The naked edge

22

The armory filled rapidly. Its high ceiling caused a harsh echo as hundreds of military and law enforcement personnel gathered in front of a platform. Behind a podium, a large map of Willow Creek Park hung from a portable blackboard.

Standing to the side, Jamie said, "I don't see how they can get organized soon enough."

"John has a lot of amazing skills," Cavanaugh told her. He pointed toward where Rutherford spoke to a half-dozen intense civilians, all of them holding notepads and tape recorders.

"… let you observe the briefing," he heard Rutherford say. "… let you take notes and-"

"Photographs? What about photographs?" a reporter demanded.

"Only at the end. But I don't want you printing anything until I tell you."

"We can't promise that."

"It's a matter of national security."

"What are you talking about? What's the emergency?"

"In return for complete access, I want you to swear you won't leak the story. If word about what's happening reaches the general population, we'll have so many curiosity seekers at the park, our target might slip away."

"Park? Target?"

"Watch, listen, and learn," Rutherford said, mounting the podium.

He did indeed have a lot of amazing skills, not the least of which was the clear, authoritative way he conducted the briefing. As the disparate group concentrated on what he said, they stood straighter, assuming similar body language, showing signs of coalescing into a unit. The information that their objective was related to the terrorist attack in New Orleans and the subsequent nationwide manhunt certainly got their attention.

"At three hundred hours tomorrow morning, we'll secure the four approaches to the park." Using a red flashlight beam, Rutherford indicated areas on the map. "Once we know he can't escape, we'll wait until daylight. There's no use going in blind. The northern flank will progress into the search area, checking every conceivable place where someone might hide. The other flanks will remain in position to make sure the target stays trapped. Some of you might be wondering why every flank doesn't converge on the park, squeezing him into the center. That way, all of you would be part of the action. The answer is, we don't want you shooting each other in a crossfire if the target puts up a fight."

The group was so confident about their skills that they assumed Rutherford was joking. They chuckled, continuing to bond.

"We've got a great deal to accomplish in a very short time. Equipment. Weapons. Transportation. Timing. There'll be two staging areas: here and a high school a half mile from the park." Rutherford looked toward an official at the side. "West High. Is that right?"

The official nodded.

"After the students go home, we'll conduct practice drills in the track behind the school. Before we enter the search area, the streets near the park need to be blocked off. We also need to evacuate the homes that border the park. This is Special Agent Murphy from the FBI office in Des Moines. She'll organize you into north, south, east, and west units, as well as traffic diversion and evacuation teams. After that…"

One hour later, with the briefing almost concluded, Rutherford said, "Finally I want to introduce a man who knows the target intimately. They grew up here. They played in that park so often that it was practically their backyard. They served in the military together. They worked as protective agents together."

Cavanaugh climbed to the platform. Hundreds of faces studied him. New personnel entered through a door in back. He took the microphone from Rutherford. It made an electronic hum, then settled down.

"I won't take long. You're tired of listening. You want to get started."

They nodded, their eyes bright with the urge to hunt.

"When you see the park, you might conclude that there's little cover and it won't be hard to find him. You might feel confident because there are so many of you and you're going against only one man. Those attitudes could get you killed. Never forget that your quarry is ex-Delta Force. He has world-class training in camouflage and concealment. Fighting in unexpected ways is one of his specialties. Death is one of his specialties. When you go into that park tomorrow morning, you're entering his world. Suspect everything."

An FBI agent raised a hand. "But surely he realizes there's a good chance you won't show up alone tonight. Why would he gamble you won't turn him in?"

"Actually, I think he expects me to betray him by bringing help," Cavanaugh said.

The group looked puzzled.

"He wants to prove how superior he is," Cavanaugh continued. "For him, everything's a competition. He doesn't care if I bring even a small army to catch him. He's telling me he can outsmart all of you."