Cut Out (32 page)

Riley knew that the sniper was directly ahead, but he didn’t know if the man had an angle on the walkway. It was a chance he had to take. To stay up on the observation deck was suicide.

Kramer twisted the focus on the PSG1 and scanned down from the deck. Three figures appeared; their lower bodies were below the concrete wall on either side, but their upper bodies were totally exposed to his direct vector. Kramer let the red dot of his laser sight flicker from one to the other to the third, then he settled on his first target.

Ferguson had seen the last explosion on the tower and could only interpret it as some sort of distress signal. He got on his radio and called the Park Service for help as he maneuvered his aircraft in closer.

Master heard the helicopter but it didn’t concern him. “Finish them,” he ordered Dewar, who obediently blooped another round onto the observation deck.

The round exploded thirty feet behind Riley. “Keep going!” Riley yelled at Lisa. He was surprised when she jerked backward against them, almost knocking Giannini to the ground. The echo of the sniper rifle confirmed his fear as he bent over the woman. A pool of blood was spreading from the wound in her throat.

“Oh fuck,” Riley muttered, meeting Giannini’s eyes over the body. He reached forward and threw her to the floor, behind Lisa’s body.

“Shit,” Kramer muttered, as the two dipped below his line of sight. “I got one of them,” he reported to Master over the radio. “One of the women. They’re about forty feet down the ramp and they’re on the floor, out of sight now.”

“Got that?” Master asked Dewar, who was lying next to him.

“Yeah.” Dewar loaded another HE cartridge, shifted his sights along the walkway, and fired. The round just barely missed, flying over the walkway and exploding in the trees on the far side.

Riley could see the red laser dot flickering against the concrete just above their heads. He estimated they had about a six-inch safety margin that was keeping them from getting their heads blown off. He watched the dot for a few seconds, gauging its movement. Then he heard the chatter of helicopter blades coming closer.

He leaned his head next to Giannini’s. “How is she?”

Giannini was searching vainly for a pulse. “She’s gone.”

“How high do you think we are above the ground?”

“Twenty—thirty feet, maybe.”

Riley’s hands had begun moving even as he asked her. He unhooked the coiled twelve-foot length of nylon rope that was attached to the right shoulder of his combat harness and swiftly tied a fixed loop on one end. He reached up and flipped it over the metal railing bolted to the inside of the wall. A shot chipped concrete splinters less than four inches from Riley’s hand, informing him that the sniper was still on station and alert.

Riley slipped the free end of the rope through the loop and pulled it tight as another HE round flew overhead. Riley grabbed the fixed end of the rope, pressed it into the snap link on the front of his vest, and did two twists. He tapped Giannini. “Here’s the plan . . .”

“He’s doing something,” Dewar reported.

“What is it?” Master asked.

“I don’t know.”

Master rolled his eyes. “Give me that damn thing,” he said to Dewar, grabbing the grenade launcher out of his hands.

Riley jumped up and rolled over the concrete wall, the rope screaming through the snap link, barely slowing him. He slammed the hand holding the rope against his chest, braking barely a foot from the end of the rope.

Kramer snapped off a hurried shot, then tried to settle in on the target hanging on the rope, when the other woman appeared in the corner of the scope, firing on automatic with a FA-MAS. Kramer ducked down as bullets cracked by overhead.

Riley released the brake, the free end of the rope passed through his hand, and he free-fell the remaining fifteen feet to the ground, doing a reasonably good parachute landing fall on the pine needles. He hopped to his feet and immediately ran to the west, 9mm pistol held out front.

The last piece of brass flew out of the ejector port of the FA-MAS, and Giannini turned around and sprinted back toward the observation deck, reloading as she went.

Kramer rolled back to his stomach, put his eye to the scope, and stared in surprise at the empty rope dangling. Then he swung the scope up and spotted Giannini running back up the ramp. He was centering the red dot on the middle of her back when his entire field of vision was blocked out by something close appearing in the scope. Kramer pulled away from the eyepiece and was greeted by the sight of Riley charging toward him, less than thirty feet away. Kramer reflexively snapped off a wild, unaimed shot. Riley halted, swung up the 9mm, and smoothly fired off two shots, the first one hitting Kramer in the shoulder and punching him back, away from the gun, the second hitting him on the point of the nose, killing him instantly.

Riley hurriedly made up the remaining distance and claimed the PSG1 for his own use, grabbing two extra magazines off the dead body.

As Master reloaded the grenade launcher, he had watched Riley execute the short rappel and then disappear beyond the curve of the hill. Master fired at the point where the rope hung over the edge of the wall and was gratified to see that his aim was true as the round landed in the walkway.

Giannini heard the explosion down the walkway and popped up with the FA-MAS to let off a quick burst in the direction of the grenade firing. The sound of the helicopter had gotten louder, and she peeked out. The aircraft was no more than a mile away and heading directly for the observation tower. She sat down, pressed her back against the wall, and waited.

“What are you doing?” the man in the backseat asked Ferguson.

“I think someone might need help,” Ferguson answered as he closed on the tower. “It looks like someone is setting off some type of signal up ahead.” He slowed down as he approached, trying to figure out what was happening.

Master could see the helicopter closing. About the last thing he needed right now was witnesses. He briefly considered firing on the chopper with the M-203, then just as quickly decided that was a bad idea. He hunkered down and lay low.

Ferguson came to a hover less than twenty feet away from the tower and about ten feet above it. He spotted a body at the base of the tower and also one on the walkway.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, taking in the carnage. He added some more choice curses as a woman suddenly appeared on the observation deck with an automatic weapon aimed directly at the cockpit.

“Get us out of here!” the man in the backseat screamed into his headset.

Through the windshield Ferguson locked eyes with the woman. At this range she could put at least one magazine into his bird without much trouble at all. And he knew that a helicopter was an intrinsically delicate piece of machinery—never mind his body also being somewhat vulnerable to bullets. The woman gestured with her free hand, making very clear to Ferguson what she wanted. He wasn’t sure he could do it, but looking directly into the muzzle of her gun, he decided he had no choice. He looked again at the sprawled bodies. This woman obviously wasn’t afraid to use that gun. He flew closer to the tower.

Through the scope of the PSG1, Riley scanned the trees next to the path below him. He was lying in the prone position about midway between the tower and the spot where the grenades had been launched. He spared a quick glance back at the tower and could see the helicopter pilot maneuvering in close. So far, so good.

Giannini kept the FA-MAS at the ready until the last moment. She felt extremely exposed as she balanced on the rim of the concrete wall, one hand holding onto the overhead, but she had to trust that Riley had her covered. The pilot was slowly edging in the right skid, the blades coming dangerously close to the overhead.

Master stole a peek and suddenly understood what was happening. “Take out the bird!” he ordered Dewar, who was holding the FA-MAS.

Dewar rolled to his knees and sighted in on the aircraft. Riley’s first shot was right between Dewar’s eyes, blowing him back, the body rolling downhill and over the edge, disappearing into the gorge.

Thought so, Master said to himself, the death of his partner confirming his suspicions about Riley’s position. The helicopter would have to be ignored for the time being.

The helicopter skid was only two feet away but it seemed like a hell of a long way to Giannini. She looked at the pilot: his eyes were fixed on the overhang, his hands glued to the controls. She released the FA-MAS, letting it fall to the ground, then stepped out with her right foot, feeling it touch the vibrating skid. She paused for a fraction of a second, then reached with both hands, grabbed the frame around the windshield, and pulled herself across, her left foot letting go of her earthly perch.

She stepped up and into the helicopter and settled into the copilot’s seat as Ferguson pushed his cyclic to the side. They separated from the tower. “Get away from here!” she screamed at him. He turned the aircraft and flew rapidly to the south.

With the departure of the helicopter, silence reigned on Clingmans Dome. Master lay motionless, tuning in all his senses, waiting for some sign from Riley. There was nothing. During Master’s first combat tour in Vietnam, he had learned that patience was an essential virtue for a warrior; he was prepared to outwait Riley.

Ferguson’s first thought was to fly directly to Cherokee and land in the parking lot of the police station. The woman had dropped the rifle before getting on board, so he felt reasonably safe, and he wanted to get rid of his unwelcome passenger as quickly as possible.

Giannini reached up, took the headset off the ceiling, and put it on. “Where are you going?”

Ferguson didn’t answer, keeping his eyes focused on the terrain ahead. An ungentle nudge caught his attention. He looked down to see a very large muzzle poking into his side.

“Where are you going?” Giannini repeated.

“Wherever you want to go,” Ferguson replied.

“Good answer,” Giannini said. She glanced at the couple frozen in the backseat. “Let’s drop our guests off first. You got a map?”

Time was not Riley’s ally and he knew it. The best tactical course of action was a withdrawal, but he was tired of running. He lifted his cheek off the stock of the sniper rifle. “Hey! You down there. I can’t see you and you can’t see me, so let’s talk.”

Master heard Riley, but at the moment he was busy. “I want Surveillance One up here now!” he hissed into the portable phone. “I also want you to send a unit to the helipad for that charter company we used. One of our targets is on that bird and I want her policed up. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then do it!” He flipped shut the phone.

“I know you got help on the way,” Riley yelled out. “You may even beat that helicopter to the ground, but I doubt it. Because it isn’t going back to wherever it took off from. So even if you get me, the chase starts all over again. Let’s end it now!”

A half minute of silence dragged by, then Riley was rewarded with a reply. “There’s only one way to end this. You know it and I know it.”

“That isn’t so,” Riley called back. “You’ve got the main person you came for. Lisa Cobb is dead and her body—what’s left of it—is up on the tower.”

“I can’t let you walk. You know too much.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Riley replied. “You might get me, but I’ll take a bunch of your people with me. Already have,” he added. “My partner’s gone and you don’t know where she’s heading. We know who you are and who you work for; Hammer told us. If you don’t let me walk, my partner will tell every damn newspaper and news show in the country. They’ll all know what happened here and what’s been happening. Knowledge is power and we have it.”

A long silence ensued.

“All right,” Master said finally. “You can walk.”

“Bullshit,” Riley said. “I got no reason to trust you and you got no reason to trust me. You know who I am and you’ll be after my ass in a heartbeat. Here’s the deal. You report back to the people who gave you the contract and say you killed everyone. That’s the only way I won’t have to look over my shoulder every day.”

“What do I get?” Master asked.

“You get to close out your contract right here and now without losing any more people. My partner’s free and she won’t be easy to find. I’m sure your employer would not be happy with that loose end.”

Riley’s finger tightened on the trigger of the sniper rifle as Master stood up. Riley forced himself to relax as Master walked onto the tar path. “Let me see you,” Master yelled.

Riley stood, keeping the rifle aimed at Master, who held both his empty hands away from his sides.

“I have to give you credit,” Master said. “You’re the first contract that didn’t go down like I planned.”

“Murphy’s Law,” Riley came back, unable to think of a more cogent reply.

“Yeah,” Master conceded. “No bad feelings, I hope.”

Riley couldn’t believe his indifference. There were four dead people up here on the hill—never mind how many had died so far—and it was all in a day’s work to this guy. And he didn’t want any bad feelings. Riley went along with him: “No, none.”

“I’m glad you understand how the game’s played,” Master added. “Hammer was a loose cannon.”

Riley knew Master was stalling for time, but Riley also had to wait. “You think this is a game?” The absolute absurdity of the situation hit him—the two of them standing there making small talk.