Hair of the Dog by Gordon Carroll (reading strategies book TXT) 📗

end of the capillary. The PCR products are separated by size, because the smaller DNA molecules have an easier time migrating through the polymer than larger DNA molecules. The information from this process is collected, and then using sophisticated computer software, a DNA profile is made. In other words, another forty or so minutes of twiddling her thumbs.

But for Gil, she would wait forever.

I parked three blocks away, which was a gamble since it meant that’s how far we would have to travel if flight became a necessity, which was very possible. I’d brought my Zeiss binoculars, two pair of night-vision goggles, three bullet-resistant vests, an SBR (short- barreled rifle), two ARs, five hand guns (with suppressors), two flash bangs (no suppressors for those bad boys), assorted knives, and bullets… lots of bullets. I’d also stopped at a local hardware store and picked up a few items we’d need along, with a backpack to stow it all in. Jerome wore the backpack.

Before we left our motel, I made a last call to Ziggy. The call went straight to voicemail, like I’d expected, so I left a message telling him we found his note and that we’d meet him at the apartment at 2000 hrs. (8:00 pm).

Being white in this part of town was a definite disadvantage to moving about unnoticed. If it had been winter, I could have gotten by wearing a full ski mask, but since the temp hovered at a mean ninety-two degrees, that wouldn’t cut it. The only thing saving me in this neighborhood, was having Bigfoot and the Werewolf acting as a deterrent. Even so, we had a group of five utes (ala Joe Pesci from My Cousin Vinny) approach us in a classic attack pattern. It was just dark enough for them to think they might have a chance, until Max forged ahead, sensing blood and liking it. He didn’t bark, but his tail was straight and his eyes locked in hard. All five stopped dead still, which gave them time to note the giant of a man standing next to me and the arsenal of guns strapped to us. They scattered pretty quick then.

Jerome, for as slow as he could seem in most things, had an incredible mind for battle. He laid out a near perfect blueprint of the project building and surrounding areas. Now that we were close, I saw he’d been dead-on about every outlying aspect, which gave me confidence in his layout of the interior. This would be vital once the shooting started. We had no way of knowing how many there would be, or if they would be Bloods, mercenaries, Secret Service Agents or all three. Being an optimist, I figured all three.

Scouting the perimeter, we marked two cars of Bloods on guard duty; one on the northwest side of the building, the other on the southeast. Between the two, they had the building locked down. Checking closer with the binoculars, I made out at least two guards at each entrance on the visible sides of the building. The cars were far enough down the blocks so as to be invisible to the guards inside the building. We decided to approach from the northwest. We would have to work quiet and fast. The one thing in our favor was the noise of the city that seemed to push in from every possible angle. Compared to Colorado, it sounded like a war zone, with echoing gunfire and sirens and yells and honking and crashes erupting every few seconds and often overlapping. The suppressors should help out here since what they were really capable of was more of a blunting of the exploding gasses rather than a silencing, like you see in the movies. Still, we were a block or so from the actual building, so the hope was that their lessened report would blend with the other killing going on in the gun-free zone of the city with America’s strictest gun laws.

The plan for this phase was simple and it worked nicely.

Jerome walked toward the guard car with Max by his side, like he was out for a stroll. Just a boy and his dog. While their attention was diverted on the giant with the pup, I snuck up from behind.

The Blood from the passenger front seat opened his door and stepped out, maybe taking note of Jerome’s size or maybe sensing something not quite right. Either way, his hand slipped down the front of his pants and Max launched, catching him by the throat and chin and taking him to the asphalt where his head hit with a loud crack. He didn’t get off a scream, let alone a shot. The two other Bloods, the driver and the one backseat passenger, both pulled out guns. Jerome took the driver out with two shots to the chest through the windshield and I put one round through the temple of the guy in the backseat, through the open rear window, as he was sighting in on Jerome. Blood sprayed back on me, freckling my cheek and forehead. I scanned the area around and behind me before wiping as much of it away as I could with a forearm. I called Max off and saw that he had destroyed the man’s throat. Blood pumped from the guy’s carotid in spraying arcs and the pool under his head didn’t leave much chance for him making it without immediate medical attention. And this wasn’t the time for that. We grabbed hold of his body and shoved him in the car with the other two, then ran for the cover of the building next to the one where we hoped Ziggy was waiting as bait. Once there, we did another scan, but no one seemed to have noticed the commotion. The area was strangely devoid of people. In fact, other than the guard cars, we hadn’t seen anyone since the five by my SUV. The word of the trap must have gotten out. That