Deadeye

by William C. Dietz

  “A mask,” Aunt Rosa said gently. “You need a mask.”

  But Lee didn’t hear. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry! This is my fault.”

  Somewhere off in the distance, a siren began to wail.

  TEN

  OMO RECEIVED WORD of the attack by radio, asked for a patrol car to pick him up a block from the stakeout, and was forced to sit with fists clenched during the ensuing ride. Based on preliminary reports, he knew there would be casualties, and all of them would be people that he loved. People who had accepted a norm into their communal home because he asked them to.

  And what about Lee? Was she alive? The possibility that she’d been killed during the attack ate at him. If she was dead, that, too, would be his fault because he was the one who suggested she stay with his family.

  Then came the question of who was responsible. The D-Dawgs? They were the most likely possibility. But how? Unless they had some knowledge. No a lot of knowledge. Including the fact that he was working the case. And maybe they knew about Lee, too . . . Where she was staying and why. That implied a leak. There had to be a leak.

  They left the freeway, entered the hood, and it wasn’t long before the full extent of the damage became visible. As the driver pulled in behind another patrol car, Omo saw that a hole had been blown in the outer wall. And beyond, he could see the remains of the casita.

  Omo left the car and approached the hole. There were lots of bodies, and he half expected to see Lee’s among them. But all of the casualties were male—and most had been shot in the head. And that was a sure sign that Lee was alive! Or had been immediately after the invasion began.

  Omo stepped over the bodies and made his way through the bedroom and into the kitchen. More dead men blocked the doorway. No, one of them was a girl, but not Lee.

  As Omo stepped over the bodies, Dan Brody appeared. They’d been partners once, and Brody knew his family. There was a look of concern on the deputy’s bulldog face. “Hey, Ras . . . They told me you were here.”

  At that point Omo knew his worst fears had been realized. He’d seen the same expression on Brody’s face before. “Give it to me straight, Dan . . . Who did they kill?”

  Brody looked away and back again. “Momma’s dead, Ras . . . She died during the mortar attack.”

  “My God . . . A mortar attack?”

  “Yes. From about three blocks away. It didn’t make much sense, given that they had people inside the compound, but it looks like someone screwed up.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In the kitchen. Don’t go in there, Ras.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  Omo turned and made his way toward the front door. Momma. The woman who called him “pretty boy” because he wasn’t. She’d been larger-than-life, a force of nature, and he couldn’t imagine the world without her.

  The front yard was swarming with cops, but they stepped out of the way as the deputy wearing the grim mask entered the house. Broken glass crunched underfoot, and light strobed the walls as a tech took pictures.

  Once Omo saw the blood-soaked body on the floor, and Lee kneeling next to it, he felt a flood of sadness, relief, and guilt. All at the same time.

  Lee was about to say something when Aunt Rosa arrived carrying a mask. She pulled it down over Lee’s face and helped her to stand. That was when Omo realized that Lee was clad in nothing more than a tee shirt and panties. He removed his duster and went to drape it over her shoulders. She looked up at him. Her face was filthy. And Omo could see the tracks left by her tears. “We’ll find them, Ras . . . I swear we will.”

  Omo nodded, and, when he spoke, his voice cracked. “And we’ll kill them when we do.” A light flashed, and the moment was frozen in time.

  * * *

  More than twenty-four hours had passed since the attack on the Omo family compound, and the shooting reviews were still under way, as a new secretary gave Lee and Omo permission to enter Sheriff Arpo’s office. All of the bullet holes had been plugged by that time, including those in the sheriff. And once the interior wall was painted, everything would look as good as new.

  Arpo was staring at his computer screen with lips pursed as they entered the room. Then, having finished whatever the document was, he removed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and placed them on the surface of his desk. “Have a seat.” Arpo’s eyes went to Omo. “I was sorry to hear about your mother’s death. Please accept my condolences on behalf of the entire department.”

  Omo nodded. “Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll pass that along.”

  “Please do. Tell your family that most of the dead attackers were wearing D-Dawg tattoos. So we know who did it. And we’ll catch them.”

  Arpo’s gaze shifted to Lee. “The Internal Affairs people tell me that your testimony lines up with the information they have gathered up to this point. But I have to place you on administrative leave.”

  “I know where Amanda Screed and the other women are being held,” Lee said.

  When Arpo frowned, his eyes nearly disappeared. “That’s bullshit.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “A few hours.”

  “Okay,” Arpo said. “Pass the information to Omo, and we’ll look into it.”

  “No way,” Lee said. “I want in on the bust.”

  “So this is about your rep.”

  Lee remembered Momma lying on the kitchen floor. “Believe whatever you want.”

  Arpo looked at Omo. “Is she telling the truth?”

  Omo shrugged. “This is news to me. But yes, it’s my guess that she’s telling the truth.”

  Arpo sighed. “Okay, Detective . . . What have you got?”

  “These,” Lee replied as she lifted a briefcase up onto her lap. “The files arrived on my phone a few hours ago. The folks in your lab were kind enough to print them out.”

  Lee placed a dozen sheets of hardcopy on Arpo’s desk. “I told the people in Pacifica to look for a place in the desert . . . A house or a collection of houses where multiple vehicles came and went on a frequent basis—and where there was a lot of security. But only places that were no more than an hour away from Phoenix. All of them look good—but I’d put my money on number three. Notice the fancy house, the palm trees, and the huge swimming pool. There’s a fence, too.”

  Arpo put the glasses back on so as to examine the photos. “There are smaller buildings as well,” Lee added. “I think structure ‘A’ is a dormitory for the live-in staff. But ‘B’? Judging from the secondary fence, I’d say that’s the holding tank. The place where they keep the women before bringing them to market.” There was a long moment of silence while Arpo scanned each print in turn. Eventually, he put the last one down. “Were those images captured by a drone?”

  Lee shook her head. “No. That would be a violation of the cease-fire agreement between Pacifica and the Republic of Texas. They were taken from orbit.”

  Both men stared at her, but it was Arpo who spoke. “So your government has one or more spy satellites?”

  Lee nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’m surprised your people were willing to signal that.”

  Lee smiled sweetly. “I think they want you to know.”

  Arpo swore under his breath. “Okay, so let’s say I’m willing to indulge you. What then?”

  “I suggest that you recheck all three locations using your drones,” Lee replied. “Then, if everything looks good, we go in. An air assault would be best.”

  Arpo looked thoughtful. “I will probably live to regret this decision, but okay, let’s go for it. I’ll notify Sergeant Van.”

  “No,” Omo said as he spoke for the first time. “You know what happened to my family. There’s a leak somewhere. Possibly in the gang squad. I say we hold off, notify Van two hours prior to l
iftoff, and collect the team’s cell phones before they board the choppers.”

  “Van will be furious,” Arpo predicted.

  “I can live with that,” Omo said calmly.

  Arpo looked from Omo to Lee. “Is that all?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  * * *

  The sun was about to break company with the eastern horizon and the air still felt cool as Lee left the building and made her way out to the rental car. The casita was uninhabitable at that point—and Lee didn’t want to run the risk of bringing more sorrow to Omo’s family. So after a tearful parting the evening before, she checked into the Desert Springs Motel. It would be more difficult to guard her health, but there was no other choice.

  It was a relatively short trip to the Maricopa County Sheriff’s heliport in Mesa. Security was extremely tight, and Lee wasn’t on the department’s roster, so she had to phone Omo and have him sign her in. Once the formalities were complete, he slid into the passenger seat for the short ride to the visitor’s parking area. “This car is a piece of shit.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” Lee said. “And don’t dis my ride. At least I can get into it without a ladder. How does the drone stuff look?”

  “Good,” Omo said. “Real good. You were right about target three. A large pavilion went up overnight. And it looks like they’re placing markers for what could be a temporary parking lot.”

  Lee pulled into a slot and killed the engine. It clattered before shutting down. “A pavilion and a parking lot. What does that suggest?”

  “An auction.”

  “So we need to get in there fast . . . Before the girls are sold.”

  “Exactly,” Omo agreed. “I would have preferred a night assault, but what is, is. The choppers are ready, chase teams are on the way, and we’re gearing up.”

  They were out of the car by that time and walking toward a hangar. “The gang squad is here?”

  “Yup, plus the SWAT team. That’s a dozen people counting you and me. Two chopper loads. The rest of the task force will arrive on the ground. The sheriff wants us to arrest all of the customers, too. Some of them might be running baby farms.”

  Lee thought about Amanda and shuddered. Don’t give up, she thought to herself. We’re on the way.

  As they entered the hangar, Lee saw that the deputies were completing their load outs. All were dressed in desert camos and heavily armed. Lee had just started to think about the need for tactical equipment when Coco Moss showed up with a double armful of gear. “Here you go, hon . . . I think we’re about the same size, so I took stuff that would fit me. What’s up anyway?”

  That was when Lee remembered that none of the people on the assault team knew where they were going or why. And for good reason after the attack on the Omo family compound. It would be necessary to brief them however—or run the risk of a major shit show once they were on the ground. “There will be a briefing soon,” Lee told her. “Thank you for the gear . . . I’ll take good care of it.” Coco smiled and turned away.

  Lee took the gear over to a workbench, where she went about the process of putting things on and making all of the necessary adjustments. She was still working on it when a male voice came over the intercom. “This is Lieutenant Riley. Please assemble in front of the office. The mission briefing is about to begin.”

  Riley was in command of the SWAT team, and by the time Lee and the rest of them came together, he had some easels set up. Lee saw the photos provided by Pacifica, plus the stuff from the sheriff’s drones, and some other useful information. That included the plans for the main house as filed with the county.

  Riley began by explaining the nature of the mission, including the opportunity to, “Put El Cabra out of business for good.” Then he assigned individual missions and concluded with a stern admonition. “Remember, people . . . The chances are good that most, if not all of the perps, will run. Let them go. The choppers will track the bastards, and the chase teams will round them up. Our job is to find and secure the prisoners. Do you read me?”

  One deputy said, “Got it, boss.” Another said, “Yes, your worship.” And a third said, “Duh.”

  Riley grinned good-naturedly. “Good. Now, security is of the utmost importance, so you’re going to surrender your cell phones to Perez here. And that means all of them. I know that some of you carry two.”

  That was enough to elicit some anger. “What are you saying?” a deputy demanded. “That one of us is on the take?”

  Riley nodded grimly. “Sorry, but we have reason to believe that such a thing is possible. Look at it this way . . . If the goat knows we’re coming, you could get killed. And that would be real hard on the wife and kids.”

  That was sufficient to shut the man up, but there was still quite a bit of grumbling as Perez made the rounds. Lee surrendered her phone and was ordered to pair off with Coco for mutual pat downs. Both of them found extra magazines, cuffs, and other pieces of equipment, but no phones. Everybody laughed as some of the phones in the cardboard box began to ring, chirp, and play music. But that came to an end when word arrived that vehicles were streaming into the ranch. And if the potential buyers were starting to arrive, then it was obvious that the auction would begin soon.

  Everything seemed to shift into high gear as they split into two groups of six and hurried to board the helicopters. What were they? Sixty years old? All Lee could do was hope that they, like so many cars, had been continually rebuilt over the years.

  After a momentary pause, they were in the air. The lead chopper took off to the southwest and stayed relatively low. Both side doors were open, which allowed the slipstream to enter the cabin and pummel the passengers. Lee couldn’t see much from where she was seated. Just gated communities, clusters of homes in what had been the suburbs once, and the fields of rubble that separated them. Once the helicopter cleared the city, fortified homes began to appear. Most were collections of shacks, old trailers, and aluminum sheds.

  The rest were surrounded by greenery, security fences, and, in one case, a glittering moat. They belonged to the wealthy. People who chose to live out in the desert and away from the dangers associated with city life.

  Ten minutes later, the deck tilted as the chopper entered a wide turn. That was when Lee caught a glimpse of the palm trees, the whitewashed house, and a dusty parking lot. About fifteen windshields glinted in the sun. “Get ready,” the pilot said. “We’re going in.”

  The ground came up fast, and the skids hit with a thump. Riley was yelling, “Out! Out! Out!” and his deputies began to exit through the starboard door because that was closest to the objective. Lee had been told to wait until the last member of the SWAT team was on the ground before jumping herself. So she was seated when the pilot said something unintelligible and tried to lift off.

  A deputy fell out of the door as something struck the aircraft and exploded. Lee was thrown across the cabin as the chopper crashed and flipped over on its side. Lee’s left shoulder absorbed most of the impact, and it ached as she struggled to her feet. She could smell the strong odor of fuel as she fought her way forward. The copilot had bailed out by then, and she arrived just in time to see the pilot climb out.

  That left Lee free to do likewise. She could feel the seconds passing as she turned back. The kerosene-like smell of helicopter fuel was thick in the air, and all it would take was a spark to set the fumes off. She was standing on the copter’s port side, which meant that the starboard door was above her.

  Lee jumped, managed to grab the door frame, and pulled herself up as all hell broke loose nearby. There were four guard towers, with a machine gun mounted in each. Snipers had neutralized three of them, but the tower closest to Lee was operational. And it looked like the gunner was determined to hose the chopper down. The 5.56mm rounds made pinging noises as they hit the alloy fuselage, and Lee heard a loud whump as one of t
hem sparked a fire.

  A sudden surge of adrenaline helped Lee roll over the door frame and drop to the ground. Then it was time to turn and run. Lee could see what she assumed to be the slave house up ahead. The whole idea had been to land as close to the building as the pilots could.

  Lee’s legs were pumping hard, but she was out in the open, and the machine gunner could see her. He turned his pintle-mounted weapon to the left, and began to chase Lee with a steady stream of bullets, confident that he would catch up with her.

  Lee glanced over her shoulder, saw the columns of dirt jumping into the air, and threw herself sideways. Death missed her by inches, and a single report put a stop to the machine-gun fire. Lee looked up to see a stick figure fall out of the tower and smack into the ground. Better late than never, Lee thought to herself as she came to her feet.

  Lee was running toward the slave house when she heard the rhythmic bang, bang, bang of a semiauto as well as the sharp staccato of a submachine gun. Theirs? Or ours? Lee wondered as she drew the Glock. She was halfway to her destination when the ground opened up in front of her and a man with a machine pistol stuck his head up out of the ground! He saw Lee and opened fire. Fortunately, the bullets went wide as she triggered a response. Lee saw the D-Dawg’s head snap back and knew it was a lucky shot. Then, as the body dropped out of sight, she realized that there was a tunnel below. Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout. “Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department,” Riley said. “Open up!”

  That seemed to indicate that one or more gang members were holed up inside the slave house. With plans to use the women as hostages? Yes, and that was the very thing Riley had been most worried about. But the loss of the helicopter combined with a spirited defense had been enough to slow the SWAT team down.

  Lee approached the hole in the ground with her weapon held in both hands. Then, ready for anything, she peered down into a vertical shaft. All she could see was a body sprawled below. Lee put the pistol away, turned to descend a series of metal rungs, and dropped into the tunnel.