“Talk about close shaves,” Brad said, exhaling loudly. “Five minutes off and they’d have found us dumping their pal.”
“Too close for my taste,” Winter said, meaning it.
They entered a long curve and the SUV was out of sight.
“There were at least three men in that truck,” Brad said. “How many more you think there are?”
“Fewer than there will be pretty soon. They take losses very badly. They’ll swarm in now.”
Brad opened the glove box, found a sealed pack of Kool cigarettes, and opened it. After he put one between his lips, he lit it with the car’s lighter and dropped his window a good six inches.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Winter said.
“I don’t,” Brad said, inhaling deeply. “Want one?”
62
The grime-encrusted eighteen-wheeler, which had been parked at a rest area just across the Mississippi state line for ten hours, made the trip to Tunica in twenty-three minutes. Despite the well-worn exterior, the working parts-the brakes, suspension, tires, and the motor-were painstakingly maintained. The electronics and the communication system, most of it hidden from prying eyes, were highly advanced. The transmissions it sent and received were encrypted and routed through the network of NSA satellites encircling the globe like buzzards.
The truck’s two-man crew, both professional cleaners with twenty years of experience between them, had spent the idle hours watching movies in the cabin. The well-stocked selection of DVDs was all action movies. These men enjoyed critiquing films on subjects they knew best. They agreed that the action choreography between the two criminals in The Way of the Gun was perfection, and not something such criminals would have developed without the sort of training the cleaners themselves had received. Obviously the authors of the script had consulted with a talented professional with advanced training.
When the emergency broadcast came in, the men were watching The Departed. Herf, the designated driver, climbed into the rig’s driver’s seat and rolled out south while his partner, Watts, watched the rest of the movie. As he climbed through the gears, Herf took an amphetamine and vitamin cocktail packet from a secret compartment in the dashboard and poured the pills into his mouth, washing them down with an energy drink. One of the pep pills was uncoated for immediate impact and the other was a time-release capsule buffered with a mild sedative to prevent speed nervousness.
When he pulled off the county road and drove between two massive piles of dirt, he waved at the waiting three-man watch team, drove past the Yukons, then pushed a button and released a ramp that extended itself hydraulically and dropped gently to the ground.
Watts, freshly dressed in a disposable jumpsuit, a particle mask, and surgeon’s gloves, climbed down and ran around to get behind the wheel of one of the Yukons, which he drove into the trailer. As soon as he returned to the truck, Herf closed the rear. After Watts climbed back up into the rig, carrying the jumpsuit in a garbage bag, Herf expertly turned the truck around and headed east toward the interstate.
“One cold one in the Yukon,” Watts said. “It’s Duncan.”
“How’d he buy it?”
“Edge to the throat.”
“What about his partner, Rowe?” Herf asked.
“Missing and presumed captured,” Watts said.
“Missing and presumed Styered,” Herf said flatly.
“Makes you glad to be on the truck this time,” Watts said. “Cold Wind is a rough job. I’d love to land that bastard. What’s the bonus on him now?”
“One point five, last I heard. We’re to drop off this load and be back in position ASAP.”
“I knew the team should have been larger from the get-go,” Watts said.
“This might be one long weekend,” Herf said. He used the GPS to plot the fastest route to the naval air base north of Memphis, where a C-130 would be waiting to take the Yukon and its cold-meat cargo to a backwater base in Texas where the equipment would be salvaged, the Yukon would be crushed into a block of steel, and their dead comrade would be unceremoniously cremated.
“The way of the gun,” Watts said to himself.
63
Walking into the house, Winter and Brad found Alexa breaking eggs into a skillet.
She pointed to a note on the kitchen counter that said, Didn’t find any bugs, but there might be a window vibration reader.
“Smells good,” Winter said after reading the sheet and handing it to Brad. Alexa had the radio blaring rock music from the late ’60s.
“Be ready in three shakes of Ruger’s tail,” she said cheerily. She looked at him inquiringly. “Woody called looking for your father.”
Winter scribbled on the paper, Dropped off and others passed us as we were coming back. No problem.
They ate while making small talk about the Delta and the weather. Afterward, Winter cleared the dishes and washed them in the sink.
“What’s on the schedule today?” Alexa asked.
“Sherry’s funeral,” Brad said.
“Think Jacob Gardner will be there?” Winter asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. He’ll be sticking close enough to count Leigh’s heartbeats until the deal is done,” Brad offered. “That cash’ll hold him like a gut pile holds bottle flies.”
“You’ll be done there by what time?” Alexa asked.
“Funeral’s at one. Say two-thirty. I’ll leave after the graveside service. City cops are handling the traffic.”
“Lex and I will be there, too, with the family. I think this morning we ought to go talk to that casino manager and stir the pot,” Winter said. “Press him about Beals, see how he reacts.”
“He may be totally out of the land loop,” Alexa said. “His Bureau files are squeaky clean.”
“And so are RRI’s,” Winter said. “Maybe their files are all clean, but that doesn’t mean the individuals are. If the land deal isn’t done, their other land is worthless.”
“They could build around it,” Brad said.
“Probably,” Alexa said, “but that would be a pain in the ass and a complication down the road. Especially if Ms. Gardner left it as is, or worse, made it into a trailer park. Think of the view from the hotel rooms.”
Brad smiled. “Under normal circumstances she would do just that. She’s that ornery. But you’re right, they are better off acquiring it. If by some miracle we get Mulvaneor whoever is behind this for the murder of Sherry Adams, the owner can just say he didn’t know the details. Hell, according to Alexa, he doesn’t even live in this country. One thing for sure,” Brad continued, “having an FBI agent along while we’re asking questions might be a sobering experience for whoever is behind this mess. Mulvane may control the MBI in this, but the FBI is a different matter.”
“I don’t think we should show them an FBI badge just yet,” Winter said. “Best to keep you in reserve.”
“Whatever you think, Winter,” Alexa said.
“I need to think about it some more,” Winter said. “I’m still trying to work out some plan other than using Leigh if we can help it. The risk is too great.”
“Well, as a last resort there’s always the trusty bull-in the-china-shop approach,” Alexa said.
64
At eight-thirty A.M. Brad pulled into the Roundtable’s parking lot. “Alexa, you going to wait out here?” Winter asked.
“Drop me here and park closer. I want to go in and look around while nobody knows who I am. Ring me when you’re ready to leave. Is there a metal detector?”
“This is Mississippi, Alexa,” Winter said. “Everybody is packing heat.”
As Alexa made it to the front doors, a large rosy-cheeked man with bright red hair and bushy brows held the door open for her. He was dressed in a leather sports coat over a T-shirt. His new-looking jeans broke on fancy cowboy boots.