Instead, I saw nothing in the dark recesses except the plane. The sunlight on the snow was making things so bright the inside of the impromptu hangar was like a black pit.
"What? I don't see anything…"
"To the left of the building," he said. "On the ground!"
I looked again. Ah. Oh, my. Grossman had apparently used the space between the shed and the barn as a place to push the snow out of his yard and driveway. He'd left a small space on either side of the ten-foot-high pile, wide enough to permit someone to walk between the buildings. There was a black snowmobile boot, and a dark blue snowmobile-suited leg visible on the far side of the pile. It was very still.
"Yeah?" I said.
"Surveillance. They got down here to keep them out of the plane…" He looked awfully grim.
As he spoke, Volont rose from his position behind the rusted drums, and ran straight toward the pile and the motionless leg.
One shot, but so suddenly loud that I jumped. I don't know where it went, but Volont covered the last ten feet in the air, and hit the side of the shed with a loud thump. I thought he'd been hit, until he got up, knelt over the figure, and then scrambled frantically up the snow pile, tumbling down the other side and out of my line of sight. As he did, there was a burst of fire, and the side of the shed where he had just been erupted with small holes, bits of metal, and dust.
I caught what I thought was a muzzle flash from inside the shed. It seemed to come from near the tail of the plane, but it was very hard to tell. No handgun, though. No, sir. Automatic rifle.
I could imagine the surveillance man moving slowly between the shed and the pile, and shots coming through the corrugated steel of the shed and cutting him down. Never had a chance. I glanced toward Hester, and saw that she was looking toward the house. I could only see an edge of the upper floor and part of the roof from my vantage point.
"Hester…" She turned toward me. "You got something in the house?"
She shook her head. "Gotta be there, though."
Of course. The shooter inside the shed couldn't see anybody moving in the narrow space between the shed and the pile. But somebody in the house sure could.
Well, now we knew where. It then became a question of how many. And, given the capabilities of Gabriel, I thought it would be very nice to know who was where.
Since the tractor I had picked as my refuge had a large glazed cab with a pair of frozen coveralls obscuring my view, and since the bucket and engine stood a good eight feet above the ground, I had a dilemma. If I looked at the shed and airplane from the rear of the tractor, I wasn't able to see the house. If I looked at the house, I wasn't able to see the shed. Furthermore, it occurred to me that, if I moved toward the front of the tractor in order to see the house again, the lower half of my body was completely exposed to whoever was in the shed. Well, I had to find out who was where. On both sides. I'd now lost sight of Volont, and assumed that there was at least one other member of the surveillance team somewhere…
"George…" Sort of came out in a very energetic whisper.
He looked toward me.
"How many people from the surveillance team…?"
He held up two fingers.
"Where…?"
He shook his head.
I took a deep breath. Well, maybe I could at least locate Gabriel. "Jacob Nieuhauser!" I hollered, generally toward the shed.
Silence. I repeated myself. With an addition. "Deputy sheriff! We have a warrant for your arrest! Surrender!"
Total silence. I tried again. Nothing. I was thinking about reinforcements, and stalling until they arrived. I figured that it had taken us about ten minutes to get to the farm via helicopter. That meant that, if things went completely without a hitch, we could expect the chopper back about twenty minutes after it had left us. And with it, some of the TAC team. At least fifteen minutes from now, and probably thirty, knowing how things usually went.
I looked to my right, toward Hester. She was looking toward the house. "Hey, Gorse!" She looked around. "Cell phone?" I mouthed.
"What?"
I made a "talking on the phone" gesture, and then held out my hand. She fumbled inside her jacket, and then produced her phone. She squared herself facing me, concentrated for a second, and then tossed it toward me, underhand.
Unfortunately, it landed just on my side of the front tractor tire. About fifteen feet from me, and twelve of those feet were completely exposed to whoever was in the shed.
Hester stared at the phone, and then looked up. She appeared to start to say a word that began with an f, from the way her lower lip curled under her teeth.
Well, now. I thought about it for a few seconds. Most of the time, if you're in a rush, you screw up. Calm and deliberate actions usually succeed. Right. With that in mind, I holstered my sidearm, and almost literally threw myself at that damned phone. I slipped as I reached for it, caught myself with my left hand, went down on one knee, grabbed the phone, and hurled myself back toward the safety of the huge rear tire.
Panting, I became aware that there hadn't been a shot fired. Even better.
Still breathing hard, I dialed the Sheriffs Department. They answered on the second ring.
"This is… Houseman… here. I need… Grossman's phone number… really fast…"
I dialed the Grossman house. I was betting that Linda was in the house, and that Harvey and Gabriel were in the shed. I felt that I would be able to convince Linda to give up, or at least to not make it worse for herself by taking shots at us, or signaling to the men in the shed.
"Hello?" Such a little voice.
"Uh, uh, Carrie?" Carrie. I'd forgotten about Carrie.
"Yes."
"Hi. This is Deputy Houseman. Remember me?"
"Yes. You're the one behind the tractor, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am." Oh, Lord. "Carrie, can I speak with your mom?"
"She's not here, Deputy Houseman." A little voice, but so very serious.
"Oh, that's too bad. Uh, do you know where she is, Carrie?"
"In the shed with my dad." Her voice quavered just a bit. "Are you going to hurt them?"
"I sure don't want to, Carrie." I didn't want them to hurt me, either. "Uh… is there somebody else there in the shed with them, too?"
There was a pause. "No."
No? In there with Carrie? "Are you alone in the house, Carrie?"
"Yes."
Well, that was sort of a relief. She was effectively out of the way for any activity. But the crucial question was "Where's the other man, Carrie?"
There was a longer pause. "I shouldn't tell you. But I can see him. Can't you? He's by the snow pile."
Oh, hell, I thought. That's Volont.
"I think that man came with us in the helicopter, Carrie…"
"No, it's Mr. Gabriel. I can see him. He's with that man who came with you. See? Here they come… I better go now…" And she hung up.
"See?" "See?" I looked toward the edge of the snow pile where Volont had disappeared. A moment later, Volont and Gabriel emerged. Together. Sort of. Except Volont had his hands clasped behind his head. As they moved out a bit more, I could see that Gabriel was, as usual, doing things right. None of this gun to the hostage's head business. No, not him. Gabriel was about three feet behind Volont, with a handgun pointed at the agent's back. No way Volont was going to be able to try for the gun without being shot. None. Just too much distance between them.
They came just about to the front edge of the shed, and stopped.
Hester saw them, too. "Carl… They've got Volont…"
"I see…"
George, way over to my left, couldn't see either Volont or Gabriel because of the edge of the barn.
"What? What…?"
"Gabriel's got your boss," I said. "Between the buildings…"
George scooted out from behind the pile of drums, and ran as hard as he could for the barn. He slipped once, but made the concrete apron leading to the main door. He pressed himself against the side of the barn, and held his gun down at his side. From where he was, the people in the shed couldn't see him unless they came forward from the shadows. They had to have known he'd broken cover and headed for the barn, though. I pointed my handgun around the edge of my faithful tractor tire, and took aim at the general area where one of the Grossmans would have to be if they were to get a shot at George.