I angled my head like a puppy listening to a new sound and felt the scarf around the lower half of my face shift. Those boys coming in downstairs were hoping for targets, and they’d ventilate the rag as soon as they saw me. I took it and the cap off and pitched them away.
The north wind howled through the gaping entrance, blowing snow and papers across the ground floor. I had started to answer when a guy wearing a gas mask popped up out of the hole in the floor.
There’s something downright creepy about people crawling out of the ground. I shivered at the sight of him slithering out through the cloud of smoke that roiled up into the slipstream.
I wondered what he was up to when I saw a canister against the wall. I had no idea what was in the silver container, but the way that guy seemed determined to reach it proved to me it wasn’t full of Dr Pepper.
One part of my brain screamed, Gas!
“I’ll get ’im.” Mr. Beck raised the Colt and I pushed it downward.
“Easy. You might hit that tank. Let me.”
I snugged the stock against my shoulder and lined up on a dead guy. When I squeezed the trigger, nothing happened. The magazine was empty. Terrified at what might happen, I fumbled for another in the empty muslin bag, wanting to scream in frustration.
Despite my warning, Mr. Beck cranked off a round, then another while I limped around the rotunda’s banister to grab the female terrorist’s weapon that proved to be another MP5. Those guys just insisted on inferior weapons.
Taking a knee, I saw the crawling guy reach the cylinder and wrap himself around it like a drowning man with a life preserver. He threw his head back and that’s when I saw something in his hand and realized he was praying.
The man was on the verge of a classic terrorist suicide, using something even more horrific than explosives, if I was right about the containers.
I leaned over the rail and put the red dot on the guy’s chest and squeezed the trigger like the Old Man had taught me. The weapon bucked and I raked it away from the canister. The sound was unusual, muffled because my eardrums hadn’t recovered from the explosion.
The jihadist’s body recoiled with the impacts, and he went limp.
The dusty cylinder rolled once and stopped.
Snow-covered men advanced though the smoky hallway. I recognized they were the ones who’d blown the door and they had no idea what they were getting into. “Gas! All y’all get back from the door!”
Chapter 88
Ears ringing, DeVaca adjusted his glasses and stepped out of the elevator where he’d taken shelter. Using the smoke as cover, he darted out and grabbed the blue daypack containing one of the squatty canisters of nerve gas. His eyes fell on the remaining containers of the deadly toxin.
Tin Man crawled out of the basement and wrapped his arms around the wired canister. DeVaca saw that he was about to detonate the charge. He dove into a ground-floor office beside the elevator and kicked the door shut. A single burst of gunfire echoed in the courthouse, originating from the second floor. The charge didn’t detonate, and DeVaca knew Tin Man had failed.
A brown canvas carry-on case was waiting for him, dropped there by Dorothy when they first entered the building. A matching case was hers, but she wouldn’t be needing it.
He shucked off the tactical clothing he wore over his Pendleton shirt and yanked down his 5.11 pants to reveal a pair of Wrangler jeans. Knowing he didn’t have much time, DeVaca opened the case and pulled on a ranch coat.
He tucked the Scorpion out of sight under his arm, slapped a battered Stetson on his head, and threw a chair through the window. Frigid air met him with an icy blast. “Somebody! Help!”
A barrel of a man emerged from the falling snow and hurried forward with a vintage World War II M-1 carbine at port arms. He waved at the man in a cowboy hat and eyeglasses. “Come on! Hurry!”
“Thank God you’re here!” DeVaca lowered the blue daypack and rolled out the window, landing in a snowdrift. Pulling himself up, he slung the heavy pack over one shoulder and ran toward the civilian responder. “They’re all dying in there. People are shooting!”
“Go!” Keeping the vintage rifle ready for use, the man kept an eye on the courthouse. “Get behind the cars back there.”
“Thanks!” DeVaca ran past, wishing he could cut the idiot’s throat, but it wasn’t the time for self-indulgence. Shrugging both of the pack’s straps into place over the bulky coat, he checked his watch.
Time to get gone.
Chapter 89
Arturo ran down the alley through knee-deep snow, following the weaving trails of footprints made by men determined to set their friends and children free. The youngster ducked behind the sheriff’s office to the sounds of gunfire.
“Hey kid, get your ass outta here!” Deputy Don Nelson was the one who’d provided cover when the Mayo brothers pulled him through the shot-up station.
Arturo started forward. “Hey, I got something to tell you!”
Nelson turned back toward the courthouse.
The boy dodged through the alley and stopped behind a wide-eyed civilian who racked the bolt on a deer rifle, aimed at the courthouse, and pulled the trigger on an empty chamber. He racked the bolt again and did the same thing twice more, never realizing in the heat of the moment that he was “firing” an empty rifle.
The youngster followed the alley until it dead-ended into the road running along the west side of the courthouse. The position gave him a clear line of sight to the window that was still open where he had climbed out. Pete Williams, an off-duty highway patrol officer, was behind a snow-covered car.
“Hey! Don’t shoot me, Pete!” Arturo rounded the corner.
“Kid, get the hell out of here!”
Tired of hearing the same phrase, he pointed. “The hostages are in that courtroom on the second floor.”
“How do you know that?”
“See that window? I climbed out of it.”
Williams squinted through the snow. “Say you climbed out of there?”
“Yep. I was inside with Sonny Hawke.”
The name stopped any further argument. “Say they’re in there?”
“Yessir.”
Williams keyed the radio and related what he’d heard.
The sheriff’s tinny voice cut was full of frustration. “I already know that. What the hell is that kid doing there? He’s supposed to be in the Posada.”
“Guess he didn’t listen.”
“Keep him there.”
Arturo saw a man in a cowboy hat hurrying down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Forgetting he’d lost Sonny’s hat and thinking it might be the Ranger, the youngster followed, using the parked cars for cover between him and the courthouse.
Chapter 90
We headed back to the courtroom. Mr. Beck held my Colt down at his side. He gave a knock and the door cracked. Jerry stuck his head out. “Dad?”
I pushed inside. “Close it now. Gas!”
Mr. Beck slammed the door behind us.
Jerry stepped back, not understanding. “Gas?”
Kelly rushed forward to check me out for herself. “Are you all right? What kind of gas?”
“I’m fine. I saw the containers and that’s all they could be.” The window-lights in the room were still intact, and I figured they stayed that way because the doors were closed when the explosion went off downstairs. Even so, the air was full of dust. “All y’all stuff whatever you can under the doors.”
The less shell-shocked kids packed the gap full of hoodies and sweaters. They’d already been through a lot, but I was proud of them for hanging in there. Some were sniffling and more than one had tear-tracked cheeks, but they were focused on surviving, and that’s all that counted.
Kelly watched them follow my orders. “What next?”
I pointed at the windows. “Open them, or knock ’em out. Now.”
Some opened without a problem. Those that were stuck or painted closed gave as the kids and other hostages attacked them with an
ything not nailed down. The glass exploded outward and cold air poured in.
“Stay close to the windows.”
“We’ll freeze without our coats.”
“It’s better than dying from the gas.”
Chapter 91
DeVaca’s frustration increased as he waited behind Burt Bowden’s snow-covered truck and trailer. The gunfire tapered off, and the people he left inside hadn’t set off the Sarin. He ground his teeth and wished for ten men just like himself to get the job done, but then he almost smiled.
He wouldn’t be able to trust a one of them.
The five minutes he made himself wait were up.
“Hey buddy, you’re gonna get your ass shot off!”
DeVaca jumped. The voice wasn’t aggressive. The guy with the big belly was still trying to help. He pushed the horn-rimmed glasses back into place. “I’m scared.”
“I don’t blame you, but right now, you need to get under cover. I don’t think those guys are finished.”
We’re not, DeVaca thought. “I just need to get out of here.” He checked his watch. “Cover me.”
The Good Samaritan clamped his jaw and again faced the courthouse, proud to assist someone who had no stomach for a gunfight. “I’ve got you. Go!”
Angry and frustrated that he’d lost all the nerve gas except for the tank in his backpack, the Demon in DeVaca’s head screamed until he felt his control slipping away. He trotted a few steps, then stopped.
What the hell?
In two steps, DeVaca was behind him. Resting his left hand on the Good Samaritan’s shoulder, he spoke in his ear. “Thanks for your help.”
Without turning, the guy squinted into the falling snow. “You’re welcome.”
DeVaca shoved the blade of a long, slender knife into the base of the man’s skull and worked it hard, severing the spine. The Good Samaritan convulsed and dropped into the deep drift. With one arm, DeVaca swept snow from the hood and onto the body, kicked more over the corpse, and without a backward glance, ducked his head and jogged south through the storm toward the railroad tracks.
Escape Plan A was out. On to Plan B.
On its way to Laredo and the Mexican border, a train shrieked its arrival, the whistle cutting through the storm.
Chapter 92
An occasional shot rang from outside, but it sounded like the firefight was over.
We were still string-haltered, though, forced to wait. I kept expecting to hear another explosion or shrieks as the gas destroyed people’s nervous systems.
Other than the wind blowing through the open windows, the shot-to-pieces courthouse was silent except for the sounds of chattering teeth and moans and the sounds of crying. Squinting into the ocean of white, I saw dark shapes moving toward our end of the courthouse.
“Mr. Beck, y’all be ready for anything.” I leaned into the window and cupped my hands. “Outside! Here on the second floor! Sonny Hawke!” I waved, wishing for my Stetson. “I’m here with the hostages!”
“Sonny!”
A half a dozen men carrying long guns appeared as dark smudges in the storm and sharpened as they rushed the building.
I leaned into the gale and saw them huddled against the outside wall. “Don’t shoot! Ethan, is that you? There may be one left on this floor. Can’t tell you much else, except we thinned them out some.”
He used his hat to shield his face. “You have everyone?”
“Kelly and her class, and a few more folks. I doubt it’s all. Remember, one kid’s holed up one floor above.”
“Y’all safe enough?”
“We have weapons, but be careful. They have containers down there that might be some kind of nerve or mustard gas.”
“Well, we have to do something. We’re coming in.”
The Fire Chief cupped both hands around his mouth. “What’s on fire?”
“A hole in the floor. That’s all I can tell you, but I don’t think the building’s on fire. I’m more worried about the gas, if that’s what it is.”
All I could see were their hats as three, then four of those down below huddled in to talk. The next thing I knew, Chief Jack Barker turned and jogged away into the storm.
“Ethan, tell your men to come in from this side. If the gas is leaking, the wind’ll blow it out the other end.” We waited for what seemed like a week before a shout came from below. I leaned out to see better and my skin burned in the wind.
“We had an idea.” He checked over his shoulder. “No one’s coming in the ground floor.”
Two volunteer firefighters materialized in the snow, carrying a long extension ladder from the firehouse three blocks away. It slapped against the sill moments later.
Deputy Malone was the first up. He crawled through the open window to find himself in the middle of a crowd of people who wanted out. “Y’all get down that ladder quick, but be careful.”
A hard-looking stocky guy in a three-day beard and carrying enough firepower to start his own country came in next and slapped me on the shoulder. He gave the armed kids a glance and placed himself between the room’s double doors and us.
“Good job. Now y’all get out while you can.”
A Hispanic woman who looked like she could take care of herself came in next. She took up a position a few feet away without a word.
I caught Malone’s eye. “Who’re they?”
“Name’s Perry Hale. She’s Yolanda Rodriguez.”
“They know their business.”
“They’re a couple of booger-bears.” Malone’s voice was full of respect and sadness. “People step up when they need to.”
Two more armed men scrambled through in a gust of frozen air. I wanted to get people out of the building, and instead, they were streaming in like a bus had pulled up outside. I was tickled to death to see them.
Fire chief Jack Barker came through the window. “This ladder isn’t the best way, but it’ll do.” He raised an eyebrow at the crowd of former hostages. “We got the engine out, but all the roads are clogged with abandoned cars. The snow is so deep my driver stuck it when he cut through a yard. Some of the boys are trying to dig it out.” He looked embarrassed. “Y’all don’t need to know all that. We need to move, fast.” He pointed to Evangelina Nakai. “Let’s go.”
No one could get out though, because School Superintendent Cartwright and Principal Hernandez struggled inside, shaking snow from their clothes. They moved through the crowd, touching every student in some way, as if a hug or pat might help.
Matt rushed Hernandez and wrapped both arms around his waist, a tear trailing down his cheek. Hernandez hugged him back. Matt turned loose and the principal looked down. He grinned. “Matt, you have your shoes on the wrong feet again.”
The boy bent at the waist to look. “People keep telling me that.”
Always the mom, Kelly helped her charges over the sill. The rest of the kids drifted to the window without crowding or shoving. The superintendent and principal helped her organize the evacuation.
Mr. Beck still covered the doors with my .45, despite the new company. From where I stood, he, Perry Hale, and Yolanda Rodriguez looked like warriors from different times, standing shoulder to shoulder to protect their people and their country.
My emotions worn thin by the day rose, bringing a lump to my throat. Eyes burning, I let the others take over security detail.
Chapter 93
I kept expecting the snow to let up, but it fell hard and heavy as the first kids reached the bottom of the ladder. As soon as the students stepped off, armed townspeople rushed them across the street and through the sheriff’s office, where they disappeared from my view.
Chief Jack Barker let Kelly sort things out and it all worked well until Matt’s time came. The familiar Down syndrome stubbornness rose when my daughter urged him toward the window. “C’mon, buddy. It’s your turn.”
He pulled his arm free. “No. I want to ride the elevator.”
Gillian Armstrong joined Mary once again to double-team h
im. “We can’t ride it right now. My dad’s waiting outside. Let’s go talk to him about being a sheriff and stuff.”
“It’s cold out there.”
She glanced toward Kelly, who leaned into the boy and whispered in his ear.
Matt gave her a pat on the cheek. “Thank you. You are very kind.” He worked his chubby behind around on the sill and backed down the ladder between the arms of the fire chief.
I leaned in. “What did you tell him?”
“I said he could go to the bathroom when he got to the bottom.”
Slinging the weapons across their backs, Mary and Jerry ignored the conflict and zipped down the ladders. I wondered what the guys down below would say about the armed kids, but after the day’s events, they probably figured it had become the norm.
The evacuation came to a halt. Maribelle Baird seemed to swell even larger with stubbornness. “I’m afraid of heights.”
Chief Barker took her arm. “It’ll be all right. Just straddle the sill there, turn around, and get your feet on the ladder.”
She rolled her eyes like a frightened horse. “I’m not going.”
“Maribelle, you have to go.”
“Find another way.”
The Chief looked at me for help. I wished I had a lead rope to drag her to the window. “There’s no other way. You’re putting the rest of us in danger.”
“I’ll wait ’til I can go out the door.”
Kelly flashed and I knew she’d reached the end of her rope. My little wife stepped between the chief and the horsey woman. “Listen up honey-child, here’s what’s fixin’ to happen. Those twins that just left are my kids, and Matt’s already down, and it’s still dangerous up here, but I won’t leave until my husband does, and I’m tired and out of patience.”
Kelly glanced down to see the ladder was clear. She stepped close to the woman who’d set her jaw, determined not to move. “On second thought, my husband got shot to save you.” She reached out, grabbed Maribelle’s blouse, and yanked her forward. All semblance of a schoolteacher was gone. “Climb out, now!”
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