  McGee parked behind his house and turned off the engine. “Steve, I really appreciate your help tonight. I know there’ll be a lot of pressure on you to share what you saw. We can’t afford to let that happen. If you talk about it tonight, somehow it will get back to some very bad people, and I can assure you they’ll find you and hurt you and your family, in ways you can’t imagine. Did I miss anything, Du...Maverick?”