The Hit

  talking, seemingly exhausted by her outburst.

  “And are you the only one who’s done that?” asked Robie. “Looked at them collectively?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Missing personnel. Like Reel?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What are you sure of?”

  She sat back down. “That something insidious is going on, Mr. Robie. I don’t know if it has anything to do with Jessica Reel. What I do know is that it’s reached a crisis point.”

  “Does Evan Tucker share your concerns?”

  DiCarlo passed a hand over her forehead. She was about to answer when Robie heard the sounds. He pulled his gun with one hand and hit the table light with the other, knocking it off the desk and plunging them into darkness.

  He reached across the desk and grabbed hold of DiCarlo’s arm. “Get under the kneehole of your desk and stay there.”

  He groped on the desk, found her gun, and handed it to her. “Kept up with your certifications?”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Good,” he said tersely. “Good.”

  The next moment Robie was on the move.

  He knew exactly what the sounds had represented. He had heard them many times over his career.

  Two muzzle blasts equaled two long-distance rifle shots.

  This was followed by the sonic signatures of the rounds in the air.

  Two thunks represented the impact of those rounds hitting flesh. The last two thunks were the dead bodies of DiCarlo’s trusted security team hitting the dirt.

  Her secure perimeter was gone.

  Now it was just Robie between DiCarlo and whoever else was out there.

  He thumbed a number on his phone but the call didn’t go through. He looked at the bars. He had four. But the call wouldn’t go through.

  Because they were jamming the signal. Which meant there was more out there to confront than a single sniper.

  He opened the door to the room, shot through the opening, and moved down the hall.

  CHAPTER

  30

  ROBIE PEEKED OUT THE FRONT WINDOW. Lying facedown in the motor court were the two guards who had admitted him to the house. He backtracked down the hall, through the kitchen, found a hard-line phone, and punched in Blue Man’s number. It rang twice and was picked up.

  “Ms. DiCarlo?” said Blue Man, who was obviously seeing the number on his caller ID.

  “It’s Robie. I was meeting with DiCarlo at her house when shots were fired. Her security team is dead. I’m the only thing between her and whatever is out there. I need backup now.”

  “Done,” said Blue Man, and he clicked off.

  Robie put down the phone and looked around. He was debating whether to go back and stay with DiCarlo—to form an inner hardened circle around her—and wait for help to arrive. That seemed like a sound plan, only they were in the middle of nowhere and help would take some time in coming.

  If he retreated to DiCarlo he would give a clear tactical advantage to the opponent. They could encircle them, close in, and with superior firepower it would quickly be over. A grenade tossed through the window would be enough.

  So other things being equal, that meant Robie had to go on the offensive. That was okay. He was more comfortable attacking than defending.

  Dead men out front meant the shooter had to be positioned there. But with the men dead that position could have changed.

  Robie put himself in the mind of the shooter.

  What would I do?

  It was what Robie would call a plus-one situation. You think one tactical step ahead but you don’t try to be too cute about it.

  Dead out front. Use the rear. They do the plus-one analysis and conclude that Robie would think that far ahead and opt to go out the front.

  So Robie did the plus-two and headed out the rear.

  Of course, if there were two snipers, front and back, his chess playing was useless and he was dead.

  No shots came as he exited the house. He moved away from the door and behind a tree where he could gain a bit of surveillance time while being somewhat shielded. It was dark, so he wouldn’t be able to see much except for perhaps movement. Yet even if he did see the shooters it would be nearly impossible to hit them with a pistol shot if they were any real distance away.

  After seeing nothing out there he slipped out from behind the tree and made his way to the right side of the house. In his mind he fixed the dead men’s positions. From there he reverse engineered the trajectory lines necessary to kill them.

  The only spot was the knoll about a quarter mile away. He had seen it when he’d driven up. There was a break in the trees there.

  High ground was good ground for long-distance murdering. Any competent sniper could have made those kill shots.

  He peered up toward the knoll, looking for any sign of the shooter.

  Could it be Jessica Reel on the other end of that sniper rifle?

  He got down on his belly and slid forward until he was behind his car. From there he could see the two bodies. He was able to grab the leg of the closest dead man and pulled the body behind the car. Robie saw that the round had gone right through the man’s neck, severing the spine on the way out.

  Instant kill.

  He only glanced over at the other body, but he knew the man had probably suffered the same sort of mortal wound.

  Hitting a torso at this distance was not hard if you knew what you were doing. Nailing the spine on an in-and-out was a little more problematic, especially at night. Whoever was out there knew his way around a long barrel and scope. Which meant he could nail Robie just as easily.

  He opened the car door and slipped inside.

  A plan had hit him in the last few seconds.

  He intended to execute it in the next few seconds.

  Keeping low, he slid over to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and put the car in gear.

  Then what he thought might happen did.

  A round slammed through the driver’s-side window, sending shards of glass over him.

  They were waiting for him in front. Which meant they had stopped at the plus-one analysis. That lifted his spirits a bit. Now if he could only survive the next few minutes.

  He revved the engine and popped it into reverse.

  A round hit the front tire, exploding it.

  The car backed up, bumping along with the ruined tire, which quickly shed rubber until he was basically running on the rim.

  But he didn’t have to go fast. He just needed to go.

  Using his side mirror as a guide, he made the turn and sped along the side of the house. At the same time he was dialing the number in DiCarlo’s house, which he had memorized from the hard-line phone’s screen.

  “Yes?” DiCarlo’s voice was shaky and Robie could hardly blame her.

  He told her the situation and what he was attempting to do. “The signal will be me blowing the horn,” he said.

  With the shooters out front, probably at the knoll, he had some time. He backed the car to the rear door of the house, shielding it from the sight line of any gunner who might be back here.

  He blew the horn. The back door instantly opened and DiCarlo appeared. As Robie had instructed her, she kept low and scuttled over to the car, getting in the rear door and slamming it shut behind her.

  “Stay down,” Robie called out.

  He put the car in gear and drove back around to the front. He was exposing himself to fire here, but he had no choice. There was only one road in and out.

  The rounds started pinging off the car’s frame and shattering windows as soon as they reached the front. Robie heard DiCarlo gasp and then groan. He poked his head over the seat.

  Blood was pouring from a wound in her chest. She’d been hit, probably by a ricochet.

  Another shot tore up his left rear tire. Now he had two bad wheels.

  He also sensed the shots getting closer and more accurate. That meant the shooters had left the knoll and were moving
in for the kill.

  Robie pulled up next to the Range Rover and parked beside it. He got out, searched the body of the guard lying next to it, and found the keys. He looked at the Rover’s frame, glass, and tires.

  Armored, bulletproof, and run-flats, he concluded.

  He opened the rear door of his car and managed to drag out DiCarlo. Her breathing was ragged. He lifted her into the Rover’s backseat as shots started clanging off the vehicle’s frame.

  He pulled his pistol and fired some shots back. He knew he couldn’t hit anything at this distance, but it might slow their advance a bit.

  He climbed in the passenger side, slid over to the driver’s seat, and started the truck.

  Rounds were coming fast now, hitting everything. Robie was tempted to roll down his window and fire back when the most remarkable thing happened.

  Counterfire started up.

  He looked a hundred meters in front of him. There was a figure behind a tree, holding a rifle that was balanced on the lowest branch. The rifle must have had an auto feed, because the shooter was rapid-firing.

  Robie looked at where the shots were hitting. In the distance he now saw lights. As he watched, one of the lights exploded. Then the other lights scattered.

  The countershooter had stopped the advance in its tracks.

  Robie watched in fascination as the shooter outguessed his opponents on the grid. They were trying to flee his shots by zigzagging. But the shooter was correctly guessing their movements and Robie saw another light explode as presumably another shooter hit the dirt for the last time.

  Finally, the shooters headed the other way, in full retreat.

  And the countershooter kept firing, chasing them all the way.

  DiCarlo’s moaning in the backseat brought Robie out of this observation. He put the truck in gear and hit the gas. Just as he made the turn to head back down the gravel road and to the main road, he saw it.

  Or rather, he saw the countershooter.

  Well, all he actually saw was the long hair.

  And then the countershooter disappeared into the darkness.

  His savior had been a woman.

  And Robie was pretty sure that woman was Jessica Reel.

  CHAPTER

  31

  ROBIE DESPERATELY WANTED TO GO back to confirm that his ally in this firefight had been Reel. But he had a badly wounded woman in his backseat and he had no idea where the nearest hospital was.

  He hit the main road, gunned it, and called Blue Man.

  The man answered right away and Robie told him what had happened, leaving out, however, the information about the female countershooter.

  Blue Man told Robie help was on the way and directed him to the nearest hospital; he indicated that a team would meet him there. They were also sending a response unit to DiCarlo’s house.

  Robie took two minutes to pull off the road, examine DiCarlo’s wound, and stop the bleeding as best as he could. DiCarlo was going in and out of consciousness. She alternated between gripping his arm and then letting it go.

  Robie said, “You’re going to be okay, ma’am. I’m not going to let you die. You’re going to be fine.”

  He didn’t know if any of this was true, but she needed to hear it.

  He arrived at the county hospital twenty minutes later. Agency personnel were already there, and they took over when Robie screeched to a halt in the parking lot. They stabilized DiCarlo at the hospital, and then she was loaded into a medevac chopper and flown off to a hospital better equipped to handle a trauma patient.

  Robie stayed behind to debrief Blue Man, who had shown up about ten minutes after Robie. They sat in a small cubicle outside the emergency room sipping lukewarm vending machine coffee.

  “So what’s her condition?” asked Robie.

  “She’s stabilized, but in critical condition. From what I heard she lost a lot of blood and was in shock. Don’t know if she’s going to make it or not. Someone has obviously declared war on the agency.” He paused. “Jessica Reel.” It really wasn’t a question.

  Robie hesitated. Part of him wanted to tell Blue Man what he had seen tonight. The countershooter had been a woman; he was certain of that. He was also convinced that it had been Reel. That wasn’t a fact; it was just his speculation. Yet who else could it have been?

  In the end he decided to keep it to himself.

  “There were multiple shooters,” said Robie. “I think Reel is more of a loner.”

  Blue Man threw his coffee into a trash can, wiped off his hands, and sat back down next to Robie in a scratched plastic chair. The room reeked of antiseptic and stale food.

  “Multiple shooters? You’re sure?”

  “Maybe four or five. Maybe more.”

  Robie wondered if they would find any bodies out there other than DiCarlo’s guards. He was certain Reel had nailed at least two of them.

  Blue Man wiped sweat from his forehead with his hand. “Do we have a full-fledged conspiracy going on here?”

  “But why target DiCarlo?” asked Robie.

  “She was number two.”

  “So the conspiracy is directed at top agency personnel? Then why go after Jacobs? He was nowhere near the inner circle.”

  “I don’t know, Robie. But if it was multiple shooters and Reel is working with them, they must have some goal in mind.”

  “It’s funny that DiCarlo’s security team was so light,” Robie said. “Particularly after what happened to Gelder.”

  Blue Man was nodding before Robie finished speaking. “I know.”

  “She comes out here with two guys and no perimeter. Multiple points of attack. You wouldn’t have to be good to get to her. You just have to show up.”

  “It was her home.”

  “That’s not a reason. The agency has lots of safe houses. She never should have been allowed to even go to her house, given what happened to Gelder.”

  “You’re right, Robie.”

  “And the guy who should’ve told her that is Evan Tucker, the number one. One trumps two, right?”

  “I’m not privy to the dynamics of their relationship or what might have transpired between them.”

  “So there’s nothing you can tell me that might help?”

  Blue Man looked up at him, the mental battle clear in his features. “I don’t know what to tell you, Robie.”

  “That actually tells me a lot.”

  Robie went over with Blue Man the details of the meeting with DiCarlo. But again he didn’t tell all. He could vividly recall the anxiety in DiCarlo’s voice as she spoke to him:

  Missions that never should have been. Missing personnel. Money moved from here to there and then it disappeared. Equipment sent to places it should not have been sent to and it also disappeared.

  And her last comment had been even more troublesome, that something insidious is going on, Mr. Robie. I don’t know if it has anything to do with Jessica Reel. What I do know is that it’s reached a crisis point.

  He didn’t tell Blue Man this because, ever the dutiful agency man, he would have reported it up his chain of command. And right now Robie didn’t want that.

  “Anything else?” asked Blue Man.