CHAPTER 41
Baxter Road
“Did you hear that?” Meg Fuller asked. I was driving all of us back to my place in Sconset, with Oliver sitting shotgun and Meg wedged between JP and Wolf in back. “It sounded like an explosion.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re right,” I replied. “But what could have blown up on or around this island? Gas tank, maybe?”
The oncoming headlights of a truck swerved briefly into our lane, then raced past us.
My mind switched into reasoning mode as I continued to drive.
I thought about that big Ford lawn-service truck I had almost hit—in almost the same location—on my way home with Rowan Anderson from our dinner date at the Rope Walk.
Either intuition or cynicism tripped an internal alarm. “Hold on—something’s fucked up.” I hit the brakes hard and stopped.
The five of us slipped right into tactical mode. Spontaneously, the doors flew open and we all climbed out of the vehicle, scanning the perimeter for security. Our guns were drawn. We all felt it: the innate warnings of danger that soldiers like us had experienced time and again in battle.
“Anybody see anything?” I asked.
“Negative,” said Wolf.
“All clear at six o’clock,” said Meg.
“Twelve o’clock, forty meters, Christmas-tree lights,” JP said clearly. He was pointing like a Labrador to a string of wires sitting on the road.
On examination, it appeared that these particular lights were in fact a type of IED: It used a simple open-circuit electrical system with a power source, in this case the modified string of Christmas-tree lights.
If a vehicle ran over the seemingly harmless cluster of wires on the road, its weight would force the wires to touch, completing the electrical circuit and igniting the firing device inside the projectile.
End result: a flaming mass of molten lead hurtling through the air, instantaneously decimating whatever unarmored automobile stood in its path.
“Very nice, Nathan,” said Oliver. “I make it home from our little shit show in Iraq only to get blown up by an IED in Nan-fucking-tucket.” Serious as the situation was, he was grinning.
“You’re killing me, Smalls,” I replied without hesitation. “What do you think?”
“Don’t think we have much choice.” He nodded to the self-designated clearing team. “Go get ’em, boys.”
Wolf took one side of the road and JP the other, each scanning the area and watching for any sign of enemy triggermen while moving slowly and deliberately toward the string of lights. It was important that they identify the location of the projectile so it could be separated from the firing device.
I held my breath, a thin defense against the prospect of witnessing two of my best friends vaporized before my eyes.