Pike waited until the Toyota turned the corner, then followed them south through the late-night traffic of Coachella to Mecca, and on to the empty darkness of the irrigated farmland west of the Salton Sea. Traffic thinned until Pike realized his headlights were the only headlights in the Toyota’s mirror, so he dropped farther back and turned off the Jeep’s lights.
They reached a small area of feed stores, gas stations, and local businesses, and then the Toyota’s brakes flared, and it pulled into a small parking lot surrounding a bar.
Pike shot past the bar, turned hard, and wheeled around to park on the opposite side. Pike was out before the Jeep stopped rocking.
“You drive. Be ready to go.”
“Always.”
Pike entered through a side door, and went to a pay phone.
The bar was brightly lit, with maybe ten people spread between the bar and a few shabby tables. Pinetta was at the bar, but Washington had stayed in their car. Pinetta and the bartender were talking like they knew each other. The bartender slipped a bottle of Crown Royal into a brown bag, put it on the bar, and Pinetta paid. Then Pinetta tucked the bag under his arm like a football, and smiled his way out the front door.
Pike hurried out the side, where Stone picked him up on the roll. The Toyota cruised past five seconds later. Stone gave it another five, and nosed out onto the road.
“What happened?”
“He bought booze.”
“Booze?”
“Crown Royal.”
The Toyota led them into a mixed residential area of small homes and apartments, where Stone was forced to turn off the lights.
Haddad said, “This may be where Pinetta lives. I hear him say he has a woman on the west shore of the lake.”
Stone glanced in the mirror.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Why would I kid about such thing?”
The Toyota was four long blocks ahead when its brake lights flashed again, and it turned into the poorly lit parking lot of a small, two-story apartment building. Stone immediately pulled off the street into a building’s shadow.
The Toyota parked at the base of the stairs. The interior light came on as Pinetta got out, then went off when he closed the door. Washington remained in the vehicle.
Jon groaned.
“Are you kidding me? We’re following this asshole all over the desert for a fuckin’ conjugal visit?”
Pinetta and his Crown Royal were halfway up the stairs when blue flashers exploded from behind a building one block ahead of them. The radio car jumped out of nowhere, and roared toward the Toyota as more blue flashers converged from every possible direction. Pike knew this was a major tactical event, and they were in trouble.
“Back out, Jon. Slow. No lights.”
“I’m backing.”
The units screeched into the parking lot and blocked the Toyota as an amplified voice identified them as the police.
Pinetta was caught on the stairs. He dropped the bottle and froze, hands open and away from his body, but something bright flashed twice inside the Toyota, and Stone muttered a single word.
“Loser.”
Flashes and loud cracks erupted from the surrounding radio cars, speckling the Toyota’s windows and fenders like furious hammers. Washington’s pistol flashed twice more, then three fast times-flashflashflash-but the officers’ fire pocked the Toyota until the amplified voice ordered a cease-fire.
As the firing stopped, Pike saw an oversized white SUV on the far side of the parking lot, only this SUV wasn’t an ordinary police vehicle. The blue lettering and insignia on the side were difficult to see in the dim light, but visible. ATF. SPECIAL RESPONSE TEAM. The Special Response Team was the ATF version of SWAT.
“Jon. See the van?”
“I did. The big boys came to play.”
They were creeping backward across the dark yards and had almost reached the cross street when the rear of the Jeep was suddenly splashed with white light. A siren whooped, and more flashing radio cars cut off the street behind them.
They were trapped. When the officers saw Haddad and Stone’s M4, their search for Cole would end.
Pike said, “On foot. We gotta jam it on foot.”
“I hear you.”
Stone cut a hard tight turn going backward, then dropped the tranny into drive, and hit the gas hard, digging with all four tires toward the narrow space between the two nearest houses.
Pike braced.
“Too narrow.”
Stone said, “Just right.”
Jon Stone jerked the emergency brake to lock the back wheels, and spun the Jeep broadside between the two houses, blocking the way with Pike’s door toward the darkness.
Stone said, “Get him. I got this covered. Go! ”
Jon Stone did not look back. He popped the driver’s side door and stepped out with his hands high to face the oncoming police, shouting for them not to shoot, giving himself to them to cover Pike’s escape.
Pike slipped out the door and ran into the darkness between the houses.
39
Pike hurdled rattling chain-link fences between inky backyards and vaulted cinder-block walls in the deep black shadows between houses. Twice he cleared fences with dogs at his heels, and once a free-roaming pit bull chased him across an empty street. Pike turned into its charge, and slapped the pit hard on its snout with his. 357. The dog broke off its chase, and Pike ran on, pumping fast toward the lake and away from the highway.
He stopped twice to listen, but heard no pursuit. The police sounds were lost. No shots had been fired, so Jon was okay.
Pike turned south at the lake, and ran another half mile before looping back to the highway. A truck driver wired on Ritalin gave him a lift north, and thirty-eight minutes after the police raid exploded around him, Pike reached the Palm Springs airport, used the valet key he carried, and climbed into Stone’s Rover.
Breathe.
Pike closed his eyes, and filled his lungs, then pushed with his diaphragm. He breathed deep again. Pranayamic breathing from the hatha yoga. Pike lost himself in a cool forest glade, dappled by sunlight filtered through lime green leaves. When he breathed, he smelled moss and sumac. His pulse slowed. He grew calm. He centered.
Pike started the Rover, then realized he didn’t know what to do, so he shut down the engine. His instincts told him to push forward, but Haddad, Washington, and Pinetta were gone. Jon was now gone. Cole and the two kids were still missing, the police were involved, and when Ghazi al-Diri learned Pinetta was arrested he would be off balance and fearful.
This was good. The Syrian would be flooded with incoming information, but never enough to answer his questions. He would freeze in place, scramble for answers, and work himself into a panic. Panic was good when the other guy panicked.
Pike focused on what he knew. The ATF visited his gun shop looking for Elvis Cole, and now a major tactical event involving the ATF had taken out Pinetta and Washington. Pike had no idea how the two events were connected, but the ATF was a small, elite agency. They didn’t have the manpower to flood an area with agents, so Pike believed this was not a coincidence. He took out his phone, and called Ronnie back.
“When did the ATF come in?”
“This morning. A little before eleven.”
“What did they say?”
“Just the stuff about asking Elvis about an old client. Was that bullshit?”
“Yes.”
“They told me he wasn’t in trouble. They told me to pass it on in case that’s why he hasn’t returned their calls.”
Pike found this interesting, and wondered how many times they had called, and how long they had been trying to reach Cole.
“And me?”
“They were hoping you could tell them where he was. That’s all they said about you.”
“One agent or two?”