Firepower by John Cutter (best ebook pdf reader android .TXT) 📗

up the stairs. “Jesus, fuck, there’s two of them dead! Who the—”

He got to the top step, turned, and Vince shot the Neo-Nazi through the forehead before even getting a clear look at him. He went to his knees… and sagged over against the wall of the stairwell.

Vince turned to see Stirner poking his head through an open upstairs bedroom door to see who had shot who. He nodded to himself and stepped into the hallway, a small suitcase in his hand.

“How many others here?” Vince asked.

“Sentry outside—”

“Dead now.”

“That’s all except Trevor at the gate.” He paused, licked his lips and asked, “Listen — did you kill the gate guard?”

“No, he wasn’t paying any attention. No need to.”

“For once I’m glad the kid’s a dope. That’s my son.”

“You taking him into witness protection?”

Stirner sighed, then nodded. “Got to. I’ll find him outside. Let’s go.”

Vince pointed the Glock at Stirner.

Dex Stirner’s eyes got wide. “What? Why are you…”

“First — drop your gun.”

Stirner hesitated, then reached into his coat and took out the Smith & Wesson, tossed it on the floor. Vince stepped back, giving Stirner enough room to sidle by. “Go on. Don’t want you behind me.”

Stirner edged by and Vince followed him down the stairs. They took turns stepping over Tiso.

“Where are they meeting us?” Stirner asked, stepping over the dead men in the hall.

The guy’s not real sentimental about his followers, Vince thought.

They went out the back door, and Vince said, “The highway.”

“What? There’s no direct road to it from here—”

“We’re going through the brush. Get going. Down the hill, west.”

“There’s a barbed-wire fence in the way!”

“Then climb over it.”

“Dad?” It was a young man’s voice, from the front gate. He was around the corner of the house from them. “That you? I heard gunshots!”

“Forget it!” Stirner called. “Just get over here, Trevor!”

The young man trotted into view, his slack mouth getting slacker when he saw Vince. “Who’s that? What’s going on?”

“We’re getting out of here. We’re going into witness protection.”

“What!”

“That’s right. Unless you want to be on your own. Make up your mind right now.”

“But — this guy’s a cop?”

“Never mind that. You coming or not?”

“Yeah, whatever…” Trevor said, shaking his head.

Vince pointed his gun at Trevor. “You got a gun there. Drop it. Then you go with your dad.”

“Um…”

“Do it, Trevor!” Stirner barked.

Trevor shrugged and tossed his pistol on the ground.

Stirner went to the fence behind the house, tossed his bag over. Trevor stared in surprise — then looked at Vince’s gun and followed his father.

Vince holstered his gun. “Help your dad over the fence, kid.”

“Why we going this way?”

“Going to the highway down that side of the hill. Just do it.”

Trevor helped Stirner climb over. The old Neo-Nazi cut his hand, cussing to himself as he picked up his bag.

Trevor climbed awkwardly over, then Vince came quickly after and pointed. “That way.”

They followed a slender game trail a quarter mile down the hill, opposite from the slope Vince had climbed. They passed through a couple of fields of high grass and then reached the highway.

Vince was relieved to see the black Crown Vic parked on the road shoulder, right where it should be. The lights came on, went off, and came on again, as per the signal.

“That the feds?” Stirner asked.

“Who else?” Vince said.

“Oh Jesus, Dad!” Trevor burst out.

“Just do what I tell you, boy. We’re getting in that car.” He turned to Vince. “You going to tell me who you are? You don’t seem like FBI to me.”

“I’m not. But that Crown Vic is FBI. That’s all you need to know. Get in the car.”

Vince watched as Stirner and his son strode the thirty yards to the car. The back door opened for them and they got in. The Crown Vic drove away.

The feds would be at the site within minutes, and one of the bodies left in the farmhouse would be “identified” as Dex Stirner. The word would go out that Stirner was dead…

Vince went back up the hill the way he’d come, skirting Stirner’s property, and retrieved the assault rifle. He started down the road, jogging back down the other side of the hill.

It was quick this time, and he was soon on the edge of the plowed field — where he saw that the helicopter was lifting off without him.

He ran toward it, waving — and saw Mac Colls standing in the open hatch, holding onto a stanchion, a Glock in one hand… and taking aim.

Vince threw himself to one side, and a bullet kicked up the dirt where he’d been standing. Then the heli’s door closed.

The H225 flew off to the south.

And as Vince got to his feet, he could hear police sirens coming his way.

“Son of a bitch,” he said.

CHAPTER NINE

Vince Bellator ran through the night.

He ran across fields and someone’s back yard and across two gravel roads as police cars raced up the highway in the distance.

He’d seen a Justice Department UH-60 tactical-transport helicopter coming down on the hilltop where the Ragnarin HQ was. The FBI would stop those cops from taking over the farmhouse. But Vince knew he was fair game for any local cop who’d gotten a call about gunshots up at the Stirner property — or maybe had gotten a tip from Mac Colls.

That prick.

He’d tried using the burner phone. No answer. Colls wasn’t picking up, which was no surprise at this point. He’d tried calling Wolf Base itself — no answer there either. Had Colls told someone not to answer if the call came from the burner number?

Vince got to a highway and saw a police car’s flashers coming. Conscious