The Darkest Hour

by Louis Scott

  The base model was reinforced for rugged field use. He brushed dust away from the aircraft-grade aluminum-bedding block. Pike computed the math in his head. This shot would be tough—maybe his most difficult.

  “Where’s the scope?” Pike knelt next to the plastic case. He pulled up the foam inserts and searched.

  “Open sights only—never know when your optics might go out,” T-Boy said, apologetically.

  Over T-Boy’s shoulder, Cranston Stone bellowed from the wooden stool. Pike vowed to kill that man.

  “Can I at least know the wind?” Pike began to feel the crush. Not only was his life at risk, but he was literally taking Voodoo's life into his own hands. One mistake and she was dead.

  “Ten miles per, south by southwest,” Cranston said. “I think.” He grinned with tobacco leaves jutting between empty spaces where teeth had once been.

  “Think, Pike,” he whispered to make himself focus. Twenty-six-inch barrel, nine-pound .308-caliber rifle with a twelve-inch standard twist. Over a half a mile—zero point five hundred and sixty-eight thousandths of a mile to be exact. Freaking wind at 10 miles per. Drift’s gonna be one hundred and seven inches while the freaking drop’s gonna play out at three hundred and sixteen inches. You can do this—you got no choice, he thought.

  “You finished praying, boy? You gonna need it.” Stone threw an empty casing at him.

  Pike ignored him. He squinted downrange to spot the dot that had become Voodoo. He forced his heartbeat to settle—no way would he make the shot with a chest that heaved with dread. He ripped the bolt action to field inspect the weapon and slammed it shut to prevent more debris from gumming up the trigger action.

  “How about a practice round?”

  “Cold bore.”

  Doubt crept inside him. “The paid job doesn’t require this. Why now?”

  “Because I don’t trust you.” Cranston barked.

  Pike looked back from his prone position. “I get a cartridge?”

  “One. Turn that barrel off range and these boys will fill you with more holes than Bonnie and Clyde.”

  Pike dropped his face into the dirt—less than twelve hours earlier he’d been holding her in Bonny’s condo. He spit a piece of grass from between his teeth. Exhaled, and thought about how glad he was for the time connecting with her. It had been more than a chance encounter—he knew that now.

  A thin metal object struck him on the back of his cap and bounced into the soft earth. The bullet’s casing faced up, so he was able to retrieve the single round of ammo and wipe it off on his pants. He patted his left eye to distill the floaters that danced over his pupil. He’d not slept in the last three days and other than a possible torn retina, he was flat exhausted.

  “What’s taking so long?” cracked the voice over the cheap walkie-talkie.

  “I think he’s scared,” someone replied.

  “Tell him to come on. I got this wire wrapped tight around her neck. She might survive the shot but die from strangulation.”

  The transmission was garbled but Pike heard it. He glared at the other guard. “She better be alive after I nail this shot.”

  He zoned out on their silly noise distractions, looked the distance of ten football fields end-to-end and saw her. She was limp, but moving on occasion—probably to threaten the guards. Baby, just stand still, I’m coming, he willed her.

  Suddenly, silence befell everyone. They were as curious about his shot placement as he was. He'd been great in the past, but could he be great again?

  Pike's breathing pounded a thumping sound in his ears. The wind licked the left side of his body. Saw grass tickled his shins where his soaking wet socks and pants parted, and the brilliant sun shone warm across the expanse of one thousand yards.

  Pike cycled through his routine—sight picture, breathing, and trigger control. He wisped in a breath of stale air—held it deep within his lungs. Curled his right index finger and removed slack from the trigger, then he eased back with a steady pull. Released his breath.

  “Holy crap!” the voice screamed over the walkie-talkie.

  Pike stared down range—her head lay fallen forward.

  Stone jerked the walkie-talkie away from one of the guards. “How bad?”

  “Not bad—bull’s eye. That hero is the real deal.”

  Laughter in the guard’s voice echoed through the camp as news spread. Cranston Stone rammed his steel-toed work boot into his bench seat. The grease that covered his boot left a mark on the seat.

  Pike planted his face flat against the solid patch of ground. A single tear dangled from his right eyelash. He allowed it to fall. Adrenaline affected everyone differently. Some FORCE operators laughed, some raged. Some simply went back to work after big events. His were raw emotions.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Mighty fine shooting, son. Rougarou will be pleased to have you in the service.” Stone slapped Pike on the back with a hardy gesture. His attitude had drastically shifted which alarmed Pike.

  “When do I meet Rougarou?”

  “Heck boy, you outta your crazy head. Nobody meets Rougarou. It’s a myth. A ghost.” Stone’s gaze wandered into the distance.

  “Then how do you know he’ll be pleased?” Pike challenged.

  “Just do as you’re told once contacted.”

  “When and where?” Pike’s gut flipped as he watched Krystal transported back from the target section of the range. His excitement shifted to angst once he saw her body bounce listless over the rear of the four-wheeler. Mounted like a deer after the hunt—she looked drugged.

  “You’ll be contacted.” Veins poked through the tight skin in Stone’s throat. His toothless snarl caused them to jut out in opposition to whatever came from his mouth.

  “How?” Pike said through clenched teeth. His fist mashed into his palm until the four-wheeler arrived.

  “You and your whore check into the hotel and follow my instructions inside the room. We’ll contact you when the time is right. Just stay put—hear me, hero?”

  Cranston jabbed Pike in the upper left deltoid, and then smeared spit from his chewing tobacco across Pike’s t-shirt. Pike hated the stench of chewing tobacco. Most of the squids he’d trained with either chawed on it, or took up chewing tobacco just to fit in.

  “I paid good money for this shirt.” Pike spun his right palm down and angled the wrist in a V-shape to protect his trigger finger. He jerked his arm up with brute force and drove the hard, boney part of his wrist beneath Cranston Stone’s frail chin. It was a favorite martial arts move of his, mostly because of the name—Monkey Fist.

  Pike grinned as Stone’s jawbones clamped together and the few rotten teeth gnashed. The dirt bag’s dark eyes rolled back in his skull. He wobbled before crashing onto terra firma.

  “That’s for doubting me.” Pike scowled at the others.

  Some fumbled with holstered weapons, while others tried to conceal sheepish grins beneath scarred knuckles. They scrambled to throw Stone’s limp body into the back of the flatbed trailer. Tater flipped him a half salute and a wink. Pike nodded in approval.

  Voodoo’s body landed with a thud on the ground next to Stone’s. T-Boy stood over her with fists balled to strike. Pike lurched a step toward him. T-Boy cowered with arms across his face, “No.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Pike knelt next to Voodoo—he brushed the hair from her pale face. He assumed they’d not roughed her face up, since part of the mission was mingling in public. Her wrists were a different story. He’d never felt so connected to another.

  “Just for that, hero, find your own way back. Just have yourself in that hotel room by tonight.” T-Boy stuttered in Pike’s direction but avoided eye contact with the Navy SEAL. T-Boy might’ve been ignorant, but not suicidal.

  Pike found a near empty canteen amid the dust and muck they spewed from the tires of their off-road vehicles. Alone, he carried her into the sparse shade that wasn’t inundated with brackish bayou backwaters.

  “
Krystal, you okay? Speak to me.” He held her across his lap—hand shaking as it stroked her bloodied scalp. Crimson dried inside the tufts that dangled behind her ear. She stirred.

  “Krystal, please, baby. Be okay.” He kissed her forehead.

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to fall out of character?” Her eyes flitted against random streams of sunlight that breached the leafy awning. She grimaced to straighten her back over his knees. “What happened?”

  “We kicked their wretched tails and they fled. Of course, you fainted so I fought them all.” He smiled.

  Actually he laughed until his belly ached. It’d been way too long since he’d felt free—surrendered.

  “Did we get the gig?”

  “Yeah, gotta get to 500 Canal Street by tonight. They said to check into this room and follow instructions until contacted.” They both thumbed through the ripped open envelope.

  “Dang, Pike, we still need to hump it back to the Jeep and get there by nineteen hundred hours. You know the way?” She lifted herself against his shoulder.

  “Not exactly, but I can try retracing my steps.” They began to move out together. Voodoo dug in her heels. “You really who they say you are?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “What that guy said you were.” Her finger twirled aside her head, eyes rolled.

  “Yeah, what the guy said.” He grinned expecting her to rush into his arms, overwhelmed by his heroic actions for their country.

  “This way, hero.” She walked away instead. Pike brushed his bruised ego off and kept pace as Voodoo coasted through the rugged marsh terrain.

  “No need to thank me for making that thousand yard shot that saved your life.” Pike tried to make conversation, but mostly understand her distant responses. He wasn’t sure she was even interested in him anymore.

  “It was your shot that scratched my freaking ear and broke my earring. Some SEAL sniper you are.” She called over her shoulder.

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned.

  Chapter Twelve

  Winds gusted off the Mississippi River and blanketed Voodoo and Pike in a mist of muddy water and dust from the Task Force parking lot. They leaned against her Jeep while the other Task Force agents drove away.

  “Geez Pike, you took a brutal beating in that debriefing. Deserved it though—turning off the body wire system just to sweet talk me in private. What the heck’s so important to almost get us killed?” She soothed him with a shoulder rub. They swatted flies outside the warehouse—this wasn’t in Pike’s playbook.

  “Lawless your ex?” Pike scanned the parking lot. He wondered if the surveillance cameras had microphones—figured they did, or should. He shielded his mouth from that point forward.

  “That’s all you worried about? Dude you like some love struck pup. We almost died today, and tonight we going to be these crazy bastard marionettes to do gosh knows what. All you want to know is if Lawless is my squeeze?” She rocked with feet apart in a defensive fighting stance, hands melded into hips.

  He should’ve been hurt, embarrassed, or angry. No woman had admonished him like that since parochial school. Instead, his heart ached to understand her feelings and whether she felt for him the way he’d fallen for her.

  “I do wish you hadn’t told them about Pakistan.” Pike stepped close—secret agent spy close—he gawked around and over her head for counter-surveillance.

  “Paki what?” She dug the baby wipe from her jean pocket to finish cleaning her face. He already thought she was gorgeous.

  “Let’s keep what I did in the sandbox our little secret, okay?” He leaned in to kiss her on the ear he’d whispered into.

  “I ain’t dense, but what are you talking about, Pike? What’s a sandbox got to do with anything?” A scrunched brow was pressed forward and she jerked her neck back in a swayed motion to emphasize the point. Only thing missing was the finger wag. Nope, now she wagged her finger across his face.

  “Voodoo, I was part of SEAL Team 6 that killed bin Laden. Everything was at the highest levels of secrecy. We operated in the shadows, and returned to not tell a soul about our involvement. Then, one of our own, JW Colt betrayed his brothers for the almighty dollar. His movie told not only the story, but also the training, the tactics, and worst of all—the people involved. Lives were lost because of his breach. Our families have gone into hiding in the WitSec program. And for what? JW Colt’s greed.”

  “Even your family?” She brushed hair from over her eye.

  “My mother, brother, two sisters and their families are all under the protection of the US Marshal Service. And now they parade Colt around like a hero. I’d put a bullet between his eyes if given the chance.” Pike’s fury was tempered by the wetness in his eyes as he considered his family’s sacrifices for his service.

  “I’m sorry for opening my mouth. Let me make it up to my hero.” Voodoo air-kissed him. “You remember how to find my condo don’t you?”

  “Hi, hot stuff, back for more?” Bonny snaked her face into the sliver of door opened to Pike.

  He leaned toward the open door, and looked over Bonny’s shoulder for Voodoo. He hadn’t seen her Jeep in the gated parking area, but thought she might’ve hidden it out of a precaution.

  “I wish, but more work left to do. Voodoo back yet? She told me to meet her here.” His body told the story of the last three days. Nearly a full beard after less than a week’s worth of no shaving hid his innocent boyish looks. He’d used that appearance often to fade the heat and attract women. Far from innocent, he liked to think he was genuinely a kind-hearted person. Once carefree, his adrenaline fueled life or death-defying missions had hardened his spirit.

  “You mean you’re willing to pass up this?” Bonny grinned as she twirled in front of him, but Pike ignored her and scanned for Voodoo.

  “Bonny, if you knew the hell I went through today, you wouldn’t even ask.”

  “She's not home yet. Is that what you’re afraid of?” Flirtatious temptations turned to taunting rejection.

  “No, Bonny, I just can’t. It would be disrespectful to Voodoo.”

  “Disrespectful? Because of last night’s toying around? What you thinking hero, y’all an item now? Hate to tell ya, but she ain’t back from her boyfriend’s crib yet.”

  She flipped a turn on her stiletto heel and swayed through the living room. “Your call hero, you can come in or stay out—but close the door either way. I don’t want to waste electricity while Krystal is out getting her groove on.”

  Arid lips pursed as he watched her slink across the white tile floor. Hot anger pulsed through his body at her accusations—where in the heck was Voodoo anyway? Was he was wasting his time chasing her?

  “Bonny, why you all snazzied up?” Pike slipped into the condo without touching the door, but then eased it shut behind him. He watched a sly snarl slip across Bonny’s angular face in the mirrored wall across the living room.

  “You like?” Her long, graceful fingers feathered along the sequin gown. Her narrow hips and ass barely made a dent in the straight line of the silky dress, but that was her allure.

  “Yes, you are a beautiful woman, Bonny. Going somewhere?” He resisted his carnal habit to engage—it usually ended up with bad life choices—followed by some strange excuse to bolt out afterward.

  “Rex’s carnival tableau, silly boy. Everyone that’s anyone will be there.” She spun to face him. Left hip and thigh jutted out—left fist buried into that hip for effect. It opened the split in her gown to expose shredded muscle beneath it. He sucked in a breath—she was tempting.

  “Well, I guess that tells me where I stand in this city.”

  “Want to be part of the action, Pike?” Her lowered voice caught his attention—his full attention.

  “How’s that, ma’am?”

  Fingers jabbed at his beard. The last time it had fully grown out was in Iraq. His hands swiped weary eyes to shake the temptations of abandoning his wait for Voodoo. He’d fallen for her, but be damned if
she’d jerk him around by the collar like, as she'd said earlier—a lovesick pup.

  “Let’s not play games. Join me and find out. I guarantee you’ll care nothing about the Mardi Gras once I’ve had my way with you.” She parted the gown’s slit a few inches to expose even more of her smooth, shapely thigh. “Forget about that little girl, let her play with Lawless. You get a woman instead.” She backed into the bedroom until he lost sight of her.

  He glanced into the same wall-length mirror and saw the shell of a man. The brash, more-than-capable, military might who’d tracked down and taken out the most notorious mass murderer in the world just stood there—hunched by life’s temptations. He imagined himself attired in pristine ultra-white BUD/S graduation formal uniform, but he knew he was far from being pristine.

  He tried to muster a flash of his patented smile, but fatigue and conflict weighed heavy upon his warrior’s soul. SEAL training had taught him to sustain the mission while others rang the bell to compromise integrity for temporary comfort. He wanted Krystal, and not just for sex. Maybe it was a one-way road—but he felt his heart breaking for the wanting of her.

  “Oh hero, don’t make your Bonny wait for you.” The ball gown came flying past the door’s threshold.

  Pike glared back into the wall mirror. Maybe he was no longer that naïve do-gooder who only wanted what was best for America, but he was good, and Bonny’s attempts to derail him would not succeed. He slipped a grin in the mirror and a sharp edge-handed salute.

  “I’ll pass.” He shouted back to Bonny.

  He was willing to wait for the woman he’d come to love.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pike had finally made himself comfortable in Bonny’s living room while she stomped through the condo and cursed as she steamed out the wrinkles from the gown she’d tossed on the floor earlier. It was a failed play to tempt Pike, but his eyes were set on Voodoo.

  He’d not always exercised the same level of restraint, and although he was hurt by the suggestion that Voodoo had stopped off to see Lawless, he refused to allow jealousy to go unchecked.