Дэвид Балдаччи - Hell's Corner

The two cops looked at Stone like they were debating whether to arrest him.

“Two seconds, Kravitz,” called out Stone.

He assumed his firing stance and lined the tank up in his sight.

“Stone!” said Chapman. “You could blow us all up.”

“One second, Kravitz.”

The door to the trailer opened and Kravitz came out, his hands in the air. He looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. “Don’t shoot,” he said in a pleading voice. “Don’t shoot, I don’t have a gun. Hell, what do you want with me? I just overslept. Do they send the Feds out for that now?”

Stone saw the flash of light in the reflection of the trailer window. Immediately realizing what it was, he screamed, “Everyone down! Now!” He grabbed Chapman’s arm and pulled her to the ground. From the corner of his eye he saw the two cops hit the dirt. Kravitz still stood upright looking stunned. Stone let go of Chapman and whirled around, pointed his gun at the woods and fired. At the instant he did so a bullet was fired from somewhere deep in the woods. The two shots together sounded like a mini-explosion. Following his lead, Chapman had her gun out in a second and fired off six rounds from her Walther in the same direction.

The round fired from the woods hit Kravitz squarely in the chest, exiting out the back and smacking into the side of the trailer. Kravitz stood stock-still for about a second, his eyes wide, as though he didn’t even realize he’d been shot. And killed. Then he toppled to the ground. Stone knew he was dead before he hit the gravel. Long-range rifle ordnance was almost always fatal with a center chest shot.

Before anyone else could move, Stone was up and sprinting toward the woods. He scanned the tree line and called over his shoulder, “See if he’s still breathing. If he is, do what you can and call an ambulance. Then secure the crime scene and call in backup. Chapman, with me, keep low.”

She raced after him as he entered the woods.

“That was a long-range rifle round,” he called out. “Look for any movement, five hundred yards and out.”

“How’d you even know anyone was out here?”

“Saw the optics signature in the reflection on the trailer window. I had no chance of hitting the sniper with a pistol round. I was just hoping to screw up his shot.”

After several minutes of searching and coming up empty they ran back toward the trailer. On the way there Chapman said, “You probably saved my life.”

“You weren’t the target.”

“But still.”

“You’re welcome.”

When they got back to the trailer Stone said to the cops, “Anything?”

One cop shook his head. “Dead. We called in backup.”

“Okay, set up roadblocks and search teams along a mile perimeter. It’s probably too late, but we have to try.”

The cop grabbed his radio to do this.

Stone said to Chapman, “Keep low and follow me.”

They made their way stealthily up to the body. Kravitz was lying on his back, his arms and legs splayed, his eyes open and staring lifeless up at a blue sky. A patch of crimson was on his shirt where the bullet had gone in.

“Single tap,” observed Stone. “LV.”

“LV?”

“Left ventricle. For torso shots I preferred the aorta myself.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Stone didn’t even glance at her; his gaze was skimming over Kravitz. “Working knowledge of the human body is part of any good sniper’s curriculum.”

“Well, I guess we know now that Kravitz was part of the bombing plot.”

“And somebody shot him to keep him from talking to us. That seems clear. The part that isn’t so clear is how they knew we were coming for him this morning.”

Chapman looked around. “I see what you mean. We haven’t told anyone. Gross picked us up at the park on the spur of the moment. Wilder couldn’t have called anyone because Gross is with him.”

Stone stiffened. “Damn it!”

“What?”

Stone didn’t answer. He punched in the number for the FBI agent. The phone rang and rang and then went to voice mail. Instructing the cops to stay at the crime scene and wait for their backup, Stone did a hundred on the way back to the tree farm while Chapman white-knuckled the armrest. Along the way he called in more LEOs to meet them at the tree farm. When they pulled in the parking lot, he knew something was wrong. He pointed to the tread marks on the parking lot asphalt. “Those weren’t there when we left. Somebody got out of here in a hell of a hurry.”

Stone didn’t wait for the other cops to arrive. He pulled his gun and kicked open the door to the office. The woman who’d ushered them in to see Wilder was lying on the floor, a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead. Stone motioned to Chapman to cover him as he approached the door to the interior office. Crouched down, and using the wall as a shield, he turned the knob with his free hand and pushed the door inward. Then he backed away and took up position where he had a clear firing line into the office.

From her vantage point Chapman had already seen it. She caught a quick breath as Stone moved next to her.

Wilder was on the floor just inside the office. Even as far away as they were, Stone and Chapman could see that a good portion of his face was gone.

“Shotgun,” said Stone.

He moved forward, keeping his gun trained straight ahead, ready to fire in an instant if something came at him. A few seconds later he gave the all clear.

Chapman joined him as he gazed down at the body of Special Agent Tom Gross where it lay behind the desk, his gun in his hand. There were two bullet holes in his broad chest. Stone knelt and checked the man’s pulse. He shook his head. “He’s gone. Shit! Damn it!”

“What the hell is going on?” said Chapman as she stared down at the dead man.

Stone looked around. “They split us up and played us out,” he said. “It’s like they know what we’re going to do even before we do.” He knelt down and touched the barrel of the gun. “Warm. He fired it, very recently.”

“Maybe he hit one of them.”

“Maybe.” He scanned the room for other signs of blood but found none. He pointed to the opposite wall where a bullet had lodged. “Probably Gross’s one shot before he went down. At least he died fighting.”

“What the hell do we do now?”

They heard sirens coming.

“I don’t know,” said Stone. “I don’t know.”

“Whose idea was it to leave Special Agent Gross alone?”

Stone and Chapman were at the FBI’s WFO, where they sat on one side of a long table and four grim men and one dour woman sat on the other side.

Stone said, “It was my idea. Agent Chapman and I went to the trailer to find John Kravitz and Agent Gross stayed behind with Lloyd Wilder.”

“Did you know whether any of the other workers at the tree farm were involved in the bombing conspiracy?” asked the woman, who had identified herself as Special Agent Laura Ashburn. She was dressed in a black suit and her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. About forty, she was of medium height, had pleasant features and a trim figure, but her eyes were black dots that bored through everything in their path. And right now the only thing in that path was Stone.

“We didn’t know that. And we still don’t.”

“And yet you left him there with no backup?” said one of the male agents.

Before Stone could answer another man said, “You left with Agent Chapman and you also had LEO support. And yet Tom Gross had none of that. He was alone.”

“I should have had Agent Chapman stay with Gross and then called in backup for them while I went to the trailer park,” conceded Stone.

Chapman interjected, “There was nothing stopping Agent Gross from doing that.”