Fury From Within

Chapter Fourteen

Peter decided it would be best to keep away from the main section of town, approaching the more rural part of Lewes. That is where I shall meet the gentleman trailing behind me. He drove confidently down the nearly deserted highway, wondering if he would have to use his weapon that now lay beside him. Looking in his rear view mirror, he could see the black pick-up truck no more than 100 meters back with only 2 cars physically separating them. The officer tried his best to stay out of sight, angling his vehicle so it would be positioned directly behind the one in front. This man certainly knew his business.

Peter picked up the Road Atlas he purchased in Philadelphia, opening the book to find a map of Delaware. Placing it on the steering wheel as he drove, alternating between searching the road for traffic and then the map for his location. He tried to find a possible ambush site ahead of him, locating a State Park Game Land only two miles away. Looking in his rearview mirror he noticed that the black pick-up was now the single vehicle trailing behind him.

Excellent. I can move this game into the forests where I will be the hunter.

A roadway sign to his right announced that for the next 3 miles the road would consist of a series of hairpin turns. A smile creased Peter’s face, knowing that only Allah could have provided such divine assistance.

Peter safely negotiated the first turn a good 20 miles an hour over the posted speed limit. Once out of the turn he sped up, allowing all 6-cylinders to kick in. He hoped to put some distance between the trailing officer and himself, seeing his opportunity approach via a 150-meter straightaway before the next set of turns.

A large green and brown sign on the side of the road proudly proclaimed that he had entered the Arnold J. Black State Game Lands.

Peter peered in his rear view mirror only to notice that the truck had yet to come out of the first turn. He should have been there by now with the rate of speed he was driving. Something’s wrong. Is he holding back? Were his fellow officers lying in wait just ahead? Is he “pushing” me into a trap?

The distance between them steadily increased to over 200 meters.

This was the break Peter was waiting for, steering confidently into the second turn, and once again allowing the speedometer to reach 20 miles over the turns posted limit before reaching its straightaway. He had the distance and surprise. Eyeing the road ahead Peter spotted what appeared to be a dirt road on his right. Slowing his speeding car before pulling up on the emergency brake, he steered his car into the turn. The maneuver enabled him to quickly veer off the road sending a cloud of dust and rock into the air. He drove down the dirt road before him.

Potholes introduced themselves to his vehicle. They were small at first, only to be greeted further down the road by the larger of the group. After several near misses, his car bottomed out on a hole whose impact caused two of the car’s tires to burst with a loud pop.

Peter had no choice but to continue driving on the flat tires, for he had to pick the spot of his ambush, not his pursuer.

Jim maintained a respectable distance behind the suspect’s car on the nearly empty road, with most of the ferry traffic heading north to the outlet malls that lined the shoreline. But not his prey, he headed west away from the hustle and bustle of the area. Jim followed suit, trailing his suspect as he drove off the main drag and out of town.

Peter allowed one car to separate them. Using a buffer car made it was easier to tail a suspect as long as they maintained the same speed as the suspect’s car. If the buffer car moved at a slower speed then the suspect’s car, he risked the possibility of losing the suspect’s vehicle in the process. This would force him to pass the slower vehicle and chance exposing himself.

The gray hair and small profile of the woman driving ahead of him provided Jim with no sense of assurance.

He had already passed several payphone’s but wisely decided to remain behind his suspect. He banged his scanner with his fist for the third time since departing the ferry. “Piece of junk,” he said aloud.

Looking down at his trucks speedometer, he noticed they had driven almost 7 miles outside of Lewes, wondering where the hell this guy was heading. It would be easier for someone of his ethnic background to blend into a city environment instead of the relatively flat country of southern Delaware. It was all farmland out here. Was he meeting someone?

The older woman in front of Jim surprised him by keeping pace with the suspect’s car just in front of her, feeling guilty about profiling her when they had first started out of town.

Her right turn signal now blinking, she turned into the entrance to a farm that sat off the main road.

Jim now lay exposed. It won’t take long before he becomes aware I’m here. He decided to ease his truck back another couple hundred feet hoping to not spook the suspect.

Jim estimated 500 feet separated him from the suspect’s car as he turned into a bend in the road. He slowed his truck to the recommended speed for the turn, completing the turn in time to see the suspect’s car already entering the next set of curves. Jim sped up to close the distance in the straightaway. Approaching the next bend, he down clutched to ease his truck into the turn before coming out to yet another straightaway. His view was unobstructed for ½ a mile or so in the straightaway, but he could no longer see the suspect’s car in front of him. He did happen to notice a dirt road to his right and a cloud of dust enveloping a vehicle as it negotiated its way down the backwoods road. Jim wasn’t positive it was the suspect’s car, but he could always return if he didn’t locate the suspect up ahead.

After two miles of high-speed driving, Jim’s truck exited the state game lands and came upon another yet another straightaway, this one providing an unobstructed view for several miles. The suspect’s was car nowhere to be seen.

Jim realized he had made a terrible mistake, performing a quick 360-degree turn. He reached 65 miles per hour in the turns, 95 in the straight-away, using both sides of the road as if it were his own personal race circuit. Luckily for him, there were no cars driving in the opposite direction or he would have surely been killed.

Reaching the dirt road in a matter of minutes, Jim’s truck barreled down the road at 50 miles per hour, plunging into every pothole on the game lands fire road. This bastard is not going to get away from me that easy. Jim looked for any signs of a dust cloud that would announce his suspect’s presence, with the heavy canopy of pine trees providing him no help. He slowed his truck down to a more manageable speed, not wanting to wrap his truck around a tree. No use getting killed in some traffic accident. He also didn’t want to drive into an ambush that may lie around any of the roads numerous turns.

The thrill of the chase made think back to a refresher course he had taken at the Police Academy several weeks before. His instructor taught him a new technique for chasing criminals in the forested areas; at least it was new to the city cops. Stop and listen. Stop your car and listen. Jim realized it was so simple, almost too simple. He stopped his truck, turning the engine off, leaning out his window.

In the distance, he could hear the distinctive sounds of a car struggling to extract itself from what was probably a hole from the whirling sound its tires were making. Jim knew the sound was close-by due to him hearing a few choice curse words being thrown about.

He was close — real close by the sound of the cars struggle. Jim decided it would be best to pursue on foot the rest of the way. He could have the element of surprise on the suspect. He removed his trusty 38 from the seat beside him, sticking it into his pants waistband before exiting the truck.

The whirling noise had stopped. Evidently the driver had given up. Good, they would both be on foot. Jim quickened his pace, staying to the side of the road, seeking some type of security in the massive pine trees that lined both sides of the road.

As he came around a bend, the road opened up. The further he walked, the wider the road seemed to become. After walking around yet another bend, it opened up to reveal an immense lake. Now he realized why the sound of the car was so close. The car lay only 100 yards in front of him parked along the water’s edge. Its driver’s side door was thrown wide open, its rear tire evidently still stuck in the mud and the car leaning to one side. Just as I suspected.

Jim proceeded to within fifty feet of the car. A lake was now off to his right as he scanned the woods for any sign of the suspect before pressing forward. Jim eased his weapons safety off while slowly walking towards the suspect’s car, weapon facing the front, held securely by both hands in a typical police fashion. Jim moved across the ground carefully as he closed the remaining distance to the cars bumper.

Jim crouched behind the car knowing full well that the cars aluminum frame wouldn’t stand a chance of stopping a bullet, only hindering its forward progress. He decided the best course of action would be to charge the passenger side door — firing as he went.

Jim had a fully loaded weapon plus a few spare bullets in his pocket in case they were needed. No time to return to town and drag the local police into this mess. It was up to him.

This would be his first chance to fire his weapon in the line of duty. Ten years and he never had to fire his weapon.

Jim started his count down, mentally preparing himself for the suspect to return fire: three, two…

Peter knew it wouldn’t take long until the man realized his rookie mistake and doubled back to the dirt road. This is precisely what Peter had hoped would happen. The difference of a few precious minutes could make or break his plan. His impromptu plan allowed ample time to spring a simple trap on the unsuspecting policeman or FBI agent.

From the relative safety of his position in the tree line, Peter could see his prey standing no more than ten meters in front of him. The man appeared ready to charge the vehicle. Exactly what Peter expected, the gung-ho American cowboy type of officer who would not wait for backup. What a fool! Peter purposely left his driver’s side door ajar to raise some suspicion in the officer’s mind. This would be enough to distract him and possibly expend some of his ammunition. This would leave him with less to fight with and then Peter could choose to pick him off at his leisure.

Peter held the 9mm firmly in his hands, secretly wishing for a silencer to cap the noise when he fired. You never know if a hunter or hiker would happen upon the scene. Then again, it really didn’t matter because the agent would probably fire his weapon when charging his abandoned vehicle.

Peter leaned against one of the abundant pine trees, using one of its branches that happened to be positioned chest high to support for his weapon. Looking through the guns sight, he realized he could shoot him dead from where he stood. But then again, the chance existed that he could also miss or wound him giving away his position and enabling the officer to return fire.

He would allow Allah to choose the moment.

Jim sprung up from behind the car, running to the passenger side where he promptly shot three bullets into the cars empty backseat. Satisfied, he moved on to the front seat and emptied his weapon into what appeared to be a body wrapped in a blanket lying across the seat.

The whole event transpired in a matter of seconds.

Jim held his empty weapon in the prone position before leaning into the car, closely peering at the blanket. Not wanting to take any chances, he kicked the heavy woolen blanket off what looked to be a body, only to have it reveal six, large tree logs underneath.

Jim stepped away from the car. The suspect was probably watching him right now. He reached for additional bullets in his pocket, able to locate three amongst his change. He ejected the spent cartridges only to hear a twig snap somewhere to the left of him. He turned slowly to come see his prey emerge from the forest.

Jim was now the hunted. Peter the hunter. Peter held his 9mm Beretta in his right hand, pointing the weapon at Jim’s head while using his left hand to signal for Jim to throw his weapon to the ground.

Jim waited several tense seconds before complying, dropping the weapon to the soft earth below.

“My compliments,” Peter said. He circled Jim like a wolf circles its prey. “You stayed with me for a decent amount of time up to this point. You have provided me with some excitement to an otherwise boring drive.” He smiled at Jim’s predicament then pointed over to the water then back to the forested area. “I must say it is a beautiful country you have here. Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to live and enjoy it any longer. You have stumbled upon something that does not concern you, and you will have to pay for it with your life.”

“Somehow I knew you would say that,” Jim replied. He watched Peter, waiting for just the right moment to strike. He wasn’t going to die without putting up a fight.

“Which department do you work for? FBI? CIA?”

Jim shook his head in response. “Neither one. How about three for a dollar? You can have one more guess.”

“You Americans and your wit. Even when facing certain death. I like that.” He resumed his pace in front of Jim. “Let me see, after the FBI and CIA you only have local and state police officials, I take it you are affiliated with one of these agencies?”

“The one and only Atlantic City Police Department at your service,” Jim responded, bowing slightly for effect.

Peter could sense that Jim was probing for a weakness in his movement, looking for a way to free himself from his unfortunate situation. With him being employed as an officer of the law, he was surely trained in ways to forcefully take down an armed suspect. Peter decided to not push the prospect, moving back several feet.

“Did you appreciate my little trick with the logs?” Peter pointed to the logs on the front seat. “I learned it the hard way, fighting the Russian troops in my country.” He searched Jim’s face for any sign of an understanding, sensing none.

“Don’t feel bad, you were not the first to fall for such a dastardly trick and you surely will not be the last. I had the pleasure of killing 6 Russian soldiers with a single hand grenade after they too had searched my car back in Chechnya.”

“Chechnya?” Jim said, spitting out his response, a puzzled expression crossing his face. “What in the hell are you doing over here?”

“I am but a simple tourist,” Peter replied, once again smiling at Jim. “I am checking out your historical areas before they disappear.”

“Come on, you can do better than that. Since you are going to kill me, would you grant me one last request and allow me to ask what you are doing in this country.”

“The equivalent of one last cigarette before you die, yes?” Peter said. Usually when his men captured a Russian soldier back in Chechnya they would cut his head off with-in seconds of his surrender, not caring to carry on a conversation with an infidel. The Americans were a different breed, but like their Russian counterparts, infidels just the same.

“Since I don’t smoke, I guess you could say that,” Jim said. He needed Peter to move just close enough where he could lunge for his weapon. That would be his only chance.

Peter stopped his pacing. He fixed an all-knowing stare at Jim, realizing the man was stalling for time. If the situation were reversed, I would probably do the same. “Alright you will have your precious information before you die. But first, I also have a demand to be met. You will have to position yourself on your stomach. I am but one man and I don’t want you to try something silly.”

Jim pondered the request for a moment, wondering if he should strike then and there. Knowing that if he were to comply with Peters demand and lay on the ground, he would lose what might be his only chance to overpower the man. He would in effect be signing his own death warrant. No, it had to be now or never. His life was in the balance.

As he stood wondering what action to take, images of his departed wife and son suddenly appeared to him. They looked real enough to reach out and touch. The images stood on the edge of the tree line no more than 15 feet away. Jim smiled as he saw the image of his young son standing with a fishing pole two sizes bigger than he was, trying to act cool for an 8 year old. Beside his son stood his wife with 2 suitcases on either side of her, looking impatiently at her watch. It was if they were both waiting for their vacation to start, evidently the one they never had a chance to go on years before, only now he was the one holding things up.

Jim eyed Peter as he now stood only 5 feet away, gun pointed at his head waiting for the right moment to present itself and strike out. Every second that ticked by was a second of his life lost forever. Jim looked past Peter, glancing at the images of his family for reassurance, still waiting, his wife now waving what appeared to be three plane tickets in front of her. She looked radiant in her blue dress he gave her the Christmas before she died. Jim smiled as she pointed to her watch.

Peter glanced to his left wondering what, if anything was behind him. “What are you looking at my friend? Are some more agents closing in behind me that I should know about?”

Jim brought his right leg up in a karate split, kicking the 9mm from Peter’s hand, the weapon landing some 10 feet away.

After the initial shock wore off, Peter countered with a quick, one-two blow to Jim’s face, pushing him back into the side of Peter’s car.

Peter dove for his weapon with Jim following in quick pursuit, him falling on top of Peter as they both struggled for control of the weapon. After several seconds, it wound up in Peter’s hand, but not in his control.

Peter seemed the stronger of the two, having just completed his intense physical training in Syria, but Jim was not about to give up, rolling about on the soft ground in a life or death struggle for control of the weapon. They struggled to the water’s edge, still rolling and trying to gain control of the weapon. A shot rang harmlessly from the weapons barrel, surprising them both as they stopped struggling for a split moment wondering if the other had been hit. Seeing neither was affected, they resumed their battle. Jim was able to get his finger on the trigger, but Peter still controlled the weapon with his firm grip. Peter once again was able to strike Jim in the face as the struggle ensued, causing the blood from his previous wound to temporarily blind Jim in one eye. When Jim took a moment to wipe away the blood from his eye, Peter escaped his one-armed grasp and jumped up to stand over him, weapon pointed at Jim.

Jim lay on the ground, struggling to search for his families apparitions in the tree line, panicking when they vanished, only to reappear beside him, one on each side, ready to help him to his feet.

“Goodbye, American,” Peter said, backing up several feet to avoid any blood splatter on his clothing, the bullet entering the center of Jim’s chest, killing him instantly.

Peter quickly searched Jim’s pockets for his truck keys, thinking it would be best to take his vehicle and throw the proverbial dogs off the scent.

Jim’s body lay on the water’s edge. Nothing could have saved him that day. The shot went right through his heart. It took only seconds for his life to drain away.

It would be another senseless killing, one whose numbers would only increase by day’s end, possibly by a million fold.

Reaching the end of the fire road where it intersected with the macadam highway, Peter turned left announcing his intention of driving to Washington. He had only hours to reach Washington DC and keep his strict timetable.

Jim opened his eyes several minutes after the initial gun blast, remembering the feel of the hot lead as it ripped into his chest. He blinked his eyes several times in response to the suns intense rays wondering what the hell had happened. More than that, where was he? Looking from side-to-side, he couldn’t help but notice the vivid colors of the leaves; they seemed brighter, clearer. The hues were magnificent. What the hell was going on?

From his position on the ground, he saw a dark wavy figure running down the road he had just traveled. Was that the man who just shot me?

A sudden rush of warmth enveloped his body feeling as though he had stepped into a bubbling hot tub. This is crazy, blinking several times as if it would help in answering his questions.

Looking down at his shirt, he saw that there was neither blood nor a gun shot hole. What the…..? I know I was shot. I didn’t just dream the whole thing up. It was too intense of a feeling. Jim struggled to his feet. Blinking several times, feeling as if he were a newborn to this world, Jim looked around to see the suspect’s car. It actually did happen! He saw his 38 caliber on the ground.

Jim felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand tall when he heard the unmistakable laugh of a child ring out. He saw his son fishing in the shallow bank of the lake pulling a 5-pound rainbow trout from its depths, holding it high in order to gauge its length.

That’s my son! He wanted to say aloud, but an uncontrollable force was stopping him from speaking.

Unbeknownst to Jim, his wife had silently laid a picnic basket on a blanket beside where he now stood. She was trying to smooth the winkles in her blue dress, trying to look her best for the man she had fell madly in love with at fifteen years of age. She stood looking at him, noticing that he hadn’t changed a bit except for a few extra pounds around the waist.

Laura decided not to say anything, clearing her throat in order to get his attention. Jim turned in response and was now face to face with his true love. She stood smiling coyly in front of him.

But this can’t be real, he thought. If it were possible, she was even more beautiful than he had remembered. He was dumfounded, wanting to say something but she quickly applied a manicured finger to his lips.

“Welcome home!” Laura whispered lovingly, following it up with a passionate kiss. She then pulled out a clip that held her hair in place, shaking her head from side-to-side, allowing her long hair to fall freely about her.

“Yes, I remembered that you hated my hair scrunched up in a ball.” Her throaty laugh resonating through the area’s pine trees. She stood there for him to admire in all her splendor, spinning around in her blue dress as the wind lifted it up slightly as she twirled it back and forth. Jim wondered if this were all a dream and he would suddenly find himself awake and back in his dreary apartment in Atlantic City.

Laura suddenly raised her hand to her lips, causing Jim to look down at himself as if he were to blame. “My goodness, how foolish of me, I almost forgot,” she said, quickly turning towards a figure standing alone in the shallow waters of the lake. “Bobby, come over here. Your father’s home,” she said, reaching out to take his hand in hers. Laura smiled once more at him, repeating the word, “home” admiring its sound as if hearing it for the first time.

Up to this point Bobby had been unaware of his father’s presence amongst them, still busy trying to gauge his fish’s size. No longer, Jim could see his son dropping his fishing pole and freshly caught fish in the water in response to his mother’s message, bounding through the lakes shallow waters as if running the high hurdles to join them in their joyful reunion.

Yes, he was surely home.