by BJ Bourg
“They just called,” Mallory uttered excitedly. “The meeting’s in one hour.”
CHAPTER 51
Sheriff Turner frowned and looked me up and down like a father sending his son off to war. “Are you ready, Clint?”
I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Well, then, let’s get to it.” Turner turned toward the dry erase board and pointed to an X on the map. It was located a little over four miles from the main highway and in the middle of a sugarcane field. “This is where they want the meeting to take place. When the suspects called, they said Dwight needed to be at this spot at nine o’clock sharp. They said they’ll show up once they know everything’s safe.”
“What if they know Dwight’s not home?” I asked, studying the map carefully.
“They gave no indication they knew, but just in case, Dwight told them he had to bring some medicine to his mom,” Turner explained. “His mom’s been sick, so it was believable. He also told them he stole a license plate from his mom’s neighbor, who rarely used the car. That seemed to please them.” He paused and turned to look at Susan. “We have to assume they have eyes on Ridgeway Road, so we’ll have to keep our units far away until the shooting starts.”
“Understood,” Susan said with a frown.
“Now, Clint, if you hear anything at all that indicates they’re suspicious of Dwight, you’ll have to pull the trunk-release cord in the Trans Am and come out shooting. You’ve got to take them by surprise.”
I nodded my understanding.
“If they don’t suspect anything, they should open the trunk to load their gear inside.” Turner nodded. “As soon as you see daylight, you send them to their maker.”
“What if they don’t stow their gear in the trunk?” I asked. “What if they just jump in and leave?”
“There are two fold-down release handles for the rear seats.” Turner shot a thumb in the direction of a man dressed in dark blue slacks and a light blue shirt who was standing in the corner of the room. “I had our mechanic run a rip cord to the trunk area so you can fold the seats down if need be. If the car takes off, you simply have to pull the cord and get to work.”
I considered this. If I pushed the seats forward and opened fire, I’d be shooting them in the back. This was something I couldn’t do.
“I won’t shoot them in the back without warning,” I said. “I know they’re ruthless killers and they’ll slaughter me given half a chance, but I’m going to give them an opportunity to surrender. If they don’t and they reach for their guns, I’ll take them out.”
“It’ll be your funeral,” said a SWAT officer from the back of the room.
I sought him out with my eyes and nodded when I found him. “Would you like to volunteer for the mission?”
He lowered his eyes and stood there squirming. “That’s what I thought,” I said.
Sheriff Turner sighed. “Do whatever you feel you need to do, but by God, make sure you get them before they get you—and make sure they don’t escape.”
“I’ll get them and they won’t escape,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “I’ll take them into custody or I’ll take them out. It’ll be their choice, but either way it will end today.”
I saw Susan in my peripheral vision and noticed that there were worry lines on her face.
“Is there anything else I need to know?” I asked.
Turner indicated the dry erase board again. “Thanks to the dry conditions and the dirt roads, we won’t be able to get to within four miles of that place without being seen, so you’ll be on your own for a while. The roads are bumpy, so it’ll take us at least seven to eight minutes to reach you.”
“Where are you coming from?” I asked. “I’ll need to know so I can direct the gunfire away from my backup.”
“As soon as the shooting starts, two teams will move in from the west and head straight to your location,” Turner explained. “Just in case something goes wrong, we’ll also have two teams racing to the back of Cool Ridge to secure the school and the community, and another one securing the highway to the north. I’m hoping it won’t be necessary, but we can’t let them get near a school or a neighborhood. If, for some reason, it looks like your mission is a failure, you’ll need to stall them long enough for reinforcements to arrive and finish the job. We can’t let them escape in either of those vehicles.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “If things are going wrong and I’ve got a breath left in me, I’ll shoot out the tires on both vehicles. They won’t go far on foot, and at that point, you can chase them down with the armored car and flatten their asses.”
Turner nodded his agreement.
“What if you’re immediately incapacitated?” asked one of the SWAT officers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Susan turn and exit the room. She had heard enough.
“The element of surprise will be on my side, so I should be able to do a lot of damage before anything goes wrong.” I turned to the sheriff. “Where’s Dwight?”
Turner shot a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s with Lou and Doug in my office. As soon as everyone gets in position, you can get settled in the trunk and go to work.”
Taking that as their cue, the SWAT leaders began barking orders and their officers sprang into action. Through the bustling crowd, Melvin emerged and grabbed my arm.
“Clint, let me go in your place.” His face was twisted in pain. “Please, let me do this for you and Susan.”
I slapped his thick shoulder. “Sorry, big man, you would barely fit in the trunk. This is a job for a smaller fellow.”
“If something happens to you—” Melvin clamped his mouth shut and I thought I detected a quiver in his jaw.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, leaving out the fact that I would be with my loved ones no matter how this turned out. “I promise.”
CHAPTER 52
Although we were into the second week of November, the temperature was in the mid-70s, but it was cloudy and a breeze was blowing, making it comfortable outside. Of course, I couldn’t tell by looking at Dwight Bell. He was sweating profusely as he stood near the back of his car watching me slip my AR-10 into the trunk.
“You’ll be fine,” I said reassuringly. “Once the shooting starts, jump in a ditch if you can. If you can’t, then keep the car between you and the gunfire. I’ll try to direct their shots away from you.”
He gulped audibly and licked his lips, but didn’t attempt to speak. I walked over to where Susan was leaning against the building and hugged her. She squeezed me so hard I could hardly take a breath. When she released me, I gave Melvin a nod and walked back to the Trans Am.
I had to curl my legs up and lean slightly to one side to fit in the trunk, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The car had been running and the carpet felt warm beneath me.
Before the trunk closed, a shadow fell over me. It was Susan. She placed a pair of sunglasses over my eyes.
“When they open the trunk, the bright light might blind you,” she said. “These will help.”
I thanked her for thinking of it, but she didn’t say a word as the trunk lid was lowered. I took a deep breath and surveyed the dark enclosure. It felt as though I was trapped inside a coffin. The thought made me shudder. If the shooting started before the trunk lid was opened, that’s exactly what it would become—a metal coffin on wheels.
I repositioned myself as I felt the car go into motion. I needed the ability to sit up immediately. Thus, I couldn’t slip too deep into the trunk. I also needed to be able to see the left and right sides of the vehicle, because I didn’t know from which side the suspects would approach.
“Okay, y’all are on the main highway,” came Susan’s voice in my earpiece. “Ten minutes until you arrive.”
The mic they had placed on me would remain open in order for the command center to hear what was going on in real time, so I simply spoke aloud to acknowledge Susan’s radio traffic.
It was quiet in the trunk except for the growling of th
e engine. As the vehicle rolled smoothly along the highway, I could smell the exhaust coming up through the undercarriage and could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I tried maneuvering my AR-10 in the trunk, but my range of motion was limited. The sling was wrapped around my right shoulder and neck, so it would ride with me when I jumped out of the trunk. Until I was outside in the open, I would have to rely on my pistols.
“Clint, you’re turning onto the sugarcane road now,” Susan said softly in my ear as the car decreased its speed and turned sharply to the right. “Get ready to move. You…um, you’re on your own now, Clint. I can’t see you anymore. Remember that I love you.”
I let out a long sigh as the Trans Am jostled roughly along the dirt road. I knew we were almost there and a pang of guilt crept into my gut and spread through me like molten lava. While I had stopped to consider how Susan and Grace would feel if they lost me, I had selfishly put my own need to close this case ahead of their needs and wants. But was there more to it?
I shook my head to clear it. I couldn’t think about Abigail now. I had to concentrate on the task at hand. The bell was about to ring.
Brakes squealed and the Trans Am slowed to a crawl. I shook my head to clear it and quietly drew both pistols. I hefted one in each hand, forcing myself to focus. I needed to stay sharp. If I was going to succeed, there could be no distractions.
“This might hurt a bit,” I whispered as the car came to a complete stop. I’d been shot before and I remembered the pain and suffering that went along with those incidents, but something told me that being riddled with 5.56 bullets would be much worse than anything I’d ever experienced before.
In my ear, I could hear Susan’s heavy breathing. It distracted me, so I worked the earpiece loose with my right thumb. I waited and listened. A crow cawed from somewhere in the distance, but there were no other sounds. I began to sweat. What if they didn’t show? What if they knew what we were up to? The thought made my heart race. For every minute we sat here waiting, they could be getting another mile farther away.
I couldn’t tell how long I lay there in the dark, but it felt like an hour. Susan had done two radio checks—spaced out about fifteen minutes each—before I finally heard the rumbling of a vehicle.
“Detective Wolf, they’re coming.” Dwight’s voice was muffled, but I could hear him clearly through the rear seats. “They’re in a blue truck.”
I took a breath and relayed the information to Susan. Before long, the rumbling drew closer and stopped somewhere to the front of the Trans Am. I heard a door slam in the distance, and then another. A second later, the Trans Am rocked gently as Dwight exited and slammed his own door.
“How’s it going, Dwight?” asked a voice I recognized as being Nicky Hines—or Roy Masters.
“It’s good,” Dwight said in a surprisingly calm voice. “I put the license plate on the car, so you should be set.”
“Hold up,” said a female voice. I recognized it to be Shannon, who had pretended to be Regina Hines yesterday. She seemed farther away than Roy. “What do you mean when you say we should be set?”
“Um, I mean y’all should be good to go.” I could almost hear Dwight starting to sweat again. “That the car’s street legal, you know?”
“Roy, did you tell him why we needed a plate on the car?” Shannon asked pointedly.
“No, Hon, I didn’t tell him anything,” Roy said impatiently. “I just told him I wanted a plate on the car.”
There was a long pause. Finally, Shannon said, “Dwight, help us get our gear into the trunk of your car.”
I cursed silently. If they made Dwight load all of the gear into the trunk and they didn’t expose themselves to me, I’d be going for a ride. To pop up through the back seats and engage the suspects while the car was moving would be the riskiest option of them all.
I was no longer as relaxed as I had been this morning. My neck ached from the position I was in and my muscles grew tense as I listened to the footsteps crunching on the shells just outside of the car. I tried to breathe in slowly and deeply to calm my racing heart, but it didn’t seem to help.
Suddenly, someone was just outside the trunk. I aimed both guns at the lid and waited, my trigger fingers resting solidly against the trigger guards, ready to send bullets flying in a flash.
A key was inserted into the hole and it turned. Suddenly, bright light flooded the interior. Thanks to the sunglasses Susan had given me, I was not blinded by the brilliance and my target acquisition was swift.
CHAPTER 53
I sighed inwardly when the trunk was opened and I saw that Dwight Bell was alone.
Without looking directly at me, he leaned forward to toss a rucksack deep into the cargo area. It landed near my left shoulder and by the sounds of it, it was filled with ammunition. Before he backed out, he whispered, “They’re both holding machine guns and they’re standing guard in front of my car. They’re on high alert. Shannon’s got a pair of binoculars and she’s searching the fields.”
“What in the hell’s taking so long back there?” Shannon suddenly hollered from the front of the car. There was something in her voice that told me Dwight wasn’t making it out of here alive. “Get your ass in gear! We don’t have all day.”
Dwight mumbled an apology and disappeared from my view. He returned a few seconds later with another rucksack. After he had tossed that one beside me, I silently holstered my Glock and touched the outside of the bag. I could feel loose rifle ammunition and what felt like loaded magazines through the fabric of both bags.
Knowing I was running out of time, I slinked out of the trunk like a snake. My movements were a little awkward—thanks to the thick body armor I wore and my efforts to keep my rifle from clanking against the metal—and I inadvertently bumped the trunk lid with my back. I froze in place and held my breath.
“What was that noise?” asked Shannon, the suspicion obvious in her tone.
“I hit the side of my car,” Dwight said. “Why are you so jumpy? And why are we meeting out here in the middle of nowhere? And what’s with the machine guns?”
“Just shut up and do what I told you to do,” Roy said. “Stop asking so many questions. You want to get paid, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I could use the money,” Dwight admitted. “I’m just curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Shannon said. “Now, hurry and load up this last bag. We don’t have all day.”
I let out a nervous breath. Dwight had probably saved my life. He was doing better than expected for an amateur undercover agent. However, there was no way Shannon was letting him leave this field alive. She just couldn’t risk it.
Keeping my AR-10 pressed tightly against my body with my left hand and still holding my Beretta in my right hand, I dropped to my stomach and glanced under the car. The blue Dodge Ram was parked directly in front of the Trans Am, nose to nose. Roy and Shannon were standing between the two vehicles and Dwight was making his way back in my direction with the last load.
I rolled to a squatting position and weighed my options. If I started shooting now, Dwight would surely be caught in the line of fire. If I moved away from the back of the car to draw the gunfire away from Dwight, I would be out in the open without cover and they would surely get me. One of them could also get Dwight before I could take them both out. The safest bet for both of us was for me to wait until Dwight got back to the trunk before confronting my suspects, and the safest place for him would be underneath the Trans Am and between the rear tires.
Once he reached the back of the car, I motioned for him to get under the car. He didn’t hesitate and didn’t ask any questions.
“Get between the tires and stay there,” I hissed. “Don’t come out until I say it’s clear.”
His eyes wide and his nose flaring, he only nodded and scooted farther beneath the car. I waited until he was between the tires and then holstered my Beretta. Bringing my AR-10 up to my left shoulder, I leaned just far enough out from behind the Trans Am so that I could l
evel my front sights on Roy. I could barely see Shannon, who was standing to his left between the two vehicles.
“Police!” I hollered, allowing my left index finger to snug up against the trigger. “Drop your—”
Before I could fully utter those three words—and as naturally as a normal person took a breath—Shannon angled her M-16 upward and sat down on the trigger. Bullets spat from the muzzle and ripped through both windshields of Dwight’s car, sending shards of glass exploding into the air.
As quickly as Shannon began cutting loose with her M-16, I made my own AR-10 dance, sending three bullets into Roy’s midsection. I noticed immediately that he wore an old military flak jacket, which would do nothing to slow down the .308 bullets rapidly making his acquaintance.
I crouched low and charged forward as bullets from Shannon’s rifle zipped by overhead. Roy’s face had twisted in pain, but he was still in the fight. There was a wild look in his eyes as he screamed and lifted his rifle to take aim. Without missing a step, I fired three more rounds and peppered his chest with bullets. The shots seemed to knock the life out of him and he staggered backward, but remained on his feet.
As I continued moving forward—my legs pumping smoothly—I caught a quick glimpse of Shannon from the side window of the car. She wore a blue sun dress with a Kevlar around her torso, and she held an M-16 with a 100-round drum magazine snapped in place. She was directing her fully automatic rifle fire at the passenger side of the car, trying desperately to drill a hole through and through the vehicle. The bullets violently blasted out the side windows and tore through the door panels of the Trans Am, getting dangerously closer to me.
Roy had dropped his rifle and stood staring down at his crimson chest, as though confused. Without slowing down, I dropped my rifle into its sling, snatched up his M-16, and dug my shoulder into his stomach. Keeping him on his feet, I pushed him ahead of me across the front of the car. I shoved him out into the open and Shannon cut loose on him, thinking I would be behind him. I was not.
