CHAPTER 62
No sign of Josiah, the senator’s widow, or Rowan.
By the time JP’s voice registered from the rear passenger seat, he had already squeezed off two rounds. The gunshots had been painfully loud inside the car.
“Two o’clock, one KIA, hopefully,” he shouted as he ran from my vehicle toward the house next door.
Fuck, I’d turned down the wrong driveway. JP had just stitched somebody in Courville’s yard. Meg was hot on his heels, while Wolf and Oliver sprinted toward the front porch.
I hit Reverse and punched the gas, burning rubber all the way to the Courville place. I didn’t hear any more shooting, which was always a good thing.
Meg was pointing her weapon toward the body on the ground, which lay next to a semiautomatic rifle that looked Russian-made. JP kneeled next to the body, searching it with his hands. Oliver and Wolf had already gone inside.
I trotted to the dead guy—his head was a mess—as JP stood up.
“Shit, dude—that’s pretty gross. But a head shot from a moving vehicle twenty-five yards away ain’t hard, said no one ever.” I gave him a nod and winked at Meg.
“Offhand, too, Nat,” JP added. “Just throwing that out there.”
JP wasn’t being conceited. He’d been scanning from the vehicle, spotted an immediate threat, and instinctively reduced it. I really did have to give him extra credit for the offhand shot with an MP5 at that distance. I’d buy him a case of beer for that one.
“Seriously, though,” JP continued, “nothing on this guy at all except for the SKS here. All tricked out with a big-ass scope and bipod and shit. He was here to do some killing, that’s for sure—the widow, I’m guessing.
Looks like he got a sympathetic round off on contact, but he was a dead man shooting. ”
“How the fuck did he get here?” I asked. “You guys wanna bag everything up and take a quick snoop around, see what you can see?”
When I turned around, there she was. Special Agent in Charge Rowan Anderson.
She was standing in the doorway, talking to Wolf and Oliver, then raising one eyebrow at me as I approached. Even with ripped clothes and mud-streaked hair, she looked amazing. And she was still a pro. No smile, no pause in the action.
I took that as my cue. I walked straight into the house, moving past a pile of what I assumed to be dead guys under blankets near the doorway. I pieced together the scene pretty quickly.
Elise Courville’s clothes were ripped, her hair was disheveled, and someone had recently hit her in the face. She looked frightened; not quite in shock, but definitely on her heels. She had the beginnings of a good-sized bruise on her cheek.
I agreed with JP’s assessment: The dead guy had been about to take a shot at the widow Harrison when his head exploded. The assassin’s bullet had instead launched through the top of the window and into the ceiling. That could have been ugly—really ugly.
I didn’t wait for an introduction before asking Courville a crucial question: “Where the hell is your security detail?”
Rowan Anderson answered for her, and she was none too friendly about it.
“Nat, she doesn’t have a detail. She refused it, in writing. Her father is the French ambassador—remember?”
True as all that might be, rejecting security was never a good idea for the wife of an aspiring presidential candidate. Amateur Night once again.
“Roger that, but this place is completely compromised. I want you to take over as her detail. I’ll call my guys and get her transportation off the island.”
“What do you mean, my guys? Since when are you in charge of my orders? What the hell is going on, Nat?”
I didn’t have time to explain or debate. Rocket’s Red Glare was in effect and I was going to run with it.
“Rowan,” I said, more sternly than I intended.
“You know who I work for. Right now, it’s my show.
The airport isn’t safe. Downtown is locked up.
So I’m making the call that we head to the south side of the island and set up camp while we work extraction.
I’ll get us aircraft. And if not, we will find a boat.
Meg and JP are doing a quick recon outside before we move out. ”
Fuck, why does this always happen? I meet someone. She’s hot and I like her. I hoped she wasn’t too mad at me, but lives were on the line.
Back to reality, Nat.
She must have bought my plan because, to her credit, all Rowan asked for was a gun.
I offered her my Sig Sauer. She pulled the slide to make sure there was a round in the chamber, stuffed it into her belt, and stepped off in the direction of her principal.
To Elise Courville, I calmly said, “I need you to come with us. We will be leaving this island for a secure government site. Agent Anderson will help you gather some of your belongings, but you will not be coming back here anytime soon.”
She nodded at me, then looked inquisitively at Rowan—almost as if requesting permission. At a nod from the agent, Senator Harrison’s widow stood up, and the two women moved past me.
I waved Team Rhino, including Si, into the house. I said, “Gather ’round, boys and girls. I want to orient you to our position.”
Elise Courville’s home was better furnished than most, but in one respect it was appointed identically to every other house on Nantucket.
After a three-second scan, I located the tool I needed: a large framed nautical chart of the island.
For some reason everyone up here thinks of themselves as playing the lead in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, even if they can’t tell a buoy from a tugboat.
I laid the frame on the counter.
“Thankfully, it’s real easy. We are about here and need to move due south a few miles to the treacherous beachhead at a town called Madaket.”
We all looked at Si. It took him a second to realize that I had stopped talking, and he looked up to find all five of us smiling at him. By now everyone knew the story about the submerged Porsche.
With a sheepish grin he muttered, “Good one,” and looked back at the map.
If we’d had more time and didn’t have to worry about terrorists jamming us up, we would have had a field day at his expense. But we had a plane to catch.
“Wolf, see what the senator’s wife has in the garage.
I’m sure it’s a nice ride, but all we care is that the engine starts.
Then find something to cloud the headlights so we can blackout-drive.
We can’t take any chances. The route is straight, but we need to stay close.
I’ll take Rowan, the widow, and JP with me in my car.
The rest of you are with Wolf. I’ll stop about fifty yards short of the beach, so you can clear the LZ. Questions?”
“None, boss,” Team Rhino said in unison.
“Cool—we leave in five.”
I told Si to grab a beach bag and search the house for anything of interest: phones, laptops, and the like. As he scurried away, I heard footsteps on the stairs and watched Rowan and Elise Courville descending, each carrying several Louis Vuitton bags filled with God knows what.
JP reached out for the bags and motioned the pair to follow him to my truck. He gave me a WTF look. Clearly we’d both been tempted to make a smart-ass comment, but figured they probably weren’t in the mood for fun. All I could do was shrug my shoulders and grin.
The impromptu bag of goodies that Si had packed, by contrast, was a pleasant surprise: It overflowed with iPads and other gadgets. I gave him an approving nod and smiled as he followed Oliver to the garage.
“See you on the high ground,” I said as I turned off the house lights.