“I’ll personally put a bullet through that murderous bastard’s skull,” he said. “I’d always feared he’d turn traitor on us. I know his public file, and some things about him that are in another classified file.”
“Weather south’s supposed to be clearing. Hunters could put their Chinooks into the air if they want to take the chance. Think they will, sir?”
The General turned to his meteorology officer. “That woman’ll fly through hell if it serves her purpose. Wonder what the chore is that Thomas has to do? If she’s still with him…”
MARGARET TABOR couldn’t stop smiling. Outside the tent she could hear the organized chaos as her squad was torn from sleep. One of the choppers already had its engine turning over.
“Won’t be long,” she said with a grin. “By the sacred nails on the cross, but it won’t be long.”
The engine of the second chinook coughed into life. Outside the tent, there was the first faint hint of the coming dawn. Margaret Tabor clapped her hands together and then ran across the frost-dusted ground to her own quarters to get dressed and ready for the mission. “That son of a bitch,” she whispered to herself as she threw on her clothes. “Get a reward, Jeff Thomas? You bet your fucking pension I’ll give you a fine reward for this.”
JEFF SWITCHED OFF the transmitter and pulled the main lead from the bank of batteries.
He opened up the back with the blade of the kitchen knife and levered away some of the silicon-chip panels, breaking them between his hands and tendering the radio totally useless.
Then he stood up, slipped the blade into his belt and picked his way around the two corpses and the lake of congealing blood. The .38 was in his hand.
“Now, Nanci,” he whispered to himself.
Starting to open the door of the radio room, he glanced back at the charnel-house shambles that he left behind him. He smiled proudly to himself, eager for the long-waited revenge that he was about to enjoy.
Nanci Simms was waiting on the landing and she shot him once with the Heckler & Koch automatic, precisely through the middle of his smile.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jim was first out onto the landing, wearing the shirt and pants that he’d been sleeping in. His Ruger was cocked in his hand, but he stopped when he saw Nanci Simms standing in front of him, holding her own automatic, the barrel pointing down to the long-faded runner at her feet.
“It’s over, Jim,” she said, sounding infinitely weary. “Should have done that weeks ago but… don’t know why I didn’t. Now this has happened.”
“What? Who’d you shoot?” Then realization dawned. “Jeff? You’ve shot Jeff?”
“Too late, I fear, Jim. Look,” she said, moving to her right, indicating the open door of the room.
Now the rest of the house was awake. Henderson McGill, rubbing sleep from his eyes, stood in the doorway of the room he’d shared with Jeff Thomas. “What’s going on? Where’s Jeff? Heard a shot.”
Carrie was halfway up the stairs, holding her Smith & Wesson .22, her green eyes reflecting the golden light of the oil lamp that spilled across the landing. “What’s going on? Everybody all right?”
Paul McGill appeared from behind his father, cradling a scattergun and saying nothing.
“Me heard a bang,” came the worried voice from the room that Jim Hilton had just left.
“Get back, Sly,” Jim ordered, then called down the stairs. “Jeanne. It’s Jim here. Everything’s under control. Keep Heather and the little ones with you.”
He took the half-dozen steps along the corridor, hesitating a moment before stepping into the attic from where already drifted the unmistakable smell of death.
Jeff Thomas, blown back from the doorway by the powerful slug, lay sprawled in the far corner of the room, underneath the shuttered dormer window. His anonymous .38 was a couple of feet from his out-flung right hand. If it hadn’t been for the clothes, Jim wouldn’t have recognized the dead man. Nanci’s bullet had blown most of his face away, stripping skin and flesh from raw bone like a carnival mask. His lower jaw had gone, revealing the pearls of teeth floating among the bright blood around the top half of his mouth. The back of his skull had vanished, and the wall behind him was patterned with blood and gobbets of brain tissue and matted hair.