Firepower by John Cutter (ebook reader online .txt) 📕

in the brush to take a piss. We all do it sometimes, out here. I’m going to do that right now, Shaun. And you’re going to finish your clip out on that target and think about what I told you — about what to do when things get ugly out here.”

Vince winked at him and turned away, strode into the brush. He headed off to the northwest, looking for the blaze he’d made on a scrub oak.

There it was. He ran to it, dug the pack from under the dry leaves. It had his laptop and the flash drive in it. He slung it over his shoulder, then strode toward the Brethren compound.

He’d made up his mind he’d need the Harley. Time was a serious consideration.

By the time he got to the compound, Mac and the others escorting Deirdre had gone into the building. The guards on the walls paid no attention to him as he strode up, pack over one shoulder; thus far, no alert had gone out about Vincent Bellator. But he knew it was coming.

Vince walked confidently up to his motorcycle, took the keys from the bag, put the little pack in the bike’s saddlebags, climbed onto the bike, started the engine, and rode out from through the gates.

He thought he heard someone call after him but he ignored them.

Vince rode flat-out down the road, then slowed, turning off before coming in sight of the checkpoint. He rode down a game trail, weaving his way between trees, having to go fairly slowly to get around obstacles. Once he had to lift the bike over a fallen log.

He found a dry wash heading west and rode down that past the two gates, then worked his way back up to the access road. Soon he was on the highway, riding for Stonewall. He headed there with all the speed he could manage while still making the curves.

He was wondering if he’d made a mistake telling Shaun to get out; basically letting him know that Vince Bellator was no Germanic Brethren. Maybe Shaun would decide to be a stand-up, true-blue domestic terrorist and run to Gustafson with the information.

But — he had saved Shaun’s hide in Tina’s. He’d seemed willing to trust Vince ever since.

Vince turned off just before town and rode out to the cabin. He parked the bike outside and looked the place over. It didn’t seem to have been disturbed.

He changed his clothes there, getting rid of the hated paramilitary uniform, got back on the Harley and rode to Pat’s, where he knew there was wi-wi.

Sitting in a corner booth, with coffee and pie, he immediately accessed the flash drive. He glanced through it, confirmed she had found what she’d been looking for, and uploaded it to the email Deirdre had given him, along with an advisory about what had happened to Agent Deirdre Corlin.

Then he read his own copy of the documents…

And the pieces began to come together.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“You can start by telling us what your real name is,” said Mac Colls.

“It’s Deirdre Cynthia Johansen,” she said, in a fair imitation of exasperation. “This is stupid… You know me… I’ve been with the Brethren for more than a year!”

She was standing in front of Gustafson’s desk, her hands bound behind her with plastic police ties. Mac was standing to one side, Marco on the other. It was two hours after the federal agent had been captured, and Mac was frustrated that no movement had been made on Vincent Bellator and that, after cooling her heels a while in one of the basement cells, “Deirdre Johansen” was just now being interrogated by General Gustafson.

Gustafson was scowling, chewing up a Tums for an acid stomach as he looked at a printout in front of him. “Answer Mac’s question,” the General said. “What’s your real name?”

She shook her head sadly. “General — you don’t understand. I was bothered by not being able to stay in touch with my family, out here. My mother is sick, my brother was having problems, I have a fiancé — I needed to stay in touch with people. A forty-day stretch here without a phone was just not doable. So I got the satphone. And the gun — I’m just careful, that’s all. You don’t usually let Shield Maidens carry a gun.”

“We called the recent numbers used on that phone,” Gustafson said. “The numbers didn’t connect all the way — they required a code input to go through. A code we don’t have. What family does that?”

“Mine does, sir! We have trouble with harassment because of our views. You should understand that.”

Gustafson shrugged. “I just thought I’d see what story you’d tell us. You see, you have a serial number on that gun. We called in a favor… and traced it. It’s an FBI issue gun. And the satellite phone you use is standard for agents in the field in remote places. It’s the exact model used by the FBI.”

Mac put in, “And she was meeting with Bellator in the library, sir. More than once, the way I’ve heard it He’s with her on this, General!”

Gustafson frowned at him, looked like he was about to demur — then he winced. “Yes. It’s quite possible.” The General looked the FBI agent in the eyes and she looked back at him with bland defiance. “You won’t tell us your name?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gustafson turned the printout on his desk to face her. She saw her own face looking back at her from the file print. “The gun is registered to Deirdre Corlin, FBI. I could have led with that but — I just wanted to know if you were going to tell us without coercion. A little preview of what is to come. It appears coercion will be necessary. How about this question —