Constant Fear

CHAPTER 25

Jake did some reconnaissance work, checking police barricades and access roads, getting a sense of how the command and control operation was established. Then he drove home to get ready.

About halfway to his house, he picked up the tail. The car was a nondescript silver Ford Focus, but he got the feeling its two occupants were involved in some manner of law enforcement. Jake took a left down a dirt road that any local would know looped back to the main road, and the Focus followed. It was a sure bet they had at least one oscillating colored light that could be mounted on top of the vehicle.

For a moment, Jake bristled with fury at Ellie. How dare she put the cops on him! But quick as it came, Jake’s anger left him. Ellie was just doing her job. Jake had given her every reason not to trust him. She cared for him, and this was probably her way of showing it. He would have done the same, had their roles been reversed.

On the pitcher’s mound, Jake had excelled at keeping an even keel. His highs never got too high, and his lows never too low. He tried to present an image of steadiness that often unnerved opponents who would rather see him rattled. Regrettably, Jake had broadcast his intentions to Ellie in high definition. He would not make the same mistake again. Communication between them was over for now. Jake would be on his own.

The rest of the way home, Jake drove the speed limit. He glanced in the rearview mirror after turning down the access road to his trailer home. The Ford Focus was still there.

In his driveway, Jake pulled the car to a quick stop, cut the engine, and strolled over to the silver car, which was parked on the side of the public road. The driver lowered his window as Jake approached. He was younger, maybe thirty, with nut-brown hair cut short, a well-scrubbed and clean-shaven face. Five more years at this job and he’d look fifteen years older, but he’d probably have on the same suit, still wear the same sunglasses, even on cloudy days like this one. His partner, also wearing shades and a suit, could have passed for a brother.

“Can I help you guys?” Jake asked in a friendly voice.

“No,” the man said.

Jake backed away. “You always follow people?”

The man’s sullen expression conveyed much to Jake, but he said nothing. Guess he had nothing to say. It was obvious to Jake that this guy did not want to be tailing anybody to a trailer home. All of the action was happening by the school, not watching over some anxious dad who might try to do something ill-advised.

“Can you at least show me your badges?” Jake asked. “If you’re going to stake out my home, it seems only fair.”

The man in the driver’s seat held up a billfold with a silver badge, about three inches by three inches. Jake could make out the words “Mass State Police” spelled out across the top of the badge. These two were detectives, not troopers.

Jake shrugged. What else would he do? “I’m just going inside to wait until I hear from my son or the police,” Jake said. “It’s been an eventful day. Look, you fellas have fun staking out my home. I’m sure this is what you dreamed of doing when you signed up for the academy.”

Jake was distraught, but tried not to let it show. Better to downplay his grieving and terror than give the police real cause for concern. Inside his home, Jake lowered the window shades. It made sense he’d want some privacy.

Pacing, Jake went from room to room dialing Andy’s cell phone. When he got no answer, he dialed the numbers of his friends. He rubbed his hands nervously together, until he became aware of what he was doing.

After he drank some water, Jake went to the living-room window, pried back the shade a speck, and watched the detectives watching him. That was the job. If Jake drove off, they would follow. Which meant he had the woods all to himself. But he still had much to prepare.

To vanish inside a forest, Jake had to become his surroundings. He retrieved his camouflage paint from a box he kept underneath his bed and retreated to the bathroom. He took out a tube of the dark green paint first and used that to color the high points on his face: nose, cheeks, and forehead. He mixed in some darker tan, but was careful in the application not to make any patterns. Objects in the background tended to show shadows, while those in the foreground were generally lighter. The goal of camouflage was simply to trick the eye and reverse the optics. Jake did up the sides of his face and neck in lighter colors, but he kept everything irregular. The approach was not to be fancy, but just knock down the shine. The Marine Corps had camo figured out.

Every part of him had to be hidden. That meant his hands, neck, and ears as well. Eventually his skin oil would wash away the paint, but by then Jake would be inside the school.

Examining himself in the mirror, Jake put on a hunting shirt and pants. The tan-and-green color scheme formed irregular patterns that worked well with the woods at this time of year. The barren trees offered little protection, so Jake’s best bet was to blend in with the dead leaves and other vegetation closer to the forest floor. Jake’s boots matched the rest of his attire. Inside, he looked a hunter; outside, he would look like the wild.

Jake went to the kitchen and filled his canteen. He glanced over at his GOOD pack, thought about grabbing it, but decided to leave it behind. Everything he needed was already at the bug-out location. Jake’s weapons weren’t necessary, at least for now. This mission was about evasion, not stalking.

With nothing left to do, Jake opened the back door and got on the path he and Andy could have navigated blindfolded. Jake made it about fifteen feet when he heard a car door slam shut. The agents had probably gotten tired of waiting. Maybe one of them had to take a leak.

A nearby patch of ferns offered Jake the best cover. He sank into the vegetation and maneuvered to where the shadows were the deepest. If they came looking, their eyes would tire quickly, trying to see through so many layers of masking vegetation. Jake kept his body still and waited patiently. Movement of any kind, even while camouflaged, attracted the most attention. Snapping twigs, rustling leaves-those things might as well be a bullhorn in the quiet woodland. He was going to wait it out, a few minutes at most. If nobody showed, he’d get back on the move.

It was not long before Jake heard footsteps. Seconds later, a detective came into view. He walked cautiously, as if he were an uninvited guest. Jake in full camouflage would certainly give cause to detain him for questioning. Getting through the woods and into the school was going to take long enough. Who knew what the hostage takers might be doing to his son and the others? Jake could hardly fathom the possibilities. But hours being questioned by the police would be a death sentence for Andy if his son’s blood sugar levels dropped.

Jake moved his leg to stave off a cramp. The leaves underneath him made a slight rustling sound. Jake went rigid. The detective turned to face the noise and his gaze fell directly on Jake. He took one step toward Jake’s hiding place, and then another. He stopped and listened. The only sound was the pitter-patter of the misty rain falling on dead leaves. The detective took another step in Jake’s direction. If it came to it, Jake would try to lose the agent in a footrace.

The detective scanned the area once more and his entire demeanor changed. Instead of encountering a threat situation, he looked frustrated for chasing a squirrel or something similar. Jake exhaled as the detective worked his way back to the front of the house. Soon he’d be telling his partner nothing was going on, and they’d go back to complaining about getting a bunk assignment in what could be the biggest case of the year.

Jake got to his feet and set off for the school. His walk became a trot, which soon quickened into a jog. Cloud cover lengthened the shadows and would have helped conceal him, had anybody been in these woods. But the chemical spill and the rain were good deterrents and kept folks indoors. There was a chance the detectives might get bored enough to go knock on Jake’s door. If so, they would either break it down, or call it in. Either way, by the time they noticed Jake had snuck away, he’d already be inside the school.

When the path became a road, Jake slipped into the wood line and continued his march north. He could hear sirens in the distance; and if he walked about two thousand yards from his current location, Jake would probably run into Ellie and her friends on the Winston PD.

Jake arrived, undetected, at the hilly field behind the school. Here he used his binoculars to scope the campus for any guards or safety workers. It appeared deserted. Any plans to send air-quality testers to the area were probably dashed when the situation turned to a potential hostage crisis. The campus was utterly deserted. Jake sniffed the air, but picked up no foul odor. Maybe the call about the ammonia-like smell at the school was part of somebody’s plan. But who was somebody?

For a few gut-wrenching moments, Jake envisioned Laura’s frantic sprint across The Quad as she fled for her life. Did they shoot her before she got to the woods or after? He didn’t know. What do these people want, anyway? Who are they? And why would they take kids as hostages? The answers, Jake believed, would be revealed soon as he got inside the school.

Jake was about to make his final push when he noticed movement in the tree line to his right. Focusing his binoculars on that particular patch of woods, Jake got a clear visual of a SWAT team member in tactical gear. He was motioning to someone nearby, and sure enough another member came out of the shadows to take up position behind a massive tree. The woods probably held a dozen SWAT forces, if not more, but Jake had the advantage. They were looking for people coming out of the school, not anybody trying to get in.

Jake took to the tall grasses. Forest animals moved without causing a stir by keeping close to the ground and walking with a steady rhythm. Random sounds were more noticeable. After he got into a crouch, Jake used his knees to absorb the weight of his body as he crawled forward. Every muscle was engaged. The shortest path to the door was a straight line, but Jake needed the cover of the field, so he took time to reach his destination. On the way, he kept a lookout for any puddles, sticks, and gravel-anything that could make a sound.

He controlled his breathing. Hyperventilation negatively affected most every critical function, but most especially motion, balance, and coordination. This was something Jake had perfected on the mound. A pitcher had to pay attention to the “when” of breathing and the “where.” It was easy to forget proper breathing in the heat of battle. It took mindfulness to maintain focus, inning after inning. Jake never lost the skill.

At the fieldstone structure, Jake took cover behind the building to observe the woods, which were now fairly far away. This section of school grounds was not where SWAT or the local police would concentrate manpower, so Jake felt relatively confident he could enter the building unseen.

After he removed the loose stone, Jake retrieved the hidden key, unlocked the door, and was soon descending into the tunnels, which were his home away from home. He marched right past his retreat, remembering he had changed the locks so the bug-out location wouldn’t stand out if the tunnels had to be tested for air quality. Jake dug out the new key and was ready to go exploring fifteen minutes later.

“Ready” included an AK-47 and a chest rig with a battle belt. Jake stuffed the rig with as many 7.62x39 mags as he could fit: three on his chest, two on his belt, and two pistol mags as well. He slipped another mag in his back pocket, just in case. Beneath the chest rig, Jake’s Kevlar vest felt heavy, but he’d rather the discomfort than the alternative. He grabbed a syringe and several vials of insulin from the refrigerator, which he kept at a constant forty-two degrees Fahrenheit. He also took the spare glucagon emergency kit and glucose tablets. If the hostage takers gave Andy food, his insulin would help balance out his blood sugar. If they denied him nourishment, the glucagon injection might save his life. Jake’s Peltor tactical hearing protection, compatible with his tactical helmet, reduced the hazardous impulse noise from amplified sounds, such as firearms, to harmless levels. Built-in stereo microphones would equip Jake with enhanced sound detection. Jake had water, binoculars, his Glock, two Bushman Series knives, with ten-inch blades made of SK-5 high-carbon steel, a portable Bearcat handheld scanner, and a map of the school’s numerous tunnels and passageways.

He was ready to go looking for his son.