Chapter Seventy-Eight
WALKER PUSHED THE old AMC Eagle to the limit, its four-wheel drive grinding through the gravel around the back-road turns. He checked the Sons of Liberty AR and Staccato pistol he had taken from Dupuis, the weapons that Bates had stashed back in the Eagle. They were ready to go to work.
A subtropical thunderstorm that had worked its way up from the Gulf began its attack as Walker hit the freeway and turned south. He wondered what he would do if he was pulled over by a Louisiana state trooper.
His body felt cold despite the humidity and sweat, drained of energy, permeated by a numbness accentuated by a painful tingling, like it had been cooked from the inside.
You’re dying.
That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?
The car’s heavy V-8 engine groaned in protest as Walker accelerated to a max speed of just under ninety miles an hour.
How far could Bates have gotten?
“Come on!” Walker shouted, urging the car to go faster.
A few cars drove through the downpour in the opposite direction on the other side of the grass median, leaving New Orleans in their rearview mirrors. Walker weaved around a Ram truck, a Jeep Cherokee, and a Mini Cooper as he ate up the distance between him and his prey.
He concentrated on the hunt to keep his mind off the burnt flesh on his feet and between his legs. He could feel the knife wound on his thigh bleeding through his makeshift bandage.
There, taillights ahead. Was it the Charger?
Walker killed his headlights.
Don’t PIT the wrong car.
He kept the hammer down.
Black Dodge Charger.
But was it Bates?
Walker got closer and read the plate number he and Belle had identified in photos from Dorado Freight.
Bates.
The Charger was in the fast lane.
You got this.
Go!
When the front of the Eagle was parallel with the back right quarter panel of the Charger, he edged his vehicle to the left and made contact.
The PIT maneuver was one he had practiced countless times in courses with the SEAL Teams and CIA at BSR in West Virginia, the Farm in Virginia, and the Constellis Training Center in Moyock, North Carolina.
At lower speeds it was a relatively safe way to end a pursuit by putting the target vehicle into a predictable spin.
At the speeds of the Eagle and Charger, the result was an uncontrollable rotation.
As the newer car’s electronic stability control system attempted to correct the sudden turn, the front left tire caught a rut just off the right shoulder, interrupting its forward motion.
The friction at such a high rate of speed, combined with the car’s momentum and center of gravity, caused the Charger to rotate and flip off the road.
Walker slammed on his brakes and the Eagle skidded to a stop.
He threw the car in reverse and maneuvered it off the road onto the shoulder.
He then exited the vehicle, sticking the Staccato into the holster that was still on his jeans, and grabbing the AR.
He activated the weapon-mounted light as he limped down the slope toward Bates’s car.
Walker’s beam found the vehicle upside down. The hood and front tires were submerged in the swamp. Steam rose from the undercarriage as the downpour made contact with the hot exhaust manifold, pipes, and chassis. The slope of the embankment had provided ideal conditions for a violent rollover.
As he got closer, he saw that the airbags had deployed.
Movement.
Bates was struggling to get out of the car.
The numbness in Walker’s left leg became more pronounced as he stumbled forward. The rest of his body felt like an overused pincushion, an aftereffect of the electricity. He shook his head to clear his blurry vision.
Just hold it together for a few more minutes.
He got to the car, tucked the butt of the rifle under his right arm, and grabbed Bates by the back of the shirt, pulling him through the broken window.
He then stepped back and trained his rifle on the dirty cop.
“Tell me about the Afghan.”
Bates coughed and pushed himself to his hands and knees. He stood and fell back against the closed door of the overturned Charger, looking at Walker in disbelief. His nose was clearly broken.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Walker said.
“You look like death,” Bates said. “Nice FBI jacket.”
Walker was dizzy and off-balance. Even though he had only walked fifty yards down an embankment, it felt like he had just sprinted to the end of the BUD/S obstacle course. Sharp, stabbing pains radiated from his broken ribs.
“Where’s Stanton? Dead?” Bates asked.
“I want to know about the Afghan.”
“I bet you do. Did you kill him?”
“Tell me.”
“You can hardly stand up. You were half-dead when I left. The Afghan said that nobody could take what he did to you.”
“He was wrong.”
“Funny how you are no longer interested in Snowball, cartels, and Big Pharma conspiracies. On your deathbed you want to know about an Afghan refugee.”
“Your cop cartel is finished. Stanton’s alive. All of you are going down.”
“You don’t quite have it all figured out.”
“I figured out enough.”
“You missed your calling, Walker. You should have been a cop. Well, your little girlfriend helped.”
“The law part trips me up.”
“She used you, Walker.”
“Who?”
“Leigh Ann Staub. When we killed Connor for getting too close, she called you to clean up her mess.”
I owed her husband.
“Think about it. You’re just a tool, Walker. First your country used you in two lost wars and then Leigh Ann Staub used you to kill off everyone responsible for her son’s death.”
Walker felt a sudden tightness in his chest, coupled with a pain that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his slowing heartbeats.
Rhythm.
Death.
His organs protested the agonizing onslaught of otherworldly searing torment. He struggled to breathe as a wave of dizziness sent him to his knees.
Bates went for his gun.
Don’t you die on your knees in this fucking mud!
What did Epicurus say about death?
“It is nothing to us.”
You will not die out of rhythm.
It is nothing to me.
With his AR barrel in the dirt, Walker shot his left hand out, catching the Glock palm up before Bates could get it online. His right hand grabbed Bates’s right wrist as he twisted the pistol away from the police officer’s body. He felt Bates’s trigger finger break and heard the big man grunt.
Only one of us walks away.
Walker shot to his feet, delivering a palm strike to the underside of Bates’s chin, following it with a left hook to the side of the larger man’s head with the hand that still held the Glock by its slide. He immediately dipped his hips and threw a right uppercut into the lieutenant’s midsection.
Walker felt a rib break as the lieutenant was driven back against the overturned vehicle.
With the slung rifle caught between them, Walker’s right hand grabbed Bates by the back of the neck and pulled the taller man down as he propelled his body upward, smashing the top of his head into the officer’s already broken nose.
With Bates on the defensive, Walker reached for the Staccato in his waistband with his right hand. His draw was impeded by the AR, which allowed Bates to slam his left hand down, knocking the pistol to the ground.
Walker stepped to the inside, catching a glancing blow, but countered with a left elbow, which caught Bates in the jaw.
The SEAL immediately shifted his hips to deliver another uppercut with his right, followed by two left hooks with the Glock and a devastating right cross.
Walker focused his rage on the larger man before him, continuing his assault with elbows, knees, and fists.
You are running on reserves. Get on the gun before you die.
As Walker moved the Glock 22 into his right hand, Bates used his leg to propel himself off the overturned vehicle at his back, knocking the pistol into the mud.
Walker adjusted to the charge and wrapped his right arm around Bates’s bald head in a front headlock. As Bates pressed the attack, Walker fell to the ground on his back, kicked his right leg up, and used the larger man’s momentum to flip Bates behind him into the wet soil.
Get your AR back in the fight before Bates finds that Glock.
Walker reached for the rifle that dangled from its sling but was close enough to see Bates grabbing for his pistol in the mud.
As both men scrambled to their feet in the rain, Bates punched the Glock toward Walker, who stepped toward the weapon and pivoted to the outside.
With the cop’s arm now trapped to his chest, Walker spun and threw Bates against the Charger, pinning him to the rear passenger door.
He turned his left hip and used it as a fulcrum, yanking back and breaking Bates’s arm above the elbow.
The Glock dropped to the ground as Bates howled in pain.
Walker continued his spin and elbowed Bates in the back of the head, hooking his arm around the cop’s throat. He then reversed directions and threw Bates over his right hip.
The cop landed on his pistol, rotated to the side, and snatched it with his offhand. Walker dropped his right knee into Bates’s stomach, catching the hand that held the weapon, but slipping off as Bates frantically tried to regain control.
As the two alpha males struggled in the mud for control of the pistol, Bates began to turn it toward the smaller SEAL.
Even with a broken arm and finger, he’s still bigger and stronger than you are.
But he’s not smarter.
Walker’s left hand wrapped around the police lieutenant’s neck, pulling it toward him while his right maintained contact with the pistol.
What would Paladin do?
Walker sank his teeth into the big man’s neck, which ignited a primal scream that reverberated through the rain.
The hysteria that sets in when a primeval animal tears into one’s neck in the dark of night allowed Walker to slide away in the slick mud and then claw his way back on top of his opponent.
Instead of pushing the pistol away, he pulled it toward his face and thrust his neck forward.
He opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of Bates’s wrist. As Bates screamed and his body thrashed, Walker bit into the man’s thumb and yanked the weapon from his grasp.
Bates rolled away, his retreat halted by the Charger.
Walker stood, weapon in hand. It was one he knew well. He tapped the magazine with the heel of his left hand to ensure it was still in place. Then he stepped back and performed a press check to ensure the round was chambered, then hit the back of the slide to make sure it was in battery.
He put the Glock into his waistband at the small of his back and brought the AR back into his shoulder.
“Why can’t you just die like everyone else?” Bates roared, holding his immobilized arm to his body.
“You have something on your wrist that doesn’t belong to you,” Walker said, his breathing labored, his voice raspy.
“You bit me, you fucking savage,” Bates howled.
“The watch.”
“The fucking watch? You want the fucking watch? Here, take it,” Bates said, rolling to his knees. He removed the Tudor from his wrist with his good hand and threw it at the SEAL.
Walker caught it and slid it into his pocket.
“You lose, Bates,” Walker said.
The lieutenant glanced over Walker’s shoulder, a smile coming to his lips.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Walker heard footsteps behind him and spun, rifle up, ready to engage.
“It’s me,” boomed Stanton’s voice through the wind and rain.
The FBI man was moving toward him, M4 in hand.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were going to the hospital.”
“I was. J.J. didn’t make it. She was dead before we hit the pavement.”
“Jarrett,” Bates said, “you going to arrest the most wanted man in Louisiana? You’ve got your man.”
“Don’t move, Bates,” Stanton shouted back.
Walker pivoted back to the lieutenant, his thumb moving his rifle’s selector to fire.
“You going to murder me in front of an FBI agent?”
Stanton moved down the hill and stopped next to Walker.
“Belle?” the SEAL asked.
“She’s in the car.”
“Jarrett, listen,” Bates said. “I’ll deal you in, call off the Salvadorans that are going to spend some time with your wife and daughters.
Only I can do that. That’s how this works.
You can be a live hero instead of a dead one.
Kill Walker. He’s got a rifle so it’s a justified shooting.
Kill him and be a hero, get the SAC job you want, save your family.
Wrap up the investigation; Connor Staub, Mexican cartel, and Walker are all guilty. That’s your move.”
Bates slowly got to his unsteady feet and lurched back against the overturned car, his right arm hanging limp at his side.
“If you won’t do it for justice, do it to save your wife and kids.”
Sirens blared in the distance.
“Not much time,” Bates observed. “State Police will be here soon. Kill that son of a bitch and make this right. Think of your family. Think of that pretty wife of yours.”
Stanton kept his eyes trained on Bates, who shifted his attention nervously between the two men with rifles.
“There is something you missed. The ‘why,’ ” he said, stalling for time.
“The why doesn’t matter as much after tonight,” Stanton responded.
“All right, you want to arrest me? Then fucking arrest me.”
“I’m not a cop,” Walker said.
“And I,” Stanton said, “I’m not here to arrest you.”
“You are a sworn federal law enforcement officer, Jarrett! I know you. Law and order every time. Justice. The system. Due process. You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man.”
Vehicles came to a stop at the top of the embankment, their sirens changing pitch, their red-and-blue lights cascading over the swamp.
Walker reached behind his back and tossed Bates’s pistol into the mud at the lieutenant’s feet. He turned his head, his eyes meeting those of the FBI man.
They looked back to Bates, raised their rifles, and fired.