Friday, the 2nd of August, started for me at 0700, when I put on my best uniform, my only pair of polished lace boots, and got in my unmarked and headed for the office in the pouring rain. Brilliant flashes of lightning were coming about ten seconds apart, and the noise of thunder was virtually constant. I felt sorry for the special team. It was also very, very dark. Normally, when it got that way the streetlights automatically came on. But the lightning flashes were overriding the sensors, making the lights think it was brighter than it really was. Everybody had their headlights on, but it didn’t help a lot.
When I got to the office, I had to sit in the car for almost two minutes before running for the entrance, waiting for the rain to let up just a little.
I headed right for Dispatch. Sandy Grueber was on duty.
‘‘Sandy, any tornado warnings out?’’
‘‘Just a watch until eleven hundred hours,’’ she said, grinning as the water dripped down from my balding head onto my glasses. ‘‘Erosion gonna be a problem there?’’
I laughed in false appreciation, and then asked if all was well with the transfer of Nola to our facility.
‘‘What?’’
So, already a glitch. Nobody had informed Sandy that Nola was even coming. I had her check with the Linn County jail. They confirmed that Nola had been signed out to the U.S. Marshal’s Service at 0632. That’s all they knew, or were permitted to say. It was enough.
I went to the main office and asked our two secretaries if they’d been notified that Nola was heading up. Oh, sure. And just why hadn’t they notified Dispatch? Well, they weren’t in that particular loop, that’s why.
I’d forgotten. On the early day shift, Bud would have handled that. We didn’t even have a woman jailer on premises, let alone a matron. Great.
I had them call Sally, for matron, and got the ball rolling to get women jailers lined up at least through the weekend.
I sighed. I hate administrative crap.
At 0750, the U.S. Marshals called, asking for directions to the jail. Maitland is a town of about 2,000. Shows you how often the USMS came to call.
The rain, which had let up, started in again in earnest. The first unanticipated event of the day. The marshals and Nola sat outside the jail for seven minutes, waiting for the rain to let up. The perfect opportunity for a hit. I stood out on the covered porch, sweating blood, until the rain subsided. Damn. I hate tension. I wanted a cigarette, and it was just the start of a long day.
I was at the door to greet Nola. She was wearing jail orange, with a U.S. Marshal’s jacket thrown over her shoulders. She was handcuffed and had shackles on her ankles. They were hard to see, as she was wearing a pair of GI jungle boots without laces. Brought by her family. She had a little gym bag with her court clothes folded up inside. Her hair was pulled back tightly, revealing a streak of nearly white hair about an inch wide, beginning at her right temple. She was not in a good mood.
The first thing she said to me was ‘‘I don’t know why I have to come back here. I didn’t ask to come back here…’’
‘‘You have a hearing, Nola,’’ I said, logging her in to the facility.
‘‘Not in a court that has jurisdiction over me.’’
‘‘And,’’ I continued, ‘‘you have an appointment with your attorney in a few minutes.’’
‘‘Not an attorney I chose,’’ she said. ‘‘I wish to make my appearance in the People’s Court.’’
I put down my pen. I smiled pleasantly at her. ‘‘Tell you what, Nola, I’ll make a note.’’ I got out a pad. ‘‘When you’re released in fifty or so years, I’ll have ’em call the People’s Court for you, and make an appointment…’’
‘‘We can put a lien on your property,’’ she said. ‘‘We’ll see how you feel then.’’
‘‘Not on what I don’t have,’’ I said. ‘‘You gotta give me a raise, first. Now, let’s get you squared away here…’’
I was placing Nola in the interview area, which had two thick windows, when the sunlight suddenly came streaming through the window. We both looked up, just in time to see her attorney, brightly lit, walking across the reflecting wet surface of the asphalt parking lot.
‘‘It’s true, Nola,’’ I said. ‘‘They can walk on water.’’
She laughed for the first time since I’d known her. Pleasant-sounding.
I locked her and her attorney in the interview room, and went to Dispatch, where I could watch them on closed-circuit TV. No sound, and the camera far enough away to prevent lip reading. We knew the rules. But a good enough picture to enable me to see if she tore his head off.
I signed the release forms for the marshals, and they left. ‘‘Take good care of her,’’ said the taller of the two. ‘‘She’ll have you in People’s Court if you don’t.’’
Much to my surprise, twenty minutes had gone by and Nola and her mouthpiece were still talking. No blows or anything. My stomach was churning, as neither Volont nor Nichols had showed, and they were the ones in communication with the ‘‘hidden assets.’’ Every noise, I looked. Every creak in the old building. I hate that too.
At about 1045, Nola and her attorney finished up, and I placed her in a holding cell. She seemed pretty content.
Sally arrived, and I told her that Nola would be going to court at 1130 or so and that she’d be going along as matron. I hated to say that.
At 1105, Volont arrived. Just after he pulled up, Nichols came into the lot. Volont was in the suit of the day, whereas Nichols was in blue jeans and a light blue golf shirt. They ignored each other, passing through the door about a minute apart, Volont in the lead.
As soon as they got inside, they headed for my office. I joined them.
Nichols wasn’t so much excited as simply running in high gear.
‘‘We’ve got two suspects in the City Campground,’’ he said. ‘‘Silver aluminum trailer, came in last night. Put up a dish antenna they said was a new type of TV satellite dish, but my guys in the park say it’s a military radio of some kind.’’
‘‘Okay,’’ I said. I wanted to ask just how they knew that, but I didn’t.
‘‘The media are already set up at the courthouse,’’ he continued, ‘‘and we think they’ve already been scouting there. One male, one female, thirties-we’ll have photos shortly-were asking questions in the media group. A little weird, like if there was a back door.’’
‘‘Hell,’’ I said, ‘‘you can see the back door through the front door. They’re both glass and they’re at opposite ends of the hall.. .’’
‘‘They were asking about upstairs,’’ he said. ‘‘Where the courtroom is.’’
I knew where the courtroom was, thank you very much. But he was wound up, and it was okay.
‘‘Security’s pretty impressive down there,’’ he said. ‘‘Lots of it and obvious as hell. Troopers and deputies everywhere you look.’’
‘‘Are we overdoing it?’’ I asked.
‘‘No,’’ said Volont, speaking for the first time. ‘‘I’ve just come from there. It’s a deterrent, just like we want it to be. The contrast between there and here is marked, and that’s what we want.’’
‘‘So,’’ I said, ‘‘we think they’ll do it today?’’
‘‘A high probability,’’ said Volont.
The transfer of Nola to the courthouse went without a hitch. She was safely in the building at 1121.
The hearing began at 1130. I wasn’t there, but those who were said that Nola kept referring to jurisdictions. In fact, at one point she refused to participate because the U.S. flag by the bench had fringe on it. She claimed that it was an Admiralty flag, and that she was not under the jurisdiction of an Admiralty Court. Right.
I was up at the jail, waiting for Nola’s return. That’s when I expected the shit to hit the fan. I was out on the front steps, avoiding Volont, who had taken over my office for his phone calls, and was sort of looking out of the corner of my eye, to see if I could locate somebody from the special team. I was armed with a cold can of pop in my hand. Now that the sun was out, the little valley where Maitland nestled was developing little patches of fog, especially along the Sparrow River, which runs through the center of the town. It was beautiful. Hot, uncomfortable, but beautiful. I looked at my watch. 1157. The hearing would have been recessed by now, I thought, unless the judge thought he could get it over with in the next thirty minutes. Personally, I’d feel a lot better if we could get Nola back in the jail, no matter what Gabriel had planned. The place was like a fort. I understood that the military sort of made a living of taking forts, but I’d still feel better.
As in so many midwestern towns, the fire sirens went off precisely at noon. You live in tornado country, you like to know they work.
The siren was just winding down then I heard a metallic clang and a booming sound at the same time. Quite some distance away, but with the buildings and the valley, you couldn’t tell where the sound had come from. I listened carefully on my portable but there was no traffic at all. I took another drink of my pop, and the fire sirens started up again. Kept on cycling, up and down, about ten seconds per cycle. Fire.
I turned and started into the building.
‘‘Twenty-five, Maitland!’’ came over the radio. Dispatch calling the local officer.
‘‘Go ahead!’’ He was excited. Always was when there was a fire.
‘‘Small explosion at Farm and Field, possible anhydrous ammonia leaks from damaged tanks!’’
Damn. They were at the lower end of town, almost on the edge, but the light breeze would carry the caustic gas. It tended to sink, but there were probably ten to fifteen homes within a couple of hundred yards of the place. Evacuation… that meant traffic control. It wasn’t like we didn’t have a bunch of cops about, but which ones to release…?
The second explosion was closer, and as I turned in the doorway I could see a fountain of red brick dust rising in the air. The school, or a brick house damned near it.
The third explosion was only a second or two behind, from the opposite end of town, by the highway… an enormous gout of orange flame, surrounded by a thick, oily cloud of smoke. Fuel storage tanks. There were three of them out there, one gasoline, one diesel fuel oil, and one propane gas. It looked like the gasoline had gone.
The fourth explosion was more of a prolonged crackling sound, very loud. I looked toward the courthouse. All the trees along the street, the side opposite the courthouse, were coming down. Most looked like they were falling into the street, completely blocking access to or from the jail. I had seen det cord used before, to fell trees. That’s what this was.
I turned back into the parking lot, got my AR-15 out of the trunk, put it on my front seat, and drove as fast as I could toward the courthouse. Ineffective little red dash light and ineffective little siren under the hood going for all they were worth.
I didn’t say a word on the radio, but there was sure a whole lot of traffic. In my car I was picking up eight channels, and they were all clamoring for attention. I could imagine the 911 board lighting up.
It occurred to me that Gabriel hadn’t had to risk taking out the command center. All he had to do was make it so busy it was ineffective. Worked.
I got about half a block from the courthouse, in time to see about six trooper cars leaving, lights and sirens going, heading toward explosion scenes. They would be able to get to most of them without having to fight the trees in the road on Hill Street, which led to the jail.
There were stunned people coming out of their houses, gazing in wonder at the vegetation in their yards and the street. The press was pouring out of the courthouse, feasting, and dying for more.
I grabbed my rifle, and headed into the courthouse at as good a speed as I could, considering the traffic coming the other way, some of it in uniform. I stopped two troopers, and told them to stay put. It turned out that their sergeant had told them to get toward the school. I brushed by, saw the elevator was packed, and ran up the stairs. That just about did me. I wasn’t used to the boots, the utility belt, the ballistic vest under my shirt, or the exercise.
I got to the top of the long, steep stone stairway and saw one of our reserve officers staring out the window at the other end of the building.
‘‘Mark,’’ I yelled at him, ‘‘look sharp.’’ A deep breath. ‘‘Watch your step.’’ Another deep breath. ‘‘We may have company.’’
‘‘Okay,’’ he hollered back. He had no real idea what I was talking about, but he moved to one side, out of the window, and looked alert.
Only one person, the Clerk of Court herself, remained in the Clerk’s office. Her staff was out looking at all the excitement. Just as I was about to ask her where Nola Stritch was, I saw the county attorney, Nola’s attorney, and the court reporter come out of the courtroom.
‘‘Where’s Nola at?’’ I asked.
They all looked at the rifle in my hand and obviously thought I was nuts. The county attorney just pointed toward the courtroom. I brushed by them and saw that the world had left Nola guarded only by Sally, who had nothing but a can of Mace to defend herself with. They both turned as I came in the room and headed toward them between the gallery.
‘‘Get her to the jury room,’’ I said. ‘‘We’ll sit on her there.’’
‘‘What the shit is going on?’’ asked Sally.
‘‘I think somebody is coming to get her,’’ I said.
Nola just smiled.
‘‘All this for her?’’ asked Sally. ‘‘The explosions, the trees.. .?’’
‘‘I’m ’fraid so,’’ I said, herding them toward the back of the courtroom.
‘‘Well,’’ said Sally, talking to Nola, ‘‘you must be a better lay than you look, honey.’’
‘‘You little bitch,’’ hissed Nola, moving toward Sally.
‘‘Don’t do it Nola,’’ I said. ‘‘We can’t afford to bury you.’’
I kept moving the fighting pair to the jury room door.
Suddenly there was a noise that sounded for all the world like somebody with a set of drumsticks had just played a tattoo on the wall that separated the courtroom from the hallway. Followed by what sounded like a pistol shot. Muffled, but enough for me.
‘‘Get behind the judge’s bench up there!’’ I hollered, pushing both women ahead of me. ‘‘Move, move!’’
Ever since a dude had tried to pull a gun on the judge while court was in session, the clerk had taken to stacking old lawbooks on the other side of the judge’s desk and partition. The bench. Although only thirty-four inches high, it made a pretty effective barricade.
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 amp;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.
‘‘Nice of the fucker,’’ I said. I watched the ambulance people go up the stairs. ‘‘Fatalities up there, though.’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Volont. ‘‘I think he didn’t hit the jail because he wasn’t able to determine if it was a trap or not.’’ It was like he was making notes for a lecture.
‘‘You know, I was meaning to ask you… just what operation were they practicing for when they killed Kellerman and Turd?’’ My first opportunity to ask.
‘‘I’ve always got bad news for you, Houseman,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m really sorry, but I’m not allowed to discuss that.’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ I looked around. ‘‘You mind if I sit on that bench? I’m a little tired.’’
As I sat, Volont asked me what I thought was a rather strange question.
‘‘Do you know who any of those men were?’’
‘‘Well,’’ I said. ‘‘Gabe yelled at one to throw a grenade, and called him Ted. So I suppose one of them was Ted.’’ I thought for a second. ‘‘Gabe, of course.’’
‘‘You heard him?’’
‘‘I talked to him.’’ I grinned. ‘‘He asked if I was fuckin’ Houseman and I told him he got the first name wrong. He sure had a loud voice for a southern accent.’’ I gestured toward the hole in my shirt. ‘‘Fucker shot me too.’’
‘‘You seem to be all right.’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘Good vest. Starting to ache, though.’’
I watched the bodies going by in the zipped white bags.
‘‘Which one is he?’’ I asked.
‘‘I always have bad news for you, Houseman,’’ said Volont.
‘‘Now what? You can’t tell me?’’
‘‘No.’’ He looked me right in the eye. ‘‘No. None of the bodies, none of the prisoners, is Gabe. He’s not here, not now.’’ He looked right at me. ‘‘If he ever was.’’
I kind of resented that. ‘‘He was there,’’ I said.
‘‘You only heard a voice, Houseman. You’ve only ever heard a voice.’’ He smiled a tight little smile. ‘‘You’ve never seen him.’’
I just stared at Volont. I didn’t know what to say. And in the background, I could hear a voice saying, ‘‘… two known dead.. .’’