Michael McGarrity - Under the color of law

Sara got a fix on the location.

"Give me covering fire," she said.

"I'll go."

"You can't run that fast, Kerney." She moved away before he could stop her, snaking her way back to the truck.

Kerney followed her, ducked behind the open truck door, reached up, and cut away the deflated airbag from the steering wheel with a pocket knife.

"What are you doing?"

"I can drive faster than you can run," he said.

"You cover me." He pulled out spare magazines and stuffed them in his back pocket.

"We both go," Sara said.

Kerney looked at her hard, ready to argue.

"We don't have time for this, Kerney," Sara snapped.

"Take the right flank."

"Okay." He levered the driver seat back as far as it would go, crawled into it with his head below the windshield, and geared the engine into reverse.

"Ready?"

Sara nodded and moved back to the car. A bullet took out another window in the Ford. Kerney hit the accelerator, raised up, spun the wheel, and headed for the wire stock fence, firing out the driver's-side window in the direction of the trees.

Sara ran zigzag around the trunk of the car to the fence line. Rounds dug into the snow inches away from her. Kerney rammed his way through the fence. Sara crawled under the wire, firing as she went. She got up and started running in a low crouch.

Kerney closed on the sniper's position. The front wheels dipped into a trench and the driver's-side mirror blew apart. He wheeled the truck, hit the brakes, and heard bullets dig into steel. He bailed out, looking for Sara. He saw only her tracks in the snow. He called to her and got no answer. He slammed in a fresh magazine, crawled under the truck, and scanned for any sight of her. A single rifle shot rang out.

"Sara," Kerney yelled.

He saw her rise up out of the trench a hundred feet away and start running for a tree. He emptied the magazine at the sniper and loaded another clip. Sara made it to cover and pointed at the tree closest to Kerney. She pulled off two rounds and kept firing while Kerney sprinted forward.

He slid headfirst behind the. tree, emptied the magazine at the shooters position, fed in another clip, and looked at Sara. She patted her chest and pointed ahead, signaling her next move. Kerney shook his head and watched helplessly as she reloaded and crawled away from cover. He pumped rounds and watched as she disappeared from sight into the grove.

Everything got quiet. The tree with the broken branch was dead ahead.

He looked for movement. Every muscle in his body tensed as he searched for a hard target.

"It's clear," Sara called.

Kerney stayed zeroed in on the tree until Sara stepped out and waved him in. He found her standing over Applewhite's body. There was a bullet hole in her leg, but the killing shot had come from the rifle Applewhite had stuck in her mouth.

"Meet Elaine Cornell," Sara said.

"She was hard core to the end. Let's get out of here."

They drove back to the Ford. The man in the front seat was Charlie Perry. He had a nasty hole in his left temple.

"So that's Charlie Perry," Sara said.

"What's he doing here?"

"I think he was supposed to play patsy," Kerney said.

She reached inside the shattered car window, grabbed the microphone, and keyed it.

"Listen up, you bastards," she said.

"Elaine Cornell is dead, Agent Perry is dead. If you want more, bring it on."

She smiled sweetly at the incredulous look on Kerney's face and tossed the microphone inside the car. A helicopter came out of the forest and veered away. Sara's cell phone rang. She dug it out of an inside pocket.

"Maybe they're calling in their regrets," Kerney said.

"Let's hope so."

Kerney waited impatiently, watched the chopper until it moved over the Zuni Mountains, then gave the truck a quick look-over. The bumper was crumpled, a headlight shattered, and the grill was pushed in. There were scratches on the hood and bullet holes in a front fender, door, and window.

"I've been ordered back to Fort Leavenworth," Sara said with amusement.

She dropped the phone in a pocket and brushed snow off the front of her jeans.

"The Pentagon wants a peacekeeping mission drawn up. Seems there's trouble brewing somewhere in Africa."

"Do you believe that?" Kerney asked as he checked the engine for damage.

It seemed intact.

"Does that thing run?" Sara asked.

"It better."

Sara nodded in agreement.

"It's not unusual for the school to prepare tactical plans and operational field doctrines for peacekeeping missions. Geopolitical assessments based on proposed strategic military deployments have to be factored in if the mission is going to succeed."

"Really?" Kerney said as he cut away the deflated passenger's-side airbag. The road was clear in both directions.

"But do you believe it?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Sara said innocently.

"Aren't you interested in geopolitics and military field doctrine?"

"I'm deeply interested. Tell me about it while I drive."

Sara slid onto the seat.

"No, I'd just be babbling."

"Babble all you want," Kerney said as he pulled onto the highway.

"After what just happened, I need the distraction."

Sara prattled a little and Kerney asked stupid questions. Several miles down the road they found Bobby Sloan's body inside the Bronco and their survivors' euphoria vanished.

In the courthouse basement Tim Ingram got word of Applewhite's screw-up and went into damage-control overdrive. He ordered the chopper pilot and the surveillance team on the scene to shut down the highway in both directions-nothing in, nothing out. Kerney and Sara Brannon were to be held in protective custody.

He called the commander at Kirtland Air Force Base, invoked a Defense Department intelligence directive, and ordered the immediate dispatch of a security forces unit and a munitions team to the Ramah highway.

They were to relieve personnel on-site, secure the area, establish roadblocks, and remove all bodies and vehicles ASAP.

Helicopters took off with two combat control teams. Vehicles and heavy equipment rolled with munitions experts onboard.

By phone Ingram gave the base public-information officer a press release cover story. All news outlets were to be advised of an accident involving a military armament shipment on the Ramah highway during a heavy snow storm. Cleanup crews were en route. There was no danger to the public. Motorists were cautioned to detour around the area or expect long delays.

At computer consoles, team members sent top-secret encrypted messages to the White House and the Pentagon, conveyed satellite photographs of the failed hit to the Defense Intelligence Agency, forwarded Applewhite's recorded radio traffic to the National Security Agency, and transmitted Ingram's contingency plan to army intelligence.

Ingram fired off his own quick status report: assignment blown, nontarget police officer killed, field operative dead, containment teams en route, advise no further action. He ordered up an air force chopper, told the team to shut everything down, and hauled ass to the airport.

The Bronco had landed on its right side. The seat belt had kept Bobby Sloan's body from sliding down to the passenger window. Shards from the blown-out windshield glimmered in the dark blood pool that coated the glass. Weapons, flashlights, and equipment had broken loose from mounting racks and were strewn about the cab. Clipped to the windshield visor was a photograph of Bobby's wife, which he always carried with him as a good-luck charm.

Kerney reached through the windshield, pulled out Sloan's briefcase, and went through it with blood-sticky fingers. He found Bobby's surveillance log, tore it up, and watched as the wind scattered the pieces. He tossed the case back inside the vehicle and kept his eyes off Bobby's face as he yanked out the on-board laptop, stomped on it, and spun it into the trees out of sight.