Sniper's Justice (Caje Cole Book 9) by David Healey (best classic books txt) 📗

the night. Who knew, but if the opportunity presented itself during the night, he might even finish this business with a knife—up close and personal.

Down below, Hauer spotted something flickering in the deepening shadows of the forest. To his surprise, he realized that he was seeing a campfire. As he crept closer, he even smelled grilling meat. They must have returned to the boar that Cole had killed. Hauer’s belly rumbled. It had been a while since he had eaten any real food.

Reassured that his quarry wasn’t going anywhere, he sat down to eat his rations, which consisted of half a sandwich that he had saved. He took a pull or two from the flask of vodka that he had brought along on the hunt. Most of his fellow Germans preferred schnapps, but the Soviet influence had long ago gotten him into the habit of drinking vodka, which was cheaper and far more plentiful in East Germany. He just hoped that this hunt wrapped up before his flask ran dry.

“Let me see how the hares are doing,” he said.

With the edge taken off his hunger, he continued down the mountain. Near the fire, he moved cautiously, concerned that Cole might have set some sort of trap for him. He crept closer to the circle of firelight.

Already, the Hillbilly and his grandson must have gone to sleep. He could see the dark outlines of their bodies, stretched out on the ground near the fire. The two must be exhausted. Still, building the fire had been a risk and he was surprised that Cole had taken it. It would have been a simple matter to put a bullet into each one of their sleeping forms and be done it it, but that wasn’t Hauer’s way. If anything, he would slip closer during the night and end this business with a knife. However, the thought that Cole still had a rifle held him back.

Hauer watched from the forest, a little envious of the warmth those two must surely have enjoyed from the fire. But something wasn’t right. The sleeping forms didn’t so much as stir.

After another hour of keeping watch, Hauer realized that he had been duped. The shapes that he had thought were sleeping forms were surely no more than bundles of sticks.

Hauer considered approaching the fire, just to make sure, but then decided against it. If Cole had set a trap, then this was it. Once Hauer walked into the ring of firelight, then Cole could pick him off from the shadows. Clever, clever. He had to admire the resourcefulness of the American, who must be hidden nearby.

Hauer did not stir from his vantage point, even once he realized that he had been tricked.

In the morning, when it was light enough to see their trail and possibly spot them in the forest, he would find Cole and the teenager—then finish this business for good.

Cole was more than ready for the day to begin, but he had to wait for the daylight to crystallize. Dark shapes became bushes. Blurs became trees. Now that it was light enough to see his way, it was time to set his plan in motion.

Leaving Danny behind with the rifle, Cole moved out of the cover of the forest and into the open valley. He paused to take a deep breath, letting the mountain air fill his lungs. He was struck again by the beauty of the place. The cold mountaintops stood indifferent against the backdrop of the sky, tinged with pinkish clouds from the rising sun. It had been damp and cold in the lower elevations during the night, resulting in a heavy frost that coated the brown grass, so that the ankle-high grass crackled like glass under his boots. He could see the tracks through the grass that he’d left last night, going out to collect meat from the boar, and then back again. He didn’t see evidence of any other tracks, which meant that Hauer must not have ventured out here during the night. Surely, however, Hauer was watching even now from some vantage point. He would have been waiting for this moment.

The spot between Cole’s shoulder blades itched fiercely as he imagined Hauer’s crosshairs there. He was gambling that The Butcher would not kill him outright, but would want to take some measure of pleasure in drawing out Cole’s death, like a cat toying with a mouse.

Cole was not disappointed. He heard a shout behind him, and turned to see Hauer emerging from the woods, rifle pointed at Cole. He stopped and waiting for Hauer to approach, heart hammering. If Hauer sensed a trap, then all that he had to do was pull the trigger and it was all over.

“There you are!” Hauer called, crossing the grass more confidently now.

“You son of a bitch!” Cole shouted back.

Hauer stopped. “Where is your rifle?”

“Out of ammo.”

Hauer made a tsk, tsk sound. “Too bad for you.”

Cole held up the hunting knife. “Come a little closer and see how you like it.”

Hauer did come closer, but stopped well short of knife range, wary of Cole’s blade. He lowered the rifle but kept it pointed in Cole’s direction, looking him up and down. Cole worried that Hauer sensed a trap.

“I imagine that wound hurts,” Hauer said.

“It’s a mite sore,” Cole allowed.

Hauer cocked his head. “I do not think that you are out of ammunition,” he finally said. “What I think is that your grandson is at the edge of the forest, intending to shoot me, and that you have put yourself out here as bait.”

Cole’s heart sank, but he kept a poker face. Hauer was no fool. But why had he exposed himself out here in the field if he knew better? “Is that what you think?” Cole said.

“I am not concerned about the boy,” Hauer said. “Der Junge ist ein Weichei. He is a soft egg. He would not even bring along a rifle or shotgun on this hunting trip because he doesn’t like to