“Not for long,” said Web.
It took all of twenty seconds to pick the back door lock and they were inside. They methodically searched the place until they came to the man’s bedroom.
“What exactly are we looking for, Web?”
Web was in the bedroom closet and didn’t answer right away. He finally backed out with an old shoebox. “This might be a start.”
He sat on a chair next to the bed and started going through the old photos. He held one up. “Here we go. Remember Strait said he was a guard at a juvenile detention center when he got back from Nam?”
“So?”
“So, guess who was an inmate at that same juvie center for putting a meat cleaver in his grandma’s head? I saw the file when I met with Bates at WFO.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Clyde Macy. He’s the guy in the photo I showed you, the guy who impersonated an FBI agent. Damn, I wish I’d shown you his photo before. Now I’m betting if we looked at the dates it’ll show Macy and Strait were there at the same time.”
“But Macy was with the Frees after that.”
“And maybe Strait finds him and convinces him to come and work for him.”
“But you said Macy was muscle for Westbrook.”
“What Macy is, is a cop wannabe. I’m thinking he was under-cover and was infiltrating Westbrook’s organization as part of Strait’s drug ring.”
“Strait’s drug ring!”
“Oxycontin. Horse trailers, the perfect way to move the stuff. The trailer at the Southern Belle was how a Townsmand is really set up. Strait had the one at East Winds put in with a false bottom that raised the floor so much a fifteen-hands-high yearling’s head almost touched the roof. And he had storage boxes put in to carry even more drugs. And the speeding tickets? Macy wasn’t going to the Southern Belle, he was coming here. And I bet he was the one who found out Toona was snitching for Cove. He used that information to set up Cove and us and then told Westbrook, who eliminated Toona.”
“You think maybe Macy was the one who fired the shots at the Free compound and started the slaughter?”
“And planted the drugs there and all the other ‘evidence’ for us to conveniently find. And he probably stole Silas’s truck. I’m bet- ting he was also the one who shot Chris Miller outside of Cove’s house. And Strait is ex-Army and maybe that’s how he got hold of those machine guns, and he probably knows something about making bombs.”
“But that means they were both tied in somehow to the hit on HRT. Why?”
All this time Web had been going through the photos until he stopped and pulled another one out. “Son of a bitch.”
“What?”
Web turned the photo around. It was a picture of Strait in uniform in Vietnam. Next to him was a man that Romano didn’t recognize, but Web certainly did. Even though the guy was much younger in the photo, he really hadn’t changed all that much.
“Ed O’Bannon. He was the army shrink who helped Strait after he escaped from the Viet Cong.”
“Jesus.”
“And that means that they may have Claire, and even Kevin, around here somewhere. The farm would be a perfect place to hide them.”
“But I still don’t get it, Web, why would Strait and O’Bannon and Macy want to take out Charlie Team? It makes no sense.”
Web thought hard, but that answer wasn’t coming to him. At least it didn’t until he glanced down and saw it. He put the shoe-box aside and slowly reached down and plucked the object up from where it had fallen partially under the bed.
He held the anklet up and shone his light on it. Yet Web already knew to whom it belonged. He ripped the bedspread off and examined the pillows with his flashlight. It only took him a few moments to find the long blond hairs.
He looked at Romano in disbelief. “Gwen.”
The trailer was backed up to the pool equipment room. The horse ramp was down and one of Strait’s men had slid out the long piece of metal revealing the false bottom space that was easily big enough for a large shipment of pills . . . or the bodies of a woman and a little boy.
Strait was overseeing the transfer of Claire and Kevin to this compartment. They were struggling mightily and making noise—too much noise.
“Open the pool,” he ordered. “Be easier if we drown ’em first. And cleaner than shooting them here.”
The cover over the pool cranked back and then the men partially slipped the ropes and blankets off Claire and Kevin and started dragging them over to the water.
That’s when the voice called out.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Strait and his men whirled around. Gwen was standing there, holding a pistol.
“Hey, Gwen, what are you doing up?” asked Strait innocently. She looked at Claire and Kevin.
“Who are they, Nemo?”
“Just a couple of issues I got to deal with and then we can all ride off into the sunset.”
“You’re going to kill them?”
“No, I’m going to let them testify and put me on death row.” Several of Strait’s men laughed at this. Strait drew closer to Gwen, never taking his eyes off her.
“Let me ask you a question, Gwen. You said you were going to take care of London. But I saw him ride off today and the man was breathing just fine.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Oh, that’s good, you changed your mind. You mean you got cold feet. I figured. When you get right down to it, Gwen, you ain’t got the stuff to do this. The killing. That’s why you need men like me to do it for you.”
“I want you to leave now. You and all your people.”
“Well, I’m planning to do that.”
“No, I mean without your issues.”
Strait smiled and drew still closer to the woman. “Now sweetie, you know I can’t do that.”
“I’ll let you have a head start of twelve hours before I release them.”
“And then what? That’s a lot of explaining to do. And you’ll take the heat for it?”
“I’m not going to let you kill them, Nemo. Enough people have died already. And it’s my fault. You were right, I should have let go of the hate a long time ago, but whenever I tried all I could see was my son, dead.”
“See, the problem is, if I leave them here and they talk, the cops will never stop looking for me. But if I kill them, then when I exit stage left, nobody gives a crap. And that’s a big difference, because once I settle down in a place, I like to stay there, and I’m not spending my retirement running from the FBI.”
He glanced toward one of his men; he was circling around behind Gwen.
Gwen gripped her pistol and aimed it at Strait’s head. “I’m telling you for the last time, leave!”
“And what about your cut of the drug money?”
“That was all your doing. And I don’t want it. I’ll take the heat for everything. Just go!”
“Damn, woman, what got into you, you see God or something?” “Get the hell off my land, Strait, now!”
“Look out, Gwen!” screamed Web.
The voice caught all of them off guard, but the man circling behind Gwen still fired his gun, which missed because she had ducked down at Web’s warning. The shot hit behind her.
Web’s sniper rifle barked and the man fell dead into the pool, the chlorinated water instantly turning red.
Nemo and his men took cover behind the horse trailer and opened fire, while Gwen disappeared into the bushes.
After they had left Strait’s place, Web and Romano had gone to the equestrian center because Web wanted to check something; sure enough, he found the small wound on Comet’s back. Gwen had plotted to kill him and then had a change of heart. Because of their talk? If so, Web wished he had had it years ago with the woman. He didn’t have proof of it all, but it seemed clear to him that Gwen had enlisted Nemo and his men to exact her revenge for her son’s death. Whether it was Billy Canfield’s neglect that had driven her to Strait’s bed, he didn’t know.
>
They were headed to the mansion next when they had heard the noise at the pool area and come running in time to hear the exchange between Gwen and Strait, in time to hear Gwen admit that the people killed had been her fault, her revenge. Now they were in a full-fledged firefight with no way to call in reinforcements. And the big problem was that Claire and Kevin were caught in the middle.
It seemed that Strait realized this because he called out, “Hey, Web, why don’t you come on out now? ’Cause if you don’t, I’m gonna put a bullet into the woman and the kid.”
Web and Romano looked at each other. Strait didn’t know Romano was there. Romano turned and headed to the left. Web headed right and then stopped.
“Come on, Nemo, you’ve got no chance, and the cavalry’s on the way.”
“That’s right, I’m a desperate man with not a damn thing to lose.” He fired a shot very close to Claire’s head where she and Kevin lay on the pool deck.
“Look, Nemo,” said Web, “two more killings aren’t going to help you any.”
Strait laughed. “Hell, Web, they ain’t gonna hurt me none either.”
“Okay, Nemo, tell me the one thing I haven’t been able to figure out,” Web called out. “Why the kid switch in the alley?”
“What? You want me to incriminate myself?” Strait yelled back and laughed again.
“Look around, Nemo—I got all the evidence I need.”
“So if I do like you say, you’ll put in a good word for me with the judge, right?” Strait laughed again.
“Couldn’t hurt.”
“Well, Web, in my line of work you tend to congregate with some interesting folks. And one particular fellow had some right definite demands, and he’s the sort of fellow you got to accommodate. This is definitely a fellow you got to keep happy, you know what I’m saying?”
“Clyde Macy?”
“Now, I ain’t naming no names, Web. I ain’t no squealer.”
“Let me help you then. Macy is a wannabe cop. He’s just itching to prove he’s better. He was dying to dress like an FBI agent, waltz in and take the kid right out of our hands. Just to show himself that he could pull it off.”
“Damn, Web, you’d make a good detective.”
“But maybe you weren’t as confident. You needed Kevin, and you couldn’t risk Macy not pulling it off and getting Kevin back. You had to use Kevin in the first place in that alley to throw suspicion on Big F, and you needed Kevin later as leverage over him. So you substituted the other kid for Kevin. That way, Macy gets to have his fun at the Bureau’s expense, and if he fails you still have Kevin. Am I right?”
“Hell, I guess we’ll never know.”
“So where’s the other kid?”
“Like I said, I guess we’ll never know.”
Web’s walkie-talkie crackled. Romano was in position.
“Okay, one more chance, Nemo, you got five seconds to surrender.”
Web didn’t bother counting to five. He slipped his MP-5 to full auto and opened fire, strafing the horse trailer behind which Nemo and his men had taken cover.
Strait and his men dropped flat to the ground at the same time Romano came up behind them.
One of the men saw him and turned to fire and took two MP-5 rounds between his eyes for his trouble.
“Guns on the ground. Now!” ordered Romano.
Web saw it, but Romano didn’t because his back was to it: a small bit of condensation that was rising into the air off in the woods. Condensation caused by the cold coming up from a gun barrel. It was a classic mistake by someone who knew something about fieldcraft and sniping, but not the small, critical details that really made the difference. As a sniper Web would use his breath to heat his barrel and eliminate the condensation.
“Six o’clock, Romano,” he screamed.
But it was too late. The shot hit Romano at the base of his spine and the impact from the high-speed round knocked him down.
“Paulie!” yelled Web.
Another man rolled out and took aim at the fallen HRT, but Web dropped him with his .308. He wedged the MP-5 against his pec with one hand and pulled out one of his .45s with the other.
“Romano!”
He breathed a sigh of relief as Romano started to rise. While it had penetrated his armor, the slug could not get through Link, the third .45 he kept back there in a special holster.
Another shot hit near Web and he dropped to the ground even as Romano threw himself into the bushes. Strait took this opportunity to race out and grab Claire and half carry, half drag her to the truck hooked to the trailer.
Web looked up and saw what Strait was trying to do. Web shot out the truck tires. Cursing loudly, Strait dragged Claire off into the darkness.
Web snagged his walkie-talkie. “Paulie, Paulie, you okay?” Several anxious seconds went by and then Romano answered. His voice was a little shaky, but he was the same old Romano.
“Whoever shot me doesn’t know jack-shit about bullet drop over distance. Fired too low.”
“Lucky for you. I didn’t see the barrel condensation until it was too late. I’m betting it’s Macy out there somewhere. Strait’s got Claire. I’m going after them. Kevin Westbrook is still by the pool.”
“I got things covered here, Web.”
“You sure?”
“Hell, it’s only four against one. Go!”
Web turned and raced after Claire and Strait.
Romano had lost his MP-5 and his sniper rifle was not going to be very efficient at such close quarters. He pulled out his .45s and, taking a page from Web’s book, actually rubbed one of them for luck. Despite his bravado, four against one were not good odds. He could get three of them and still be undone by number four. And there was still the shooter who had nailed him to worry about. He squatted low and edged along the bushes that surrounded the pool area. Shots were fired, but he didn’t fire back, because they were way off, and muzzle flashes told him where his adversaries were. He kept moving and watching. Each time a shot was fired, he duly noted it. These guys were amateurs, but even amateurs got lucky, especially with superior numbers. He crouched low and saw the kid by the pool. He wasn’t moving and Romano was thinking that maybe one of the shots had found its mark. But then the kid raised his head slightly. Romano slipped on his NV goggles and now he could see what the boy’s problem was. His legs were still tightly bound.
Romano kept moving, putting distance between himself and the enemy. He wanted to get some range so that he could use his rifle. He had his night scope on and all he would need was a sliver of head to work with. Reduce the enemy to three or maybe even one and then he would move in with his pistols. One on one, Romano would win every time.
His plan was textbook. Read their muzzle signatures. Keep moving. Outflank them. Then move in, pop one or two, the others would lose their nerve and give themselves away, maybe start running and he would use his sniper rifle, wait for them to enter the kill zone and then it would all be over.
A voice called out, “Hey, Romano, come on out now, and without the gun.”
Romano said nothing. He was spending his time getting a fix on the exact location of that voice so he could silence it. He thought it was the farmhand he had dropped on his first day at the farm, but he wasn’t sure.
“Romano, I hope you’re listening to me. Because you got five seconds to come out or I’m going to put a bullet into the kid’s head.”
Romano muttered under his breath as he drew closer to the source of the voice. He had no desire to let the boy die, but if he came out of cover, the reality was that both he and Kevin Westbrook would die. Romano never played that game and his only course of action was to try and kill them all before they got to the boy, which was going to be pretty much impossible.
“I’m sorry, kid,” he muttered under his breath as he moved forward and took up his firing position.