The Soul Collectors

29

Darby zoomed on the car, which had come to an abrupt stop.

Must have seen the signs, she thought, catching sight of the BMW hood ornament as the car backed up. It was black or a dark blue, and the tinted windows prevented her from seeing whoever was inside the car.

She watched as the BMW drove down Border Street and slowly turned right into Bayside Road. They look for a place to wait, then follow me after I leave. The red brake lights glowed on the dark road and then the car took another slow turn into Monmouth. The BMW's headlights went out but she could still see it, watching as it did a three-point turn. It came to a stop in front of a house near the end of the street, and looked like just another ordinary parked car. That spot offered a clear, unobstructed view of the causeway, the only way off Moon Island.

A moment later she saw a white glow coming from inside the BMW. Too bright to be the light from a cell phone screen, she thought. A laptop, maybe.

Darby walked back to her bike. She started it up and drove through the dark stretch of road that led to the shooting range. The floodlights were on, illuminating the grassy, empty field. There were no lights on inside the small one-floor building where she housed most of her tactical equipment. She parked her bike and took her keys with her to access the building.

From her locker she grabbed the spare sidearm she had recently purchased at the urging of her SWAT instructor: an MK23 SOCOM, the same tactical sidearm commissioned by the United States Special Operations Command. The.45 calibre pistol had a great sound and flash suppressor, but what had impressed her most was its high accuracy — even without the use of its laser-aiming module.

Next, she grabbed the spare nylon shoulder holster she used for SWAT exercises. She slipped it on and adjusted the straps, tightening them to the point of being uncomfortable. The MK23 wasn't much good as a concealed weapon, especially with this snug jacket. She zipped it up and could see and feel the handgun bulging against the leather. She could live with it for now. She could have used a smaller handgun but it wouldn't have the MK's one-shot stopping power. She needed that for the moment when one or more of her new friends decided to make a move and try to get close to her.

Now, the final item: the duffel bag. She couldn't carry it with her, and she could only fit two or three pieces of tactical equipment inside the motorcycle's small trunk box.

She placed the duffel bag on the bench. Unzipped it, removed each item and placed it on the long piece of wood. Hands crossed over her chest, she stood over the bench examining each item, thinking about a strategy.

The person or persons sitting inside the BMW had to have brought others. She didn't know this for a fact but it would be a smart tactical move to do so. These people might just want to follow her for a while, but at some point they would want either to grab her or to take her down.

Darby stood in the locker room's cool and musty silence, thinking. She had all night, could stand here for as long as she wanted. And she wanted to make them wait. Let them sit there and wonder what the hell she was doing. They didn't have the answers, but they would keep turning the question over and over in their minds, and it would make them anxious. Nervous. They might decide to do a rush job, which would cause a tactical mistake.

Before leaving Moon Island, she used the computer at the front desk to log on to the Internet and map out the quickest route to the Rizzo home — the blast site.