“Ghost stories,” Blake repeated. Still keeping him talking. Wardell didn’t mind that. He was enjoying this. It was a shame it would have to end soon.
“Yeah,” Wardell said, his mind drifting to the cold, arid darkness of a desert night. “Of course, I never could believe it, not even from the start. Not just because I wasn’t a rookie. Juba was supposedly operating in my area of professional expertise, so to speak, so I could never feel it like those younger guys did. Or like the rank-and-file insurgents must have. But right from the beginning, I kind of loved the idea.”
“The idea of a boogeyman.”
“Exactly. I started thinking, in a weird way, it would almost be nice if it were true. You know what I mean?”
A wide grin broke out on Blake’s face, and Wardell thought for a second that he got it, that here was a true kindred spirit. “Wardell, I have absolutely no goddamn clue what you mean.”
Wardell nodded, disappointed but not entirely surprised. “No. No, you really wouldn’t, would you? Anyway, I got to thinking: If it worked for the insurgents, and if it made some of the guys on our side a little scared, what would it be like to do that back home? I mean it’s so simple: You pick a city, and you kill a few people, and all of a sudden, you’re—”
“Juba?”
“God.”
Blake’s face broke out in a grin, and he shook his head.
“Something funny, partner?” Wardell asked sharply. Blake didn’t seem to be at all afraid of him, and the guy was beginning to push the boundaries of his not-inconsiderable patience.
“It’s just, you’re describing it like it’s a new idea. The way you’ve been killing.”
“Nobody’s done what I’m doing, Blake.”
“You really think so? Disgruntled Marine sniper comes home and decides, ‘What the hell? Why not shoot a few people from a distance?’ Just off the top of my head, we’ve got Muhammad in Washington, 2002. Charles Whitman in Texas in sixty-six. And Lee Harvey Oswald, of course.”
“Marksmen, Blake, not snipers. There’s a big difference. I mean, Oswald? Not in the same class at all. I wouldn’t need three shots to kill a president.”
“Why not? You needed two to kill a fat, slow delivery guy.”
Wardell shook his head and tightened his finger on the trigger. “Time to say good night, Blake.”
“Wait a second,” Blake said hurriedly, obviously realizing he’d pushed his luck a little too far.
“You used up your last second, partner.”
“The red van,” Blake said quickly, giving Wardell a moment’s pause. “Haven’t you wondered about the red van?”
“Haven’t paid it much mind, to be honest with you,” Wardell lied. He glanced up at the hill as he heard the buzzing of one of the FBI helos. It sounded like it was a little closer. It was time to get moving.
“I don’t believe you. And that first call to the press, the one that blew the media blackout — that wasn’t you, was it?”
“Get to the point, Blake,” Wardell snapped. “You’re trying my patience, and I got places to be.” The chopper was definitely getting closer. In another few seconds it would be overhead, and it wouldn’t take long to pick them out with the searchlight.
If Blake had noticed, he gave no indication, just kept talking. “Somebody’s going out of their way to make things tough for the task force. To make things easy for you. Somebody with connections, inside knowledge.”
“So?” Wardell said, growing tired of the conversation. It was time to bring this exchange to a close. “Somebody’s helping me out a little. Maybe he’s a fan of what I do. Makes no difference to me.”
“Helping you out is one way of putting it. How about looking at it a different way?”
Wardell said nothing, waited for him to continue. Every instinct in his body screamed, Do it now. He held firm.
“I don’t think you’re being helped, Wardell. I think you’re being used.”
The helicopter broke the cover of the trees at the top of the hill, its beam directed straight into Wardell’s eyes. He jammed them shut and fell behind a tall monument as the beam continued its sweep for twenty yards before zipping back to his position as the operator tried to confirm what he’d just seen.
Wardell swore as he stuck his head out from behind the monument and saw Blake too had taken cover. The opportunity for a clean kill had vanished. He’d played straight into Blake’s hands. There was one last ace in the hole. Wardell reached into the drag bag and withdrew the last pipe bomb. He snapped the fuse off close to the cap, leaving about three seconds, then lit it and tossed it to Blake’s last position.
An orange and black cloud of flame and grave dirt exploded up into the rain, forcing the helicopter to swing back and upward. It would be good enough for a distraction, to allow him to escape the chopper’s searchlight. It ought to take out Blake, too. It ought to rip that bastard into a few thousand bloody pieces and wipe that goddamn knowing expression off his face for good. But Wardell wasn’t counting on it. He wasn’t counting on it at all.
50
Banner stood beneath the shelter of a tall pine as she watched the deluge continue, blurring the blue lights of the fire trucks and ambulances closer to what was left of the house. On the other end of the phone line, her sister’s voice was utterly devoid of its usual critical undercurrent.
“Thank God you’re okay, Elaine. Is everybody else…?”
Helen’s sentence trailed off there, and Banner realized she already knew the answer to that question if she was within sight of a television. It was the reason Banner had called Helen as soon as she could, despite the hour. She had to avoid the possibility that she — or, God forbid, Annie — might hear about this on the morning news and fear the worst.
“No. We lost some people. Good people.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“I saw on the news about Rapid City. They’re saying he killed a young girl this time.”
Banner closed her eyes, and the image of the girl in the blue raincoat flashed before them once again. She’d been seeing that image all day. It was one of the ones that would take time to go away, if it ever did.
“That’s right, Helen. She was only a few years older than…” This time, it was Banner who trailed off, unable to complete that thought.
“Elaine, I don’t know what to tell you. Part of me wants you to get the hell out of there. Part of me wants you to hunt that son of a bitch down.”
She allowed herself a smile. “Let’s go with the second option for now. Tell Annie I love her and I’ll call her tomorrow.”
There was a long pause; then Helen said, “Okay. Stay safe, Elaine.”
Banner murmured a hollow reassurance and hung up. She kept looking at the blue lights in the darkness for a while, feeling a longing to be home, to crawl into Annie’s bed and hug her tightly until the morning. This manhunt had taken Banner far from home and might still take her farther, but at least that meant Wardell was far away from Chicago, from Annie. One thing to be grateful for.
She hurried across to the Bureau van that was parked at the side of the access road and climbed into the back. The female paramedic was almost done with Blake. Banner allowed herself a wry smile at Blake’s wince as the paramedic tugged a little on the last stitch in the long gash on his forearm. She shook her head.