Never-ending-snake (20 page)

Ella was interested, and nodded, having never fired a World War II German weapon other
than nine-millimeter pistols and a Mauser rifle. But she’d found the Russian designed AKs she’d handled accurate and reliable, and was
genuinely looking forward to firing its German predecessor. “Let me get some ear protection first.”

Five minutes later, after emptying a full magazine into the target on the left, she lowered the MP-44 from her shoulder and turned her head to gauge their reaction,
pleased with her accuracy. The assault rifle was noisier and had a little more kick than the MP-5, a much more recent design submachine gun in pistol caliber, but it was still easy to aim and control. For a weapon produced in the mid-1940s, it could still hold its own with any iron-sighted automatic weapon she’d ever carried, and it didn’t look as crude and simple as the AK-47. She could have
blown away targets for hours with that bad boy.

“Real skill or beginner’s luck, you dun good, Ella.” Dennis, who’d been watching the target with a pair of fancy binoculars, laughed as he tried to read her expression. “Every time I see someone fire full auto for the first time, there’s that same smile on their face.”

Ella carefully handed the empty weapon back to Dennis. “There was a lot less
recoil than I expected, and it has a really natural feel to it. Sweet and easy to aim. But I’d go broke buying the ammo, not to mention the expensive federal permit needed to own one of these babies.”

“Just wait ’til you work a few seconds of full-size 7.92 rounds through Bertha over there,” Gary waved toward the bed of his Dodge. “Better than sex—well, close.”

The sound of a vehicle driving
up got their attention. Ella noted two men in the cab of the gold Chevy Silverado as it swung to the left and came to a stop fifty yards farther along the edge of the cliff. “This must be a popular hangout,” she said.

“Sure is. No problems with the law, no neighbors to complain, no gun club dues, and no rules except mutual respect and common sense,” Gary said, watching the truck. “I think those
boys have been here before.”

One of the men waved as he climbed out of the passenger side, an assault gun in his hand, barrel pointed skyward. Ella stared, recognizing the silhouette of the weapon. It was something in the ArmaLite, M-16 family. Then the driver stepped out of the cab, and looked right at her.

“Cop!” he yelled, then jumped back into the truck. His partner followed.

“What the
hell?” Dennis said, taking a step back and raising his binoculars.

Ella reached down for her handgun, then realized it was in the SUV instead of at her hip. By then, the driver was already whipping the Silverado around in a panic.

“Dwayne, that’s them!” Ella yelled, racing toward his vehicle.

Twenty seconds later they were bouncing along the dirt track, branches from juniper trees whipping
the sides of the SUV as Blalock struggled to maintain speed and control over lousy ground. Visibility was poor among the junipers and he was cutting corners whenever he could, in hot pursuit.

After retrieving her handgun and holster from beneath the seat, Ella struggled to get Blalock’s out of the glove compartment where, thanks to the rough road, it had become buried under several maps. The
sniper rifle and carbine were in gun cases in the back, out of reach, but her nine-millimeter was loaded with AP rounds now.

“Did we really get that lucky and cross paths with the pair from the airstrip?” Blalock asked, not taking his eyes off the truck ahead. “I thought you hadn’t been able to make an ID.”

“I still can’t. They blew it when they recognized
me
. Add to that the fact that they
were carrying the right weapons, and I’m willing to bet we hit pay dirt.”

“Let’s catch up to them first, then we’ll sort this out,” Blalock said, then began to cough from the cloud of dust
that the truck ahead of them was kicking up. Their windows were wide open.

Ella sneezed as they raced up a steep hill, then swerved hard to the right, going back down into an arroyo. To remain steady she had
to grab on to the door handle despite her seat belt. The pickup was now out of view, somewhere ahead.

“Bad place for an ambush,” Blalock said.

“Or good—for them.” Ella reached up to grasp the turquoise badger fetish around her neck—a gift from her
hataalii
brother—and immediately felt the heat, a warning sign.

“Ambush!” she yelled. “Take evasive—now!”

Blalock hit the brakes, throwing them
into a controlled slide. Shifting the vehicle into reverse, he jammed on the gas.

Suddenly bullets tore into the front end, ripping up the hood.

“Hit the floor,” Blalock yelled, letting go of the wheel and diving in her direction as the windshield exploded, raining glass down on them.

They bumped heads, but the sound of bullets tearing through the vehicle numbed every other sensation. Ella
attempted to cover up with her arms, but Dwayne was already on top of her and she couldn’t move.

The five-second barrage seemed to go on for an eternity, but just as suddenly as it had started, it grew still. The engine had long since died, and the only sound she could hear was Blalock’s breathing and her own pounding heartbeat.

“Clah, you okay?” he said at last.

“Yeah—once you get off me,
that is.”

“Which way?” he whispered.

“Out your side. Then cover me when I follow.”

Ella felt the pressure ease as Blalock lifted off her, then heard him grope for the door handle.

Seconds later, she crawled out and fell to the ground on her hands and knees. Hearing a vehicle racing up from behind, she instantly dove into the brush beside the front door, flattened, and brought her pistol up,
taking aim. Blalock, who was still crouched by the front bumper, aimed his weapon in the direction of the sound and braced for a fight.

Seconds later the red and white Dodge Ram from the firing range raced up, sliding to a stop only ten feet away. Dennis jumped out first, holding the German MP-44 at his hip, Rambo-style, as he emerged from the cloud of dust thrown up by their approach. He was joined by Dan and Gary, pistols in hand.

“Glad to see you two are still standing. It sounded like you might
need some extra firepower,” Dan said, looking past them. “I see dust down the road, so it looks like the dudes in the Silverado are taking off.”

“Now that they’re outnumbered and outgunned,” Ella said, standing up and tucking her handgun into the holster at her belt. “They’re the same dirtbags who shot two men at the airstrip the other day.”

“Who
are
you?” Gary asked.

“The tribal detective
they’ve missed twice now,” Ella answered. “And, yes, this is out of my jurisdiction.”

Ella walked up the road, cautiously, and found one of the gunmen’s ambush positions—obvious from the glint of metal on the ground beside the twisted juniper stump. Everything was in shadow now and it would be dark soon, but she could see plenty of spent brass—in .223, again. Maybe they’d be
able to match it
to the rounds at the airport—or, if they got really lucky—lift a print or two. She picked up two casings with a small stick, one at a time, and dropped them into her pocket.

“Tribal detective,” Gary mused, watching as she returned. “Interesting. And you?” he asked Blalock. “You aren’t with the tribe. So that makes you . . .”

“FBI,” he said, cell phone out and already on the line with the jurisdictional
law enforcement branch—the county sheriff. “Armed and extremely dangerous,” he added after describing the pair.

As he put the phone away, Blalock looked at Ella and added, “A deputy is on the way with a crime scene team following. You and I are grounded for now. My SUV is a Swiss cheese piece of crap.”

Gary and Dennis, who’d slung his assault rifle over his shoulder, both had their eyes on Dan.

“Yeah, so he’s Fibbye. So what? He’s a friend and he wasn’t here to harass any legal gun owners. Agent Blalock and the lady are after the men who killed that Navajo Army Sergeant, Adam Lonewolf, the GI who was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross,” Dan said.

The men still looked uncomfortable, so Ella smiled at them. “Those two didn’t know we were out here for target practice when they pulled
up, but you boys got lucky, too. Once they saw what you brought to the range, those crazies might have turned their guns on you. Then they could have driven away with some real heavy firepower, leaving you either dead or in pieces.”

“Point noted,” Dennis said with a nod. “You’re that hotshot Navajo cop, the one that keeps showing up on the news, right, Ella Claw?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed.

“No
wonder you can shoot like a man,” Dennis said.

Not really knowing how to accept the backhanded
compliment, she didn’t comment. “I got the idea earlier that you guys have seen those men before. Is that true?”

Dan nodded. “Two or three times, at least, but only from a distance. They never do more than wave or nod, and they don’t drink beer while shooting like I’ve seen a few idiots do. They keep
to themselves, minding their own business and cutting loose at silhouettes with assault rifles. They’re pretty good at it, too, so they either get a lot of practice or have military experience. You agree with that, boys?” He turned to Gary and Dennis, who both nodded.

“We appreciate you three coming to the rescue,” Ella said, still doing her best to set the men at ease. Witnesses who didn’t trust
her invariably locked up or gave out bad information. Right now she needed them relaxed and talkative. Even the most minute detail could turn out to be extremely useful.

“So, you gonna tell her?” Gary prodded.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dennis muttered, then looked back at Ella. “I have new digital binoculars I was trying out today. Great in shadow and low light conditions, like now. I got shots of your
target shooting. I also managed to get photos of the pair and their pickup as they raced off.” He handed her the binoculars, letting her see the LCD display.

The angle had been bad and she couldn’t see their faces directly because they were looking away as they fled, but their profiles gave her a general description. Yet it was the Silverado itself that held her attention. “If you can go back
and forth between those last shots of them driving off, I think I’ll be able to read that license plate.”

Blalock came up, looking over her shoulder. As Dennis manipulated the display, they were able to get all the letters and numbers.

Blalock called it in immediately.

“You can take the memory card—until you’re done with it,” Dennis said, then removed it from the binoculars.
“Anything I can
do to help nail the bastards who killed Sergeant Lonewolf—just say the word.”

“Thanks. This’ll help us a lot,” Ella said.

“I saw the weapon the passenger had,” Gary said. “It was in the M-16 family, probably a civilian ArmaLite—semi-auto.”

“I agree. That’s the same type of weapon that was used at the airstrip,” Ella said.

“I have something else that may help you,” Dan said. “A week ago, maybe
a little longer, I did some work on an AR-180B for a customer. I can’t remember his name off the cuff, but I have twenty-four/seven surveillance in the shop interior. His face is going to be in there somewhere. He might be one of your attackers.”

“We’ll need to go through that,” Blalock said, but before he could say anything else, his cell phone rang.

As Blalock turned away and focused on the
report he was getting, Ella questioned Dan further. “Think hard, and try to recall the name of the ArmaLite’s owner.”

Dan stared at the ground for several long moments. Finally looking up, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I get a lot of business. The economy and the talk show hacks are all generating a lot of fear—and that means sales of guns and ammo are way up. All my business is legal, but a
lot of people come through my doors.”

Ella was about to press him when Blalock took her aside. “We got a hit on the Silverado. The tags are in the name of a Shawn O’Riley. A deputy’s on his way over to the residence. He’ll maintain surveillance until we arrive. SWAT’s on the way, too—and the Bloomfield PD has been notified.”

Blalock gestured toward the approaching emergency lights flashing in
the distance. “That’s probably the deputy they dispatched. He’ll take over here until the county’s crime scene team arrives.”

“We still need transport,” Ella pointed out, gesturing to their bullet-ridden SUV.

“We’ll ride in with Dan and Gary, and Dennis can walk back and pick up Dan’s pickup at the bluff,” Blalock said. “Another deputy will meet us at the gun shop with an unmarked vehicle we
can use.” As his phone rang, Blalock placed it to his ear. “Stand by. We’ll be there shortly.”

“The deputy’s in place at O’Riley’s. There’s a dark blue sedan parked in the driveway, but no Silverado.”

“Either that’s a second car, or they may have ditched the wheels, figuring we’d have an ATL on the truck. They don’t know we got the plates and can ID the person, not just the truck, so we might
get lucky and catch him at home,” Ella said. “And it’s not likely the truck was stolen. Those guys were just out here for some target practice.”