Gordon and Charlie watched as the Feds drove away with the Koury kids. “I think the apocalypse is near,” Gordon said softly, watching the protestors walking to their vehicles along the street.
“From all the fear and violence lately?”
“No. Today Detective DuPree called me Gordon. First time ever.”
“That cinches it. Bring on the fire and brimstone. I didn’t catch your reply. What did you say when he did that?”
“I thanked him using his first name,” Gordon replied.
“Hmmm. Do I detect a bromance in the air, bud?”
“Naw, that’s just steer manure from the lawn.”
“That explains it. Well, people are leaving now since it’s dinnertime—so I guess we need to tell Dawud and Jenna what’s happening,” Charlie said, bringing out his phone.
“Too late, here they are,” Gordon replied, pointing to a pickup coming up the street with Dawud and his wife in the cab. On the door of the truck was a sign advertising Koury’s American Produce. “Let’s get to them before the demonstrators catch on and come back.”
Ten minutes later Charlie, alone in the Koury vehicle, an older model Ford 150, drove across the Alameda Bridge and turned south onto Rio Grande Boulevard. Gordon had gone on ahead with Dawud and his wife, Jenna, to the police station downtown. Gordon’s pickup had the extended cab, which provided plenty of room for the three. Dawud hadn’t wanted to leave his pickup behind at home or depend on someone to bring them back, so Charlie agreed to follow in the Koury truck. He’d decided to stay off the higher-speed interstate, though, because Dawud’s old pickup needed a tune-up and was running rough.
Several miles of the northern end of Rio Grande Boulevard were posted at a 25 mph speed limit, but there was no need to hurry. Experience in dealing with APD, much less the Feds, had taught him that interviews or interrogations could take hours.
He’d waited at the Koury home just until the place had been cleared of explosives—none had been found—then stood back as the K-9 team checked out the pickup as well. An agent had quickly emerged from the home carrying the shotgun—trigger guard still attached—and a laptop. SAC Jackson had the house keys and had offered to lock up the place and have the keys delivered to the Kourys downtown once the crime lab team had completed their search of the Koury home.
It was still hot outside and the sun was an hour prior to setting as Charlie drove slowly down the two-lane street, flanked by low- and high-end homes of every size and shape, surrounded by grassy fields, orchards, and the occasional side street. Trees lined this stretch of the road, some of the old cottonwood limbs extending over the roadway. It was a cool, pleasant drive, with the shade from trees on the west side of the boulevard.
There was some light traffic, with most of the vehicles sticking within 5 mph of the posted 25, but in the rearview mirrors he noticed a gray, mostly primer-coated van coming up quickly from behind. Charlie maintained speed, checking ahead for oncoming traffic. If the guy wanted to pass, it would be better now before they reached some blind curves ahead.
The approaching van was closing fast, so Charlie eased off the gas just a little. He’d let the guy around. Checking the mirror again, he tried to get a look at the driver, but couldn’t make out a face in the glare.
The van whipped out around him, passed by quickly, and all Charlie could see was a strange-looking driver wearing a hoodie and ball cap. Suddenly Charlie realized why the driver looked so strange—he was wearing a stocking over his head, like a mask.
Charlie hit the brakes just as the van cut him off, slamming into the front end of the pickup. The pickup shook violently, then skidded toward the shoulder, which gave way to a shallow drainage ditch. He felt the left rear end lifting as the right front left the road and dropped down.
Struggling to maintain control, all Charlie could do was turn into the skid, hanging on as the truck bounced madly over the uneven ground into the narrow, grassy right-of-way.
There was barely time to think, much less react. The pickup barreled through a wire fence, ripping loose the poles, but at least the barrier grabbed the vehicle and helped bring him to a stop after another fifty yards. Two llamas and a donkey far across the pasture started racing back and forth, panicked by the chaotic intrusion. Charlie didn’t know whether to laugh or shout, but at least he was safe and hadn’t rolled the pickup. His head hurt, and he guessed that the harsh ride had bounced the top of his skull off the roof.
He opened the door, wondering how much damage had been done to Dawud’s pickup, then he remembered he’d just been forced off the road. He turned to look back at the street, reaching at the same time for the Beretta at his hip. That van was coming back down the street, and the driver was leaning out the window with something in his hand.
Gun he nearly said aloud, diving out the door onto the field just as the driver fired a shot. He heard the thud of a bullet somewhere above, striking the truck. Rolling to his right, he grabbed for his Beretta. He rolled one more time, anticipating a follow-up shot. Two more gun blasts told him he’d made the right move.
He brought up his pistol and aimed toward the road, estimating the lead he needed. Then the van passed by an oncoming SUV headed south. More vehicles were approaching, so there was no shot. Jumping to his feet, he waved at the SUV.
The driver, a woman, took a quick look, then sped off. Maybe it had something to do with the gun in his hand. Charlie reached up for the cell phone in his shirt pocket. It was gone. He checked the ground and found it lying there not six inches from some fresh manure. He picked up the phone and called 911, then looked himself over to make sure he hadn’t rolled through the stuff. Fortunately, as with the bullets, he was lucky—except for his boots.
The phone rang, and he recognized the number. “Charlie, you injured?” came Russell Turner’s voice, showing a trace of his Southern drawl.
If the CIA guy had been trailing him, he’d never noticed. “No, I’m fine, just a little smelly. Where are you?” Charlie added, looking toward the street. A white sedan had pulled over beside the gap in the fence line, and he could see a man inside.
“I’m in the car you’re looking at, pal. I was leading the way, watching you in the rearview mirror ’cause I knew your destination. I didn’t snap on the van until it forced you off the road. I tried to intercept, but the guy did a one-eighty and went back in your direction. I lost sight of it for a while. Did you see it flash by you?”
“More than that. The driver did a slow-motion drive-by, took a couple of shots with a hand gun, then hauled ass back north,” Charlie said.
“Well, I lost track of the van when it went around a curve, and you were on the ground, so I decided to check on you first,” Turner replied. “I did get a read at the vehicle tag, however, earlier when I was watching the action at the Koury residence. I’ll message it to you. Call it in while I search the area for the van. Once you get a name to go with that plate, let me know. I can’t use local sources without identifying myself. There was also a Marine Corp decal on the left rear window of the van.”
“Copy. Thanks for backing me up, but I’d like to ask a favor right now.”
“What do you have in mind?” Turner asked.
Charlie thought about it a second. “If you can’t locate the van, I’d like you to get into a position to protect Dawud and his family—not me. I’ve got Gordon and some good APD allies, but the Koury family is facing some rough days. You saw that yourself this evening. What do you say?”
“I’ll think about it, Charlie. Dawud saved some American lives, mine included. Meanwhile, I’ve got to get going. Catch you later.” Turner ended the call.
Turner wanted to remain anonymous, Charlie understood. He dialed 911 as the spook drove off north. Rio Grande Boulevard dead-ended at the bosque a few miles to the north, but there was always east and west, or doubling back south. Charlie wanted to alert APD and country deputies ASAP. The van was distinctive, maybe they’d get lucky.
While he was waiting for the Bernalillo County deputies, the law enforcement agency that covered the village, Charlie called Gordon. Looking back at the pickup while he waited for the connection, he saw two bullet holes, one centered in the driver’s door, the other just aft of the seat, a few feet above the gas tank. There were probably a hundred feet of wire fencing stretched across the field and wrapped around the front of the truck.
Thinking back at the sensation of his ride, Charlie imagined it was like running into a giant rubber band at twenty miles an hour. Thank God he was going the speed limit already and was slowing down as he was struck by the van. If he’d have gone off the road any faster, he might be lying on his side with a pickup wrapped around him.
Hearing a siren in the distance, he walked over to the pickup and placed his Beretta on the seat cushion. No sense in alarming the law.
* * *
Nancy arrived around seven thirty, just after the deputy, despite the fact that she was technically out of her jurisdiction. Charlie had already been told that because of the current terrorist threat, all local agencies would be on call, and for him especially, because of previous attempts on his life. It was uncomfortable being a celebrity for all the wrong reasons, evident when every officer he encountered knew who he was despite having never met.
When Nancy walked up to the scene Charlie had already given BCSD Sergeant Randy Trujillo the essentials on what had gone down, then retrieved his Beretta. Right now, the officer was photographing Koury’s damaged pickup and the tire marks in the field.
“You okay, Charlie?” Nancy asked, looking back at him after nodding to the county officer and taking in the mess.
“Yeah, I’m just glad I was creeping along when he cut me off. If I’d have known it wasn’t just some crazy out to break the land speed record, I might have been able to prevent this. The van came up fast, I decided to let him come on around, then boom!”
“Shots were fired, I gather. Sure it wasn’t just road rage?”
“I can’t say for sure, but the driver came back after running me off the road and fired three shots. If I’d have cut him off, flipped the finger, or defamed his mother, maybe so. But he was after me all along. I saw a van like this one among the vehicles parked on Koury’s street, which means I was followed, then attacked,” Charlie said, stretching the truth. He’d probably seen the van, all right, but for the moment, he wanted to leave Turner out of the conversation.
“Again, no description. Good thing you managed to notice and remember his plate numbers, though,” Nancy said, looking at him skeptically.
“I have a knack for numbers. You have an ID on the owner?” he said.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. The listed owner is a Marine vet, and his apartment isn’t too far from here. I’m heading there next.”
“Can I go with?” Charlie asked. He was tired of being in the bull’s-eye and wanted to take action. “If Sergeant Trujillo says okay.” He turned to face the county officer, who’d just come over.
“I’ve already interviewed Mr. Henry, Serge … um, Detective Medina, is it now?” Trujillo said, reaching out and shaking Nancy’s hand.
“Good to see you again, Randy,” Nancy said, nodding. “How’s the wife and daughter?”
“It’s the terrible twos with Cindi. She’s already developed way too much attitude,” Trujillo responded. “Go ahead and take off, people. I’ve got to wait for CSI,” he joked. “When you come back, remind me to show you five hundred photos of my little terror.”
Nancy laughed, then put her hand on Charlie’s arm. “Let’s go before he takes us up on that.”
They continued down Rio Grande, with emergency lights on in Nancy’s APD unmarked unit, traveling at twice the speed limit. “What else did you get on this Marine?” Charlie asked.
“His name is Benjamin Webster. He served for six years and was discharged at the rank of Lance Corporal. Webster was wounded in Afghanistan, and since leaving the military has changed his residence at least seven times in the last two years,” Nancy responded. “No arrests, except two bar fights, charges dropped, both more than a year ago.”
“Another vet with issues. I wonder if there’s a connection with Back Up?” Charlie asked.
“That could be interesting. When we reach Webster’s residence, be on your toes. If he’s the shooter, remember that you’re the target.”
“Maybe you should have some backup.”
“Already on the way. If they arrive before we do, the units have been told to keep out of sight,” Nancy added.
“I don’t think he’s the guy that murdered the pilot,” Charlie said, “or took the shot in the alley.”
“Why not?”
“The shooter has missed me twice. Most Marines could have taken me out with the first shot in the alley.”
“Unless he was high on something.”
“People high on drugs or booze aren’t as careful as the profile suggests. And either the terrorist, or whoever it is, attacked on impulse today, breaking the pattern. Maybe it was someone else, but not the Marine.”
“Like a local ‘patriot’ trying to injure or kill who he thought was Dawud Koury? But you don’t look like Koury, and if he was there, the perp in the van probably saw you getting into the truck.”
“Okay. Nothing quite fits. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
Twilight was approaching as they drove up the street where Webster supposedly lived. Nancy parked on the street in front of an adjacent apartment building. “There’s the van,” Charlie pointed out. “In front of what looks like apartment C. The place doesn’t look like much,” he said, noting the roof of the structure was missing a few shingles, the cinder-block walls needed paint, and the wooden trim around Webster’s apartment door was just hanging on.
She grabbed her radio mike and advised her backup officers, setting up approaches to cover her and also to watch the rear in case Webster tried to sneak out a back door or window.
“Stay in the vehicle, Charlie,” Nancy ordered. “If he’s after you, no sense in giving him an easy target.”
“Leave the keys, though. If he runs, you don’t want to have your car this far away.”
“Okay, but don’t move the vehicle without my signal. Just keep an eye on things,” she said.
“Be careful, girl.”
Nancy smiled. “Always, boy.”
As soon as Nancy reached the building, Charlie slipped out onto the sidewalk and watched as Nancy made a tactical approach, backed up by an officer. She knocked, announced she was a cop, then stood back and waited, weapon out but down by her side.
“Police officer, Mr. Webster. Come outside with your hands behind your head,” she shouted.