Firepower John Cutter (mini ebook reader TXT) 📖

Shaun looked at the phone in the sewing bag. She’d probably notice if he took it.

But what if she didn’t? There was a lot of junk in that bag.

“Suck in your belly, my brave boy!” Polly said. “I must get this tight!”

He pretended to do just that — but only did it a little so she’d have to struggle with the vest. She muttered in Ukrainian as she jerked the belt tighter — and he used her distraction to reach out, grab the phone, and push it up under his vest in front.

“Now then, that is good!” Polly said, buckling something he couldn’t see.

Shaun pretended to stretch a little and managed to flip the sewing mostly shut so she wouldn’t see into it when she picked it up.

“You got that thing adjusted yet, Polly?” Mac asked.

“Almost… I must be careful not to… well… almost done…”

Shaun thought, The suicide vest — is live.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Vince had found some cold-press coffee in the big heli’s minifridge, and he was drinking it from the bottle as he walked out onto the cracked old runway. Deirdre Corlin was just coming down the extending steps from the helicopter cab.

The moon was sinking toward the horizon, looking big and yellow over the almost featureless buildings of the industrial park. Rotors slowing almost to a stop, the helicopter was sitting in the middle of the abandoned runway, about two hundred yards from the little, boarded-over control tower. It had been a small airport for private planes, once; now it was mostly a canvas for graffiti artists.

Deirdre walked up beside him and said, “I see you finally cleaned the mud off your face and hands. It’s an improvement.”

“Oh, thanks. I learned to wash when I was a boy. Sometimes I remember.”

She smiled, and he liked that he’d made her smile.

Seeing headlights swivel onto the edge of the big concrete apron, Vince stopped where he was and shifted the coffee into his left hand, putting his right on the butt of his gun.

“Is that him?” Vince asked as Deirdre stepped up beside him.

“If it isn’t, we’re screwed,” she said, calmly.

“Good to know.”

The black Crown Vic pulled up to their left, and the engine shut off, but the driver left the headlights on.

An Asian-American guy got out. He was about thirty-five, wearing a gray-blue suit, black tie, white shirt. Classic FBI, Vince thought.

“Hey, Corlin,” he said. But he was eyeing Vince.

“Hey, Richie. This is Vince Bellator.”

Agent Chang walked up to Vince and they shook hands. Vince was a head taller than Chang, probably had fifty pounds on him too. But he seemed a wiry, confident man. “Mr. Bellator.” He looked past them at the heli. “You’ve got your own helicopter, now, Corlin?”

“Sure,” she said. “Weren’t you issued one?”

“We kind of borrowed it,” Vince said. “But the guy we borrowed it from was trying to kill us.”

“Is that a machine gun inside there?” he asked, staring at it.

“Ah — it is,” Vince said. “Yeah. Gustafson had that put in. He didn’t get to use it.”

“So that’s a stolen helicopter…”

Deirdre shrugged. “Technically.”

Chang let out a long breath and shook his head. “You didn’t go right to the nearest Bureau office and just… I don’t know… turn it in?”

“You can’t land a huge helicopter like that just anywhere,” she said.

“Anyway, we had to get here fast,” Vince said. “Agent Corlin told you what’s going down tomorrow morning?”

Chang grimaced. “Yeah, Corlin told me. If they go through with it. I was trying to get the Bureau on board but… they’re calling me in. They want me to turn in my gun and badge, for now. Pending investigation. Just like Corlin here.”

Deirdre shook her head in disgust. “The idiots! I called it in to the D.C. police, Richie — and soon as they heard my name, they said I was wanted for questioning and they discounted the whole report! They said there are dozens of calls about an attack, and some say it’s this place and some say that place and they’ve decided they’re all bogus, some kind of ‘fringe group harassment’.”

“That’s Gustafson’s work,” Vince said. “Disinformation is a standard white supremacist tactic. Dozens of false tips to cover up the real attack.” He looked at Chang. “There have to be FBI agents who’re willing to listen.”

He nodded. “There are. Thing is, Director Dawson is under investigation himself, by an inspector general. He’s under a lot of suspicion. Justice Department’s in turmoil. Lots of agents don’t trust him. But they don’t want to go against orders, either. They could lose their job — their pensions.”

“We need to get what help we can and stop this thing.”

“You’re sure it’s on…?” Chang asked. “Corlin told me what happened at the base…”

Vince said, “I believe it is. Gustafson has been preparing for the attack for more than two years. And we can’t take a chance. A lot of innocent lives are on the line.”

Chang said, “I hear that.” He cocked his head to one side and looked at Vince appraisingly. “But… really, I should arrest you. Stolen chopper. Piles of bodies at Wolf Base. Interstate flight. Maybe you had good reasons, but — that doesn’t make it legal.”

“Can’t let you arrest me,” said Vince in an apologetic tone. “But I can promise not to hurt you much if you try.”

Chang blinked and his head rocked back a little. “You’re kind of over-confident, aren’t you?”

“Do we need a pissing contest now?” Deirdre growled. “Richie, he could take you down before you touched your gun. Just trust me. I’ve read his files. And I’ve seen him in action. He’s a highly decorated Delta Force specialist.”

Chang cleared his throat. “Just asking. So… now what?”

“You have to try to get law enforcement on this,” Vince