Gray Area (21 page)

Diamond got to him first.  Turner lifted his hand up to feel his
eyes.  He could see that his hand was missing, a bony, bloody stump in its
place. 

“Oh, Jesus,” Diamond snarled to himself.

Must not look too good, Turner noted inwardly.  Must be badly bunged
up, or chopped up.  If Lou Diamond looks worried, even remotely frazzled,
you can bet the chilly side of a witch’s tit that things were not looking
cheery.

Diamond suddenly turned and yelled to the police and paramedics that had
caught up with him. 

“I want a moment with him!” he said.

“He needs immediate—”

“I SAID I NEED A FUCKING MOMENT!” Diamond roared. 

The cops backed off, but the paramedics, momentarily bitching among
themselves, were indecisive.

Diamond didn’t waste time.

He leaned toward Turner.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

Turner could remember that much.  “Truck.  Big, semi-rig. 
Suits.  They knew me,” Turner fought for words. “Knew who I was.”

He began to convulse.  Diamond held on to him.  Blood gushed
from the dying man’s mouth, but it did not shut Turner up.  “You can’t—win
this one, old friend.  Walk away.  Now—”

Turner’s one good eye remained firmly fixed on Diamond.  The other
eye hung from a single strand of tissue, which suddenly snapped.  Diamond
looked away, not wanting to see where the eye fell to.

Turner’s breathing was ragged as he fought for, and found, his
voice.  “I’m outta here, buddy.  Careful.” Turner took one small
gasp, and then died.

“Lieutenant, for god’s sake—” one of the cops was urging from behind him.

Diamond nodded and allowed the paramedics to take over – a lost
cause.  Diamond stared at the smoking remains of Turner’s truck. 
They had killed his friend.  For what?  Because of him?  His
brother?  Had they tapped the last phone conversation between he and
Turner?

Yeah, that was probably it.

The forces behind whatever fueled Arc-Link and beyond, had no limitation
in scope and breadth and execution of deed.  Their power seemed to be
unlimited.  Turner was probably right. 

I should walk away from this.  Today.  Now.  Get Sonia,
pack the car, head down Mexico way and keep my goddamn mouth shut
.

But he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Diamond moved back up the cliff-face and got into this car.  He was
five minutes from Turner’s house.  Whoever had done this to Turner was
either still there or had finished ransacking the place, searching for an item
that only Turner and he knew about.

With any luck at all, they would still be there.

He hoped so.  Oh, yes, he really did.

TWENTY-NINE

He parked two blocks away, and moved with stealth toward the isolated two
bedroom townhouse Turner owned.  The house sat on top of a small mesa
along with two other townhouses.  From the air, they formed a perfect
triangle.

Diamond couldn’t see any other cars parked in front of Turner’s
place.  Not that this meant a damn thing.  Like him, whoever had
killed Turner had decided on the non-obvious approach to breaking and
entering.  In other words, they had parked their vehicles some distance
away.  Possibly.

It was a foolhardy thing to do, but he figured no one would ever expect
an old fashioned kick the door down kind of approach toward entering.  The
front door caved as he punted it inward.  Gun up, he spotted all points on
the compass, save his rear.  Nothing.  No one.  So far, so good.

The living room was predictably a mess.  Not unlike what Robert
August’s room resembled several hours earlier.  Pillows from the couch had
been rended, every glass and plate in the place was junk on the floor. 
Diamond give a damn about what was taken from the living room.

He knew that what he searched for was out in the garden.  Only he
and Turner knew of the secret hiding place of so many years.

Diamond moved past the mess in the front room then exited the terrace,
gun still poised.  He doubted very much if whoever had done this was still
around, but he would take no chances.

Diamond looked across the garden at the only tree standing.  An oak
loomed toward the sky against the far fence.  The tree was dying, its
branches had long ago given up hope of ever producing leaves again.  From
here, Diamond could see the small clump of bushes at the tree’s base.

The bushes that covered a small trap door.

Diamond ran across the garden and tore the bushes away from tree, ripping
open the small trap door in the ground.  He pulled out a single file
folder and noticed there were still more items in the small dirt compartment.

He reached in and pulled out a .45 automatic pistol and a full
clip. 

“Turner, you beautiful bastard,” he said, his eyes beginning to tear.

And then the world exploded.  It was suddenly raining bullets and
they were coming damn close to him.  He crawled quickly behind the large
oak.  Strafing fire now took out the windows of Turner’s house and made
its way in a bee-line toward the oak that protected Diamond.

They knew he was here.  Had they followed him?

Or just been waiting.

He could tell the shots were being deployed as a fear tactic.  They
had spotted him, he was sure of it.  But they didn’t want him dead. 
Not yet anyway.

“Officer Diamond,” a voice sang out from somewhere above, “come out with
your hands behind your head.”

The chopper seemed to come out of nowhere.  A man with a bullhorn
resting on one leg sat on the pontoon and cradled a long-scope rifle in his
hand. 

Diamond looked beyond the fence.  Other snipers were walking toward
Turner’s property, bold as hell, not knowing (or perhaps not caring) that
Diamond was armed. 

He sprinted back toward the house, a calculated but risky move
considering that the shooters had no trouble hitting the house whatsoever.

Predictably, a barrage of bullets zinged his way.  He did not enter
through the back door, opting rather for a dive through the door-size windows
that comprised Turner’s back bedroom.

He rolled and then fired out into the adjoining living room.  A scream
filled the air and Diamond heard the sound of a body crash to the floor. 
He was on his feet now, firing, running.  Another body crashed against a
wall.  Both men were dead by the time Diamond was hugging the front door
frame.  He looked at the gunmen on the ground and then quickly out the
window.

A semi-rig was coming around the corner.  Backup of sorts, he
guessed.  More adversarial personnel, just to take out little ol’ me, he
thought.  He heard the chopper still  hovering above, along with the
squawker gunman rattling on.

“Officer Diamond, we have you surrounded.  This is the FBI, please
surrender yourself.”

Diamond almost laughed.  The FBI announcement was for neighbors or
witnesses —these guys were about as FBI as he was the Easter Bunny.  He
glanced at his car which was still parked two blocks down.  He’d never
make it at a run.  He then remembered the corpses resting nearby.

He went to the nearest man, rifled through the jacket pockets and found
blood and keys.  He pulled out the keys and looked at the black sedan
outside.  Twenty yards at most.

Diamond took out Turner’s backup .45 and loaded the clip.  He closed
his eyes for one brief moment.  He’d get only one shot at this, and he
hoped the engine to the sedan turned over immediately.

The chopper hovered just within eyeshot.  The semi-rig was lumbering
up the drive.  No other sedans were in the vicinity but that was no
guaranty that there weren’t other shooters on foot, hidden behind trees, trash
cans, bushes or bordering fences.

No choice.  He had to move.

He kicked the door open and aimed both guns at the gunman holding the
bullhorn above.  Three shots sent the man screaming with surprise down to
the sidewalk.  Three more shots found the front windshield to the chopper.

The chopper did a strange one eighty spin, then began a near vertical
descent for the ground.

Diamond didn’t wait for the inevitable crash.  He was already
running for the sedan.

When the chopper hit, it exploded into a wall of fire which damn near
enveloped the sedan Diamond had just crawled into, but it successfully
blanketed Turner’s house.

Neighbors were screaming nearby, and Diamond could make out at least two
more gunmen running from up the street.  He also noticed that the
motherfuckers were wearing FBI flack-jackets.  Good for witness
descriptions, once again.

Meanwhile, the semi-rig was bearing directly down on him.

And he still hadn’t turned over the ignition.

“Come on, you bitch,” he bellowed.  “Start!”

Heeding this gentle command, the car turned over instantly.

Diamond hit the accelerator and skidded just a foot past the semi-rig and
down the hill.  He looked in his rear view mirror and noticed the semi-rig
jackknifing itself in an effort to take up pursuit.

Another chopper appeared on the horizon.

Jesus Christ, why didn’t they bring out Elsie the Robotic Super-Cow while
they were at it?

The semi-rig had negotiated itself around the cul-de-sac of Turner’s
property and was now barreling in pursuit.  The chopper was ahead of it,
hovering above by thirty feet.  Gunfire crackled from either side of the
airship, dual guns bearing down on him.

The sedan was fast, but Diamond knew he had to shake the truck
and
the chopper.  How?

He sped down the winding road of Topanga Canyon Blvd., his eyes flitting
to the rear view mirror every second or two to mark the semi-rig’s velocity
behind him.  The driver was pulling no punches.  His speed was
accelerating, and be damned about the weight behind him.

The chopper maintained speed, still firing at his sedan.  The rear
windows suddenly exploded.  Diamond ducked, fighting for control of the
steering, and glanced down at the precious file that Turner had saved for him.

He looked ahead and saw a small, ancient gas station near a bend in the
road.  The owner, an old man, stared at the approaching vehicles.

Diamond gauged the distance of the chopper and the semi-rig and made a
decision.  He barreled straight for the gas station.

The old man, no fool, saw what was heading his way.  He ran, and for
this relief much thanks, Diamond thought.

He grabbed his folder, took a breath, and opened his passenger door.

When he fell and rolled it was damn painful, but he could tell instantly
that he was not hurt.  If he didn’t get up and run fast, for some shelter,
that would not remain a permanent condition.

The sedan continued forward, barreling into the nearest gas tank. 
The tank and sedan exploded simultaneously.  The fireball rocketed upward
and engulfed the chopper, which had not prepared itself for the resulting
conflagration of fire and smoke.  Blinded, the chopper smashed into the
nearby cliffs above the station.

The semi-rig, stunned by the recent turn of events, was going too fast to
brake.  It veered slightly, trying to decelerate, but too late.  The
bulk of the truck connected with the remaining gas tanks and suddenly the world
was awash with flame and screaming men.

Diamond watched as the gunmen and the driver piled out of the semi-rig
and tried to run from the sea of fire.  To no avail.  The five men
were enveloped in white death, searing and broiling their bodies.

Diamond did not wait to see the scene play out to the end.  He moved
down the opposite hill clutching the file that his best friend had died for not
even an hour earlier.

THIRTY

Well, I will be buggered
.  It was all Preston Giles could
think of at the moment. 

He had watched the scene play out in all of its magnificence.  The
trucks, the agents, the helicopter.  He had organized the hit on Turner’s
house himself, knowing that Diamond would most assuredly show up.  His
first instincts had been correct.  He should have handled Diamond solo,
but it was LeMay who had overruled him.  When Giles had reported in that
Turner Sage was dead and that he was going after Diamond, LeMay insisted once
again on overwhelming, crushing force.  This included trucks, helicopters
and men.  Giles had sighed, saying this was all unnecessary and, by the
way, wasn’t Diamond, Giles’ personal responsibility?

“Not anymore,” LeMay responded.  “I’m tired of this shit.  We
nail him now and goddamn permanently.  Where Diamond is concerned,
Preston, we’re all having a loss of confidence here.”

Giles took no offense at this.  In a way, LeMay was right.  He
had been dragging his feet with Diamond.  Perhaps because he was almost
reluctant to kill the man.  He had so much fucking spirit!

Giles simply said fine, he’d watch the show as Diamond was, as they say,
put to rest.

You do that, LeMay had said, then hung up.

And so Giles had done exactly that.

And what a show it had been.

One helicopter, one truck, one sedan, and probably a dozen men
dead.  And Diamond was still inhaling and exhaling.

Giles watched as Diamond ran out of sight.

He knew where he was going.

Giles started the engine of his car.

Lou Diamond was a magnificent adversary, but it was time to put the grand
old lion down.  No one better to do it, Giles thought somewhat
whimsically, than another old lion all too familiar with the hunt and the
ultimate kill.  He reached for his cell phone and dialed a number.

“Yeah,” a voice said dully from the other end.

“Bobby, it’s me,” Giles said.  “Listen, I need a few of our old
friends this evening.  I hope you can squeeze this into your schedule.”

“Something special?” the voice called Bobby inquired.

“Very special.  Very professional.  You’ll like the challenge,”
Giles said.