“Paige is probably dead by now.”
“Maybe not,” he said.
“I hope not. Even so, her testimony alone won’t be strong enough to put him away for the bombing.”
Darwin thought about it. “What do you want from me—and it better not be much.”
I knew whatever I told him would make him blow his stack, but really all I needed was a Pulsed Energy Projectile System (PEPS) weapon mounted on a Hummer.
“You’re insane!” he shouted.
“You can fly one to Edwards in a cargo plane,” I said. That’s just down the road from me.”
“I know where fucking Edwards is,” he said. “Didn’t you just fl y there with three ADS weapons?”
“Yeah, but I need the PEPS.”
“Let me guess: you want it by tomorrow.”
“Actually, I need it by six tonight.”
“You’ve lost your fucking mind.”
“Oh, c’mon, Darwin. There’s nothing you can’t do.”
“Except keep you on a leash.”
“Look, I know it’s not going to be easy and no one else in the country could do it—but you’re Darwin!”
“Fuck you!” he said. “It can’t be done. Period.”
“I’ll be there at six tonight,” I said. “Impress me.”
“Go to hell!” Darwin said.
CHAPTER 45
Hugo and his army of little people had made their base camp six miles east of Highway 33, near an ancient forest ranger lookout stand. I brought the Hummer to a stop about thirty yards from their campground and waited for Quinn.
“The fuck is that?” Quinn said as he pulled up alongside the Hummer.
“These are circus people,” I said. “That’s one of their circus wagons.” To be completely honest, it was a bright red Winnebago covered from one end to the other with circus paintings.
“I thought you were kidding about them being a circus act.”
“Nope.”
He looked at me. “We going in or what?”
“Hugo’s a military man,” I said. “He’ll probably want to invite us into the camp.”
“Victor and Hugo and the circus people,” Quinn said.
“And us,” I said.
Some of the little people started milling about in the distance, staring at our strange-looking vehicle. They were wearing colorful shirts and baggy trousers. They were pointing and chattering as others joined them.
“What do you suppose they’re saying?” asked Quinn.
“Follow the yellow brick road,” I said.
Quinn stared in disbelief.
“Are you in fact telling me we’re going up against Joe DeMeo, twenty shooters, and eight dogs with this bunch of clowns?” Quinn asked.
We looked at each other. They were in fact clowns. We burst out laughing. I don’t know, maybe it was the stress, maybe we were just glad to be working together again on a major assignment.
“I can see it now,” Quinn said. “The little people put a big flower on their shirts. When the goons bend over to sniff the flower, it’s really a squirt gun!”
I said, “When they shoot their pop guns, a big sign comes out that says BANG!”
“And Joe says, ‘Who are these clowns?’ and someone says, ‘The fuck do I know? Ringling Brothers?’”
I said, “Joe DeMeo, captured by midget circus clowns! Any chance they’ll make fun of him in prison?”
Hugo approached. “What the fuck is that thing?” he asked.
The PEPS weapon—pulsed energy projectiles—like ADS, was originally developed for crowd control. Accurate up to a mile away, it fires directed bursts of pulsed energy to vaporize solid objects. If fired near a target, it heats the surrounding air until the target explodes. The resulting shock wave will knock down anyone in the vicinity and render them helpless for a minute or more.
After explaining this to Hugo, he said, “If we have that, why do we need the ADS weapons?”
I explained that while PEPS would knock down walls and disorient people, it wouldn’t necessarily disarm them or render them helpless.
“The ADS weapon is different,” I said. “It offers an instant, permanent solution to the problem of resistance.”
Hugo turned his attention to Quinn. “You are one ugly bastard,” he said. “No offense,” he added.
