Michael Connelly - The Overlook

“This is crazy,” Ferras said in a whisper.

“Charlie don’t surf,” Bosch replied.

“What?”

“Nothing. Before your time.”

THE SLICK BANKED OVER a thirty-acre rubber plantation and put down in the LZ with the usual spine-compressing final drop. Hari Kari Bosch, Bunk Simmons, Ted Furness and Gabe Finley rolled out into the mud and Captain Gillette was there waiting for them, holding his helmet on top of his head so he wouldn’t lose it in the rotor wash. The chopper labored as it pulled its skids out of the mud-it was the first dry day after six days of rain-and took off, following the line of an irrigation canal back in the direction of III Corps HQ.

“Walk with me, men,” Gillette said.

Bosch and Simmons had been in country long enough to have nicknames but Furness and Finley were fresh and strictly OJT-on-the-job training-and Bosch knew they were scared shitless. This was going to be their first drop and nothing they taught you back at tunnel school in San Diego could prepare you for the sights, sounds and smells of the real thing.

The captain led them to a card table set up under the command tent and outlined his plan. The tunnel system under Ben Cat was extensive and needed to be taken out as part of a first-wave attempt to take control of the village above. Already the casualties from sappers and sneak attacks inside the camp perimeter were mounting. The captain explained that he was getting his ass eaten out on a daily basis by III Corps command. He didn’t mention anything about being bothered by the dead and wounded he was losing. They were replaceable but his favor with the colonel at III Corps was not.

The plan was a simple crimp operation. The captain unrolled a map drawn with the aid of villagers who had been in the tunnels. He pointed to four separate spider holes and said the four tunnel rats would go down simultaneously and force the VC in the tunnels toward a fifth hole, where the warriors of Tropic Lightning would be on top waiting to massacre them. Along the way Bosch and his fellow rats would set charges and the operation would finish with the implosion of the entire tunnel system.

The plan was simple enough until they got down there in the darkness and the labyrinth didn’t match the map they had studied on the card table under the tent. Four went down but only one came back up alive. Tropic Lightning got zero kills that day. And that was the day that Bosch knew the war was lost-for him, at least. That was when he knew that men of rank often fought battles with enemies that were inside.

BOSCH AND FERRAS RODE IN THE BACKSEAT of Captain Hadley’s SUV. Perez drove and Hadley rode shotgun, wearing a radio headset so he could command the operation. The vehicle’s radio speaker was on loud and set to the operation’s back-channel frequency-one that would not be found listed in any public directories.

They were third in line in the entourage of black SUVs. Half a block from the target house Perez braked to let the other two vehicles move in as planned.

Bosch leaned forward between the front seats so he could see better through the windshield. Each of the other SUVs had four men riding on runners on either side. The vehicles picked up speed and then turned sharply toward the Samir house. One went down the driveway of the small Craftsman-style bungalow toward the rear yard while the other jumped the curb and crossed the front lawn. One of the OHS men lost his grip when the heavy vehicle impacted the curb and he went tumbling across the lawn.

The others leaped from the runners and moved toward the front door. Bosch assumed the same thing was happening at the back door. He didn’t agree with the plan but admired its precision. There was a loud popping sound when the front door was breached with an explosive device. And almost immediately there was another from the rear.

“All right, move up,” Hadley commanded Perez.

As they drove up, the radio came alive with reports from inside the house.

“We’re inside!”

“We’re in the back!”

“Front room clear! We-”

The voice was cut off by the sound of automatic gunfire.

“Shots fired!”

“We’ve got-”

“Shots fired!”

Bosch heard more gunfire but not over the radio. They were now close enough for him to hear it live. Perez jammed the SUV into park at an angle crossing the street in front of the house. All four doors opened at once as they jumped out, leaving the doors open behind them and the radio blaring.

“All clear! All clear!”

“One suspect down. We need medical for one suspect down. We need medical!”

It was all over in less than twenty seconds.

Bosch ran across the lawn behind Hadley and Perez. Ferras was to his left side. They entered through the front door with weapons out and up. Immediately they were met by one of Hadley’s men. Above the right pocket of his fatigue shirt was the name Peck.

“We’re clear! We’re clear!”

Bosch dropped his weapon to his side but he didn’t holster it. He looked around. It was a sparely furnished living room. He smelled the exploded gunpowder and saw blue smoke hanging in the air.

“What have we got?” Hadley demanded.

“One down, one in custody,” Peck said. “Back here.”

They followed Peck down a short hallway to a room with woven-grass mats on the floor. A man Bosch recognized as Ramin Samir was on his back on the floor, blood from two chest wounds flowing over a cream-colored robe onto the floor and one of the mats. A young woman in a matching robe was lying facedown and whimpering, her hands cuffed behind her back.

Bosch saw a revolver on the floor by the open drawer of a small cabinet with lit votive candles on top of it. The gun was about eighteen inches from where Samir was lying.

“He went for the gun and we took him down,” Peck said.

Bosch looked down at Samir. He wasn’t conscious and his chest was rising and falling in a broken rhythm.

“He’s circling the drain,” Hadley said. “What have we found?”

“So far no materials,” Peck said. “We’re bringing in the equipment now.”

“All right, let’s get the car checked,” Hadley ordered. “And get her out of here.”

While two OHS men raised the crying woman up and carried her out of the room like a battering ram Hadley headed back out of the house to the curb, where the Chrysler 300 awaited. Bosch and Ferras followed.

They looked into the car but didn’t touch it. Bosch noticed that it was unlocked. He bent down to look in through the passenger-side windows.

“Keys are in it,” he said.

He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his coat pocket, stretched them and put them on.

“Let’s get a reading on it first, Bosch,” Hadley said.

The captain signaled one of his men who was carrying a radiation monitor over. The man swept the device over the car and only picked up a few low pops by the trunk.

“We could have something right here,” Hadley said.

“I doubt it,” Bosch said. “It’s not here.”

He opened the driver-side door and leaned in.

“Bosch, wait-”

Bosch pushed the trunk button before Hadley could finish. He heard the pneumatic pop and the trunk came open. He backed out of the car and walked to the rear. The trunk was empty, but Bosch saw the same four indentations he had seen earlier in the trunk of Stanley Kent ’s Porsche.

“It’s gone,” Hadley said, looking into the trunk. “They must’ve already made the transfer.”

“Yeah, long before the car was brought here.”

Bosch looked Hadley squarely in the eyes.

“This was a misdirection, Captain. I told you that.”

Hadley moved toward Bosch so he could speak without his whole crew hearing him. But he was intercepted by Peck.