Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [39]
I went back to where our guys had set their surveillance point. I looked around, to see where the best view of them could have been had. If they’d been careful, nowhere I could see from. And they would have been careful, knowing they’d been seen the previous day. So . . .
Well, if you couldn’t see ’em where they’d been set up, you’d have to pick them up somewhere on their ingress route. Follow the logical track. Intercept them where you thought they’d be. Sounded good, but if I was stalking our guys, that would be a little chancy. If you lose sight for a time . . .
There’s a thing they use in antisubmarine warfare called a datum. If a ship is torpedoed, and can report that fact, that’s what they call a ‘‘flaming datum.’’ The most recent possible information. Whatever you’re going to use to attack the sub heads toward that ‘‘flaming datum,’’ and the longer it takes for it to get there, the wider the possible area where the sub can be. They figure the maximum speed of the sub, assume it has fled, and draw a circle with that radius around the datum point. Now, the same sort of thing would be at work here, I thought, except there would be a direction of travel to go with the datum. If the shooters had acquired our guys at a particular point, seen what direction they were heading, estimated their progress . . .
Then they would have gone to that point, and that was where they had been seen by Turd. Or very close to it. They were in transit when they were discovered. Going toward where they thought our guys would be . . . and they would have probably assumed they were going to the patch . . .
I went over to where the shooter had been, and looked back, figuring that the second shooter, being on my left, would have come from the same place. Between my left, or 270 degrees, and my rear, or 180 degrees, was where I’d come from, because I was ahead of the man at 270. Given that, I turned around, reestimated the degrees, cut it in half, and looked up.
I was just about looking straight at the point where we’d found the MREs.
I really wanted to call Hester. But she was on days off, and she needed a break as much as I did. Aside from my excitement, there was no real reason to bother her until the next day. But until I saw her again, I thought I was going to explode. I didn’t want to tell Lamar right away, because I wanted to be absolutely sure.
Hester was back up at 0930 on Monday, the 8th. I really wanted to run out into the parking lot to meet her. Instead, I walked. She was lugging about fifty pounds of paper, the summaries of all the interviews all the state agents had conducted since the shooting. We were going to go over them together.
‘‘Give you a hand?’’
She looked at me sort of suspiciously. ‘‘Sure.’’
I took one of the two shopping bags she’d stuffed the reports in. ‘‘Hey, these really are heavy!’’
‘‘Isn’t that why you offered . . . ?’’
‘‘Yeah, but, listen to this. I’ve got some news. I went back to the scene and when I was there . . .’’
‘‘Hey!’’ she said. ‘‘Slow down. You sound like a ten-year-old.’’
I absently