Mortal Prey

an agent sitting next to him. Another agent and two bodyguards sat next to Dallaglio’s body, and Jesse Dallaglio sat on the ground a few feet away, making a keening cry that Lucas thought might have been romantic to read about, but in practice sounded like a broken dental drill. The girls were out of sight, and Lucas thought they were probably back in the Lincoln, where they wouldn’t be able to see their father.
    The first of the ambulances arrived, and the paramedics looked at Dallaglio and then went straight to the two wounded agents, who were loaded into the first ambulance and sent on their way. Another ambulance came up and they also looked at Dallaglio, and then one of the paramedics lifted Jesse Dallaglio to her feet and led her back toward the Lincoln and the girls.
    Lucas had nothing to do but stand around. He wouldn’t be working with the crime-scene people, except perhaps to identify the spray of .45 shells as coming from his gun. Sally was walking around, saying a few words to each of the agents, then came back to Lucas and said, “She had a machine gun.”
    “Probably got it from Baker,” Lucas said. “He neglected to mention it. Probably an illegal conversion.”
    “What were we supposed to do? What could we have done?”
    “Nothing. You may get some shit, but there’s nothing you could have done except lock Dallaglio in his basement.”
    They were looking at Jesse Dallaglio, who stood next to the Lincoln, talking through the now-open back door. The paramedic was still supporting her. “Poor kids,” Sally said.
    Lucas was staring at the dark sky past the lighted diamond of the control tower. He didn’t respond, and after a minute, Sally asked, “What?”
    “Huh. Something…I think Clara just screwed up.” “Yeah? Tell me.” “Well,” Lucas said, “think about what just happened….”
     
    RINKER HAD NEVER had any intention of driving out of the airport. She’d seen too many car chases on television, the kind where the guy never escapes from the helicopter. She’d walked in, found a spot behind a low concrete drainage wall, where she could prop the gun. She’d dug up a square of sod to use as a rest, and it worked perfectly.
    When the convoy arrived, she waited patiently until Dallaglio got out in the open, then nailed him with a single shot, a round of .223 hollowpoint.
    Then, flipping the selector switch, she sent the rest of the thirty-round magazine into the body and at the row of vehicles, concentrating on the tires. The agents and bodyguards scattered like dust, and when the magazine ran out, she slapped in another and fired carefully spaced bursts at each of the trucks and cars.
    Halfway through, she became aware of return fire, but never heard or felt anything passing close by. Never felt threatened, as she was showing nothing but three inches of forehead and rifle. Then one of the trucks began backing away, and out of sight. Time to go. She hastily hosed the rest of the magazine into the line of trucks, then turned and ran.
    She ran down the length of the airport, invulnerable in the darkness. She ran across a beanfield, down the rows of thigh-high plants, letting the rows guide her back toward her car, feeling the kind of excitement she’d felt as a kid, playing war in the fields around Tisdale. She ran almost a mile, in all, the last part of it across a golf course, and took, she thought, about seven minutes to do it.
    When she got to the car, she tossed the AR-15 into the backseat and eased the car out of its parking spot and up a narrow lane through a residential area. Just before she lost sight of the airport, she stopped for a last look—there were ambulances coming in now, and she could see tiny dark figures dancing in the splash of light.
    “Paulo,” she said aloud. “That’s another one for you.”

22
    SALLY AND LUCAS GOT BACK TO THE FBI conference room at midnight. “Washington’s gonna call tomorrow. They’ll want to pull the team,” she said. “The perception is, we’ve screwed this to the wall. Even before Malone.”
    “Can you stall for a few days?” Lucas asked, as Derik wandered in, carrying a six-pack of Diet Coke in plastic bottles. “I think we can bag her.”
    Derik dropped them on the table and gestured, and Lucas took one. Derik said, “Sally said we’re working tonight. And you think we can get her.”
    “Yeah…where’s that red-haired guy?”
    “He’s with Patrick—they’re old pals.”
    “Patrick’s the guy who got