The Dead Series (Book 2): Dead Is All You Get (34 page)

One of the other cops drew his weapon and fired, missing Pederman by a hair. Warnick reacted, shooting him in the chest. Grunting, he fell dead. As Hannity reached for his own weapon, Springer stepped into spitting distance of him and pointed his handgun at the cop’s head.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Pederman said. “These men are highly trained combatants and will, without hesitation, drop you like last week’s girlfriend.”

It was official—I was in love with the new Pederman. He instructed the police officers to lay down their weapons and line up. One of the squads swept through the building and around the outside perimeter, searching for other cops. The rest of us handcuffed the prisoners behind their backs using plastic ties and escorted them to the LMTV.

“You’re crazy, Pederman,” Hannity said. “This will never work.”

“I have faith. Get your ass up there.”

Once the prisoners were loaded, the LMTV headed out with the other squad.

“That can’t be all of them,” I said.

Pederman lowered his weapon. “Don’t worry. We’ll get the others eventually.”

Our squad, which included Griffin and Fabian, did a final check of the police station to ensure that no one was left behind. We confiscated the rest of the weapons so that no returning cops would be able to outgun us. When we were satisfied that the place was secure, we went next door to City Hall and did a sweep there. We found Becky in her office. Facing a group of soldiers with guns put a look of terror on her face.

“It’s okay,” Holly said. “We’re not here to harm you. Where’s the mayor?”

“A-at home?”

Warnick stepped forward and took her arm. “You’d better come with us.”

We escorted Becky out of the building and into our Humvee. Holly rode with Griffin in another vehicle, and Fabian rode with us.

As we drove to the command center, Springer leaned over from the front seat and spoke to Becky. “You know, when this is over, you and I should hang out—” Her look of discomfort said it all. He faced forward and didn’t say another word till we stopped.

At the command center, a waiting soldier escorted Becky into the administration building. She would remain with us for the duration. As she disappeared inside, Fabian walked up to Springer. “Smooth. Real smooth.”

The LMTV carrying the prisoners was headed for the isolation facility. It was the only place we could think of that was big enough to house everyone we’d arrested, since Tres Marias didn’t have its own jail. We followed soon after in our Humvee. On the way there, Springer blasted a song on his phone—“Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes. I’d always loved that band.

When we arrived at the isolation facility, the flatbed had already been unloaded. Once again, our soldiers manned the guard shack. One of them opened the gate and we drove through. So far, not a dragger in sight. Inside, the police officers stood in separate Plexiglas cells with a squad guarding them. Our guys would provide them with food and water. In all, there were twenty prisoners. Eventually, we would bring more.

Holly, Griffin and Fabian went off to help with the food distribution. As Warnick and I walked past Hannity’s cell he sneered. “You have no idea what you’ve done. I feel sorry for you.”

“You might want to feel sorry for yourself,” I said.

After a final check, Pederman walked towards us. “Let’s head out.”

“You think the mayor knows we’re coming?” Warnick said.

“I hope he does. And I hope it scares him bloodless.”

It was early afternoon. Using binoculars, Springer scanned the countryside from our Humvee. Holly was with me. Griffin and Fabian rode in another Humvee with Greta and two other soldiers. “I see six—no, eight—draggers,” he said. “They’re pretty far away, though.”

“Any cops?” Pederman said.

“Nope.”

As we approached the mayor’s house I noticed the wrought iron gates at the bottom of the driveway were closed. We were in the lead vehicle, with Warnick behind the wheel. “Do you think we should knock?” I said to him.

Warnick put the Humvee in Park and got out. He examined the gate and looked up at the security cameras. Then he climbed back into our vehicle and floored it, springing the gates open. The vehicles passed through and continued up the hill. Several police cruisers were parked in the driveway.

The shooting started before we could get out of the Humvees. We opened our doors and, using them as shields, scooted behind our vehicles. They fired at us from the second floor of the house. Fortunately, we’d thought ahead and brought riot guns. Springer grabbed one.

“Wait,” Holly said. “Aren’t there children in there?”

“Let’s hope they’re not near the windows,” Pederman said and turned to Springer. “Fire!”

Springer fired tear gas through the upper windows and another round through the lower windows. Someone screamed. Smoke billowed out of the windows. In a few seconds, the front doors opened and two women and two children staggered out, choking. I recognized them as the mayor’s family and the housemaid. The younger boy vomited.

“Don’t shoot!” the mayor’s wife said.

Springer laid his weapon on the ground and ran towards the frightened civilians. More bullets screamed from the open windows, hitting him in the chest. Fortunately, he was wearing body armor. He hit the ground and reached for his handgun as the civilians crouched down on the front porch. I heard a familiar sound and was glad this was a military operation. The intense drone of beating blades got louder, and a sudden wind kicked up at my back. I looked over my shoulder—one of our helicopters swooped in and hovered over the driveway.

Pederman screamed over the noise. “Springer, get them out of there!”

Crouching, Springer scooted ahead and, taking each of the boys’ hands in his, escorted them down the steps towards our vehicles, with the two women following. As he led them over to where we were, a hail of bullets rained, striking the housemaid. Screaming, she hurtled forward and hit the ground face down. Springer shoved the two boys and their mother into a Humvee and, as we covered him, went back for the housemaid. We watched as he felt her neck for a pulse. Leaving her, he rejoined us.

Hysterical, the mayor’s wife jumped out of the vehicle and tried to help the housemaid, but Pederman grabbed her arm. “She’s dead,” he said.

“I don’t understand what’s happening!”

Pederman pulled her closer. “Where’s the mayor?”

“I don’t know—we got separated. Why are you doing this?”

Pederman gripped a bullhorn and spoke from the rear of the Humvee. “Lay down your weapons and come out with your hands up!”

We waited. No response. More gunfire erupted from the house. A gunner manned the Browning M2 mounted on the helicopter. When Pederman gave the signal, the helicopter swooped into position as the gunner took aim. He blasted a line of fire across the second story, essentially destroying the windows, frames and structure.

“No!” the mayor’s wife said.

The gunner repeated the action along the first floor. Though the noise was deafening, I felt satisfaction that we’d come for that bastard mayor.

“Make him stop!”

After two more volleys, the helicopter pulled back. We listened and, after a few minutes, Warnick and Springer approached the silent house. Griffin grabbed my arm. “Look,” she said, pointing. A second helicopter lifted off from the lawn off the rear of the house.

The mayor’s wife stiffened. A look of incredulity turned to anger. She stared at Pederman. “How could he leave us here?” Breaking away, she ran into the middle of the driveway, staring at the mayor’s helicopter as it gained height.

Pederman ran to her. “He’s trying to save himself. He knew we came here to arrest him.”

“So he abandons his family?”

“We’ll take you and your boys to the command center,” Pederman said and spoke into his radio. “After them.”

A Black Dragon helicopter ascended and followed in pursuit. The gunner fired a couple of warning shots, which did nothing to stop the first helicopter’s progress.

“Shoot them down,” Pederman said into the radio. He turned to the mayor’s wife. She stared at the sky, her face empty of emotion.

“Copy that,” the pilot’s voice said.

A smoke trail appeared from the ground through the trees, and the Black Dragon helicopter exploded into a ball of flame, the sound reverberating. Spinning wildly, it fell like a dead black bird into the forest.

“What the hell?” Fabian said.

Pederman tapped Warnick on the shoulder and pointed to the trees in the distance. “Stinger missile. It was fired from somewhere over there.”

As we continued to watch, the first helicopter descended and landed in precisely the spot from which the missile had been fired. A few seconds later it lifted off again and vanished.

“Your husband is a criminal,” Pederman said to the mayor’s wife.

She stared at the tree line where the helicopter had disappeared and then turned to Pederman. “My husband,” she said, “is a prick.”

Pederman instructed the LMTV driver to take the civilians to the command center. The other squad checked the house, where they discovered a number of bodies—all cops. Pederman led our squad out to the forest to look for survivors of the crash. The burning shell of the craft faced nose-down on the ground, its bent blades dug into the earth. Burning remnants hung like Christmas ornaments from tree branches. It had rained recently, so the fire hadn’t spread.

As we moved in, we saw draggers—six or seven of them—surrounding the twisted hulk. Without hesitation, we dispatched them with bullets to the head and kicked their miserable carcasses out of the way. Our men lay dead around the wreckage—probably killed instantly when the missile struck. Their faces and hands had been chewed away. Pederman raised his weapon and shot each one in the head before they could reanimate.

“Guess he knew we were coming,” Springer said.

I took Holly’s hand and pulled her close to me. “The question is, where are they going?”

The mayor’s wife
pushed her food around her plate and eventually laid down her plastic fork. She looked to me like she was finished with the tears. Wearily, she rubbed her eye with her index finger and stared off into the distance like a mental patient in the dayroom. Pederman, Warnick, Holly and I sat with her in the cafeteria, with Greta lying at Holly’s feet. Her boys were outside with Griffin and Fabian playing touch football—what else?

“Can I get you anything?” Pederman said. His voice was unusually quiet.

“No, thank you.”

“I’m sorry, but we have to ask you some questions.”

“I know.”

“How much did you know about your husband’s affairs?”

“Are you speaking of business or pleasure?” Her voice rang with the bitterness of the long-suffering. I wondered where a man in power would find any action in a town under siege. The mayor’s wife concentrated on something across the room, her face darkening. I turned. Becky sat alone at a table, drinking coffee and reading a book.

“Business,” Pederman said. “How involved were you with what was happening in Tres Marias?”

“You want to know if I knew anything about a conspiracy. Is that right?”

“Well, I want to know the details of what your husband was working on, and whether he was involved with another agency—possibly federal?”

She picked up a French fry and flung it across the room, where it landed on a nearby chair. “Oh, no,” she said, taking in the cafeteria. “Guess that means detention.”

Pederman was running out of patience. “Please, can we stick to the topic at hand?”

“My husband didn’t tell me anything. He was always going to ‘meetings.’ For all I know, he was holed up with that bitch over there. Besides, Walt Freeman handled the important stuff.”

“The deputy mayor? Really?”

“It’s funny if you think about it. We never had a deputy mayor. Then one day in the middle of the crisis, Walt shows up with his ‘assistant.’ After that, my husband deferred to him on everything.”

“Did the mayor ever mention Robbin-Sear?”

“I told you, he never said anything. Not that I was interested. I had my hands full with the boys. You ever try to keep two young boys occupied day after day, with no school or outside activities? Those … things always hanging around outside the gates?”