The Last Detective

by Robert Crais

  Cole fired into the trees, then threw another grenade. Johnson didn't need to be told what to do; he knew. Fields might be dead, but Rodriguez was alive. They would carry him out.

  Johnson and Cole fired short bursts behind them, then got on either side of Rodriguez and lifted him by his harness.

  Cole shouted, “Go, Abbott. Go! Uphill the way we came.”

  Abbott stumbled away.

  Cole and Johnson dragged Rodriguez away, firing awkwardly with their free hands. The shooting died down when they threw the grenades, but now it built steadily again; Charlie shouted to each other through the green.

  “Minh dang duoi bao nhieu dua?”

  “Chung dang chay ve phia bo song!”

  Cole felt bullets snap past. Johnson grunted and stumbled, then caught himself.

  “I'm okay.”

  Johnson had been hit in the calf.

  Then Cole felt two hard thuds shudder through Rodriguez and knew that their team leader had been hit again.

  Johnson said, “Motherfuckers!”

  “Keep running!”

  Rodriguez belched a huge gout of blood and his body convulsed.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “Fucker's dead! Motherfucker's dead!”

  They put Rodriguez down behind a tree. Johnson fired down the hill, chewing up two magazines as Cole checked Rodriguez for a pulse. There was none.

  Cole's eyes burned hot and angry; first Fields, now Rodriguez. Cole emptied his magazine, then pulled the grenades from Rod's harness. He threw one, then another—CRACK! CRACK! Johnson stripped Rod's ammo, and they fell back, Cole firing as Johnson ran, then Johnson firing to cover Cole. Cole had still not seen a single enemy soldier.

  They caught up with Abbott at the top of the hill and took cover behind a fallen tree. The rain fell even harder now, draping them in a gray caul.

  “Johnson, get on the radio. Tell'm we've got to get out of here.”

  Cole stripped off Abbott's gear, then pulled open his shirt.

  “Don't look, cherry! Keep your eyes on the trees. You watch for Charlie, okay? Watch for Charlie.”

  Abbott was crying.

  “It burns! It hurts like the dickens. It really hurts!”

  Cole loved Roy Abbott in that moment, loved him and hated him both, loved him for his innocence and fear, and hated him for taking a round that now slowed them down and might get them killed.

  Johnson held Abbott's hand.

  “You're not gonna die, goddamnit. We don't let cherries die on their first mission. You gotta earn your death out here.”

  Cole said, “Rangers lead the way. Say it, Roy. Rangers lead the way.”

  Abbott struggled to echo, fighting back tears.

  “Rangers lead the way.”

  Abbott's intestines had burst through his abdominal wall like a mass of snakes. Cole pushed them back into his body, then wrapped Abbott with pressure bandages. The bandages soaked through with red even before Cole finished wrapping him, a sure sign of arterial bleeding. Cole wanted to run away, leaving Abbott and the blood and Charlie behind, but he fumbled a morphine Syrette out of his med kit and pushed it into Abbott's thigh.

  “Wrap him again, Johnson. Pull it tight, then hook him up.”

  Rangers saw such heavy combat that each man carried cans of serum albumin blood expander strapped to their web gear. Cole threw the empty Syrette aside and snatched up the radio as Johnson hooked up Abbott's serum can.

  “Five-two, five-two, five-two. We have heavy contact. We have two KIA and one critical wounded, over.”

  The tinny voice of their company commander, Captain William “Zeke” Zekowski, came back scratchy in his ear. The thunderstorm was ruining their communication.

  “Say again, five-two.”

  Cole wanted to smash the phone, but instead he carefully repeated himself. Panic kills. Keep it tight. Rangers lead.

  “Understand, five-two. We've got a slick and two gunships in orbit three miles out, but they can't get in with that weather, son. It's blowing through fast, so you hang on.”

  “We are pulling back. Do you copy?”

  The crackle of static was his only answer. The rain beat at them so hard that it was like standing in a shower.

  “Does anyone hear me?”

  Static.

  “Sonofabitch!”

  No radio. No extraction. Nothing. They were on their own.

  When Johnson finished taping the serum IV to Abbott's forearm, they helped him to his feet. Now the rain was their friend; the heavy curtain of water would hide them and wash away their signs and make it hard for Charlie to follow. They would be safe until the others came to save them.

  Johnson stepped out front to take the point when a shot cracked dully under the rain and his head blew apart. Johnson collapsed at their feet.

  Abbott screamed.

  Cole spun around and fired blindly. He dumped his magazine, then picked up Johnson's rifle and emptied that magazine, too.

  “Shoot, Abbott! Fire your weapon!”

  Abbott fired blindly, too.

  Cole shot at everything. He fired because something was trying to kill him and he had to kill it first. He threw his last hand grenade, CRACK!, then stripped a grenade from Johnson's harness. CRACK! He stripped off Johnson's ammo packs, then stripped off the radio. Johnson's head came apart like a rotten melon.

  “Run, goddamnit! RUN!”

  He pushed Abbott down the hill, then fired another magazine into the rain. He reloaded, fired, then hoisted the radio. Bullets slammed into the deadfall in front of him, sending up a spray of splinters and wood chips.

  Cole ran. He caught up to Abbott, hooked an arm under his shoulders, and pulled him forward.

  “RUN!”

  They tumbled down the side of the mountain, stumbling through glistening green leaves as thick as leather. Vines ripped at their legs and clawed at their rifles. The pop of gunfire stayed close at their heels.

  Cole led them down a steep incline into a drainage overflowing with a torrent of rain. He stayed in the water so that they wouldn't leave tracks, pulling Abbott along the rushing stream and out into the wider ravine. Charlie shouted behind them.

  “Rang chan phia duoi chung!”

  “Toi nghe thay chung no o phia duoi!”

  Somewhere to their left, an AK ripped on full automatic.

  Abbott plowed headlong into a tree and crashed into the weeds, tearing the IV needle from his arm. Cole pulled Abbott to his knees, hissing for him to get to his feet.

  Abbott's face was white where the grease paint had washed away.

  “I'm gonna vomit.”

  “Get up, Ranger. Keep going.”

  “My stomach hurts.”

  The entire front of his uniform and the thighs of his pants were saturated with blood.

  “Get up.”

  Cole pulled Abbott onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry. He staggered under the weight; between Abbott and his gear, he carried almost three hundred pounds. The jungle thinned. They were getting close to the clearing where the slick had dropped them.

  Cole wrestled free the radio as he stumbled along the creek.

  “Five-two, five-two, five-two, over.”

  The captain's broken voice came back.

  “Copy, five-two.”

  “Johnson's dead. They're all dead.”

  “Settle down, son.”

  “Three KIA, one wounded critical. Charlie's on our ass. You hear me? Charlie's right behind us.”

  “Stand by.”

  “Don't tell me to stand by! We're dying out here.”

  Cole was crying. He sucked breath like a steam engine, and he was so scared that his heart seemed in flames.

  The captain's voice came back.

  “Cole, is that you?”

  “Everyone is gone. Abbott's bleeding to death.”

  “A First Cav slick thinks he can get to you from the south. He's low on fuel, but he wants to try.”

  More shouts came from behind Cole, and then an A
K opened up. Cole didn't know if the VC saw him or not, but he didn't have the strength to look around. He staggered on. Abbott began screaming.

  “I'm almost at the clearing.”

  “He's flying up the ravine under the clouds. You have to pop a smoke for him, son. We cannot vector to your position, over.”

  “Roger smoke.”

  “This goddamned storm is rolling right at our gunships. They cannot reach you for support.”

  “I understand.”

  “You're on your own.”

  Cole broke out of the jungle into the clearing. The dry creek was now filled with rushing water. Cole sloshed in up to his waist and waded across, fighting the current. His arms and legs felt dead, but then he was out of the water and on the other side. He rolled Abbott onto the high grass and looked for the helicopter. He thought he saw it, a black speck blurred by the rain. Cole pulled a smoke marker. Bright purple smoke swirled behind him.

  The black speck tilted on its side and grew.

  Cole sobbed.

  They were coming to save him.

  He dropped to his knees beside Abbott.

  “Hang on, Roy; they're coming.”

  Abbott opened his mouth and spit up blood.

  Something flashed past Cole with a sharp whip-crack as the rattling hammer of an AK sounded in the tree line. Cole fell to his belly. Muzzle flashes danced in the green wall like fireflies. Mud splashed into his face.

  Cole emptied his magazine at the flashes, jammed in another, and fired some more.

  “Abbott!”

  Abbott slowly rolled onto his belly. He dragged his weapon into the firing position and fired a single round.

  The jungle sparkled. More and more flashes joined the first until the jungle was lit by twinkling lights. Mud hopped and jumped, and the tall stringy grass fell around Cole as if it were being mowed by invisible blades. He burned through his magazine in a single burst, packed in another, and burned through that one. His rifle's barrel was hot enough to sear flesh.

  “Fire your weapon, Abbott! FIRE!”

  Abbott fired once more.

  Cole heard the blurring thump of the helicopter now.

  He reloaded and fired. He was down to his last four-pack of magazines, but the trees were alive with enemy soldiers.

  “Shoot, damnit!”

  Abbott rolled onto his side. His voice was soft.

  “I didn't think it would be like this.”

  The helicopter was suddenly loud and the grass around them swirled. Cole shot at the flashes. Overhead, the 60-gunner opened up. His big .30-caliber weapon chewed at the jungle.

  Cole rolled over as the heavy slick wobbled to the earth. It was pocked with bullet holes and trailing smoke. First Cavalry troops jammed the cargo bay like refugees. They added their fire to the 60-gun. The slick had been shot to hell, but still the pilot was bringing his ship through a thunderstorm and into a wall of gunfire. Slick pilots had steel balls.

  “C'mon, Roy, let's go.”

  Abbott did not move.

  “Let's go!”

  Cole slung his rifle, lifted Abbott, and lurched to his feet. Something hot ripped through his pants and then he felt a loud spang! A bullet shattered the radio. Cole stumbled to the helicopter and heaved Abbott into the bay. Cav troopers piled atop each other to make room.

  Cole clambered aboard.

  AK fire popped and pinged into the bulkhead.

  The crew chief screamed at him.

  “They told us it was only one guy!”

  Cole's ears rang so loudly that he could not hear.

  “What?”

  “They told us there was just one man. We're too heavy. We can't take off!”

  The turbine howled as the pilot tried to climb. The helicopter wallowed like a whale.

  The crew chief grabbed Abbott's harness.

  “Push him off! We can't fly!”

  Cole leveled his M16 at the center of the crew chief's chest. The crew chief let go.

  “He's dead, Ranger, push him off! You're going to get us killed!”

  “He's coming with me.”

  “We're too heavy! We can't fly!”

  The turbine spooled louder. Oily smoke swirled through the door.

  “Push him out!”

  Cole wrapped his finger over the trigger. Rod and Fields and Johnson were gone, but Abbott was going home. Families take care of their own.

  “He's coming with me.”

  The Cav troops knew that Cole would pull the trigger. Rage and fear burned off the young Ranger like steam. He would do anything and kill anyone to complete his mission. The Cav troops understood. They pushed off ammo cans and rucksacks, anything they could shed to lighten the load.

  The turbine shrieked. The rotor found hold in the thick humid air, and the helicopter lumbered into the sky. Cole lowered his weapon across Abbott's chest and protected his brother until they were home.

  The thunderhead passed from the mountains four hours later. A reaction force comprised of Rangers from Cole's company assaulted the area to reclaim the bodies of their comrades. Specialist Fourth Class Elvis Cole was among them.

  The bodies of Sgt. Luis Rodriguez and Sp4c Ted Fields were recovered. The body of Sp4c Cromwell Johnson was missing and presumed carried away by the enemy.

  For his actions that day, Sp4c Elvis Cole was awarded the nation's third-highest decoration for bravery and valor, the Silver Star.

  It was Cole's first decoration.

  He would earn more.

  Rangers don't leave Rangers behind.

  14

  time missing: 41 hours, 00 minutes

  After I spoke with the Abbotts, I phoned the other families to let them know that the police would be calling, and why. Between Master Sergeant Stivic and the families, I was on the phone for almost three hours.

  Starkey rang my bell at eight forty-five. When I opened the door, John Chen was waiting behind her in his van.

  I said, “I spoke with the families this morning. None of them had anything to do with this or know anyone who would. You get any hits on the other names I gave you?”

  Starkey squinted at me. Her eyes were puffy, and her morning voice was thick with smoke.

  She said, “Are you drunk?”

  “I've been up all night. I spoke with the families. I listened to that damned tape a dozen times. Did you get any hits or not?”

  “I told you last night, Cole. We ran the names and got nothing. You don't remember I said that?”

  I felt irritated with myself for forgetting. She had told me when I was with them at the Hollywood station. I grabbed my keys and stepped outside past her.

  “C'mon. I'll show you what we found. Maybe John can match the prints.”

  “Lay off the coffee. You look like a meth freak about to implode.”

  “You're no beauty yourself.”

  “Fuck yourself, Cole. That might be because Gittamon and I got our asses reamed at six this morning by the Bureau commander, wanting to know why we're letting you fuck up our evidence.”

  “Did Richard complain?”

  “Rich assholes always complain. Here's the order of the day: You're gonna take us over to whatever this is you've found, then you're gonna stay out of our business. Never mind that you seem to be the only guy around here besides me who knows how to detect. You're out.”

  “If I didn't know better, I'd think you just paid me a compliment.”

  “Don't let it go to your head. It turns out Richard was right, you being a material witness. It just feels like kicking a guy when he's down, is all, shutting you out like this, and I don't like it.”

  I felt bad for snapping at her.

  She said, “I guess you didn't suddenly recognize the voice on the tape or remember something that would help?”

  I wanted to tell her my take on what the caller had said, but I figured that it would sound self-justifying.

  “No. I've never heard his voice in my life. I played it over the phone to the families, and they didn't recogni
ze it, either.”

  Starkey cocked her head as if she were surprised.

  “That was a good idea, Cole, playing the tape for them like that. I hope none of them lied to you.”

  “Why'd you have Hurwitz bring me the tape last night instead of doing it yourself?”

  Starkey went to her car without answering.

  “Drive yourself. You'll need to get back on your own.”

  I locked the house, then led them across the canyon to the shoulder where Pike and I had parked the day before. It took about twelve minutes. Starkey changed into her running shoes while Chen unloaded his evidence kit. The shoulder had been empty yesterday, but now a line of small trucks and cars spilled around the curve from the nearby construction site. Starkey and Chen followed me across the hump and down through the brush. We passed the twin pines, then followed the erosion cut toward the lone scrub oak. As we got closer to the prints, I felt both anxious and afraid. Being here was like being closer to Ben, but not if the shoe prints didn't match. If they didn't match, we had nothing.

  We reached the first print, a clean clear sole pressed into the dust between shale plates.

  “This one's pretty clear. We'll see more below.”

  Chen got down on his hands and knees for a closer look. I stood so close that I was almost on top of him.

  Starkey said, “Stop crowding him, Cole. Get back.”

  Chen glanced up and grinned.

  “It's the same shoe, Starkey. I can see it even without the cast. Size eleven Rockports showing the same pebbled sole and traction lines.”

  My heart thudded hard in my chest, and the dark ghost moved past me again. Starkey punched my arm.

  “You fuck.”

  Starkey could sweet-talk with the best of them.

  Chen flagged eight more prints, and then we reached the tree. The heartier weeds had sprung up with the morning dew, but the depression behind the tree was still clear.

  “That's it, just this side of the oak at its base. See where the grass is crushed?”

  Starkey touched my arm.

  “You wait here.”

  Starkey moved closer. She stooped to look at my house from under the oak's limbs, then considered the surrounding hillside.

  “All right, Cole. You made a good call. I don't know how you found this place, but this is okay. You figured this bastard good. John, I want a full area map.”