“Five… four,” the killer mocked.
Winter concentrated on the red dot playing on Sean's face, now her neck, and down onto the coat.
Winter fired on three-the bullets ripping the fiberglass ceiling to shreds. As he fired, he was aware of Sean being knocked backward off the transom and into the water by a single shot from the man's weapon.
A black-clad body fell sprawling onto the deck. Where the man's legs were chewed up, arterial blood spewed. His pistol was stopped by the transom.
Winter ran to the stern and pulled Sean up into the boat. She began coughing immediately, fighting to breathe.
“It's okay,” he said. He checked her face and neck, and she opened her eyes. “Just knocked the breath out of you.” He tore open her coat and saw the. 45 round deformed against the ballistic vest under her coat.
“You let him shoot me.” Her voice was raspy.
“You're fine.”
“You let him shoot me!” She slapped him, hard.
He lifted the assailant's pistol, a SOCOM. 45-caliber H amp;K fitted with a noise suppressor. Leaving Sean, he moved to the supine killer, who stared up into the rain, blinking slowly. The bubbles of blood between his lips told Winter that one or more of the bullets had entered his chest after going under the vest-his shattered lungs were filled with blood.
“How did you know my name?” he asked the killer.
The man smiled, smearing dark blood over his teeth. His eyes were losing their focus. He grabbed Winter's ankle, coughing up blood. He said something but the sound was gobbled by the thundering rotors of the attack helicopter that seemed to be suspended over the dock like a wasp, blasting the boat with wind, drumming rain and blinding light. The Cobra's. 30-caliber minigun seemed to be aimed at his chest, about to blast him into confetti. He was dressed exactly like the dead man on the deck.
“You, on the deck-hands on your heads, do not move!” Winter waited for a second, then stood, locking his hands over his head.
The switchback swarmed with running men dressed in black.
“Sean!” Winter called out. “No matter what anyone asks, don't discuss anything that happened before Martinez went down. Understand?”
The men in black slammed Winter and Sean facedown onto the deck.
35
Ward Field, Virginia
Herman Hoffman stood waiting outside the cavernous hangar in the dark. Since Ralph was flying the Justice Department's plane, the first part of the operation was a success. He knew the boys on the island side had to have done as well, since their degree of difficulty was far lower.
He watched as the jet turned onto the final approach and came in hot and flaring just above the asphalt. Ralph taxied the jet past the helicopter and, cutting the engines, rolled directly into the hangar.
Herman watched as the clamshell door came down and Ralph descended the steps. He picked up the Polaroid camera from the table and returned to the cabin to take the proof-of-death pictures. Two other men came out of the plane a few seconds after the fourth flash.
The first man down was wiping matter and blood from his face with a towel. He saw Herman's proffered hand. “Sorry, sir,” he said, laughing. “I'm afraid the government's nice plane is totally ruined.”
“Nice to have you back home, Lewis,” Herman said, smiling. “Ralph, get the fireworks set and let's get in the sky.”
36
Rook Island, North Carolina
Rain splattered noisily against the blue tarpaulin and the water that ran under it came out dyed pink. The SEALs had covered the corpse to protect evidence. Winter and Sean sat in the boat's cockpit, where rain dripped through the ragged fiberglass. One of the divers handed up Winter's SIG Sauer to a young SEAL, who removed the magazine, cleared the breech, then set the pistol and its magazine on a seat cushion.
Sean had been quiet since the SEALs arrived ninety minutes earlier. She sat huddled in a wool blanket, not meeting Winter's eyes. Winter had identified himself and explained that four unknown men, all dressed like SEALs, had killed the six radar-station crew and another US marshal, before he had killed them.
The SEAL commander approached Winter, clipping his radio onto his belt.
“Lieutenant Commander Reed is on his way here. He's shore patrol.”
“Has anybody contacted my people?” Winter asked.
“I'm not sure,” the young man said.
Drained of adrenaline, fatigue had caught up with Winter. He felt bone-weary.
“Poor Angela,” Sean said softly. “How could anybody do something like that?”
Winter didn't know what to say. He felt grief for Martinez-it was so totally senseless for her to die like she had and, worse still, after the package had left.
“What if he'd shot me in the head?” Sean asked suddenly.
“I'd never hand my gun over to a killer. I did the only thing I could.”
“Who was the guy who shot me?” Sean asked.
“No idea.”
“He seemed to know you.”
She had a point. He had no idea how the man he had shot through the boat's roof could have known his name.
Winter felt the boat rock slightly. He turned to see two men in shore patrol coats climb onto the vessel. The older of the pair squatted, lifted the edge of the tarpaulin, and studied the corpse.
The SEAL commander said, “Sir, this is United States Deputy-”
“I know who he is,” the older man interrupted, looking directly at Winter, ignoring Sean Devlin. “Deputy, I'm Lieutenant Commander Fletcher Reed. I'm going to handle this until the NCIS investigators get here.”
Fletcher Reed was in his early forties, built like a gymnast twenty years past his last medal but ready and willing to go out and compete again even if his heart exploded doing it. His head was a perfect rectangle topped with hair that would have made a bristle brush jealous. He had small ears and a neck that flared from his sharp jaw out to his wide shoulders. His eyes were so dark there was no difference between the irises and pupils. If he had ever owned a sense of humor it was not apparent from his grim countenance.
“Do you have any questions before I ask a few?”
“Have you contacted the USMS?”
“That has been done. Now, what the hell is this, Massey?” he demanded.
“A corpse,” Winter said.
“Does the corpse have a name?”
“We weren't formally introduced.”
Reed stared hard at Winter, the two men studying each other across the wet tarpaulin. “In my experience, having a bunch of heavily armed individuals come onto a radar station in peacetime and wipe out six sailors and your partner in such a senseless and brutal manner is hardly a normal event. I'm sure as hell not going to stand here and listen to you making flip remarks.”
The man's words made Winter feel like an ass. Sean sat staring down at her lap.
“I understand the seriousness of this,” Winter said evenly. “They were doing their damnedest to add us to their tally.”
“Can you tell me why this man and three of his pals killed six unarmed sailors and that female deputy over at the house?”
“Angela Martinez,” Sean said abruptly. “Her name was Angela Martinez.”
Reed kept his eyes locked on Winter.
“No, sir,” Winter said.
“You mean to tell me you don't know?”
“I can't tell you what their motive was.”
Reed laughed disdainfully in total disbelief.
“This is an official United States Justice Department operation. Only the attorney general of the United States can release me to give you that information.”
“What about Ms. Devlin?” Reed countered.
Winter gritted his teeth. They had obviously searched the house and found Sean's identification.
“Classified.”
“And what exactly can you share with me, Marshal?”
“I'll be happy to tell you what happened after they killed Deputy Martinez.”
Fletcher Reed seemed to be chewing that over. Reaching a decision, he nodded. “Barnett, take notes.”