“Yeah. He crosses behind the kitchen window drape now an’ then. That coffee ought to be done by now.”
As if on cue, the front door opened and the same dark-haired individual as the morning before stepped out on the porch into the growing light. As he lit a cigarette, a flock of geese came honking through the dawn tracing a ragged V across the expanding glow overhead, their plaintive cries trailing behind them in the cool morning air.
“You ever notice how them flyin’ geese is always in a formation where one side of the V is longer than the other?” Clete asked.
Crockett checked the sky. “No. Now that you mention it, that’s true, I guess.”
“Know why that is?”
“I give up.”
“More birds on that side,” Clete said.
“Oh hell,” Crockett said, and took sight on the building again. Things had lightened enough that he could see clearly. Direct sunlight was just touching the top of the hill behind the lodge. “Well,” he said, “that sun’ll be in their eyes in a few minutes. Judging by that guy’s cigarette smoke, we got no wind to speak of. That won’t last long as the sun begins to heat things up. Whatcha think? Shall we get started?”
“Stitch can’t be more that fifteen minutes out,” Clete said. “Go ahead on.”
Crockett produced his satellite phone, and punched in a number. Clete gaped at him.
“What in the hell do you think yer doin’?”
“Watch the porch,” Crockett said. Clete picked up the binoculars and clicked off the infrared.
“Coffee boy went inside.”
“Somebody must be calling,” Crockett said, and turned his attention back to the phone.
“Yeah?” The voice was rather high pitched and neutral in accent.
“Good morning,” Crockett said. “How’s your coffee on this cool morning?”
Pause. “Who is this?”
“Still pretty early. Anybody else get up yet?”
“Who the fuck is this?”
“This, my friend, is opportunity. The opportunity to die here this morning, or the opportunity to live and save a lot of other lives, too. You an asshole or a humanitarian?”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Who is this?”
“We want your boss and his lap dog. Right now, get some help, wake up Phillips and his sidekick, Cooper or Boster. Whatever he’s calling himself. Immobilize ‘em so they can’t run off, and dump their asses in the front yard. Once that is done, you, and everybody else, including Hammer and Slick, will have ten minutes to gather up your shit and get the hell out. Don’t do it, and the course of your life is going to change dramatically. I’ll call back in fifteen minutes or so to see what you’ve decided.”
“Whathefuck are you talking about?”
“I spoke English,” Crockett said. “You can give up your boss and his pal and leave, or you can get all macho and shit, and die. Be smart. You got no dog in this fight. Walk away.”
“Goddammit! Who is this?”
Crockett smiled. “I’ve always wanted to use this line,” he said. “I’m you’re worst nightmare, motherfucker. Bye now.”
“You called ‘em on the phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ, Crockett. Does the term ‘element of surprise’ mean anything to you?”
“I bet the guy that answered the phone was surprised,” Crockett said.
“You don’t actually think they’ll give him up, do ya?”
“Naw. What would you do?”
Clete raised an eyebrow. “Me?”
“If you were Metzger, or Phillips, whatever the hell name he’s using.”
Clete thought a moment. “Well, I’d be pretty pissed off at the content of the call you just made, and I’d be scared damn near shitless ‘cause I’d been found. I own my troops. I yell frog, an’ them ol’ boys is airborne. The fact that some motherfucker an’ a spooky ass phone call tried to turn ‘em against me would be excessively vexing.”
Crockett grinned. “Vexing?”
“Betcher ass! An’ the more somebody like Boster tried to calm my ass down, the more paranoid I’d git. I’d want them troops armed to the teeth and be damn sure ever one a them went tits up before I did.”
“That’s about what I thought,” Crockett said.
“Then,” Clete went on, “after a few minutes, my ol’ invincibility complex would kick in a little. Jesus. I got eight personal soldiers, bought an’ paid for, between me an’ a phone call. I wanna take some action. Can’t threaten me, gawddammit!”
“So?”
“Look. They don’t know who we are. They don’t know where we are. They don’t know how many we are. In another two minutes they’re gonna be lookin’ into the sun if they even try to peek in our direction. Other than the phone call, they have no idea what’s happenin’. They need some intel. Five’ll gitcha ten that Metzger’ll send some of em outside to see what’s goin’ on. If shots are gonna be exchanged, he’ll want his guys anywhere but close to him.”
“Makes sense.”
“He’s got five grunts, the two hitters that came to your place, and that Boster or Cooper guy, right?” Clete asked.
“That’s what Terri said.”
“The hitters and Boster ain’t soldiers. They’ll stay inside. Them other five, Boomer, Razor, Sleepy, Droopy, and Dopey’ll be the ones that deploy. Unless I’m completely wrong, them ol’ boys are spray and pray gunfighters. They ain’t even remotely equipped to deal with that freight train of yours deliverin’ a shit storm from over a quarter of a mile away. To balance that, they’re inside a building with at least six-inch log walls. They probably feel a little secure. They’ll wanna know more about what they’ve stepped in before they go runnin’ around outside.”
“So you think they’ll stay in?”
“Don’t think Metzger’ll let ‘em. It’s damn sure he’ll be inside, though.”
Crockett thought for a moment, then punched a series of numbers into the phone.
“Yes?” Different voice. More resonant and controlled.
“Mister Metzger,” Crockett said. “How are ya?”
“Who is this?”
“I guess your guys haven’t tied you up and kicked you out the door, huh?”
“What do you want?”
“You. You and that ex FBI shithead that’s got his nose up your butt. Just you two. Everybody else can go. Even Hammer and Slick. But you, Phil, if you leave where you are today, you leave with us.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Justice, motherfucker, and I shall be served,” Crockett said, and disconnected.
“He give himself up?” Clete asked.
“He’s being unreasonable,” Crockett said, easing down behind the 107. “Put on your headset. There’s nothin’ I’d hate worse than hanging around with a deaf Texican.”
Clete did as he was told, and studied the lodge through his multi-purpose binoculars. “Lots of activity,” he said. “I got infrared signatures hustling past damn near ever window in the place. They’ll be comin’ out purty soon. Two or three out the front, two or three out the back, I reckon. Then spread out and take cover. In their shoes, I’d probably be lookin’ for ground troops to assault the place. They’ll be expecting shooters at a couple of hundred yards, max.”
Crockett settled in with the rifle and looked through the scope. “I’m on the front door,” he said, checking to make sure the clip of ball ammo was properly seated. “You watch everything else.”
A slow minute crept by before the front door flew open. Crockett fired at the center of the doorway.
The first man out the door got clear before the bullet arrived. The second man took the heavy .50 caliber round through the center chest. That same round also passed through a third man, entering his body via the hollow of his throat and exiting through his spine and the back of his neck, where he crouched, ready to follow number two onto the porch. The bullet continued on, penetrating the back wall of the log building an
d burrowing into the slope behind the lodge.
“Two out the back!” Clete said. “One headin’ for the top of the slope. Looks like a runner. 12 o’clock, four eighty-one.”
Crockett raised the muzzle of the weapon less than an inch, found the target, stopped breathing and squeezed.
“Hit!” Clete shouted. “Number two, eight o’clock, behind the propane tank. As soon as he figures out he’s layin’ behind a bomb, he’ll cut and run. The first guy out the front door is crouched behind the Jeep Cherokee in front of the garage. He’s feelin’ a little lonely, I bet.”
“Watch the tank,” Crockett said, and loosed three rounds in rapid succession through the front passenger door of the Jeep. The car’s body did little to even slow the rounds down.
The man behind the Jeep, who was seasoned enough to know to hide behind the front wheel and engine compartment, couldn’t stand the pressure of the .50 caliber missiles passing completely through his cover, and ran toward the garage, blindly firing his AK-47 randomly down the slope in front of him. Crockett’s shot caught him low and on the hip, spinning the man around and dropping him on his back in the gravel.
“Propane guy!” Clete yelled. “Nine o’clock! Heading for the trees!”
Crockett swung left an inch, found his target, and fired twice.
“Shit!” he said. “Missed. You got him?”
“I will have,” Clete said, fussing with his binoculars, then returning them to his eyes.
Crockett ejected his spent magazine and slapped another one into the receiver. He jacked a round into the chamber and returned to the business at hand.
“The first big Blackjack left of the propane tank,” Clete said. “Got a couple of downed branches in a mess of weeds just left of the trunk. See it?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s down in them weeds behind the branches. Couldn’t see him without the infrared. Two yards to the left of the tree, couple a feet downslope. Fire for effect.”
The 107 bucked.
“A foot lower,” Clete said.
Crockett fired again.
“Hit!” Clete said.
Immediately, Crockett returned his attention to the man lying in the driveway near the Jeep. He was up on one elbow, attempting to drag himself to the garage.
“Not today,” Crockett said, and fired once more.
“Hit,” Clete said.
“That it?”
“For now,” Clete said. “Five down.”
“Four down,” Crockett said, releasing the rifle and fumbling for the drinking tube of his hydration pack.
“Five down, Crockett. You got two at the front door. There were three comin’ out. You got the last two with the same shot.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. Nobody’s even been brave enough to close the door.”
“Good,” Crockett said. “These assholes need to feel a little fear for a change. Five down, four to go. Wonder how Metzger feels now?”
Twenty minutes later, there had been no action from the lodge at all. Clete and Crockett were both over their adrenalin responses and bored.
“Them ol’ boys is barricaded up in there, son,” Clete drawled. “Might be time to offer ‘em a little encouragement.”
“Okay by me,” Crockett said. He cradled the 107 and emptied the last five rounds in the clip randomly through the building. While Clete watched for effect, Crockett dumped the magazine, inserted another, and operated the slide to put a round in the chamber. “I kinda like this whole autoloading thing,” he said.
“No movement that I can see,” Clete said.
“Motivation,” Crockett said. He took sight on the fuel tank and fired four times.
“Son! There’s a helluva leak in that gas tank behind the house on the other side of the drive.”
“No kidding?”
“Not me. Got gas just a-runnin’ out the bottom of that tank. Looks like its headin’ downslope just past the end of the propane tank toward the back right corner of the lodge. That’s dangerous. Thirty or forty gallons a that shit could cause a helluva fire.”
“Ya think?”
“Yessir. A fire like that could…two out the back! Headin’ for the garage!”
Crockett’s first shot hit Slick in the right side, just below his armpit. The man lurched sideways, fell, got up, and fell again. Crockett’s second and third shots both missed Hammer, and the stocky man managed to dive inside the garage and out of sight. Crockett used the last round to make sure Slick was down for good, inserted another clip, and put a fresh round in the chamber.
“He’ll try a vehicle,” Crockett said. “He’s a body puncher, not a soldier. Hammer is way out of his element here.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than a Ford pickup shot out of the garage, it’s rear wheels spewing gravel, and rocketed onto the drive. Crockett waited until the truck had passed from behind the lodge, and fired three shots through the driver’s door. The truck made a left turn off the drive, careened down the slope toward the bottom of the valley for a hundred feet or so, before encountering a tree big enough to smash it to a halt. The driver’s door swung open and Hammer slid, head first, to the earth.
“Seven down,” Clete said.
Crockett removed the rifle’s magazine, extracted the remaining live round from the weapon, put it in a pocket, and inserted a new clip. He jacked a shell into the chamber, eased the big rifle back down on the bipod and took aim.
When the incendiary round hit the steel leg of the stand that supported the gas tank, the impact distorted the bullet, causing burning fragments of phosphorus to come in contact with the gasoline that had pooled on the ground at the bottom of the stand as the fuel flowed to the rear of the lodge.
The vapor from the gas gave a mighty “whoomp!” as the fuel ignited, an orange and black cloud boiled skyward, and a stream of fire snaked toward the rear of the building. In just a moment or two, ragged flames could be seen above the top of the roof, and smoke began to circulate as the gas conducted the fire to the back wall of the log structure. Two minutes later, smoke was billowing out the open front door. Three or four minutes after that, two figures, each waving a white rag, lurched from the building, across the porch, and into the yard. They moved down the slope away from the burning building, dropped to the earth and, white rags still predominately displayed, crouched in the ground cover.
“Shit,” Crockett said. “I can’t shoot ‘em now. Goddammit! That’s gotta be Metzger and Boster. Why don’t you head that way while I keep a tight sight on their asses. You get two hundred yards out, where your rifle can easily cover ‘em, lemme know and I’ll come on over. We’ll box these assholes up and call Stitch.”
“Okay,” Clete said, and began to struggle out of his Ghillie suit. He’d just removed his cape when the report of a shot sounded off to their right. Crockett was still on his scope and saw one of the men pitch forward on his face. The other subject got to his feet and began to run. He didn’t make it two steps before Crocket heard another shot and watched the second man’s head mist out.
He swung his rifle toward the origin of the shots and saw two figures in camouflage standing erect on the crest of the hill behind them, about two hundred yards to their right. One of the figures was holding a rifle above his head. The other appeared to be unarmed, and started picking his way in their direction.
“Goddamn,” Clete said, binoculars to his eyes. “Hold your fire. It’s that deputy!”
“What deputy?”
“Aw, the one that come out to the house. The smart one.”
“Montero?”
“No shit, pard. Big as life and twice as ugly.”
It took Montero almost ten minutes to reach their position. When he finally arrived, he grinned.
“Hiya, boys,” he said. “Little off season hunting?”
Crockett was dumbfounded. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Just keeping track of a couple of my secret agents. So secret, even they didn’t know,
huh?”
Clete and Crockett couldn’t speak. They could only stare. Montero chuckled.
“I gotta admit,” he said, “you two do good work. That was some outstanding long distance shooting, Crockett.”
“You ain’t no gawddammed deputy,” Clete said. “Who the hell you workin’ for?”
“I’m a Feebie, fellas. FBI all the way. I was tasked to put an end to this bullshit and you guys seemed to know what you were doing, so I just left you alone and kept tabs. Fine work. Really fine work.”
Crockett shook his head. “But you were with the Sheriff’s Department.”
“Stop and think,” Montero said. “Did you ever see me in a county vehicle? Did you ever talk to me other than in person out of the Sheriff’s Office or on my cell phone? Did you ever see me with uniformed deputies?”
“What about the FBI guys that showed up at the house after we talked with you?”
“They were with the bureau. They just aren’t as special as I am. I’m a little above their pay grade.”
“But you showed up before the county even notified the FBI.”
“Landline tap, cell phone monitoring. All illegal. All necessary. All’s well that ends well.”
“So you’ve been watching us this whole time?”
“Just since you loaded everybody up in that motorhome and headed north.”
Crockett sank to his ass in the grass. “I’ll be dammed,” he said. “And you fed us just enough information to keep us on the scent.”
“Assholes like the late agent Boster had to be dealt with. Metzger reneged on his promises. It’s not nice to fuck with the Feebies. Both of them had to be taken out. You two would have never known I was around if they’d had the common decency to run and get killed. When they surrendered and you guys were too soft to dust ‘em, I was left with no choice but to break cover.”
“You sonofabitch,” Clete said.
Montero smiled. “When called for,” he said. “My kids like me.” His eyes drifted to the burning building across the valley. “Better notify the Forestry Service,” he went on. “They’ll wanna know about the fire and explosion.”
Witness Rejection Page 38