I had said my goodbyes back at the hacienda, so when I got to the plane there wasn't much to do except greet Al at the door. I didn't have much, just a small bag with a change of clothes and some toiletries, mainly because I didn't HAVE much. When the Pack left my house suddenly, my clothes and possessions were all left behind. I literally could carry all my worldly possessions in a carry-on bag right now.

There wasn't much to do on the flight except talk to Al, so I did. I found out about his background, and his position in the CIA. It was an interesting job, at least; he got a lot of stuff done with none of the red tape. He reported directly to the CIA director, and his operation was completely off-books. If anyone ever checked, he was a Senior Advisor to the Director, not that he was often in his office. He had been in the CIA since he left the Green Berets at age 28 with a medical retirement. He made his career in the Cold War, running operations behind the Iron Curtain, but most of their work lately had been in the terrorism and drug fields.

One of the things that I asked him about, I was hesitant of because I didn't know if I could trust him. "Al, how safe is my Pack on the island?"

He smiled and looked right into my eyes. "As safe as I can make them, Ella. The paper trail on this island is an lawyer's nightmare; there are shell companies upon shell companies, mostly out of the US, to hide it. The CIA's direct ownership ended in the fifties, and no one will go back that far. My group bought the island years ago as a covert base for the drug war in the 80's with Reagan, and it has remained off the books since. Your lawyer's shell company bought it in a legal transaction, filed under Panamanian law. The financial transactions were all offshore. In other words, the paper trail is a dead end."

"All right, but who knows about us there?"

"I do, and so does Black Ker. She needed to know because it was part of the deal I made her when she wanted to get you out of that hospital. She likes you, Ella, and doesn't want you to regret your decision to help her. She's helped you survive before, and she really does want you and your Pack to survive this crazy war. As for me, keeping them safe is good for me because it keeps you focused."

"What about after this mission? What then?"

"You go home and I forget about you. My time is nearly done in the CIA, Ella. I should have retired five years ago, I only stayed on out of loyalty to the Director. With the new administration and their reliance on electronic information, I'm a dinosaur. Ker doesn't want to keep going, either. She hasn't said anything, but I see it in her eyes. She's tired, she's having a baby, and she doesn't need the risk or the money. She's done enough. So, I guess the answer is we all pack up our toys and go home."

I thought this over, something in the back of my mind told me this was all too easy, that there had to be a catch. I was starting to suspect this was more of a suicide mission than I had been lead to believe. "So where are we headed?"

"Quantico. We need to train you in long range shooting, and fast. We have use of a closed range there, and military instructors who will teach you what you need to know. We're going to keep it simple; you'll learn one simple rifle system, the Marine M40 sniper rifle in .308 Winchester. It's accurate out to a thousand yards and utterly reliable. Ker is going to meet us there, she's going to change you as soon as possible, since we don't know how the change is going to affect your shooting. You are going to be busy; between the shooting, the physical fitness and training in your panther form, it's going to be harder than anything you've ever done."

"Great." I looked down at my body. "I did what I could to stay in shape, but we'll see how that translates."

"Ker has high hopes for you, she was thrilled to see you in as good a shape as we found you."

"Well, if it wasn't for Meatloaf Mondays I might have gained a few pounds." I closed my eyes, shutting out the memories that came forward. "Thank you for getting Charlie out of there. If I get nothing else done, at least I saved that boy and got him a home."

"You're a good person, Ella. Like I said, a fascinating combination of talent and personality. I'm glad you said yes."

We ate a meal out of the cooler and I fell asleep to the drone of the engines. When we arrived, we taxied directly into a hanger and the doors were closed before we opened the door. Ker was waiting, leaning back against a Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows. "Good flight?"

"Not bad," I said as I ran over to give her a hug. "Thank you for all you've done for me, my Pack is safe and happy now and that is such a relief for me."

She smiled as she got in the back with me and Al got in to drive. We drove out of the airport and headed towards Quantico; the Company had a remote, discreet safe house on the grounds for agents in training. We were going to be the only ones there. "So, you ready to make the change?"

"Now?" I looked around, we were going to be spending a while in the SUV heading there, what if it went bad?

"Yes, may as well. This isn't a forced turn, you won't come out all piss and vinegar. Besides, after you're bitten you have tonight to relax into the change. I'll be there with you to help you through, not that I think you'll need it."

I thought about it for a moment, deep inside I longed to be complete again and I didn't want to delay any longer. "All right," I said, "Where do you want to do this? Nothing on the neck or shoulder, that's only for Craig."

She smirked. "As if. The thigh would be easiest, but I don't know how long the turn will take and we're going running in the morning first thing. I'm thinking the arm?"

I pulled my T-shirt up and offered her the tricep, thinking that was the best place for what was sure to be a painful bite. Ker pulled her dress off, folding it and placing it in the front seat before placing her underwear on top. Al kept his eyes on the road, respecting her privacy. She kneeled on the floor in front of the seat, I pulled my legs up to get them out of the way. I watched as her pregnant belly went forward, and her change overtook her. In seconds, a jet black panther was filling the space.

"Wow, you're beautiful," I said as I stroked her head and scratched her ears. She rubbed the side of her face on my leg. I explored her body, underneath the dark fur were faint spotted patterns. She was strong and intimidating, with huge paws and very sharp claws, and big teeth that shined bright when she yawned. She sat down, her long tail flicking back and forth as she looked at me. "Oh," I said. I put my left arm in front of her mouth and closed my eyes, anticipating the pain which was to come.

"SHIT! That hurt!" She had bitten quickly, but deep. I held my hand over the bloody holes from her large canines as the blood oozed out, thankfully she didn't hit an artery. She quickly shifted and grabbed the first aid kit from under the seat. Once the saliva entered the wound, there was no stopping it. She placed a battle dressing over the wound, hoping the Quickclot would reduce the bleeding, and wrapped it with tape.

"With the shift, this won't take long to heal. If it isn't healed by morning, we know I was wrong." She wiped her hands on a towel then got dressed while I processed what she just said.

"What do you mean, if you're wrong? Don't you know?"

"I took a guess. It's not like there are plenty of suitable former werewolves around to test out."

I was a bit pissed off, thinking this was a done deal. "What happens if I don't gain the cat?"

"Then we thank you for your time, settle the bill and send you back home," Al said. "There's no way you can do the job without a Panther form. We'd be better off sending in a sniper team, or just bombing the shit out of them."

"Well, that sounds like a decent idea to me," I said as I cleaned the blood off my clothes.

"Kind of hard to blame it on Ker when you drop a thousand-pound bomb," Al said. "We've got a good plan, Ella, we'll prepare you and I'm confident you will do the job." We discussed the basics of the plan on the rest of the drive, as I ignored the pain from the bite. Basically, I was going to spend a lot of time learning to shoot so I could make one shot count. The better I was, the safer I was, since a longer shot for a kill meant I started farther away from the house when the alarm went out. I thought I was a pretty good shot for a country girl, but I'd never had coaching beyond my father and never had to shoot past a couple hundred yards.

Finally, we arrived at the ranch house in the middle of the Virginia hills. Al dropped us off, he said he'd check in periodically, but Ker was in charge of my training. We ate dinner and sat on the back porch for a while, drinking beer and watching the sunset, before we called it a night. She warned me it would be an 0500 wakeup.

I took the bandage off in the shower, hoping that the news was good. When the blood-soaked dressing came off, I looked at the arm and saw the wounds had healed over; the skin was bright pink, and the arm was sore, but it was WERE HEALING! I let out a yell and pounded on the wall. A few seconds later, Ker ran into the bathroom in her robe. "You alright?"

"I'm better than all right. LOOK!" I held my arm out the shower door; she moved it around, checking the four major punctures, before letting it go.

"It looks good, I'm happy for you," she said. "Now clean up and get to sleep. You don't want to run ten miles around here with the sun up too high." She closed the door and I took my time cleaning the blood and enjoying the shower after the long plane rides. As I went into the bed, my big regret was that I couldn't talk to Craig and give him the news. We had agreed that it was best not to communicate with the island unless it was absolutely necessary.

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling itchy all over; looking at the clock, it was 0330. The sheets became uncomfortable, as did my clothes so I got out of them. I could feel the shift coming. Closing my eyes, I went to that spot in my mind that my wolf and I used to meet. I stood there in the dark space, feeling her approach as a black panther padded silently towards me. She was just a little more prominent in her spotted pattern that Ker had been, but no less beautiful. She was strong, agile and absolutely deadly, and I was in love with my cat at first look.

I opened my arms to her and she sat down, placing her head on my shoulder as we bonded. Her instincts were similar, yet different from that of my wolf and that was all right. I opened my memories to her; my parents, my wolf, the revenge I had undertaken and the memories of my mate and my children. I held her tight as she took in what she had missed in my life; sometimes growling, sometimes purring, even a few coughs in there as she laughed. "Come on," I said when she had caught up. "Why don't you take over and run?"

"You sure," she said in my mind? I hugged her and stepped back, and she walked forward as I sat down. When I opened my eyes again, I was in cat form on my bed. We quickly learned to share, and I mentally smacked myself for not opening the bedroom door first. I reached out in my mind, showing the cat how to grab the knob in her teeth and rotate her head until it pulled open. We padded silently through the dark hallway until we reached the sliding glass door. I smacked the lock open then used a paw to pull it open. I trotted out into the yard, stretching and rolling on the grass as I looked up at the stars above.

I yawned, then let out a roar before leaping into the woods behind the house. I was loving my cat eyes; they were more light-sensitive than the wolf eyes I had before, since panthers often hunted by moonlight or in dark jungles. Everything felt looser as a cat, the gait was smooth and silent. I loved the feel of her, I loved having the animal back in my head, I loved my enhanced strength and senses. I ran through the trees, just enjoying my freedom and my beast.

When I caught the smell of deer, I froze. Raising my nose, I scented three of them below me near a swampy area. I circled until I was directly downwind of them, then started to stalk. My cat's instincts guided the hunt as I moved silently through the trees and shrubs towards them. I was silent death. When I was within ten yards, I waited until the doe looked away from me to nibble on a bush and leaped forward.

With a couple quick steps and a powerful bound, I crashed down on the doe and caught her neck just above the body in my teeth. My weight knocked her over and my powerful neck muscles twisted, causing a loud snap to echo through the forest. I sat up, face bloody and the metallic warm taste on my tongue, and thought this was one of the best moments of my life. I raised my head and roared to the moon, then tore into my breakfast with gusto.

I had just pulled out the liver and gulped it down in a single bite when I heard a low growl from behind me. I spun around, my front left paw on my kill, and saw the panther approaching slowly. She sat, her head moving to the side, and I gave a quiet cough and moved over. She moved up to me, licking the blood off my face then dug into the stomach cavity and started to eat.

We ate our fill, then headed back towards the house. The morning run was forgotten as we showered and collapsed back on our beds, our bellies distended with fresh meat.

Ch 57

(Seven weeks later)

I settled in behind the rifle, making myself as low as possible. The rifle stock sat on the trunk of a pine tree which had blown down in a storm. I was using the log for cover; my head covered with a camouflage hat, paint on my face, and a ghillie suit around my body. The burlap strips of the suit were woven with bits of grasses and ground covers in the area; it broke up my form and made me nearly invisible. If I did it right, the instructors wouldn't be able to see me even if they were looking right at me with binoculars. And the instructors were looking, hard. If they saw me before I took my shot, I had to pay their bar bill. Again.

They were Marines, the first four times hadn't been cheap.

They were in a covered observation point six hundred and twenty yards away, slightly downhill. Four of them were using binoculars and spotting scopes to look for any movement or anything out of place; if they spotted something, they would radio an instructor in the field and use voice directions to move him to what they suspected was me. So far, they hadn't come close, sending them to seven false alarms already.

It had taken me four hours to move into this position. Starting two miles away, I had crawled down the hill, moving with the wind and changing the vegetation twice to match the surroundings. Sometimes it was only a few inches as a time, moving forward then waiting to move again. I had come to rely on my cat's instinct for stalking; she seemed to understand when to freeze and when to move. The instructors, who didn't know my true nature, were shocked at how quickly I had picked up what they spend months teaching to their snipers.

I used my laser rangefinder, the steel plate cut into the head and torso was seven hundred and eighty-seven yards away. I consulted the portable ballistics computer; feeding in the distance and estimating it was twenty yards below my position, I followed it and raised my scope by twenty-two clicks from its previous position. I was watching the left-to-right breeze closely; I used the movement of the treetops, the grass and the shimmer of heat rising from the ground to estimate it at five miles per hour. I adjusted my scope accordingly, the conversions memorized during long study sessions and tested during long runs by the instructors.

You only had one chance to take a shot before you became the target. It had to count.

I focused on my breathing, taking slow and deep breaths to relax. My cheek was welded to the stock, my body making as many points of contact with the ground as possible to give a stable platform. I could see the crosshairs moving slightly with each heartbeat. I took a deep breath, and let it out halfway. Waiting until I was between heartbeats, my finger added a single ounce of pressure and the chain reaction started.

The competition-grade trigger on my Remington M40 rifle broke cleanly, releasing the firing pin forward and striking the primer. The chemicals in the primer ignited, starting a chemical reaction in the powder in the cartridge. The 168-grain hollow-point boat-tail match bullet fired down the long barrel, exiting at over three thousand feet per second. The recoil pushed into my shoulder, then the rifle returned to its previous position. I watched the vapor trail of the round as it traveled to the target, finally smacking it dead center in the chest with a loud CLANG.

Now the really fun part began. The shot had drawn the attention of every instructor to the direction I was in. I had chosen my firing position well, there was no cloud of dust from the expanding gases at the front of the barrel. I stayed perfectly still, trusting my skills, while my heart was beating out of my chest.

They had ten minutes to try and locate me or I would pass. They directed the instructors to two possible locations, neither that close, and finally the whistle blew. "TIME! SHOOTER RISE!" I moved up to my hands and knees, my sore muscles protesting before I stood up. I grinned as I saw the instructors shaking their heads. They would be buying my beer tonight, plus a big steak dinner, and it was going to taste good.

I safed my weapon, then took off the Ghillie suit and hat. On my fifth try, I had passed the test given to Scout Snipers after six months. I was congratulated, even hugged by some of the instructors as we walked back towards the classroom. Daytime stalk was the toughest test of all; in comparison, the marksmanship and night stalking was a breeze.

I needed to learn them all, because I would never know whether my target could be taken in light or dark. During the training, I had learned of the deeds of Marine Corps snipers like Carlos Hathcock, who waited three days in an open field to take a thousand-yard shot that killed a VC Colonel.

Patience was something my cat and I had in spades.

"You sure you don't want to become a Marine, E?" I smiled at Gunnery Sgt. Rodriguez, the senior instructor. E was my codename during training. "You impressed the shit out of me today. You name is sure to come up in the future when some piss-ant corporal complains that he hasn't had enough practice by the fifth month."

"No, Sarge, I think I'm good. Besides, you know that Scout Sniper isn't open to women. We're too good." The other instructors hooted it up.

"That's big talk for a little lady," he said. "Care to back that up with a bet?"

I nodded. "Sure, let's play some HORSE. No computers, no rangefinders, no spotters. Loser walks back to their car naked." If the catcalls and interest weren't up to a fever pitch already, this bet put it to legendary status. One of us was going to be taking a long, embarrassing walk past the classrooms and barracks to our car, and it wasn't going to be me. He ran ahead to his office to get his personal weapon, and I met him at the unlimited range.

The rules of the game are simple, just like if you are playing basketball. The shooting mats overlooked a long, shallow valley. Dozens of hanging steel silhouette targets were mounted in the ground, at ranges from just over a hundred yards to over a mile away, each with a 12" diameter colored circle in the center of the chest. You picked a target, then a firing position; laying down (prone), sitting, kneeling or standing. Pick your shot and go first; if you hit, the other person then has to match the shot or they earn a letter.
Miss your picked shot, and your opponent gets to choose. First person to reach HORSE loses.

Word had spread quickly that a rookie had not just challenged Rodriguez, but that it was the hot young blonde that had caught many eyes in the past few weeks, and what the bet was. Classes were halted, runs cut short, and by the time we were settled into adjacent positions there was quite a crowd around us.

I had issued the challenge, so he went first. He hit his first eight shots, all from the prone position while I missed three. I was a HOR before he finally missed a target at 850 yards.

I had noticed how comfortable he was prone, and decided to mix it up. Looking out at a target I figured was 350 yards out, I called out "Yellow. Standing." The M40 was a heavy-barrel weapon, not well suited for offhand use. It quickly wore out your muscles, causing them to twitch and move. What the Gunny didn't know was that I was a hell of a lot stronger than he was.

I set the scope and found the target, then focused on my breathing. The shot hit just below center with a clang. He made it as well, so I moved out to a target at five hundred yards and made the hit.

He didn't. H for him.

I shifted to kneeling, and made a shot at six hundred yards. HO. I was on a roll. I went back to standing, forcing him beyond his limits as he couldn't hold the target and was soon down HORS-HOR. I couldn't afford to miss, just like pool, he'd go back to what he was used to and run the table on me. I thought for a bit; I was in better shape than him as a runner, and getting your heart rate back down after exercise was key to shooting.

"Next one- combo platter. Fifty burpees in under two minutes, then 30 seconds to take a shot. Sitting, red X." The red X target was five hundred yards downrange.

"You sure about this, E? It would suck to miss this shot and give me control again."

"You worried about little ol' me, Sarge? I'd start worrying about how many Facebook posts are going to contain your pale ass in the next hour." I put my fist out to him, he bumped it. "Let's do this. Matthews? Give me a clock."

I set my rifle down, action open, and stood behind the position in my camo utilities. "Two minutes, ready, GO." I started doing the burpees at a comfortable pace, from stand to squat, back to pushup position, back to squat and standing. I finished the fifty with three seconds to spare, not even breathing hard. I picked up my weapon and sat at an angle to the target, chambering a round. Using the estimated range and windage, I made the scope adjustments and focused on calming my breathing. When the shot left, I smiled, I knew it was good before it hit. CLANG. The crowd went wild, knowing Gunny had everything riding on this shot.

I safed the weapon and stood up, making a round of high fives with the crowd as Gunny stared down the target. "Two minutes, ready, go." I watched as he completed the exercise, then sat behind his weapon. I could see the end of his barrel moving slightly and smiled; he was having trouble holding the target, so it would all be a matter of whether he could settle it and fire at the right time. The thirty seconds went by quicker than he expected, and his shot rang out a second after time was called.

It hit, by some miracle, but it didn't matter. The cheers rang out as I raised my arms in victory. Gunny stood up slowly and moved towards me, pulling me into a brief hug. "That was some damn good shooting, E."

"Thanks Gunny. Now... strip." I backed up and watched with the rest of the group as he pulled off his utilities and T-shirt, exposing the hard muscles and deep scarring on his chest from his time in Fallujah and Afghanistan. Smirking at me, he dropped his boxers and pulled his socks off, then posed. "Like what you see?"

I put my finger to my chin, looking him up and down. "Not bad, but I'm married. Come on, it's a long walk." I rolled up his clothes for him and stuffed them in my bag while he went back to get his rifle. He grabbed his shooting bag in one hand and his M40 in the other, and I waited for him with my rifle and bag in my right hand. I took his arm with my left hand, and we walked back together while he glared at anyone who was starting to laugh. Me? I just looked at the crowd and said, "If anyone thinks they can do better than Gunny, put up or shut up."

There were no takers.

We left the crowd behind and reached the parking lot alone. "Shit, E, that was the most fun I've had in years. This match will become legend around here."

"Even if you lose in it?"

"I'm not worried, in a few years I'll have lost to a two thousand yard shot, standing in a gale." He looked over at me. "You've got all the skill you need, E. I don't know what you are training for, I don't want to know. I just know you will do it." He reached his car and I handed him his clothes. "If you make it this way again, stop by. I'd love to hear how it went."

I waited until he was decent, then gave him a hug. "You and your team have been great, Gunny. If I make it, a large part of the credit goes to you." He put his rifle and bag in his trunk. "Now go change, I'm hungry and you guys owe me steak and beer."

I walked back to my car and drove back to the house to get changed. Ker was there and met me at the door, and Al was behind her. "Have fun tonight, you've earned it," she said. "We leave in the morning. You're ready."

Ch 58

Two days later and I had changed the humid, swampy forests of Virginia for the humid, tropical jungle of Mexico. We had flown in to the Minatitlan airport, on the Carribean side just north of the Yucatan. From there, we were whisked from the hanger into a Range Rover, the three of us hidden in the back behind the dark windows. Our driver couldn't see us due to the bulletproof glass divider between his seat and ours, and we didn't pass through customs or any security.

Al had arranged it so we could come and go without being seen by anyone. The cartels lived on human intelligence, and three Americans arriving this way would be noticed if we weren't careful.

It took almost a day to drive to the safe house we were using as mission headquarters. Our driver parked, then got out and went to another vehicle and drove away. "We'll call him if we need him again," Al said. "Come on."

The small, three bedroom house was by itself at the end of a dirt road that wound back through the valley. I had slept as much as I could during the drive, as most of my activity for this operation would be at night. Food had been prepared and left on the table for us, but no one else was around. The pantry had been freshly stocked. "So I leave after sunset?" I looked around at the place, it had no communications, no electricity, it was truly remote and rustic. A fireplace in the corner provided a place to cook, and a stack of firewood by it the heat against the cool night.

"Yes," Al replied as he set his bag by the door to a bedroom. "Let's eat then we'll go over the plan one more time." I left my backpack and rifle by the door and walked over to the table, where a tantalizing spread of authentic food was under wraps. I scooped a few enchiladas, some rice and a side of roast chicken onto my plate and dug in. It was going to be my only good meal for I didn't know how long, so I was going to gorge myself on it.

Gorging is a real challenge for a werecat, I had found out. Our stomachs are designed to hold a huge amount of meat then slowly digest it, so we only have to kill a large animal once a week or so. Ker looked like she had already eaten a deer, her pregnancy belly was rather large now and she had to be careful as she sat down. She was one of those athletic women who didn't gain weight all over, it just looked like she had swallowed a basketball. At this point in her pregnancy, she was getting tired and shifting was more of a challenge, so she had stopped doing it two weeks ago.

We washed the food down with the jug of tea, and after the plates were clear we got down to business. The map was spread out and it showed the path I was to take, twenty-five miles of jungle to reach the hideout of one Jose Hernandez. I had studied the maps and the aerial images on the flight and the drive, so I was as familiar as I could be with them. I had a small GPS navigator in my pack that was programmed with that target, and the coordinates for this house plus fifty other potential return points. If I couldn't make it back to the safe house, I was to head for one of three designated points and call for pickup.

If I didn't make it back in ten days, they would assume I was dead.

Al had several cases of portable electronics he would use to monitor Cartel communications and a satellite phone if he needed to talk to Foggy Bottom. He and Ker would alternate shifts, but it was clear to me there would be no Calvary coming to save me if things went bad. I was the ultimate in expendable, the very definition of plausible deniability.

When the sun slipped down below the horizon, I got dressed. I was using generic jungle camouflage, with moisture-wicking undershirt and underwear. It was heavy enough to protect against bugs and branches, but light enough to be comfortable in this climate. My backpack contained food, two canteens of water and a filtering survival straw, ready to eat foods and mosquito netting. There would be no fires, no cooking, as that could attract attention. My trusty rifle was slung over my shoulder, the armored scope protected, and a Glock 23 with two extra magazines was in a holster on my hip. A machete hung from my other hip, both for making way through the jungle and for silent kills if needed. I put on the floppy jungle hat, it had mosquito netting hanging down to protect my face and neck, then said my goodbyes.

"Good luck," said Al, bringing me in for a hug. Ker couldn't say anything, we just hugged and I put my hands on her belly before I turned away and walked out the door. I walked around the house and entered the forest, heading towards the gap between the two hills as I headed to my first waypoint.

I performed a partial shift as soon as I entered the jungle, causing my ears to lengthen and my eyes to change. The panther was a master at night hunting, and the cat eyes were very sensitive to the low levels of light. I couldn't see much in the way of colors, but I could see my way just fine. No human would be able to function on a night like this without a flashlight or night vision goggles.

I went a few miles away from the house, then found a place to bury my getaway pouch. If the house was blown, the money, clothes and identification in this pack could keep me alive. No one would know about it but me.

The equipment was heavy, but it was only intended for the trip in. The trip back would be much more difficult, and for that I'd probably be in panther form. We didn't know how long I'd have to wait for a shot, so the pack contained enough for a week in the jungle.

I made it eleven miles the first night, not bad considering the nature of the jungle. I was loving the endurance and flexibility my cat nature gave me; as a wolf I was able to stalk, but wolves were Pack hunters. My cat was better at stalking and ambushing. As the first light of the morning started, I looked for a place to hide for the day.

The human side would look at ground level, but this was dangerous and buggy. Instead, I removed a canteen and some food from the pack and stripped, placing the clothes in and zipping it up. I found a thicket where I could hide the gear and bury it in leaves and brush so it wouldn't be seen. I shifted into my panther, shaking out my fur and sniffing around for danger. Satisfied, I grabbed the food and water in my mouth and padded over to a large tree. With a leap from the base, my claws dug into the bark and I climbed up into the canopy until I found a sturdy branch surrounded by greenery that would hide me from those on the ground.

I shifted back and balanced on the branch. I drank the water and ate the food, leaving them hanging over a forked branch nearby, then shifted back to panther form. Lying down, a front and a back leg on each side of the wide branch, I settled into a sleep. My cat side stayed alert to noises and smells, keeping me safe as I rested.

I climbed down as the sun set, and ate more food and drank the other canteen before gearing up and heading back out. I was making good time, by the time I stopped I was only three miles from my objective. I decided to hide and make my move to the target area after my sleep.

When the evening came, I was extra careful not to make any noise as patrols were possible. My goal was to make it to within shooting range of the villa and construct a hide that could keep me hidden for days, if needed. There was no rush as I picked my way through the jungle; every sense was focused on detecting patrols. I filled my canteens when I came across a spring, and drank my fill. Even at night, I lost a lot of water to the jungle climate.

I smelled the humans before I could hear them. I tilted my head back, my cat sorting through the many smells as I picked out each of their scents; there were three of them, at a campfire, and they were cooking beans. I gave them a wide berth, staying well out of sight as I got past them. They were a patrol, but as I expected they bedded down for the night.

It was just after midnight when I crested the final hill and had a view of the villa on the adjacent hilltop. I removed the binocular/rangefinder combination from its case on my belt as I knelt by a tree; from here, it was over twelve hundred yards. That was farther than I was comfortable, I had to get closer. I moved to the east, staying just below the ridgeline so I wouldn't be silhouetted by the rising moon.

I spent several hours scouting and rejecting hide locations before I found one I was satisfied with. Two trees had fallen down the hill in an X pattern, creating an area below that was surrounded by branches and leaves. The front had enough cover to hide me, but not so much it would affect my shooting. I dug a spot for my backpack, covering it with leaves, then went to work on a hide for my human form in prone position. I carefully and silently cut away the protruding branches and roots and removed loose rocks until I had a spot cleared to lie down in. I spent time in front, laying additional vegetation into place until only a small opening was left for me to see and shoot through. Finally, I made sure my hide was invisible from the sides or behind. I couldn't chance a patrol seeing me.

I went to the bathroom behind some other trees, then crawled into my hide and pulled out my binocular/rangefinder. My hide was about twenty degrees off the back of the villa, where the pool and outdoor kitchen were located. The chairs around the pool were at 640 yards, the driveway on the other side just over seven hundred. I was shooting slightly downhill, so I entered all that information into my ballistic computer and made the adjustments to my scope.

Shooting accurately at long range is difficult in part because of all the variables. My rifle had an ultimate accuracy of about half a minute of angle; that meant that even with a machine rest to take the human element out, it could be as much as three inches off in either direction at best. The bullets it fired were hand selected for consistency in weight and shape, and the cartridges hand loaded to an exact amount of powder. The bullets were seated at the depth that my rifle preferred; it had taken a week to find the right combination of variables to get the best performance.

Having a good rangefinder helped, as did a high-quality scope with repeatable settings. My rifle, which had been worked over by the Marine Corps' finest armorers, was worth three thousand on its own. The Schmidt and Bender scope on top of it was worth another five. As the Gunny used to say, "Only accurate rifles are fun."

The computer was set to match the exact bullet characteristics and exit velocity from my rifle, and then adjusted based on air temperature, humidity and wind estimates. The Marines had given me everything I needed to make this shot, the rest would be up to me.

I spent the first day observing and writing; the Marines taught never to just rush in and start shooting. I saw how many guards there were, what their patterns were and the times they turned over to their reliefs. I watched the people come and go, and the movement in the rooms. It didn't take long to identify my target, now I needed to learn his patterns. Only then would I choose the shot that would not just take out my objective, but assure me of the best chance to escape.

Jose' Hernandez was clearly a brutal man and leader, with a big appetite for food and sex. I watched the women enter his room, emerging hours later crying and bruised. They were the lucky ones. His son, Juan, was a real sadist. He liked to tie women to a frame by the pool, whipping them until they could barely stand, before he threw them over a chair and plowed them into unconsciousness. I didn't feel anything for these men, I knew I could take them out. The human race would be better off without Jose.

On day three, I made my choice. Every night, just before midnight, after kicking his whores out of his bed, Jose would sit on a chair outside his room and smoke a cigar. The guard shifted at 0200, so half would be asleep and the others would have been on duty for four hours and would be tired.

I decided I would only keep my pistol and GPS with me when I ran for safety, so I removed my belt and looped it so it was over one shoulder, the pistol hanging under my other shoulder. I ate as much food and drank as much water as I could take, since I wasn't bringing it out. I reached into the side pocket and removed the two grenades, one was standard and the other white phosphorus, a metal that burned at high temperature and extremely brightly. I removed the rest of my clothing and gear and placed them in my backpack, then set it back in the depression with one of the grenades under it. Removing the pin, I made sure whoever picked it up had a very bad day.

Tacked to a nearby tree, I placed Black Ker's calling card, a tarot card. The card of Death.

I used the white phosphorus grenade to booby trap my hide. Tying it to the side of one trunk, I used a fishing line attached to the pull pin and tied it to a branch on the other side. If you crawled like I did, you'd be fine but if your butt was up, you were going to get lit up like a Christmas tree. I was hoping the combination would help cover up anything that could lead back to me or the CIA.

Finally, naked and tired, I crawled in and settled behind my rifle. I remained absolutely still, ignoring the bugs and my own hunger, pissing in place so there was no motion to be seen. I watched through the scope as Jose sated his passion on a blonde and a brunette. He kicked them out and went to his desk, fetching a cigar out of the humidor and cutting the tip off. Grabbing a lighter and a glass of single malt, he opened the sliding door and sat in the chair before lighting up.

I used my breathing exercise to calm myself, my cat helping to keep things calm. She loved the feel of the hunt, even with a gun. I settled into the shooting position that had become habit, taking one last deep breath and letting it out halfway. I had the crosshairs centered on his chest, there was not a breath of wind, it was perfect shooting conditions.

I watched the pattern as the aim point bounced with my heartbeat. Waiting for the lull in between, my finger pulled back a fraction of an inch and the rifle fired. I watched as the round traveled to its target; it smashed through the glass as he was lifting it to his mouth and hit him six inches below his chin. I saw the blood spatter against the wall behind him as he slumped down, then quickly scooted backwards out of my hide and shifted into my panther form.
Alarms were sounding, searchlights turned on and all hell was breaking loose.

Ch 59

I shifted my eyes and ears as I stood up and raced for the top of the hill. I was naked except for the belt over one shoulder with my pistol and GPS, but I didn't care. I needed to stay in human form while I could still potentially be seen from the house; I didn't want them to know about my cat yet.

I could hear the alarms and there were shots being fired wildly in my direction, but at this range their AK-47's couldn't hit the side of a barn. It only took a minute or two before I crested the hill; as soon as the villa was out of sight, I shifted to my panther and took off the way I came.

The first half hour of running went perfectly; I could hear their dogs and their vehicles, but nothing was close. I grinned to myself when I heard the first grenade go off, followed by a bright flash. Someone managed to trip both grenades, I thought, which meant they had found my old hide. I was already miles away by then.

I wasn't worried about the men, they had no hope of catching up to me. I wasn't worried about the dogs, I had taken a pill that made my scent less obvious, plus I used a few tricks along the way to throw them off. I was worried about what I just heard fly across the hill behind me. A helicopter.

One thing I was taught about the Cartels was that they had so much money, they could have the best of everything. Intelligence, surveillance, weaponry- all was at their fingertips. This would not be some budget helicopter, this was bound to have all kinds of weapons and sensors. The cartels were better equipped than the military.

I pushed on, my muscles straining as I bounded through the jungle heading roughly north. I intersected a river, and used this to hide my scent as I ran along in the shallows for a mile or so before leaping straight up ten feet to top of the cliff the river tore through. No way dogs follow that, I thought.

The helicopter sound was getting closer; I moved through the large rocks, staying out of sight until it was moved on. As I reached the top of the mountain, I stopped to rest and check my bearings. Shifting quickly to human form, I checked the GPS and looked into the distance, picking out the general direction and landmarks ahead.

It was then I heard the howls. Two of them, and they weren't Mexican wolves, those were nearly extinct. These were werewolves, and they weren't far behind me. I shifted back, and my cat picked her way down the back side of the rocky outcrop. My head was spinning, I couldn't believe at first that werewolves were working for an animal like Jose.

Then again, a few years ago I didn't believe that friends would drug you and forcibly mate you, either.

They could have promised them refuge from the war, or the wolves could just have been greedy and brutal. Their skills would let them advance quickly in the ranks, and I could see how a druglord would find them to be of use. Too bad that right now it was to kill me.

The plateau ended at a sheer cliff face. I ran along it for a while, but there wasn't a way down. If I backtracked, I'd lose my lead. Wolves were faster than cats, they'd run me down.

The moon illuminated the trees in the valley below. An idea came to mind, a crazy one, but I needed something to stop these guys. I trotted back from the edge about twenty yards. Focusing my eyes on the top of the tree that was about even with the top of the cliff, I raced towards the edge and leaped for it.

It felt like I was flying forever as my clawed feet stretched for the branches. I couldn't jump high enough to reach the top, and I was falling faster before I hit the canopy. My left front claw caught a branch, swinging me inward until it broke. I crashed down through the branches for another twenty feet or so before I could get claws into the trunk and stop my fall.

I sat there for a moment, shaking as I looked around. It was reckless, but it worked. I picked my way down the tree, and instead of going to the ground I ran along branches and leaped to the next tree. I covered a few hundred yards this way before I went to ground again; it would be near impossible for the wolves to track me now.

I shifted back and checked the GPS again. I was only seven miles from the house.

Shifting again, I set off at a comfortable pace. It was four in the morning, the sun would be up in two more hours. I pushed on through the jungle, looking forward to getting out of there with my team.

I had just passed where I buried my getaway bag when the smell of death assaulted my senses. Sticky yet sweet, it was blood. Lots of blood. I moved sideways, circling the small building at a distance as my nose and eyes searched for what happened. There were bodies, maybe a dozen of them, surrounding and inside the house. From the smell and the bloating, they had been dead for several days already. Once I was satisfied that I didn't smell anyone alive, I shifted and moved in, my pistol at the ready.

The dead were all males, all heavily armed with no identifying uniforms or insignia. They had been torn apart; I could make out claw marks and bites, most were missing their throats or their whole heads. The lucky ones had only been shot.

I moved slowly and quietly into the kitchen of the house. There was blood on the walls, and a dead bad guy in the corner. All of Al's equipment was still there, as was the clothing and bags they had brought with. Everything except for them.

I went back out and ran back to the place I had buried my getaway bag, as clearly I was on my own now. The sun had come up, I had to get away. I ran past the house and away from the smell of death, only to find another trail of blood leading back along the dirt road. The difference was, this one was fresh. I shifted into my cat and put my nose to the ground.

It was Al.

I followed the blood trail into a thicket, where I found his bloody body. Somehow, he had crawled almost a mile with a bullet in one leg that shattered his femur, and another in his other knee. I shifted back and put an ear to his chest. I smiled a little, there was a heartbeat, faint... but there. I took a shirt out of my bag and ripped it into strips, wrapping it around his bleeding wounds.

As I worked, I thought about how well and truly fucked we both were right now. Ker was gone, whether she ran or was taken didn't matter, she wasn't here to help us. I didn't blame her if she ran, Al was as good as dead and she had her baby to protect. I had werewolves and Cartel heavies headed our way, and Al was a few minutes away from death.

I could leave him to die, or I could do something to help him live. Something irreversible. I shifted and bit him just above his injured knee.

He screamed as he woke up, looking around scared then he took in my cat and relaxed. I laid beside him, moving my head to motion him on. He rolled over, grimacing in pain, and pulled himself onto my back.

I slowly pushed myself up on my legs and started to move out, my getaway bag in my teeth. I put miles behind me as the infection coursed through Al, causing his temperature to rise and were healing rates to kick in. I could feel his legs jerking as the bone knit together and the nerves repaired themselves. By nightfall, we had traveled quite a distance and I found a patch of soft grass by a stream to rest for the night.

I eased down and Al rolled off me, immediately falling asleep. I went to the stream, filling my belly with the cool water, then came back and curled myself protectively around him before going to sleep myself.

The moon was high when his scream woke me up. I shifted into human form and clamped my hand over his mouth, we couldn't afford to attract attention. I watched as his bones broke and reformed, as fur sprouted and a tail pushed through what remained of his pants as they shredded themselves. It seemed like forever, but it was only a couple minutes before a panther was panting by my side.

He was a good-looking male, a little grey around the muzzle but still heavily muscled and larger than me. His coloring was lighter than mine, the black spots outlined in tan. I pushed at his neck with my head, urging him to stand up. He got up slowly and took a few tentative steps before stopping and raising his head, sniffing the air. I coughed and walked him to the water, where he drank his fill.

We moved off into the jungle together.

I still had my GPS, and we used this to avoid the towns and move west. The Pacific coast was my destination, and we soon fell into a routine of moving by night and sleeping in the daytime. We would hunt as we went, finding what we could- wild boar, turkey, even cattle and goats. It took two weeks for us to reach the coastal fishing village of Salina Cruz. I left Al in the woods as I shifted and dressed, heading in to town. I brought back food and clothing for him, so he shifted and we caught a ride down to the docks.

I thanked Luna I had the foresight to hide my getaway bag, because without it we would have been screwed. Al and I had talked during the long trip; he was convinced that someone burned him and Ker, setting them up to be taken out. It was a short list of people who knew where they were; a couple CIA contacts, Ker's baby daddy Trevor, and the driver. The attack was direct and brutal, and only Ker shifting and making it into the jungle kept if from succeeding.

Right now, the only protection Al and I had was that everyone thought we were dead. We saw no reason to change that.

Al was fluent in Spanish, much better than my recall from high school, and he did the negotiations. We found a fisherman who was willing to take us south, quietly, for a price. We gladly paid it. We left just as the sun set, hiding below as he pushed off into open water.

A week later the trawler pulled up to a dock, where a curious group of deeply tanned Americans was gathered around. Al and I stepped onto the dock as the trawler back away, and I ran into the arms of my mate and children.