"So you have nothing."
"Not quite. The agent that was shot gave a description of Randall's attacker, but it wasn't much. He was dressed in full camo, including face paint. Stevenson thought the guy was about six feet tall, guessed his weight around two hundred pounds. He saw the tail end of the fight when he came out of the woods and said he'd never seen anyone move like this guy; he just owned Randall. He was getting ready to take the guy out when someone put a round through his kneecap from behind. That put him out of action. By the time the rest of the team got out of the house, the guy had disappeared into the woods. One agent said they thought they got a glimpse of him but was unable to provide any specifics. We got everybody out of there immediately. The FBI is on the scene now, including a forensics team. They're taking the place apart. We got a couple of shots off, but it's doubtful if we hit anything. We used AK-47s, so that should help displace blame."
Backersley was silent. "Larrow, this is a complete clusterfuck, but I can't fault you. Get your team, and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible, and try not to be noticed."
"On it, sir. I apologize for not having more defined information for you."
"So am I."
Starr, Styles, and Phillips were closing the distance on Rijah Ellhad.
Phillips had opened up a Google Earth program, zoomed in on the route they were traveling, and was able to spot two state troopers hidden in medians, using their radar to try to pick up speeders. Both times, Starr had slowed just a bit.
Styles could feel the tension starting to build. He knew what he had to do but just wasn't sure how he was going to do it. In his mind, securing the package and eliminating Ellhad had equal priority.
"You have a plan in mind?" Starr asked Styles.
"Sort of. Figure we'd follow him into whatever RV park he's headed for. You'll go in and reserve us a spot. Without being obvious, try to determine where he'll be located. If you can get close to him, that'd be good. From there, we're going to have to wing it. I wish we'd had time to lease an RV ourselves, but there just wasn't time."
"Maybe I can help with that," Phillips spoke up.
"How?"
"I'll see if I can lease us one and have it delivered. By the time it gets to the park, hopefully we'll just be able to point and have them set it up."
"Won't that look strange?" inquired Starr.
"How do I know? I'm just trying to come up with a plan," replied Phillips.
"I've got one better. Lease a tow vehicle along with the camper. That way, it'll stay and it might not look so weird — that is, if it would, anyway. Better be safe, though," Styles offered.
"Makes sense to me," agreed Phillips. "I'll get on it. By the way, Backersley knows what you did to Randall. Only description of you, which was given by the guy I shot in the knee, is that you were dressed out in camo, but he was pretty much spot on with your height and weight."
"I'm not worried."
"Knew you wouldn't be, and one other thing. I guess the CIA just barely got their asses outta there before the FBI joined the party. They don't know what the hell is up. I almost feel sorry for them. Matt Sanderson is going to have to do a lot of explaining to the new guy. They have a full forensics team on-site now."
"What about Ali's computer?"
"No need to worry. It's fried. I'm getting started on that intel now. Wish we had time to grab something to eat. I'm hungry."
Starr tossed a sack into the backseat. "There's a breakfast sandwich in there I picked up this morning. That should help until we get some time. I don't want to take the time to stop right now."
"That'll do, thanks." She ripped the bag open and devoured the sandwich. "Not bad, even cold."
Styles noticed that Starr was getting a grim look on his face. "You all right?"
"Yeah, just want this to come out okay."
"It will."
Ten miles behind Starr and company, two Middle Eastern men were traveling in a dark blue BMW, with windows tinted as dark as state law would allow, making it next to impossible to see the vehicle's occupants except through the windshield.
Imad al-Bin looked at his companion, another refugee from the Iraqi Republican Guard. "Assad, how far in front of us is Ellhad?"
"I'm not sure. I don't understand these damn things," Assad Bassir snarled, referring to a GPS tracker. "I think ten, maybe twelve miles."
The two men had been sent by Ryyaki Ali as hidden backup for Rijah Ellhad. They were under strict orders not to reveal themselves to Ellhad unless he ran into trouble. Ali respected Ellhad and did not want to insult him.
"Use the scale on the bottom of the screen if you are having problems," al-Bin suggested.
"That's what I'm doing," the big Iraqi snapped.
"Calm down, Assad. We are only babysitters."
"I do not like babysitting. I like action."
"We have our job. We will do that job."
"As you say."
"Rijah, come play with me."
"Sahleea, we will be at the campground in two hours. Can you not wait?"
"I want to play now. If you want to drive, fine; I will play alone right here in this truck." She started to slip her shorts down.
"Sahleea, someone may see you. We cannot draw attention to ourselves."
"Then you'd better find somewhere to pull over so we can go back in the camper. I want to play."
Relenting, he said, "There is a rest stop ahead. I will pull over." He wouldn't admit it, but just the sight of her slipping her shorts down had gotten his hormones raging, plus the prospect of having to kill her was tormenting him. He was not on any exact timetable, so he saw no reason not to indulge her one last time — for himself as well. Ten minutes later, he turned his turn signal on and pulled into the exit ramp for the rest area. A combination of cars, trucks, and large tractor-trailer rigs were in the parking area, which was surprisingly large. He spotted an area away from the other vehicles and found a spot. He hadn't shut the truck off before Sahleea was out the door. With a large grin on his own face, he followed her and unlocked the door of the camper, and both were instantly inside, tearing at each other's clothing.
"Hey, guys, looks like our friends have stopped. They're about twelve miles up the road. According to my map overlay, it appears they are in a rest stop," Phillips stated. "Gotta love Google Earth."
Styles asked, "Why did they do that? Shit, what if they're arming some type of device? Starr, get us there as fast as possible!"
Nine minutes later, the silver sedan was pulling into the rest area, and they spotted the camper they'd been following off to one side.
"Pull over between those two cars," he directed. He handed out three pairs of binoculars. "Starr, watch out for any cops. Phillips, check the rig with me." Ninety seconds went by with no one speaking. A chuckle came from Styles.
"What's so damned funny?" grumbled Starr.
"We clear?" asked Styles.
"Far as I can tell," answered Starr.
"Check the camper; look carefully."
"I don't see anything!" exclaimed Phillips.
"Look close, guys."
Finally, Phillips laughed. "I see what you mean. He's arming something, but it's not a weapon."
"What in the hell are you two talking about?" fumed Starr.
"They're doing the horizontal bop. The camper is rocking a bit. Looks like someone couldn't wait until the campground."
"You mean this guy is trying to poison Lake Mead, and he pulls off to snag some?" Starr asked incredulously.
"Looks that way. Starr, drive around and come up behind them. Shut the engine off and coast; I don't want to take a chance on them hearing us," instructed Styles as he reached behind his back, removing his suppressed Beretta. "We're taking these bastards right here."