They were up at first light. Terry had a small fire going and cooked a great breakfast of bacon, fried eggs, pan toasted wheat bread, and coffee despite Peter’s instructions of prepackaged meals only. No one complained. After breakfast, Peter packed up the food and used a light nylon line and pulley system to put the food far enough up a tree to keep bears from raiding the camp while they were gone. Food scraps were tossed in the latrine ditch and covered over. Packs shouldered, weapons checked, and an azimuth was shot toward the location of the training camp. It took another 30 minutes before Terry was satisfied with their ghillie suits and face paint.

They moved out in a no-talk routine at a careful pace with Terry in the point position and Peter bringing up rear. After an hour of a slow, careful pace, Terry held up his hand and motioned Peter and Bernadette to come forward. “We’re close. I smell wood smoke and believe I heard a faint motor noise, probably a gasoline generator.”

Peter moved up beside him and listened. He already smelled the wood smoke. Peter opened all his senses and stood very still.

The day in mid-September in West Virginia could have been clear and bright, but it wasn’t. This was more like September in Moscow. The cold, damp overcast sky settled down over the forest. When he was a young KGB trainee, he and a few others used to wander the forests on the Western edge of Moscow. If it rained or was just too cold and windy, they would go into one of the many cement pill boxes built to stop the German advance, the same way his parents fought at Stalingrad to stop the Germans. He hadn’t thought of those earlier times in Russia for years. Now here he was carrying a rifle in the mountain forest of West Virginia to stop a Russian-backed training camp for terrorists. Like his parents and those forgotten Russian soldiers who fought from those crumbling fortifications, he would not fail. He felt the blood of his wilderness warrior grandfather coursing through him. For the first time in his life, he felt like a warrior.

“Peter! Peter!” said Terry. “Where are you?”

“I’m here. Just thinking. Wait here, I’m going ahead to find an observation hide where we can spend some hours getting the pattern of the camp down cold.”

He was back in 30 minutes. Peter motioned for Terry and Bernadette to come in close. “We’re a lot closer than I thought. There is a steep drop-off just 50 yards ahead. The drop-off forms the western wall to a small valley maybe a mile by half a mile. At the bottom of the western wall is a cluster of six small recreational vehicles and two large tents. A larger cement block, flat-roofed building is approximately 75 yards north of the RV cluster.

“I saw a dozen people walking around, all armed. Before I came back here they all went into one of the large tents. Near as I could tell, one tent is for classes of some kind and the other is the mess tent.

“The leader, or at least the man who looks like the leader, is huge. Over six four and must weigh at least 250. He also carries a whistle and uses it to get people to move. No shoulder weapon but wears a large revolver on his right hip.

“Get our camera set up. Who is the best at taking pictures from cover?”

Bernadette said, “I’m good. Learned from my father before the British shot him. I’ve done a lot of casing for the IRA.”

“Okay, you’re it. Get set up. Terry, watch our back. I’ll watch and take notes while our photographer works. Terry, I know this is old stuff for you. When Bernadette comes back, come up and do some sketching and distance marking in case we have to go in at night.”

All day they manned their observation hide and collected information. Peter asked Bernadette and Terry to go back to the camp at dusk.

When Bernadette objected he said, “I want to watch to see their activity at night. I’ve carried my night vision gear. It is now time to use it.”

“I just don’t like you being here alone. Can you find your way back in the dark?”

“Yes, I have my compass, there will be decent moonlight tonight, and I have night vision gear. Just have some hot soup ready for me. I’ll only stay here a few hours longer. Now go with Terry. Okay?”

“Okay, but I still don’t like it.”

Two hours later, Peter finished his recon of the cliff’s edge, moved back to the observation hide, and was preparing to pack up and start back to the camp when he noticed a growing source of light across the valley where the jeep trail came through a small pass. He thought, That has to be a vehicle. This might be interesting. He switched off his night vision gear and picked up his spotting scope. As the vehicle drew closer, he could see that it was a gray Ford pickup with several passengers. The pickup parked practically right below him. He could hear the doors close and some bits and pieces of conversation. Two of the men were speaking Russian. He focused his scope on the two men who had walked off a few yards to have a private conversation.

The man facing him lit a cigarette. In the glare of the match flame he saw his old KGB friend, Yuri Kolenko, the man who led the team that killed his wife and daughter. If Yuri is here, something big is going on. I’m betting he will not stay the night. I’ve got to go down there. Peter used his radio to call Bernadette and Terry. On the second try he got Bernadette and said, “Come back here with Terry. Some big game has just arrived.”