remoteness: fewer potential witnesses to describe aspects of the carnage the plotters didn’t want seen.
A little farther out, we passed a construction site. Dox said, “Hang on, I like the look of this.”
We circled around and drove back through the plume of dust we’d kicked up on the road behind us. “Doesn’t look like much is happening here,” Dox said.
He was right. There was no equipment and no material, just a four-story I-beam and cinderblock skeleton without even a chain-link fence around it. No windows in place, no roof, no doors.
“I believe what we’re looking at,” Dox said, “is an abandoned building site, popularly known as a victim of America’s ongoing recession. Also known as an ideal urban sniper hide. Look at that-line-of-sight to the front of the school, two-hundred yards. Easy pickings. I’d like to go in when it’s dark and confirm, but I believe we just found my place. What time are our terrorists due to arrive?”
“The assembly’s at eight forty-five,” Kanezaki said. “So probably just after that.”
“Well then, I propose we insert me at zero three hundred, the still of the night. I’ll zero the rifle at first light. Won’t be many people around, and the suppressor will reduce the sound some. You didn’t bring a sleeping bag, did you?”
“Shit, no,” Kanezaki said. “I didn’t think of it.”
“That’s all right, I’m sure there’s a Wal-Mart around here. I’ll pick up some thermal hunting gear and a foam pad to prone out on. Watch the sunrise, it’ll be nice.”
We got Dox his gear, and went back to the building site after dark. Dox went in, and reported that he liked what he found. Then he and Treven, who looked the most at home in the area, checked us into an anonymous highway motel, two adjoining rooms on the second of two floors. We ate and checked the gear and went over our plans. Kanezaki used a satellite phone to call his telephone company friend. Apparently, Gillmor had his phone on the day before in Lincoln, but it was off now.
“If we can’t locate him,” I said, “the op’s blown.”
Kanezaki nodded. “I’ll have to call in a bomb threat. Get them to evacuate the school. But all that does is divert the attack. And next time, we might not know what school.”
We were all quiet. I knew we all felt like we had to stop this. And we knew if we couldn’t stop it here, we probably couldn’t stop it at all.
Kanezaki said, “What about Horton?”
“What about him?” I said.
“I know he stepped down, but he’s still got contacts. Maybe he knows something, or could find out. Can you call him?”
“He might not be well inclined to us just now,” Larison said.
I thought about the secure site message. “No, I think you’re wrong about that. But I’ve reached the point where I wouldn’t trust anything he tells me.”
Larison smiled. “Better late than never.”
“What can it hurt?” Kanezaki said. “Use my sat phone. No way to triangulate on its location.”
I thought for a moment. He was right-it was hard to see the harm. But Horton had lied to me and set us up. I felt like I had nothing to say to him. I didn’t even plan on letting him live when this was all over.
But that was stupid. Tactics first. “All right, give me the phone,” I said.
Horton picked up so fast, he might have been waiting for the call. “Horton.”
“You wanted me to call you.”
“Thank God you did. I was getting ready to call the Lincoln police with a bomb threat. But that wouldn’t stop the attack, it would-”
“Only divert it, I know.”
“Please tell me you’re there. And you’re going to stop this thing.”
“The last time you figured out where I was going to be, you sent four shooters.”
“That was, bar none, the biggest mistake of my life.”
I imagined the sentiment was heartfelt. Not that it mattered. “How did you track us there?” I said, thinking about Treven.
“National technical means.”
Maybe it was true. I had no way of knowing. I wasn’t even sure why I’d bothered asking. It just felt like a loose end, and it bothered me.
“If you’re in Lincoln,” he said, “I want to help. Anyway I can.”
“We’re here,” I said, hating that I was giving him the satisfaction.
“Good.”
“So is Gillmor.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I need to know where. His cell phone is turned off. Do you have any way of tracking him?”
There was a pause, then, “Let me make some calls. How can I reach you?”
“I’ll call you.”
“Thank you,” he said, and I clicked off.
Nobody slept. At three in the morning, Kanezaki drove Dox out to the building site. I called Horton. He still hadn’t found anything. Kanezaki’s phone company friend told him Gillmor’s phone was still dark. I started to feel very bleak. It wasn’t just that we weren’t going to be able to stop the attack. It was that I was going to feel responsible for setting it all in motion.
I resolved that, no matter how this turned out and no matter how long I had to wait, Horton was going to die. It was thin, and I supposed in the end it wouldn’t really matter, but the thought was distracting, at least, and mildly comforting. It helped me drift off for a while.
When it started getting light outside, I called Horton again, expecting the worst.
“Good news,” he said.
I tried not to get my hopes up. “What?”
“That drone. The Viper. When it’s powered up, it navigates by GPS. It has to uplink to the satellite. So-”
“We’ll know where it took off from.”
“Correct. I have a friend in the NRO who is watching for that signal and that signal alone. As soon as we have the coordinates, I will get them to you.”
“We might not have much time. We don’t even know for sure that he’s going to be in the Lincoln area.”
“I know. But we should be all right. The Viper can loiter for a whole day. I doubt Gillmor wants to run it for that long, but he doesn’t have to wait until the very last minute, either. My guess is, he’ll have it up at least an hour before the shooters go in. That’ll allow him some wiggle room in case he has any mechanical or other problems. But I need to be able to reach you.”
I gave him Kanezaki’s sat phone number, glad I didn’t have to give him a cell. “I’ll be in a car,” I said. “Call me as soon as you know.”
I told the others, then used the commo to raise Dox. “Hey,” I said. “I’m not waking you, am I?”
He chuckled. “I like when you tease me. What’s going on?”
I told him.
“Well, that’s good,” he said, sounding mildly pleased-mildly pleased, I knew from experience, being his only affect when he was in his sniping zone, no matter what the news he was reacting to.
“How’s the view?” I said.
“Pretty in this light. I can see everything.”
“You’re on the roof?”
“One floor down. Doubt anyone could see me from overhead, but why take chances?”
“All right, good hunting.”
“You, too, partner. If you don’t take out that drone, my good work will be wasted. And I don’t think Treven and Larison will be happy, either.”
What he meant is that Treven and Larison, on the ground at the school, would be well within the Hellfire
