Perfect killer

CHAPTER 82

"Get the fuck out of my way, you two-bit rent-a-cop, or I will fucking blow your tiny nuts off!"

David Brown, in full SWAT gear, and followed by his assistant and two other Customs officers, brandished his H amp;K submachine gun at the VA's lone security guard at the main entrance at ground level.

Before the guard could respond, a brilliant flash and bang rumbled from outside, then the lights went out.

"That just fucking ices the damn cake," Brown said. "And where the hell's our backup?"

"Still waiting for authorization!" Brown's assistant tried to explain that media coverage, the previous day's lawsuits, and the deluge of law enforcement complaints to the state's senators and congressional delegation had chilled the cooperation Brown had demanded. The Army was double-covering its ass, the FBI was rethinking its earlier, reluctant cooperation, and the Jackson Police Department was outright hostile to them.

"Well, you better fucking get your sorry act together or I'll shred your worthless ass when this is all over!"

Three more blasts rattled the windows around the security screening area in the VA's main entryway.

"Listen," Brown said as the explosions echoed away. "It's a fucking chopper. Those idiots are trying to break Talmadge out!" He turned and pointed the MPS at the security guard. "Take us up there."

The guard hesitated until Brown thumbed off the safety.*****

The first MP burst into Talmadge's room before Rex or I got our balance. The MP aimed his sidearm at us as a second MP lunged in. Suddenly, from the shadows behind the door the aluminum tubing of a crutch bottom arced out of the darkness and caught the first MP squarely on his nose, snapping his head back beneath a geyser of blood, showering dark and black in the dim light.

"Yeeeeeeeeee hah!" A rebel yell followed the blow, and I knew Talmadge had to be somewhere behind it.

The MP's finger closed on the trigger as he staggered back into his partner. The slug plowed into the apparatus behind the bed.

"Get back!" Rex yelled behind me as he rushed forward and loosed a long blast from the big bear spray container. The potent chemicals guaranteed to stop a bear in its tracks wrenched out two sustained screams from both men as they staggered back into the hallway. Talmadge propped himself on one crutch as he leaned against the door. Rex helped him shove the door shut, then jammed the wood-splitting wedge under it. I rushed him the hand sledge.

"By damn that Shanker boy is all right!" Talmadge yelled. "Sum'bitch promised he'd get me outta here!"

Rex hammered the wedge tight beneath the door before the men outside threw their weight against it. Outside, new voices joined the urgent babble, one of which made me think of the old gin in Itta Bena.

"Okay, let's rock," I told Talmadge. I leaned over and picked up his bony, huskthin frame and carried him over to the window.

"Can you stand?" I asked.

"Course I can. I can walk some too."

"Cool."

The old man was surprisingly capable, probably from mainlining adrenaline. I harnessed him in.

Across the room, Rex bent over the paint-thinner can and sloshed the contents under the door. The sharp solvent smell pricked at my nose as I held out a makeshift nylon web sling to Talmadge. "Step into this."

Rex hurried over to us, pulled a road flare from a cargo pocket, ignited it, and tossed it by the door.

A loud whoomp! filled the room with brilliant yellow light.

"That should make them back off," Rex said as he helped me secure Talmadge. Moments later, the room's sprinklers started.

"Jasmine," I called into the radio. "Start your ascent."

"Roger."

Outside, the helicopter's engine revved. From beyond the room door came the whoosh of fire extinguishers, then the nasty, sharp, splintering blows of a fire ax. They'd be inside soon.

Finally, we attached bright yellow, shock-absorbing lanyards between our safety harnesses and the helicopter. The rope slack disappeared as the door buckled. Outside, the helicopter moved until our ropes led out at roughly forty-five degrees.

I stepped behind Talmadge and gave him a bear hug as the room door imploded. "Get us out!" Rex screamed into his radio. The helicopter's engine screamed; the rope snapped taut, the shock-absorbing lanyards stretched almost lazily, lifting us gently off our feet. Rex and I fended our way over the windowsill. Suddenly, the lanyards' elastic slack bottomed out and we slingshot into the gathering dawn with gunshots sounded from behind.

"Clear," I radioed.

Rex, Talmadge, and I bobbed like yo-yos at the end of our lines, awful for equilibrium but great for making us tough targets. The unmistakable report of an H amp;K MP5A at full automatic sounded from the roof as Jasmine dipped the nose of the helicopter to gather speed, jinked, then labored upward. Another volley burst from the H amp;K hit the fuel tank and spawned a mist of aviation gasoline. Then the M21 cracked loud and sharp. I prayed Tyrone's shots wouldn't ignite the high-octane fuel. Passing out of this world as a tiki-torch bungee boy had never ranked high in my pantheon of ways to die.