Point of Impact

good breakfast place just off the Coast Highway.

Drayne frowned again as he severed the connection. Well. His father was leaving town, and it might be a year or two before they saw each other again. Breakfast was not such a big deal. Except that his old man had not invited him to such an event in what, ten years?

Maybe he just wants me to help Edwina out, Drayne reasoned. Or maybe he felt the clammy hand of death touch him while he sat in the church and wants to tell me about his will.

Drayne laughed aloud at that thought. That would be the fucking day.

Washington, D.C.

Toni, feeling better after an afternoon mostly spent sleeping, listened to Alex’s day. At least he thought her brain was working well enough to ask her advice about work. Of course, she had been his assistant for a long time, she knew the game.

“So that’s what we’ve got on our friends at the DEA and NSA,” he finished. “What do you think?”

She considered what he’d said. “Well, you know the classic motives for crime: passion, thrills, revenge, psychosis, personal gain. On the face of it, Lee wouldn’t have any particular reason to want Zeigler dead for any kind of personal vendetta, unless maybe he really hated his movies. I don’t think he was that bad an actor. From what you’ve said, he doesn’t seem like a thrill-seeker or a psycho. So what’s the personal gain?”

“I don’t see any right off,” he admitted. “Killing a big movie star doesn’t win you friends or money.”

She said, “You remember those calls you got offering you work with the pharmaceutical companies?”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Well. From what you’ve said, there seems to be a lot of interest in this drug. We’re talking about big money. Maybe somebody convinced Mr. Lee he could cash in big time if he got the dealer and delivered him — or his formula — to the right party. He wouldn’t want Net Force getting to the guy first, so he wouldn’t want John to know the dealer’s name, right?”

He stared at her. “Wow.”

“Don’t you dare sound so surprised, Alex Michaels,” she said. “My mind does still work from time to time, when my hormones aren’t blowing my head apart.”

“You said that, not me.” He grinned.

She pretended to glare but couldn’t hold onto it. She smiled in return.

“Anyway, it’s a good theory. Maybe Jay can make a connection, some record of contact or something.”

“These guys would be pretty good at covering their tracks,” she said, “if they’ve had years to practice it like Jay thinks.”

“Still, it’s a place to look. Even though it is all moot if we can’t run the dealer down.”

“You’ll find him,” she said. “I have great faith in you.”

“You’d be the only one.”

“How many do you need?”

He smiled again. “Why, ma’am, I do believe one will be just exactly enough.”

29

Quantico, Virginia

Howard was tired of running scenarios, more tired of sitting around. He was itchy to do something, and he was considering running some real-world field exercises just to clear the cobwebs from his brain. Get the troops sharpened up; even though there was nothing to get sharp about now, there would be, eventually. He hoped.

“Love to see a man hard at work.”

Howard looked up and saw Julio standing in the doorway of his office. “Lieutenant Fernandez. What brings you here?”

“I believe that would be my size-eleven combat boots, sir.”

“And is there a purpose for this visit?”

“Why, good news, General Howard, sir.”

“Come on in, then. I can use some news. Any news, good or bad, would be a change.”

“I think you’re gonna like this.”

Howard looked at the flat-black hard case Julio held. It was about three feet long, half that wide. “You have my attention, Lieutenant.”

“Sir. You might recall the Thousand-Meter Special Teams Match for United States Military Services held at Camp Perry every November?”

“Oh, I recall it, all right. That would be the match where Net Force’s sharpshooters always come in last place… behind the Marines, the Army, and even the Navy?”

“Only because you won’t order Gunny to enter. He’d beat ’em. And we did beat the Navy that one year,” Julio allowed.

“Because their shooter lost his hearing protection in a freak accident and blew out an eardrum is why.”

“Still beat’em. Take it any way you can.”

Howard nodded at the case. “This a secret weapon?”

“Well, a weapon, yes, but not so secret. Just new. Take a look.”

Julio set the case down on the old map table across from Howard’s desk, popped the latches on the case, and clamshelled it open.

Howard walked over and looked at the components inside the case.

“Why, it is a gun. It appears to be a bolt-action five-oh BMG rifle,” Howard said.

“Yes, sir, but not just any five-oh. This is a prototype, one of only two built, of the upcoming EMD Arms Model XM-109A Wind Runner, designed by Bill Ritchie himself. Third generation.”

Julio reached into the case and pulled out the stock and receiver assembly. “This here receiver is made of 17 -4 PH stainless and, with improved heat-treating, now Rock-wells out at forty-five-plus. Sixteen pounds, wire-cut, tolerances you wouldn’t believe, and with the fully adjustable stock here retracted, a mere twenty inches long. Stock is equipped with a carbon-fiber polysorb monopod recoil pad and nice cheek piece incorporating no-tear biogel.”

“You have to go looking for your shoulder after you fire it?”

“No, sir, it kicks about as hard as a stout twelve-gauge. Of course, it will shove you back about a foot if you shoot it prone, and you will want to be lying down behind it and not firing offhand.”

“I bet.”

“Speaking from experience, sir. You’ll notice the M-14 bipod and mounted scope, the latter of which is a U.S. Optics adjustable, 3.8X-22X, very nice optical gear, sighted in for a thousand meters. And here is a nifty little red dot switch, automatically adjusted for parallax, that gives you short-range capabilities. Short range in this case being three to four hundred meters. Put the dot on the target, that’s where the bullet goes, plus or minus a few inches.

“Might as well throw it as shoot that close, though.

“The new model Son of Wind Runner here uses a five-round magazine like the older models, and has a Remington-style adjustable trigger, set to three pounds. Uses your standard MK211 caliber.50 multipurpose cartridge as the primary tactical round, though match-grade handloads are the ticket at Camp Perry, of course.” Julio held up a box of ammo. “Like these.”

He opened the bipod and set the receiver and stock up on the table. He reached back into the case and came out with the barrel.

“Your barrel here is a twenty-eight-inch fluted match-grade graphite from K&P Gun, with an eighty-port screw-on muzzle brake, the holes set at thirty degrees. You secure the barrel to the receiver like so, using an Uzi- style nut and a self-locking ratchet, right here.”

Julio put the barrel into the receiver and tightened it. It didn’t take long.

“Total weight, thirty-four pounds. Insert a loaded magazine, and there she is, ready to rock’n’ roll.”