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

by BJ Bourg

  “But how can that be?” she said aloud. “The weapon was seized as evidence.” Unless someone signed it out and put it back in circulation! She snatched up the handset and smashed the redial button. Cindy answered almost immediately and asked if she’d received the report.

  “I got it—thanks.” Dawn licked her lips. “Did you happen to notice who signed the weapon out of evidence?”

  “It was recovered from Detective Berger and then…” Cindy paused, thinking. “If I remember right, it was turned over to London.”

  “London?”

  “Yeah, since he’s in charge of the sniper team it went to him.”

  Dawn’s lower lip was starting to bleed now. “Any idea who he might’ve assigned it to?”

  “You’d have to ask him. I only know about evidence, not department property.”

  Dawn dropped the handset in the cradle and fumbled with her cell phone. She stood up and paced the floor while waiting for London to answer. “Come on…pick up, pick up.”

  When London didn’t answer, she called Norm. He sounded groggy when he answered. “Sorry if I woke you,” Dawn began, “but I need a favor.”

  “If it involves a boat and going out on the water tonight, the answer is no.”

  “London’s out there on the island and I need to reach him as soon as possible.”

  “Call him.”

  “He can’t answer his phone.” Dawn hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to reveal. “Look, there’s been a major breakthrough in the case. The shooter might be one of ours.”

  She could almost hear Norm’s ears perk up. “One of ours? Like, he could be a cop?”

  “Don’t you repeat that!” Dawn warned. “It’s highly classified information.

  “No, no, I won’t say a thing. Mum’s the word.” He was silent for a few seconds. Finally, he sighed. “Where do you want to meet and where do we need to go?”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  CHAPTER 38

  Somewhere on the Boudreaux/Simoneaux Island

  I settled into a prone position beside what felt like a large tree. It was so dark in the dense swamps where Patrick and I were that I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed most of the time. I knew Patrick was a few feet to my right, because I could hear his steady breathing. The faint rustling sounds from his direction told me he was getting in position, too.

  If my sense of direction was still what it used to be, the spot where Norris was killed was directly ahead of us, maybe thirty yards out. Moving so slow that it was painful, I positioned my rifle in front of me and lowered my cheek to the stock so I could peer through my scope. The night vision adapter turned everything green, so I was unable to distinguish between different colors. Things only appeared light green, dark green, or a shade of green in between. When I spotted the first body, I knew the dark green colors indicated blood—and there was a lot of it.

  I heard Patrick groan silently and I knew he’d also seen the body. I scanned the ground ahead of us and saw the rest of the bodies. I couldn’t tell which one was Dave, but I was sure he was among the downed agents. He was the team leader for the local FBI office, so he would’ve definitely been leading the operation.

  “They all look dead,” Patrick whispered. “Every last one of them.”

  “I’m going check them to be sure.” I eased to a seated position and pulled some night vision goggles (NVG) from my drag bag, strapped them to my head. I then pulled my AR-15 from the bag and flipped the selector switch to fire. “Cover me.”

  “Don’t be crazy, London,” Patrick hissed. “There’s no cover out there. You’ll be exposed.”

  “Then make damn sure you get the bastard if he gets me.” Without waiting for a response, I eased out from beside the tree—staying in a low crouch and keeping my rifle at the ready—and inched forward, one step at a time, stopping often to listen. Other than the buzzing from the thousands of mosquitoes swarming around my head and an occasional grunt from nearby alligators, all was deathly still.

  I moved slowly enough that the motion wouldn’t be easily detected from a distance, pushing forward until I reached the first body. Lowering myself to the ground, I felt for a pulse. The body was cold to the touch and void of a pulse. I couldn’t discern facial features in my goggles, so I moved on to the next agent. He was also dead…and the next, and the next. I counted seven dead agents in all—every one of them shot through the head.

  When I slinked back to Patrick’s location, I told him what I’d found. “Let’s head back to Wellman’s camp,” I whispered. “There’s nothing we can do for them now. I’ll come back once the island is safe.”

  I slipped my Accuracy International sniper rifle into my drag bag and secured it inside, along with my NVG. After shouldering the drag bag, I gripped my AR-15 firmly in my hands and set off in the direction from whence we’d come, moving like a tortoise, but slower. Patrick followed suit and fell in behind me, inching one foot forward, and then the other.

  Movement was painfully slow at first, because it took about twenty minutes to fully recover my night vision after having used the NVG to check on the federal agents. Once I could differentiate between the various shadows again, it became easier to navigate the soupy ground under my feet. As I approached patches of water now, I could either avoid them or lower my foot even slower, not even causing a ripple. Before I’d regained my night vision, I didn’t know I was stepping into water until I felt the wetness seeping into my socks.

  On one occasion, I was about to take a step, but noticed a dark patch of ground shift slightly in front of me. I froze—my right foot suspended in the air—and watched as the large alligator lumbered toward our right, seemingly unaware—or uncaring—that I had been about to step on its back. Patrick groaned behind me and I turned so I could hear what he was saying. While I didn’t catch it all, it sounded like he was saying something about hating “those big damn lizards”.

  We pressed on and, although the air was cool, sweat poured down my face. I wondered if my camo paint was holding up. It definitely didn’t deter the mosquitoes from drilling for blood all over my face and neck. Knowing the danger we would be in if we were detected, I didn’t even bother blowing them away from the front of my face. Instead, I allowed them to drink freely from the wells they’d dug, and I just hoped my blood was toxic to the little bastards.

  From my estimation, we were still about five hundred yards from the back of Wellman’s camp when the trees around us began to rapidly take shape. I turned to the east and could see the sky starting to brighten. Shit! We were about to be fully exposed and vulnerable.

  I reached behind me with my left hand and pointed to the ground, letting Patrick know I was going into a sniper crawl. Moving in slow motion, I faded downward and melded into the ground, advancing on my belly, with the right side of my face pressed against the damp earth.

  It took over an hour for us to reach the banks of Devil’s Lake, and another twenty minutes to remove the sniper rifles from our drag bags and set them up. A slow check of our surroundings indicated we were east of Wellman’s camp and we had a good view of that side of his property. I scanned the western bank of the lake where I knew Dean and Ray were set up, but I couldn’t make out anything. I smiled my approval.

  I pressed the radio button on my thumb and spoke into my throat mic. “Sierra One to Sierra Two, are y’all in position?”

  “Ten-four,” Ray called. “Been here all night. Everything’s quiet.”

  I gave them my position and checked on Jerry.

  “Quiet here,” he called softly, “but around midnight a boat came into the garage. I’m pretty sure it was water patrol.”

  I scowled. Who in the hell could that be, and why were they here?

  “Anyone have contact with dispatch?” I asked. We were on our sniper channel and no one else had access to it, so water patrol would not have been able to contact us.

  “Negative,” Jerry said. “It’s too dangerous to switch channels.”

 
He was right. The sun was hovering above the treetops to the east—left of my position—and we weren’t about to risk detection by moving to change the radio channel. We’d find out soon enough who was here and why they’d come. I had a sneaking suspicion Dawn had forced someone to bring her out here. If so…good for her. I liked that she cared enough about her cases that she wanted to be involved and—

  “Good God,” Patrick said from beside me. “Would you look at that?”

  As soon as he spoke, a sudden motion from the corner of Wellman’s camp caught my eye. The movement was at the outer edge of my field of vision, so I eased my rifle over a bit until the source came into full view. My heart nearly leapt into my throat when I saw Septime’s young boy, Leroy, sneaking around the northeastern corner of the camp. He was crouched low and heading toward the front of the building carrying a loaf of bread in his hands. I glanced toward the front of the building and grunted when I saw the large cage. There was a baby raccoon inside.

  “Sierra Two, are you seeing this?” I whispered.

  “Ten-four,” Ray called. “Someone needs to get him the hell out of there.”

  I turned my attention to the western banks of Devil’s Lake, studying every shadow and crack in the foliage, searching for anything that was out of place. “Sierra Two, do you see anything on my side of the lake?” I asked.

  “Negative,” Ray said. “I don’t even see your position.”

  “We’ve got to get that kid out of there,” I said to Patrick. “If the Trinity Sniper’s out here—”

  “Just stay put,” Patrick hissed, “and keep your eye on the bank. He’s out there somewhere and we need to be ready if he shoots.”

  Leroy had made it to the raccoon cage and he was reaching for the locking mechanism.

  “Anything?” I asked over the radio. When no one answered, I made up my mind. “Cover me, Patrick. I’m going after—”

  “Stand-by,” Ray called. “Dean’s spotted something.”

  I hesitated, one hand on the ground, ready to push off and go after the kid.

  “Sierra One, are you set up in a patch of palmetto bushes eighty yards east of Boudreaux’s camp?” Ray’s voice was laced with excitement.

  “Negative,” I said. “We’re about forty yards away.” My eyes were suddenly drawn to movement along the western bank. When I focused on the source of the movement, I scowled. Dean’s hooded head was extending up over his scope, as though he were looking at something. “What the hell are you doing, Dean? Get your ass—”

  CHAPTER 39

  A gunshot suddenly exploded from somewhere to my left and the forest erupted in flapping wings as scared birds scattered in fear. Before I had time to process what I’d heard, I flinched as I watched Dean’s head whip backward and then slam forward onto the stock of his rifle. His entire body went limp and there was a patch of red mist on the bushes behind where his head had been a split second earlier.

  “No!” I swung my rifle to the left, searching for the bastard who’d killed Dean, but my view was obstructed by trees and thick underbrush and I couldn’t get a fix on the sniper’s location.

  “Damn it!” Patrick said from beside me. “What the hell is she doing?”

  I swiveled my rifle back to the scene before me and gasped when I saw Dawn running toward Leroy. Her arms were pumping fast and her legs stretching far as she tried to cover as much distance as possible with each stride. The little boy had managed to open the raccoon cage and was reaching inside for the ball of fur. Dawn must’ve screamed at him, because he stopped what he was doing and turned to look in her direction. Unsure of what was about to happen, he turned to run away from Dawn.

  There was movement beside me and I heard Patrick scramble to his feet and bolt into the woods behind us. I knew he was heading toward the gunshot, hoping to get a fix on the sniper if he fired a second shot. I felt helpless as I watched Dawn advancing on the child.

  “Ray, do you see the shooter?” I asked over the radio. Nothing. I adjusted my scope and peered in his direction. He was camouflaged well, but I could make out his gloved hand applying pressure to the back of Dean’s hood. “Ray, get back on your rifle!” I hollered. “Stop that bastard before he kills someone else!”

  Ray’s hand retracted and I saw motion in the bushes as he settled in behind his rifle. His voice was shaky when he said, “Ten-four, glassing him now.”

  I turned my attention back to Dawn just in time to see her launch herself into the air and tackle the running kid. Right as she did so, another gunshot exploded to my left and I saw a large chunk of wooden siding splinter off the corner of Wellman’s camp, missing Dawn and Leroy by inches.

  Several yards to my left, the swamps erupted in fully automatic gunfire, and I knew Patrick was raining hell down on the sniper’s location. There was a brief pause—I knew he was reloading—and then the gunfire began again. I took one last glance at Dawn and, after seeing that she had dragged the kid around the corner to safety, I pushed off the ground and raced toward the gunfire.

  Patrick reloaded once more before I reached his location. I found him squatting beside a fallen tree, sending bullets downrange like he was getting paid to do it. I dropped to the ground and grunted when I found myself in a bed of cypress knees. One stabbed me in the chest and two into my ribs, but I ignored the pain and flipped open my scope caps. I glassed the area Patrick was spraying, but didn’t see anything.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “He took out running,” Patrick said, and paused to strip another empty magazine from his AR-15. Keeping his rifle aimed at the sniper’s location, he slapped a fresh magazine in the well. “I don’t think I got him, but I scared the shit out of him. He’s definitely on the run.”

  I hesitated. In hide and seek with guns, it was downright deadly to be the seeker, but we needed to stop this killer and we needed to stop him now. I knew we may never get another chance to be this close to him again, so I stood and waved for Patrick to follow me.

  As we advanced on the sniper’s location, I switched channels on my radio. My earpiece was immediately flooded with excited chatter. Ray was screaming for air med and Dawn was calling for dispatch to send reinforcements. When there was a break in the traffic, I radioed dispatch to have Ben get his chopper in the air and fly to the lake as soon as possible to help us track the killer. The dispatcher acknowledged my transmission and Dawn radioed for me to go to a secure channel. When I did, she said, “This is an inside job, London. The killer’s one of ours.”

  I stopped walking to process what she’d just told me.

  Patrick stopped, too, and shot a curious glance in my direction. “What’s going on?”

  I wasn’t sure if my earpiece was projecting to where Patrick could hear, but I waved him off. “It’s nothing to worry about, Patrick.”

  “Can’t talk now?” Dawn asked.

  “Right. We’re on the killer’s trail at the moment—heading east along the northern shore.”

  “Okay…we’ll talk when you get back.” Dawn hesitated before hanging up. “Just be prepared to shoot one of our own.”

  “I already am.” I turned my radio back to the sniper channel and nodded to let Patrick know I was ready. I moved farther to the left to create some distance between us, and we made our way as fast as we silently could, careful not to snaps twigs, splash in the water, or rustle dead leaves. It would’ve been safer to move on our bellies, but we’d never catch up with the Trinity Sniper.

  We had gone about a mile when I realized I hadn’t seen a sign in a few dozen steps. I hissed at Patrick and waved for him to get down. He dropped to his knees and held his rifle in the ready position. I crouched low and scanned the ground between us, which was where the killer’s tracks had appeared. The last sign I’d seen was a muddy boot print entering a patch of water. I indicated with my hand for Patrick to stay put and I slowly backtracked, searching the ground as I went. When I arrived at the water hole, I realized he hadn’t made it out the other side. I glanced toward the no
rth, but couldn’t see the far side of the water hole.

  Feeling the skin on the back of my neck crawl, I slid behind the thick base of a cypress tree and waited, listening. Other than an occasional plopping sound in the water surrounding me and birds singing overhead, all was quiet. I was about to step out from behind the tree when I heard it. The noise was distant, but unmistakable. Patrick must’ve heard it too, because he came running toward my position yelling, “He’s getting away!”

  I lunged forward, splashing through the water hole and heading north toward Pelican Pass, where a boat engine had roared to life. Patrick was hot on my heels, both of us running as fast as our legs could carry us, but it was no use. We were no match for the outboard. I could hear it pulling away much faster than we were approaching.

  When I reached the banks of Pelican Pass, the boat was merely a dot in the distance. The sun shone brightly against the water and it was hard to make out any descriptors in the blinding reflection. Patrick ran past me and splashed into the shallow water along the shore. Resting the forearm of his rifle against a low tree branch, he began firing at the fleeing boat, cursing loudly as he did so.

  I didn’t even try to stop him. Instead, I keyed up my radio and called for Ben. It took a minute for him to respond. When he did, I gave him our location and asked for his ETA (estimated time of arrival).

  “Twenty minutes,” he called, his voice sounding muffled.

  “Shit!” I rested the butt of my rifle against the ground and sighed. The shooter would be long gone before he got close to us. I keyed up my radio and asked him to follow Little Bayou south to Pelican Pass. “The shooter was last seen heading east on the Pass.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Patrick had fired all of his magazines dry and just stood slumped against the branch, looking tired.