the road. No, better to keep everything all in one place: the perp, the evidence, and the cop.
Through a small sliding window that separated the driver’s compartment from the rest of the truck, he could see that the distance to the lead truck was increasing. Sooner or later, the driver would notice he was falling behind and speed up. It had to be now.
In one clean motion, he broke the glass and shoved the business end of the shotgun through it into the driver’s compartment. The truck careened wildly and almost turned over, but the driver fought it back onto the road.
“Pull over,” Hedges said, shouting to be heard over the noise. “Both hands on the steering wheel, asshole.”
Either the driver didn’t hear so well or he was terminally stupid. He was already reaching for the handgun on the seat.
The driver’s arm below the elbow disappeared in a hurricane of blood that blew back through the window, temporarily blinding Hedges. He jerked the shotgun back and jumped, sacrificing any skill or grace he might have possessed in a frantic effort to make it to the tailgate. He bounced off the side of the truck as it went into a spin. Screams of pain and anguish were now audible from the front seat. It was impossible to stand up, and he had only a few seconds before the truck overturned or crashed into a tree. Hedges pulled him himself up amid the shifting cargo, gathered his feet under him, and made one final jump. He hit the canvas cover in the back of the truck, and for a moment he thought he was trapped.
Then the old, sun-bleached fabric parted, releasing him from the dangerous confines of the truck. He flew through the air, instinct taking over. By sheer luck, he hit the dirt beside the road and tucked and rolled. He took most of the impact on his shoulder and felt something give way. He tumbled through brush, chin tucked, arms covering his face as branches and shrubs tore at him. Finally, what seemed like hours later, he came to a stop.
Silence. The truck, where was it? He tried to shove himself up, but his right arm wasn’t bearing any weight. He collapsed on his side, rolled over, and tried again. Finally, in the dim starlight, he could see a dark shape further into the brush up ahead. The engine was silent.
With each move came the pain, and that restored him to sanity. He had not covered more than ten feet toward the truck before he stopped, pulled out a cell phone, and dialed 911. In the distance, the sirens were growing louder.
Oh, he had no doubt Jackson could pull off getting the ammunition and weapons. They’d done so too many times in the past. Sure, the Army investigated and tried to crack down, but these military facilities in remote areas of the country were little more than sieves. Firepower leaked out of them and into the surrounding hills, and rather than face the embarrassment, the Army simply marked equipment off as lost, expended, or stolen.
It wasn’t the operation that worried him. It had been the look on his son’s face. He knew Jackson was chafing under the restrictions placed on him, that he longed for greater responsibility within the organization. He had somehow gotten it in his mind that it would take a dramatic gesture to prove himself worthy. Abraham had tried to dispel the notion, stressing the need to remain covert and appear simply as members of the community. While Jackson outwardly agreed with that principle, Abraham knew his son too well to believe him.
Finally, he heard the dull roar of the truck echoing through the mountains. It was coming closer now, approaching far too fast. It was a decent road, but still, a two-ton truck was an unwieldy monster.
Moments later, the truck drove by, traveling at approximately sixty miles an hour down the narrow road. Abraham swore and yanked down the microphone from its mount on the ceiling.
“Red Dog One, this is Red Dog Leader. Interrogative your status?”
There was no answer. He tried again, this time adding, “Report!”
Jackson’s voice answered, unsteady as he jounced around in the truck. “No problems. Go ahead and head out. We’ll rendezvous as planned.”
“Slow down,” Abraham ordered. “You’ll just call attention to yourself going that fast.”
There was no answer. Swearing, Abraham put his truck into gear and headed down the road after his troops. An old Army adage sprang to mind: Lead, follow, or get the hell out of the way.
Thornburg’s headlights flickered wildly in the rearview mirror and caught Jackson’s attention. He leaned forward to stare at the mirror, and then rolled down the window and stuck his head out. “What the hell is he doing?”
“I don’t know.” Mertz took his gaze off the road in front of him long enough to check the rearview mirror. “Flat tire, maybe. That’s all we need right now.”
“Are there spares?”
Mertz shook his head. “I didn’t notice any.”
Jackson swore quietly. “We better slow down and let him catch up, see what’s wrong.”
The lights careened off the right side of the rearview mirror and disappeared. “Stop!” Jackson snapped. “Damned idiot. Turn around — we’ll have to go back and get him. I think we can get most of his gear on this truck.”
Mertz obediently slowed the vehicle and then started to turn. Alarm bells went off in Jackson’s mind. There was no traffic on the road, no indication that anyone but the kid in the reserve center had seen them. But the other car — what if—? “Pull over.”
He’d made a mistake, perhaps a serious one. What if there had been someone else in the reserve compound? Could they have done something to the second truck? Or had they ambushed Thornburg on his way out? Was that even possible?
He closed his eyes for a moment, ignoring Mertz’s quizzical look. A very long shot, but it was possible. So now what? Could they risk everything to go back and see what had happened to Thornburg?
No. They couldn’t.
Thornburg had probably had a flat tire. That had to be it. But there was a small possibility that he had been ambushed, and that was a chance they could not take. One truckload of weapons was better than none.
“Forget him,” Jackson said finally. He glanced over, and saw understanding dawn on the other man’s face.
“So what do we do now?”
“Turn around and take the alternate route to the east.” Jackson thought furiously for a moment and continued. “On the off chance that he’s been compromised, we’re going to take the long way around. Make sure no one is following us. Then, when we’re sure were clean, we’ll stop at the caves, unload the armory, then head for HQ.” Seeing a look of doubt on Mertz’s face, he said, “There were bound to be casualties, Jack. You knew that.”
Mertz shrugged as though it didn’t matter. “You’re the boss.” He turned the truck around and started back the way they’d been headed.
Jackson smiled.
SEVENTEEN
