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DARKNESS TOOK ITS LAST breaths. It would relinquish its life in the coming hour. Daylight slivered over the horizon and stabbed through the snow-covered trees and through the shantytown portion of Red Rain Indian Reservation.
Thirty minutes earlier, three armed men and one pilot had boarded a Comanche RAH-70, taking off and flying low, just above the trees. The rotors hummed, and the engine vibrated about as silently as a helicopter could. As the sun began ascending from its sleep, the pilot could see the rotors’ circular shadow wash across the tops of the trees as they flew west.
Shepard checked his Heckler and Koch G36. It was good. They were heading to the entrance of the reservation where they had received a steady transmission from the tracking device on the guy they had lost in the attack on Gareth’s house.
Shepard had spoken to the drifter, Jack Widow, who confirmed there had been no sign of Jacobs. He had also told him that the Mexican boy was alive and on the reservation. That was all he really cared about. Jacobs was as good as dead, no matter where he was holed up. He had probably been in the house when they blew it up anyway. And soon the boy would be in their hands again. He would hopefully lead them back to the diamonds, and then he could be killed and discarded like so many others that they had done this to before. Shepard figured they’d probably toss him out of the helicopter as they flew back to Fort Hood.
His little body would be nearly invisible in the Texas desert from the sky. The coyotes and local critters would take care of his remains.
No problem, Shepard thought.
Of course, they would have to kill the entire population on the reservation. At least all those who were witnesses. Before they lifted off, the pilot had made sure that the Vulcan machine gun was completely loaded, and they had standby cartridges with plenty of firepower for their purposes.
The helicopter flew and yawed then turned, and they were over the community center in minutes. The pilot hovered the craft and saw a clear spot in what looked like a snow-covered parking lot. He twisted in his seat and yelled back at Shepard.
“I’m setting her down right there!”
Shepard nodded and looked at the two agents Widow had beaten up earlier. He said, “Lock and load, boys.”
The agents were dressed in thick white winter gear, and they wore Kevlar vests. Each was armed with a G36 and a Beretta holstered as a sidearm. They jumped out of the Comanche and prepared a stance, all facing the doors to the community center.
Shepard signaled to one guy to cover the hole leading into the police station where the door used to be just in case someone came charging out of the darkness. The orange door still lay on the ground where the tornado had blown it off its hinges.
His guys stood, ready to breach the doors to the community center.