Cort Wesley studied the bloodied piece of paper that Ela had given Dylan.
“Ten red Xs,” Dylan said, following his eyes, standing over Ela Nocona’s body, which was now covered with an extra tarpaulin. “I think it’s a map. I think they’re bombs.”
“Safe assumption.” Cort Wesley nodded, without looking up.
“Ela said something about backpacks. She stopped her cousins from using whatever was inside them, but then the killers showed up. She said they spoke Arabic.”
“Arabic,” Cort Wesley repeated, drawing out the syllables.
“You have any idea what that’s a map of … where in Houston?”
Cort Wesley folded it back up. “I think I do, son. Now let’s see if we can get there in time.”
*
Cort Wesley climbed the ladder back into the shed first, lending Dylan a hand the final stretch of the way.
“You need to call Caitlin, Dad.”
“That’s the plan.”
Cort Wesley opened the shed door all the way, revealing what looked like a wizened corpse standing before them, holding an ancient double-barreled shotgun.
“This is as far you go,” said White Eagle.
97
DALLAS, TEXAS
Both Black Hawks landed at the Grand Prairie Armed Forces Reserve Complex on Mountain Creek Lake in southwest Dallas, a fifteen-minute drive from Klyde Warren Park.
“We got drones up and active over the target zone,” Jones reported, eyes fixed on a tablet, after they piled into a pair of massive SUVs.
“What about intelligence as to who Cross and company might be meeting there?” Caitlin asked him.
“We’re running every picture of every person who entered the country flying international in the past forty-eight hours. Problem we’re facing is that plenty of these ISIS fighters aren’t in any databases, and if the mother ship in Syria did send a team here, you can bet it would consist of those not on our radar.”
“What about running a cross-match on all known leaders?”
“Those deployments at Quantico have served you well, Ranger.”
“Just answer the question, Jones.”
“Nothing, so far, from our facial recognition software. We get a hit out of Klyde Warren Park, it’ll trigger an alarm you’ll hear from coast to coast.”
“Is that supposed to make me breathe easier?”
Jones looked up from his tablet. “Right now, we’re not just the front line on this, we’re the only line. Washington only wants to know what it wants to know. No Black Hawks were requisitioned out of Martindale. We never landed at Grand Prairie, and the SUVS we’re riding in don’t have tags that match up with any existing registration. For all intents and purposes, we’re not here now and whatever ends up going down in Klyde Warren Park will lead absolutely nowhere.”
“Just the way you like it, Jones.”
“Not a question of like; it’s a question of need. If we show up and find Zurif, Saflin, and a geek with the secrets of the universe, it’s going to get messy. We show up and find ISIS making a field trip, it’s going to get even messier. Right up your alley,” Jones said, just as his tablet made a pinging sound. He zoomed in on what the drones circling overhead had locked onto below, in Klyde Warren Park. “Looks like we’ve got a firm location.”
He angled the tablet screen so Caitlin could see the frozen image of three figures seated at a picnic table, all immediately recognizable.
“What about the fourth guy?” she asked Jones.
PART TEN
Charlie Miller was one of the first Rangers to see the value of the Colt 1911 pistol as a peace officer’s weapon. However, Miller had a severe dislike for the grip safety on the pistol. His solution was to tie the grip safety down with a length of rawhide. He also carried his pistol with a round in the chamber and the hammer on half cock (a practice that is definitely not recommended). To make matters even more interesting, Miller disdained the use of a holster and generally just carried the .45 auto shoved down in the front of his pants. In later years, his big belly pretty well made this a concealed-carry technique.
—Sheriff Jim Wilson, “Texas Ranger Tales” http://sheriffjimwilson.com/2011/10/14/texas-ranger-tales
98
KLYDE WARREN PARK, DALLAS, TEXAS
The SUVs were able to make spaces for themselves in a rear corner of a parking lot on the northbound Woodall Rodgers Freeway access road, normally reserved for the park’s Savor restaurant. They had no staging area per se and had to rely on the cover of the SUVs for their final weapons check and prep.
“What’d you tell the Dallas cops?” Caitlin asked Jones.
“What they need to know: nothing.”
“Come again?”
“You want to run the risk of them doing something stupid?”
“We could use the backup if this goes bad, Jones. To help with the evacuation, if nothing else.”