Harv handed Nathan a stripper clip containing five rounds of .308 NATO ammunition. Harv had used a black felt marker on the stripper clips, inside and out, to prevent an untimely glint of sunlight. Each hand-loaded round produced a muzzle velocity of 2,350 feet per second. Nathan preferred a lighter than normal load. Bullet time to the target at 600 yards was just under a second. He removed the bullets from the stripper clip, drove them individually into the rifle, and closed the bolt.

He handed the empty clip back to Harv.

“Time,” Nathan asked.

“Eleven minutes.”

A gust of wind dropped a few pine needles past their position from right to left.

Harv spoke without being prompted. “Maybe ten miles an hour. Four clicks right.”

He made the adjustment to the external windage knob on his Nikon scope, while Harv set up his 10-to-50 spotter scope. Once in final position, they would be lying side by side with three feet of separation between them. He shouldered his weapon and began a slow visual sweep of the compound below through the rifle’s optic. “We’ll call the main building zero and vector from there.”

“Copy.”

“Elevation?” Nathan asked.

“Nine clicks.”

“Copy, nine clicks to zero. Plus three to the far side of the compound, minus two to the near side. Concur?” Nathan asked.

“Concur.”

Because his rifle was currently zeroed for a 300-yard shot, he knew an elevation adjustment for a 600-yard shot was twelve additional clicks, but since they were shooting downhill, a negative adjustment of three clicks was needed.

“Here we go,” Nathan said. Moving in classic leapfrog progression from tree to tree, six men in woodland SWAT gear were approaching the compound from the south, their movements crisp and rehearsed. “Six o’clock low,” he whispered.

Harv adjusted his scope. “Got them. I count six, with two more in flanking positions. I’ve got eight more moving in from the west.”

Nathan tracked the second team. Six agents were advancing with two more flanking for support. Both teams were advancing at right angles, staying out of each other’s line of fire. Tactically sound. As the two teams approached the compound, he admired their precision and stealth. Moving through the sunlight filtering through the trees, not a glint of reflection bounced off anything they wore. Their helmets were matte green and even their boots had a dull finish. These guys were damned good.

“Something’s wrong,” Nathan whispered.

“Talk to me.”

“It’s too quiet down there. We haven’t seen a damned thing. Nothing. No movement at all.”

“Okay. ”

“Start searching the trees. I’ll take the west end.”

Harv adjusted his scope and began a slow pivot around the east end of the compound. Halfway through his sweep he stopped. “Shit.”

“What’ve you got.”

“Spotter’s nest at one-five-zero east, elevation, three-zero feet.”