by Bob Mayer
Gant could well imagine what the fight was about: Roberts would want to save himself and Cranston would want to save Emily and face down the man behind her kidnapping.
The arguing ended when a voice yelled down the street. “This way.”
Gant twisted his head, but he couldn’t see who had called out, although he knew it had to be Finley. Glancing back, he could see Cranston and Roberts split up, one to each side of the street, keeping close to the buildings, weapons at the ready as they headed down toward the rail line at the end of the street.
“That’s far enough.”
Gant turned his head to the right and saw a man standing in the middle of the street, a sub-machinegun in one hand, a small black box in his other.
“Got this rigged with a dead man’s switch,” Finley yelled. “Shoot me, I let go of it — then the girl is dead.”
Gant felt a presence behind him and saw that Emily had crawled out of the back. She slithered into the other side of the booth across from him and looked out at the showdown. “You have to save my father,” Emily said.
Gant’s instinct was to say no — all three of the men out there had played a dirty hand and innocents had suffered because of it. But Emily — she was staring at him and he knew that he owed her. Her ability to escape from her shackle and from that tower was the wild card that had tipped this entire thing against Finley.
“Drop your weapons,” Finley ordered both Cranston and Roberts.
The two reluctantly put their pistols on the ground.
“How does it feel to be helpless?” Finley took a couple steps closer to the two.
“Please,” Emily said. “Or I’ll walk out that door.”
Gant cursed to himself. “All right.”
Gant stood and walked to the front door of the diner.
“I should make you suffer,” Finley yelled. “Just like I suffered. Like all those you betrayed suffered.”
Gant opened the door. “Oh, just shut up.”
Finley spun, weapon at the ready. “Who the hell are you?
Gant brought his own sub-machinegun up. “I’m from the Cellar.”
“Fucking Cellar,” Finley said with a nod. “Heard of it. Where the hell were you guys when these assholes were fucking me over? Fucking the sniper team over?”
When Golden’s son disappeared, Gant thought. Perhaps Nero had been getting too old for the job. “I’m here now.”
“Little fucking late,” Finley said. “It’s over now. I take them out, you take me out, it’s done.”
“That’s fine by me, but Emily would like to keep her father alive,” Gant said.
Finley laughed. “Tough shit on Emily.”
Emily’s voice came from behind Gant. “No, tough shit on you.”
Finley looked stunned for a second, then, surprisingly, he laughed. “Very industrious of you Ms. Cranston.”
“So go ahead and blow up the water tank,” Gant said. “We could all use a show. And then we cut you down where you stand.”
“I’ll give you a show,” Finley said. “But I recommend you hold off on the shooting. You see—“ he held the transmitter up—“there are two buttons on this. The first, well, don’t need that anymore.” He let up a finger holding a button.
Everyone cringed as the water tower exploded. All four legs were blasted away and it began to topple over away from them when a secondary blast underneath the bottom of the tank went off shattering the woods into thousands of pieces.
Gant’s ears were ringing and a few stray pieces of wood sprinkled down around him out of the sky but he kept his attention on Finley. His earlier confidence had faded. The targets’ plans had always prepared for contingencies and he had a feeling Finley was going to unveil the last one.
Cranston had picked up his pistol and was bringing it up to bear on Finley.
“Hold it,” Gant called out to him.
“Good call, Mister Cellar,” Finley said, wiggling the box and the forefinger still pressed down on a button. “I’ve got a card up my sleeve.”
“Fuck,” Gant muttered to himself as he suddenly saw what he’d missed from the very beginning. “Where is he?”
“Very sharp, Mister Cellar,” Finley said approvingly.
Cranston turned and looked at Gant. “What the hell is going on?”
Gant took a step closer to Finley, still not lowering his weapon. “Where is he?”
Finley pointed with the transmitter. “Right there. Inside. Along with five pounds of explosives.”
Gant followed the gesture. A wooden coffin was leaning upright against the side of a building less than thirty feet from Finley. He walked over to the coffin and threw open the front.
A young boy was tied inside, gagged, eyes wide in fear, the interior of the coffin lined with C-4 charges as Finley had said.
Gant had never seen him before but he knew right away he was looking at Jimmy Golden.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Gant?” Neeley’s voice was in his ear. “What the fuck is going on?”
He knew that she — and Golden and Bailey — had heard everything he’d said. He imagined they were quite confused by getting only one half the dialogue.
“That’s Doctor Golden’s son you’re holding there, right Finley?” Gant called out.
“Smart, Mister Cellar,” Finley said. “He was the first target and he’ll be the last casualty. And you can take your throat mike off and throw it in the street.”
Gant did as he ordered and could only hope that the other three in the chopper reacted in the right way because things were going to get very messy, very soon.
“So, first things first,” Finley said. He shifted the sub-machinegun toward Roberts. “Gave me up to the Cartel pretty easily, didn’t you?”
“You—“ Roberts began, but he was cut off as Finley fired a three rounds burst. The bullets tore into Roberts’ legs, knocking him to the ground where he writhed in pain. Gant and Cranston remained perfectly still, both aware of the dead man’s switch that Finley held.
Roberts tried to bring his pistol up to bear and Finley lowered his sub-machinegun and smiled, glancing from Gant to Cranston.
Gant cursed as he aimed at Roberts but Cranston was faster to the trigger. Cranston’s round took the top of Roberts’ head off, spraying the street with blood. Cranston turned to Finley. “I’m the last one. Me for the boy. He’s innocent. And Doctor Golden had nothing to do with what happened to you guys.”
“There are no innocents,” Finley said.
“Let the boy go,” Gant said.
“Where’s his mother?” Finley asked. “Close, right? On the chopper? We knew she’d be brought in. Once we checked out Cranston. We knew he’d run to a woman for help. We even figured on Roberts letting his daughter die. We weren’t so certain with the good Colonel here.”
Cranston threw his sub-machinegun down to the ground. “I’ve killed for you like you asked me to. And I’m ready to die now. Let the boy go.”
* * *
Bailey had to almost sit on top of Golden to keep her from jumping out of the chopper. She’d become hysterical the moment she found out her son was in the town. Neeley didn’t have time to deal with the woman’s histrionics. As soon as Gant threw away his mike, she’d opened the door and run toward town, leaving Bailey to handle Golden.
The sniper rifle felt heavy in her hand as she sprinted toward the edge of town. She heard a short burst of sub-machinegun fire but didn’t pause. Whatever was playing out there was nothing she could do about it until she got a clear line of sight.
She reached the back of the row of stores facing main street and looked about. A ladder led to the roof of one of the single-story buildings and she ran over to it. She clambered up and slid over onto the roof on her belly. She low-crawled to the foot high rampart at the front.
Then she carefully eased her head up until she could see.
It took her a couple of seconds to figure out what she was observing: Roberts was dead in the middle of the street.
Cranston was un-armed, pleading with Finley. And Gant was the third point of the triangle, standing next to a coffin with the boy in it, still armed, but not aiming his weapon at anyone.
Neeley slid the sniper rifle up and looked through the scope, examining the coffin. She saw the quarter pound charges lining the inside of it, linked together with detonating cord and knew if it went off, there wouldn’t be anything left of Jimmy Golden or anyone within fifty feet.
She checked out the transmitter in Finley’s hand. A dead-man’s switch, which meant shooting it or him was out of the question. The only thing keeping the charges from going off was the pressure of his finger on the switch.
Neeley wished she still had communication with Gant. Her receiver was useless without him — that’s when she smiled and shifted the rifle back to the coffin.
* * *
“Go join your daughter,” Gant ordered Cranston.
“I’ll kill the boy,” Finley warned. “I want Cranston over here.”
“And you’ll still kill the boy,” Gant said calmly. He kept his face impassive as he noted the red dot that was sliding along the edge of the coffin.
“Emily,” Cranston called out. “I have to do this. I have to save the boy.”
The red dot became steady and Gant tensed.
“Daddy, please,” Emily cried out from behind Gant.
Gant heard the shot and swung up his sub-machinegun even as he tensed his body for the explosion.
Which didn’t happen as Neeley’s shot shattered the receiver hooked to the fuse inside the coffin. Finley was surprised for a second and that was all Gant needed to level his gun and fire a quick burst, stitching a neat line of bullet holes across Finley’s chest.
He died staring at the transmitter in his hand as if it had betrayed him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Gant sat next to Neeley in the back of the MC-13 °Combat Talon as it flew east. Bailey was on the satellite radio, talking with Ms. Masterson and Nero back in the Cellar, debriefing the mission. Across the way, Colonel Masterson sat with his daughter’s head resting on his thigh as she slept with the unconsciousness of sheer exhaustion. Next to them, Golden held her son tight in her arms. The medic on the plane said the drug he had been given would wear off in the next few hours.
“Well,” Neeley said.
Gant glanced at her. “That was a good shot.”
“If I’d missed—“
“I’d be dead. Along with the boy. And Finley. I trusted you to make it.”
“A lot of dead people,” Neeley noted.
“Yep.”
Gant noted that Neeley seemed troubled. “You don’t know Masterson very well, do you?”
Neeley shook her head. “No.”
“I’ve known Nero many years and worked for him,” Gant said.
They rode in silence for a while. “Well?” Neeley finally said, putting enough twist on it to let Gant know she was asking him.
And he knew what she was asking. He leaned close to her, not that those across the way could hear above the rumble of the engines. “I think Nero knew what was going on from the beginning. And so did Masterson. I think they had a very good idea when Jimmy Golden was snatched that it wasn’t a child molester or random. And then when everything started to happen, they called us to follow because they wanted this whole thing to blow up. They not only wanted the targets — Finley and the SF team. They wanted the CIA guys and the others cleaned out.
“And it worked,” Gant continued. “A lot of bad people who betrayed people are dead.”
“And some innocents.”
“Yes.” Gant took a deep breath. “But that wasn’t our fault and it wasn’t the Cellar’s fault. Nero and Masterson probably knew something stank to high heaven down south over what happened to Finley and the SF team. You had the Director of Operations and the Chief of Direct Action for the CIA involved, for God’s sake. That’s pretty fucking high level. So they let this whole thing play out to get to the truth. I agree with what they did. It was the only way in a world that’s pretty dirty and dark.”
“At least we got Emily and Jimmy back,” Neeley said.
“At least,” Gant agreed. He paused.
“What?” Neeley asked.
“I wonder if we’re going to be asked to take out Colonel Cranston,” Gant finally said with a glance across the plane. “The original plan was that he was to be sanctioned.”
“Hannah isn’t Nero,” Neeley noted.
Gant shrugged. “No, I suppose she isn’t.”
Bailey came walking over. “Where do you guys want to be dropped off?”
“West Virginia,” Neeley said without hesitation.
“Pritchard’s?” Bailey asked Gant. “Oh wait.” He grabbed his stainless steel briefcase. “This was sent to you.” He opened it and pulled out a cigar case. Gant smiled as he recognized the case he’d given Goodwine what seemed like ages ago. He took it and unscrewed the metal end. A cigar slid out. Gant realized it was a fine Cuban and he nodded. The Gullah had their own contacts with the smugglers who worked the coast. A piece of paper was wrapped around it.
Gant read the words: Mus tek cyear a de root fa heal de tree.
He looked up at Bailey. “Where’s my brother buried?”
“His cabin in Vermont.”
“I want to go there.” Then he turned to Neeley. “And then ask Jesse if it’s ok if I come for a visit? I’d like to see her. And Bobbie.”
Neeley smiled. “I’d be glad to.”
THE END
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