elements of the law, and if presented with these facts-an armed trespasser kills the owner of the trespassed property-the most junior prosecutor in the most backward jurisdiction in the country would walk away with a conviction without even breaking a sweat.
“Gail! Are you all right?”
She slapped her transmit button. “I’m fine. He’s dead.”
And Ryan Nasbe would die if she didn’t get her ass in gear and do something. There’d be plenty of time to beat herself up later. The sentry would be dead forever, after all.
She took off at a run again, her GPS taking her directly to the spot where they’d cut the wire. She scaled the fence, vaulted to the other side, and then headed for the truck.
“Mother Hen, this is Gail.” She couldn’t bring herself to use her Gunslinger handle. Not now. “Are the cars all gone?”
“Negative, but I saw the Nasbe boy get loaded into a white pickup truck. He appears to be hurting badly. His truck has left.”
“Any obvious response to the gunshots?” Jonathan asked.
“Nothing I can see,” Venice said.
“Gunslinger, hold your position at the vehicle. We’ll be with you in three minutes.”
I don’t have three minutes, she didn’t say. In fact, she didn’t say anything. She had a job to do. Doing it right, she decided, meant not waiting for anyone.
She found the truck right where they’d left it along the side of the narrow road, its doors unlocked, keys in the ignition.
“Gunslinger, Scorpion. Did you copy?”
She hesitated for an instant, and then pressed the transmit button. “I copied,” she said. “But I’m not waiting. They’re leaving now. I’m following. I’ll report back what I find.”
The engine turned on the first crank, and two seconds later, she was on her way to somewhere.
CHAPTER TWENTY – SIX
“How’s that plan working for you now, Boss?” Boxers poked as they arrived at their parking spot to find the truck gone. His chest heaved for air.
“Well, what do you expect?” Jonathan poked back. “As slow as you run, they could’ve gotten to Ohio before you got to the fence.” In addition to the limitations brought by size and girth, Boxers had adopted a titanium rod for a femur after some unpleasantness while in the employ of Uncle Sam.
Without discussing a plan, they started walking down the road in the direction of the Dodge’s skid marks. “God had to make you fast to compensate for bein’ so small.”
Jonathan laughed.
They kept to the middle of the road as they walked because it was faster. On a bright night like this, out in the open, it was in many ways easier to see without night vision than with it, so Jonathan lifted the lenses out of the way. He’d have done it a minute ago, but Boxers beat him to it, and it was never a good idea to let the Big Guy think that you were imitating him.
“So, do you think she bolted on us?” Boxers asked. His tone was light, but Jonathan knew it was a serious question.
“No, she’s following them.”
They walked in silence. Their years together had imbued Jonathan with the ability to read his friend’s mind. He knew what was coming, and he knew that Boxers was twitchy as hell just thinking the thoughts.
“Hey, Boss, I’ve got a question for you,” he said at last.
Jonathan glanced over at him.
“It’s about Gail.”
“What about her?”
Boxers cleared his throat, readjusted his M4 against his vest. “Look, I know you two are close. I think you think that other people don’t know, but it’s pretty obvious-”
“Get to the question, Box.”
“Yeah, well.” He cleared his throat again. “Do you think she’s really up to all this?”
“Which ‘all this’ are you talking about?” Jonathan knew the answer, but there was something enticing about prolonging the discomfort.
“Look, I know she’s great at door crashing, and she can track down evidence like nobody’s business.”
“But?”
Another throat clearing. “Well, she’s, you know, a cop.”
“Not anymore.”
“I mean in her blood,” Boxers said. “I mean at the same level where you and I are soldiers. First and last.”
“You’re asking if she’s trustworthy? If she’ll do her job?”
“If she’ll do her job without hesitating.”
Jonathan craned his neck to look at the Big Guy. “She killed the sentry a few minutes ago.”
“Well,” Boxers hedged.
“She killed him. Shot him dead.”
It was Boxers’ turn to look incredulous. “Were you listening to the same radio traffic I was?”
“She shot him.”
“Right. About thirty seconds after you would have.”
“We weren’t there,” Jonathan said. “It’s not for us to judge.”
“Oh, really? Seems to me that I’m one of the first to get drilled if she screws up.”
Jonathan felt his blood pressure rising. “Careful, Box.” “Careful about what? I’m not talking about Gail the person, I’m talking about Gail the operative.”
Jonathan let silence reign for a minute or more. “I have the same concerns, okay?” he said, finally. “Warrants and probable cause are part of her DNA, and that’s a potential hazard to us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Don’t treat me like I’m the bad guy here, Dig. We live and die as a team. This ain’t personal. Not toward anyone.”
Jonathan let it go.
“They’ve headed into the compound,” Gail announced on the radio. “The whole parade of cars went in there.”
Jonathan keyed his mike. “Where are you?”
“On my way to pick you up.”
Eight minutes later, they were outside the gate where Gail had seen the tail end of the motorcade disappear into the night. They sat in the Dodge, engine and lights off, watching.
“These guys love their fences,” Boxers said. As before, this one was chain link with barbed wire.
All three of them peered through digitally enhanced night optics. Jonathan concentrated on the construction of the gate leading to the interior of the compound. “Did you see them open the gate?” he asked Gail.
“It was already open when I got here,” she said. “Looked to me like it opened outward.”
“As any well-designed security gate should,” Jonathan mused aloud. He was becoming more impressed with the sophistication of the operation up here, and being impressed was not good. “Any blockades or blocks on the far side?”
“None that I saw. Traffic was flowing through at the time, though, so if they had any, they would have been down or disabled.”
Of course they would, Jonathan thought. It had been a stupid question.
“I count three sentries at the gate,” Boxers said. He looked at his watch. “It’s ten till eight. How do you want to handle this?”
“Without a lot of subtlety,” he said. Then he gave them the details.
