The naked edge

2

Shots echoed through the swamp. Explosions rumbled. Even wearing ear protectors, Raoul heard the concussions as Bowie shook him, yelled obscenities, and spun him three times one way, then the other. Raoul wanted to push back, to shout at Bowie and knock him to the ground. But he didn't act on the impulse because he knew the purpose was to disorient him and get his adrenaline flowing.

Bowie shoved his face close to Raoul's, screaming, "Four bad guys ran into this building! They have automatic weapons! They have hostages! No time to negotiate! There's a bomb set to explode in thirty seconds! It'll level the block! Get in there, kill the bad guys, save the hostages, and shut off the bomb! Move!"

With a force that snapped Raoul's teeth together, Bowie pushed him into the building. It was actually a maze of walls without a roof, but Raoul's emotions were so engaged, he imagined it was a building. He was vaguely aware of Bowie rushing behind him, but all Raoul paid attention to was the pistol he drew from his holster, a target popping up, a man with a gun, shooting him, crouching, peering around a corner, another target, a man with a gun, an elderly woman next to him, shooting the man, pivoting, another target popping up, a woman holding a baby, Bowie yelling, "She's got a gun in the blanket! Shoot her!," ignoring the voice, rushing forward, a guy with an assault rifle popping up, shooting him, the fourth guy, where was the fourth guy, where was the bomb, peering around another corner, a kid popping up, a priest popping up, pivoting in search of the fourth guy, realizing the priest had a gun, ducking, turning, shooting him, seeing a metal box on the ground, rushing over, flipping the "off" switch, and suddenly noticing how fast his heart was pounding, how sweat-soaked his clothes were.

Trembling, he looked up from the box, seeing Bowie and a couple of students grin at him.

"Three seconds before the bomb would have blown," Bowie said. "Every bad guy down. No hostages lost. You spotted the trick with the priest. Very good, Mr. Ramirez."

"Thanks." Raoul's voice was unsteady, remembering to add "sir." The emotional involvement in navigating a shooting house amazed him.

Outside, as more shots and explosions rumbled from the swamp, he watched Bowie approach more students. "Mr. Ferguson, you're next."

The tall, red-haired twenty-year-old didn't look enthusiastic.

"Let's go, Mr. Ferguson." Bowie pushed him, beginning the disorientation process. He shook him, cursed, spun him, yelled orders, and shoved him into the shooting house so hard that Ferguson nearly fell.

Raoul and the students who'd passed the exercise followed Bowie.

Ferguson shot the first bad guy and the second, ignored the old woman, shot the third gunman, saw the woman holding the infant, pivoted in search of another target, and heard Bowie yell, "She's got a gun in the blanket!" He fired three times into the target. "You missed!" Bowie yelled. "Shoot her! Shoot her!" Ferguson emptied the rest of his magazine into the target. He did a rapid reload, hurried on, ignored the priest, and ran to the metal box, flicking the "off" switch.

Looking up in triumph, he frowned when he didn't receive the approving looks he expected.

"Mr. Ferguson, it appears you're a menace to society," Bowie said.

"What are you talking about? I shut off the bomb, didn't I?"

"You'd have been dead before you reached it. That guy in the white collar would have dropped you."

"The priest? Give me a break."

"He's not a priest."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"The gun in his hand."

"What gun?" Ferguson groaned when he took a closer look.

"Even if you had shot him and disabled the bomb, it wouldn't have been any consolation to the woman and baby you killed."

"That wasn't a baby! The woman had a gun in the blanket!"

"No."

"But you told me-"

"I made a mistake."

"You lied to me."

"I tested you."

"This is bullshit."

"No, Mr. Ferguson. It's an exercise in discipline and control, qualities you apparently lack."

Ferguson seemed about to raise his gun. Bowie drew his knife from his pocket.

Ferguson stared at the knife and took his hand off his pistol. "I didn't come here to get bossed like I was still in the joint."

"No, you came here for a two-thousand-dollar signing fee and three thousand a month, plus room, board, and training."

"What good is the cash if I can't spend it anywhere?"

"Would you prefer to leave, Mr. Ferguson?"

"Does it show? All these damned mosquitoes. If I stay any longer, I'll get malaria or some fucking thing."

Bowie turned from Ferguson and faced Raoul, his tone hard. "Mr. Ramirez."

Raoul was taken by surprise. "Yes, sir?"

"After your next class, report to my office."