Lost Girls

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Gant?” Neeley’s voice was in his ear. “What the fuck is going on?”

He knew that she — and Golden and Bailey — had heard everything he’d said. He imagined they were quite confused by getting only one half the dialogue.

“That’s Doctor Golden’s son you’re holding there, right Finley?” Gant called out.

“Smart, Mister Cellar,” Finley said. “He was the first target and he’ll be the last casualty. And you can take your throat mike off and throw it in the street.”

Gant did as he ordered and could only hope that the other three in the chopper reacted in the right way because things were going to get very messy, very soon.

“So, first things first,” Finley said. He shifted the sub-machinegun toward Roberts. “Gave me up to the Cartel pretty easily, didn’t you?”

“You—“ Roberts began, but he was cut off as Finley fired a three rounds burst. The bullets tore into Roberts’ legs, knocking him to the ground where he writhed in pain. Gant and Cranston remained perfectly still, both aware of the dead man’s switch that Finley held.

Roberts tried to bring his pistol up to bear and Finley lowered his sub-machinegun and smiled, glancing from Gant to Cranston.

Gant cursed as he aimed at Roberts but Cranston was faster to the trigger. Cranston’s round took the top of Roberts’ head off, spraying the street with blood. Cranston turned to Finley. “I’m the last one. Me for the boy. He’s innocent. And Doctor Golden had nothing to do with what happened to you guys.”

“There are no innocents,” Finley said.

“Let the boy go,” Gant said.

“Where’s his mother?” Finley asked. “Close, right? On the chopper? We knew she’d be brought in. Once we checked out Cranston. We knew he’d run to a woman for help. We even figured on Roberts letting his daughter die. We weren’t so certain with the good Colonel here.”

Cranston threw his sub-machinegun down to the ground. “I’ve killed for you like you asked me to. And I’m ready to die now. Let the boy go.”

Bailey had to almost sit on top of Golden to keep her from jumping out of the chopper. She’d become hysterical the moment she found out her son was in the town. Neeley didn’t have time to deal with the woman’s histrionics. As soon as Gant threw away his mike, she’d opened the door and run toward town, leaving Bailey to handle Golden.

The sniper rifle felt heavy in her hand as she sprinted toward the edge of town. She heard a short burst of sub-machinegun fire but didn’t pause. Whatever was playing out there was nothing she could do about it until she got a clear line of sight.

She reached the back of the row of stores facing main street and looked about. A ladder led to the roof of one of the single-story buildings and she ran over to it. She clambered up and slid over onto the roof on her belly. She low-crawled to the foot high rampart at the front.

Then she carefully eased her head up until she could see.

It took her a couple of seconds to figure out what she was observing: Roberts was dead in the middle of the street. Cranston was un-armed, pleading with Finley. And Gant was the third point of the triangle, standing next to a coffin with the boy in it, still armed, but not aiming his weapon at anyone.

Neeley slid the sniper rifle up and looked through the scope, examining the coffin. She saw the quarter pound charges lining the inside of it, linked together with detonating cord and knew if it went off, there wouldn’t be anything left of Jimmy Golden or anyone within fifty feet.

She checked out the transmitter in Finley’s hand. A dead-man’s switch, which meant shooting it or him was out of the question. The only thing keeping the charges from going off was the pressure of his finger on the switch.

Neeley wished she still had communication with Gant. Her receiver was useless without him — that’s when she smiled and shifted the rifle back to the coffin.

“Go join your daughter,” Gant ordered Cranston.

“I’ll kill the boy,” Finley warned. “I want Cranston over here.”

“And you’ll still kill the boy,” Gant said calmly. He kept his face impassive as he noted the red dot that was sliding along the edge of the coffin.

“Emily,” Cranston called out. “I have to do this. I have to save the boy.”

The red dot became steady and Gant tensed.

“Daddy, please,” Emily cried out from behind Gant.

Gant heard the shot and swung up his sub-machinegun even as he tensed his body for the explosion.

Which didn’t happen as Neeley’s shot shattered the receiver hooked to the fuse inside the coffin. Finley was surprised for a second and that was all Gant needed to level his gun and fire a quick burst, stitching a neat line of bullet holes across Finley’s chest.

He died staring at the transmitter in his hand as if it had betrayed him.