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shotgun and a handgun. Shotguns, especially over several hundred yards of open ground, would be hopelessly outranged by the AK-47s our opponents seemed to have.
    “Ah, ten-four. One, these guys have AKs. You ten-four on that?”
    “Ten-four.” He was. Lamar wasn’t a ballistics expert, but he knew enough about 7.62mm rounds. He’d been hit just above the ankle with one fired by a barricaded suspect in 1996. He hadn’t been able to walk well since, and hadn’t had a single day without pain. He was lucky he still had a foot.
    “Where you at, Three?”
    Now there was the question. I felt the chances of the opposition listening in on our radio traffic were probably not too good. Nonetheless, I wasn’t certain I wanted to reveal our exact position. I looked up at Sally, at the other end of the mike cord.
    “What do you think? Should we just go ahead and tell?”
    “I’d really like to get out of here.”
    That wasn’t what I’d asked. But there was no rescue possible if they went to the wrong building.
    “We’re in the barn, One. The basement.”
    “Ten-four.”
    “Except George—he’s in the loft. He’s lookout.”
    “Ten-four,” said Lamar, and as he spoke, I heard a siren over his mike. The troopers were beginning to arrive.
    “We think most of the suspects are in the shed. The one on the other side of the barn from you.”
    “The one with the metal roof?”
    “That’s it. As far as I can tell. We haven’t seen any movement in the last few minutes.”
    “Okay, Carl. I’ll be back up on the radio in about five minutes.”
    “Ten-four, One. Glad to have you here.”
    Sally called George. He was fine, and hadn’t seen any movement for several minutes. He thought he might be able to see fairly well to our front, as soon as he could finish up moving moldy hay bales away from the walls. He’d been unable to get even close to the front wall because they’d been stacked almost to the ceiling.
    Sally and I both gave our full attention to peering out through the gaps in the boards and trying to see if there was anybody moving around the tin shed. Nothing.
    “You ‘spose they left?” she asked.
    “Might have,” I said. I didn’t think so, though. “I think there’s a better chance they’re just gettin’ reorganized.”
    We waited. About ten minutes after he’d said he’d be back in five, Lamar called.
    “Go ahead,” said Sally. She started to move closer to me, to hand over the mike again.
    “You relay,” I said. “I think I see something moving.”
    She just paused for a moment, and then said, “Go ahead for Three. He can hear you.”
    “We got people on the road on the other side of the valley, and in the bottom, and up on the hill past the farm,” said Lamar. “More comin’ all the time.”
    “Good,” I said. That meant that the area was being surrounded, to cut off the escape of just whoever was shooting at us. But as I looked, I was certain something was moving, to our left, behind a screen formed by an old woven wire fence and a bunch of scrub that had grown up entangled through it.
    “Three advises ‘good,’ One,” said Sally.
    “Tell him to stand by,” I said, and brought my rifle up to my shoulder.
    “Stand by,” said Sally. I heard her move away to my right.
    “Left,” I said. “Behind the old wire fence. Really down low…”
    As I spoke, a figure rose up, threw something, and disappeared back into the scrub.
    There was a loud thump, as though a heavy rock had struck the barn above our heads.
    “He throw a
rock?
“asked Sally.
    Then the “rock” exploded.

CHAPTER 03
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18, 2001 18:11
    JUST AS SOON AS LAMAR WAS ABLE TO round up enough deputies and reserves to secure the crime scene, Hester and I headed for Battenberg. We took the scenic route, because we had to go back the way we’d come to avoid driving through the area where the lab crew was working. Or, as Lamar put it succinctly, “Don’t go traipsin’ through the scene.”
    The six