Home Invasion - J. A. Johnstone [113]
“Stop him!” Alex choked out. Garaldo knew the resistance was gathering at the high school, and if he reached his men with that information, it would result in a bloodbath.
Eloise brought the rifle she held to her shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The weapon was set to automatic fire, so a burst of shots ripped out from it. She probably wasn’t expecting the recoil, because all the bullets went high except one.
That one clipped the upper part of Garaldo’s right arm and knocked him spinning off his feet.
Alex had recovered from the blow by now. She dashed after Garaldo while Ford and Parker continued trading shots with the invaders at the other end of the alley. The general was cursing and trying to struggle to his feet when Alex reached him and put the muzzle of her rifle against the back of his head.
“Don’t make me regret the decision to keep you alive,” she said coldly.
Panting a little from the pain of his wounded arm, Garaldo said, “You cannot blame a man … for fighting for his destiny, Chief.”
“Your only destiny is prison.”
“We shall see.”
“Get up,” she ordered curtly.
“I am wounded.”
“And you’re lucky you’re not dead. If Eloise was used to handling an automatic rifle like that, you would be. Get up.”
Awkwardly, Garaldo got to his feet. Blood dripped from his arm. Alex took hold of his collar again and swung him around. She prodded him back to the alley mouth.
“Did I do all right, Alex?” Eloise asked.
Alex gave the dispatcher a quick smile. “You saved the day, that’s for sure.”
“Enough talk,” Parker said. “Those guys look like they’re getting ready to charge us. When we open up again, you go.”
“Hear that, Garaldo? You come with us, or I kill you right now.”
He nodded. “Yes. I understand.”
With Ford aiming high and Parker aiming low, the two agents thrust their rifles around the corner of the building and opened fire. Alex sent Garaldo across first, then Eloise, then dashed out into the open herself. She felt as much as heard a bullet passing within inches of her head, but then she was behind the sheltering corner of the other building.
“Lead the way,” Ford told her, and the five of them set off at a run again.
The pair of trucks set out from Casa del Diablo a little before eleven o’clock that morning, winding through the mountains on the narrow blacktop road until they reached the larger road that led through the foothills to the flatland. Each truck had a squad of armed men riding in the back with the cargo, but there were no jeeps leading the way, no armored SUVs following, no visible security at all. Secrecy was the greatest security of all, and there was nothing special about these trucks to attract anyone’s attention. That was the way it had been planned all along.
The guards didn’t know what they were guarding. A lot of the scientists who had worked on the various parts of the project didn’t know exactly what they were working on. Less than a dozen people at the facility knew the whole story, and even fewer people in Washington were aware of the truth. That was the only way this could work.
Construction of Casa del Diablo had started under the administration of the previous president, but at that point the possibilities for it had been only theories. Contingency plans at most. In the end, the President had decided not to go forward with any of it. Despite all her lust for power and her self-righteous zeal, she had finally drawn the line at murdering Americans whose only crime was disagreeing with her politics.
The man in the Oval Office now had no such compunction, and as soon as he had been briefed on the Casa del Diablo project, he had given the go-ahead for it. In fact, he had instructed the project leaders to work as quickly as possible. His instincts had told him that he might need the fruits of their labors sooner rather than later. So far, the American people had been amazing tolerant about letting him do whatever he wanted, but he knew that couldn’t last.
Now, in these old, nondescript trucks,