Proving Grounds: A London Carter Novel (London Carter Mystery Series Book 2)

by BJ Bourg

  “Where are you?”

  “At my camp.”

  “Stay there and don’t move. Lock every door and window and close every curtain. You got it?”

  “Um…yeah. Yeah, I got it.”

  “Repeat what I just told you.”

  “You…um…you said to lock the doors and close the curtains.”

  “Now, go do it and don’t let anyone in or out of your house until I tell you it’s safe.”

  “What’s going on?” Dawn’s eyebrows were furrowed. “Who was that?”

  She gasped when I told her what had happened. “Wait…this sniper wiped out an entire FBI team?”

  I only nodded as I searched through my contacts and called my buddy, Dave. “Come on,” I said to myself as his phone rang and rang. After about seven rings, it went to his voicemail. I left a message letting him know I’d received a report that one of their teams was in danger. When I hung up, I asked Dawn to contact the local FBI office and forward the report to them.

  “Where are you going?” A look of concern had spread across her face.

  “I’m going to the island.”

  “Alone?”

  “No.” Without waiting for her to mount a protest, I rushed out of the office and into the night, jumping into my truck. As I headed to the boat launch, I called the sheriff and told him what was going on.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I’m going to end this.”

  I then got Dean, Jerry, and Ray on three-way call and told them what was going on. “Get geared up and meet me at the boat launch as soon as you can.”

  “How long are we going to be out there?” Jerry asked.

  “Pack enough beef jerky and water for a week. If it takes longer, we’ll just have to—”

  A car pulled right out in front of me and I had to quickly smash the brake pedal and swerve into the left lane, nearly losing my phone in the process. I cursed and jerked back into the right lane, narrowly avoiding an oncoming car. I flipped the switch for my lights and siren and continued on, driving so fast the truck rocked from side to side.

  “What’s going on?” Dean asked.

  “Nothing—just get to the launch as soon as you can.”

  I drove at breakneck speed for another twenty minutes before I saw the old pickup truck about a mile ahead of me. I smashed the accelerator a little harder, calling upon my truck to give it everything it had. It didn’t disappoint, and I was soon about to drive right up the ass of the old pickup. The passenger turned to look out the back glass and my headlights lit up Patrick’s face. He mouthed something to Wellman and I saw the taillights brighten.

  I pressed my own brake pedal and eased off, following them to the shoulder of the highway. Patrick was first out the vehicle and he reached the back of the pickup just as I did.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Did that bastard strike again?”

  I told him what we’d learned from Orville Simoneaux. “I could use your help, Patrick.”

  His eyes lit up and he nodded his head. “Say the word and I’m there.”

  “My guys are going to meet me at the boat launch as soon as they get their gear together.” I turned toward Wellman, who had just walked up. “Do you mind giving me and my men a ride to your place? I need to get them set up on the lake while it’s still dark. It’ll be safer that way and they’ll already be in position when day breaks, so they’ll be ready if the killer makes his move. It would be great if your men could offer some support.”

  “Sure. Of course…anything you need.”

  Even in the dark I could see Patrick’s eyes narrow. “What about you? What are you going to do while they set up?”

  “I’m going check on the FBI’s team and then I’ll set up with them.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “It’ll be dangerous,” I warned. “I might not get back until daylight. I don’t have to tell you how dangerous it is to move around in a kill zone during the daytime.”

  Patrick nodded. “That’s right—you don’t. And like I said, I’m coming with you.”

  CHAPTER 36

  No one said a word on the ride to the island. Wellman ran the boat in total darkness, keeping the motor at an idle to reduce noise. Jerry, Dean, and Ray crouched low on one side of the boat, their rifles ready, and Patrick and I did the same on the opposite side.

  A cool wind blew in from the north, keeping the mosquitoes at bay, and the water lapped gently against the side of the boat. The moon was high in the sky and reflected off the surface of the water, lighting our liquid path as we snaked down the gap between the thick woodlands. The trees were dark and hovered like ominous shadows on both sides, adding to the picturesque scenery that surrounded us, and Wellman hugged one side of the bayou to keep in the shadows as best as possible.

  Had I not known better, I might’ve thought this was just another beautiful September night in the south. But I did know better and I knew very well the danger we were in. The closer we got to the pass, the more I expected to hear the splat of a bullet hitting flesh and taking away the life of one of my men. And I was not disillusioned—I knew very well the life taken could be my own.

  The darkness of the trees suddenly gave way ahead of us as the bayou opened up into the lake. Hugging the shoreline, Wellman made his way toward his camp. I could feel the tension in the boat. Our heads were on swivels as we penetrated the darkness with our eyes and kept our ears perked up—watching and listening for any sign of a human’s presence. I knew better than to think the Trinity Sniper would give himself away so easily, but we had to be on high alert just in case.

  I lurched gently forward as Wellman slowed the boat to a mere drift. His house was in clear view against the moonlit sky and I shook my head when I saw lights beaming from an open window upstairs. I tapped Patrick’s shoulder and pointed. I saw him shake his head and I knew he’d take care of it.

  When we were securely within the deep shadows of the boat garage and the boat was tied to the cleat, we grabbed our gear and slipped over the side and onto the enclosed dock.

  Patrick pulled out a cell phone and made a quick call. Soon after he put away his phone, the lights in the upstairs window disappeared. “Follow me,” he said, and led the way deeper into the darkness of the garage. It was so dark I could only see shadows, but we dared not use flashlights. Operating by feel and the sound of Patrick’s footsteps on the hollow boards, we ascended a flight of stairs and then pushed through a heavy wooden door. When we were all inside, Patrick slammed the door shut and someone flipped a switch. Patrick cursed and we all squinted as the bright light flooded our dilated pupils.

  “Sorry,” said a young voice.

  I shielded my eyes and looked at the kid. He was dirty and wet, had sandy hair and freckles. I stuck out my hand. “What’s your name, little man?”

  “Leroy.”

  “That’s Septime’s boy,” Wellman said. “He’s the oldest of my grandkids.”

  “I’m six,” the boy said, lifting all five fingers of his right hand and one finger of his left hand. “You want to see my new pet? It’s a baby raccoon. I caught him myself.”

  “No,” Wellman said, interrupting him. “You’re staying inside until I tell you it’s safe to go back outside. Now get back in the kitchen and let us work.”

  The boy frowned, but did what he was told.

  Patrick dragged a table to the middle of the room and hollered for his men to join us. Wellman pulled a map off the wall and stretched it out on the table. When Patrick’s men—four lanky fellows with bad intentions written all over their faces—joined us, he traced the curvy land that made up the northern banks of Devil’s Lake. “If I’m Trinity, I’m setting up along this shoreline somewhere to get a shot at any kid who shows up in a boat.” He pointed to a clock on the wall. “Kids are in school until a little after two and they don’t start showing up on the lake until about three o’clock, so there’s our window.”

  “The lake should be empty, because t
he sheriff’s going to sound the alarm first thing in the morning,” I reminded him. “I’m not willing to risk any innocent lives.”

  Patrick nodded. “Mr. Boudreaux and I spoke about it after we left your office. Most of the kids out here, they get home while their parents are still at work, and they don’t watch the news.”

  Wellman nodded his agreement. “These kids are like me when I was young. As soon as I’d get home from school, I’d hit the marsh…and nothing was going to stop me.”

  I turned to Jerry. “Call the sheriff and tell him to have public announcements made at every school in the parish first thing in the morning.”

  Jerry nodded and grabbed his cell phone, turning from the group to make the call.

  Wellman shook his head. “Like I said, nothing would keep me out of the swamps.”

  “I have to try.” Turning back to the map, I drew a line with my finger from the Cut, where Bayou Magnolia spilled into Devil’s Lake, and stopped when I reached the western bank of the lake. “I’d set up here. From this area along the western bank, the point of aim value would be zero for any boat coming through the Cut. Also, I’d have a clear shot at any kid stepping out of this house.”

  I heard Wellman take a short breath. “You think this guy’s going to target my family…my grandkids?”

  I nodded. “I hate to say it, but I do. Your family is the only one left on this side of the lake, so there are no other families to target.”

  Wellman’s shoulders drooped, and I wondered if he was beginning to regret squeezing the other families out of their homes. No time for that now, I turned to Dean and Ray. “Y’all are Sierra Two and I want y’all here”—I stabbed my finger at a spot on the western bank of Devil’s Lake about a hundred yards south of the Cut—“keeping an eye on the northern and eastern banks, just in case the killer wants to target a kid on the lake tomorrow. If y’all see that bastard, don’t hesitate—take him out immediately.” I then turned to Patrick. “I want one of your men to set up with Jerry along the northern bank. They’ll be Sierra Three and they can cover the western bank, just in case Trinity targets someone at the camp here.”

  Patrick nodded to the tallest of his four men. “Buck, you’re going with Jerry.”

  I glanced at Patrick’s other three men. “I need y’all here to keep this place safe. I’d position myself deep in one of the rooms upstairs. Open every window on the second floor so Trinity doesn’t know where y’all are hiding and keep the rooms dark. It’s the highest spot out here, so y’all should have an advantage over him.”

  They looked to Patrick, who nodded his consent. “Okay, boss,” one of them said. “We’re on it.”

  They immediately turned away and hurried out of the room. I heard their boots pounding on the floor above us as they began setting up their sniper hides.

  As the rest of the men geared up for their assignments, I grabbed my rucksack and dragged it to a corner of the room to do the same. Dropping to the floor, I began smearing camo paint on my face, neck, and hands. Jerry sat nearby going through the same process, but Dean and Ray simply pulled on camouflage gloves and hoods. Like me, Jerry preferred feeling his way around with his bare hands rather than wearing gloves, and he didn’t want to obstruct his peripheral vision with the camouflage hood, but Dean and Ray liked the ease of slipping in and out of their gear.

  Dean pulled out a can of mosquito repellant, but I stopped him before he could spray it. “No mosquito spray on this mission. We have to look, feel, and smell like the marsh. The slightest contrast could give you away…if that happens, your ex-wife will get all of your shit.”

  “Damn, London,” Dean said. “Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking?”

  “He usually does.” Jerry smiled, but it was a forced one. His mind was on the operation we were about to embark upon, and he knew there was a chance that one—or more—of us wouldn’t be going home.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket and I lifted it to check the indicator screen. It was Sally again. I scowled and rejected the call. While I was thinking about it, I turned the phone off and dropped it in my rucksack. I didn’t allow cell phones on sniper operations, because it could compromise the entire mission and risk the safety of my men. Out there in the bush, a vibrating cell phone could give us away and result in a high-powered rifle round crashing through our cranial vault faster than twice the speed of sound…not something I cared to endure if I could help it.

  Once Patrick and I were ready, we slipped out a back door and faded quietly into the swamps behind Wellman’s camp. We had studied the map and plotted the route in our heads. If all went according to plan, we could safely reach the location of the massacre a little after midnight. If we could survey the scene within two hours, we would be returning right before daybreak. Any later and we’d be forced to move in the light of day…and every sniper knows that movement is not their friend, unless the enemy’s doing it.

  CHAPTER 37

  Magnolia Parish Substation, Seasville, LA

  Dawn didn’t like that London left her behind, but she knew she didn’t have the training—or the desire—to go crawling around in the swamps. She called the local FBI office and passed along the report they’d received from Orville.

  “Sorry, Sergeant Luke, but we don’t have any agents in that area at the moment,” said the duty agent.

  “That’s not true and you know it.”

  “Sorry, but I’m not at liberty to discuss any undercover operations in which we may or may not be partaking.”

  “Well, just let your superiors know your team is in real trouble.” Dawn then hung up the phone and fired up her computer. While waiting for it to boot up, her mind drifted to London. She’d always found him handsome and was secretly attracted to his strong and confident ways. And he wasn’t like most guys she’d met over the years, who looked at her like a piece of meat. She couldn’t help but notice that the first thing they noticed about her was her breasts—leaving her feeling as though she needed a shower—but not London. He looked her in the eyes and he treated her as an equal. He’d also never made a pass at her, which was refreshing, yet troubling. What if he doesn’t find me attractive?

  Dawn pushed the thought from her mind and turned her attention back to the computer monitor. She’d been too busy of late to check her email, so she took the opportunity to do it now. There were a dozen messages announcing different promotions and demotions within the department, and one farewell message from the sheriff to a recent retiree. She deleted most of them and was about to turn away when the subject line of one particular message caught her eye. It was from the evidence custodian, Cindy Folse, and the subject line read, quite simply, “IBIS hit”.

  Her hand shaking in excitement, she quickly clicked on the email and drummed her fingers on the desk while waiting impatiently for the page to load. When it finally popped into view, she read the message, which was void of particulars:

  ——

  Dawn,

  There’s been an IBIS hit on the first bullet you submitted from the sniper shooting case. Of course, an examiner will have to physically compare the bullet from your case with the bullet from the case in IBIS to verify they were fired from the same weapon. Also, the examiner was able to compare the bullet from the first shooting with the bullet from the second shooting and he can confirm they were fired from the same weapon.

  Thanks,

  Cindy

  ——

  “What the hell?” Dawn flung the mouse across the desktop. “What are the details of the IBIS case?” Her mind raced, wondering what she should do next. She could wait until morning when Cindy returned to work…

  “Oh, screw it!” She pulled up the electronic employee Rolodex and scrolled through it until she found Cindy’s cell phone. She snatched up the office handset and dialed the number. It rang six times and went to voicemail. Not to be denied, she located Cindy’s home number and dialed it. A man answered on the third ring.

  “Hey, this is Dawn from the sheriff’s o
ffice. Is Cindy there?”

  “Cindy,” the man hollered, causing Dawn to wince and move the handset from her ear. “Someone named Dawn is on the phone.”

  When Cindy came on the line, Dawn apologized for calling at night on a Sunday. “Look, I just got your email about the hit on the sniper bullet, but it doesn’t offer particulars.”

  Cindy, who was always pleasant and willing to help, offered to run to the office and send the information. “I can scan the document from IBIS and email it to you.”

  Dawn chewed on her lower lip. She felt guilty about making Cindy leave her house, but she needed that information. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “It’s five minutes from my house. Not a problem.”

  Dawn thanked her and then sat at her desk, waiting impatiently for the email to arrive. She refreshed her inbox a dozen times over the next ten minutes. Nothing. Finally, after a bathroom break and grabbing a cup of coffee from the kitchen, she returned to her desk and heard the new message alert. She quickly opened it and printed the document that Cindy had forwarded to her.

  Settling back in her chair, she sipped from the steaming cup of coffee as she read the report. It seemed the IBIS hit was tied to another case from Magnolia Parish, and the report provided a case number. The last two digits of the case number indicated the year of the complaint, and this one was from four years ago. Her curiosity thoroughly aroused, and excited that there might be a break in the case, she pulled up the department’s complaint database and entered the case number.

  When it came up, she began reading. As she did so, her mouth started to drop open. It seemed the shooting from four years ago had involved a sheriff’s office weapon, and she was intimately familiar with the case. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that it hurt as she read the detective’s narrative, reliving every moment of that night. When she reached the part where it was about to identify the sheriff’s deputy from whom the weapon was recovered, she stopped reading. She already knew the answer…it was her ex-partner, Brandon Berger.