I'm Out ...¹

(Source)

I am out of gas.

It's been a long week, comments yesterday got way too contentious for my taste and far too political. Can't you people just enjoy the ride? (I turned the comments off intentionally, I was tired of reading some of them.)

Taking a couple of days off. Yeah, I'm a little pissed off.

Besides which, I need to gather this whole story together and figure out where it has to go next. I do intend to finish this tale. But not today.

Read the folks on the side bar.

OAFS, out.

¹ Not permanently mind you, I just need a wee break.

Meals Ready to Explode ...

(Source)

Moriarty and Golden were back in the van, they'd been swapping every 24 hours with another pair of agents, but those guys had been recalled to DC. Some big kerfuffle was apparently going down and they needed more bodies at the J. Edgar Hoover Building.

"Probably need some more input on somebody's Power Point presentation." Herb Moriarty quipped.

Rick Golden yawned and leaned into the camera viewfinder, "Maybe, but we've got something going on over at The Armory."

Indeed, a black van had pulled over to that side of US-13 and two men had gotten out. From what Golden could see, there was nobody else in the van, but he couldn't tell for certain as the van's windows were heavily tinted.

"Thompson, Batchelor, and Beardsley are all in the small office building. Could those guys be co-conspirators or ..." Moriarty said.

Golden cut him off, "They look an awful lot like Federal agents to me."

Wilt Thompson glanced out the window when he caught movement in his peripheral vision. He saw two men approaching the big maintenance barn. They were wearing suits, which seemed really out of place.

"Well, lookee here, what is going on?" Thompson said as he pointed towards the men.

Beardsley spoke first, "Feds?"

Batchelor chimed in, "Gotta be, wearing suits and everything. Jimmy still working over there?"

Thompson nodded, "Him and Dwight's kid, what's his name?"

"Teddy, his name's Teddy. Good kid." Beardsley answered.

Thompson thought for a moment, "Willy, you got your long gun with you?"

Batchelor nodded, "Yep, but it's in my truck. I can get to it without being seen ..."

"Nah, stay here and watch those Feebs down the road on the monitor. Leroy, you come with me, let's see what these fellows want."

Just as he was about to knock on the door of the big garage, F. William Murchison heard a man say, "Help you fellows?"

Murchison's partner, Bud Maximilian turned and held out his hand, he was holding a rather impressive looking legal document. "I'm Special Agent Maximilian and this is my partner, Special Agent Murchison." He nodded at that man, "We're with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. This is a warrant to search these premises."

Across the way Batchelor's ears perked up when he heard who the men were on the microphone Thompson was wearing. He also noticed that the Feebs in the van perked up at that as well. He would have paid good money to hear what they were saying.

Thompson scanned the document, "Sorry fellows, wrong address. This here is 35173 Lankford Highway, y'all want 35162, that's another mile up the road. Look for the Bundick Well & Pump Company, they sometimes use explosives when they're putting in a new well. Makes the work go a little faster, I guess." He handed the paper back to the man who gave it to him.

Maximilian took it and said, "You got a bathroom I could use?"

"No Sir, I do not. Restrooms are for employees only. We're just about to lock up and go home anyway."

Maximilian nodded, "Sorry to have troubled you. Maybe Bundick will let me use theirs. Let's go, Murchison."

As they walked off, Thompson shook his head. "What makes these Feds think we're in awe of their fancy badges and warrants?"

When they got to the car, Murchison shook his head. "Now I know that's the place we want. Why'd you'd give the judge that other address?"

"I didn't, I had my wife do this one up on the computer. The real warrant is in my briefcase, in the trunk. I just wanted a sneak peek, up close, to see what we might be getting into."

"Those explosives the Maryland State Police found at the sight of that shooting, what ties that to this place?"

"The MREs were purchased by a shell corporation and delivered to this address. Some dumbass left a copy of the invoice in one of the boxes the troopers found. This is going to take more than a couple of agents in suits, we're talking a full-on SWAT raid."

Maximilian shook his head, "Why do these people think they can go up against the U.S. government? Boggles the mind."

They drove off, headed towards Norfolk. They drove past two very concerned FBI agents as they did so.

"Okay, got it Sir. We'll just sit tight here. Yes Sir ... No Sir ... Very good Sir, I ..."

"Son of a bitch hung up on me." Moriarty said as he tucked his phone away.

Golden said, "There go the ATF boys," as the ATF men sped past, headed south. "Maybe someone should tell them Bundick is north of here. What the heck is going on, Herb?"

"The Maryland State Police searched the stolen pickup truck at that shooting yesterday morning. Ten cases of MREs with a C4 chaser."

That got Golden's attention, "C4, you're shitting me?"

"I wish I was. A case of MREs contains 12 meals, the ones the troopers found had ten meals each, plus a one and a quarter pound block of C4, wrapped in butcher's paper. A casual glance wouldn't get anyone's attention, but one of the troopers on scene had been a Marine back in his youth. He expected 12 meals, not ten, and as the cases were sealed as if they'd just come from the factory, that butcher's paper looked out of place, especially right in the middle of the case."

"Damn."

"Yeah, that's a lot of C4."

"Wonder what they were planning on using it for?" Golden asked.

"We need to get in there tonight and bug that garage, probably the office as well."

Golden nodded, "Somebody's got some 'splainin' to do." He said in his best Cuban accent.

Moriarty shook his head, "Yup, and the boys and girls back at the Bureau are gonna need information on this place. These guys are serious players."

Paying the Piper

(Source)

Chapman turned right, she was meeting with Captain Choe and someone else whom the Captain had not wanted to mention, that much was obvious. She was sure it had something to do with the ambush and the alleged anti-Second Amendment conspiracy. Just the thought of that made her sick.

She arrived at the Navy Yard and went on the Yard via the Water Street SE gate. From there she made her way through the rabbit warren of buildings to the parking lot across from the National Museum of the United States Navy.

She got out and buttoned up her coat, there was a stiff breeze coming off of the Anacostia River and it wasn't a warm day to begin with. She made her way over to the big railroad gun on display by the parking lot. She saw Captain Choe talking to another man whose back was to her.

Choe waved and the man turned around, damn, it was Johansen.

"Morning Captain, morning Ephraim. I didn't expect to see you out here."

"Sorry for all the mystery, Beth," he paused then handed her an identification wallet, "you now, officially, have a need to know."

Chapman took the wallet and opened it. she gasped.

"Really Ephraim, the CIA? Isn't it illegal for ..."

Choe interrupted, "As long as he is seconded to Homeland, it shouldn't be a problem. I asked around," glancing at Johansen, he quickly added, "covertly of course. I didn't get selected for Rear Admiral by being stupid, you know."

Johansen grinned, "I don't know, Captain, these days ..."

Choe smiled, "Nah, I'm not the token Korean at the Pentagon. Dad retired from the Marine Corps as a Colonel. We Choe's have been in the U.S. long enough to blend in, so to speak."

"Okay, enough with the introductions. Beth, you know John Morgan, known as Jack, right? No need to go into detail on that, I know."

Chapman blushed, "I was young, but yes, I know, well, knew, Jack Morgan well. We partied in a lot of ports when we were deployed to the Gulf. Separate ships ..."

Choe interrupted again, "Morgan was my VBSS OIC¹ on McFaul. We were part of the Ike's carrier strike group."

"And I flew helos off the Ike, landed on McFaul many times." Chapman added.

Johansen nodded. "Have you see Morgan recently?"

Chapman blushed again, "Yeah, couple of weeks ago. We met for lunch in Alexandria. He's been involved with an investigation into illegal arms dealing in ..."

Johansen cut her, looking at Choe he said, "He's been playing all of us."

Chapman leaned in, "What are you talking about?" Her tone was slightly heated.

"Second Amendment shit, right? Someone's planning to ambush Federal agents, a lot of Federal agents, up in western Maryland. Morgan's not only involved, he's one of the leads on this thing. Problem is, I think he's gone rogue."

Johansen said nothing of the Park Police SWAT team ambush, he'd been deeply involved in that. But he'd been surprised when Morgan had started gunning men down. The guys he'd got for the machine gun, he had known they were druggies and drunks. Though they knew how to operate the gun, he doubted they'd hit anything. He'd been right too.

Morgan's long rifle had killed those four agents and wounded two others, one seriously. This thing was out of control, the guys up on the Eastern Shore thought so as well.

"Have you heard anything about the shootings out in western Maryland. A state trooper and two campers were gunned down in cold blood. We think it was Morgan."

He turned to Choe, "You had a Chief Machinists Mate on McFaul on the VBSS ..."

"Rossi, Al Rossi. Last I heard he'd retired as a Senior Chief. What about him?"

"He's with Morgan, at least we think he is."

"We?" Chapman asked.

"Officially Homeland, unofficially, the Agency. The Bureau has been paying Morgan, off the books, as a contractor. We think the FBI is behind this. It's a false flag operation."

"Rossi and Morgan despised each other." Choe offered.

"We think it was an act, or maybe after they were both out of the Navy, they made common cause. A lot of gun enthusiasts are worried shitless that Congress is going to make a move to make gun ownership almost impossible. The FBI likes the idea, some of us at CIA do not. And yes, we're kind of a minority over there."

Chapman wondered, as Johansen kept talking, 'What the hell have I gotten myself involved with."

Morgan was in a lot of pain, he suspected that he still had a couple of #12 shot in his body. He needed some alcohol, a sharp knife, bandages, and some pain killers. Looking at his map, he had Rossi turn off National Pike NE onto Orleans Road NE, there was an Exxon station just off that road.

They pulled in, Rossi parked the truck around the back of the little gas station store, hoping no one recognized it. Morgan told him what to buy. He nodded and went around the front of the building. He winced when he saw a Maryland State Police vehicle pull in. There were two troopers in the car.

Trying to act nonchalant he went in, found the items he was looking for, then went to the counter to pay. One of the troopers was there, talking to the older guy behind the register.

"They're driving Mike Taliaferro's truck. Bastards killed him and Benji Lee last night. So if you see anything ..."

"Damn, I saw Taliaferro's truck just now, drove around back."

Rossi was sweating profusely, he muttered, "Forgot something ..." then headed back towards the coolers. He needed water, lots of water, suddenly he had a powerful thirst.

As he grabbed a couple of liter bottles he felt someone come up behind him.

"Where are you from, Sir? Not from around here, counterman said so."

It was one of the troopers, he could see him in the reflection from the cooler door.

"No Sir, we, I mean I, am up from DC, heading out to Cumberland. Business trip."

Rossi heard the man draw his service weapon. He was too far away to jump, and there were too many people around anyway.

"Don't move a muscle, Sir." The trooper's tone was as cold as the grave.

"The guy you want is around back, red pickup truck ..."

"We know what you boys are driving. F**king cop-killers."

"What the ..." Morgan watched as a state trooper rolled past him and stopped his vehicle well away from the red Dodge. Watching in the rear view mirror, he knew the game was up. Now if he could convince them that he worked for Homeland, maybe ...

"Guy in the red Dodge pickup, show me your hands!!"

Morgan thought for a minute about drawing his Sig Sauer, but he stood no chance. Better to rely on his ability to bullshit people and the very real DHS ID he had in his wallet. He opened the door and began to climb out, hands first.

A gust of wind blew the door open abruptly.

"Shi ..."

Jack Morgan died instantly when the trooper opened up with his M-16. Three rounds, abdomen, chest, the third through his forehead.

The door swinging open quickly had startled the trooper, so he fired, his weapon was set to three round burst, he'd hit with all three. Afterwards he noticed that each succeeding round had gone higher.

He told his partner later, "They teach us the barrel's gonna climb, but damn, when you're shooting at a real person, ya kinda forget the training, well some of it, and you fire until the target is down."

In the meantime, Rossi had found himself face down on the floor of the store. A boot in his back and a very angry trooper saying, "Go ahead, give me a reason you f**king cop-killer."

Al Rossi made sure he gave the trooper no reason. He still counted himself lucky to be thrown into the back of a cruiser with only a couple of broken ribs. From where he sat, he could see that his days with Morgan were over. Morgan was in a pool of blood next to the red Dodge.

Stealing that had been a very dumb idea.

¹ OIC = Officer In Charge

What a Week!

 So....There I was*...Last Monday early evening,  post is posted, comments are commented, a pre-prandial Rose' in hand,  BBQ is heating, with the exception of all the Bovine Excrement going on in DC, all is right in my World.  Mrs J is down to her last few radiation treatments and both her doctors are very upbeat about the results.  They're not saying she's in the clear, but their voices are lilting when they talk about her progress.  So fast forward to tomorrow, she'll have her last treatment, then six weeks off before surgery to remove the remains of the tumor.

Thank you, Lord!

In any case, it's later last Monday evening and Mrs. J and I are sitting on the front porch watching the grass blow in the breeze in Rancho Juvat's pasture.  Life is good!

I'm taking a sip of wine when Mrs. J announces that MBD (My Beautiful Daughter), MG, my Eldest Granddaughter, and My Grandson, León, will be arriving in the morn. My brain was trying to decide on the order of swallowing the wine or yelling "Yay".  

Unfortunately, in the enthusiasm of the moment, it just said, "Yes"!  I got a short lesson on what drowning might feel like, but I recovered.

Apparently, the Docs had given permission for visitation as long as the visitors showed no signs of colds, flu, barfing, loose poops, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. 

MBD and crew passed the test. Given that we hadn't seen that threesome since the episode began, Mrs. J was pretty excited.

As was I.

Arrival was uneventful and I got my first in person view of our Grandson.  He's now 6 months old.  I think he's going to be a pro football linebacker.  I was so enthused about meeting him I carried him around on my hip for the better part of the evening.

 

I wouldn't recommend that.  The following morning getting out of bed was torturous.   But one must persevere.  Rather than lug the big lug around, we introduced him to one of his older cousin's vehicles from when she was his age.

 

Worked like a champ.  He took off with afterburners at full blast, laughing his head off.  Unfortunately, another Fighter Pilot adage took over.

"All velocity, no vector".  Never applied to me, well...not that often.  But, in this case, was completely appropriate.  While my back received no further misuse, the same could not be said of my shins.  And, he's perfected the "Bwah-Hah-Hah" laugh of a pirate and used it with great glee.

We also had another bit of excitement that evening.  LJW and Miss B came over for dinner and to meet their niece/nephew/cousins (depending on generation).  Introductions went quite well.

Then Miss B stunned the crowd.

"Look, Mrs. J (I need to find a Gramma nickname, suggestions welcome) no hands."  She'd made her first no support steps at her therapy session that morning.  This was about 5 times further, AKA 10 steps.  So...Big time and exciting progress.

We settle in for a bit of dinner (Beans, the menu was "Make your own pizza).  MG likes Pepperoni, Grape jelly rolls, cheese cubes and banana's. 

Hey, who am I to criticize?

 At least dinner included wine!

And after ruling over the festivities, León decided he needed a nap (at the table).

 Apparently, my rock hard chest (RRRIIIGGGHHHTTT) is quite comfortable for the little guy.  But did you know that having a Grandchild sleep in your arms is one of the most powerful sedatives known to man?  Yes,  I indulged in a postprandial sleep session also.

The following morning, we get a call from Guests in one of our cabins saying that water for the kitchen sink was only coming through the sprayer, not the faucet.  They said they were headed into town and would we fix it while they're gone.  

Well, crap! I'm not a plumber nor have I played one on TV.  I go down to the cabin, turn the door knob and the door's locked.  WTF?  We live at the end of a 1.5 mile road with only one way out, our property is gated and nobody's around.  You need to lock the door?

Anyhow, I go back up to the house and get the spare key.  Come back down and stick it in the lock.  Doesn't work.  Bad words were spoken.  Meanwhile the cleaning lady arrives, walks up and asks what's up.  I explain the issue to her, she goes back to her vehicle, returns with a playing card and opens the door.

I'm not sure if I'm relieved or scared stiff.  In any case, I enter and take a look at the faucet.  It does, in fact, only work in spray.  I look underneath and am in another "What the heck do I do now?" moment.

The sprayer connections are the top and the bottom.  I try turning them, but only end up turning the sprayer itself.  Nothing seems obvious to me.  Looks like, rather than screw something up badly, it's time to "Call the Plumber".  Before I leave to do that, I figure I'd better check to see that I didn't loosen something enough to cause a leak.  Turn it on, still sprays water.  Start to put it back into the slot, when I remembered a lesson I learned from a Crew Chief on my F-4.  

Sarge knows this one.

"Hit it with a hammer"

Well, I didn't have a hammer, but it's a steel sink with a divider between the two basins.  I give it a brisk rap on the divider and feel a kerchunk in my hand.  Turn on the water and Voila'.

Does this make me a master plumber?  Sure could use the money.

Since this is being written on Sunday and this particular Sunday is referred to as Mother's Day and I had 3 Mother's on the property at the time, I figured my continued life depended on getting that day right.

I took them out for Sunday Brunch with the 3 grandkids at a nice little restaurant called the Hill Country Herb Garden.  Very nice place, nice staff, good food, a little pricey but not horrible.  I can heartily recommend the Steak Filet Egg's Benedict.  

Well...I was the only guy, above the physical age of 6 months (other forms of measure could be in doubt).  Little J was "there" in spirit to keep an eye on things.

Afterwords, Mother's day gifts were presented.

MG did a great job of delivering them.

Speaking of gift delivery.

4 weeks into a planned 3 day job.

C'est enfin terminé ! 

The solution to the glue problem was soak it in paint thinner for about 5 minutes, scrape off as much glue as possible, then use Goof Off glue removal on any remnants. Took quite a while, but it worked. Just an FYI in case any of you are caught in a similar situation.

 Oh, yeah, one more picture. Or not! Thanks Google.

 *It's been a while, but this is the standard opening phraseology of a Fighter Pilot War Story, and the truth of the story is absolute. (In the mind of the Teller.)

In the Woods

(Source)

The helicopter swept down US-40 again, the pilot glanced down and thought he spotted something.

"Rick, I'm going to come around a bit and go into a hover, look down at the road, there's a ravine, pretty sure that's Terrapin Run¹ down there."

As the helicopter came to a hover, Rick Johnson, Maryland State Police, brought his binoculars to bear. There was something shiny down there, like a windshield.

"Bring me down closer, Charlie."

The pilot, Charlie McIntosh, also with the Maryland State Police, started to lose altitude, "Gotta be careful here, Rick, you get gusts off these ridges which make things a bit tricky."

Johnson shook his head, "Take her up, I've seen enough, it's a vehicle."

He reported their find on the radio, within half an hour, troopers were on scene. It was definitely Corporal Campos' vehicle.

As they drove, Morgan had his map out. Rossi had noticed their turn coming up.

"Next right, right Jack?"

"Nah, Al, keep going. We can't take this truck to the drop off point. That trooper had to have radioed in the plates. We need to ditch the vehicle and go to Plan B."

"What's Plan B?"

"I dunno yet."

Glancing at his map, Morgan saw a turn off, something called "15 Mile Creek Road SE," which led to a campsite. Perhaps they could switch vehicles there, or at least switch the plates on the truck. The name of the rental company plastered all over the cargo box didn't bother him, that company had hundreds of those vehicles throughout the country. The cops would be matching plates.

"Take the next right, Al. I've got an idea."

When the turn came up, Rossi slowed and took the turn. It struck him that he should have a look at the brake lights when they stopped. Might be a fuse, might be a busted wire. After all, that's what had got them into this mess. Then he needed, somehow, to get shy of Morgan. The guy had gunned down a state trooper and seemed to have no remorse at all about that.

An hour after finding Corporal Campos' vehicle, they found her body.

Captain Leroy Jackson looked down, she had been shot twice. The first bullet had probably been fired from inside the cab of the rental truck. It was meant to kill her, but it hadn't.  The shot to the side of her head had been what killed her, at least according to the coroner.

A local sheriff had seen a pool of blood in the middle of the road. When he got out to investigate, he saw the drag marks. Whoever had killed Campos was in a hurry, they'd dragged her body into the woods, out of sight from the road, then had driven off.

"Captain?"

Jackson turned, "Yeah?"

"Word's gone out, nationwide BOLO² on the truck. But if they're smart, they'll ditch the vehicle or swap the plates at least. That rental company is pretty common."

"Not much out here, Billy, until you get to Flintstone. And Flintstone ain't much of a town."

Jackson checked his watch, then looked at the sky.

"Gonna be nightfall soon. Let's hope those fellows that killed Campos hole up for the night. I want helicopters up in the morning, as many as we can get. For now I want road blocks on every road leading in and out of this area. Fortunately that ain't a lot."

"Still a lot of ground to cover, Captain."

"I know, Burt, I know. But get things moving."

As Sergeant Burt Anderson moved off to put things in motion, Jackson shook his head again.

"I wonder if this has anything to do with all that bullshit down in Virginia a couple of weeks ago. Why are people suddenly gunning for cops?"

It was getting dark, Morgan realized that they'd have to go to ground somewhere until morning. As they headed up the road, he saw the signs for "Green Ridge State Forest Campsite #1," which was what he was looking for. Might be some early season campers around, at least he hoped so.

As they headed up the road, they went around a bend in the road, Morgan saw something off in the trees. A campfire!

"Pull over here, Al. There's people over there, might have a camper, or an RV, we could steal the plates from when it gets full dark."

Rossi eased the truck over to the side of the road and shut the engine off.

Morgan looked at his old Navy buddy and said, "Wait here."

Mike Taliaferro and Benji Lee were sitting at the small fire they'd built. Each man had a beer in hand, next to their camp chairs there was already a small pile of empties. They planned on staying up here tonight, then heading deeper into the park to do some fishing. Both men had taken the week off and enjoyed being away from their wives for a few days.

Their wives liked the peace it gave them as well. Those two "good old boys" could be a handful at times.

Taliaferro heard a twig snap behind him, he turned.

Morgan stopped, he cursed himself for not having seen the stick. But the flickering campfire was throwing shadows on the ground which made it hard to see anything.

He saw two men, both rather large, sitting, drinking beer in front of that campfire. When he stepped on the stick, one of them turned.

"Gentlemen, might I trouble you for the keys to your truck?" Morgan said.

The man who had turned said, "What the f**k ..."

Morgan shot him at nearly point blank range, he had continued to walk forward as he talked. Neither man had seen Morgan's Sig Sauer which he held down by his leg. Only when he brought it up did the two men realize the danger.

Benji Lee's eye were nearly bursting out of his head when he saw the top of Taliaferro's head come off.

"Son of a b ...," he managed to say as he drew his own pistol, a Browning Hi-Power in .40 caliber. He had his loaded with snake shot³ as it was not unusual to encounter timber rattlers here in the park. He managed to get off a round before he felt something which knocked the wind out of him.

"Mother ..." Morgan gasped as the snake shot hit his right side, low on his torso. Fortunately it missed his arm and hand.

"Bastard!" Morgan fired another round at the man he had just shot, the f**ker was still alive!

The man's head snapped back and he and his chair toppled over as the man slumped. He was certainly dead now.

Rossi had nearly jumped out of his skin when he had heard the gunshots. Had Morgan gone completely insane? He had to wonder.

As he pondered whether to run off into the woods and be done with this, he realized that Morgan had the only map of the area and he'd checked, it wasn't in the truck. He figured that he'd best stick with it and see what happened. He knew that he was now an accessory to at least one murder, of a cop no less, and now at least one more.

He heard an engine, he looked up the road and saw a vehicle approaching. As it got close, he saw it was a pickup, a big one, with a camper on the back. The pickup pulled up just behind the rental and he heard Morgan shout his name.

Walking to the back of the truck he saw Morgan opening the doors to the cargo area of the rental, the door to the pickup's camper was already open. He noticed that Morgan's shirt was very bloody on the right side.

"Jesus, Jack. You hit?"

"Yeah, f**ker shot me with snake shot, stings like crazy, but nothing really bad, I'm just really stiff. Hurt like hell when he did it."

"The guy who shot you, where is he?"

"Up there," he gestured up the road, "dead with his buddy."

"There were two of them?"

"Yeah, now shut up and help me move these MRE cases."

After loading the pickup, Morgan gave those keys to Rossi, then took the rental keys from Rossi and threw them into the woods.

"You drive," he told Rossi.

As they climbed into the pickup, Rossi asked, "Where to?"

"Back the way we came, it'll be a while before they figure out we're not in that rental anymore."

McIntosh and Johnson lifted off just as the sun was peeking up over the eastern horizon. They'd been detailed to search the Green Ridge State Park. Dispatch suggested they check the campsites in the area.

"Make a good spot to hole up for the night," dispatch had said. McIntosh had to agree.

As they flew out to the area, Johnson had his map out. "Let's fly up 15 Mile Creek Road first, there are a couple campsites out that way, one, that's #1, isn't far from US-40."

McIntosh was quickly over the area and it didn't take long for Johnson to spot a vehicle parked on the side of 15 Mile Creek Road, not far from Campsite #1. He got his binoculars out.

"That's the right rental company," he said, trying to steady his binoculars as a gust pushed the helicopter to one side, "plates match too. That's our vehicle. I'll radio it in."

Captain Jackson walked around the scene, careful not to disturb anything. He recognized one of the dead men, he'd been shot twice, once in the chest, once in the head. The latter was what killed him. The other man was missing the top of his head, his head was so damaged that no one recognized him. He shook his head, Rita Lee was out of town, up in Pennsylvania for the week on business. She was going to be shattered, as much as she and Benji fought, they still loved each other very much.

Jackson wondered what he had on his hands now, not just a triple homicide but something else was going on here. What had been in that truck that was worth killing for?

"Hey Captain!"

He turned, one of the crime scene guys had checked the bodies for ID. He was kneeling by the dead man missing the top of his head.

"According to the license in his wallet, this one is Mike Taliaferro." He pronounced it "Toliver."

"Damn. Alright, where's Sergeant Anderson?"

"He's checking out the rental."

"Okay, for now, keep this off the radio. The guys we're after might have a scanner. Let 'em think they've got a bigger head start than they already have. But put out a BOLO for a red Dodge TRX with a camper on the back, late model."

"How do you know that, Sir?" One of the technicians asked.

"It's what Mike drove."

¹ A run is a small stream or brook.

² Be On the Look Out

³ See here.