The Standoff (Jack Widow Book 12), page 31
“Brooks.”
“Yeah?”
Abel showed him the radio.
“Take it with you.”
Abel tossed it. Brooks caught it and tucked it into his coat. He turned back and ran off down the driveway to the Whites’ house.
Adonis watched him go.
She asked, “You going to kill us now?”
“I’ve got use for you yet,” Abel said. He retreated to the barn and signaled for Flack to come over. Flack was already in the sheriff’s truck, the ignition on and running. He had to slip the truck back into park before he could get out.
Adonis watched as Abel explained the new plan to him. They looked like two men conspiring.
James spoke.
“Are they going to kill us?”
Adonis said, “I don’t know.”
But she did know.
39
“We heard gunshots!” Dylan shouted. Excitement filled his voice.
He and Lauren stood at the top of the stairs, phoneless. Maggie was behind them, at the railing, looking down at the main room. Foster paced the hallway. Abe and Widow stepped back into the house. Abby shut the slider behind them.
Just then, like out of the sound effects of an old radio show, they heard a new sound. Thunder cracked and rolled deep in the sky.
Maggie called down.
“Was it thunder?”
Abby said, “It might’ve been.”
Abe tugged on Widow’s arm, readjusting to keep the rifles in his arm.
“That’s what we heard.”
He looked at Widow and whispered.
“No reason to tell the kids yet.”
Widow disagreed but kept it to himself. The kids should know, in his opinion, because being prepared for battle was part of being victorious in battle. But they weren’t his kids, and this wasn’t his house. Besides, Dylan was the youngest at eight years old. He was going to figure it out in seconds because they were transporting a small armory into the house.
They moved into the dining room with the rifles and the boxes of ammunition. They laid them out on the dinner table with care, all unloaded, minus Widow’s Winchester.
Abby followed them in and helped to take things from Widow’s arms. After they laid them all out, she began doing grandmotherly things like shuffling boxes of ammo around and placing them in rows of caliber and ordering them alphabetically according to the name of the manufacturer—A’s first, B’s second, and so on.
It was a pointless endeavor, Abe thought, but he knew better than to question his wife’s way of helping.
Widow helped her.
After they were through, she asked, “Want me to make some fresh coffee?”
Abe didn’t think they could drink any more coffee, but Widow smiled and figured it was best to keep Abby busy doing what she felt like she could do to help.
He said, “Coffee is always brewed and available in the mess on a Navy ship or in the officer’s hall. Twenty-four, seven.”
“Okay, Widow.”
She shuffled off to the kitchen and poured out the old pot and made a new one. It took only seconds before the aroma carried over into the dining room, and Widow’s nose caught it. To him, the effect was working already.
Abe interrupted him.
“Now what?”
Widow said, “We’ve got to prepare for a siege.”
“You really think that something bad has happened?”
“You heard the same gunshot I heard. Besides, they’d be back by now. We’d have heard from them.”
Foster came into the dining room.
“What’s going on?”
Abe said, “Nothing. Just some thunder.”
“Dad, I know a gunshot when I hear one.”
Abe said nothing to that.
Foster asked, “If nothing’s going on, then why the hell did you bring in all the guns?”
Widow spoke to Abe.
“Look, we have little time. We need all hands on deck. No reason to hide anything from the adults.”
“Okay. Okay. We’re preparing in case something bad is going down.”
Foster asked, “How can I help?”
Widow said, “You know how to shoot one of these?”
Foster grabbed one of the hunting rifles and the correct box of ammunition for it. She loaded it and showed him.
“I’m a woman, but I’m a countrywoman.”
“Good. Can you shoot that one?”
Abe said, “She can.”
“Then that one’s yours. Who else is best with the scope? Can Maggie shoot?”
Abe and Foster looked at each other.
“Maggie?” Abe asked.
Foster said, “No way!”
“I can,” Abby said, and she stepped out of the kitchen with a single hot cup of coffee.
Abe said, “She can shoot straight enough.”
“I can shoot,” Abby repeated.
Widow said, “Then take the other scoped rifle and a box of ammo for it.”
Abby asked, “What about you?”
“I’m going to have to go out there. If they come over here, they won’t expect me to be out there. They probably don’t even know that I’m here.”
Foster said, “Unless Walt told them.”
Abe shook his head at her immediately. At first, she couldn’t figure out why until it hit her. If he told them anything, it would have been under duress.
Foster said, “Oh.”
Widow said, “Let’s not think about that. Right now, we need to secure the house as best we can. Afterward, we can talk about getting Walter back.”
Widow looked over at Abby. She still held the coffee for him. He walked around the table and took it, set it down.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Widow put the coffee down on the tabletop and looked at Abby.
“Can you tell Maggie to keep trying her phone? Someone needs to keep trying the cops. Tell her to call the nearest county over and try their sheriff. She can try the ATF’s line. Or the local FBI’s field office. Whatever. Just keep trying. Tell her to take both kids up to an upstairs bedroom and stay there.”
Abby nodded and left them.
Abe said, “What now?”
“We need cover on as much of the house as we can. Foster, take your rifle and get to a corner window, close to the south side as possible. Make sure you have the driveway in view. Abe, where’s the best window to cover the back from?”
“The master.”
“Okay. Take the other hunting rifle and ammo there. Set it up for Abby and make sure she knows where it is. Then I want you back down here. Stand guard on the first floor. Quarterback the whole thing.”
“What about the other Winchester?”
There was one left unassigned.
Widow said, “Give it to Maggie. Show her how to use it.”
“That’s a bad idea. I’m telling you. She’s more likely to shoot one of us.”
“Then set Foster up with it.”
“Okay.”
“Also, you mentioned a handgun?”
“Yeah. Follow me.”
Abe picked up both the last hunting rifle and Winchester, but Widow took the extra Winchester from him and scooped up the extra boxes of ammo. They both went up the stairs and past Abby, helping Maggie wrangle Dylan into one of the bedrooms and out of the way. They turned a corner, opposite where Widow had slept and came to a room with the door shut.
Abe pushed it open. It was a huge bedroom with a bathroom and three big windows—the master.
Abe picked a window with a big sill and a small nook of built-ins with a cushion on top for sitting by the window. He set the hunting rifle and his ammo boxes down.
“Put the extra rifle there. I’ll give it to Foster later.”
Widow nodded and set down the other Winchester and all his extra ammo. He followed Abe back out into the hallway. They walked down the hall and came to a closed door. Abe pushed it open. It was another bedroom.
The bed, the dresser tops, the nightstands, the closet, and the floors were all cleaned and neatly organized.
Widow asked, “The corporal’s room?”
He already knew it was because it looked like a Marine lived in it, which was to say it looked like no one lived in it. It was kept and maintained so well it could’ve been the model room for a house they were trying to sell.
“Yeah. We haven’t changed a thing. I’m very insistent on that. I know he’s dead, but I like to keep it just as he left it. Like he might still come home someday.”
Widow stayed quiet.
Abe walked to the closet, paused, and brushed a hand over the hanging shirts. They fluttered like a glissando, like fingers over piano keys, as he brushed over them.
He tried to reach up to the shelf above the clothes, but couldn’t quite reach the back. He stepped back.
“It’s up there. In the far back.”
Widow stepped up and reached all the way to back of the shelf and found a gun case. He slid it out and followed Abe over to the bed. He set the case down. There was a small lock on it.
“Got the key?” Widow asked.
Abe fished into his pocket, came out empty-handed, and then fished into his other one. This time he brought out the right key. It was a small set of two keys. One was the backup. They were gold and on a small ring.
He unlocked the gun case for Widow.
Inside, there were two magazines, fully loaded, and a Beretta M9, polished and oiled as if Abe’s son were still alive, still keeping his gun to Marine standards.
“It’s pristine. You’ve kept it clean?”
Abe said, “I use the chair from the desk to get it down.”
He blurted it out like he was stuck thinking that Widow thought he was short.
Widow said nothing to that, either.
“You take it. You’ll make better use of it.”
Widow thanked him and took out the weapon. He racked the slide, checked that it was indeed empty. After he confirmed there were no bullets in it, he dry-fired it, as he always did, to make sure it worked properly. To him, the sound of an empty Beretta M9 dry-firing was like hearing the voice of an old friend.
Widow took out a full magazine, loaded the gun with it, and pocketed the other one. He chambered a round and slid the Beretta into the waistband of his jeans, tightening the belt afterward to make sure it stayed put.
Another roll of thunder sounded loud and looming over the farm, followed closely by a second one.
Abe said, “Now what?”
“Now, I go out there and see what the hell is going on.”
40
Cell phones work in a hexagonal tower system called a network. There is no standard range for a cell phone tower. One tower doesn’t measure the same range as another. They don’t all equal X. Some are the same, some are similar, and many are different. A tower’s range depends on several factors, including the direction of the antenna array, positioning, terrain, height and width of the antennas, signal frequency, and transmission power.
Civilian communities use simple tower systems with little security. Phone calls and text messages and signals bounce from one local tower to another tower and so on. If you take out one tower on a network, local communication involving mobile devices will go dark. Cell phones and mobile devices become handheld screens good for playing video games and keeping track of time and not much else.
Police do not depend on this technology. Neither do military bases. They utilize more secure network systems. But Abel’s guys weren’t interested in police communications, and they were not going head-to-head with a military force. They were interested in silencing the Whites, the only witnesses for miles around. From what Brooks told them, there was only one male to worry about, and that was Walter. He wasn’t much of a threat. They had him zip-tied and at gunpoint, no problem there. But the shotgun blast from Shep was a concern. The sound of the blast, coupled with Walter being gone, would raise eyebrows at the farm down the road.
The Bell 205 circled the closest cell phone tower, about ten miles from Cherokee Hill, with Tanis controlling the bird and Cucci seated in the rear. The tower looked to be the only one within a three-hundred-sixty-degree view from the Bell 205. The next closest one wasn’t in view from Cherokee Hill, so they didn’t worry about it. All they needed was to take out this one and create a black spot for them to operate in.
The helicopter yawed, and the rotor blades rotated. Tanis kept the Bell hovering against the winds at about fifty feet above the tower’s base.
Tanis called back to Cucci, who sat on the rear bench, packed in as close to the rear door as possible without falling out of it. The door was slid all the way open. Cucci was armed with one of the M4s, with a suppressor attached to the end, along with an ACOG scope.
“Is this close enough?”
“Yeah. Hold it here.”
Cucci aimed through the scope at the base. He clicked the firing switch to full auto and squeezed the trigger. The weapon fired several rounds out of the magazine. He didn’t count them, but figured from this distance he might not need all thirty rounds from the magazine.
The suppressor kept the gun quiet over the rotor noise. The weapon kicked and purred in rapid succession. Bullets ripped into the base of the tower. Sparks ignited. He fired until he was satisfied the base was inoperable. Then he stopped and called back to Tanis.
“Take us up to the top.”
Tanis nodded and pulled the flight stick back slowly. The helicopter’s nose lifted, and the machine ascended two hundred feet to the tip of the antenna. He evened out the helicopter and circled around the top antenna.
Cucci aimed the M4 and squeezed the trigger. The gun fired, and bullets slammed into the antenna parts all along the top. Every bullet hit home.
The antenna sparked and exploded. Blue flames flashed and danced off the top. The heat was more than they expected.
Tanis reacted and pulled on the flight stick, hauling the Bell up and away fifteen feet. But Cucci stayed on target and fired until the M4 ran empty.
He called out to Tanis.
“That should do it.”
Cucci ejected the magazine and loaded a fresh one from out of his coat pocket. He tossed the old one out the window. There was no reason to keep it. He doubted he would ever reload it.
Cucci said, “Okay. That should do.”
They both looked out at the tower one last time. Both the base and the top antenna burned with several small fires.
Tanis said, “Taking us back.”
The Bell 205 flew up and forward, the nose dipped, and then it circled back around the fiery antenna and flew back to Cherokee Hill.
Close to the same time, in front of Pine Farms, Brooks made his way up the drive to the road. Jargo watched him through the scope.
Brooks got on his radio.
“Jargo?”
“I’m here.”
“Is the coast clear?”
Jargo paused a beat, leaving Brooks to listen to dead air for twenty seconds, until finally, Jargo came back on the radio.
“I don’t see anyone for miles on the road. No traffic. No people.”
“Okay. I see a bunch of power lines. It looks like the one straight ahead will do the trick. I should be able to take it out and kill their power and landlines. Can you confirm?”
“I see it. I’d put three rounds in the transformer just to be sure.”
“Copy that.”
Brooks aimed his gun at a transformer on his way out of the drive and onto the main road. He aimed through ACOG scope on his rifle, but he set the fire selector to single-shot. He paused a moment and squeezed the trigger—once, twice, three shots.
The transformer and all the conduits and cables lit up in a blue flash of sparks and flames, similar to the tower. The result was another long flash of blue flames and sparks, then the top of the pole lit on fire.
Both the landlines and cell phone communications were now down for miles. Plus, one more thing happened. The power at the Whites’ went out.
Brooks smiled and carried on, staying parallel to the Whites’ long uphill driveway.
41
Thunder boomed over Spartan County and Cherokee Hill. Widow heard it. They all heard it. It might help Widow out. Potentially, it could provide some sound cover. He was only one man and on foot. If the elements favored him, so be it. He would take all the help he could get.
Widow carried the borrowed Beretta in his borrowed jeans. He held the Winchester rifle by the wood grain stock just ahead of the trigger and lever. He carried it with a loaded chamber. Ready to fire. Ready to kill.
After Widow helped Abe to evaluate key defense points to set his family in, he went out the slider in the back of the house. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected that they might have eyes on the front. He wasn’t sure what these guys were up to, what they were after, or why they were who they were. What he presumed, using the intel that he had, was that they were trying to escape capture, plain and simple.
Widow could understand that. Anyone could. He had no stakes if they escaped, or not. But they made a mistake when they involved Walter White, a man Widow had known for only seven hours—max, but a good man with a good family. Widow had no stake in what happened at the Athenian compound. He saw in Adonis’s eyes that she did. And he understood that part, too. He had lost guys. Sometimes it was his fault. He understood the guilt that came with it.
Widow wasn’t going to lose a member of the White family. That was for damn sure.
Widow wasn’t a family man. He had no family himself, except a father who might or might not still be alive, out there somewhere. Family man or not, Widow used to be an undercover cop. Once a cop, always a cop. He would stop these guys no matter the cost.
Widow recalled in his mind what he could from seeing Pine Farms from a distance on the road and in the dark. He remembered seeing a barn with an open loft on top. He thought to himself that was a perfect spot to set up a sniper’s nest. That’s what he would’ve done if he had been on the Athenians’ side.
Widow went out the back. Maggie slid the door shut behind him and locked it. She and Foster, with the help of both children, lifted the largest of their sofas and carried it over to the slider and set it down in front as a kind of barrier. They closed the blinds tight and scooted the sofa all the way back. It wouldn’t stop anyone from surging through the glass, but it was an obstacle they might not suspect.
“Yeah?”
Abel showed him the radio.
“Take it with you.”
Abel tossed it. Brooks caught it and tucked it into his coat. He turned back and ran off down the driveway to the Whites’ house.
Adonis watched him go.
She asked, “You going to kill us now?”
“I’ve got use for you yet,” Abel said. He retreated to the barn and signaled for Flack to come over. Flack was already in the sheriff’s truck, the ignition on and running. He had to slip the truck back into park before he could get out.
Adonis watched as Abel explained the new plan to him. They looked like two men conspiring.
James spoke.
“Are they going to kill us?”
Adonis said, “I don’t know.”
But she did know.
39
“We heard gunshots!” Dylan shouted. Excitement filled his voice.
He and Lauren stood at the top of the stairs, phoneless. Maggie was behind them, at the railing, looking down at the main room. Foster paced the hallway. Abe and Widow stepped back into the house. Abby shut the slider behind them.
Just then, like out of the sound effects of an old radio show, they heard a new sound. Thunder cracked and rolled deep in the sky.
Maggie called down.
“Was it thunder?”
Abby said, “It might’ve been.”
Abe tugged on Widow’s arm, readjusting to keep the rifles in his arm.
“That’s what we heard.”
He looked at Widow and whispered.
“No reason to tell the kids yet.”
Widow disagreed but kept it to himself. The kids should know, in his opinion, because being prepared for battle was part of being victorious in battle. But they weren’t his kids, and this wasn’t his house. Besides, Dylan was the youngest at eight years old. He was going to figure it out in seconds because they were transporting a small armory into the house.
They moved into the dining room with the rifles and the boxes of ammunition. They laid them out on the dinner table with care, all unloaded, minus Widow’s Winchester.
Abby followed them in and helped to take things from Widow’s arms. After they laid them all out, she began doing grandmotherly things like shuffling boxes of ammo around and placing them in rows of caliber and ordering them alphabetically according to the name of the manufacturer—A’s first, B’s second, and so on.
It was a pointless endeavor, Abe thought, but he knew better than to question his wife’s way of helping.
Widow helped her.
After they were through, she asked, “Want me to make some fresh coffee?”
Abe didn’t think they could drink any more coffee, but Widow smiled and figured it was best to keep Abby busy doing what she felt like she could do to help.
He said, “Coffee is always brewed and available in the mess on a Navy ship or in the officer’s hall. Twenty-four, seven.”
“Okay, Widow.”
She shuffled off to the kitchen and poured out the old pot and made a new one. It took only seconds before the aroma carried over into the dining room, and Widow’s nose caught it. To him, the effect was working already.
Abe interrupted him.
“Now what?”
Widow said, “We’ve got to prepare for a siege.”
“You really think that something bad has happened?”
“You heard the same gunshot I heard. Besides, they’d be back by now. We’d have heard from them.”
Foster came into the dining room.
“What’s going on?”
Abe said, “Nothing. Just some thunder.”
“Dad, I know a gunshot when I hear one.”
Abe said nothing to that.
Foster asked, “If nothing’s going on, then why the hell did you bring in all the guns?”
Widow spoke to Abe.
“Look, we have little time. We need all hands on deck. No reason to hide anything from the adults.”
“Okay. Okay. We’re preparing in case something bad is going down.”
Foster asked, “How can I help?”
Widow said, “You know how to shoot one of these?”
Foster grabbed one of the hunting rifles and the correct box of ammunition for it. She loaded it and showed him.
“I’m a woman, but I’m a countrywoman.”
“Good. Can you shoot that one?”
Abe said, “She can.”
“Then that one’s yours. Who else is best with the scope? Can Maggie shoot?”
Abe and Foster looked at each other.
“Maggie?” Abe asked.
Foster said, “No way!”
“I can,” Abby said, and she stepped out of the kitchen with a single hot cup of coffee.
Abe said, “She can shoot straight enough.”
“I can shoot,” Abby repeated.
Widow said, “Then take the other scoped rifle and a box of ammo for it.”
Abby asked, “What about you?”
“I’m going to have to go out there. If they come over here, they won’t expect me to be out there. They probably don’t even know that I’m here.”
Foster said, “Unless Walt told them.”
Abe shook his head at her immediately. At first, she couldn’t figure out why until it hit her. If he told them anything, it would have been under duress.
Foster said, “Oh.”
Widow said, “Let’s not think about that. Right now, we need to secure the house as best we can. Afterward, we can talk about getting Walter back.”
Widow looked over at Abby. She still held the coffee for him. He walked around the table and took it, set it down.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Widow put the coffee down on the tabletop and looked at Abby.
“Can you tell Maggie to keep trying her phone? Someone needs to keep trying the cops. Tell her to call the nearest county over and try their sheriff. She can try the ATF’s line. Or the local FBI’s field office. Whatever. Just keep trying. Tell her to take both kids up to an upstairs bedroom and stay there.”
Abby nodded and left them.
Abe said, “What now?”
“We need cover on as much of the house as we can. Foster, take your rifle and get to a corner window, close to the south side as possible. Make sure you have the driveway in view. Abe, where’s the best window to cover the back from?”
“The master.”
“Okay. Take the other hunting rifle and ammo there. Set it up for Abby and make sure she knows where it is. Then I want you back down here. Stand guard on the first floor. Quarterback the whole thing.”
“What about the other Winchester?”
There was one left unassigned.
Widow said, “Give it to Maggie. Show her how to use it.”
“That’s a bad idea. I’m telling you. She’s more likely to shoot one of us.”
“Then set Foster up with it.”
“Okay.”
“Also, you mentioned a handgun?”
“Yeah. Follow me.”
Abe picked up both the last hunting rifle and Winchester, but Widow took the extra Winchester from him and scooped up the extra boxes of ammo. They both went up the stairs and past Abby, helping Maggie wrangle Dylan into one of the bedrooms and out of the way. They turned a corner, opposite where Widow had slept and came to a room with the door shut.
Abe pushed it open. It was a huge bedroom with a bathroom and three big windows—the master.
Abe picked a window with a big sill and a small nook of built-ins with a cushion on top for sitting by the window. He set the hunting rifle and his ammo boxes down.
“Put the extra rifle there. I’ll give it to Foster later.”
Widow nodded and set down the other Winchester and all his extra ammo. He followed Abe back out into the hallway. They walked down the hall and came to a closed door. Abe pushed it open. It was another bedroom.
The bed, the dresser tops, the nightstands, the closet, and the floors were all cleaned and neatly organized.
Widow asked, “The corporal’s room?”
He already knew it was because it looked like a Marine lived in it, which was to say it looked like no one lived in it. It was kept and maintained so well it could’ve been the model room for a house they were trying to sell.
“Yeah. We haven’t changed a thing. I’m very insistent on that. I know he’s dead, but I like to keep it just as he left it. Like he might still come home someday.”
Widow stayed quiet.
Abe walked to the closet, paused, and brushed a hand over the hanging shirts. They fluttered like a glissando, like fingers over piano keys, as he brushed over them.
He tried to reach up to the shelf above the clothes, but couldn’t quite reach the back. He stepped back.
“It’s up there. In the far back.”
Widow stepped up and reached all the way to back of the shelf and found a gun case. He slid it out and followed Abe over to the bed. He set the case down. There was a small lock on it.
“Got the key?” Widow asked.
Abe fished into his pocket, came out empty-handed, and then fished into his other one. This time he brought out the right key. It was a small set of two keys. One was the backup. They were gold and on a small ring.
He unlocked the gun case for Widow.
Inside, there were two magazines, fully loaded, and a Beretta M9, polished and oiled as if Abe’s son were still alive, still keeping his gun to Marine standards.
“It’s pristine. You’ve kept it clean?”
Abe said, “I use the chair from the desk to get it down.”
He blurted it out like he was stuck thinking that Widow thought he was short.
Widow said nothing to that, either.
“You take it. You’ll make better use of it.”
Widow thanked him and took out the weapon. He racked the slide, checked that it was indeed empty. After he confirmed there were no bullets in it, he dry-fired it, as he always did, to make sure it worked properly. To him, the sound of an empty Beretta M9 dry-firing was like hearing the voice of an old friend.
Widow took out a full magazine, loaded the gun with it, and pocketed the other one. He chambered a round and slid the Beretta into the waistband of his jeans, tightening the belt afterward to make sure it stayed put.
Another roll of thunder sounded loud and looming over the farm, followed closely by a second one.
Abe said, “Now what?”
“Now, I go out there and see what the hell is going on.”
40
Cell phones work in a hexagonal tower system called a network. There is no standard range for a cell phone tower. One tower doesn’t measure the same range as another. They don’t all equal X. Some are the same, some are similar, and many are different. A tower’s range depends on several factors, including the direction of the antenna array, positioning, terrain, height and width of the antennas, signal frequency, and transmission power.
Civilian communities use simple tower systems with little security. Phone calls and text messages and signals bounce from one local tower to another tower and so on. If you take out one tower on a network, local communication involving mobile devices will go dark. Cell phones and mobile devices become handheld screens good for playing video games and keeping track of time and not much else.
Police do not depend on this technology. Neither do military bases. They utilize more secure network systems. But Abel’s guys weren’t interested in police communications, and they were not going head-to-head with a military force. They were interested in silencing the Whites, the only witnesses for miles around. From what Brooks told them, there was only one male to worry about, and that was Walter. He wasn’t much of a threat. They had him zip-tied and at gunpoint, no problem there. But the shotgun blast from Shep was a concern. The sound of the blast, coupled with Walter being gone, would raise eyebrows at the farm down the road.
The Bell 205 circled the closest cell phone tower, about ten miles from Cherokee Hill, with Tanis controlling the bird and Cucci seated in the rear. The tower looked to be the only one within a three-hundred-sixty-degree view from the Bell 205. The next closest one wasn’t in view from Cherokee Hill, so they didn’t worry about it. All they needed was to take out this one and create a black spot for them to operate in.
The helicopter yawed, and the rotor blades rotated. Tanis kept the Bell hovering against the winds at about fifty feet above the tower’s base.
Tanis called back to Cucci, who sat on the rear bench, packed in as close to the rear door as possible without falling out of it. The door was slid all the way open. Cucci was armed with one of the M4s, with a suppressor attached to the end, along with an ACOG scope.
“Is this close enough?”
“Yeah. Hold it here.”
Cucci aimed through the scope at the base. He clicked the firing switch to full auto and squeezed the trigger. The weapon fired several rounds out of the magazine. He didn’t count them, but figured from this distance he might not need all thirty rounds from the magazine.
The suppressor kept the gun quiet over the rotor noise. The weapon kicked and purred in rapid succession. Bullets ripped into the base of the tower. Sparks ignited. He fired until he was satisfied the base was inoperable. Then he stopped and called back to Tanis.
“Take us up to the top.”
Tanis nodded and pulled the flight stick back slowly. The helicopter’s nose lifted, and the machine ascended two hundred feet to the tip of the antenna. He evened out the helicopter and circled around the top antenna.
Cucci aimed the M4 and squeezed the trigger. The gun fired, and bullets slammed into the antenna parts all along the top. Every bullet hit home.
The antenna sparked and exploded. Blue flames flashed and danced off the top. The heat was more than they expected.
Tanis reacted and pulled on the flight stick, hauling the Bell up and away fifteen feet. But Cucci stayed on target and fired until the M4 ran empty.
He called out to Tanis.
“That should do it.”
Cucci ejected the magazine and loaded a fresh one from out of his coat pocket. He tossed the old one out the window. There was no reason to keep it. He doubted he would ever reload it.
Cucci said, “Okay. That should do.”
They both looked out at the tower one last time. Both the base and the top antenna burned with several small fires.
Tanis said, “Taking us back.”
The Bell 205 flew up and forward, the nose dipped, and then it circled back around the fiery antenna and flew back to Cherokee Hill.
Close to the same time, in front of Pine Farms, Brooks made his way up the drive to the road. Jargo watched him through the scope.
Brooks got on his radio.
“Jargo?”
“I’m here.”
“Is the coast clear?”
Jargo paused a beat, leaving Brooks to listen to dead air for twenty seconds, until finally, Jargo came back on the radio.
“I don’t see anyone for miles on the road. No traffic. No people.”
“Okay. I see a bunch of power lines. It looks like the one straight ahead will do the trick. I should be able to take it out and kill their power and landlines. Can you confirm?”
“I see it. I’d put three rounds in the transformer just to be sure.”
“Copy that.”
Brooks aimed his gun at a transformer on his way out of the drive and onto the main road. He aimed through ACOG scope on his rifle, but he set the fire selector to single-shot. He paused a moment and squeezed the trigger—once, twice, three shots.
The transformer and all the conduits and cables lit up in a blue flash of sparks and flames, similar to the tower. The result was another long flash of blue flames and sparks, then the top of the pole lit on fire.
Both the landlines and cell phone communications were now down for miles. Plus, one more thing happened. The power at the Whites’ went out.
Brooks smiled and carried on, staying parallel to the Whites’ long uphill driveway.
41
Thunder boomed over Spartan County and Cherokee Hill. Widow heard it. They all heard it. It might help Widow out. Potentially, it could provide some sound cover. He was only one man and on foot. If the elements favored him, so be it. He would take all the help he could get.
Widow carried the borrowed Beretta in his borrowed jeans. He held the Winchester rifle by the wood grain stock just ahead of the trigger and lever. He carried it with a loaded chamber. Ready to fire. Ready to kill.
After Widow helped Abe to evaluate key defense points to set his family in, he went out the slider in the back of the house. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected that they might have eyes on the front. He wasn’t sure what these guys were up to, what they were after, or why they were who they were. What he presumed, using the intel that he had, was that they were trying to escape capture, plain and simple.
Widow could understand that. Anyone could. He had no stakes if they escaped, or not. But they made a mistake when they involved Walter White, a man Widow had known for only seven hours—max, but a good man with a good family. Widow had no stake in what happened at the Athenian compound. He saw in Adonis’s eyes that she did. And he understood that part, too. He had lost guys. Sometimes it was his fault. He understood the guilt that came with it.
Widow wasn’t going to lose a member of the White family. That was for damn sure.
Widow wasn’t a family man. He had no family himself, except a father who might or might not still be alive, out there somewhere. Family man or not, Widow used to be an undercover cop. Once a cop, always a cop. He would stop these guys no matter the cost.
Widow recalled in his mind what he could from seeing Pine Farms from a distance on the road and in the dark. He remembered seeing a barn with an open loft on top. He thought to himself that was a perfect spot to set up a sniper’s nest. That’s what he would’ve done if he had been on the Athenians’ side.
Widow went out the back. Maggie slid the door shut behind him and locked it. She and Foster, with the help of both children, lifted the largest of their sofas and carried it over to the slider and set it down in front as a kind of barrier. They closed the blinds tight and scooted the sofa all the way back. It wouldn’t stop anyone from surging through the glass, but it was an obstacle they might not suspect.
