“Gwen, what’s this?” Stafford said. “I think we have to get out of here.”
“No, Dave. I think the government is going to do something to my house.
That general wasn’t running away. He was running to his phone. I simply won’t have it.”
Kiesling finally reached them and started raising hell about anyone remaining in the area. Stafford put up a hand to silence him, especially after he saw the looks on the deputies’ faces. “Look, Kiesling, she wants to stay, that’s her choice. I’m staying with her. You go get your people and clear out.”
Kiesling’s face hardened. “I don’t give a shit about her, Stafford. But you are coming with us. Carson directly implicated you in this mess, and I want some questions answered. There was a lot of real money that’s gone missing. Now you just—”
The biggest deputy leaned forward and let go a great brown glop of chewing tobacco that landed right between Kiesling’s highly polished shoes. The FBI man stopped talking and stared first at his expensive shoes and then at the deputy. Up at the deputy.
“Time for y’all to be down the road and gone,” the deputy drawled. “We don’t need no G-men tellin’ us or our people what to do hereabouts in Longstreet County.” The other two deputies stepped forward to reinforce the first one’s suggestion. The young FBI agent looked at them and then at Kiesling. “Mr. Kiesling, sir?” he said hopefully. “Remember all that talk about gravel trucks and wolf pits? This sure sounds like a local problem to me, Mr. Kiesling. Mr. Kiesling?”
Kiesling’s face was beet red. But Gwen and the girl had already turned around and started walking back toward the driveway of the house.
Kiesling finally gave in, especially when he realized that, other than the county cruisers, his car was just about the only one left in front of the house, and it was rolling.
“Just remember, Stafford,” he yelled. “When this thing is over, your ass is mine, you understand?”
“Happy to know where your interests lie, Kiesling,” Stafford said, as he followed Gwen and the girl. Kiesling started back toward him, but the younger agent grabbed Riesling’s sleeve and hustled him away toward the waiting FBI car.
When everyone had gone, Gwen thanked the deputies. “Now you boys go on and get back to town. Folks are going to be. stirred up when that mob gets there.”
“Ma’am, we can stay right here, you need some help,” the big man said.
Stafford could not quite read his name tag in the dawn light, but he would have sworn the tag read hand.
. “Mr. Stafford will stay with us. The Army people are still here. We’ll be all right. Y’all get along now.”
With a chorus of “Yes, ma’am,” the deputies retired to their cars and swung them out onto the state road, headed back toward Graniteville.
Stafford thought they weren’t entirely reluctant to get out of there, but he appreciated their loyalty. He was about to ask what in the hell had happened back there in the house when they heard the roar of engines from the adjoining field.
As soon as he had reached the Suburbans, Carrothers ordered the men to suit up immediately and get the satellite link up. He began pulling on his own protective suit while waiting for the link. The soldiers had not moved very quickly until he told them over his shoulder that the cylinder of Wet Eye over there in that house was maybe going to burst, after which it was all assholes and elbows as the men dived into their suits. ”
Carrothers briefed Waddell as soon as the link came up. All the hostages were out of the house, the bad guy was still in there by himself, with the cylinder, and the hostages were reporting that the cylinder was hot.
Waddell asked him to repeat that last, and then he asked Carrothers if he had any thermite with him. Carrothers did not. Waddell told him to get all the civilians away from the house, to establish the downwind danger area, and to get everyone out of that sector for five miles.
“We’ve done that, General. Is there something I should know about that cylinder?”
There was a long hiss of static before Waddell responded. “We weren’t going to distract you with this, Lee, but Fuller’s people ran a simulation on that thing. It’s the biologies. They gave it thirty-six hours before it blew its end caps off.”
“Jesus Christ! Starting when?”
“Thirty-six hours ago. That’s why the airstrike is comm mg’”
P Carrothers thought fast. “We have MOPP gear and weapons. I’d like to take a team into that house, see if we can stop this disaster.”
There was a pause on the net while Waddell had him stand by. Then he was back.
“Our information is that our time on target is thirty five minutes, General. You want to try a run on the house, go to it. But be advised we’ll have Cobras on top in … lemme see, thirty-four minutes. You need to be out of that house before they get there, because they’re gonna shoot it to ribbons, and then there’s a flight of Warthogs coming in right behind them with nape.”
“We’re on our way,” Carrothers replied.
“Oh, and Lee? I recommend just shooting that bastard the moment you see him. Save everybody a lot of trouble, if you get my drift.”
Carrothers acknowledged and then hung up. He gathered his team around him and explained the situation. The soldiers had all their gear on except their hoods.
“No time for any fancy planning here, guys. We have about thirty minutes before Washington drops an air strike on top of us. Captain, I want you to take your men into that house. Nothing sexy here: We’ll complete MOPPing up, then drive the vehicles over there to the front door and go in with guns. He’s supposedly somewhere on the ground floor with the cylinder of Wet Eye. Shoot him if he makes a move, then get the cylinder. If it’s still intact, put it in the freezer of the icebox. If it’s popped, then we bail out and let the games begin.” He looked at his watch. “We have about twenty-nine minutes from right now. After that it’s Warthogs and napalm. Any questions?”
The young captain looked as if he might have a few, but the general’s expression did not encourage a lengthy discussion. The soldiers were reaching for their weapons. One raised his hand.
“What, soldier?”
“This Wet Eye stuff, General? Our MOPP gear good to go for that agent?”
Carrothers had to think fast. Their protective gear would certainly protect them against the chemical constituents of Wet Eye. But the biologies obviously were still alive. If they had mutated … “Yes. This is an old agent. The old-style chem suits would protect you from it. These new suits ought to do just fine. Anything else?”
There were no more questions.
“Okay, hoods on and mount up. Remember: He’s just one guy, he’s physically ill, and he’s a civilian. Take the front door and go in like gangbusters. We’re gonna find him, and if he moves a muscle, shopt him, find the cylinder, freeze it, and get the hell out of there, okay? Move out!” — v
By the time they hit the driveway, all of the other vehicles were gone.
Only the portable, floodlights, standing by the front wall, gave evidence that the police had been there in force not ten minutes ago.
Carrothers drove the lead Suburban so that his driver could join the team going into the house. He turned into the driveway and accelerated toward the house, which was clearly visible now. He drove right up to the front steps, skidded to a stop, and shut off the engine. The other vehicle fishtailed to a stop right next to his in a spray of gravel.
Carrothers got out, and the troops piled out behind him. To his surprise, the DCIS man, Mrs. Warren, and the girl were standing by the steps.