Hard Target (25 page)

DeSantos nodded toward the window, where, in the distance, a large black truck was pulling to a stop behind Bishop’s parked car. “Cavalry’s arrived. Let’s go fill them in.”

7:14 PM

114 hours 46 minutes remaining

Law enforcement personnel swarmed the area. Outside the boundaries of the yellow police tape, news crews and reporters jockeyed for position as close to Tad Bishop’s body as they could get. Keeping to accepted convention, the police established two distinct crime scenes: the first where Bishop was killed, and the second where the sniper was hunkered down. Either way, definitive answers were a long time coming.

A core contingent from Uzi’s task force had been notified, and as they arrived he attempted to connect the dots for them—without leading them to Knox or Coulter. But with a couple dozen agents sniffing around, chances were decent they would eventually stumble onto the Knox connection, lessening the blow Shepard would endure when the dust settled.

But even if they didn’t identify the connection, all was not lost. Knox had something on Uzi; it couldn’t hurt for Uzi to have something on Knox as well. It might just keep everyone honest.

Hoshi arrived in the second wave of cars that descended on the scene. She approached the area cautiously. At first Uzi thought it was because she was using her analytic skills to appraise the logistics of what had gone down. But when she reached him, he realized her face was white and her eyes moist.

“Hoshi, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know why I feel this way. It’s not like I knew the guy well. He was a source, someone who fed me info. Half the time I just let him ramble on about how the NFA was controlling our government. After a while, I think I became numb to all of it. I stopped listening.” She looked out over the body bag the coroner was zipping twenty feet away. “And now this.”

“Hold it,” Uzi said. “You did the right thing putting me in touch with him. Bishop was on to something, and whether or not he told us, he was already on their radar. Someone didn’t want his nose where he was sticking it.”

“Maybe I could’ve prevented it. Warned him somehow. Protected him.”

Uzi took her by the shoulder and led her away from the body. “The guy used to be a PI. He knew there were dangers in what he was doing. He was naturally paranoid. He knew something was up but he felt he had to keep digging.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Listen to me. He felt he had to do this. He didn’t do it for Hoshi Koh. He did it for Tad Bishop. He had his reasons.”

She bobbed her head. “I guess.”

“‘Guess’ all you want. You know I’m right.” He stopped walking, dropped his arm from her shoulder, and faced her. “It’s tough to lose someone like this. I know, it’s happened to me. But the kind of work we do... These are the risks we face.”

Uzi caught sight of DeSantos talking to Douglas Knox, who had arrived at the scene. In the distance, it appeared as if his partner was filling in the director on what had gone down. Uzi excused himself and started toward them, but a hand hooked on his forearm and stopped him in midstride. It was Leila.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Nice greeting. Did they teach you that at the Academy, or am I seeing one of your undesirable sides?”

“Abruptness? One of my undesirable sides. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m on M2TF. Didn’t Shepard tell you?”

Shepard’s name sent a pang of guilt through him.

The moment was approaching when he’d have to lie to his friend about Knox’s personal directive to continue the ARM investigation. Friendships didn’t come easy to him, but when he did find one, he held onto it dearly. Until this blew over, at which point he’d level with Shepard, he would avoid him whenever possible.

“I haven’t seen him much. I’ve been a little busy.” Uzi shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to have you on board.”
And I’ll get to see more of you this way. How could I complain about that?
“You got my text, I take it.”

“If I hadn’t, I’d think you stood me up and I wouldn’t be so civil.”

“True.” Uzi caught a glimpse of one of his agents approaching with a member of the forensic crew. “So welcome, officially, to the team. Do you know what your role is here?”

“ADIC Yates and ASAC Shepard assigned me to you, as the liaison between M2TF and JTTF.” She raised her eyebrows seductively. “And I always know my role, Uzi.” She turned and walked off, leaving him to gaze at her rear as she moved down the path.

“Uzi.”

He turned to see one of his task force agents approaching with a forensic tech at her side. “Well, well, well. Tim I-never-met-a-steak-I-didn’t-like Meadows,” Uzi said, extending a hand and flashing a broad smile. “How you doing?”

“You two know each other?” the agent asked.

“Best high-tech guru we’ve got in CART,” Uzi said. “’Course I know him.” He turned to Meadows. “What are you doing out and about? I didn’t think you ever left your lair.”

“Very funny, Uzi. I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Oh, wait a minute. You never had one. This must be something new you’re trying out.”

“I’ll leave you two to talk shop,” the agent said, then moved back toward the secondary crime scene.

“Seriously. This isn’t somewhere I’d expect to find you.”

“I got a call from Shepard,” Meadows said. “He needed a favor.”

“I don’t see any motherboards or hard drives out here.”

“You think that’s all I can do?”

“I guess I know better than to assume that.”

“I told Shepard it’d cost him a meal at Angelo & Maxie’s. He said to talk to you about it.”

“If your info’s any good, you got a deal.”

“If my info’s any good?”

Uzi clapped him on the back. “Glad you’re here. We need all the help we can get.”

“I’ve already got some stuff. You want to hear it?”

Uzi crossed his arms over his chest. “No, Tim. Keep it to yourself.”

“There’s that biting humor again. I’m beginning to think it borders on sarcasm.”

“No borders about it.”

“Did someone say sarcasm?” The voice emanated from their left, in a patch of darkness. Stepping forward into a spot of light was Karen Vail.

“Well, there you go,” Meadows said. “The very embodiment of sarcasm.”

“Glad to see you here,” Uzi said.

Vail shrugged. “You know how it is. No desire to have a life, always at the Bureau’s service.” She sang, ‘You just call out my name and I’ll be there, yes I will....’”

“James Taylor,” Meadows said.

Vail looked over her shoulder. “Where?”

Uzi rolled his eyes, then nodded at the plastic evidence bag hanging from Meadows’s left hand. “What’ve you got?”

“Oh. This. Yeah, this is that empty brass casing you found...7.62 round, I’d say. Exactly what type of round, I don’t know yet. There are a lot of similar 7.62 cartridges. When I get back to the lab, I’ll throw it under the microscope. I should be able to tell you which type of rifle was used.”

“Our guess,” Uzi said, “is that the guy used a suppressor. The sound was kind of dispersed—”

“Very good. Yes,” Meadows said. “A suppressor will scatter the crack of the shot. The cartridge travels faster than sound and makes a fairly loud sonic boom. In a sniper situation, using a suppressor doesn’t mask the sound, especially on a round as big as this one is. What it does do is change the sound signature enough that the target is unable to determine which direction the shot came from, so he can’t return fire.”

“We already knew that.”

“I didn’t know that,” Vail said.

“You know serial killer shit,” Meadows said. “None of us expect you to know about high-powered sniper rifles.”

Vail tilted her head. “‘Serial killer shit’? You think that’s all I’m good for?”

“Tim.” Uzi shook his head. “Tim, my man. You just stepped into some seriously rank horse poop.”

Meadows looked from Vail to Uzi and back to Vail. “That is what I said, but it’s not what I meant. I mean, we all have our specialties. And you’re so good at what you do that I don’t look at you as having such a broad knowledge base dealing with the kind of minutiae I wade through.”

“I accept your lame apology,” Vail said. “Mostly because you’re a tough guy to stay angry with.”

Meadows shifted his feet. “Do you? Know a lot about rifle calibers and the science of suppressor technology?”

“Hell no,” Vail said. “I know serial killer shit. Other things, too. But not that kind of picayune stuff. Especially suppression technology.”

“Suppressor,” Meadows said with a frown.

“Speaking of suppressors,” Uzi said. “Can a device like the one our shooter used affect the accuracy of a shot?”

“Unlike our Renaissance-ish FBI profiler,” Meadows said, “you ask good questions. Have I ever told you that?”

“Couple a dozen times.”

Meadows zipped the jacket up to his neck, then began walking. “That’s debatable. My sense is that it depends a lot on the particular weapon matched with a specific suppressor. Good match, less chance it’ll divert the shot. But it definitely shouldn’t affect accuracy to the point where a trained sniper would miss completely.”

Uzi’s head snapped up. “How’d you know that’s what I was asking?”

“’Cause I’m smart and I know how you guys think.”

Uzi frowned. “Here’s the deal. Three guys are standing around talking and one of them gets popped from three, four hundred yards away. So was the guy actually aiming for me or my partner and missed? At four hundred yards, an inch or two is only significant to the guy who gets nailed and the guy who lives to tell about it.”

“As good as I am, as we all are—Karen excluded—I don’t think I can answer that one. As much as I want to ease your mind.”

Uzi stopped walking, and Meadows and Vail did likewise. “It’s more than just easing my mind. It’s a matter of pointing us in the right direction. This investigation takes on a different flavor if I’m the target—or my partner—instead of Tad Bishop.”

“Understood,” Meadows said. “I’ll do my best to answer whatever questions you’ve got.”

“I have an opinion on this,” Vail said.

“You mean a guess?” Meadows quipped.

“Uh, no, Tim. An informed opinion. If this is the work of a pro—and that seems to be the case here—a pro would match his equipment well, wouldn’t he? The best suppressor to the best rifle, just like he measures dew point, humidity, wind conditions, and so on to make sure that when he pulls the trigger, he stands a damn good chance of hitting his intended target. Not the guy standing next to him.”

“Well, well,” Meadows said. “The distinguished lady from the BAU does know a thing about snipers.”

“Yeah,” Vail said. “Or two.”

Uzi pulled a toothpick from its plastic wrapper and stuck it in his mouth as he looked off, surveying his colleagues swarming the area. “Deductions are great. But I want as definitive an answer as possible.”

Meadows pulled another evidence bag from his pocket. “I’ll get right on it.”

“Let me know as soon as you figure it out.”

“I know, you need it yesterday.”

Uzi held out a hand. “Hey, did I say that?”

“No, but I’m so used to hearing—”

“This one I need day
before
yesterday.”

Meadows stared deadpan at Uzi. “It’s almost nine o’clock. I was off three hours ago.”

“And now you’re back on.”

“You suck, you know that?”

Uzi nodded. “That’s what they tell me.”

“McCormick and Schmick’s. That’s where I want to go.”

Uzi winced. “That hurts, Tim.”

“A little pain is healthy, didn’t you tell me that once?”

Uzi jutted his chin back. “I never said that.”

“Well, someone did.”

“I did,” Vail said. “When I kicked you in the balls for insulting my new haircut.”

“You never kicked me,” Meadows said.

“You’re lucky. I really wanted to.”

Uzi pointed at the Ziploc-enclosed brass casing. “I want the answer, Tim. Fast. Even if it means working through the night.”

Meadows groaned.

“The way I see it,” Vail said, “sometimes you just gotta bite the bullet.”

NINETY MINUTES LATER, MOST of the task force members had secured what they needed and left. The forensic crew thinned as well, most of the evidence collection having been accomplished in the first hour at both crime scenes. They focused on the assassin’s perch, hoping to find an errant identifying mark in or around the house. With a handful of technicians remaining to finish combing the grounds, Uzi found Leila hovering around Bishop’s vehicle.

“Find anything?”

“Nothing useful. Just the usual stuff we all keep in our cars. No tracking devices. Most importantly, no smoking guns.”

Uzi cringed. “That was bad.”

Leila grinned. “I thought it was quite clever.”

He grabbed a peek at his watch. “So much for dinner at Amir’s. How about something that’s still open?”

“According to Shepard, you’re the boss. If you say it’s time to quit, we quit.”

“One thing you’ll learn about me, Leila, is that I never quit. But all good intelligence officers know that when you’re facing uncertain or unstable situations, and you get a chance to eat, you take it—because you never know when you’ll get another.”

“Very good. I didn’t realize you were ever in intelligence.”

“Actually,” Uzi said with a chuckle, “intelligence is something I’ve never been accused of.” He motioned toward the street, then led the way to his car.

UZI HELPED LEILA PULL her chair up to the small, square table in the rear of Georgetown’s Thunder Burger & Bar. Despite the hour, the place was abuzz with talk and laughter. Uzi sat down heavily, then leaned back as the waitress set two cocktail napkins on their table. Uzi picked up the menu—which was surprisingly diverse—and offered it to Leila. “Hungry?”

“Very. But it’s late. I’ll just have a Caesar salad.”

A rush of grief washed over Uzi. Dena made the best Caesar dressing he had ever tasted: just the right amount of garlic and anchovies. It was so good he would lick out the Cuisinart bowl while they were cleaning up the kitchen. Dena could whip up something sumptuous from scratch, with whatever ingredients she had in the apartment.

Uzi couldn’t cook a can of soup, let alone figure out what all the different mixing bowls and oven settings were for. His mother never taught him the ways of the kitchen, but to be fair, he’d had no desire to learn. He was too interested in playing football, a tag game known as Ringalevio, or riding his bicycle.