Blood Lines (29 page)

“We're in a hurry?” Remy asked.

“We are.” Will tapped the brake, then accelerated around a delivery truck and briefly took the inside lane again. “So you think Shel has something on his mind?”

“Yep. On the way out of the hospital, I called Estrella and let her know. If anybody can get that jarhead to talk about the warm and fuzzy of his life, it's her.”

Will silently agreed. Shel and Estrella had been close ever since Shel had been assigned to the team. They shared a bond that partly came out of the language they shared, but he knew it was more than that too.

“Where are we headed so early?” Remy asked. “The PD is back the other way.”

As he drove, Will explained.

>> Alice's Café

>> Kings Drive

>> Charlotte, North Carolina

>> 0656 Hours

“Well,” Remy said a few minutes later, “nobody's going to miss them. It looks like a law enforcement convention.”

Will had to agree. Police cars and sheriff's deputies' vehicles filled the small parking area around Alice's Café and spilled over into the surrounding neighborhood. There was a mix of sedans and off-road vehicles, and Will could see a mix of police uniforms and sheriff's uniforms on the men standing by the cars.

“Do you think there are enough of them?” Remy asked with a grin.

“Victor Gant's biker club is pretty deep in manpower too.” Will pulled in behind Tarlton's car as the police chief flagged him down.

“Morning, Agent Coburn,” Tarlton greeted. “This is Sheriff Nolan Greene.” He indicated the tall, heavyset man in a sheriff's uniform.

Greene stood nearly six and a half feet tall and was built like a bear. He looked as though he was in his late forties. Gray brushed at his temples and robbed the color from his sandy-red hair. Freckles covered his round face. He wore a Sam Browne belt that supported a Desert Eagle .44 Magnum.

“Nolan's big enough to go hunting bears with a switch,” Tarlton said, “but he still packs that hand cannon.” He handed Will a white paper bag. “I figured you guys didn't take time for breakfast.”

“No.” Will dug into the bag and found it held biscuit sandwiches with sausage, breakfast steak, bacon, ham, and eggs. “Thanks.” He took one of the biscuits and passed the bag on to Remy.

Tarlton handed him a tall cup of coffee.

“Benny's always had this thing for tea parties,” Greene growled with mock sarcasm.

“Don't want to miss breakfast,” Tarlton said. “Most important meal of the day.”

Remy took a biscuit out and flipped it to Max. The Labrador caught the biscuit but didn't make it disappear until Remy gave him the command that it was all right.

“Army dog?” Greene asked.

“No, sir,” Remy replied. “This is a Marine.”

“Better-looking than some I've met,” Greene acknowledged, with a quick glance at Tarlton.

>> 0701 Hours

“Victor Gant is holed up in a closed warehouse,” Tarlton said. He pointed at the location on the street map spread across the hood of his car. “This neighborhood we're in, Cherry, is an older one. I won't bore you with the history, but it's had its ups and down.”

Will was vaguely familiar with the neighborhood's history. Cherry was one of Charlotte's older neighborhoods and had shuffled back and forth between affluence and poverty and between black and white and was currently being torn between private residences and strip malls.

“Factories and houses have come and gone around this neighborhood,” Tarlton said. “Back in the 1960s, the building in question was a machine shop. Supplied the war effort over in Vietnam. Back in the day, it offered a lot of jobs and helped stabilize the economy. In the 1990s, it went bust. A few other businesses tried locating there. Mom-and-pop shops. Storage facilities. Nothing worked. Then the Purple Royals bought it.”

“The motorcycle gang
bought
the building?” Remy asked.

Tarlton nodded. “Some of the biker gangs have put down legitimate roots. Set businesses up as fronts and even tax shelters. Hard to get popped on a vagrancy charge when you can prove you're employed somewhere.”

“What do they do there?” Will asked.

“It's a machine shop, mostly. That's what the lower floors are. Victor Gant hired a company to broker jobs for these guys.” Tarlton grinned. “They're so law-abiding there that they pay taxes.”

“Anybody ever gone in there for a look around?”

“Yeah. Place is run well. It's legit. Never found any drugs or contraband there.”

“They could use it as a chop shop,” Remy suggested.

Tarlton nodded. “They could. But I've never found any evidence that they do. They've even got a speed shop in the northeast corner of the building. Custom headers. Rims. Tires. The works. All legit.”

“The cover is tight,” Will said.

“That's what I'm saying. We'll have to be careful inside.”

“You're sure Victor Gant is there?”

“I know he is. After I talked to the kid at the medical examiner's office, I put one of my undercover guys on the site. He let me know Gant showed up there a couple hours ago.”

Will took that in. “You've got a warrant for Gant?”

“I do. Judge Carson signed off on a warrant for Gant's arrest for assault and for breaking and entering. The lock on the ME's office was juked.”

“Any evidence there?”

“Not yet. I've got a crime team looking for a matchup.”

“But you have Gant solid on the assault charge?”

Tarlton nodded. “That's dead-solid perfect. The kid from the ME's office picked Gant out of a six-pack. Kid knew it was Gant by name before we gave him the pics.”

“How did he know that?”

“He's been following the story.”

“How's he doing?”

Tarlton shrugged. “He's still in the ER. He's got some bruises and a few stitches. The doc was talking about keeping him for a few more hours in case there's a concussion. But he's going to be all right.”

“If it comes to it, will he testify?”

“Yeah. He's a stand-up kid.” Tarlton smiled a little. “He has visions of being a hero.”

“That's not a bad thing,” Will said. “That's why a lot of men get into this business.”

Will had come to the NCIS to get off shipboard duty and try to save his failing marriage. But he'd since learned a lot about the other law enforcement personnel and the passions that drove them.

“I always thought it was the cool uniforms,” Remy said with a straight face.

“They don't come any cooler than the Marine Corps,” Tarlton said.

“Marines can't touch Navy dress whites, Chief.”

“When are we going to do this?” Will interrupted before the friendly banter could continue.

“Well,” Tarlton said, “there's no time like the present.” He folded the map. “Let's roll.”

29

>> Hawthorne Machine Shop

>> Hawthorne Lane

>> Charlotte, North Carolina

>> 0729 Hours

Hawthorne Machine Shop sat back in a stand of old oak trees whose branches scraped the metal top of the two-story building. It was a rectangular cinder block building with a simple sign over the front of the north side that advertised Hawthorne Speed Shop. A black-and-white checkered flag hung above the doorway to the speed shop. A large window showed a selection of tires, rims, and other accessories in bright, gleaming chrome.

The west end of the building held another sign, announcing the presence of the Hawthorne Machine Shop. Both signs looked similar, standing on rectangular surfaces that were attached to the building by supports.

Both businesses were open.

“We got civilians on the premises,” Tarlton announced over the radio headsets.

At the back of the Taurus, Will and Remy suited up in the riot gear. In addition to helmets and Kevlar vests with
NCIS Agent
stenciled on the back, they also wore shoulder and knee protective gear and gloves to protect against abrasions and impacts.

Will and Remy used the buddy system, each checking the other off on the prep list as they readied themselves. Will carried one XD-40 on his right hip and another under his left arm.

Remy carried two Beretta M9s in the same positions.

Both of them left their M4 assault rifles in the equipment duffels, but they picked up chopped-down Mossberg pump-action shotguns that held five rounds and sported skeletal folding wire stocks.

“You ready?” Tarlton asked.

Will nodded. Adrenaline flooded his body, but he was used to the feeling and concentrated on his breathing. Remy was as relaxed as if he were out for a Sunday walk.

Lord,
Will prayed quietly,
keep us safe and let us do no harm.

After a brief radio check, they followed Tarlton's SWAT team onto the premises.

Will's stomach clenched in anticipation of what was about to take place.

Trying to fight the police and sheriff's department would be foolish, and Victor Gant was no fool, but Will knew the man was ruthless.

He kept moving, the shotgun in both hands and canted forward and down so he could snap it up into readiness at a moment's notice.

>> Allington Hotel

>> Charlotte, North Carolina

>> 0733 Hours

When the ringing phone woke him, FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Scott Urlacher cursed. He wanted to ignore it, but he knew he couldn't. He hadn't gotten promoted to his present position by ducking trouble when it came his way.

He grabbed the phone and barked, “Hello.”

“We've got a problem.”

It took Urlacher a moment to recognize the voice as one of the men he had watching over Victor Gant.

“I don't want to have a problem,” Urlacher replied.

“The local police, sheriff's deputies, and the NCIS are closing in on Gant's place over on Hawthorne.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. But they've come loaded for bear. Riot gear and a lot of men.”

“Find out,” Urlacher ordered. “And get the team there.” He pushed himself out of bed and grabbed for his pants. He wasn't about to let his plans for Victor Gant be thwarted by the likes of Will Coburn. Gant had managed to stay out of trouble for a long time. His son's death had put him up against the wall.