Blacksnow Zero
Page 27
Ryan nodded. “Go ahead. You’ve never steered me wrong before.”
“The bullet cracked a shatter-proof window and then penetrated Ross’s head. As you can imagine, all we found were the bullet’s fragments. But my conclusion is that it was a .50 caliber round.”
The PI rubbed his jaw. “That means a very-sophisticated, high-end rifle was used. The type used by professional snipers. No question this was a well-planned assassination.”
“I agree, J.T.” Doctor Mallory closed the file folder. “Anything else I can tell you?”
“I want to see the body.”
“You sure? I know you’ve got a strong stomach, but this is gruesome.”
“I’m sure. I may pick up some clues.”
“All right. But I have to make this quick. I’ve got three more cadavers to process today.”
“Don’t worry, doc. Those folks aren’t going anywhere.”
Mallory frowned at Ryan’s attempt at levity. He stood and said, “Follow me and I’ll take you back there.”
The M.E. led Ryan down a long, white-tiled corridor and moments later they entered what the building’s employees referred to as the ‘meat locker’. It was the storage area where cadavers were kept after autopsies. The room was kept at a frigid 36 degrees and Ryan shivered from the cold.
Mallory strode past a long row of stainless-steel freezer lockers and stopped in front of one of them. He opened the locker door and slid out the metal shelf. Then he removed the sheet covering the corpse and stood aside so that the PI could see.
Ryan had witnessed his share of death, while in combat and later in law-enforcement, but he still swallowed hard. The M.E. had been correct in his assessment – it was a gruesome sight. The dead man’s head had literally been blown off. All that remained were bloody chunks of brain matter and skin tissue and cracked skull fragments. His neck resembled raw hamburger meat.
Ryan inspected the cadaver for another minute, then turned back to the M.E. “You can close it up.”
Mallory nodded, covered the body with the sheet, and slid the metal tray into the wall.
They left the frigid room and Ryan exited the building, knowing the gruesome sight would haunt his dreams for several days.
Chapter 7
Downtown
Atlanta, Georgia
After reading the FBI report Erin had given him, Ryan pulled out a paper map from his SUV’s glove box and studied it carefully. The map, which was a detailed diagram of the downtown area and its nearby surroundings, showed the avenues and all of the side streets. It also identified the numerous high-rises that comprised Atlanta’s skyline.
A half-hour later he folded up the map, put it away, and fired up his Explorer. Then he spent the next three hours driving through the areas south of downtown, scouting out possible locations where the sniper had taken the shot. After stopping at multiple buildings to determine a likely sight line, he spotted an abandoned structure about a half-mile from the Face-Look skyscraper.
He parked at the curb, got out, and studied the fifteen-story building, which appeared to be an office complex. It was partially finished – no windows or doors were in place, its construction most likely halted years ago due to lack of financing.
Ryan took out a rucksack from his SUV’s hatch and went inside the deserted, dim interior. Using a flashlight, he made his way around the first floor, which was covered with cobwebs and dust. He found a concrete staircase at one side of the space and began climbing the stairs to the tenth floor.
When he got there, he noticed it was a wide-open area, with only support beams in place. He headed toward the north part of it, and stopped just shy of where the glass windows would normally be installed. A light breeze was blowing, swirling dust into the room. He gazed out toward downtown Atlanta.
Taking out a pair of binoculars, he focused on the Face-Look headquarters building a half-mile away. The murdered man’s office had been on the tenth floor and thru his binos the PI could clearly see the plywood that now covered the shattered window of his office.
It’s a perfect sight line.
Realizing this was an excellent location for the sniper to take his shot, Ryan spent the next hour scouring the large, open space, looking for disturbed areas.
He found it eventually, a spot near the edge of the floor where the windows would normally be. Footprints and other fresh marks were evident on the otherwise dust-covered floor.
He looked for shell casings but found none. The sniper was a pro. He cleaned up his brass after taking the shot.
The PI had brought with him a small CSI kit, which he took out of his rucksack. Erin had given him the kit years ago. Although Ryan was not a crime scene expert, he knew enough to carry out several procedures.
Opening the kit, he took out fingerprint tape and DNA tools and started collecting samples from the disturbed area of the dusty floor. That done, he took photos of the footprints. Satisfied he’d collected as much evidence as he could, he packed up the CSI kit. He’d call Erin when he got back to his vehicle to schedule her techs to come out to the scene and do a more thorough job.
Then he made his way down the stairs and headed back to his SUV.
Chapter 8
Salt Lake City, Utah
The man was driving south on Interstate 15, away from the city. The car ahead of him, a gray Lexus sedan, was doing sixty.
The man realized the Lexus was pulling away from him and he floored the accelerator of the big rig he was driving, a Mack semi truck. The truck’s large diesel engine growled, it’s twin smokestacks spewed a burst of black dust, and the hulking vehicle surged forward.
The man peered into the distance ahead of him, then glanced at his rearview mirrors. There was no traffic on the mostly deserted interstate.
The timing’s right. Almost perfect.
He cut the rig’s steering wheel left and slid into the passing lane. He kept his foot jammed on the accelerator, the semi picking up speed. The speedometer ticked up. 65 mph. 70 mph, and he was alongside the Lexus.
The man eased off the accelerator and glanced down at the gray sedan, which was dwarfed by the massive truck. He cut the wheel to the right, the big rig edging closer to the car.
For a brief moment he caught the Lexus driver’s wide-eyed look of panic, as he realized what was about to happen. The truck driver felt energized by the terrified look. He cut the wheel even further right and the two vehicles collided.
The scraping metal howled, the car’s windshield exploded, and its tires shredded. The 5,000 pound Lexus was no match for the 80,000 pound truck and the car was thrown off the interstate, it spun 360 degrees, and crashed head-on into a rocky formation by the road, one of the many rock-strewn buttes that covered large parts of the mountainous state of Utah.
The semi, barely scathed from the collision, kept driving south.
The driver slowed the vehicle and glanced into the rearview just as the gas tank of the Lexus exploded, a ball of fire engulfing the crushed remains of the car.
He sped up again, wanting to quickly put distance between himself and the crash scene.
Half an hour later he pulled off the interstate, slowed the big rig, and stopped. Climbing out of the stolen truck, he started jogging away from it toward his own vehicle, which he’d hidden behind a butte. Ten minutes later he got in his Jeep. He took a swig of water from his canteen and pulled out his SAT cell phone. Turning it on, he pressed the encryption button and tapped in an international phone number.
When the woman answered, he said, “It’s done.”
“You’ve taken care of our Utah problem?” she asked in flawless English.
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
“When can I expect payment?”
“I’ll wire you the money today,” she said.
“Good. Will you have other work for me?”
There was no answer for a moment, then the woman said, “I’m sure I will. I’ll text you the details.”
He heard a click
on the line and realized she had hung up.