Blowout

speaking to me right now, said I was a pig.”
    A low chuckle. “Yeah, so what else is new? Hey, do you think this Günter character will really show?”
    Dave said, “Agent Savich told us he’s betting on it. Says this guy loves to take the big risks, and what bigger risk could he take than coming to Quantico to kill Elaine LaFleurette? He said Günter will know it’s a trap and he won’t care. It’ll make him even more determined to come out and play with us. What do you think, Joe?”
    “I’m not as sure as Savich is. I mean, this Günter guy’s survived a lot of years, and that’s gotta mean that he isn’t stupid.”
    Dave whispered, “On the other hand, he went right to Savich’s house in Georgetown and shot it up—is that nuts or what? And he got away. Sounds like he’s got bigger guavas than my mother-in-law.”
    Joe said, “Take a look around. There are lots of low hills, lots of trees and bushes, true, but everything’s bare now. That makes it really tough for him.”
    “But there are still some places to hide. Look at us, nearly thirty of us and we’ve managed it.”
    Joe said, “Okay, agreed, but Quantico itself is safer than the fricking Mint. How can this goon imagine he’d actually get in here, no matter how crazy he is?” He was silent a moment. “I’ll bet he’ll leave us lying out here for a week, just laugh and watch us. I wonder how long Giffey Talbot is going to wander around outside the Jefferson Dormitory before Savich finally calls this off.
    “I was thinking about Giffey—quite a thing, offering yourself up as bait.”
    Dave shifted a bit more underneath a bush that barely covered him, and swept his eyes westward. “Hey, we’re bait too, we’re just armed with sniper rifles. Savich said he could be an expert sniper, who the hell knows?”
    Joe was listening to Dave shifting in the bushes when he heard some branches snapping off to the side. “Did you hear that, Dave? Hey, look at three o’clock. I saw something moving. All of our people are supposed to stay down, but I saw something move. Just beyond those pine trees.”
    Dave Dempsey squinted in the watery sunlight toward the hillock, didn’t see anything. “Who do we have over there?”
    “Luther Lindsay.”
    “I don’t see anything, but call him now, Joe. This isn’t the time for second-guessing.”
    Dave heard Joe whisper urgently into his radio, “Luther, movement in your area. What have you got over there? Luther? Dammit, talk to me. Luther!”
    Both Dave and Joe could hear their own breathing. Luther was a fifteen-year man, married with two teenage girls, solid as a rock, and he could hear footsteps on a carpet. Günter couldn’t have gotten to Luther.
    Joe repeated, “Luther? Dammit, talk to me, Luther.”
    Dave Dempsey was on his own walkie-talkie, calling command. “Captain Ramsey, possible situation. Lindsay isn’t answering. Joe swears he saw some movement over there where Luther’s supposed to be. He can’t raise Luther. We’re moving out.”
    Within seconds six SWAT team members were moving fast, bent over, with only the sound of the branches crunching underfoot as they converged on Lindsay’s location.
    A shot rang out, then another.
    As they climbed the knoll, Joe Boyle could see down into the Quantico quadrangle. Giffey Talbot, her two FBI agent guards behind her, was standing in front of the entrance to the Jefferson Dormitory. She was weaving, looking down at her bloody hands over her chest, the agents behind her were shouting, their guns drawn, jumping in front of her. He watched Giffey fall, one agent catching her before she hit the ground. They both covered her with their bodies as shouts filled the air.
    Joe yelled, “Oh Jesus, Dave, he’s near Luther’s location, and he shot Giffey! Get him!”
    “Luther!” Dave Dempsey dropped to his knees beside Luther, one of the best of the best, a dead shrub half covering him. He was shaking as he pressed his fingers to the pulse in Luther’s neck. His fingers sank into his flesh to touch the silver wire embedded deep in his neck. Luther was dead.
    Within moments, using a general mayday to every SWAT team member, Chief Ramsey deployed them all in twos and threes, to close in on where the shot had been fired. He prayed as he barked out orders that they wouldn’t find any more men dead.
    Six minutes later, Dr. Clyde Peterson, the surgeon stationed at Quantico for the duration of Operation Flower Girl, came out of the small exam