The standoff jack widow.., p.34
The Standoff (Jack Widow Book 12), page 34
Abe asked a question. His voice shuddered under the weight of it.
“No more bloodshed?”
“No more bloodshed,” Abel said. He reached out and placed one hand on the rifle’s barrel in Abe’s hands. He pushed it down so that it no longer aimed at him.
Abe didn’t fight back. He lowered the Winchester slowly.
He knew in his heart that they would all die if they resisted. They couldn’t defend themselves against Abel and his guys. They were outgunned and out-experienced.
Through the open door behind him, Abby asked, “Are you sure?”
“Put down your gun, Abigail. This is the only way to ensure our survival.”
Abby lowered her rifle as well.
Brooks signaled to the two guys standing at Henry’s truck to get moving. Both men walked up past Abel and Abe and took Abby’s rifle away from her.
Abel took Abe’s Winchester and held it down by his side. He smiled.
“You made the right decision, Mr. White. Now, let’s get in there and get any other guns you got. Mrs. White, would you be a dear and put on some coffee? Think you can scrounge together some lunch for my boys and me?”
Abe said, “The power went out. We’re on a generator.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“The oven may not work.”
“Of course, it’ll work. Don’t worry about it. Powering key appliances is what generators are for.”
Abby said nothing.
The two guys from Henry’s truck walked up to her. One pushed her aside and passed her and entered the house. The other jerked the rifle out of her hand and moved to stand directly behind her, towering over her.
Abby stared past Abe at Abel.
“I think so. What would you like to eat?”
“Oh, surprise us. But something special. You know what? Go into the kitchen and look for your finest dish. The kind you save for when the president comes to visit and cook that up for us. Take your time now. I want it to be the best meal ever. Got it?”
Abby nodded and turned. The big guy behind her was Tanis. He stayed there like a tree trunk.
“I’ve got to go to the kitchen,” she pleaded.
Tanis grinned and stepped aside. She went past him, past the mudroom, and off toward the kitchen.
He followed behind her, pairing his steps to match hers mockingly.
Abel took the lever on the Winchester and racked it, over and over, quickly ejecting every bullet out the top until the gun ran empty. He took the rifle and walked back to Brooks, handed it to him.
“Hide it behind the seat in the Tundra. Do the same with the rest after they collect them all. Lock it up. Do the same for the car and the sheriff's truck and keep the keys handy.”
Brooks nodded and looked down at Adonis. She was still on her knees in the snow.
He asked, “What about her?”
“Take her up to one of the bedrooms. The master bedroom. Handcuff her to the bed. I’ll check in on her later on. Maybe after lunch.”
Abel cracked a grin.
Adonis protested and shouted. Abel reared his foot back and kicked her in the stomach with a heavy boot.
“Shut up! You’re lucky to be alive.”
He turned back to Brooks and gave him one more order.
“Gag her. I don’t want to hear her voice again.”
Brooks nodded. He went to the cruiser’s trunk to find an extra car rag. He found one that was in a pack of clean rags. He returned to Adonis and shoved it in her mouth, forcibly.
He went to the Tundra and leaned the rear bench forward and laid out Abe’s rifle. He left the seat forward for Tanis and Cucci to return with any other weapons they found.
Abel walked up to Abe and threw an arm around his neck as if they were grade school friends.
“Come on, Abe. Show me around your house. I’m especially interested in how you became a Christmas tree farmer. Tell me about it.”
The two men walked into the house together. Sounds of arguing and fighting and loud voices came from the upstairs, but no gunshots.
A long minute went by. Then the rest of the White family came down the stairs and joined Abe and Abel in the living room near the fireplace.
Abel saw the sofa against the sliders. He pointed at it and barked an order at Tanis and Cucci.
“Now, how did that get there? Do the Whites a favor, boys, and move that sofa back over here away from the slider.”
Tanis and Cucci did as ordered.
They all sat, trying to crowd onto the same couch. The children both sat on the floor at Maggie’s feet.
None of them spoke. None of them dared to speak. They just all stared at Abel.
Abe stayed standing, and Abel sat at an armchair.
“Got any cigars, Abe?”
“I do.”
“Bring out your best. Make it one for me and one for you.”
Abel drew his Glock out and kept it in his hand, but resting on his knee. He stared at Abe, who walked to the mantel above the fireplace and opened a cigar box, took out a couple of Fuente cigars still in plastic wrappers. He also came out with a silver Zippo.
He unwrapped the first cigar and tried to give it to Abel.
Abel didn’t take it with his hand. Instead, he opened his mouth and leaned forward. Abe slid it into his mouth, like a slave from another time. He whipped out the Zippo and lit the cigar. Abel kept his eyes locked on Abe’s the whole time. It was some sort of twisted power trip.
Abel smoked the cigar.
He said, “Abe, my man, that one’s for you. Why don’t you take a seat there, near me?”
Abe sat on one of the arms of a sofa just across from Abel.
“What about my son?”
“Oh, right,” Abel said. He looked back at the front door.
Brooks was hauling Adonis in. She was kicking and mumbling against the car rag stuffed in her mouth. Brooks had her in a bear hug. His M4 was strapped across his back.
Adonis’s feet were clear off the ground. Brooks didn’t seem to be fazed by her kicks.
Abel called over to him.
“When you’re done with her, tell Flack to bring Walter and the sheriff in here. They can join us.”
Brooks didn’t answer. He just nodded.
Abel leaned back in the armchair.
“You got a nice place here, Abe. Nice life. I bet you really enjoy it. It’ll be hard for me to leave later. But don’t worry. A deal is a deal. As long as your family cooperates.”
Abel glanced over at Foster.
He repeated, “As long as everyone cooperates. Does as I ask. We’ll have no problems.”
45
Widow heard the storm revving up. He saw the gray clouds sweep overhead, covering the sky. He waited till all the vehicles drove out of Pine Farms and stayed out of sight. He knew where they were going. They were going over to the Whites’ place. There wasn’t much other explanation for keeping Walter alive. They didn’t need him as a hostage. They had Adonis. She would make a more valuable bargaining chip than Walter. But they’d kept Walter alive, which indicated they were stopping at the Whites’ place next—probably to take cover until nightfall. They had cargo that Widow could only guess contained explosives or drugs or something of value. Explosives made the most sense. Why else package everything and stamp and address it all so meticulously, as well as stack it and transport it under armed guard?
Widow compartmentalized this new information and focused on one thing at a time. He’d watched three ATF agents load up the cargo and counted one other guy, who was Joseph Abel. The three ATF agents were obviously not ATF agents. They had stolen the uniforms from Adonis’s crew. He knew that for sure. What he didn’t know was if the others were still alive or dead.
This was his chance to find out. The other agents hadn’t left with Abel and his guys, but they had come over here with Adonis. They must still be here. Maybe he would get lucky and find them all tied up somewhere on the property, or maybe not. Maybe they were dead.
The other opportunity that presented itself was that they’d left the sniper behind, probably for road cover, probably to watch the surrounding backroads and the skies for incoming law enforcement, in case Abe or his family had heard the shotgun blast from earlier and gotten through to the cops or FBI.
Widow knew they didn’t. He knew that when he saw the telephone pole’s transformer explode earlier, which meant that there was another guy in Abel’s crew. That must’ve been the black guy that came by earlier and took Walter with him on a lie about a vehicle breakdown. Widow figured the guy was sent over to recon the family and take the truck, which meant Walter was along for the ride. But now he was a liability, along with Abe and the rest of his family.
Right now, Widow couldn’t risk following the crew over to the Whites’ farm, not while the sniper was perched in his nest. If he snuck back the way he had come, it would take too long. He would have to go slow, so the sniper wouldn’t notice him. It wasn’t fast enough. If he wanted to get back over there in time to stop anything bad from happening to the Whites, he would have to take out the sniper first.
Widow waited for the last of the vehicles to roll out, so he was sure that he was alone with the sniper. He wasn’t sure how long they would keep the guy up there, so he wanted to move fast.
He walked out to the front of the farmhouse, staying low, hugging the exterior walls where he could. He kept one eye on the view from the barn loft to make sure that the sniper couldn’t see him.
He saw the suppressor on the end of the rifle turn slowly. He froze and waited. The rifle stopped facing northeast, his direction. It faced way over his head at the road.
Widow turned and came to the farmhouse front window. He glanced in and saw nothing but darkness. He leaned over and put an ear to the glass. He listened but heard nothing except the farmhouse’s old creaking bones.
He wasn’t one hundred percent sure the farmhouse was empty, not without clearing it. But he was satisfied enough. He didn’t want to go far and risk the sniper catching him. However, he saw none of Adonis’s men when Abel’s guys left. He only saw Abel’s guys in stolen uniforms. Therefore, Adonis’s agents were still there somewhere. Widow would’ve put them in the house if he were Abel. Probably locked them in the basement. He would have to come back to see if he could find them after he took out the sniper.
Widow turned and faced the barn. He raised the Winchester, pointed it at the loft.
He crept back along the farmhouse wall to the corner, until he was back in the sniper’s blind spot. Then he slow-scrambled the twenty-plus yards to the barn, keeping his steps big and long. He put all his weight on each without stomping down on the snow.
At the barn, he backed off the wall and pointed the rifle at the doors. He sidestepped left and covered the doors. No movement. No sign that the sniper knew he was there.
Widow reached out and grabbed one of the door handles. He pulled it and stepped back with the turn to keep the door between him and any bullets that might come his way.
The door raked up gravel and snow, giving out a loud scratching sound. He pulled the door halfway open, big enough for him to squeeze through. Then he paused and listened. He looked up at the bottom of the loft window.
The sniper rifle didn’t move. He heard creaking, low enough to be dismissed as a wind. Then the rifle barrel and suppressor rotated again, slowly to the southwest. He watched it stop there. Then he heard coughing. A second later, he heard shuffling, light, not like the sniper had jumped up to see what the noise from the barn door was. They were just slow, non-threatening shuffles on wooden planks, like the sniper slid himself into a better sitting position. But Widow wasn’t born yesterday, so he stayed where he was, Winchester pointed at the wall just under the window, where he pictured the sniper to be seated.
He waited, keeping his aim up, ready to flick his wrist up and lean back and fire at the open window if the guy stuck his head out. But he didn’t. Instead, Widow heard a sound known all over the globe, except for people of remote parts of the world who still hunted by bow and arrow and just discovered fire.
He heard the Psshhhhhhh of a beer can being popped open, followed by the sound of a man taking a swig from it. He even burped after.
The sniper didn’t know Widow was there, which was good.
Widow lowered his rifle and moved through the half-open barn door. He didn’t linger in the doorway. He stepped through and rotated and pointed the Winchester to where the sniper was seated. He sidled to the center of the barn. He was forced to stop when he nearly walked into a parked van. It was all black. The rear doors were closed, and the engine was cold.
Widow took cover behind it as a precaution. He scanned the first floor of the barn. There were several horse stalls and old bales of hay—so dusted over they looked ancient. The barn’s woodwork was old but looked stable. There were no tools anywhere in sight. The previous owners had taken everything that mattered.
On the furthest set of horse stalls, near the feeding trough, Widow saw a ladder that went up into the loft. He crept toward it. It was nearly fifty feet away. At the ladder, he stopped because of what he saw next.
In the horse trough, stuffed in like garbage, was a corpse. It was a guy, white, and dressed all in black. Widow lowered his rifle and turned it. He used the barrel to turn the head so he could see the dead guy’s face.
The bones in the guy’s neck cracked as if they had turned brittle. There were dark, deep cuts and bruises around his throat. He had been strangled to death, no doubt about that. The weapon used was a garrote. No doubt about that either.
Widow looked over the face. The eyes were rolled back in the head. But it didn’t matter. He had never seen the dead guy before. And he was pretty sure the guy wasn’t one of Adonis’s men.
The corpse’s clothes were all wrong. He wore black, but none of it looked like official ATF.
Widow removed the barrel of the rifle from the guy’s dead face. He glanced beyond the trough and the corpse and saw Adonis’s men. He had found them. They were all dead. Four dead bodies were stacked haphazardly in one of the horse stalls. He abandoned the ladder and went into the trough. He saw three of the men had been executed, double-tapped—one in the center of the forehead, dead-on, and the second bullet in the heart, or vice versa. Without forensics, Widow couldn’t be sure which bullet came first. If he had to guess, they were all shot with a nine-millimeter handgun, probably the same handgun.
All four men were half-naked.
On the bottom of the pile, Widow saw a face he recognized. It was the only one without a bullet hole in the center of the forehead. It was the South Carolina highway patrolman he had seen with Adonis.
Widow grabbed the top corpse by the foot and gently pulled him off the pile, and dragged him to the side. He did the same with the second and the same with the third one, dragging each corpse to a different side, so they weren’t piled on top of each other. He came back to the one he recognized and stared down at him. It looked like the man was killed by a major bullet, heavy grain, heavy caliber.
The bullet had exploded straight through the guy at a downward angle.
Sniper killed him, Widow thought. Had to be, because of the bullet's caliber.
The dead highway patrolman had a jarhead haircut. He looked like a former Marine. Widow didn’t know for sure, but he whispered to him.
“Oorah, brother.”
Widow got back up and looked up to the loft. He couldn’t see anything over the railings from the first floor. He stepped back to the ladder and looked up again. He listened. He heard the sniper readjusting his sitting position again, and he heard what he figured was the last swig of the beer can because then there was a crushing sound. After, the crushed beer can came flying over the railing near the loft window. It clanked on the ground at the rear of the van.
The sniper burped again, loud and vulgar, like a drunk at a party.
Widow now faced a problem. The Winchester didn’t come with a shoulder strap, and he needed both hands to climb the ladder if he was going to avoid making noise. He set the Winchester out of sight, back in the horse stall with the dead agents, leaned it against a wall.
He returned to the ladder and used both hands to test the rungs, checking for squeak level. They were all right. Not too loud.
He began climbing, slow and steady. One hand in front of the other. One foot at a time. Halfway up, one of the rungs squeaked as loud as if he’d stepped on a bird.
He froze and looked up and behind him toward the loft window. He saw no one. No movement. He waited a long, long beat, holding his breath. Then he heard another cough and another set of creaks from the sniper moving around. He heard another beer can pop open, followed by a loud gulp and another burp.
The guy settled and was back to watching the road.
Widow thought if he had more time, he could just wait for the sniper to get completely hammered. Then it would be easy to take him down.
But he didn’t wait. He couldn’t wait. There was no time. He moved on, ascending the ladder until he was over the lip of the second floor. Once he got to the top rung, he rolled onto the second floor and found himself on a catwalk that tunneled to his left with two routes splitting in opposite directions, one to the right and the other to the left—where the sniper was perched.
Widow stayed low to keep himself out of sight. He crawled on hands and knees, staying as close to the deck as he could. The railing next to him covered enough to keep him hidden. The boards under him squeaked quietly. It wasn’t loud enough to give him away. He made it to the corner and stopped. He sat back against the railing and took out the Beretta M9.
The wind blew in from the open barn door. It whistled loudly.
Widow rotated out on one foot and pointed the M9 at the sniper’s nest. The nest was dark from lots of shadows, but he saw the sniper laid out, not sitting. The guy was short and stumpy-looking. He wore a ball cap backward on his head.
Widow crept slowly down the walkway to the loft window. He saw the rifle still pointed out toward the southwest.
Widow was nearly ten feet away when he stopped and froze. The sniper looked strange. He looked almost like a crash test dummy. There was nothing lifelike about him. Nothing animated. Nothing real.
