The Marshal Pt. 07

There was the sound of breaking glass in living room. "Maine State Police! Throw down your weapons! Han Bo-bae! We're here to take you into protective custody!"

Rob pointed vigorously at the corner of the closet and then held his finger to his lips. She scooted into the corner he'd pointed to and made herself as small as possible, pulling her knees to her chest and clamping a hand over her mouth so she wouldn't scream in panic, breathing rapidly through her nose.

Rob had been right again. The voice didn't belong to any Maine State Trooper. First, they would have known her only as Britney Hadley, and secondly, how would the troopers have known they needed help? If that wasn't enough to give the ruse away, the thick Korean accent was. Rob stood stock still, his pistol out with both hands on the weapon as he pointed it at the entrance to their bedroom.

"Han Bo-bae! We're here to take you to safety!" the voice called again.

She whimpered into her hand, her breathing loud in her ears. Rob stood, unmoving, his eyes fixed on the door. He took a half-step to his right and fired. He charged out of the closet, his pistol still pointed in front of him. A moment later there was another shot and then silence. Less than thirty seconds after the final shot, he returned to the closet, slipping around the door frame as he hugged the walls.

"He's dead." She started to rise but he held his hand up. "No. Stay there."

He dropped the magazine on his Glock, slammed a new one in place, and quickly reloaded the magazine from the box of bullets he kept on a shelf. Finished, he put the magazine back on his belt and dumped the rest of the bullets into his hand and placed them in his pocket.

"What are we going to do?" she asked as he finished his task.

"We stick to the plan. They know if it gets dark we stand a better chance of getting away. That guy came in to see if we'd managed to slip past them. Now they know we're still in here."

"But there's only one of them now, right?"

"No way to know. We wait until dark then we make a break for it. They'll think twice about coming in here now, though."

"But he didn't shoot when... you know."

"I stayed close to the walls. It's also getting dark, and with the sun on the other side of the house, he probably can't see into the house, at least not very well." She whimpered softly as he holstered his weapon. "Come here," he murmured, offering her a hand. She rose and melted into his arms before he held her tight. After a long moment, he pushed her back and held her by the shoulders. "It's going to be okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. We've been in tight squeezes before, right?" She nodded. "We're going to get through this, okay?"

She nodded again. "Yeah. Okay. Don't you get tired of saving me?" she asked, her voice a shadow of its normal self.

He grinned as he drew his weapon again. "You're a little higher maintenance than I'd prefer, but you're worth it."

Despite everything, she snickered.

Rob held Britney's hand as he gently pulled her out of the closet and into the bedroom. The room was totally dark, the only light coming from the sliver of a moon. Thankfully it was less than half as bright as it would normally be if it were a full moon, which gave them additional cover to attempt their escape.

"Don't trip over the dead guy," he reminded her. It was a ghoulish cautioning, but his warning was better than having her step on, or trip over, the body. That'd be enough give him the willies, and he didn't want her to experience that.

"Don't worry," she said softly from behind him.

"Stay close to the wall." He led her to the edge of the glass. "Stay here."

He took a deep breath to bolster his courage. He was about to find out if the sniper, if there was one, had some form of night vision. He crept across the glass wall before swinging the door onto the deck wide, keeping as much of his body behind the thin slats framing the doors and window as possible. He slipped around the doorjamb onto the deck, the broken glass from where he'd shot the thug crunching under his shoes. He was going to have to have the bedroom floor refinished when this was over to get the bloodstain out, so a few scratches from stepping on glass fragments wasn't going to make any difference. After a moment, he relaxed. If whoever was in the trees was going to take a shot, he would have by now. He waved his hand.

"Come on," he said softly.

Britney joined him. They inched along with their backs to the wall of the house to mask their shape until they reached the edge of the deck. He held his hand back, indicating she should wait as he peeked around the corner of the house. He saw nothing and his head didn't explode with a rifle round. There were no steps off the deck, so he climbed over the rail and dropped silently to the ground. It was an easy six-foot drop from the top of the railing to the ground. Britney landed beside him. He placed his lips next to her ear.

"We're going for the trees. Fast as you can. Go!" he whispered before giving her a gentle shove in the back to start her moving.

They burst from the house and ran across the yard to the edge of the forest. For the first time he wished he'd left the thicket in place to provide them with some cover. They quickly moved from tree to tree in short sprints, heading generally toward the highway, and away from the house and the direction he'd seen the flash. Thirty or forty yards into the woods he stopped. Britney stopped beside him. In the shade of the tree she was little more than a darker shadow in a collection of shadows. He put his lips to her ear again.

"Smell that?"

She was still a moment and then pulled his head down. "Cigarette smoke," she said just as softly.

The wind was blowing lightly from the direction of the house. That meant whoever was smoking was between them and the house.

"Yeah. Stay here. Call the sheriff's department."

"Where are you going?"

"To bust this guy up."

"Rob, no!" Even though they were holding their conversation in alternating whispers into each other's ears, he could tell she was upset.

"Have to. He's watching the house. He probably thinks we'll make a break for it in the car. The moment he spots us, he'll take the shot."

"But the cops!"

"All that will do is light up the area so he can see us better. If I don't deal with him a whole lot of people could get killed. It'll be alright. I know, kind of, where he is. He doesn't know where I am. I'll be coming up on him from behind."

"Let the cops find him!"

He shook his head even though she probably couldn't see him. "If the cops start combing the bushes, he'll disappear. I want him to find out what Kwang-hoon, or whoever sent him, knows." He could imagine her glaring at him. "It'll be okay. I'll come back for you. Don't shoot me."

"How will I know."

"I'll say... Tornado. You say Knoxville. If whoever doesn't answer with tornado, you shoot them, got it? Now, call the sheriff's office, and be sure to tell them we have an active shooter hiding in the woods... and for God's sake, tell them we're in the woods too so they don't shoot one of us. Tell them to run dark."

He was about to ask her if she understood when she grabbed his face and kissed him hard. "Be careful!" she hissed into his ear.

"Yeah. No matter what, you stay here until I or one of the sheriff's deputies come for you, understand?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

He kissed her again before he began stepping quietly in the direction of the house. They'd been running at an angle away from where he suspected the shooter had positioned himself. When he'd crossed about half the distance he stopped. He leaned against a tree and waited. After a moment, he picked up the smell of smoke again, stronger this time. The smoker was a little farther to his left, closer to the highway, than he thought he'd be. Rob adjusted his path to compensate.

He crept along as silent as a ghost. Having cleared the ground of tree litter, he was able to move silently on the grass without having to worry about leaves or twigs snapping giving him away. He followed the smell of smoke until he saw the glowing tip as the smoking man took a drag. The stupid shit. The man had probably never been out of the city and didn't realize how far the smell of smoke would carry. Rob stood at the edge of a tree, keeping his eyes on the glowing cigarette so he didn't lose the goon in the darkness. When the trees rustled again with the breeze, Rob moved to another tree, coming up on the other man's rear. The cigarette flew through the air in an arc as the man flicked it away. In the distance Rob could hear the wail of a fast-approaching siren. The man stirred, and Rob ground his teeth in annoyance. Rob had little doubt that Britney had followed his instructions and asked the sheriff to run dark, but the stupid shits hadn't listened, or the message didn't get passed along, and now the man was on alert.

The man was little more than a shape, but a bit of moonlight gleamed off his rifle as the gunman moved behind the tree he was propped against, brought the rifle to his shoulder, and braced the weapon against the tree. Rob could see the blue flashes of the deputies' strobes lighting the night as the car approached on the highway. After a moment, the car braked furiously hard on the highway and turned down the drive, the engine of the Ford howling as the deputy raced down the gravel path. Rob looked down and closed his eyes to protect his night vision, but even so he could see the dazzling blue strobes though his eyelids.

The car skidded to a stop. "Piscataquis County Sheriff's Department," the speaker on the car blared. "Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up!"

Rob tightened his lips in fear and annoyance. He hoped the deputy didn't step of his car, or if he did, he killed the strobes first to prevent the lights from painting him as a target. Rob waited a moment, but it was obvious the deputy wasn't going to turn off his beacons. There was nothing for it. Rob opened his eyes, squinting into the glare. Rob could see the other man clearly now as the cruiser's lights discoed among the trees. The gunman was perhaps two hundred feet from the side of the house, point blank for all practical purposes, the sniper having taken a position that gave him a clear firing line to the back of the house and along a good portion of the meandering drive. As Rob watched, the deputy opened the cruiser's door and approached the house in a crouch, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. He was clearly nervous, but for the wrong reason. Now he was certain the deputy hadn't gotten the full story because there was no way Britney told the 9-1-1 operator they were in the house.

The deputy pounded on the door. "Piscataquis County Sheriff's Department! I have a report of a shooting! Open the door!"

With another rustle of wind to mask any sound, Rob closed the remaining distance. "You move and I'll blow your fucking brains out," he snarled as he put his Glock to the back of the sniper's head. The gunman became completely still. "Slowly... put the weapon down," Rob growled. "Ah!" he warned. "By the barrel!" The man did as Rob instructed. "Take three steps to the left and then face down on the ground, hands behind your back."

The gunman slowly stepped away from the rifle and lowered himself to the ground, Rob's gun still pressed against the man's skull as he knelt with him. The man was too compliant, which made Rob nervous. Rob didn't want to fight the guy, and the Glock against the back of the gunman's head was a terrific motivator, but Rob had expected some resistance or hesitation.

Rob put his knee between the sniper's shoulders just below his neck. Now came the dangerous part. Rob had to holster his weapon to bind the thug's hands with his disposable cuffs. He wasn't in the habit of cuffing people, so he only carried a pair of disposable cuffs, which were little more than extra wide zip-ties, unless he was on a raid. There was a reason cops usually worked in pairs... one to cuff the assholes while the other kept his weapon trained on the asshole to take the fight out of them.

Rob held one of the goon's arm up in a bar, but the moment the gunman heard Rob's weapon snap into the holster, the man exploded into motion. He rolled to the side away from Rob's bracing leg, throwing the marshal off balance. Rob tumbled to the ground as the goon twisted and grabbed for the marshal's weapon. Rob still controlled the thug's arm and twisted it hard to the side, trying to immobilize the asshole with pain, but the thug kicked out with his foot hitting the marshal hard in the ribs.

Rob woofed out air and lost his grip on the thug's arm as he fell to his back. The goon grabbed for Rob's weapon again as the marshal fired an open-hand punch into the thug's chin. The marshal felt his weapon pull hard against the holster as the man tumbled back from Rob's full power blow, but thankfully the safety catch held and the goon's hand slipped from the gun.

Rob turned and was scrambling to his feet, but he was too slow. The man hit Rob in a tackle, driving him into the hard ground. The marshal grunted in pain as he tumbled with the blow. Rob was on defense and getting his ass handed to him. Rob balled up, wrapped his leg around the gunman's head and stiffened, using the strength of his legs to haul the thug off him, but not before the goon got in a punch to Rob's face that left him reeling.

Rob's leg lock was sloppy, especially after the guy tried to punch his lights out, and the thug squirmed out of the hold. Rob scrambled to his feet, back pedaling to give himself some time and distance to recover. The goon wasn't nearly as big as Rob, but he was fast as shit, and wasn't giving the marshal any time to recover and get on offense.

The hitman came at Rob again and fired a hard punch into the marshal's chest, partially knocking the wind out of him. With a hard grunt, Rob took the punch, but it left the other man open. Rob put his back, legs, and shoulder into his punch, using every bit of strength he could call upon for a full power strike, trying to drive the meaty part of the palm of his hand through the goon's face. It worked. The thug staggered back, clearly stunned by the hammer like blow from Rob's hand. Pressing his advantage, the marshal fired a left into the man's chest to keep him going backwards as he got in close, hooked the man with a leg, and power-drove his ass into the ground.

That knocked the wind out of the gunman. The thug tried to recover, but he was too little, too late. Rob caught the gunman as he tried to regain his feet, took his wrist and twisted it hard. The man screamed in pain, but Rob wasn't done with him yet. The tree the thug had been propped against was convenient, and Rob drove the man hard into the trunk, using his forearm like a bar on the back of the goon's neck.

The hitman was almost out of the fight, but he was a tough, skillful bastard, and Rob wasn't backing off until the man was finished. Rob hauled the other man off the tree and took him hard to the ground before he wrapped him up with his legs. Rob cinched his left arm under the man's chin and locked it in at his right elbow before using his free hand to press the man's head forward as Rob tightened. Between Rob piledriving his ass into the ground, ricocheting him off a tree, and body slamming him to the ground again, most of the fight was out of the goon, and he barely struggled before he went to sleep.

As the man relaxed, Rob held the hold a moment longer before he shoved him away and rolled him face down. Panting from his efforts, Rob yanked the thug's arms behind his back, encircled the man's wrists, and jerked the cuffs tight. He wasn't very gentle about it either.

The rear naked choke would put a guy out in five to ten seconds, but they didn't stay out long. By the time Rob had the goon's hands secure, he was already coming around. Rob rolled him over and propped him up against the tree he'd just tried to drive the man's face through. The thug glared at Rob in the flashing blue lights.

Rob smiled at him and patted him patronizingly on the cheek. Rob's face and ribs hurt like a bitch, but he wasn't going to show that to the punk. "Get up, asshole," Rob growled as he hauled him to his feet by the shoulder. "You go for my gun again, and I'll fucking shoot your ass... we clear? Deputy sheriff!" Rob bellowed as he marched the guy toward the car. "U.S. Deputy Marshal Rob Cogburn! I have a prisoner in custody! We're coming out of the woods to your right!"

The deputy stared into the trees. He was probably scanning for who had screamed when Rob had nearly broken his prisoner's arm. The deputy sheriff was obviously spooked, and Rob made sure not to do anything that would make the deputy more nervous than he already was, for his own safety.

"Are you armed?" the deputy called.

"Yes! It's holstered!"

"Stop at the tree line!"

Rob did as the officer ordered. He was on high alert, his hand still on the butt of his sidearm. "Come out slowly!"

Rob did as the officer demanded. The marshal shoved the thug against the patrol car and pressed his head against the Ford's hood before letting him go. The thug got the idea. Rob then backed up and twisted his hips slightly so the badge pinned to his belt was clearly visible. The deputy visibly relaxed.

"The call said someone had been shot inside the house and that there was a shooter in the woods. That the shooter?" the deputy asked, nodding at the guy bent over the hood of his cruiser. Rob couldn't make out man's name in the strobing lights.

Rob nodded. "He's one. There's a second perp in the house."

"Coroner is on the way from Nordiwich."

"Put this asshole on ice. My girlfriend is still hiding in the woods. I'm going to go get her. I'll be right back. You got some gloves and a flashlight? I'll bring out his rifle at the same time."

The deputy hauled the asshole off the hood and stuffed him in the back of his car. "In the trunk. I'll get them." The deputy slammed the door on the goon, popped the trunk, and pulled a pair of blue gloves out of a box. He then walked to the front passenger side, opened the door, and reached into his car to pull out a metal, six D cell flashlight that worked equally well as a light source and a club.

"Thanks," Rob said as he took the light. He stuffed the gloves loosely in his pocket and flicked on the light as he started for the trees. "Britney! It's Rob! See the light?" He waved it around. "Come to it!"

"Knoxville!" she called from the darkness.

He couldn't help but smile. She'd changed a lot from the uncooperative, bitchy woman he'd picked up in Los Angeles. "Good girl! Tornado!"

He pointed the light in the general direction of her voice, and after a moment she appeared. "Thank God you're okay!" she cried as she approached.

"I'm fine. Stay close. I have to find the asshole's gun." It took some searching, but when the powerful beam from the flashlight reflected off the rifle, he spotted it. "Hold this," he said, handing her the light and pulling on the gloves as they stopped over the rifle.

He picked up the weapon and safed it. It was a Remington Model 700.30-06. This guy knew what he was doing. In the hands of a skilled marksman, the rifle was deadly accurate to a thousand yards or more. They'd been lucky, very lucky. When Rob had spotted the man in the trees, the sniper was probably six to eight hundred yards away, well within effective range.

Additional units were beginning to arrive on the scene as they came out of the woods, Rob holding the rifle by the barrel so nobody would think he had any intent, and turned the weapon over to the deputies. There was some confusion at first, but eventually Rob had a chance to talk to the sniper.