Perfect Weapon. Amy J. Fetzer

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СКАЧАТЬ still held their weapons and there were no footprints that weren’t theirs, no struggle. That meant the bullet had come from long range with a laser sight. Jack hadn’t heard a thing. No backfire meant a custom silencer, he thought, blinking back his emotions and running toward his truck. To the source of his grief.

      He aimed his pistol on the lump in his truck bed. Those guys in the woods had done the shooting, but the woman would know why. Jack jabbed the body. “Gun first, toss it out.” No movement and Jack yanked back the 9mm slide. “Weapon first. Slow, hands up!” When the woman refused to move, Jack thought for a second whoever killed his pals, had come back and killed her.

      He yanked on the tarp.

      The little bitch was gone.

      Jack wanted to hit something, shoot someone. He grappled with his temper, his outrage, carefully laying his hands on the tailgate, his finger still on the trigger. He realized now his shot at the deer had alerted the shooters to their presence. He’d been point, farther north than the others. And now his friends, three men he’d trusted with his life were dead, executed like dogs. He’d no idea why, and his only clue to the truth lay with that woman.

      His eyes burned and Jack thought of the wives he was going to have to face, the mother he’d have to tell that her son had been murdered. It was his duty. He’d survived. By sheer luck, he was still standing. But inside, he was dying.

      Someone’s going to pay.

      He’d save his revenge for just that moment.

      He surveyed the territory, weapon out. Shooters were still out there. He took a step and beneath his feet, the ground trembled.

      7:18 A.M.

      Agent Gabe Cisco glanced at the ringing cell phone attached to his dash. “Too damn early for a mess,” he muttered and hit the call button. “This had better be good; I haven’t had coffee yet.”

      “Mother is down. The Cradle has fallen.”

      “Christ.”

      “Good enough, sir?”

      “Details.” Cisco listened to the sketchy facts as Agent Wickum spelled them out. It was bad. Internal alarms unresponsive. No contact from the sentries. Air supply couldn’t be monitored. At least there weren’t any civilians at the park yet. It didn’t open till nine. He hoped the tour buses hadn’t made it near yet. But first things first: the people inside the laboratory.

      “Priority one. Close off all entries to the park. Shut it down two miles down the mountain.” Strays, Cisco thought. He was going to get strays off Skyline Drive in the area. “No one gets in or out. No one. Plainclothes, no military. We don’t want to scare the locals. Call it a gas leak. I want a man at every store, gas station, and outhouse in the area. Canvas the mountain in a two-mile radius. Infrared and visual. I’ll authorize helicopters. Bring in the bomb squad, but we search for survivors outside the Cradle and isolate them. Do not allow anyone to get inside, understood?”

      “Even the bomb detection?”

      “Even them. We don’t know yet what we’re dealing with.” Bomb squads expected explosions, not what was down in that lab. He checked the time and knew it would take him at least an hour to get there. “I want you on a chopper to meet me at helo pad two. You drive my car to the site.”

      “What about the FBI, sir?”

      “They aren’t aware. It’ll be forest rangers and local cops first if anyone’s hurt. Keep them back. Say nothing. This is my ball game.” He hated being questioned. It was his job to question, to secure secrets, to hide them if necessary. And if the Cradle really had fallen, this mistake was going to take some fast moving. “Wickum?”

      “Still here, sir.”

      Cisco could hear the man breathing hard. “Get a CBC team on standby.”

      “Good God.”

      Gabe cut the line and steered the car toward the Cradle.

      7:31 AM

      A truck rolling past shook the asphalt under her feet. Above her, gray clouds billowed. Rain would be just so fitting, she thought and kept walking. She pulled her jacket closed to cover the blood smeared across her shirt, but she smelled it. It was in her hair, seeping into her skin. Hurrying into a convenience store, she glanced at the clerk, then slipped into the restroom. She locked the door and sighed back against it, feeling ridiculously safe. Pushing off, she walked the three steps to the sink and gripped the edge. She couldn’t look at herself in the cracked mirror. She’d see more evidence of Tanner’s death if she did.

      Chris’s face flashed in her mind, like a snapshot, clear, quick. Then the man in the hall, the ice blue eyes in a black hood, pointing a gun at her. She’d never forget the way his eyes had almost glowed as he aimed at her heart. She hoped her shot got him between the baby blues. But she doubted it. It was the first time she’d ever held a gun.

      The Marine covered in foliage like a Yeti was almost stranger than the rest of her morning. Why was he wearing a Gilly suit? Snipers wore stuff like that. If he was part of the attack, then why save her life. She pulled the weapon from her skirt, wondering why no one had noticed it—since her jacket wasn’t big enough to conceal it well. Her hand trembled as she laid it on the edge of the sink. Her fingers were crusted with drying blood. Suddenly, she turned to the toilet and lost the fight with her granola bar. She choked and coughed, then rinsed her mouth and her face. She washed the blood from her hands. The water turned bright pink and she forced herself to look in the mirror. Her blouse was stained with blood but most of it was low, and she buttoned up her jacket. Smoothing her hair back, she picked out leaves and twigs, then brushed at her skirt and jacket, wincing as she hit the cut on her arm. Stripping out of her torn panty hose, she pitched them in the trash.

      She replaced the gun in her waistband, frowning when something crackled. She reached behind herself and expecting leaves, she got her notes. Oh God. This information was never supposed to leave the Cradle. Stuffing it back into place, she matched it with the gun and left the rest room. Follow procedure, she told herself as she walked immediately to the phone at the back. A TV blared from somewhere in the front of the store. A bell jingled when someone came in. A couple of people shopped up and down the narrow aisles. Early tourists. She heard a child fussing, then glanced at a little boy trying to reach the slush machine. She was tempted to lean out and help him. Instead, she turned her back and dialed.

      The line didn’t even ring. “9854-Kilo,” she blurted.

      “Dr. Hale?”

      “The Cradle is down.”

      “Are you injured?”

      “No. Get me out of here.”

      “Where are you?”

      People were staring. She cupped the phone. “Where the hell do you think I am, dammit!”

      “Please state your position, Miss Hale.”

      She was barely holding it together and his “calm the womenfolk” tone shredded her last nerve. “It’s Doctor Hale. I’m at the convenience store past the third mark. Now get me out of here. There are killers on that mountain!”

      “Rendezvous at mark eight.”

      Sydney СКАЧАТЬ