Read Online Standoff: A Vin Cooper Novel by David Rollins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Rollins
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be a gang called the Barrio Azteca involved in some payback, or maybe the Los Zetas . There are a dozen theories floating around. No one’s sure, but everyone’s guessing. The FBI is gonna get involved.”
“So we can all relax then,” I quipped.
“And maybe the CIA.”
“Cancel all relaxation.”
“No one likes where this is headed; gonna bring all the vigilante crazies out of the woodwork looking for revenge. I just heard a couple of Mexican-Americans were shot at a Texaco up in Seattle. The word ‘payback time’ was spray-painted on the wall behind them. The last thing anyone wants is open season on US citizens who don’t have blue eyes. Do you know what happened? Other than what’s playing on CNN?”
I gave him a rundown up to the point where Macey made her late entrance, followed by the subsequent deductions in the hospital parking lot.
“Drugs will bring in the DEA,” Arlen said, more to himself. “And you’ve got a witness?”
“I’d call her a survivor. It’s the Lear pilot. She saw two black King Airs arrive, heard the shooting, and then saw the aircraft depart. Didn’t witness much else. She was out walking the desert, star-gazing.”
“Too bad.”
“Yeah.” It was, though if Macey had been close enough to see anything else it would’ve been the last thing she saw.
“What about the other Lear pilot? What’s his name … ?”
I heard paper being shuffled: Arlen had briefing notes.
“Rick Gartner,” I said. “As far as I know the guy’s still in a coma. No one’s taking odds on him snapping out of it.”
“Well, if you hear anything come of those roadblocks …”
“I’ll let you know,” I promised.
“What about our deserters?” Arlen asked once the bigger picture had been dealt with.
“I’d say Angus Whelt is checking into a suite in Cancún by now. And, as you know, Sponson’s lining up with twenty-six others at the medical examiner’s table. We’ll have to pick him up from the country coroner’s office when they’re done.”
“I’ll make the arrangements.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. I couldn’t chase Whelt south of the river. As for what was happening at Horizon Airport, being federal and limited to the affairs of the Air Force, OSI had no jurisdiction in what was a local, civilian investigation. Those facts put me right out of the picture.
“I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”
“Here” was Andrews AFB, in DC. I said goodbye and tossed the cell on the bed, exchanging it for the TV remote. I turned on the set bolted to a caged bracket on the wall and up came the picture of two women working on each other furiously with all the affection of a couple of carpenters hand sanding a cabinet. I changed channels and got a flicker of black before the picture returned to the two women rubbing each other raw. Forty minutes were about up anyway. I turned the thing off. Maybe Gomez and I could find someplace around here where we could get seriously tanked.
Five
Gomez was drunk. That made two of us. The Ranger waved a shot of tequila around in front of his shiny face.
“An Arab, a Frenchman, an American and a Mexican are ridin’ down the Interstate,” he said. “The Arab picks up an AK-47, shoots some rounds and then throws the gun out the window. The American asks him why he did that and the Arab says, ‘We got so many of these where I come from, I don’t care what happens to it.’ Next, the Frenchman picks up a bottle of wine, drinks a little and then throws it out the window. The American asks him why he did that and the Frenchman says, ‘We got so much wine in my country, I don’t care what happens to it.’ Then it’s the American’s turn: he picks up the Mexican and throws him out the window.”
Gomez laughed and it was funny and it was his joke and there was plenty of Mexican in him; so what was I gonna say? You can’t tell jokes like that?
A couple of other Hispanics in the bar fixed him with expressions that gave away
“So we can all relax then,” I quipped.
“And maybe the CIA.”
“Cancel all relaxation.”
“No one likes where this is headed; gonna bring all the vigilante crazies out of the woodwork looking for revenge. I just heard a couple of Mexican-Americans were shot at a Texaco up in Seattle. The word ‘payback time’ was spray-painted on the wall behind them. The last thing anyone wants is open season on US citizens who don’t have blue eyes. Do you know what happened? Other than what’s playing on CNN?”
I gave him a rundown up to the point where Macey made her late entrance, followed by the subsequent deductions in the hospital parking lot.
“Drugs will bring in the DEA,” Arlen said, more to himself. “And you’ve got a witness?”
“I’d call her a survivor. It’s the Lear pilot. She saw two black King Airs arrive, heard the shooting, and then saw the aircraft depart. Didn’t witness much else. She was out walking the desert, star-gazing.”
“Too bad.”
“Yeah.” It was, though if Macey had been close enough to see anything else it would’ve been the last thing she saw.
“What about the other Lear pilot? What’s his name … ?”
I heard paper being shuffled: Arlen had briefing notes.
“Rick Gartner,” I said. “As far as I know the guy’s still in a coma. No one’s taking odds on him snapping out of it.”
“Well, if you hear anything come of those roadblocks …”
“I’ll let you know,” I promised.
“What about our deserters?” Arlen asked once the bigger picture had been dealt with.
“I’d say Angus Whelt is checking into a suite in Cancún by now. And, as you know, Sponson’s lining up with twenty-six others at the medical examiner’s table. We’ll have to pick him up from the country coroner’s office when they’re done.”
“I’ll make the arrangements.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. I couldn’t chase Whelt south of the river. As for what was happening at Horizon Airport, being federal and limited to the affairs of the Air Force, OSI had no jurisdiction in what was a local, civilian investigation. Those facts put me right out of the picture.
“I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”
“Here” was Andrews AFB, in DC. I said goodbye and tossed the cell on the bed, exchanging it for the TV remote. I turned on the set bolted to a caged bracket on the wall and up came the picture of two women working on each other furiously with all the affection of a couple of carpenters hand sanding a cabinet. I changed channels and got a flicker of black before the picture returned to the two women rubbing each other raw. Forty minutes were about up anyway. I turned the thing off. Maybe Gomez and I could find someplace around here where we could get seriously tanked.
Five
Gomez was drunk. That made two of us. The Ranger waved a shot of tequila around in front of his shiny face.
“An Arab, a Frenchman, an American and a Mexican are ridin’ down the Interstate,” he said. “The Arab picks up an AK-47, shoots some rounds and then throws the gun out the window. The American asks him why he did that and the Arab says, ‘We got so many of these where I come from, I don’t care what happens to it.’ Next, the Frenchman picks up a bottle of wine, drinks a little and then throws it out the window. The American asks him why he did that and the Frenchman says, ‘We got so much wine in my country, I don’t care what happens to it.’ Then it’s the American’s turn: he picks up the Mexican and throws him out the window.”
Gomez laughed and it was funny and it was his joke and there was plenty of Mexican in him; so what was I gonna say? You can’t tell jokes like that?
A couple of other Hispanics in the bar fixed him with expressions that gave away
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