Night and Day (Book 2): Bleeding Sky (36 page)

“Let’s
hope Shuster can’t get past him either.”

A
few seconds later, a Stryker roared into the square. It took up position
where Antietam met First. As it rolled to a stop, the hatch on top opened
and the vehicle commander stuck his head out and slowly studied the
square.

“Go
ask Bristow what the ETA is for the second Stryker,” I said.

As
she hurried away, I could hear police sirens in the distance. A lot of
them.

Lita
came back down the steps a minute later. “Second Stryker in fifteen minutes,
sir.”

I
nodded as the first police car came through the checkpoint on Second and
turned into the square. Behind it was one of the close protection unit
Humvees, and behind that was the Humvee carrying Heymann, Unit
One.

The
driver of Heymann’s Humvee jumped the curb and pulled up between the command
trailer and the ambassador’s. Five close protection cops piled out of their
vehicle and moved to surround Heymann as he climbed out, forming a human
shield that made it impossible for me to even see him.

Clay
was in front of the group, automatic rifle across his chest, finger on the
trigger, head swiveling as he checked the square for threats. I caught his
eye and gestured for him to come over. He nodded, then continued to the
hatch on Heymann’s trailer and opened it.

The
men surrounding Heymann went up the ramp and into the trailer while Clay
stood to one side. He looked in my direction, held up three fingers, and
followed them inside, closing the hatch behind him.

More
of the motorcade Humvees came into the square and the troopers inside
quickly got out and moved to their defensive positions. Lt. Alvarez threw a
salute as he passed me and went into the trailer. A moment later, Bristow
stuck his head out through the open door. “Mackey!” he yelled.

The
sergeant was on the other side of First, checking troopers on the perimeter,
but Bristow’s voice carried. He ran back across the street.

“Is
that driver still around?” Bristow asked as he got close.

“Yes,
sir, he’s at the southeast corner position,” Mackey said.

“Have
him grab transport and go down to where the shot were fired. Four troopers
got left behind in the confusion and I want everybody I can get on the
perimeter.”

Mackey
saluted and started across the square. “Has Takeda been notified?” I asked
Bristow.

He
nodded. “Yeah, she’s stuck in that warehouse till sundown, but she knows,”
he said. “She’s also briefed General Bain.”

“Better
her than me,” I said.

He
looked over his shoulder for a second, then back at me. “Police on their
channel asking for you, sir.”

“When
Clay gets outside, send him to my office,” I said to Martinez. She nodded
and I went up the steps into the command trailer.

The
trooper at the police channel console already had the headset off. She
handed it to me and pressed the foot pedal. “This is Welles,” I
said.

“2101,”
the man said. “This is what we have so far. The Metroville taxi was not
parked on Regis or Edgewood. It was on the inside lane of Second,
southbound, at the Edgewood intersection.” He paused. “Are you familiar with
this portion of Second, Security Force Command?”

“Yeah,”
I said. “He was on the other side of the promenade.” That section of Second
near Martini’s was divided. Northbound on one side, southbound on the other.
In the middle was a twenty-foot wide promenade, with a sidewalk, grass,
trees, benches.

“Correct,”
he replied. “According to witnesses, the cab pulled to the curb, the driver
came out the open passenger-side window, sat on the window sill, rested a
long gun on the roof, and fired. Then he slid back into the cab, cut across
traffic, and took off down Edgewood. We don’t have a tag, so we’ve got
people over at the taxi company checking cabs. Our guess is that one of
their cabs is going to come up missing.”

The
trailer door opened and Martinez came in, followed by Clay.

“Thanks
for the update,” I said. “You can pass anything else you get to Captain
Mutz, Downtown watch commander.” Even if Daryl had kept jawing with him, he
would have cut Jimmy loose when the shooting started.

I
gave the headset back to the operator and stood. “My office,” I said to
Clay.

Martinez
led him down the hall and I followed. He dropped into one of the chairs in
front of my desk as I went around to the other side.

“So
what happened out there?” I asked.

“Hell
if I know,” he said. “Everything was going smooth. Lots of people wanting to
talk to Heymann, all smiles and handshakes. The man was definitely loving
it. Then we’re driving along and he points at a restaurant and says he wants
to have dinner there. Italian joint, I guess, called Martini’s. Or maybe a
bar. Anyway, we pull up, cops get out, when they’re in position, I get out.
Open his door, he gets out. We take two steps toward the restaurant door, I
feel a sting on my cheek and I hear a shot. I knock him to the ground, drag
him to the car, toss him in, and we were out of there.”

I
noticed the small cut on his left cheek. “From the bullet?”

He
shook his head and rubbed the scab. “Nah, little chunk of masonry that came
off when the bullet hit the building.”

“The
shooter was in a cab across the street,” I said. “Long gun, probably a
sniper rifle. Popped out, took the shot, then split.”

Clay
nodded. “Yeah, picking that particular restaurant was totally random. Nobody
could have set up and waited for us to stop there. Cab was probably
following us, looking for the right place for the shot.”

“Makes
sense,” I said. “Plenty of cabs on the street everywhere in midtown. You see
them, but you don’t notice them. How long from the time you stopped to the
shot?”

“Two
or three minutes,” he said. “The close protection cops liked to be set up,
with the Security Force troopers out of their vehicles. Only then did they
want Heymann to get out.”

“Plenty
of time for him to drive past, make the turn across the promenade at Regis,
then come back south and be in position when the ambassador left the
vehicle.”

“Oh,
yeah, plenty of time,” he said. “Only question I have is why did he miss? It
wasn’t a tough shot.”

“He
was in a hurry,” I said. “Had to stop, slide across to the passenger side,
get out the window with the rifle, brace it on the roof and get the shot off
before Heymann went into the restaurant. Timing would have been
tight.”

“I
guess,” Clay said. “But it still wasn’t a tough shot. I’m no sniper, but I
think I could have at least clipped Heymann. This shot was at least a foot
high, and honestly, it was more like he was aiming at me than
Heymann.”

“Why
would he shoot at you?”

“Why
would he miss?” Clay countered. “I thought you said this guy Shister or
whatever is a trained assassin.”

“We
can’t be sure it was Shuster in the cab,” I said. “Found out after I talked
to you this morning that he brought in a backup team.” I paused. “Actually,
it’s likely that Shuster wasn’t the shooter. He was down here, in the
square, this morning.”

“Shuster?”

I
nodded. “Yeah, wearing a Security Force uniform. Nosing around the
ambassador’s trailer. I think he was probably doing recon.”

“Well,
whoever took the shot, he wasn’t very good. To tell you the truth, he was so
lousy that you’d almost think he missed on purpose.”

“Why
would he miss on purpose?”

Clay
was silent for a moment, then stood. “Come with me.”

I
followed him down the hall and out of the trailer, Martinez behind me. He was moving fast in the
direction of the ambassador’s trailer.

“You
ever do any hunting, Charlie?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Little
when I was a kid in Kansas,” I said. “Never much cared for it.”

“You
ever flush game,” he said, stopping by the side of the trailer next to the
ramp.

“No,”
I said. “But I know the concept.”

He
began to move slowly along the side of the trailer. “Sometimes your game is
in the bushes and you want to scare it out into the open so you can get a
shot,” he said. “Other times, you have a blind set up somewhere else, and
you drive the game toward the blind so somebody else can take the
shot.”

“You
think...”

“There,”
he said, stopping near the corner of the trailer. He pointed down at spot on
the ground. A section of dirt about the size of my hand was a slightly
different color from the rest.

Clay
squatted beside it and gently brushed with his finger tips. He was down
about an inch when he stopped for a moment. Then he leaned in and blew on
it. The outlines of a square box were visible. There was a dial of some kind
on the front of the box.

He
stood. “I do believe that’s a trigger for a bomb,” he said.

Clarke.
The rigger on the transporter. Shuster’s teammate. He’d have had plenty of
time to do something to the trailer while they were on their way
here.

“Get
Heymann into the command trailer,” I said. He nodded and took off at a run.
I turned to Martinez. “Tell Bristow to pull everybody back and get an EOD
unit here pronto. The ambassador’s trailer has a bomb under it.”

As
she ran toward the command trailer, I looked around. Was Shuster watching
right now? And if he saw us find his trigger, would he press the button and
detonate the bomb?

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Clay
was still inside when Bristow and Martinez came through the command trailer
door. They were both walking in my direction when Bristow turned to her and
said something. She shook her head. He said something else. She saluted and
went back up the steps.

“What
was that?” I asked when he reached me.

“Didn’t
think she needed to be this close,” he said. “She disagreed.” He looked down
at the exposed trigger. “So, a bomb, huh.”

“Yeah.
I guess he didn’t have the trigger in place till this morning.”

“Not
very good planning.”

“No,”
I said slowly. “Not very good at all. Where’s that police close protection
unit?”

“Over
in front of that hot dog shop,” he said, pointing across First at Eddie’s
Dogs. “Seems to be the police command post.”

“I
want them back here, right now,” I said.

Bristow
waved over a passing trooper. News of the bomb must have been running
through the square like wildfire. The trooper came over, but his eyes were
on the ambassador’s trailer.

“Sir,”
he said, giving Bristow a quick salute and a quicker glance before he looked
back at the trailer.

“Go
across the street, get the close protection cops, and send them here,
ASAP.”

The
trooper nodded and ran. Bristow turned to me. “What are you
thinking?”

“A
lot of things,” I said. “Like maybe the trigger is a ruse to get the
ambassador out in the open for a clean shot. Or maybe Shuster doesn’t care,
because the bomb is big enough to take out both trailers.”

“Or
maybe it’s a nuke,” he said with a quick, humorless grin.

“If
that’s the case, we’re all fucked and I’ll see you in heaven,” I said. The
hatch opened.

Clay
stood in the opening. I could just make out Heymann behind him. “Ready?”
Clay asked.

“Hold
up a second,” I said. “I’m gonna put you someplace else. Someplace less
exposed.”

I
looked along the line of businesses on each side of the square, then saw
what I was looking for. “There,” I said, pointing.

Clay
leaned out and followed my finger. It was a business on the north side of
Antietam. No windows. A door with a sign on that was too small for me to
read. The windowless building would provide maximum protection if the bomb
went off. Assuming it wasn’t a really big bomb.

“Okay,”
Clay said.

Six
close protection cops came up at a run. I pointed across the street. “That’s
where he’s going,” I said. “Kick in the door, whatever you have to do. Get
him inside, fast.”

One
of the cops nodded and motioned to the others. They went up the ramp and
into the trailer. Clay watched them get in position around Heymann, then
turned back to me and nodded.

“Go,”
I said.

I
stood back and watched Clay come down the ramp, followed by the tight wall
of close protection cops with Heymann in the middle. It looked like they had
him bent over, to provide an even smaller target.

My
eyes were on them as they scuttled across the square toward Antietam. But my
ears were waiting for the shot that might come. It didn’t. The only shots I
heard came from Clay after he tried the doorknob, then attempted
unsuccessfully to kick open the door. He stepped back and fired a burst into
the lock with his automatic rifle. The door swung open and they went
in.