A nurse came in, asked a couple of questions, then looked at the

beeping machine to which he was wired.

'The doctor will be in to see you in just a minute.'

'Uh-huh.  Sure.  I've heard that one before.'

She shook her head and left.

'How long have I been out?'

'Not long,' Fernandez said.

'Been about six hours since you got here.'

'Where is here?'

'Anchorage.  That's in Alaska.'

'Thank you for that information, Sergeant.  How did you get here so

fast?'

'I have a friend in the Air Force who owed me a big favor.  You haven't

lived until you've done a supersonic barrel roll.  Yee-haw.'

Nadine said, 'Are you okay, John?'

'I've felt better, but yeah, I'm okay.'

'Good.  I have to go to the bathroom.  Stay right here.'

He laughed.

'Don't do that.  It hurts to laugh.'

She headed for the bathroom.  Howard grinned as he watched her walk

away, then looked at Fernandez again.

'You want to tell me about it?'

'Why don't you go first?  I'll fill in what we know that you don't.'

Howard nodded.  He laid it out, the whole thing; it was vividly clear

in his mind.

When he was done, Fernandez nodded in return.

'Ninety yards, huh?  Hell of a shot.'

'That's what I thought.  I wouldn't want to meet this guy one-on-one in

the daylight.'

'Your tactics could have been better.'

'I lie corrected.  Sergeant.  Your turn.'

'Well, you actually did better than he did.  The marshals had one

wounded, but they collected two corpses, one by the fence, one in the

SUV.  One in the car was in the passenger seat when they found him, but

holes in the windshield and spatter pattern says he got it while

driving.

How many rounds did you fire at the driver?

'Three.'

'All in the glass, four-inch group.  And they counted five holes in the

back.'

'I shot six.'

'You missed one.  You need more practice.'

'Five out of six at ninety yards, in the dark, car going away?  I don't

think so.  I do think I'm gonna keep that

Medusa,' he said.

'I feel a certain bond with it.  Go ahead.'

'No ID on the dead men, nothing useful in their pockets or clothes,

which makes them pros.  Feebs are running prints, nothing yet, but I'd

guess we're talking some kind of mercenaries.  Our boy Morrison must

know he has reason to rent serious muscle.  Everybody and his kid

Вы читаете Breaking Point
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