When they went outside into his warm backyard, the sun was completely down, and it was raining slightly. With the help of the mercenaries forming an assembly line over the scrub grass from his storage shed to the carport, it took almost no time at all to load up his truck with the Gator and the diving equipment.
Gannon watched as they clunked several more tanks than necessary into the truck’s bed.
“You don’t need to do that. Two tanks are more than enough,” Gannon said.
“Good one,” the short, cocky Spanish thug from the van said. “You think you’re going anywhere by yourself, think again.”
Gannon looked at him. Like the rest of them, he was an American. He reminded him of a guy he once knew, a little all-state wrestler at his high school in the Bronx. What had they called him again? El Mighty Mouse, Gannon remembered.
Sunglasses zipped Gannon’s hands behind him hard and tight with some plastic ties and put him into his pickup’s crew cab. Gannon watched as he went over to the van with Blackbeard. A moment later, El Mighty Mouse got in behind his truck’s wheel with Agent Emerson riding shotgun.
“Pardon me for stating the obvious,” El Mighty Mouse said as he sorted through Gannon’s key chain, “but your truck here’s a real genuine piece of shit.”
“Well, now we know why he took the money,” Emerson said as he rolled down the window.
Gannon stared at the blue van with Ruby and Stick and Little Jorge in it. After a minute, the big bald son of a bitch, Reyland, came out of his bungalow’s front door.
At least they were getting away from the house, Gannon thought. He wondered how long they’d had Sergeant Jeremy for. Over a day at least. His wife, Emmaline, had to be crazed. He was badly beaten, but he was a tough old codger. Maybe someone would come by looking for him.
Reyland walked over to the truck.
“Ruiz, if you would,” he said, gesturing toward the house.
Ruiz grinned back at Gannon before he climbed out and walked across the lawn.
“What the hell is he doing?” Gannon said frantically as El Mighty Mouse went in through the open front door. “What’s he doing in there?”
The FBI men said nothing. They all stared at the house.
No, Gannon thought, biting his lip. There was no way.
Gannon reared back in his seat as if he’d been Tasered as the two shots boomed.
As El Mighty Mouse walked out of the house whistling, Gannon’s gaze slid down onto the inside of his truck floor. There was an empty Gatorade bottle there. It was next to an old sky blue kid’s flipper from when Declan was young.
He felt dizzy as El Mighty Mouse, still whistling, climbed back into the truck and turned over the engine.
The sergeant had five kids, Gannon thought. Twenty-something grandkids.
As the engine revved and they began to pull out, Gannon remembered Sergeant Jeremy’s invitation to his sermon.
He closed his eyes.
There would be only one way out of this now.