Boxers held Jonathan’s gaze, then defaulted to his dismissive chuckle. “Yeah, okay. Fine. I say we wear body armor.”
Now, there was a point where Jonathan could not argue. Before moving ahead, each of them donned their ballistic vests, which were preloaded with three hundred rounds of ammunition for their preferred long guns — the M27 for Jonathan and the HK417 for Boxers.
“As long as we’ve got the ammo…” Boxers said.
“Yeah, we’ll take the weapons, too.” Jonathan didn’t believe in his heart that they were walking into an ambush at LeBron’s house, but there was no way to know for sure. Bottom line: No one in the history of mankind had ever offered up a curse to all things holy for being too well armed or having too much ammunition.
“Let’s kit up all the way,” Jonathan said. A full-on, high-end show of firepower couldn’t possibly work against them. Plus, the more they carried on their persons, the less they risked losing in the event that the Expedition was stolen.
When they were done, Jonathan’s M27 dangled like an exclamation point down the center of his body. His left thigh bore a 4.6 millimeter HKMP7, and the ubiquitous .45 Colt 1911 rode on his right thigh.
He saw that Boxers was similarly outfitted, but with the 417 where Jonathan’s M27 hung, and a Beretta M9 instead of his Colt. “What the hell,” Jonathan said. “Let’s take the rucks, too.”
With the rucksacks on their backs — Jonathan’s weighed in at around seventy pounds, Boxers’ at just north of one hundred — they had nearly everything they needed to invade anyplace that needed invading. Certainly, they had LeBron’s living room covered.
“That covers the theft issue,” Boxers said with a smile. “Sure am glad I brought it up.”
With his tiny wireless transceiver inserted in his right ear, Jonathan connected his portable radio to the transmit button in the center of his chest and he pressed it. “Mother Hen, Scorpion.”
“Loud and clear,” Venice’s voice responded.
“I have a research project for you,” Jonathan said. He read off the address of the factory. “I need you to find out everything you can about the inside of that building. Anything and everything.”
“Okay,” she said. For reasons known only to her, Venice avoided military speak such as “roger” for okay, or even the civilian version, ten-four. “How long do I have?”
“An hour ago,” Jonathan said.
“Are you preparing to go hot?”
“Sooner than later,” Jonathan said. “We’re still determining if that’s the right place. But we think it is. If so, then we go hot right after.”
“Okey-doke,” Venice said. “I’ll let you know when I have something worth sharing.”
Jonathan looked to Boxers, who’d been listening to the same radio traffic. “Anything else to add, Big Guy?”
“I’m just anxious to get moving.”
As Jonathan led the way toward the back door, it opened to reveal LeBron standing expectantly in the opening. “Jesus,” LeBron said, eyeing the weaponry. “You know they’re not here, right?”
Jonathan waited till he had climbed the steps to say, “If the gear is with me, I know it won’t be anywhere else.”
LeBron recoiled from the words. “What, you think my boys are gonna steal from you?”
“A couple of minutes ago, your boys were gonna shoot me,” Boxers said. “Where I come from, stealing isn’t as bad as shooting.”
“Well, you’re in Detroit now,” LeBron said. “Stealing and shooting are different things, but one almost always leads to the other. Your shit would have been safe back there.”
“We mean no offense,” Jonathan said. “May we come in?”
LeBron stepped aside. “Just don’t make a lot of noise. The babies are asleep.”
One day, Jonathan was going to learn to tame his prejudices and preconceptions about people. This neighborhood was a shit hole, and he’d expected the same of LeBron’s house. In fact, the place was spotless. The furnishings weren’t much — he imagined that many of them came from charity thrift stores — but everything was thoroughly dusted and neatly arranged.
They entered through the kitchen, which had all of the necessary comforts, though twenty years out of date.
The Formica of the countertops matched the Formica of the metal-legged table. The appliances were old-school almond, and the floors were flowered linoleum, but overall, the place had a well-loved look. The house exuded pride.
LeBron led the way through a doorway that was slightly smaller than Boxers into the living room, where a sofa and three chairs were all arranged for easy viewing of a nineties-vintage twenty-six-inch television set that was turned off. Dozens of books, if not hundreds of them, lined the short wall from floor to ceiling on the far end. LeBron’s posse had dwindled to one — Georgie, whom he introduced as his little brother.
“This is my wife, Dawn,” LeBron said, nodding to an attractive woman dressed in sweats. She smiled back at Jonathan, though her eyes showed confusion. She looked as though she might have been sleeping.
“Good evening,” Jonathan said. “I’m sorry to intrude.”
“What is this about, Lebby?” Dawn asked. She kept her tone light, but Jonathan was sure he heard an undertone of anger.
“This is Scorpion,” LeBron said. “And his friend, Big Guy. They’re—”
“Why are all of those guns in my house?” Dawn said.
Jonathan moved to explain. “Ma’am, I promise you that we’re not here to do any harm.”
“And they’re not police, either,” LeBron added. “They’re here about the men across the street in the Excalibur Foods plant.”
“Those men are trouble,” Dawn said. “I don’t want to know nothing more about them.”
“Where’s the rest of your team?” Jonathan asked. There was no issue more critical than the location of unaccounted-for firepower.
“I sent them on their way,” LeBron said. “Dawn doesn’t like guns.”
“Including yours,” Dawn said.
“I apologize,” Jonathan said. “But as LeBron told you, those guys in the factory are big trouble.”
“What did they do?” Dawn asked.
“They kidnapped a young boy,” Jonathan said. Off to his side, he more sensed than saw Boxers stiffening. Big Guy hated it when Jonathan shared anything with anyone.
“Oh, my God,” Dawn said, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Why would they do such a thing?”
Jonathan eyed the chairs that were as-yet unoccupied. “May we sit down?”
Dawn seemed hesitant.
“We’ll take these off,” Jonathan said, shrugging out of his ruck and laying it on the floor. Boxers followed suit. Both kept their body armor on, and their weapons either holstered or slung. When he sat, Jonathan took care not to snag the fabric with any of the festooned weapons.
When Boxers sat, he looked like an adult sitting at a little girl’s tea set. Only slightly less comfortable.
“Excuse the gear,” Jonathan said. “We’re sort of obsessive about being prepared.”
“So, who are you really?” LeBron asked. “You never gave me a straight answer.”
“I’m in the business of not giving straight answers,” Jonathan said. He tried to sell it with a smile. “I’m sorry, but that’s just the case.”
“So, you’re with the government,” Georgie said.
A lie would have been so easy here. Given that his client was the FBI, it wouldn’t be that big a stretch just to say yes, but he sensed that that would not necessarily be the right answer in this crowd. “How about I tell you this,” he said, hoping to find a compromise. “We used to work for the government. In fact, we worked for him for a long time.”