Page 102 of The Final Vow (Washington Poe #7)

Poe had approached the first three positions knowing in his heart that Puck wouldn’t be using them. That Puck was good enough to select the same sniper’s nest as Towler. The first three positions had been dry runs.

Now it was the real thing. On the other side of the Shap crater was a man with a gun.

Poe was sure of it. He found he was breathing hard again.

He wished Towler was with him. Strength in numbers.

A problem shared. Useless clichés, but at least he wouldn’t have been up there alone.

He found he was scared. That he was rerunning that night with Clara Lang, the closest he’d ever come to dying.

Maybe he wasn’t up to this. Maybe he should carry on walking, get to Shap Fell and call in Towler.

Use the ex-Para as the weapon he clearly was.

No, it had to finish tonight.

Poe gritted his teeth, ignored the blood pounding in his ears and got to his knees. He dropped to his belly. He crawled on his elbows and his knees to the lip of the Shap crater, an inch at a time.

He saw Herdwick Croft’s silhouette. The cottage looked closer than the 500 metres he knew it to be. He moved another inch. As silent as the moon lighting his way.

Then he moved another inch.

And another.

His head was completely over the crater.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the shadows. He stared into the last firing position. And saw nothing.