The Black Bullet

CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

O’Brien and Hunter drove a rented Toyota 4-Runner from the airport. Plenty of room for the assault rifles. He was still carrying the Luger along with his Glock.

Hunter’s cell rang. “What do you have?” he asked. He listened, nodding his head. “Send back-up. No sirens.”

“What is it?”

“We got an address: 2973 Sycamore Drive. Turn left at the next light.” Hunter quickly entered the address in the GPS, then added, “A neighbor-lady across the street apparently saw five, I’m quoting here, ‘five bin Laden types’ get into a large blue cargo van and leave with something wrapped in a quilt. One of the men looked American-a young guy who was walking with a limp.”

“How far is Sycamore Drive?”

“GPS says twenty-five miles. When we get there, Sharif will be long gone.”

“We’ll start helicopter surveillance for a blue cargo van.”

A SWAT team surrounded the home on Sycamore Drive, a green Land Rover still in the driveway. O’Brien and Hunter, along with four FBI agents went through the front door. The men cleared each room.

O’Brien motioned to a smaller door behind a kitchen alcove. He slowly turned the handle, the smell of sulfur-gunfire and blood was at the top of the steps.

“Jesus Mary ….” a younger agent said.

“Oh, God,” whispered another.

Lisa Toffler had been shot through the forehead. Her father’s headless body was on the floor, the bloody head propped in the dead girl’s lap with a note stuck in the mouth. Hunter pulled it out and read, “‘America, your children carry the weight of your mistakes. Your doctrine was not written for the world … Mohammed Sharif.’”

The younger agent opened a door to the backyard. He vomited in the shrubbery.

Hunter’s cell rang. “Yes!” he barked, closing his eyes to try to hear over the agent’s heaving outside the door. “How far is that?” he asked. “Excellent! Give me choppers. Deploy the F-16s! Move!”

The agents turned toward Hunter. He said, “A small airfield outside of Augusta. Sort of an executive airport. A mechanic was closing when he saw a blue van pull up and men get out. Didn’t think much about it until he saw that one of the men had his hands tied behind his back. The mechanic spotted him when the other guys left the rear doors open after they off-loaded something in a blanket.”

“Let’s roll!” O’Brien said, taking two steps each up the stairs. “Where is the mechanic now?” he asked. “Sheriff’s dispatch has been trying his cell. No answer.”

“Not good,” O’Brien said. “Not good at all.”