The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [150]
I caught what I thought was a muzzle flash from inside the shed. It seemed to come from near the tail of the plane, but it was very hard to tell. No handgun, though. No, sir. Automatic rifle.
I could imagine the surveillance man moving slowly between the shed and the pile, and shots coming through the corrugated steel of the shed and cutting him down. Never had a chance. I glanced toward Hester, and saw that she was looking toward the house. I could only see an edge of the upper floor and part of the roof from my vantage point.
“Hester …” She turned toward me. “You got something in the house?”
She shook her head. “Gotta be there, though.”
Of course. The shooter inside the shed couldn’t see anybody moving in the narrow space between the shed and the pile. But somebody in the house sure could.
Well, now we knew where. It then became a question of how many. And, given the capabilities of Gabriel, I thought it would be very nice to know who was where.
Since the tractor I had picked as my refuge had a large glazed cab with a pair of frozen coveralls obscuring my view, and since the bucket and engine stood a good eight feet above the ground, I had a dilemma. If I looked at the shed and airplane from the rear of the tractor, I wasn’t able to see the house. If I looked at the house, I wasn’t able to see the shed. Furthermore, it occurred to me that, if I moved toward the front of the tractor in order to see the house again, the lower half of my body was completely exposed to whoever was in the shed. Well, I had to find out who was where. On both sides. I’d now lost sight of Volont, and assumed that there was at least one other member of the surveillance team somewhere …
“George …” Sort of came out in a very energetic whisper.
He looked toward me.
“How many people from the surveillance team …?”
He held up two fingers.
“Where …?”
He shook his head.
I took a deep breath. Well, maybe I could at least locate Gabriel. “Jacob Nieuhauser!” I hollered, generally toward the shed.
Silence. I repeated myself. With an addition. “Deputy sheriff! We have a warrant for your arrest! Surrender!”
Total silence. I tried again. Nothing. I was thinking about reinforcements, and stalling until they arrived. I figured that it had taken us about ten minutes to get to the farm via helicopter. That meant that, if things went completely without a hitch, we could expect the chopper back about twenty minutes after it had left us. And with it, some of the TAC team. At least fifteen minutes from now, and probably thirty, knowing how things usually went.
I looked to my right, toward Hester. She was looking toward the house. “Hey, Gorse!” She looked around. “Cell phone?” I mouthed.
“What?”
I made a “talking on the phone” gesture, and then held out my hand. She fumbled inside her jacket, and then produced her phone. She squared herself facing me, concentrated for a second, and then tossed it toward me, underhand.
Unfortunately, it landed just on my side of the front tractor tire. About fifteen feet from me, and twelve of those feet were completely exposed to whoever was in the shed.
Hester stared at the phone, and then looked up. She appeared to start to say a word that began with an f, from the way her lower lip curled under her teeth.
Well, now. I thought about it for a few seconds. Most of the time, if you’re in a rush, you screw up. Calm and deliberate actions usually succeed. Right. With that in mind, I holstered my sidearm, and almost literally threw myself at that damned phone. I slipped as I reached for it, caught myself with my left hand, went down on one knee, grabbed the phone, and hurled myself back toward the safety of the huge rear tire.
Panting, I became aware that there hadn’t been a shot fired. Even better.
Still breathing hard, I dialed the Sheriff’s Department. They answered on the second ring.
“This is… Houseman … here.