Last Chance to Die by Noah Boyd (large screen ebook reader .txt) 📗

house. The thick wooden sliding doors to the garage were open a few inches, and he tried to see if he could spot any vehicles inside. He took the binoculars from under the seat and peered through them, but dusk had started to take over and the winter light was fading.

Vail thought he saw some movement in a second-floor window, but by the time he swung the binoculars toward it, there was nothing he could see. He lowered the glasses but continued to watch the second floor. A few seconds later, in the same window, he saw definite movement. As dark as it was getting, that there were no lights on meant that someone was trying not to be detected.

Vail put the car in gear and started toward the house. As it got closer, he let it glide to a stop fifty yards in front of the garage.

Suddenly a three-round volley was fired from the second floor, at least two of the slugs slamming into the front of his car. He dove out of it and took cover behind the vehicle. After a minute or so, he peeked over the trunk, looking for any further movement inside the house.

“I thought the bumper sticker said that Virginia was for lovers,” he muttered to himself.

Two more rounds were fired at him, this time from the first floor. “Evidently it’s gun lovers.”

He stood up and fired a burst into the first-floor window. Almost immediately he was fired at again, this time from the breezeway. He suspected that whoever was shooting at him was working his way to the garage, probably trying to get to his car. Vail shifted his angle behind the car to the garage and put his point of aim at the six-inch opening between the two heavy doors, then waited.

Almost too predictably, a three-round fusillade came from the narrow black opening between the garage doors. Vail opened fire, letting his Glock come back down level before pulling the trigger each time, as though he sensed that his rounds were finding their mark. Maybe it was the tiny after-echo that couldn’t have been anything but lead slamming into tissue. He rolled back into a safe position on the car’s trunk, dropped an empty magazine, and shoved in a fresh one.

Raising his head for a few seconds, he tried to draw more fire. When none came, he assumed a two-handed grip on his gun and started cautiously toward the garage. Every few feet he took a step to the right or the left so he wouldn’t be a constant target. When he got to within ten feet of the garage, another eruption of gunfire came from the opening.

Vail went into a deep defensive crouch and fired at least ten rounds in the direction of the garage while he maneuvered quickly to his left and ran to the door on that side, flattening himself against it. Now the gunman would have to actually stick his weapon outside the opening to get a shot at him. He was about to take hold of the left edge of the door and slide it completely open, all the time ready to shoot anyone who stepped out, when the sound of an engine roared inside the garage. He leaped to the opening and pulled the door open.

Tied to the front of a car, spread-eagled and gagged, was Yanko Petriv, the NSA translator. At least a half dozen of Vail’s rounds having found his chest and stomach.

Out of the rear of the garage, which had identical sliding doors, a blue sedan screamed away and down a back road.

Vail ran around to the other side of the garage, trying to get a shot at the car, but with its lights off it disappeared behind a stand of evergreens and into the winter night.

Vail holstered his weapon and returned to the body. Placing an index finger on Petriv’s carotid artery out of habit, he withdrew it almost immediately.

He realized now that they’d had Petriv use this address so Vail would be led here. And then started the running gun battle so he’d fire blindly into the garage. Of course it wasn’t his fault, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d staked Petriv out like that because they knew the way Vail went after things.

14

Vail had gotten in about four hours earlier, after a long session with the Oakton police. He’d called them to the scene and, as soon as they arrived, had explained that he was the one who’d shot Petriv. As he walked them through the shoot-out, they found cartridges at every location where Vail said he’d received fire. The bullet holes in his car matched the caliber of the casings recovered. When asked who the victim was, Vail said that Petriv had been a person of interest in a Bureau investigation, a man he was trying to locate, and that he had finally found him at this house.

The detective asked him more than once to clarify “person of interest,” to which he answered that it was a classified matter. Finally Vail had them call Kate at home and have her verify that it was a sensitive investigation. She asked to speak to the chief and eventually convinced him that it was a matter of national security and that as soon as it was resolved, he would receive full details. After a few more hours of interviews by different combinations of officers, detectives, and even the chief, Vail was allowed to leave.

Vail woke up abruptly, thinking he’d heard Kate calling his name. “Steve, we’re coming up.” It was her. He jumped out of bed and pulled on a robe.

Vail went to the top of the stairs and was surprised to see Langston and Kalix with her. “I wonder what this could be about,” Vail said to himself quietly. And then, “Great, now I’m being sarcastic to myself.”

They all went into the workroom, and Langston immediately noticed the wall where all the photos and documents were displayed.