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A dark green object, the size of an apple, plummeted from the overpass toward the road. Noah’s eyes grew round as he followed the descent. It bounced once with a metallic ping and rolled a few inches toward the car. Noah had both feet on the ground and was about to stand when it registered.
“Grenade!”
Bishop dove toward the front of the vehicle as Noah tucked his feet back in the Ford and turtled on the seat. The explosion rocked the SUV, and what was left of the rear window blew inward and pelted over Noah. The glass in the back door blew outward, and the inside panel was riddled with fragments of metal and asphalt. Despite being sheltered, Noah’s ears rang from the concussive force.
He groaned, and he quickly frisked himself, looking for injuries. Nothing. However, Bishop was outside. Fuck!
Outside, small fragments cascaded onto the ground and sounded like hail. Bishop groaned as he rolled in front of the hood. The majority of his body had been protected, but the lower right leg had been hit. The dress pants had three holes from shrapnel, and blood was pooling on the road.
Noah darted forward and rolled Bishop onto his back. Awkward fingers loosened the tie and pulled it free.
“Be quiet,” Noah whispered. “They haven’t left yet.”
Bishop nodded and tried to sit. Hunter pulled up the pant leg. Two of the wounds were shallow, but the third was bad. A twisted-triangular piece of metal had buried an inch deep, just below the calf muscle. Before Bishop could see or object, Noah pinched it with his fingers and gave it a quick yank. The federal agent started to scream before he caught himself.
“It’s out.” Noah let the wound bleed a few seconds to flush it before wrapping the tie three times about the leg as a quick field dressing. The Sig Sauer lay a foot from Bishop’s right hand. He was tempted to go for it, but now wasn’t the time.
“Jesus Christ, that hurts.”
“Can you stand?” Noah scanned the area, but there was no sign of the shooter. Yet. The ringing in his ears had lessened but wasn’t totally gone.
“Help me up.”
After standing, Bishop leaned on the hood. He also kept an eye on the area. They were not done yet. “We have to leave.”
“Fish in a barrel,” Noah muttered as he passed Bishop the pistol. “Do you have a backup?”
“No.” Bishop paused and looked at the backseat, then Noah. His eyes widened. “How the hell did you get free? If you’re part of this, you’re going to be in jail a very long time.”
“I have nothing to do with this, but—”
The sound of falling gravel came down the embankment behind, and Noah helped Bishop to the driver’s side. The federal agent held the pistol with two hands and used the roof to steady his aim. The far slope led up to the tracks, and it was too steep to climb. The rocks were the size of two fists and were used to prevent erosion. A small stone, the size of a golf ball, bounced down the incline and rolled on the road.
Noah frowned, and as he turned to look behind him, a thin man in a balaclava crouched beside the overpass, twenty feet up the slope and fifty feet away. The man had a rifle slung over one shoulder and a pistol in a two-handed grip.
Noah didn’t have time to yell out a warning before being shot.
The round struck his right shoulder blade and sent him sprawling over the hood of the Ford. Bishop spun about and calmly squeezed the trigger. Eight rounds were fired, and five found their mark. The man jerked and spasmed as each bullet landed. He dropped face-first on the stones and slid down the incline to land in a jumbled heap at the bottom.
“Fuck!” Bishop swore and kept the muzzle pointed at the corpse. The shooter’s pistol skidded across the road toward them.
Noah groaned. “I’ll never get used to that.”
“What the hell?” The federal agent stared as the police officer stood and rolled his head back and forth before stretching.
Noah lifted the dark blue sweater Captain Pike had given him. Underneath was a ballistic vest with ceramic plates forming a second layer above the vital organs. Smithfield Police Department was embroidered on a Velcro tag on the chest and upper back.
The Sig Sauer swung about and aimed Noah's face. “You better fucking explain what the actual fuck is going on!”
“The vest is my insurance that I’ll make it to wherever you are dragging me.” Noah took a deep breath and twisted. He would have another fantastic bruise on his back, but nothing was broken.
“Insurance?” The pistol never wavered despite Bishop’s confusion.
“Someone placed a contract out on me, and I thought they were dealt with, but another group may be trying to collect.” Noah winced as he stretched.
Bishop took a step back to gain some distance between them, and the 9mm lowered. “Who took a contract out on you?”
Noah’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I thought you knew. The man in the shadows, who apparently controls the FBI and CIA. Walter Scott.”