Gant pointed at his head. “Shrink.”
“Someone down there going to need therapy?” Neeley asked.
“I’m a predictive behavior profiler,” Golden said.
Neeley had no idea what that meant. She turned back to Gant, forcing herself to remember that this was not her lover of over a decade. “Foley and his wife are in the farm-house. The State Department has two men on outside perimeter duty, one walking a circle around the house and barn, the other monitoring security cameras in the van. There’s something else — an old mail truck in the far tree-line. I don’t know if it’s part of their force, some other government agency’s intrusion or the bad guys. I called it in to the Cellar to check on and haven’t heard back yet.”
“Let’s take a look,” Gant said. He motioned for Golden to take a seat. “Wait here.”
Golden looked around for something to sit on and then settled for a log, on which she gingerly perched herself. Neeley moved back toward her position and as she got close to the ridge went down to her belly and began to crawl. Gant automatically did the same and they arrived at the hide site where her sniper rifle rested on its bipod and stock.
Gant noted the weapon. “Same as Tony liked using.”
“He taught me how to fire it,” Neeley said, feeling foolish as soon as she said it.
But Gant only nodded as he pulled out a set of binoculars and scoped out the area.
“The mail truck is there,” Neeley said, pointing.
Gant nodded once more. “I see it. It was here when you arrived?”
“Yes.”
“Hasn’t move at all? No movement around it?”
“Nope.”
Gant lowered the binoculars. “What do you think?”
Neeley liked that he hadn’t come in and tried to take charge and that he was asking her opinion. “I called the truck in to the Cellar but I haven’t heard back. I think we should check it out. I would have done it but—“
“You couldn’t leave coverage,” Gant finished for her. He glanced at his watch. “Let’s give the Cellar another ten minutes to get back to us whether it’s another agency. I’d hate to bust in on a truck full of SWAT guys. If the report is a negative, I’ll go down there.”
Neeley nodded. They lay together in silence for a few moments, their bodies within a foot of each other, both feeling off-kilter.
“You know that Tony—“ Neeley began but stopped.
“Did Tony really die of natural causes?” Gant asked.
“Yes. Cancer. I buried him.”
“Was he in a lot of pain?”
“Yes.”
“Tony never liked being sick. He’d have preferred to go fast.”
“He didn’t exactly have a choice.”
It was Gant’s turn to feel slightly foolish for a moment. “Why did Bailey dig him up?”
“Long story,” Neeley said and left it at that and was grateful when he didn’t pursue it. Now was not the time or place.
“Mister Nero said you were with him at the end.”
“I was.”
“Thank you.”
Neeley glanced over at him. “Tony wasn’t responsible for the RPG attack in Mogadishu.”
Gant slowly turned his head and looked back at her. “Who was?”
“A man named Racine.”
“Little fucker. I remember him.” Gant frowned. “But he was Cellar also.”
“He wasn’t in Mogadishu working for the Cellar. He was doing freelance work for a Senator named Collins.”
“The one who just resigned?”
“Same.”
“What happened to Racine?”
“We killed him.”
“’We’? You and Tony?”
“No, Tony had already passed. Hannah Masterson and I. And Jesse.”
Gant whistled and a slight smile crept across his face. “Jesse? I will have to hear this story, but not now.” He checked his watch once more. “Five minutes.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Using a scanner, the Security had quickly found the frequency for the remote security cameras that had been set out. There were four, two on the main road, looking in each direction. One on the top of the barn that was doing a twenty-second long 360-degree sweep, and one facing down the long driveway leading to the farm-house. He set the jammer for the same frequency, but left it off for the moment. He got out of the truck and walked around it, making sure all the fuses were set.
The outside of the mail truck was criss-crossed with detonating cord like a Christmas tree. The Security smiled as he thought of that, fond memories of lightness and happy times trying to intrude into the darkness his life had been for the past year. The smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared as a dark curtain came down over the memories.
He was dead. Had died a year ago. All that was left was retribution.
The fuses were all set.
“I’ve got movement,” Neeley said, as she peered through the high power scope on the rifle. “I can’t make out anything other than a figure moving around the mail truck. Just got a glimpse.”
Gant was already moving. “I’m going down there. See that creek bed to the right? I’ll be coming that way.”
“Roger that,” Neeley said.
Gant slid back and got to his feet.
“What’s going on?” Golden asked, totally out of the loop, as she got to her feet.
Since she wasn’t armed, Gant ignored Golden and began to move fast, running through the woods, the sub-machinegun at the ready.
The Security got back in the truck and slid between the seats into the rear. He sat on the motorcycle that was strapped in there, facing the rear doors, and kick-started it. Satisfied that the engine was running smoothly, he went back to the driver’s seat and started the truck.
Emily was squatting over the chain that was attached to the shackle. Despite being dehydrated, she still had the urge to urinate. She remembered reading in a science fiction short story sometime about a man who eventually cut through the bars on his cage by urinating on them in the same spot time and time again until the acid in his urine wore through the metal.
Of course it had been a science fiction story. She had no idea whether it was true or not. If she remembered rightly, it had taken the man many years to achieve his freedom. And she knew the perp was out there somewhere watching, but she figured she had nothing left to lose.
The two second trickle she let loose was barely enough to wet the chain but she felt a small sense of accomplishment. Another thousand years of this and she might actually see a result. Emily smiled bitterly to herself, her lips cracking.
That feeling abruptly disappeared as the perp came out of the tree-line stalking directly toward her, a pistol in his hand. Emily got to her feet. As he got closer he raised the gun up. Emily thought this was a bit of an over-reaction for her just peeing on the chain.
“Hey,” she said, holding her hands up in front of her. “Stop!”
She saw his eyes and they scared her more than the gun. They were flat and dead. He stopped about five feet from her, the gun steady. Emily stared at it and realized there was something not quite right about the gun.
He pulled the trigger and Emily screamed.
Then she cursed as she saw the small dart sticking out of the skin of her arm. She brushed it off. “You asshole!”
The perp just stood there, staring at her like he would have stared at the tree she was chained to. Emily felt a wave of nausea and she staggered, putting her back against the tree. Her legs became wobbly and despite her attempts to remain standing, she slowly slid down until she was seated at the base of the tree.
“What are you going to do to me?” she rasped, barely able to hold on to consciousness.
Of course there was no reply. The last thing she saw before all went dark was the perp still standing there, staring at her without any emotion.