by Blake Pierce
Riley squinted doubtfully.
“A single shot like this? Does that seem like the kind of revenge a religious fanatic would take?”
“We’ve got to consider all possibilities,” Larson said.
Riley looked at Larson in silence for a moment. She sensed that the colonel didn’t entirely believe her own suggestion. But she was apparently reluctant to admit it, perhaps out of resentment toward Riley or perhaps just because she had no other working theory.
I’ve got to get her over this idea, Riley thought.
Until she did, Larson would be no help with this investigation.
She asked, “Where did the shot come from?”
Larson pointed toward the higher ground.
“Somewhere up in those hills,” she said. “We couldn’t get a specific trajectory. There was no exit wound, and as you can see, Barton twisted as he fell. We sent some MPs up to search the area, but without a more precise position, they couldn’t find anything.”
Riley looked up toward the nearby hills.
“What kind of overhead surveillance do you have at night?” she asked.
“Some drones—although it’s hard for them to cover the whole base. Fort Mowat is seventy-five thousand acres, and most of it is wilderness. We also send out helicopters with night-vision and heat-seeking equipment.”
“Did your searchers pick up any heat signatures last night?” Riley asked.
Larson shook her head.
“None of the shooter,” she said. “Just a few animals—coyotes and rabbits, probably.”
Riley thought for a moment.
“Do you have any records of those positions?” she asked.
Larson turned toward Sergeant Matthews, the search team chief.
“Is that information available?” she asked him.
“I think so,” the sergeant said. “Let me check.”
He fingered his computer pad and finally showed a map of the base, with several positions where small, fleeting heat signals had been detected. Riley compared the map with the surrounding terrain. She could see that one of the spots was near where she thought the shot might have come from.
She had a strong hunch that something might be found up there.
It might even be enough to make Larson to give up her Islamic fanatic theory.
“Come on,” Riley said. “Let’s go have a look.”
She hoped that what she was about to do would win Larson’s confidence.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Riley’s expectations rose as she trudged along after Sergeant Matthews on their way into the hills nearest the field where Private Barton had died. Bill, Lucy, and Col. Larson followed close behind. Matthews was using his GPS to find the exact position of the morning’s fleeting heat signal.
The group made their way upward through rough, scrubby terrain. These hills were steeper and higher than the spot from which the killer had shot Sergeant Worthing, and there was no path to mark the way.
As they approached a promontory, Matthews came to a stop. He checked his computer pad and then pointed to the ground.
“The heat signature was exactly here,” he said. “The searchers said it was just a blip, obviously an animal that ran off as soon as it was spotted.
Riley looked around the area. It truly was an innocuous spot, with just a few small bushes here and there. It didn’t offer clear view of the place where Private Barton was shot.
For a moment Riley wondered if her instincts had misled her this once.
Perhaps the heat signature really had just been some animal.
If so, there were literally countless other places in these hills where the shooter might have positioned himself.
But how had he escaped detection by a passing helicopter’s thermal imaging?
Riley realized she was in an awkward situation. She’d brought Col. Larson up here on the hunch that she could change her mind about the killer being a part of Shaheed’s cell of Islamic fanatics.
What if Riley came up empty?
It would be an unlucky setback for her—and for the investigation.
She had to get into the killer’s mind again. But could she do that with Col. Larson breathing down her neck? And with Matthews watching her expectantly?
She breathed slowly and turned all around.
Then something struck her eye. It was an overhanging rock ledge.
Suddenly, the killer’s experience became crystal clear to Riley.
She could feel his thoughts and his movements.
All she needed to do was walk and talk the others through it.
She stepped over to the spot on the ground that Matthews had located.
Then she told the group, “This is how it happens. Our shooter is moving along here, on his way to the top of the hill where he plans to take his shot. Then the helicopter appears, its searchlight glaring. But the shooter is not especially alarmed. He knows this area like the back of his hand.”
Riley walked over to the overhanging ledge and put her palm against the rock.
“This rocky shelter, for instance,” she said. “He already knows it’s here, could find it with his eyes closed if he had to. He’s had it in mind all along as a possible hiding place. In fact, these hills are littered with protective spots he’s prepared to dodge to at any second—dozens of them, probably. He knows them all by heart.”
Retracing the shooter’s movements, Riley climbed under the ledge and stretched out prone.
Then something else caught her eye.
The rocky soil was scuffed a little. The mark could have been made by a shoe or a boot. The killer hadn’t left anything like a full footprint. He would never be that careless. Nevertheless, he’d left a single mark that didn’t look natural in these surroundings, a telltale sign that he’d been here.
“Look here,” Riley said to Larson, pointing to the spot.
Larson stooped down to see the mark in the dirt. After a second, she glanced at Riley with a startled expression. Then the CID head listened and watched with rapt attention as Riley continued her account.
Riley was still lying under the ledge, imitating the shooter.
“He stays down here while the chopper circles around. He knows they’re looking for him. He figures they must have picked up his heat signal, but it would only have been a fleeting sign. He also knows he’s safe here—at least for now. The rock above him is as cold as the rest of the ground, masking his body heat from the thermal imaging.”
Riley said nothing for a few moments, imagining how the killer felt as he waited.
Then she crawled out from under the ledge. She saw that both Bill and Lucy were grinning. Both Larson and Matthews were very attentive now.
“At last the chopper goes away. And the shooter heads toward his true destination—the only place nearby where he’ll have a good view of Barton’s jogging route.”
Followed by the others, Riley climbed the short remaining distance to the hilltop. Then she stretched out on the ground as if holding a weapon.
She said, “He sees Barton through his night scope. He’s got a clean view, but he’s farther away than usual. Even with an M110, it won’t be an easy shot. He’s not reckless, and he’s not a fool. He knows that he’d better change his MO just a little. This time he’ll shoot at the chest, not at the head.”
Riley pantomimed pulling a trigger.
“And that’s exactly what he does.”
Riley got to her feet and dusted off her hands. Her account of the killer’s movements was over.
Bill and Lucy were barely masking their triumphant expressions.
Bill asked Col. Larson, “Does what Agent Paige has been saying make sense to you?”
Larson nodded, her mouth hanging slightly open.
Then Bill asked, “What kind of profile does this give you of the shooter?”
Larson hesitated for a moment.
Then she said, “He’s disciplined. He’s extremely well trained, but he’s gotten his most important training on his o
wn. His whole life is all about becoming a perfect soldier.”
She hesitated again, then grimaced slightly and added, “He’s not an ideologue, he’s not a religious fanatic. He’s not part of Shaheed’s cell. His motives are more personal. We really are dealing with a lone wolf.”
Riley breathed a sigh of relief that Larson finally saw the light. She knew that the colonel was an excellent investigator, and it would have been a shame if she’d let her resentment of Riley cloud her judgment. Now Riley could put that problem behind her.
But as they headed down the hill the way they’d come, Riley thought about Larson’s description of the killer as a “lone wolf.”
That reminded Riley of what Private Pope had said to her about Sergeant Worthing during their confrontation on the cliff …
“He ran with the pack.”
She felt an odd chill at the memory.
Her gut again told her that those words were somehow very important.
*
Soon Riley and her companions arrived back where Barton’s corpse still lay. The CID agents were still there. So was another man wearing a sergeant’s insignias. He was staring down at the body with an expression of horrified disbelief. Col. Larson introduced him to Riley and her colleagues.
“This is Lanford Williams, the drill sergeant for Private Barton’s advanced individual training group.”
Williams’s eyes darted dazedly among the BAU agents, then focused on the body again.
Williams’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t seem to speak for a moment.
Then he said, “I can’t believe this happened. I thought … I was afraid …”
His voice trailed off. But Riley could read a world of meaning into his silence and his expression.
Williams had been afraid because he had thought his own life was in danger.
The other victims had been sergeants, after all—not privates. He’d gone to lengths to keep himself safe, especially by staying inside at nights. The last thing he imagined was that one of his recruits would be killed.
And Riley was sure that he was struggling with a terrible surge of survivor’s guilt.
Riley touched him on his shoulder and said gently, “You couldn’t have known he’d be a target, Sergeant Williams. Nobody did.”
Williams shuddered silently.
Riley asked in a quiet voice, “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
Williams shook his head.
Bill asked, “Did Private Barton have any enemies?”
“No,” Williams said. “He was well liked. He was a good man.”
Riley thought for a moment, then asked, “Does the phrase ‘run with the pack’ mean anything to you?”
Williams’ forehead crinkled with thought.
“Mean anything? How?”
“I’m not sure,” Riley said. “But if you think of anything please let us know.”
Williams shook himself, as if trying to throw off the nightmare he thought he was having. But of course, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real.
He said, “My AIT group is very shaken up. Could someone talk to them?”
Col. Larson nodded and said, “We’re going to do that right now.”
Then Larson turned to Riley and asked, “Can the medical examiner come and get the body now?”
Riley thought for a moment. The day was getting warmer, and the heat would take its toll on the corpse despite the shade of the canvas shelter. Now that Riley and her BAU colleagues had seen it, the body was serving no further purpose here.
“Yes, that would be fine,” Riley said. “But you should send some good CID people up that hill. They should go over every square inch of ground under that ledge and on that hilltop.”
Larson sent Sergeant Matthews and his CID team up the hill. Then Larson, the drill sergeant, and Riley and their companions headed toward the barracks where Private Barton had been in training with his AIT group.
On the way, they passed a fence with crowd of reporters behind it. Riley knew that their movements on the base had been restricted, and they hadn’t been allowed near any of the crime scenes. But they were here all the time now, and Riley knew that they wouldn’t go away.
As soon as the reporters caught sight of the group, they pushed up against the fence yelling out questions.
Larson said, “Let’s just pass on by them.”
Riley stifled a sigh. She knew that they needed to control the story as much as they could. Otherwise, crazy rumors would run rampant.
“No, we’d better face them,” she said.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Riley dreaded the barrage of questions they were about to face from the reporters. Sergeant Williams looked especially nervous. Since this gaggle was held back by a fence, they wouldn’t be physically buffeted by the crowd of reporters as they’d been a couple of days ago.
They were, however, buffeted by questions, which hit them all at once.
“Do you have any leads at all?”
“This is the fourth murder inside a month—or have there been more that we don’t know about?”
“Is the killer stationed on the base?”
“Who else would have access?”
“What about a motive?”
Col. Larson shouted the voices down.
“We’ll take just three questions—one at a time.”
Riley was relieved that Larson seemed ready to answer questions. The colonel certainly had access to better information than FBI agents did.
Larson pointed to one reporter, who asked, “Have you thought about evacuating the base?”
“Of course not,” Larson said. “Crimes happen on a military base, the same as in a civilian city. You wouldn’t evacuate a city, but you do impose precautions. That’s what we’re doing.”
Larson pointed to another reporter, who asked, “Have you restricted access to the base?”
Larson replied, “We’ve restricted some civilian access, yes. But a certain amount of traffic is unavoidable. And let’s keep in mind that these killings may be intended to distract us, to draw our attention away from some other impending attack. If we change our routine too much, we might be falling into a trap.”
Riley was impressed by Larson’s answers. The colonel really was good at her job.
“We’ll take one more question,” Larson said.
Another reporter said, “We’ve learned that you have a man in custody—an Islamic extremist named Omar Shaheed.”
Larson looked somewhat alarmed now.
“Where did you get that information?” she asked.
“Do you deny it?” the reporter said.
Larson hesitated. Riley knew she was trying to decide whether to simply say, “No comment.” Riley hoped she wouldn’t. Any ambiguity on this issue could release a flood of falsehoods and innuendo.
To Riley’s relief, Larson said, “We don’t deny it. At this point we are holding several suspects who belong to an Islamic terror cell. The cell appears to have been planning some sort of massive attack. We’re still trying to determine the nature of that attack, and where and when it was intended to take place. But we’re confident that it has now been thwarted.”
The reporter pressed further.
“Is the cell responsible for these four shootings?”
Larson hesitated. Then she looked at Riley, prompting her to speak.
Riley said, “We don’t believe that the cell has anything to do with the four shootings. We’re pretty sure we’re looking for a lone killer. Obviously, an excellent marksman. What his motives are, we don’t yet know.”
Some of the reporters looked incredulous.
One yelled out, “So a terrorist attack was being planned separately from these shootings, at the same time? Isn’t that quite a coincidence?”
Riley nodded.
“That’s exactly what it is—a coincidence. When you’ve been doing our work for as long as we have, you learn that coincidences sometimes happen. In fact, sooner or later they’re simply in
evitable.”
The group erupted into another bombardment of questions. Col. Larson shouted them down again.
“That’s all we’ve got to say for now. We’ll keep you informed of any further developments.”
The hubbub continued as Riley, Bill, and Lucy followed Larson away from the reporters. The colonel looked somewhat shaken.
“How did they know about Shaheed and his cell?” Larson said. “We were trying to keep that quiet.”
Riley realized that Larson had seldom if ever been exposed to this kind of media frenzy.
“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Riley said. “Leaks are just about impossible to prevent, and reporters are eager to get them. The trick is to cope with what reporters know and don’t know, and to answer their questions honestly and yet discreetly.”
Larson didn’t reply. Riley sensed that she needed a word of encouragement.
“You handled them fine,” Riley said.
“Thanks,” Larson said, looking somewhat relieved.
As Sergeant Williams led them on their way among the barracks, Riley could see that the atmosphere of the base had changed since the last time she had been here. Extra guards and MPs were stationed here and there, and the sound of helicopters searching the hills was now constant. Riley also noticed two drones overhead, doubtless with cameras watching all the activity below.
Not surprisingly, the effect on the personnel was palpable. There was a lot of tension in the bodies of soldiers moving around out in the open. They cast suspicious glances all around at each other. No one walked slowly or casually. Everyone kept moving quickly, anxious to get out of sight of the hills as quickly as possible.
As Riley and the others walked by, one enlisted man jostled another. A fight was about to break out when two MPs stepped in to stop it.
Riley said to Larson, “It looks like the killings are taking a toll on base morale.”
Larson replied, “Yeah, and the heightened security isn’t helping. Also, Colonel Adams has been even more of a hard-ass than usual, cracking down on discipline. Personally, I don’t think it’s helping. It might be making things worse.”
