Inside Out

94

Winter held his SIG out in a two-handed grip as he approached the Cadillac parked in front of Manelli's house. He peered in at the rear seat, where a lifelike dummy was secured by a lap belt. Sean had never been in the car at all. Sam had somehow gotten her; no matter what Winter had to do, he was going to find out where she was.

He was at the front door of the house when he heard two crashes behind him, but he ignored them. He went inside, moving rapidly down the wide hallway, following the sound of a man singing. He swung his gun, aiming from the hallway into every room as he moved toward the rear of the house. Winter shouldered the kitchen door aside and, stepping into the kitchen, aimed the SIG at the Cadillac's driver, who was wearing the Braves cap Sean had on when he had last seen her. The man sat at the counter over an open sandwich, with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a mayonnaise-smeared kitchen knife in his hand.

“U.S. marshal! Where's Manelli?” Winter demanded.

“It wasn't my turn to watch him,” the man quipped. He set the knife down on a dish beside his dinner plate. Winter reached to the driver's shoulder holster and took out a heavy Colt Python revolver.

“I got a permit for that in my wallet.”

Winter placed his gun in his own shoulder rig, cocked the revolver's hammer, and aimed the magnum at its owner's forehead. “Where is she? Where did Manelli take the woman?”

“Where's your warrant?” the man asked, unfazed. “Mr. Deputy, that pistol ain't a search warrant.”

Winter shifted the magnum slightly and fired. The explosion was a muted whomp to Winter, thanks to the earplugs, but deafening for the driver. First vaporizing the lobe of the man's left ear, the bullet punched a black circle into the refrigerator door. The muzzle blast also blew the Braves cap off and left a comet-shaped powder burn the width of a silver dollar on his cheek. Blood trickled down the man's neck, staining his collar bright red.

The shocked driver reached slowly up to cover his ruined ear with his hand. “You shot me?”

“Wrong!” Winter yelled. “You shot yourself with your own gun and I couldn't stop you.” Winter spoke loudly so the driver could hear him over the ringing in his ears. Immediately Winter swung the barrel to the left, aiming at the other ear. “And you are going to keep shooting pieces off yourself until you tell me where they are.”

“You're a cop!” he shrieked.

“Not today.”

“I don't knooow!” the man hollered, his terrorized eyes now the size of quarters.

Trammel exploded into the room aiming the AR-15 before him. He was red-faced, wet from the rain, and breathless, but obviously relieved to find Winter was all right.

“He shot me!” the driver wailed.

“He'll do that,” Hank said. “I'll see you kids aren't interrupted.” Hank pushed the door open and took up position behind the doorjamb so he could see down the hall to the front door and have cover.

“I swear ta God! I don't know! They took her off in the green van. That's all I know,” he pleaded.

“Who took her?”

“I don't know!”

“Blow his dick off!” Trammel called out. “That's an order.”

Winter dropped his aim accordingly and the man collapsed into a fetal position on the floor tiles. “What make van?” Winter yelled.

“I don't know where or why. An eyeless Ford! Mr. Sam and some of his guys.”

“What do you mean, eyeless?”

Three ambulatory members of the SWAT team came in through the open front door and scattered through the house, yelling, “FBI! FBI!” Special Agent Finch hobbled in behind them.

“United States marshals!” Hank hollered.

The Crown Victoria's airbag had skinned Finch's forehead and nose, and he was walking like a hunchback in an old Frankenstein film. The knees of his trousers were open and bloody flesh was visible through the holes. He stared down at the driver and then up at Winter holding the driver's pistol. “Where are Manelli and Mrs. Devlin?” he asked. Finch managed to bow and lift the Braves cap by the bill from the floor. “This is our bug,” he said. “Where is she now?”

“Manelli outsmarted you,” Winter said acidly. “Did you people even make sure that he was here to begin with?”

“We didn't have enough time,” Finch protested.

“She was never in his car! This putz put your cap on a dummy so you would think it was her. There's nobody else here-not so much as a guard. They are somewhere else, you idiot. Where's Archer?”

“There was some kind of a booby trap in the road. I never saw it. Archer's dead,” Finch said solemnly.

“Know how you said that lever the guard threw before the Caddy rolled in might have something to do with that bridge? Winter, the end of that damn bridge shot straight up in the air and Finch here drove right slam into it-Archer's head did its best to go through the windshield, but I guess it broke his fool neck,” Hank said.

“He didn't have his belt on,” Finch said defensively.

“House and basement are clear!” a voice yelled from the hallway, bringing Finch around a little.

“Maybe there's hidden doors, false walls… a secret cave,” Finch said.

“Secret cave?” The driver, still lying on the floor, laughed.

“He knows where they are,” Winter said, pointing down at the driver. “Leave us alone and I'll get it out of him.”

“He's FBI,” the driver said. “He ain't gonna let you shoot me no more. You crazy ass-bite. I'm suing all you bastards!”

Finch shook his head and stared at Winter. “You interfered with an FBI operation, Massey. The attorney general is going to-”

“The only thing I interfered with was that bastard making a sandwich, you moron,” Winter snapped. He wanted to scream with rage and beat the truth out of the driver. The FBI had screwed up and he had followed right along with them. Finch sat down on a stool and stared at the half-made sandwich. The SWAT team leader came in. “The houth is keer, thir,” he said. The words sounded wet and soft because he was missing his front teeth and his lips were like torn pillows filled with meat.

“Check all the walls for-” Finch started.

“Secret caves,” Hank offered.

“We're done here,” Winter said. “Let's go, Hank.”

“You're both under arrest,” Finch said.

“I got a permit,” the driver said. “I wasn't doing nothing wrong and he shot me!”

“Massey, put that gun down,” Finch said. “It's obvious that she informed the driver about the cap. No telling where she is.”

“No way she did that,” Winter snapped. He put the driver's gun on the sandwich. “You think this is gonna stay a secret, Finch? I know Archer wanted Sam to kill Sean and that he planned to have your SWAT team kill Manelli. I know it and so does Director Shapiro, and soon the world will, too. You're finished and Archer is going to be glad he's dead. And if anything happens to her you'd better hide where I can't find you.” Winter started from the room with Hank behind him.

“Hawt!” The jar-headed SWAT team leader aimed his MP5 at Winter's back.

“You planning to stop me, Finch, you tell him to kill me.”

“Let them go,” Finch said, resigned.

Winter stopped at the open door to Sam's den. On his way up the hall earlier, he had looked in. Now he was drawn into the room by the multiple cabinets packed with guns.