“There’s nothing we’d like more than his laptop,” I said. “So I’m guessing it’s a bomb. There’s no hard drive in there. I’m betting if we pull the plug out, it blows up. And when that happens, the power will short out, and if there’s another bomb in here, that’s when it goes off. Go ahead and unplug it. Let’s see if I’m right.”
That got a big grin and we left the laptop and backed out. We crossed down through the little dry creek and climbed the slope toward the armored SWAT vehicles. We were only fifty yards away when the stubborn son of a bitch SWAT commander cut the power. The first blast was a hard sharp bang that had to be the laptop. If you were standing in front of it you were dead. The second blast tumbled us into mesquite. Neither of us was hurt, though something big landed nearby.
Olsen started laughing then said, “Dude, I owe you a drink. I would have unplugged it, for sure.”
Or I think that’s what he said. My ears were ringing as we laughed with giddy post-adrenaline relief. We walked toward the officers running our way, and I looked past here at my fear at how far ahead of us the bomb maker was. Garod Hurin saw us coming and was ready. He was on the move again. We wouldn’t have much time.
45
July 12th, early afternoon
The sound was small and faraway, a rapid pop, pop, pop. Beatty capped a gallon jug of water and set it down on the flat rock. He picked up binoculars and stood in the shade of the overhang scanning the airfield and trailers first, and then working his way out, pausing and lowering the binos as he heard more assault-weapon fire. From the echo off the mountains, they could be anywhere down there.
He widened his scan and on a spidery gray desert track running south of the airfield along a rocky plain, he spotted the security dudes’ black Land Cruiser. A different vehicle raised a ribbon of dust as it drove away from the Land Cruiser and back toward the airfield. He focused in on the moving vehicle. At this distance it was difficult, but it looked like Bahn’s pickup. He followed its progress for several minutes before bringing the glasses back to the Land Cruiser.
An hour later the black Land Cruiser was still sitting in the heat in the same spot, so he unpacked his spotting scope tripod and extended the legs. They were sturdy and tall enough so that he didn’t have to bend over much once he’d screwed on the scope. The scope was so sensitive that the trick was getting the legs set so they wouldn’t move at all. When the scope was ready, he started with the airfield, looking for Eddie’s truck and finding it parked near the trailers where the pilots lived, and then adjusting the scope to view the runway where the drones were lined up.
A silver drone rose through his field of vision. He kept the scope there and a second drone rose through his view thirty-three seconds later. He timed the third as well, thirty-three seconds again, so not much room for error if there were a problem with the drone ahead. But enough time if you were experienced. Not many reasons to launch so quickly, though.
He thought about that, then reached for his phone. He brought up Grale’s number, but didn’t call yet and adjusted back to the spidery thread of road and followed it to the small white rocks bright in the hot sunlight and to the black Land Cruiser still sitting there. He focused on the passenger window and with maximum magnification could make out a shape in the passenger seat. Large enough to be Big John but hard to tell with the tinted glass, and hard to tell what he was doing. His head lay against the window like he was sleeping, or maybe leaning that way and talking. Hard to tell.
Beatty straightened. Without the spotting scope, the Land Cruiser was just a black dot and barely that. When he leaned over again, he brought the scope over to the driver’s side and slowly crawled up the vehicle until he reached the driver’s mirror. Tricky. Small movements jumped the scope. He moved the lens in tiny increments and still overshot the first time.
He straightened again, feeling a little bit frustrated at overshooting, and rubbed a sore spot on his lower back and cleared his vision by looking out into the desert. He used to be really good with a scope. He leaned over again and got the lens on the driver’s side mirror and realized from the reflection that the driver’s window was down. That was lucky. He upped the magnification and adjusted the scope hoping the side mirror would give him a view of the driver.
“Fuck.”
He’d overshot again. He worked his way back and very slowly down the mirror. Now he was getting there. Just chill and do this calmly, he thought. Another tiny turn and there was the top of the driver’s seat. Don’t knock the scope. Come slowly down the seat. He came down from the headrest and still no driver, but another small turn and black hair showed and a scalp and forehead. He took his hand away from the lens adjustment when he reached the eyes.
“Tak, what’s going on out there? That’s Big John in the passenger seat, isn’t?”