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considered to be one of the three best 9mms made, the other two the slightly
larger SIG 226 and the KAHR Arms MK9. The gun Forrester took from a strong
side carry beneath his coat was also a SIG. The driver slid his right hand
through the pocket opening of his raincoat as he stepped outside.
Forrester and the driver, whose name Culhane hadn't caught, took the front,
Culhane accompanying the ONI agent to the rear of the house. Two SWAT-geared
Charleston police officers accompanied Forrester, two more with Culhane and
the woman, the SWAT guys with their HK MP-5 submachineguns decked out with
lasers, flashlights and suppressors.
The ONI agent ran through the rain along the driveway that separated Candler's
house from its nearest neighbor, her high heels clicking on the pavement, her
purse slung from her left shoulder, the SIG extended in both her tiny fists in
the classic 'Miami Vice' water-witching hold.
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At the rear of the house, she stopped, flattening herself against the wall by
the back stairs, Culhane edging up beside her. "Stay back. Mr. Culhane there
might be shooting."
"Gee " Culhane just looked away and shook his head.
"All right keep behind me but not too close. If there is gunfire, stay down.
The local police are going in first, so you'll be all right."
This was carrying the inverse of chauvinism too far. Culhane thought. He
reached down to the ground beside him; there was a piece of two by four, about
four feet long, lying there, and it looked not to be rotted yet. He picked it
up. "You stay behind me," and Culhane took the stairs three at a time, hearing
the click of her heels behind him, the two SWAT guys behind her. Culhane
reached the back porch. The back door was half glass and Culhane shouted,
"Swiss Navy you're under arrest!" as he swung the two by four through the
glass, the glass shattering.
Culhane flung the two by four section through the opening, reached through and
found the lock. He twisted it, then the knob, kicking the door inward and
stepping back.
Nothing happened.
The ONI agent was beside him. "That was a bonehead play, Mr. Culhane."
"What's your name?" he asked her.
"Margaret Case Lieutenant Margaret Case."
"Okay Maggie you've got the gun let's go for it," and nodded defferentially
to her.
She smiled then shook her head as if in disgust. She started for the door,
flanking it on the left, Culhane flanking it on the right. The two SWAT
officers exchanged meaningful glances and criss-crossed as they stormed
through the door.
Maggie still held her pistol in both fists, ready. Culhane behind her as she
ran through the opening. She dropped into a crouch, her skirt to her thighs,
behind the kitchen island that dominated the center of the room and housed the
six burner stainless steel range. Culhane ducked beside the refrigerator.
The two SWAT officers, were already clearing the hallway when Culhane heard a
crash from the front of the house. The noise probably originated from the two
Feds and two SWAT officers who'd come in at the front of the house. But, just
in case, Culhane broke into a dead run toward the sound's origin, a large,
heavy Chinese cleaver plucked off the wall and clenched in his right fist. The
ONI agent, Margaret Case, was behind him.
He reached the front hall, the second FBI agent visible behind a couch.
Forester at the base of the stairs leading to the second floor and the
bedrooms.
"What the hell was that about the Swiss Navy, for God's sake and that glass
breaking?"
Culhane started to answer Forester but Margaret Case interrupted. "Just Mr.
Culhane being macho let's go," and she started up the stairs, slowly.
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Forrester beside her, the second FBI agent falling in at their rear, taking
the stairs sideways, his gun pointed down. Two of the SWAT officers led the
way, the others securing the main floor. Culhane moved along beside the second
FBI agent, nearer to the wall.
They reached the height of the stairs, Margaret Case and one SWAT officer
taking the left, Forester and the other SWAT officer crossing the hall to the
right. The second FBI agent the driver of the Suburban still covered behind
them with his submachinegun.
"FBI, Mr. Candler come out slowly with your hands empty and raised over your
head!" It was Forester's voice.
Culhane looked at Forester. Forester was looking down the hallway.
"There's nobody here," Culhane whispered, then realized there wasn't any
reason to whisper. He stepped into the hall, Margaret Case starting to caution
him. Culhane just shaking his head. He walked to the bedroom door, looked
inside. The bed still showed the signs of Momma Cinda having been there.
Culhane's leather sport coat lay on the floor beside a chair. Culhane's eyes
drifted toward the dresser his SIG, the two spare magazines for it, his
Seecamp, his knife, his cellphone.
Culhane started to reach for his belongings, but Forester pushed past him.
"Evidence."
"Evidence?"
"If you can prove they're yours, you'll get them back at least from us. The
Charleston police might be a different matter."
Culhane straight armed Forester in the chest, slamming him against the wall,
Forrester's gun coming up. Culhane just stared at him. "Look there's almost
seventeen thousand tons of nuclear holocaust heading this way, and what looks
like the grandaddy of all hurricanes coming with it. The woman I love is a
prisoner of a Cuban agent who's responsible for this somehow and the guy's
also some cockamamie devil worshipper. Momma Cinda's daughter is the prisoner
of Hanks and Candler and you ask me to worry about some damned fool gun laws?
Grow up," and Culhane reached for the SIG.' He press-checked the chamber by
edging the slide back a little the chamber was still loaded, the magazine
fully loaded as well. He stuffed the pistol into his trouser band, then he
looked at Forester.
Forester just glared at him. The second FBI agent was still in the hall. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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