Known Dead (35 page)

Seeing Sally and Nola going behind the bench, I charged a round into my rifle, and pointed it at the main courtroom door. About a second later, a face in a ski mask peeked around the doorframe, with a long black object just under it. He saw me, and the long, black object suddenly became a submachine gun with a silencer. He fired, and I fired. I missed. He hit me in the belly. I rocked back on my heels, and then ducked down. I looked at my belly. Small hole in my shirt, and a lump in my ballistic vest right behind it. Cool.

‘‘Fuckin’ thing really works,’’ I said. It did. Course, it was probably a 9 mm round slowed to subsonic speed by the silencer. Hey. Not time to get picky.

‘‘Jesus,’’ said Sally, who had seen the bullet hit, ‘‘you okay?’’

‘‘Fine,’’ I said, kneeling down behind the bench.

She looked at me. ‘‘You better keep that belly of yours covered up.’’ She put her hand on my arm, the only gesture of affection she’d ever shown. ‘‘You scared me to death.’’

‘‘Kiss it and make it better,’’ said Nola.

Sally turned on her, and grabbed her by the blouse collar.

‘‘Jesus Christ, you two,’’ I said.

Wonderful. Trapped with two women who were about to kill each other.

I tried my walkie-talkie. No answers to me, but lots to other people. Pandemonium.

I unsnapped my .40 caliber S&W and handed it to Sally. ‘‘You might need this,’’ I said. ‘‘I think they shot Mark out in the hall.’’

She took the gun. She’d qualified on our handgun course. Had to, to be a matron. Never carried one since, and said that she hated them.

‘‘There’s one in the chamber,’’ I said, too late. She’d vigorously worked the slide to chamber a round, ejecting a live round from the gun, which hit the railing in front of the bench, clanked off the court reporter’s desk lamp, and spun off onto the floor.

‘‘Never mind . . .’’ She looked a little embarrassed. Not good for the troops to be embarrassed. ‘‘Promise me you won’t use that on Nola,’’ I said.

She smiled. ‘‘Nope.’’

Nola wasn’t sure what to think. Good.

It looked like we had a minute. ‘‘Okay,’’ I said to Sally. ‘‘Looks like some paramilitary people want Nola here. Probably the same folks that shot Kellerman and Turd.’’ I spoke very fast.

‘‘Okay,’’ she said softly.

‘‘They’re good. So be very alert.’’

‘‘Okay.’’

‘‘I want you to watch the door on the left, and keep your head down. I’ll take the big doors to the hall.’’

There was what I took to be a burst of fire from the area of the main door and a loud noise. I say I took it to be, because I didn’t hear any gunfire, just the sound of many things striking the bench, hard.

We ducked. The loud noise probably meant that somebody had hit the floor when the shots were fired. Swell. We had company in the courtroom now.

The problem was this: As soon as somebody came in the main doors, there were the gallery benches. The benches were in two sections, like church pews, just not as many. On my left was the jury box. Separating the jury box and the rest of the courtroom was a three-foot-high barrier of oak that traversed the entire courtroom. There was a swinging door in the middle, so the attorneys and witnesses could come from the gallery toward the bench. However, anybody making it through the big doors could be completely out of my line of sight, and could either creep down to the jury box, about fifteen feet from me, or get almost all the way to the barrier door in the middle before I could see them.

Unless, of course, I stood up. Hardly a viable option.

I tried the radio again. This time I got an answer.

‘‘Where are you?’’

‘‘I’m in the courtroom with Nola and Sally and we are being shot at!’’

‘‘Repeat.’’

I did.

‘‘Three, I’m not sure I understand you.’’

I said it a third time, slowly. Nola chuckled, and Sally glared at her.

‘‘Got it!’’ said Dispatch. ‘‘Help’s on the way.’’

God, I said to myself, I sure hope so.

‘‘Give up, Deputy,’’ boomed a voice from the hallway. ‘‘Come on out with your hands up.’’

‘‘Not on your life, asshole!’’ I shouted.

I was watching the edge of the jury box and trying to keep my eye on the little gate at the same time. I could feel myself getting tense, and felt the pulse in my neck throbbing against my shirt collar.

A head in a ski mask popped up right where I had my gun pointed, just at the intersection of the barrier and the jury box. I fired, and he ducked. I half stood, and fired six or seven more times, through the barrier, and to where I thought he’d be.

The firing was deafening, and slightly stunning in the confined area of the courtroom. The resulting silence was just as bad. Nothing for several seconds. Then the voice boomed out again.

‘‘Use a frag grenade, Ted!’’

Nola saved our lives. ‘‘No!’’ she screamed. ‘‘No, Gabe. It’s me!’’

‘‘No grenade,’’ hollered Gabe. ‘‘No grenades.’’

Then silence.

I glanced at Nola. She had tears on her cheeks. Strange. Sally didn’t.

Time to stall.

‘‘Hey, Gabe!’’ I hollered. ‘‘Good to talk to you again! Is Herman still alive?’’

‘‘Is this fucking Houseman?’’ he hollered back.

‘‘You got the first name wrong!’’ I answered, ‘‘But it’s me!’’

‘‘More cops comin’!’’ yelled Nola.

‘‘Sally,’’ I said, ‘‘shut her up for a while . . .’’

Honest, I thought that Sally would simply get on Nola’s case a bit. Instead, she pulled out her little can of pepper Mace and shot her in the face.

An ‘‘Ah!’’ followed by a honking noise, guttural choking sounds, slurping noises, wheezing, and one understandable phrase. ‘‘Fuckin’ bitch . . .’’

Well, I could sympathize. So too could Sally. The vapors were surrounding our little fort, and while most of the stuff had gone right into Nola’s face, both Sally and I were starting to tear up a little.

‘‘Jesus Christ, girl,’’ I muttered.

‘‘Works, don’t it?’’

‘‘Yeah, it does that.’’ I couldn’t help grinning. To myself.

‘‘Let her out, Houseman,’’ boomed the voice. ‘‘I don’t want to have to kill you.’’ There was a pause. ‘‘But I will.’’

I didn’t hear any cavalry coming.

‘‘I can’t do that!’’ I yelled. ‘‘You know that!’’

‘‘Don’t be a hero, Houseman!’’

Silence.

‘‘Hey, Gabe?’’ I yelled.

‘‘What?’’ boomed back.

I didn’t answer. I was looking at the little gate in the barrier, watching it move open a quarter of an inch at a time. Whoever it was, he was on his belly. I couldn’t see him, and wasn’t able to tell if he was on the left or the right of the door. I carefully aimed and fired a round at the gap. I nicked the edge of the door, slapping it back about ten inches until it contacted whoever was behind it. On the left. Sally jumped a foot.

‘‘Jesus!’’

The little door, now with a bent hinge, hung at an angle. No sign of movement behind it. I assumed that had been Ted back there. I expected he was a little further back now.

It was quiet again for a few seconds.

‘‘Three, Comm!’’ My walkie-talkie.

‘‘Go . . .’’ I hated the distraction, but I was also pretty damned anxious to be rescued.

‘‘Keep low,’’ she said, not quite certain what she was being told to say. ‘‘They say to keep low!’’

‘‘Okay,’’ I said, just as Sally let out a little yelp and fired the pistol.

I must have jumped a foot myself. Nola let out a scream, and covered her swollen face with her hands.

‘‘What the fuck!’’

‘‘Somebody at this door,’’ quavered Sally. She wasn’t so much scared as on an adrenaline rush. ‘‘I think I killed him,’’ she said, breathless.

I looked at my door, and then back at hers. I saw what appeared to be a bullet hole near the further doorframe.

I looked back. ‘‘I don’t think you killed him,’’ I said. ‘‘Keep your eyes open.’’

We were already down when they called. We were just waiting now.

Three very loud cracks outside in the hall, with enough light to make me think they were using flashbulbs out there. Ah. Flash-Bangs. Antiterrorist stuff, tremendous light and noise, no fragments. Relatively harmless. Effective.

Sally just said, ‘‘What’s that?’’

After all the firing, we weren’t too noise-sensitive.

‘‘Our guys,’’ I said.

There was a clattering outside in the hall. It sounded like somebody was dropping small coins on the floor out there. A lot of them.

‘‘What’s that?’’

‘‘I think it’s empty shells,’’ I said. ‘‘The bad guys are using silencers. All we can hear is their empty shells hitting the floor.’’ I hesitated. ‘‘I think.’’

There was a sudden distant rumbling sound, and two of the exterior courtroom windows shattered. I felt an overpressure, like a shock wave that had lost most of its punch.

A second later Sally said, ‘‘And that?’’

‘‘Beats the hell out of me,’’ I said.

It was quiet for a second, then there was a flurry of shots. Loud shots. No silencers.

I didn’t wait for the question. ‘‘That’s the good guys,’’ I said.

About two seconds later, my radio came to life again.

‘‘Three,’’ said a male voice, ‘‘we’re comin’ into the courtroom, through the main door and the side door. Don’t shoot. We’ll come slow.’’

‘‘Ten-four,’’ I said. ‘‘But you might have one or two in here with us. In the aisles.’’

A moment later, a man I recognized stuck his head around the corner. The one known as ‘‘Team Leader’’ from the Wittman farm. He saw me and waved. He moved aside, and two other men dressed in gray BDUs slipped in. One of them sort of went on point like a good hunting dog, and the other one jumped up into one of the benches and pointed his submachine gun down toward the floor.

‘‘Put your hands over your head,’’ he said sharply, ‘‘and get up on your knees.’’

A moment later, a figure in green BDUs with a face mask, hands clasped behind his head, rose up from near the swinging door in the barrier.

‘‘I think that’s Ted,’’ I called out. ‘‘Is there another one over by the jury box?’’

‘‘He’s dead,’’ said Team Leader. ‘‘Real.’’

A moment later, as they were securing Ted, the other door opened and two more men in gray BDUs came through, with a prisoner. Also in green. No mask this time.

‘‘He the only one in there?’’ I asked as I stood.

‘‘Yep.’’

Good. Sally hadn’t killed him. From the looks of things, she hadn’t even scratched him. Even better.

She stood too, helping Nola up.

‘‘We’re gonna need some cold water for this lady,’’ I said. I unloaded my rifle and repossessed my handgun from Sally.

Volont, Hester, and George came into the room.

‘‘Holy shit,’’ said George.

Volont just looked around, quietly. He spun on his heel and went back into the hall.

Hester came over to Sally. ‘‘How you doin’?’’

She’d seen the tears. ‘‘Fine,’’ said Sally. ‘‘You got a Kleenex or somethin’? I’m not crying. I had to Mace the bitch.’’

Hester reached into her slacks and came up with a tissue. She took a deep breath. ‘‘You sure did, didn’t you.’’

Sally blew her nose. ‘‘Hey, I’m not so bad.’’ She pointed at me. ‘‘The big dummy got shot.’’

I thought Hester and George were going to have heart failure.

‘‘In my vest,’’ I said quickly. ‘‘In my vest. I’m fine.’’

‘‘They sure knew who the big dummy was, though, didn’t they?’’ said Sally smugly.

We walked out into the hallway. ‘‘You might not want to look,’’ said Hester to Sally.

There were three dead men in green BDUs lying near the middle of the hallway. All had had their masks pulled off. Nola choked back a sob.

The county attorney, Nola’s attorney, and the court reporter were bound with plastic straps, toward the end of the hall, and were being freed by a TAC officer with a pair of shears. The clerk and the judge were standing just outside her office, talking to one of the TAC team members.

Mark’s body was at the end of the hall. I didn’t look too closely.

We packed Nola down the stairs, along with several TAC team people, both federal and state. They surrounded us outside, while we waited for a cop car to back onto the lawn, going around the felled trees.

The sky was black with smoke, and the sidewalk was covered with broken glass.

‘‘What was that big thump a minute ago?’’ I asked.

‘‘One of the small propane tanks going off,’’ he said. ‘‘You hear that ‘jet engine’ out that way?’’

Yeah, now that he mentioned it. I thought it was just my ears still ringing.

‘‘Big propane tank, vented when it got too hot.’’

‘‘Oh.’’

Volont came down the stairs behind us, and watched Nola get in the back of the cop car. Sally got in with her.

I leaned over, into the back seat of the car, and said to Sally, ‘‘You were great. Really mean that. Fantastic.’’

Her grin spread all over her face. ‘‘Can I tell ’em I got to shoot your gun, Dad?’’

I smiled and shut the door.

Volont motioned me and Hester over to him and George.

‘‘Glad to see you’re all right,’’ he said. He really didn’t sound like he meant it.

‘‘Me too,’’ I said, still grinning. Relief does that to me. ‘‘Hey, where were you guys anyway?’’

Mostly shrugging from Hester and George. Volont didn’t appear to have heard me. They told me later, though, that Volont held all the specialist people up there at the jail, because he was so certain that this was a diversion and that Gabriel was really going to go after her at the jail. No kidding. Just like Hitler and D-Day. I don’t want to minimize the help that Sally was, but he had left me with a dispatcher, to take on Gabriel, while he sat up at the jail with enough muscle to plug the Fulda gap. But, like I said, they told me that later.

‘‘You know when I said he was a soldier?’’ said Volont, just like I hadn’t said anything.

‘‘Yeah.’’

‘‘And when I said that we’d have to look at him a little differently than some criminal?’’

‘‘I remember that too,’’ I said.

‘‘The military calls it ‘Force Multiplication,’ ’’ he mused. ‘‘The bombs they planted. Must have done it last night. Just to create chaos.’’

‘‘It sure worked,’’ I said.

‘‘Not a single fatality in those explosions,’’ said Volont. ‘‘All either empty buildings at the time or isolated chemicals.’’ He said it with admiration.