Tree branches slashed at her as she sprinted through the night, and bushes conspired to trip her. But for the night vision, it would have been impossible. As it was, her rucksack, with all of its equipment and bulk was making it nearly impossible.
She keyed her mike. “I’m following them in the car. Be advised I’m shedding my ruck in the woods.” As she shrugged out of the straps and let the pack fall to the ground, she punched a button on the GPS to mark the spot so they could come back and get it later, if that’s what they decided to do. Forty pounds lighter now, she was still burdened with her rifle, sidearm and ammunition, yet she still felt light enough to float away.
Between clatter of her equipment and the racket raised by plowing through the underbrush, she knew she was making way too much noise, but she didn’t know another way.
A voice yelled from the dark, “Hey! Stop.”
At the very same instant, Venice said in her ear, “Gunslinger, there’s a sentry on the live feed. He’s very near you.”
Gail’s heart skipped, but she kept moving.
“Stop!” the voice yelled again. “Stop or I’ll shoot you.”
“He’s gaining,” Venice said. “And the cars are loading.”
Jonathan’s voice crackled in her ear: “Turn and shoot, Gunslinger.”
“I swear to God, I will shoot you!” the pursuer yelled.
Gail slid to a halt and turned. The sentry was indeed close, maybe twenty feet away. In the green glow of the night vision, he looked young, but it was hard to assign an age. Early twenties, maybe.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the sentry asked. His voice cracked, the fear obvious. He held his rifle at chest height, the stock tucked under his armpit. Either he hadn’t been trained, or the training hadn’t stuck.
Gail said nothing.
“Cars are rolling,” Venice said.
“What’s Gunslinger doing?”
“Looks like she’s talking. The guard has her at gunpoint.”
“I said, who are you?” the sentry pressed.
“Gunslinger, Big Guy and I are on the way,” Jonathan said. “We’re clear of the house.”
Gail searched her brain for alternatives. Things were unraveling quickly.
The sentry stopped. “What… holy shit, you’ve got a gun!” He shouldered his weapon.
That was it. As Gail dropped to a knee, the sudden movement must have startled the sentry because he fired a wild shot as she swung her M4 up to her shoulder. She fired three times, hitting him twice in the chest and once in the head, the third bullet drilling him after he was dead.
“Shots fired! Shots fired!” she heard in her ear. She thought it was Jonathan, but wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything other than the fact that she’d just killed a young man in cold blood.
The voice in her ear said, “Gunslinger, sit rep.”
He lay so still. Such was the awesome power of a bullet that it could end everything in a fraction of a second, snuffing a life that had barely begun.
“Gunslinger! Answer up.”
Venice said, “She’s not moving, but appears to be okay.”
“Gunslinger, Gunslinger. Can you hear me?” Now the stress in the voice-it was definitely Jonathan’s-was obvious. She could hear the impact of his running footsteps in his words.
Her body felt leaden, paralyzed. By any reasonable standard, she had just committed murder. Jonathan would tell her otherwise-that the larger cause justified the sacrifice-but that wouldn’t change the facts. She knew the elements of the law, and if presented with these facts-an armed trespasser kills the owner of the trespassed property-the most junior prosecutor in the most backward jurisdiction in the country would walk away with a conviction without even breaking a sweat.
“Gail! Are you all right?”
She slapped her transmit button. “I’m fine. He’s dead.”
And Ryan Nasbe would die if she didn’t get her ass in gear and do something. There’d be plenty of time to beat herself up later. The sentry would be dead forever, after all.
She took off at a run again, her GPS taking her directly to the spot where they’d cut the wire. She scaled the fence, vaulted to the other side, and then headed for the truck.
“Mother Hen, this is Gail.” She couldn’t bring herself to use her Gunslinger handle. Not now. “Are the cars all gone?”
“Negative, but I saw the Nasbe boy get loaded into a white pickup truck. He appears to be hurting badly. His truck has left.”
“Any obvious response to the gunshots?” Jonathan asked.
“Nothing I can see,” Venice said.
“Gunslinger, hold your position at the vehicle. We’ll be with you in three minutes.”
I don’t have three minutes, she didn’t say. In fact, she didn’t say anything. She had a job to do. Doing it right, she decided, meant not waiting for anyone.
She found the truck right where they’d left it along the side of the narrow road, its doors unlocked, keys in the ignition.
“Gunslinger, Scorpion. Did you copy?”
She hesitated for an instant, and then pressed the transmit button. “I copied,” she said. “But I’m not waiting. They’re leaving now. I’m following. I’ll report back what I find.”
The engine turned on the first crank, and two seconds later, she was on her way to somewhere.
CHAPTER TWENTY – SIX
“How’s that plan working for you now, Boss?” Boxers poked as they arrived at their parking spot to find the truck gone. His chest heaved for air.
“Well, what do you expect?” Jonathan poked back. “As slow as you run, they could’ve gotten to Ohio before you got to the fence.” In addition to the limitations brought by size and girth, Boxers had adopted a titanium rod for a femur after some unpleasantness while in the employ of Uncle Sam.
Without discussing a plan, they started walking down the road in the direction of the Dodge’s skid marks. “God had to make you fast to compensate for bein’ so small.”
Jonathan laughed.
They kept to the middle of the road as they walked because it was faster. On a bright night like this, out in the open, it was in many ways easier to see without night vision than with it, so Jonathan lifted the lenses out of the way. He’d have done it a minute ago, but Boxers beat him to it, and it was never a good idea to let the Big Guy think that you were imitating him.
“So, do you think she bolted on us?” Boxers asked. His tone was light, but Jonathan knew it was a serious question.
“No, she’s following them.”
They walked in silence. Their years together had imbued Jonathan with the ability to read his friend’s mind. He knew what was coming, and he knew that Boxers was twitchy as hell just thinking the thoughts.
“Hey, Boss, I’ve got a question for you,” he said at last.
Jonathan glanced over at him.
“It’s about Gail.”
“What about her?”
Boxers cleared his throat, readjusted his M4 against his vest. “Look, I know you two are close. I think you think that other people don’t know, but it’s pretty obvious-”
“Get to the question, Box.”
“Yeah, well.” He cleared his throat again. “Do you think she’s really up to all this?”
“Which ‘all this’ are you talking about?” Jonathan knew the answer, but there was something enticing about prolonging the discomfort.
“Look, I know she’s great at door crashing, and she can track down evidence like nobody’s business.”
“But?”
Another throat clearing. “Well, she’s, you know, a cop.”
“Not anymore.”
“I mean in her blood,” Boxers said. “I mean at the same level where you and I are soldiers. First and last.”
“You’re asking if she’s trustworthy? If she’ll do her job?”
“If she’ll do her job without hesitating.”
Jonathan craned his neck to look at the Big Guy. “She killed the sentry a few minutes ago.”
“Well,” Boxers hedged.