Blowout (35 page)

Egan looked at her and smiled. He spoke into his lapel mike: “Post one, team lead, what's your situation?”

“Post one, clear,” the squad leader at the Donna Marie gate responded.

“Post two, team lead.”

“Just about to call you, team lead. We're at our fire positions.”

“Did you run into any resistance?”

“Negative. The place is ours.”

“Post three, team lead. Any company?”

“Negative,” the guard they'd just placed at the main gate responded.

“I believe that we'll be staying until they do arrive,” Egan told Whitney. “And the sooner the better.”

“You've come to try to destroy us. What makes you so sure you won't fail again? You seem to be pretty good at it.”

Egan's gorge rose. He wanted to kill the bitch here and now. Put a couple of rounds into her egghead skull. Maybe take her into a back room and rape her first. Maybe rape here right here on the dance floor, then shoot her. As early as grade school he used to have the same thoughts about most of his teachers, because they were the same sort of sanctimonious bitches for whom their religion—their God—was book learning that they tried to cram down your throat every chance they got.

But before he could get any of that out, Whitney had turned on Daley.

“I wondered about you. We all did.”

“Yes, I know,” Daley said. His voice had a slight southern accent—maybe Texas—and was insinuating. “So did the lieutenant commander. You shouldn't have waited so long to ask questions.”

Egan holstered his pistol and unslung his M4 from his shoulder. “Dr. Lipton, I would like you and your people, including the power plant workers to sit down in the middle of the dance floor.”

No one moved.

“Now, if you please,” Egan said.

“We're not going to cooperate with you bastards,” a rough-looking man in white coveralls said, breaking away from the girl he had been dancing with.

Egan figured the man for one of the power plant engineers, and he shot him, a three-round burst catching the man full in the chest, driving him backwards into several people, drenching them with blood.

Some of the women screamed wildly, but Whitney simply stepped back a pace, a horribly stricken look on her face.

“Goddamn you,” she said, and she motioned for the others to sit down on one side of the small dance floor, as far away from the blood and gore as they could get.

A waitress stood petrified at the maitre d's station to the right of the dance floor, the six tables in the dining area set but empty, and Egan motioned for her to join the others who were beginning to settle down now that they realized what would happen if they refused to cooperate.

He turned to the bartender, who still had her hands in the air. “How many in the kitchen?”

“Three. Lin, he's the cook—”

“Get them out here, please, before I shoot someone else.”

“They're gone out the back door by now,” Whitney said, but she didn't sound as defiant as before.

“Now, please.” Egan gestured to the bartender with his carbine. He had no beef with working stiffs.

The woman disappeared through a door at the end of the bar and came back with the three frightened kitchen crew almost immediately, and Egan motioned for them to come around the bar and join the others on the dance floor.

“Is there anyone else here in this building?” Egan asked.

No one answered, and he started to point his weapon at one of the techs, but Whitney spoke up.

“No, this is it,” she said.

“How about at the R and D Center or the barracks? Anyone in the dining hall? A cook, maybe?”

“Everybody's here,” Whitney said.

“You're lying, of course,” Egan said, and he nodded to Daley. “Time to get this show on the road.”

Daley went to the door and brought in the other four contractors and their prisoner. When Cameron walked in, Whitney let out a little cry.

It was the reaction he was looking for. “So I was right after all,” he said. “Love in the Badlands between the lady egghead and the macho SEAL.”

Daley shoved Cameron onto the dance floor, where he slumped down heavily beside Whitney, and lowered his head. His scalp wound was still oozing blood and he looked as if he were nearly on the verge of collapsing.

Just as well, Egan thought, the egghead would be preoccupied trying to help her lover, and would cause them less trouble. In the end when he killed the ex-SEAL she would do exactly what she was told to do.

“Team lead, post three,” the guard at the main gate radioed.

“Post three, trouble?” Egan responded.

“Two people showed up, one of them is the county sheriff.”

“Official business?”

“Negative, they say they've been invited to the party.”

“Let me guess; the other one is a woman. Ashley Borden.”

“Yes, sir.”

Egan grinned. “Send them up.”

 

54

THE GUARD IN
white camos, an M4 carbine slung over his shoulder, barrel down, opened the main gate and waved them through. Osborne pulled forward and stopped, his window down. “Are they all up at the mess hall?”

“No, sir, I think they're probably at Henry's. Lieutenant Commander Cameron said for you guys to hustle on up, it's almost midnight.”

Ashley leaned forward. “Is everyone partying tonight?” she asked.

“Yes, ma'am, except for me, of course,” the guard said. “But you'd best hurry.”

Osborne started up to the compound, watching the guard in the rearview mirror. The contractor remained at the side of the road watching them.

“Lieutenant Commander Cameron?” Ashley said. “So far as I know no one calls him that here.”

“He's one of the new ones, I think,” Osborne said. “Leastways I don't remember him from before.”

Something was wrong, he could taste it on the air. When they'd shown up the guard had come out to talk to them, but he'd not gone back into the gatehouse to phone for authorization to let them in; instead he'd talked into a lapel mike. But no one here used field personnel communications units so far as Osborne had seen.

“What?” Ashley asked, sensing something of his sudden change in mood.

“I don't know,” Osborne said.

“If it's another one of your battlefield hunches I wish you'd lighten up. You're starting to scare me.”

There was no movement in the compound, but the guard said they were all inside Henry's waiting for midnight. To the south the red light and strobe atop the Donna Marie smokestack were operating as normal.

Nothing. And that, he suddenly realized, was the problem.

“No music,” he said.

His window was still open, and Ashley cocked an ear to listen. “Maybe they're watching TV, waiting for the ball to drop.”

Osborne glanced at his watch; it was less than a minute to midnight. He looked in his rearview mirror, and the guard was still standing at the side of the road. This was all wrong. “Somebody should be making noise,” he said. “Party horns or something.”

A pair of Hummers painted in desert camouflage were parked in front of Henry's across from the R&D building, but it wasn't until Osborne approached that he could see the army markings on the doors. Army, not air force. And he pulled out his handgun and slowed down to a crawl.

“Call your dad and have him alert Ellsworth. We have a problem here.”

Ashley grabbed her cell phone out of her purse. “No signal bars.”

Osborne drove past the Hummers. The club was between them and the gate guard, but if someone was waiting for them inside they would be expecting him and Ashley to show up any moment now.

Reaching the far side of the club, he rounded the corner just far enough so that the rear of his SUV would not be visible to anyone coming out the front. They were opposite the mess hall, which was next to the R&D building about thirty yards away.

He got on his police radio. No one was at the office to listen for his call; at this hour everything was done by phone to 911, but some of the ranchers had police scanners and liked to listen in.

“This is Billings County Sheriff Nate Osborne. Anyone listening please call nine-one-one and report an emergency at the Initiative.”

“You have another gun?” Ashley asked.

“Shotgun in the back. Do you know how to use it?”

“You kidding?” she said, and jumped out of the SUV and ran around to the back where she popped open the rear gate.

Osborne kept his eye on the rearview mirror, as he sent the same message again to anyone listening, though he didn't think it was very likely anyone would be at this exact moment. His watch showed just seconds to midnight. The countdown had begun and there should have been a lot of noise from inside.

Ashley was back with the twelve-gauge Ithaca 37 police shotgun in the short stock-pistol grip Stakeout configuration. “No noise yet,” she said. She was a little breathless but steady. “How do you want to play this?”

“I don't want to start a gun battle that we'd lose.”

“What about the doc and her people? Makes them hostages, unless they're already dead.”

“Yeah, I know. It also means they've probably already wired Donna Marie to blow, and the only way we can stop them is by letting Ellsworth know.”

“But that's not going to happen with the guard on the gate. He's gotta be one of theirs, and any second now someone in Henry's is going to wonder what's keeping us and come looking.”

“You're right, so we're going to plan B.”

“Which is?”

“I'm going to slow them down long enough for you to get over to the R and D facility and find out if the landline and Internet connections have been cut, too. If not, call for backup.”

“I'm not going to leave you here,” Ashley protested.

“I need you to do this for me, Ash.”

She wanted to argue, but she finally nodded. “Doesn't mean I'm always going to do everything you tell me to do.”

They both got out of the car, and Osborne held her back as he made a quick check of the front entrance, but no one had come out yet. He hurried to the rear of the building and peeked around the corner toward the back door. But, as in the front, nothing was moving.

“Keep your ass down, I want a lot more afternoons like today's.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Ashley said. She brushed a kiss on his cheek, then headed in a dead run across the open ground.

Osborne kept watch on the rear door until she reached the dining hall where she stopped long enough to wave before she disappeared around the corner. He had no idea how this could possibly turn out well, or if he'd ever see her again. But sending her away and watching her slip out of sight was possibly the worst feeling he'd ever had in his life.

“You missed the celebration,” someone said from behind him.

 

55

THE CRACKER SHERIFF
turned around and Egan got a kick out of the man's reaction. For just an instant Osborne was surprised; it showed on his face, in the tightening of his eyes. Whatever he'd expected, Egan as a brigadier general wasn't one of them.

“Help is on the way,” Osborne said.

“Not yet, but soon,” Egan replied. “You wouldn't have blundered through the gate otherwise.” He looked beyond Osborne. “Where's your girlfriend?”

“Gone.”

Egan shrugged. “That's okay, we'll find her and when we do she's dead.”

“You won't have the time. And you've got bigger problems than her.”

“I'm all ears.”

“You'll be taken alive, of course. The Rapid Response Team guys have been given orders that they can take you down, shoot you in the kneecaps, but not kill you. They want you to stand trial. Big, public, messy, so that you can tell everyone what a Posse Comitatus hero you are. It's going to go down great on TV when they show what you looked like in drag. Like some fairy queen. You'll be a big hit at Leavenworth.”

Egan's jaw tightened. “Take his gun,” he said.

“I say we just shoot him,” Larry Turner, one of Daley's men, said. He'd come around from the east side of the building, and he was the type who would have no second thoughts about shooting a man in the back. Even a war hero. “He's more trouble than he's worth.”

“You're right, but his girlfriend is General Forester's daughter. And the sheriff here is the bait we're going to use to get her back.”

“She's probably at the R and D building telling Ellsworth we're here.”

“Saves us the trouble,” Egan said impatiently. He was tired of explaining everything, especially to grunts like Turner. “Take his gun.”

“Their orders to take Egan alive don't apply to the rest of you,” Osborne said over his shoulder. “The project is worth more than your lives.”

Turner came up behind him, and Osborne held out his pistol, which looked like a SIG to Egan. Nice weapon: fifteen-round magazine of 9mm Parabellum rounds, great staying power, reasonable stopping ability. A good weapon in the right hands.

He saw Turner's mistake the instant before Osborne swiveled on his peg leg, grabbed a handful of the contractor's white tunic, and pulled the man around as a shield.

Egan fired once, hitting Turner square in the chest, and ducked down behind the SUV as Osborne fired three times in rapid succession.

“You son of a bitch, you're going nowhere!” Egan screamed, his rage spiking.

He should have shot the bastard in the first place, and knowing that he was wrong and Turner was right didn't help.

“Osborne, you bastard, do you hear me?”

Someone came around from the front of the club.

“Get down, the bastard's armed!” Egan shouted.

“He's gone, you dumb son of a bitch!” Daley shouted, racing past the SUV and skidding to a halt at the rear corner of the club.

Egan got cautiously to his feet as Daley took a look around the edge of the building. A rapid burst of M4 fire slammed into the side of the building, causing the contractor to duck back for just a moment before he shoved his carbine around the corner and fired most of the thirty rounds and ducked back to reload.