of.”
“That much I know,” Ward said.
The gun Todd took out of his briefcase was a black steel shortbarreled revolver.
“This is a five- shot, thirty- eight-caliber Smith and Wesson,” he said. “This is how it works. Pay attention.” He pushed forward the textured button on the side of the weapon and held the gun so his new students could see what he was doing as he spoke. “You hold this and push on this side of the cylinder and it swings open.” He rotated the gun so they could see that it was empty before he placed five red plastic bullets on the counter, rounded tips pointing up. With measured slowness, Todd took them one by one and placed each into an empty chamber until all were inserted, then closed the cylinder.
“I want you to practice loading and unloading this gun until you can do it fast. The gun will not go off unless the cylinder is closed and the trigger is pulled. The hammer can be cocked manually or just squeeze the trigger and it fires double action.”
Todd opened the gun, ejected the dummy bullets into his hand, laid them on the counter, and closed the cylinder.
“You can safely practice loading and dry- firing with the dummies.” He reloaded the gun rapidly. “It isn't good for a hammer to fall on an empty chamber.”
“Why is that?” Ward asked.
“In the old days revolver firing pins could break if they didn't strike a primer. The new pins on revolvers are stronger, but every machine has an infinite number of movements before it fails,” Todd said. “No sense tempting the laws of metallurgy.” He pointed the gun at the refrigerator and pulled the trigger once, then again.
He handed it to Ward butt first.
Ward looked down the barrel.
“It doesn't have much in the way of sights,” Todd said.
“How do you line them up then?” Ward asked.
“Don't need to, close in. This has a short barrel, so for all intents and purposes the sights are useless. Just point it like you'd point your finger at something you're looking at and your brain will aim it for you. Natasha, load it and point at the stove.”
Ward handed it to Natasha, who held the gun as though it were a dead rat. Gracelessly she managed to open the cylinder, load the plastic bullets, and close it.
Todd smiled. “Don't put your finger in the trigger guard until you are going to squeeze it. As soon as you decide to use it, point and squeeze like you're making a tight fist. Firmly and slowly, because the gun will go off target if you jerk it. If you imagine that you're aiming at a saucer your enemy is wearing on his chest you'll hit vital organs-heart or lungs. I don't expect that I have to tell you where the vital organs are, Doctor.”
“I don't intend to fire it.”
“Don't extend the gun. Keep it close to your body. If you point the gun at someone, fire immediately Anyone who knows what he's doing can take it from you and use it against you.”
“I would never shoot a person,” Natasha said with certainty.
“Okay. Then aim to hit something directly behind him and let the bullet find its own path.”
“It would go through him,” Leslie said.
“If that's the path the bullet has to take, so be it. Natasha, if your target gets the gun, he'll probably use it on you and Ward. Could you kill to save your husband's life or your own?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding as she met Ward's eyes. “I would kill to save him. But I'm a doctor. ‘First, do no harm.’ ”
“You're a living woman first,” Todd said, smiling. “After you shoot the son of a bitch, as a wife protecting yourself and your husband, you can give him CPR as a doctor until the paramedics arrive.”
Ward laughed nervously.
Natasha didn't.
“Again. You will only point the gun at someone you have decided to shoot,” Todd said, seriously. “Do not hesitate. A man who knows what he's doing can move thirty feet in less than two seconds. A decision to fire through the trigger pull takes an average of three. It's longer if you are a civilian. If that man has a knife he can bat the gun aside and kill you before you can squeeze the trigger. So make the decision when you raise the gun and fire then.”
“I'll keep the gun,” Ward said.
“That would probably be best,” Natasha said. “I'd be thinking about all the gunshot wounds I've tried to repair. The damage it would do.”
“Regardless, you should familiarize yourself with the weapon. Just in case.”
Natasha pointed the Smith at the stove, closing her eyes; when she pulled the trigger, she jerked visibly at the snap. Natasha handed the gun to Ward, and he did the same thing. He play- fired the gun, killing the windows, the refrigerator, the Mixmaster, the fridge, the stove, and Mr. Coffee. By the end of the session, Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson were not quite old friends, but they were acquaintances.
FORTY-ONE
The driveway guard called ahead so that when the doorbell rang, the occupants of the McCarty home knew who was at the door. Gene had left and Leslie was out running a list of essential errands for Natasha.
“Agents,” Ward said, after opening the door. “Come in.”
Agent John Mayes nodded at Ward and Natasha, but Bill Firman looked like a man who was there for a colonoscopy Mayes wore a wedding band, wingtips, and a cheap suit. Firman had an expensive haircut and manicured nails.
As Todd, Natasha, and Ward watched from a few feet away, the two agents inspected the hide on the hill. While Mayes looked at the same things Firman was looking at, Mayes looked at the McCartys as often as he looked at the hole, the binoculars, the cigarette butts, and the diamond sharpening stone. Finally Firman took out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It was ninety- seven degrees and there was not the slightest breeze to stir the leaves.
“So who, or what, is Gizmo?” Firman asked.
“No idea,” Natasha said. “He, or it, didn't introduce himself.”
“All I know is what everybody knows. That word is slang for electronic devices, widgets, thingamajigs,” Ward said.
“Is that a fact?” Firman asked. “And you didn't know this hole was out here?”
“No, I didn't,” Ward said.
“Then you wouldn't know how long it has been here?”
“No,” Ward said. “We rarely come up here.”
“Like to collect firewood in the fall?” Firman mused.
“We buy firewood in the fall,” Natasha said.
“We don't even own a chain saw,” Ward said. “And we like our trees standing.”
“So, Mr. Hartman, you didn't get a good look at this person who scurried out of the hole and fled through the woods?”
“No,” Todd said. “I saw a light reflection. I thought it was probably a cameraman sneaking shots. I called for backup, and Bixby Nolan and I converged, but the subject was already running away. I couldn't close on him. He seemed familiar with the terrain, because there's no path, and he was very fast and agile.”
“Maybe it was a raccoon,” Firman said flatly.
“Your sarcasm is uncalled for, Agent Firman,” Natasha said sternly. “Someone has been using this hole to watch our home, which I would think might be of interest to you. Todd Hartman found listening devices in our home, and it's very likely we have been systematically drugged by someone, perhaps the person who was in this hole. If you aren't going to take this seriously, we'll call the actual police. I think they will be more open to investigating this than you seem to be.”
“Digging a hole, scratching on the walls, and watching your house. Not federal crimes,” Firman said,
