Page 5 of Fatal Mistake
He crept through the woods. Silently. Carefully.
Step. Step. Step. Break. A quick check of his surroundings.
Rinse and repeat. Over and over.
A tedious way to advance, but standard operating procedure for a hostage rescue professional dictated a cautious approach to arrive undetected and alive. After all, he had to protect himself first if he hoped to save another person.
In the thick of the trees now, Cal heard an owl hoot above, but otherwise deafening silence greeted him as he crept forward. Muggy spring air closed in, the forest feeling like a sauna, and sweat dripped from his body.
Fifty yards away from Tara’s location, he lifted his goggles and raised his rifle. He sighted in the area ahead and looked through the red crosshairs, but found no one.
He crept closer and swung the rifle to his right. Held his breath. Searched. Twenty feet ahead, Tara stood with her back to a tree, her chest rapidly rising and falling. No sign of Keeler.
Cal backed up and skirted behind trees to edge closer for a better look. He wanted to call out to her, but his sixth sense told him something was hinky. He took a stand behind a tree and scanned the area.
A branch snapped to his right, echoing through the still of the night.
He swung the scope, saw nothing, but dropped his finger to the trigger anyway. If Keeler and the Lone Wolf were one and the same, Cal wanted to take him alive to gain much-needed ISIS intel. But the most important thing right now—the most important thing at all times to a law enforcement officer—was to protect innocent life. Sure, if he brought the bomber in, or even put two in his chest, Cal might be stopping a future attack, but that attack wasn’t certain.
Tara’s life was on the line right now.
He ran his scope over the area, seeing nothing, but his frog sense kept screaming he was missing something. He continued to scan.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Show yourself.
A sudden explosion in the distance thundered through the air. The ground rumbled beneath his feet in rolling waves, and the sky flashed with brilliant reds and oranges. He estimated the blast came from the pump house, and now any evidence they might have recovered to locate Keeler should he get away burned in a red-hot inferno.
A gunshot split the night. A cry of distress followed. Cal swung his scope back to Tara in time to catch sight of her collapsing to the ground. He stifled a shout of rage and scanned the area. Saw no one.
“FBI. Don’t move,” Cal called out, though he didn’t have eyes on Keeler.
Cal remained in position, his finger itching to jerk the trigger, but he couldn’t very well go firing at random into the forest, hoping to hit a person who may or may not be the Lone Wolf. Who may or may not have just shot Tara. Cal needed more information to discharge his weapon.
Deep laughter rumbled through the trees behind Tara. “Nice try, Secret Agent Man, but I think you’ll want to check on Tara instead of chasing after me. Adios.”
The guy charged through the trees, the sound of snapping branches and crunching leaves soon trailing off. A sense of urgency to bolt toward Tara ate at Cal’s stomach, but he eased his way up to her, scanning the area with each step, looking for a trap. She lay on her back, and even in the thick of the night, he clearly saw through his NVGs the dark spot pooling on her abdomen.
A gut shot, one of the worst places to take a hit. She wouldn’t survive if he didn’t stop the bleeding and get her to the hospital.
Memories of the day the young boy lost his life on the raid came rushing back, filling Cal’s chest with apprehension, but he kept moving and grabbed his radio to connect with Zach.
“Alpha One, this is Alpha Two requesting exfil at secondary location.” A cold feeling of dread twisted through his body. “Hostage has taken a bullet. Radio the ER and let them know we’re bringing her in with a gunshot wound to the left abdomen. And get word to standby deputies that Keeler’s on the move. He’s armed and dangerous and heading due west of my coordinates.”
“Roger that,” Zach said calmly, the way all operators on the team would respond.
Cal stowed his radio, grabbed his flashlight, and ran the beam over Tara’s face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth pinched. He swung the light over her body, stopping at the wound. He positioned himself above her yet kept an eye on the location where Keeler had fled.
“Tara.” Cal put cheer he didn’t feel into his voice. “It’s me, Cal. I told you I’d get here.”
Her eyes fluttered open.
“I…he…” Her voice, a mere whisper, evaporated into the inky black sky.
“Don’t talk.” Cal tore off his gloves and ripped his medical kit from his pack. He flipped on his headlamp and pressed gauze pads on the wound.
She moaned, and the phone she clutched in her hand fell to the ground.
“It’s okay, Tara. I’m going to get you through this,” he soothed as her blood easily saturated the gauze, increasing his concern.
