The Teeth of the Tiger - Tom Clancy [77]
"What is that?"
"There were thirty people in that van," he said, pointing to the large truck they'd seen coming in. "They will walk in ahead of and to the west of us. If anyone is caught, it will be them."
"How long will it take?"
"Three hours. Less, if you are fit. Do you have water?"
"We know the desert," Mustafa assured him.
"As you say. Let us be off, then. Follow me, amigo." And with that, Ricardo started walking north. His clothes were all khaki, he wore a military-style web belt with three canteens attached, and he carried military-style binoculars, plus an Army-style floppy hat. His boots were well worn. His stride was purposeful and efficient, not overly fast for show, just to cover ground efficiently. They fell in behind him, forming a single file to conceal their numbers from any possible trackers, with Mustafa in the lead; about five meters behind their coyote.
There was a pistol range about three hundred yards from the plantation house. It was outdoors, and had steel targets, a set just like those at the FBI Academy, with headplates, circular and roughly the size of a human head. They made an agreeable clang when hit, and then they fell down, as a human target would do if hit there. Enzo turned out to be better at this. Aldo explained that the Marine Corps didn't emphasize pistol shooting too much, whereas the FBI paid particular attention to it, figuring that anybody could shoot a shoulder weapon accurately. The FBI brother used the two-handed Weaver stance, while the Marine tended to stand up straight and shoot one-handed, the way the services taught their people.
"Hey, Aldo, that just makes you a better target," Dominic warned. "Oh yeah?" Brian rippled off three rounds and got three satisfying clangs as a result. "Hard to shoot after you take one between the running lights, bro."
"And what's this one-shot/one-kill crap? Anything worth shooting is worth shooting twice."
"How many did you give that mutt in Alabama?" Brian asked.
"Three. I didn't feel like taking any chances," Dominic explained.
"You say so, bro. Hey, let me try that Smith of yours."
Dominic cleared his weapon before handing it over. The magazine went separately. Brian dry-fired it a few times to get used to the feel, then loaded and cycled the action. His first shot clanged a head plate. So did his second. The third one missed, though number four did not, a third of a second later. Brian handed the weapon back. "Feels different in the hand," he explained.
"You get used to it," Dominic promised.
"Thanks, but I like the extra six rounds in the magazine."
"Well, it's what you like."
"What's with all the head-shot stuff, anyway?" Brian wondered. "Okay, shooting sniper rifle, it's the surest one-shot stopper, but not with a pistol."
"When you can do a guy in the head from fifteen yards," Pete Alexander answered, "it's just a nice talent to have. It's the best way of ending an argument I know."
"Where did you come from?" Dominic asked.
"You didn't scan, Agent Caruso. Remember that even Adolf Hitler had friends. Don't they teach that at Quantico?"
"Well, yes," Dominic admitted, somewhat crestfallen.
"When your primary target is down, you scan the area for any friends he might have had. Or you get the hell out of town. Or both."
"You mean run away?" Brian asked.
"Not unless you're on a track. You make your way clear in such a way as to be inconspicuous. That can mean walking into a bookstore and making a purchase, getting a coffee, whatever. You have to make your decision based on circumstances, but keep your objective in mind. Your objective is always to get clear of the immediate area as quickly as circumstances allow. Move too fast and people will notice. Move too slow and they might remember seeing you and your subject close together. They will never report the person they didn't notice. So, you want to be one of those. What you wear out