Blowout (34 page)

Ben said, “For Günter, it would be the ultimate high for him. Trying to kill Fleurette on the grounds of the safest compound in the world? I don’t think he could pass that up.”

“He couldn’t,” Savich said. “He’d have to use a rifle. Let’s say he’s got only average skill as a sniper. With a good sniper rifle, say a gas-operated semiautomatic, he could hit his target at about twenty-four hundred feet. If he’s an expert, that goes up to three thousand feet. That’s a very long distance, well off the grounds.

“The new sniper rifles are even more accurate than those we used five years ago. For example, the Yugoslavian M-76 has a longer, heavier barrel and a modified stock that’s more ergonomic. It’s chambered in a much better long-range caliber than the calibers of the rifles it’s derived from. I’d wager he’d use one as good as that. Could he hit a person at three thousand feet? I wouldn’t want to bet against it.”

Director Mueller said slowly, “We’d be putting agents’ lives at risk. And to have agents and SWAT teams trying to cover that huge area twenty-four/seven, the necessary manpower boggles the mind. There’s lots of egress, roads and trails both. We have to assume Günter is an expert. Have you mapped out the terrain where he’d have his best shot, Savich?”

Savich nodded. “Yes, we have. Unfortunately there’s more than just one.”

Director Mueller looked toward Jimmy Maitland, who nodded. “It’s a big risk, Jimmy. But I’d bet on our snipers over just about anyone. Can we have enough of our guys out there to keep a reasonable guard over our agents?”

“We can try,” Jimmy Maitland said. “I can get the Washington, D.C., SWAT team and the Hostage Rescue Team at Quantico. Also, we can enlist SWAT teams from all the local cop shops. No doubt everyone wants to bring this asshole down. But there’s no way to keep it secret—we can’t expect to hide that many men from view. Günter will know it’s a trap. I don’t think there’s anything we can do about that.”

Savich grinned at them. “We’re not even going to worry about it. I want him to find out. Don’t you see? Günter will see it as a direct challenge. He’ll want to spend time out at Quantico finding the firing spot he wants, locating the positions of our snipers, figuring out how to get away. Oh yes, I’m counting on Günter to thumb his nose at us.

“Okay, the first step is to let Günter know exactly where Fleurette will be. Callie, you want to be a turncoat and reveal Fleurette’s hideout to the
Post
?”

Callie laughed. “My editor will wet himself. It’ll be in the evening paper.” She punched Ben in the arm. “Hey, you think this might mean a Pulitzer?”

“Nah, this’ll probably just save your job,” Ben said.

They all laughed. Director Mueller stood up. He looked at all of them in turn. “I wish us all luck with this.”

When the conference room door closed behind the director, Savich said, “Okay, we’ve got a plan. We’re finally acting, not just reacting.”

“Let’s get it done, boyos,” said Jimmy Maitland.

QUANTICO

LATE MONDAY AFTERNOON

S
OME DEAD LEAVES MOVED
, three fingers gave a little wave. Dave Dempsey heard Joe Boyle’s low-pitched voice. “Hey, did you tell your wife you might tangle with Günter?”

Dave whispered back, “I wanted to, but she isn’t speaking to me right now, said I was a pig.”

A low chuckle. “Yeah, so what else is new? Hey, do you think this Günter character will really show?”

Dave said, “Agent Savich told us he’s betting on it. Says this guy loves to take the big risks, and what bigger risk could he take than coming to Quantico to kill Elaine LaFleurette? He said Günter will know it’s a trap and he won’t care. It’ll make him even more determined to come out and play with us. What do you think, Joe?”

“I’m not as sure as Savich is. I mean, this Günter guy’s survived a lot of years, and that’s gotta mean that he isn’t stupid.”

Dave whispered, “On the other hand, he went right to Savich’s house in Georgetown and shot it up—is that nuts or what? And he got away. Sounds like he’s got bigger guavas than my mother-in-law.”

Joe said, “Take a look around. There are lots of low hills, lots of trees and bushes, true, but everything’s bare now. That makes it really tough for him.”

“But there are still some places to hide. Look at us, nearly thirty of us and we’ve managed it.”

Joe said, “Okay, agreed, but Quantico itself is safer than the fricking Mint. How can this goon imagine he’d actually get in here, no matter how crazy he is?” He was silent a moment. “I’ll bet he’ll leave us lying out here for a week, just laugh and watch us. I wonder how long Giffey Talbot is going to wander around outside the Jefferson Dormitory before Savich finally calls this off.

“I was thinking about Giffey—quite a thing, offering yourself up as bait.”

Dave shifted a bit more underneath a bush that barely covered him, and swept his eyes westward. “Hey, we’re bait too, we’re just armed with sniper rifles. Savich said he could be an expert sniper, who the hell knows?”

Joe was listening to Dave shifting in the bushes when he heard some branches snapping off to the side. “Did you hear that, Dave? Hey, look at three o’clock. I saw something moving. All of our people are supposed to stay down, but I saw something move. Just beyond those pine trees.”

Dave Dempsey squinted in the watery sunlight toward the hillock, didn’t see anything. “Who do we have over there?”

“Luther Lindsay.”

“I don’t see anything, but call him now, Joe. This isn’t the time for second-guessing.”

Dave heard Joe whisper urgently into his radio, “Luther, movement in your area. What have you got over there? Luther? Dammit, talk to me. Luther!”

Both Dave and Joe could hear their own breathing. Luther was a fifteen-year man, married with two teenage girls, solid as a rock, and he could hear footsteps on a carpet. Günter couldn’t have gotten to Luther.

Joe repeated, “Luther? Dammit, talk to me, Luther.”

Dave Dempsey was on his own walkie-talkie, calling command. “Captain Ramsey, possible situation. Lindsay isn’t answering. Joe swears he saw some movement over there where Luther’s supposed to be. He can’t raise Luther. We’re moving out.”

Within seconds six SWAT team members were moving fast, bent over, with only the sound of the branches crunching underfoot as they converged on Lindsay’s location.

A shot rang out, then another.

As they climbed the knoll, Joe Boyle could see down into the Quantico quadrangle. Giffey Talbot, her two FBI agent guards behind her, was standing in front of the entrance to the Jefferson Dormitory. She was weaving, looking down at her bloody hands over her chest, the agents behind her were shouting, their guns drawn, jumping in front of her. He watched Giffey fall, one agent catching her before she hit the ground. They both covered her with their bodies as shouts filled the air.

Joe yelled, “Oh Jesus, Dave, he’s near Luther’s location, and he shot Giffey! Get him!”

“Luther!” Dave Dempsey dropped to his knees beside Luther, one of the best of the best, a dead shrub half covering him. He was shaking as he pressed his fingers to the pulse in Luther’s neck. His fingers sank into his flesh to touch the silver wire embedded deep in his neck. Luther was dead.

Within moments, using a general mayday to every SWAT team member, Chief Ramsey deployed them all in twos and threes, to close in on where the shot had been fired. He prayed as he barked out orders that they wouldn’t find any more men dead.

Six minutes later, Dr. Clyde Peterson, the surgeon stationed at Quantico for the duration of Operation Flower Girl, came out of the small exam room, peeling off his blood-covered surgical gloves, and said to Savich, “Agent Talbot is alive. We’re stabilizing her, then getting her to Bethesda. I won’t lie to you, Agent Savich. It’s a large caliber bullet, slowed down some by her vest, but still real close to her heart. She’s actively bleeding and it’s going to be close. It’ll depend on exactly what it hit. So pray. I’ll keep in touch.”

Pray, Dr. Peterson wanted him to pray. Savich watched two men roll Giffey by on a gurney on a dead run. She as white as the sheet pulled up to her neck, an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, blood running into IVs in her arms. Her own blood was everywhere, surely more blood than a body could lose. If Giffey died, it would be his fault, because he’d been arrogant enough to assume three SWAT teams could control the perimeter, could protect Fleurette—Giffey—from this monster. Dear God, not Giffey. She was a good agent, he’d watched her volunteer for a myriad of assignments, always eager, ready to take on the world.

Savich stood with his back against a brick wall, aware of all the activity going on around him as the helicopter lifted off the pad right outside the Jefferson Dormitory. He knew that Captain Ramsey was searching methodically, that the captain knew a lot more than he did about how to cover the grounds as quickly and efficiently as possible to find Günter. There was nothing he could do to help out there. All he could do was stand here like a dolt and know that he’d been the one to bring it all about.

Jimmy Maitland came striding up to him. “I just spoke to Chip Ramsey. Dammit, Luther Lindsay is dead, but thankfully, everyone else is accounted for. Günter penetrated the lines all the way to Luther without being spotted. That means he was in a camouflage uniform, just like the SWAT guys, his face blackened. He obviously knew the terrain well enough to pick a rise he could shoot from.

“Chip doesn’t know how long he waited there before he took out Luther, but he’s thinking it wasn’t long at all. Someone would have noticed. Günter saw Fleurette flanked by two bodyguards, standing right in front of the Jefferson Dormitory, took Luther out, and took his shot. Dave and Joe heard the struggle and headed to Luther’s location. Günter heard them, and that’s probably what saved Giffey’s life—threw his aim off.

“The thing is, Savich, why would he think that we’d actually put Fleurette out there in harm’s way? He knew we’d set a trap for him.”

Savich said, “I saw Fleurette and Giffey standing side-by-side after Fleurette had finished Giffey’s makeup, done her hair this morning, given her one of her dresses and her coat. I swear I couldn’t tell them apart. Could be twins.”

“Well, Günter must have believed it was her, too. I’m willing to bet he was ready to spend a couple of hours watching, may have been surprised anything could come of it this quickly. The bastard.”

“How did he get Luther?”

“Chip says Luther was on his belly, looking toward Giffey sweeping the area, and Günter jumped on his back, looped the wire around his neck, and that was it. Luther probably managed to fight, and that’s what Joe Boyle and Dave Dempsey saw—the bit of noise, the shadow of movement was Luther trying to save himself. But he couldn’t. Then Günter sighted in on Giffey—he actually used Luther’s own rifle—but before he could shoot, he heard Joe and Dave and that, thankfully, pulled his aim off a bit. He fired, saw her fall, saw it was a chest shot, and he was out of there.

“This is a tough one, Savich. I’ve known Luther for more than a dozen years. Chip and I will speak to his family as soon as I can get away. Amanda Lindsay is a great lady, and their teenage girls are terrific. Dammit, dammit.”

Savich nodded, swallowed. He’d met Luther about six years before, admired his skill, his humor, his love for his family. But his skills hadn’t saved him. He tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t. All he saw was Giffey on that stretcher, lying in her own blood, and he couldn’t stand it. He said then, “Giffey might die, and I know it’s my fault if she does.”

“We all knew the risks, Savich, Giffey, too. We all went along with this plan as our best opportunity. It may have been the only way we had to get Günter.”

It was in that moment Savich realized they still had a chance to pull it off, to protect Fleurette and get Günter. “Sir, I’ve got another plan, although since this one was such a spectacular failure, I wouldn’t blame you for telling me to shove it.”

“Lay it on me, Savich, let’s see.”

When Savich finished, Jimmy Maitland sucked in a deep breath. “I like it, and it might work. Your brain is good, Savich, keep using it. You need to go see Fleurette. She’s with her parents and Sherlock, and she’s really shaken. I’ll keep in touch with Bethesda, have Dr. Peterson call you as soon as he knows Giffey’s status.

“Yeah, this might work. You can bet Günter will be glued to the TV, waiting to hear the breaking news that Fleurette is dead so he can celebrate.”

Savich said, “We’ve got to outthink him. That’s why we can’t come out and announce she’s dead, and that’s why we’ll delay announcing who was taken to Bethesda in the helicopter.”

“Director Mueller sure won’t like holding back like this, dancing around the truth, but I think he’ll agree. Then we have Callie. You think you can convince her to go along with this?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Maybe we’re being premature. There’s still a chance we can get our hands on him today. Chip has the SWAT people spread out all over. Since we don’t have anything more reliable, we’re looking particularly hard at any late-model cars, Toyotas, you know, like Mr. Avery described last night, and anyone fitting Mr. Avery’s description. We might get this guy.”

He stopped talking, saw that Savich looked frozen, as if stuck to the wall he was leaning against.

“Savich, stop blaming yourself. I need you sharp and focused on getting this plan of yours to work.”

“Dr. Peterson told me to pray.”

“I’ll wager a lot of people at Quantico are praying. Do your job, Savich. Where’s Sherlock when I need her here to punch your lights out?”

“You told me she’s with Fleurette and her parents.”

“Yeah, so I did. And look at what else I forgot—it must be senility that I clean forgot that you’re God and you make all the decisions around here. Well, you’re not, so get over it. Do your job. Get Günter.” Jimmy Maitland turned, his cell phone already in his big hand. He turned back, frowned. “Hey, what’s Giffey’s name short for?”

“Gifford. She told me her mom named her after Frank Gifford, lived near him in New York City, at One Lincoln Plaza. Her dad liked Gifford too, he’s a real football nut. Giffey told me once it was the only thing she could ever remember her parents agreeing about.”