27
They heard a car horn blast three times, then a moment later heard it screech to a halt. Jack yelled, “It’s their pickup! Let’s move!”
As they burst onto Clover Bottom Creek Road, they saw an old black Chevy Tahoe accelerating fast away from them. Jack ran to the middle of the road, Cam beside him, and fired at the back tires. A rear tire exploded, and the Tahoe jerked hard left, but the driver managed to straighten it out, now riding on a rim, the metal grating and sparking off the rocky dirt road.
They ran after it, still shooting, Jack shoving in another magazine until the Tahoe, lurching madly, pulled around a corner and disappeared from sight.
They ran around the bend to see the Tahoe stopped, facing two sheriffs’ Crown Vics blocking the road, four officers standing behind open doors for protection, guns in their hands.
Cam punched Jack in the arm, winced, gave him a big smile. “We’ve got them!”
They were nearly to the Tahoe when they heard a helicopter.
More police? No, Duke hadn’t called for air support. He heard one of the barricade cops shout, “The SUV is empty! Only the driver!”
They heard the helicopter setting down somewhere behind them. Jack shouted, “The truck’s a decoy!” and took off running back down the road, Cam and Duke behind him.
Jack rounded the curve, Cam on his heels as Manta Ray and his two keepers climbed into a helicopter that had landed in the middle of the road. The helicopter lifted off as the big man climbed in last, still standing on the skids.
The helicopter hovered, trying to remain steady enough for the big man to climb in, but he saw them, grabbed the doorframe, and fired. Bullets kicked up dirt inches from Jack’s feet. He yelled at Cam to take cover, took aim, and fired several rounds. Red bloomed on the big man’s shirt and the gun went flying, thudding onto the dirt road.
They watched him try to pull himself in with one arm through the helicopter doorway, saw the outline of someone trying to help him, but his hand was slippery with blood and he lost his hold. He tried to gain purchase on the helicopter skids, but again slipped off. In that instant, he looked down, arms flailing, and met Jack’s eyes. He fell, twisting and turning and screaming, forty feet to the dirt road. He landed hard and didn’t move. Cam’s stomach turned. She wouldn’t soon forget that sound. She looked up to see a woman leaning out of the helicopter staring down at them. Or at her dead partner, Cam didn’t know which.
Cam would swear she gave them a little wave as the helicopter flew away.
“She thinks she’s won,” Cam said, and kicked a rock with her boot. It sent a shaft of pain through her arm. She cupped her elbow, her Glock dangling from her fingers. Duke came running up. “The Tahoe driver waited until he spotted us, then he went into his act to get us out of the way.” He stopped dead in his tracks, stood perfectly still, staring at the dead man in the middle of the road. “That’s—bad.”
Jack’s hard voice brought him back. “Duke, what’s going on back there?”
Duke looked away from the body. “One of the sheriff’s deputies knows the guy in the Tahoe. His name is Clyde Chivers, a local. Said he was driving to McKee, that’s a very small town down the road, when three people came running out of the trees, stepped out onto the road, and started firing after him. They got one of his back tires, nearly totaled his Tahoe, and he could have been killed. He wants to sue you guys.”
Cam said, “Chivers was a tool. I’ll give my lucky Susan B. Anthony if they told him much, but still, he’s worth talking to. Let’s threaten to throw him in an FBI dungeon for fifty years.”
Jack nodded toward the dead keeper. “Let me see if he’s got any ID on him. Duke, is this the same sheriff we notified about the murdered hiker?”
“Yep. Sheriff Bender in Magee, Jackson County Sheriff’s Department.” He looked over again at the dead man sprawled in the middle of the dirt road. “This is more trouble than Bud’s seen in a year. He’ll arrange for the doctor they use as a coroner to come out and deal with him.”
The big man had landed facedown, arms flung out to his side, his right arm no longer dripping blood from Jack’s bullet in his shoulder. Jack wasn’t about to turn him over. He knelt down and checked his pockets while Cam picked up his Beretta. “Nice weapon. It’s older, well used and kept in fine shape. A professional’s weapon.”
She shoved her hair out of her face, forgetting it was her wounded arm, and winced. “All of it was professional, even the fricking decoy.”
Jack sighed, asked Duke for the sat phone. “I can’t put it off. Confession time.” He turned away to make a call. He spoke, listened, finally punched off the sat. “I told Savich what happened. Maybe we’ll be tossed in the FBI dungeon with Clyde Chivers. Let’s get Chief to the hospital and you, Cam, you’ll have your arm checked.”
Cam said, “Duke, if you would see to Chief, I’ve got to call Ollie to see if he can find out who that helicopter belongs to. I could only make out the first of the tail numbers before it shifted—N382. There will probably be two more numbers and a final letter.”
“Good eyes, Cam,” Jack said, “but I’ll bet those tail numbers are fake, but maybe not all of them. Tell Ollie it’s a Robinson R66, white, thin blue stripe. Maybe that’ll help.” Jack shrugged, cursed under his breath, and kicked another rock off the dirt road.