Michael McGarity - Serpent Gate

Addie answered Kerney's questions in a lifeless voice.

After it was over, Kerney left feeling as deadened as Addie had sounded during the interview.

A four-foot wall enclosed the front yard of the two story house across from Hetcher's residence. Mature pine trees fanned thick branches over the wall into the lane. Where the lane ended stood a six-foot cedar fence.

An old garage sat perpendicular to the house, close to the property line. There were no lights on inside the two-story house.

Carlos knew no one was home. Using his cellular phone, he'd called the residence every five minutes since arriving at the stakeout and putting the team in place.

He stood shivering in a dark recess between the fence and the garage.

From his vantage point he could see the locations of two of his men.

One was crouched behind the wall under a tree directly across from Fletcher Hartley's house. The other was in a prone position behind some large landscape boulders near the guest quarters. The third member of the team was at the back of the house, ready to climb the garden wall and storm the patio door as soon as Carlos gave the signal.

Each member of the team wore a radio headset with an attached microphone, a black hood, and a black police-style tactical duty outfit.

Headlights came into view on the street and slowed to enter the entrance to the narrow lane. He watched through binoculars as the car turned into Pletcher's driveway, and read the license plate. It was Kerney's police car.

"He has arrived," he whispered in Spanish into his headset.

"Wait for my command."

"this is the third time today you've checked up on me, Gilbert,"

Pletcher said.

"I'm starting to feel that I'm under house arrest."

"Has everything been quiet?" Gilbert asked, following Pletcher into the kitchen.

"I'm completely bored." Pletcher stood at the counter and poured coffee into two cups.

"There have been no strangers at the door, no mysterious phone calls, and the only traffic in the lane has been police cars driving back and forth every hour or so." He carried the cups to the table and joined Gilbert.

"This is all rather silly" "Probably," Gilbert said.

"Then why all the fuss?"

"Just a precaution," Gilbert answered.

"Piffle," Hetcher said.

"Piffle? Do you think you're Nero Wolfe?"

Before Fletcher could answer, the sound of shattering glass from the back of the house brought Gilbert to his feet. He heard wood splintering at the front door.

He pulled Hetcher out of his chair, put the cordless kitchen phone in Pletcher's hand, and pointed to the garage passageway.

"Go," he ordered.

"Crawl under your car and hide.

Call 911, give them the address, and say a crime is in progress and an officer needs assistance. Do it now" He pushed a panicked Hetcher toward the passageway, doused the kitchen lights, and drew his weapon.

Another cracking sound against the front door shattered the silence. He dropped into a low crouch, crept into the dining room, and killed the lights. He could feel cold air coursing along the floor from the front hallway.

Gilbert figured there were two, maybe three people inside, converging on him. The only possible escape would be through the garage, if it wasn't covered by somebody on the outside.

He retreated to the kitchen, removed the cups, and quietly dropped the massive table on its side. He rotated it until the top could be used as a shield, and pulled it by the legs as he inched backward to the passageway.

He crouched down, took a quick glance above the barricade, and saw the hallway lights go out. He counted five seconds and took another look.

He could see the shapes of two men in the dining room, one with his back pressed against the wall, the other bent low.

Gilbert's options were limited. He could either make a stand or back off. Risking a break could put Fletcher in danger. He pulled his spare clip from the magazine holder. If he could take these two out, maybe he could protect Pletcher until help arrived.

He fixed the position of the two men in his mind's eye and stretched out on his back with his head up and the nine-millimeter clutched in both hands between his legs. He took one deep breath and kicked hard at the table to upend it. The shooters opened up on full automatic, rounds tearing into the wall and pantry inches above Gilbert's head. He double-fired repeatedly at the two targets until his clip emptied.

He ejected the spent magazine and loaded the spare.

As he readied to pull off more rounds, he realized the shooting had stopped. He looked at the target zones; there were two downed bodies. He fanned his weapon back and forth, ready to fire again if either moved.

Nothing happened. He slithered around, keeping the targets in sight.

Then he flipped quickly onto his stomach, belly-crawled to the bodies, and checked them.

Both were dead.

He hurried into the garage and found Fletcher hiding under his car, shaking like a leaf.

"Did you call?" he whispered.

"Yes."

"Stay put. Where's the remote for the garage door opener?"

"On the visor in my car."

"Where are your car keys?"

"In the house."

"Dammit."

"What are you going to do?"

"There may be more people outside." Gilbert climbed on the hood of Fletcher's car, popped off the light cover to the opener, and unscrewed the bulb.

"Crawl to the front of the car and hide behind the tire.

Make yourself as small as possible."

"What can I do to help?"

"Do you have a gun in your glove box?" Gilbert asked as he jumped off the hood of the car.

"No, I don't own a gun."

"Too bad." In a crouch, he worked his way around the vehicle, opened both car doors, grabbed the remote door opener, and turned off the interior light.

"What are you doing?" Fletcher hissed.

"Trying to buy us some time." Prom the driver's side with the doors open, Gilbert had a dear shot if someone stormed through the passageway door, and a good field of fire into the driveway once he opened the overhead door.

He hoped to God only one shooter was left. He didn't have enough ammunition to take one man out and keep up a running gun battle with another.

He steadied himself and waited. *** ramon slipped into the dining room and checked the bodies.

"Javier and Raul are dead," he whispered into his headset.

"The house is empty."

"Are the targets down?" Carlos demanded.

"No."

"Where are they?"

"In the garage."

"Do you have an advantage?" Carlos asked.

"No."

"Can you see into the garage?"

"No. The door is closed."

Carlos moved down the driveway. The exterior garage door had a row of shoulder-high small windows.

"When I tell you, put heavy fire into the garage through the door. I will do the same from outside."

"We haven't much time," Ramon said.

"Then we must do it quickly," Carlos replied. He stopped near the garage, pulled a night-vision viewer from the pouch at his waist, and scanned through the windows. The device could not magnify, but it did show a man's outline behind an open car door.

"I have him," Carlos said into his headset. He kept the viewer fixed on Kerney and braced the assault rifle against his shoulder.

"Move down the passageway. Aim high and to the right. Tell me when you're in position."

"I'm there," Ramon whispered.

"Fire now," Carlos said as he squeezed the trigger.

OpncBR Yronne Rasmussen heard automatic-weapons fire as she rolled into the lane with the unit headlights off and the window open. She ground to a stop, hit the quick-release button to the racked shotgun, grabbed the weapon, and tumbled out of her unit. She keyed her handheld radio as she ran down the lane.

"Shots fired," she said.