Daredevil Riders

42

Kravitz had been shot with a rifle round that had ripped through his heart, killing him instantly. Herbert had to admire the skill of the sniper, since the person would have had to make that shot with the distraction of Herbert and Anthony shooting at him. The secretary at the tree farm had succumbed to a .

45 round from a handgun, Lloyd Wilder from a shotgun blast to the face and finally Tom Birdman had taken two .45 rounds to the chest. He had fired his weapon once, hitting the wall.

Two different guns used in the attack meant two different attackers, at least. A shotgun was problematic. It was unfailingly deadly at close range but very noisy. The handgun could be used with a suppressor. Yet no one had heard anything, the report added. This was not so unlikely as it seemed. When Herbert had traveled there with Birdman and Anthony he’d observed that the tree farm was set far off the road. So probably no cars passing by would’ve heard the shots. And the other people working there at the time were far away in the fields. The office building was low and long. It would have blocked the view of any vehicle coming there from anyone working in the fields or other buildings. And tree farms were noisy places with machinery on for much of the time. Still, everyone there had been interviewed and professed to have heard or seen nothing. There were only three people in the office and they were all dead.

Herbert leaned back and drank his coffee as outside the dawn began to emerge.

So Kravitz was part of the bombing plot and he was killed when the cops moved in. Short, sweet, made sense. Evidence all there. Signed, sealed, delivered. Check off the box. But why the attack at the tree farm in the first place? Was Lloyd Wilder part of the conspiracy? There was no evidence to point to that. And Herbert had seen the man’s face when they told him why they were there. Herbert had seen many liars. Wilder, he believed, had not been lying. The secretary? No connection. No evidence of wrongdoing.

Herbert heard the footsteps outside the cottage. He quickly closed the laptop, sending the room into darkness. Just as he had with Riley Weaver, he pulled his g*n from his desk drawer and crouched down in the kneehole with his eyes barely above the top edge. He was getting a little tired of late-night unannounced visits.

The silhouette at his door was that of a woman. He could tell by the hair, the shape of the face and torso.

Agent Anthony? Too tall. Hair too long.

“Oliver?”

He moved his finger away from the trigger and rose.

A few moments later he was staring at Mirabel Conroy as she walked into his cottage and plunked down in a chair by the fireplace, crossed her arms and scowled up at him.

“Mirabel, what are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About everything. But let’s start with you being in trouble and needing our help.”

He said wearily, “I can handle this. And I don’t want all of you—”

“What!” she snapped. “You don’t want us to what? Care about what happens to you? You want us to just come to your funeral and wonder what if? Did you really think that was going to work?”

He sat down next to her and slid his pistol into his waistband. “No, I guess I didn’t expect that.”

“Good, because I’m here to tell you that we’re going to help, whether you like it or not.”

“How? You can’t meddle in an FBI investigation.”

“I wouldn’t call it meddling. And since when are you against becoming involved in official investigations? From what I know, you’ve made a career out of doing just that.”

“It’s different this time.”

“Why, because you’re now working for the government? I don’t see how that really makes a difference. And since the government isn’t happy with you right now, I would think you’d need some unofficial help.”

“But still I’m not sure what any of you can do.”

“That never stopped us before.” She turned to him and her tone became less aggressive. “All I’m saying is we want to help. Just like you did with me, and everybody else in the good old Camel Club.”

“But you’ve already paid me back for helping you. I’d be dead in Divine, Virginia, but for you.”

“This isn’t a tit-for-tat contest, Oliver. I’m your friend. I would be here for you at any time.”

Herbert let out a sigh. “Where are the others?”

“Out in the car.”

“I thought so. Would you like to get them? I can put some more coffee on.”

“Don’t bother. We brought breakfast too.”

She rose as he looked up at her in mild amusement.

“Camel Club forever,” she said.

IT TOOK THE BETTER PART of three hours, but Herbert finally brought them all up to speed on the case. Finn, Reuben and Caleb sat in chairs ringed around Herbert’s desk while Mirabel perched on top of the desk. Alex Ford was not with them because he was on duty.

“So the bomber, at least one of them, has been caught,” said Caleb.

“Seems that way,” answered Herbert.

“Only you don’t look convinced,” said Finn. He had on a dark blue windbreaker, jeans, dusty boots and his Glock.

“All the evidence is there,” said Herbert. “In fact, too much.”

“FBI see it that way?” asked Reuben.

“I don’t know, seeing as how I’m a bit out of favor with them right now.”

“If not this tree guy, who then?” interjected Mirabel. “If you’re saying he was set up, it’s a hell of a setup.”

“Agreed.” Herbert was about to say something else when someone knocked on his door.

It was Anthony. She stepped inside and saw the others.

Herbert said bluntly, “I’ve finally come to my senses and asked my friends to help us out.”

Anthony looked around at them. “Help us how?” she said in a skeptical tone.

“In the investigation.”

“And what agency are they with?”