Wildfire (19 page)

"Yes, it did."

"But I believe you indicated previously that you were unarmed at that time. If I remember correctly, you said your pistol was empty . . . again."

"I lost my pistol during the fight with Mr. Chareaux. In looking for it, I found the Colt Commando rifle on the floor, next to the body of one of the subjects," Lightstone explained.

"I see. Well, I suppose that does explain things, doesn't it? Well, then, where were we? Oh, yes, both shoulders, both knees, four shots total. Uh, tell me, Agent Lightstone, wouldn't you say that was a rather impressive display of shooting on your part?"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand the question."

"Special Agent Lightstone, you obviously managed to hit my client, Mr. Maas, in both shoulders and both knees, at some distance, effectively crippling him, using a weapon with which you were completely unfamiliar. Well, perhaps not
completely
unfamiliar," the defense attorney added with a smile. "What I'm asking is don't you think that was rather good shooting on your part?"

Lightstone was amazed at how skillfully Jason Bascomb III had managed gradually to transform his speaking voice from almost accent-less English to what was presumably his native British dialect, hereby providing the court with the irresistible image of the classic Rumpole-like English barrister: aggressive and frequently sarcastic, but at the same time, ethical, fair-minded, and determined to uphold the law at all costs. Lightstone was impressed, realizing how effective such a presentation would likely be in front of a jury. Whoever was paying the fees of Jason Bascomb III and his legal team, they were certainly getting their money's worth.

"That particular rifle was equipped with a laser sight," Lightstone explained.

"Oh, you mean one of those devices where you aim a little red dot, and then pull the trigger, and the bullet hits wherever the dot is aimed at?"

"Basically, yes, sir."

"So, in reality, it would have actually been rather difficult for you to have missed Mr. Maas with a weapon like that, especially considering that you are reasonably familiar with firearms in general, and that model of weapon in particular. Isn't that so, Agent Lightstone?"

"I suppose that's true, yes."

"So I assume that must mean you deliberately shot my client in both shoulders and both knees, is that correct?"

Deputy U.S. Attorney Theresa Fletcher started to come up to her feet, but then she hesitated and sat back down.

Henry Lightstone turned his head for a moment to look at Gerd Maas and discovered that the ex-assault group leader of Operation Counter Wrench was smiling pleasantly now, as if recalling a genuinely amusing experience.

"I fired at your client's shoulders to disarm him, to knock a pistol out of his hand, and to prevent him from killing one of my agent partners," Lightstone said calmly.

"Yes, so you said. But why then did you shoot at his knees, to dis-knee him also?" Jason Bascomb III asked in a calm, quiet, and utterly humorless voice.

"Objection," the prosecuting attorney said, rolling her eyes.

"Overruled. The witness may answer the relevant portion of the question," the judge responded.

"I was advised by the training coordinator at the facility, who also took part in the raid, that Mr. Maas was an extremely dangerous individual and an expert with a wide range of firearms," Henry Lightstone said carefully. "In view of the fact that Special Agent Dwight Stoner, Special Agent Larry Paxton, and myself were all wounded—and therefore operating at a diminished capacity—when we were confronted by Mr. Maas, I made the decision to fire at his legs to put him on the ground, where he could be safely controlled."

"Oh, really? Might it also be possible, Special Agent Lightstone, that you shot my client in both knees with a .223 caliber assault rifle, because he had just done the same thing to your partner, Special Agent Dwight Stoner, with a much smaller .22 caliber pistol?" Jason Bascomb III asked in that same calm, quiet, and utterly dispassionate voice. "Tit for tat? Vengeance? Is that your job, Special Agent Lightstone? To be an avenging angel against all things that you perceive to be evil, as in your
Dirty Harry
movies?"

"Objection, your honor," Theresa Fletcher said firmly, shaking her head in disgust.

"I believe Agent Lightstone answered your question, counsel," the judge said. "Do you have any further cross-examination of this witness?"

"No, your honor."

"Mrs. Fletcher, anything further on redirect?"

"Just a few brief questions, your honor."

"Go
ahead."

"Special Agent Lightstone, when you fought with Mr. Chareaux, with your bare hands against his knife, did you believe your life was in danger?"

"Yes, I did."

"In spite of your expertise in karate?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why was that?"

"Our background briefing materials, which included information from a number of state law enforcement officers who knew Mr. Chareaux very well, indicated that he was highly proficient in the art of fighting and killing people with knives, and that he had done so many times in the past."

Jason Bascomb III leaped to his feet. "Objection, your honor! That question is completely beyond the scope of the redirect! I request that the statement of the witness be stricken from the record, and that the witness be further admonished—"

"I believe you raised that issue yourself, counselor," the judge interrupted. "Overruled."

"And during that fight, Special Agent Lightstone," Theresa Fletcher went on with undisguised satisfaction, "were you ever in a position to kill Mr. Chareaux with your bare hands, using your karate expertise, rather than choke him out, as you ultimately did?"

"Yes, ma'am, I was."

"And when you confronted Mr. Maas with that laser-sighted rifle, did you believe that Special Agent Dwight Stoner's life was in danger?"

"Yes, I did."

"And you could have certainly killed Mr. Maas with that laser-sighted rifle at any time, with a single shot to the head or heart, could you not?"

"Yes, of course."

"But in both instances, even though you had the opportunity—and what I would suggest to the court might well have been legal justification—to use lethal force, you chose not to. Why is that?"

"My job is to arrest people and bring them to trial, not to execute them," Lightstone said simply.

"Thank you. No further questions, your honor."

"Mr. Bascomb?"

The lead defense attorney hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "Nothing further, your honor."

"Court will be recessed until one o'clock," the judge said, and slammed his gavel.

Approximately twenty-six hundred miles and three time zones to the west of the northern Virginia federal courthouse, in the latent print area of the National Fish and Wildlife Forensics Laboratory in Ashland, Oregon, the lab's senior fingerprint examiner carefully removed the last pieces of taped cardboard from a submitted evidence item.

"Well, well, look what we have here." He smiled to himself. Then he reached for the nearby phone and dialed a familiar extension number.

"Criminalistics, Dingeman."

"Roger, this is Vinny. Hey, you remember those green aluminum signs we got in from Sequoia National Park a couple of weeks ago?"

"Yeah, what about them?" the forensic scientist said warily.

"Well, you might want to drag your butt down here, 'cause another one just came in from Yellowstone. Only this one's a real brain-teaser."

"Yellowstone, huh? I didn't think they let any of the nut-cases leave California. So what's this one say? 'The end is near'?"

"No, that's just it," the latent print examiner chuckled. "This one doesn't say anything at all."

Chapter Twelve

Out of habit as much as anything else, Henry Lightstone waited until almost everyone else had left the courtroom for the noon break before he walked out into the hallway. As he did so, he saw Mike Takahara sitting in one of the empty benches outside the adjacent courtroom.

"So how's it going in there?" the tech agent asked.

"Well," Lightstone shrugged as he sat down on the wooden bench— "unless Fletcher and Bascomb change their minds over lunch, it looks like Stoner's up next."

"Already?" Takahara blinked in surprise. "Larry and I figured you'd be on the stand at least two days, minimum."

"Yeah, me too. Don't know what to tell you. For a guy who's supposed to be a top-dog defense attorney, Bascomb's been playing it real loose. Almost like he's going through the motions."

"Really? Any ideas on what his strategy might be?"

"Only that if he's got one, it sure as hell isn't obvious."

"Well, from what I know of Bascomb," Mike Takahara said, "if he's acting like he doesn't know where he's going, then it's even odds he's got some kind of trap waiting down the line."

"I take it you're speaking from experience?"

"Oh, yeah, I've got my share of scars." The tech agent nodded. "He spent a day and a half with me on a wire-tap deal, trying to convince the jury that I'd gone beyond the limits of the warrant on my entry and installation. Then, after I'd explained for the third or fourth time how careful we have to be on these deals, making sure we dot every
i
and cross every
t,
Bascomb pointed out to the jury that we apparently never noticed that the name of the street was misspelled on the warrant. The prosecutor asked for a brief recess and they worked out a plea, five felonies down to a pair of misdemeanors."

Lightstone smiled. "Clever fellow."

"He does make you do your homework. So what about lunch? You got time to grab a sandwich?"

Lightstone shook his head. "I've got to go pick something up from the cafeteria and then head over to the U.S. Attorney's office. Theresa wants to go over my testimony, make sure she didn't leave anything out, before she brings on Stoner."

"Sounds like she's taking this case seriously."

"That's why I'm heading over there right now, before she either changes her mind or somebody in the office sets her straight on how a prosecutor's supposed to treat us federal law enforcement types," Lightstone said. "And speaking of which, how are you and Larry and the boss getting along?"

Mike Takahara rolled his eyes. "Let me tell you something, given the choice, I'd rather be up here being grilled by Boy Wonder Bascomb any day of the week. You have any idea how pissed off Halahan is about us blowing up the warehouse?"

"He's blaming
us?"

"Us in general, me specifically."

"Why you?"

"Well, as he put it, even a rookie tech agent straight out of the Training Center should have realized that a burglar capable of breaking into a covert law enforcement operation—
without
setting off a computer-monitored alarm system—was probably capable of doing something else to the computer too."

"As in programming the thing to detonate a bomb?"

"Uh huh."

"Is that really possible?"

"Oh, it's possible all right," Mike Takahara said. "All you'd have to do is match up the new program codes with the existing alarm sequences, copy over to the right subdirectory, and then hook up the hardware—which, from the looks of what remains of the warehouse, was probably about ten pounds of C-4 with a solenoid cutout switch between the power source and the detonator."

"Any idea where it might have been hidden?"

"Based on the blast pattern, I'd say it was probably right behind my desk."

"Oh."

"You can see Halahan's point," Takahara said, the frustrated expression on his face conveying a sense of wounded pride and professional embarrassment.

"So how long do you figure it would take to set something like that up?

"You mean the actual installation? I don't know, maybe fifteen minutes at the outside. Ten if you had everything ready to go. Easiest thing in the world if you know what you're doing and you have had prior access to the alarm programs in the computer, which we know they did."

"I take it you never got around to checking out the computer after the break-in?"

"Just the alarm sequences." Takahara shook his head ruefully. "Halahan's right, I should have thought about the possibilities right away and gone through the entire hard drive, just to be sure. But I was too busy getting over the aftereffects of going through that door in the dark, and then having the alarm system go off. Damn near pissed my pants."

"Yeah, me too." Lightstone nodded.

"And after that," the tech agent went on, "there were the minor little details of my forgetting to rearm the system after the break-in, and then letting Paxton set the bomb off with one of the hand transmitters."

"Yeah, but don't forget," Lightstone reminded, "if you had remembered to rearm the system when we were all down there checking things out, the bomb would have probably gone off right then and taken out the whole team, not to mention Rico and a half dozen Boston patrol officers."

"Which is presumably what our friends, whoever they may be, had in mind when they rigged the bomb in the first place."

"A reasonable assumption."

"So all we have to do now is figure out who we pissed off in Boston," Mike Takahara muttered. "Any ideas?"

"I can think of two cops and the building inspector who are probably nursing a pretty serious grudge." Henry Lightstone shrugged. "But they're still in jail. And setting aside the possibility of a disgruntled cop buddy, that pretty well narrows it down to the Boracatto brothers, their muscle boys, and Halahan. Only trouble is, I can't imagine Tony or Sal or their little muscle boys having the balls to go after a federal agent. And even if they did, the four of them together barely have enough technical skills to flush a toilet. If they tried to rig a bomb like that, they'd probably blow themselves up turning on their own TV."

"That's pretty much what Halahan thought too."

"You tell him that makes him our number-one suspect?" Lightstone grinned.

"I didn't figure he was in the mood for humor," Mike Takahara said. "As a matter of fact, the whole conversation was more along the line that if I'd done my job right, he'd have fewer people making his life difficult right now."