Gambit by David Hagberg (fantasy novels to read txt) 📕

power than the standard 9×19. Plus plenty of ammunition so that if it comes to a down-and-dirty gunfight, you’ll have serious muscle on your side.”

Pete nodded. “I’ve fired it on the Farm. I wouldn’t want to face it.”

“If you head out on the boat, whatever will be coming at you will either present a relatively slow-moving surface target or something faster in the air. One of you will be driving the boat while the other will be shooting back. We’ll stick with Heckler & Koch. The HK323 assault rifle.”

“We want the heavier round,” McGarvey said.

“I’m seeing the model SG1 with the Trijicon optical sight. Is that what you want?” Otto asked. “It’s chambered for the 7.62×51mm round.”

“That’d damn near stop a tank,” Pete said.

“Get us two plus plenty of ammunition,” McGarvey said.

“Done. Flash-bang grenades?”

“They leave too much residue to clean up. But get us a couple of tactical lights, something bright enough to momentarily blind someone.”

“Are you expecting more than one shooter?” Otto asked after a slight pause.

“It could be an entire assault team. But whoever it is will be better than the first two, I’m sure of at least that much.”

“Whoever the expediter is will have to have access to a decent amount of untraceable money,” Otto said. “I’ll put Lou to work on it again.”

“But don’t rule out foreign sources,” Pete said. “Maybe we’ve put too much emphasis on someone homegrown.”

“Nothing domestic or foreign has shown up on my radar.”

“Nothing with connections to a governmental agency,” McGarvey interjected.

“Yeah,” Otto said dejectedly. “But that leaves the rest of the eight billion plus people on the planet to check out.”

“How about the movie star broad and her billionaire boyfriend?” Pete asked. “We crossed them last year in Cannes and Monaco; maybe they’re holding a grudge.”

“They’re players—not someone likely to hire a killer. Anyway, to this point, they come up clean.”

Otto had called ahead so that when they arrived at the gate, an escort wearing BDUs with captain’s bars was waiting for them in a dark blue Ford Explorer with air force markings. He was well over six feet and very lean, with dark hair and narrow dark eyes. His name tag read MILLER, and he was all business.

Mac pulled over, and the captain came back. “May I see some IDs?”

They handed out their real driver’s licenses, which the officer studied intently, checking their faces against the photos before he handed them back.

“Could you tell me the name of the gentleman who made the reservations?”

“Otto Rencke.”

“Yes, sir,” Miller said. “If you’ll just follow me, we’ll head over to pick up your package. Do not deviate from my tail, or you will be subject to arrest. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mac said.

The captain got back in his SUV and was saluted through the gate by one of the APs on duty, who then turned away without acknowledging McGarvey.

The sprawling base that bordered on Tampa Bay was huge, and it took nearly ten minutes to reach an aircraft hangar just off the active runway as a KC-135 Stratotanker was lifting off.

Miller drove inside and pulled up in the far corner where a pair of airmen in work uniforms and hard hats were waiting next to a package about the size of a four-drawer file cabinet that was shrink-wrapped in dark brown opaque plastic and lying on its side on a pallet.

McGarvey pulled up next to it and popped the rear hatch, and he and Pete stowed the rear seats in their wells.

The airmen, both of them the size of football linebackers, hefted the package with some difficulty and loaded it into the back of the Toyota, which sank a little on its shocks. One of them closed the hatch, and both of them saluted the captain and left by a rear service door.

“Would you like me to sign something?” McGarvey asked.

“No, sir.”

“I may need it for a few days.”

“This afternoon, the items will be reported captured in action by Taliban forces. When you have no further need, have them destroyed.”

“I think we can manage,” McGarvey said.

The captain cracked the slightest of smiles. “I’m sure Housekeeping would be happy to accommodate you. And good hunting, Mr. Director.”

They were escorted off the base and made the run to the airport in Sarasota, where Pete got into the Porsche and followed Mac down to Casey Key. He backed the Toyota into the garage and shut the door as soon as Pete parked the Speedster and joined him.

“It’s a safe bet the two of us aren’t going to lift that thing, let alone carry it into the house,” Pete said.

She got a box cutter from the workbench as Mac opened the rear hatch and manhandled the weapons package to the tipping point, easing it onto the floor and then over on its side.

Pete used the cutter as Mac peeled the several layers of heavy plastic away, revealing the cache of weapons that were cushioned by a thick layer of foam rubber atop a half-dozen ammunition boxes.

Pete was impressed. “We could start World War III right here,” she said. “But I’m glad this stuff is in our garage, not in the hands of some Taliban fighters out there.”

The sheer firepower in front of them was impressive even to McGarvey.

He took Pete in his arms. “I want you to listen to me for once in your life.”

She looked up at him. “Don’t even say it, Kirk, because there’s not one chance in hell I’m leaving here until we get this shit resolved.”

“I could order you to go.”

She laughed. “Do you suppose that would work, darling? Really?”

THIRTY-SIX

Dr. Buerger had changed radically since the last time Taio and Li had been to see him for some cosmetic work about three years ago. In that time, he had deteriorated; the pallor of his sagging skin almost made it look as if he had been dead for twenty-four hours or more. His eyes had become pale as well, and he had a bad body odor as if he hadn’t bathed