Suddenly the warden appeared out the trees and shouted, “Stop right there!” Rosa turned and aimed his rifle at him.
Houston rose to his knees, staggered to his feet and said, “Hello, Edwin.”
Rosa forgot about the warden and spun to face Houston. It was impossible for his severely scarred face to show expression. However, his cold, pale blue eyes widened in surprise when he found himself staring into the barrel of Houston’s 9mm pistol.
Houston widened his stance to compensate for his shaking hands and fired . . .
. . . and fired again.
The first round hit Rosa in the stomach. He doubled over and the second bullet smashed through his face. The heavy slug drove him back a step, where his foot slipped on the berm of a small ravine. Rosa tumbled into the ditch and came to rest at the bottom.
Houston staggered forward; the pain from his mangled shoulder filled his eyes with tears. Walking on the uneven ground was difficult, but he urged his wounded body forward. Houston slowly approached the berm and looked inside the gully.
Rosa rested in a quagmire of mud and blood and decayed sediment. From ten feet away, Houston saw that his head was lopsided and the 9mm bullet had blown out a large piece of his skull. He would never make another kill.
Even though Rosa had identified himself, Houston needed to confirm the identity and he slid down the gully. He knelt beside the body and rummaged through its pockets where he found a pair of old dog tags. Houston grimaced as he turned the tags to see the name punched on them. The sniper with the horrific burn scars on his face was indeed Edwin Rosa.
“You all right?”
Houston stood and looked up at Marsh, the stock of an M-16 rested on the warden’s hip, muzzle pointed at the sky. He raised his hands so that his pistol was in plain sight and pointed at the sky and then threw it on the ground at Marsh’s feet. “I’m sure as hell glad you’re here.” He slowly dropped to his knees in the chilly debris-and blood-covered water.
37
“But for me it is over. I have passed my rifle and scope to others who are also gifted at this arcane and secret craft, and there is no one left for me to shoot . . . . I will never fight again.”
—Gunnery Sergeant Jack Coughlin, USMC
Houston woke up and saw Jimmy O’Leary sitting beside his bed. He thumbed through a magazine. Unable to speak, he lay still staring at Jimmy.
Jimmy glanced up from his magazine and saw that Houston’s eyes were open. “Welcome back to the world.”
Too weak to control his head, Houston let it roll to the side. A nurse walked in and stood beside him. She checked his pulse and felt his forehead. “Fever seems to have broken.”
Houston tried to talk, but all he was able to do was make a dry croaking sound.
“A bit dry are we?” The nurse held a glass with a straw before his mouth and he sipped. The water felt wonderful as it cooled his mouth and lubricated his tongue and throat.
“Enough?”
He nodded and the glass disappeared.
Houston looked at Jimmy and whispered, “Anne?”
“Gonna make it.” O’Leary pointed at Houston’s heavily bandaged shoulder. “You two are something else. Name me another couple with his and hers gunshot wounds.”
Houston’s eyes felt heavy and he forced them to remain open. “Susie okay?” His voice was hoarse and it hurt his throat to talk.
“She’s fine. Turns out she has as much of her father in her as she does her mother.”
The nurse straightened the sheets on his bed. “Damned lucky for you that medevac got there as soon as it did. You would have died otherwise.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Wouldn’t matter if you did; it wouldn’t have changed anything. You’re one popular man.”
“Oh?”
“There are Maine state cops and people from the Department of Inland Fish and Wildlife waiting to talk to you. Marvin tried to clarify things, but the state police want you to personally explain why a Boston cop is in Maine killing people.”
“Nurse,” Houston said, “I’m not up to that right now.”
“I know that,” the nurse replied. “Hell, the doctor and I already told them it would be at least three days before you’d have enough strength to be interrogated.” She smiled. “Then I’ll feed you to them.” She finished fussing with his bed, turned her attention to recording his vital signs on his chart. “You’re much stronger than you feel.”
“You could have fooled me.”
A man dressed in pale green scrubs walked into the room, closing the door behind him. “Hello, I’m Doctor Hayward. How are you feeling?”
“Not bad, all things considered.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, you’re going to live.” He looked at Jimmy. “Could we have a minute?”
“Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of him,” Houston said. “He and I go back a long way.”
“You’re one lucky man, detective. If that bullet had been a couple of inches to the right . . . well, quite frankly, it would have ripped your heart apart.”
The doctor stayed with them for several minutes, checking Houston’s chart and then left. O’Leary looked at the door to ensure they were alone. “I want you to know that this ain’t changed nothin’.”
Houston gave him a questioning look.
“About us,” O’Leary said, “Now that you got the bastard, it’s back to business as usual . . . you’re still a cop and I’m still what I am.”
Houston smiled. “I never expected anything else.”
O’Leary took out his cigarettes and shook one out before he remembered where he was. He coughed and shoved the cigarette back into the box, which he put back into his pocket.
“You got one thing wrong though, Jimmy.”
“Which is?”
“I’m through as a cop.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“This case has opened my eyes. The job cost me my wife and almost my daughter and my life. I don’t want to lose anything else, man. I’m done as a cop.”
O’Leary walked past Houston’s bed and stared out the window. He studied the Portland skyline for several moments. “I always wondered if you were ever gonna realize that there are times when the price of staying is higher than the cost of leaving.” He turned toward the door and, as he walked toward it, he looked over his shoulder at Houston. “You need a job, there’ll always be a place in my organization for you.”
“We both know that will never happen.” Houston winced as a stab of pain ripped through him. He exhaled deeply. “Truth is, I’m burned out on living in the city. I kind of took a liking to Maine.”
“You, living in the fuckin’ woods? That I gotta see.”
“I can live in the country just fine. Besides, even if I can’t I’ll never admit it.”
“We are a couple of stubborn micks, aren’t we? You going to be all right?”
Before Houston could reply, Susie pushed Anne’s wheelchair through the door. Anne’s appearance rattled him. Black circles surrounded her eyes and she had lost so much weight that she looked gaunt and frail. Without taking his eyes off Anne, he answered O’Leary, “Yeah, I’m gonna be just fine.”
Susie bolted around the wheelchair, bent over and kissed her father. “I love you, Dad.”
“I’ve always known that, kid. Although I’m sure I haven’t always made it easy.”
Susie hugged him and when he grunted in pain, snapped back. “I’m sorry.”
“No problem, babe.”
Susie stepped aside, giving him a clear view of Anne. Houston smiled at his partner, trying to hide his nervousness. How was he going to tell her that he was leaving the cops and Boston?
“Getting crowded in here—think I’ll go have a smoke.” He nudged Susie.
Anne turned and looked up at Susie. “Would you please push me over to the bed?”
Once Anne’s wheelchair was beside the bed, she took Houston’s hand in hers. “I hea
rd that you got him.”
“It’s more like we got each other . . . ”
Susie and O’Leary looked at Houston and Anne, whose physical pain seemed to fall away as they held hands, ambivalent to anything else. “I’m outta here. You guys got things to talk about,” Jimmy O said.
“Help me up,” Anne told Susie.
“Are you sure? The doctor doesn’t want you standing yet.”
“Just help me up.”
Anne used Susie’s shoulder to raise out of the chair. She stepped beside Houston’s bed and said, “Move over you big lug.”
Houston made room for her and she lay down beside him. Houston winced as he let her settle in and put his arm around her, pulling her against him.
Susie looked at her father and Anne and then turned to her uncle. “They’re so cute at that age.”
“Christ, before you know it, you’ll all be kissing and bawling. C’mon, kid, they don’t need us right now.” Jimmy O and his niece walked out, closing the door behind them.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Of all my work, Sniper took me the longest to write, just over ten years. I owe thanks to many people. To list a few: My late wife and soul mate, Connie; cancer took her before she could read the finished manuscript and, after seven years, I still miss her terribly. At the same time, Connie was my most devoted fan and also my most valuable critic—she was always willing to tell me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to hear. On those occasions where I wanted to give up writing, she was the one person who gave me the strength of purpose to struggle onward.
To be successful, a new writer needs a strong critique group of writers who are willing to read the bad stuff and to be strong enough to give the writer constructive, honest criticism. I have been fortunate to be involved with two such groups. First is The Monday Murder Club group where I truly learned how to write. Thanks Paula, Steve, Andy, Margaret and Jim. Second, the Breathe group in Maine. Thanks are also due to Wendy, Heather, Vince and Larry for their invaluable feedback and input.
Thanks are also owed to Brian Thiem, formerly commander of the Oakland, California Police Department Special Operations and USA retired, for pointing out correct police procedure and updating this old jarhead on current military weaponry.
Thanks are owed to my agent and excellent editor, Paula Munier, who has had faith in this novel since its inception in 2002 and to Constance Renfrow and Jay Cassell of Skyhorse Publishing for their excellent editorial assistance.
This book is a work of fiction and any mistakes within are entirely the fault of the writer. That being said, I would like to cite the following works for aiding me in learning about the world of the sniper:
1. Shooter, The Autobiography of the Top-Ranked Marine Sniper by Gunnery Sergeant Jack Coughlin, USMC, Captain Casey Kuhlman, USMCR, with Donald Davis, St. Martin’s Press, 2005.
2. Marine Sniper by Charles Henderson, Berkeley Publishing Group, 1986.
3. Silent Warrior by Charles Henderson, Berkeley Publishing Group, 2000.
4. US Marine Corps Scout/Sniper Training Manual by Scout/Sniper Instructor School, Marksmanship Training Unit, Weapons Training Battalion, Marine Corps Development and Education Command, Quantico, Virginia 22134. Desert Publications, 1994.
I sincerely hope that this work of fiction is not construed as a condemnation of a group of honorable, skilled marines.
Hoo-rah!
Vaughn C. Hardacker
USMC 1966 to 1974
PERMISSIONS
Shooter, The Autobiography of the Top-Ranked Marine Sniper by Gunnery Sergeant Jack Coughlin, USMC, Captain Casey Kuhlman, USMCR, with Donald Davis, © 2005 Reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Press. All rights reserved.
Marine Sniper by Charles Henderson, Berkeley Publishing Group, © 1986. Reprinted by permission of Charles Henderson. All rights reserved.
Silent Warrior by Charles Henderson, Berkeley Publishing Group, © 2000. Reprinted by permission of Charles Henderson. All rights reserved.
US Marine Corps Scout/Sniper Training Manual by Scout/Sniper Instructor School, Marksmanship Training Unit, Weapons Training Battalion, Marine Corps Development and Education Command, Quantico, Virginia 22134, Desert Publications, ©1994. Reprinted by permission of Desert Publications. All rights reserved
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