The warehouse was not just a shooting range — it was also where CPO stored its armoury. The security at the site was tight. Logan punched a five-digit code into a keypad beside the metal entrance door. The light on the keypad turned green and Logan used his key to open the door.
The building exterior was deliberately shabby. A Hollywood set decorator would have recognised the skill that had gone into making it look like that. Inside was a different story.
Logan walked along a corridor with a polished concrete floor and clean, grey walls, turning right at the end. Spotlights embedded in the floor and recessed in the ceiling lit the way to another door with a keypad. Logan heard faint gunshot reports behind the door. The sound did not carry beyond the building’s walls.
After entering a different code, Logan went into what looked like a large cupboard. He pushed at the rear wall and it opened into the range. The room was long and narrow with various weapons arranged neatly on mounts on the walls at either side of the door. Beyond that were two separate ranges, about twenty-five metres long with target boards on rails suspended from the ceiling. The targets could be moved along the rails via a control panel in the enclosed booths for each range.
Logan had been here many times, but was still surprised at how loud the gunshots sounded in such an enclosed space. Cahill was in a classic shooting stance in the right-hand booth, firing at a target around fifteen feet from his position.
Logan grabbed a pair of ear defenders and put them on. He waited behind Cahill until he had emptied his magazine at the target. It was never a good idea to surprise a man with a loaded weapon. Especially one in a mood like Cahill.
Logan noticed from the number of bullet holes that Cahill had already fired a full clip at the same target.
Cahill’s gun clicked on an empty chamber and he stood straight, ejecting the magazine from the handle of the weapon.
‘You mad at someone?’ Logan shouted, taking his ear defenders off.
Smoke hung in the air around Cahill, the smell of cordite sharp in Logan’s nostrils.
Cahill turned quickly, taking his own defenders off and putting them on the counter in front of him beside the gun.
‘I’m plenty mad,’ Cahill replied.
‘So what’s new?’ Logan smiled, trying to lighten the mood. He walked to the booth and pressed a button to bring the target closer.
‘Hasn’t affected your accuracy,’ Logan said, looking at the target with its close grouping of bullet holes.
‘The old man hasn’t lost it yet.’
Cahill was the most accurate shooter in the team. He never lost a challenge. Logan was getting better all the time, and was now giving some of the others a close run in their challenges. Cahill encouraged competition — thought that it was a good way to maintain their edge outside of a real engagement. His plan was always to get into as few fights as possible. He knew from experience that no matter how good you were, bad luck had a way of catching up with you eventually.
‘You’re dead set on this mission of yours?’ Logan asked. ‘I mean, going over to Denver.’
‘I booked our flights last night.’
Logan stared at him.
‘We leave at seven tomorrow morning. Sam’s getting the spare room ready for Ellie to come over tonight. It’s all set.’
Logan looked at his watch — saw that it was not far off noon. Ellie would be at school for a few more hours yet and so there was nothing Logan could do about speaking to her just yet.
‘I’m that predictable?’ he asked, shaking his head.
‘Not predictable. Reliable.’
‘How long will we be away?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you’ve booked a hotel, right? I mean, we’ll have to stay somewhere.’
‘Sure. I booked somewhere in Downtown. It’s corporate and anonymous.’
Cahill frustrated Logan sometimes.
‘How long did you book the hotel for?’
‘Three nights.’
‘You think that’ll be enough?’
‘If it’s not, we’ll extend the stay there or somewhere else.’
Cahill spread his arms out.
‘If you don’t want to go…’ he said.
‘I’m going. Okay. I just…’
Cahill waited. Logan sat down again.
‘I mean, I feel a little lost when I go into the field with any of you guys. It’s not me. I don’t know what to do. I’m a lawyer not a soldier.’
‘Bullshit. You’ve done more than okay when you’ve had to. I mean, for someone chucked into the fire with no warning and little or no training.’
‘But-’
‘And it’s not like I’m asking you to shoot anyone this time, you know. It’ll be a different kind of thing.’
‘Just talking?’
‘Interacting with the law enforcement agencies.’
Logan puffed out his cheeks and shook his head.
‘What?’ Cahill asked.
‘Alex, you can’t interact with anyone without starting a fight.’
‘Not true.’
‘Almost true.’
Cahill picked up his gun and ear defenders and went to the wall beside the entrance. He put the magazine back in the gun and placed it on a mount. He hung the ear defenders up beside the others on the wall.
‘Have you told Tim’s wife yet?’ Logan asked as he joined Cahill to put his ear defenders on the wall.
‘No.’
‘You should. She’d want to know.’
‘You’re right. Why don’t you go home to get packed. Pick up Ellie and tell her what’s going on. I’ll call Melanie.’
‘The dream team,’ Logan said, following Cahill out of the room.
He glanced back at the shredded target. Hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
9
After Logan left the warehouse, Cahill went to call Melanie Stark from another room in the building — a functional meeting space with a round table and six chairs.
It was still early in Kansas, but Cahill figured that she wouldn’t be sleeping much.
Turned out he was right.
‘How are you holding up?’ he asked, when she answered the call.
‘Ask me again in six months.’
He thought that she sounded a little brighter than she had last night. Which wasn’t saying much.
‘I wanted to let you know that I’m not going to let this go. That I want to help you.’
‘Alex, I appreciate the sentiment, you know. But Tim’s dead. What’s left after that? Whatever we do, he won’t be walking back through the front door, will he?’
‘No. You’re right about that. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t honour his memory.’
‘I don’t mean to be rude, Alex. But that stuff sounds so hollow right now.’
‘I know. Doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.’
She sighed. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Suppose that I agree to let you help me. What are you going to do? And how much will it cost me?’
‘First, it won’t cost anything. I don’t charge friends for helping them out.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘No need to apologise. It was a perfectly sensible question.’
‘So, what is it that you can do from over there?’
‘Not much. That’s why I’m flying out to Denver tomorrow.’
‘What?’
‘I need to be where it happened.’
‘You organised this before speaking to me.’
She sounded a little angry. Maybe that was good — showing something other than grief or hurt.
‘Yes. I was going to do it anyway. For Tim.’
‘Are you going alone?’
‘No. I’ll have someone with me. Logan — the lawyer you spoke to before.’
‘I don’t expect that the cops or FBI like lawyers much, do they?’
‘They don’t. That’s kind of the point.’
She made a noise. Cahill wasn’t sure if it was a sniff or the best attempt at a laugh that she could manage right now.
‘I’ll speak to the cops and the FBI and anyone else who I think will help. Or might be trying to hide something. In my experience, if you stir up enough people it usually gets results in the end.’