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the sheets, but they twisted, turning his body away from the action. A
bullet punched a hole in the wood frame wall an inch from his face,
peppering his cheeks with flecks of paint. He let go and dropped the
rest of the way, falling heavily but holding on to his gun. On the way
down, he saw Lisa kneeling in the moonlight, firing as calmly as if she
were shooting at targets on a range. By the time he was down, and
regained his feet, it was over. The other two had come around the side
of the flaming house, expecting to catch them coming out the window
when they heard the first shot. Instead, Lisa had caught them,
shooting one from behind and the other twice in the chest as he
turned.
In the distance, sirens began to wail. Come on, let's get out of here,
Daniel said.
But-but the police. They'll believe us!
Lisa didn't know how feds operated. Don't be a fool. Come on. An
hour from now some federal officer would pull rank, arrest us on
some trumped up charge and we'd be dead or disappeared before
morning. Even as he was talking, he was dragging Lisa toward his
rented car.
She held back. No, take mine! I know the way!
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The way to what? But Daniel knew she was right; her vehicle wouldn't
be followed as his might be. They passed his car and slid into hers, a
five year old Ford extra cab pickup. Lisa started the engine and they
roared away, tires screeching. Seconds later she turned on a side
street, raced down it, then turned again. They beat the fire engines
out of the street by a minute or less and the police cruisers by not
much more. Just then, Daniel happened to think of Lisa's friend.
Marybeth! Oh goddamn, we left her behind!
No we didn't, Lisa said. She's not there. Don't you remember? She
was going to see her girl friend.
Oh yeah. Girl friend? He laughed inside, thinking of how ludicrous
it was, wondering about Marybeth's sexual preferences while
zooming around with a woman driving a pickup, heading away from a
place where they had damn near been either burned or shot to death.
Sure. She likes girls as much as men. She's lots of fun. Can I slow
down now?
Uh, yes. We ought to be clear by now. Where are we going, by the
way?
Up to Beamer Research. Marybeth told you that Tyrone Beamer
wants to talk to you. He's the one who discovered us, even before the
feds did.
Is he the one you've been reporting to? That's what I gathered from
Marybeth.
Not in that sense. We're not really organized. Tyrone sort of leads an
informal council of people in the know-and it's not very many yet.
You'll like him. He's a good man; he's done a lot for the valley.
What does, uh, Tyrone want with me? Marybeth said something
about the council, but after we went to bed I forgot all about
everything except you.
Lisa glanced at him, smiled charmingly, then turned her attention
back to driving. Daniel was impressed. She had just survived what he
assumed was her first gunfight, had probably killed two men (or
possibly one man and a woman) and wasn't showing the least sign of
hysterics. He wasn't either, but he had been through two such scenes
already in his life; once with the Marines and once with the Agency.
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I think he wants you on the council. For sure, he wants you out of
Masterville, and Marybeth and I away from danger, too. He'll find a
place for us up on the mountain. She reached over and patted his
thigh. Welcome to the club. You're now one of us.
Great. But what are we?
We're us. That's enough for now.
BOOK TWO
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
President Robert L. Bobby Lee Smith was incensed, as was Murray
Phillips. They were huddled in their usual basement conference
room, discussing recent events.
Who was in charge of that clusterfuck, anyway? I want him fired,
the President said.
It was Mandel Crafton, the AIC of the Washington office. If we fire
him, we might have a whistle blower on our hands. We sure as hell
don't want that. It's bad enough that he screwed up the Op in that
fucking valley, but he let the mole they had in his office get away, too.
I thought you said he was killed during his getaway?
He was, but the local police got in on it before we arrived on the
scene and ID's him first. He's going to be in the headlines in
tomorrow's paper. We've got a cover story going on him but I can't tell
you for sure that it will go over with the media or the public.
Fuck the public and the media both. Just make damn certain it can't
be traced back to us.
Everything is being sanitized as we speak. I'm having Crafton
transferred sideways and promoting that agent who was with
Stenning, Shirley Rostervik, into his position. She knows as much as
anyone about that valley, now that we've lost our other agents there.
How the hell could that happen? They're not goddamned Supermen,
are they? And while we're on the subject, what have you done about
them?
I don't know how it happened. I suspect luck as much as anything
else. As for the three deaders in Masterville, the Police Chief there is
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covering it up for now.
He is? Why would he do that?
That's what I'd like to know, but I don't even have an operative there
right now. I pulled the last one out because they had gotten her
address from a description and license plate. She was lucky to get
away before they tracked her down.
It sounds to me as if whoever is controlling things there wants to
keep a damper on publicity. Does that make sense?
Yes, it does. The longer they can sit quietly in their little valley and
expand their population, the better off they are.
President Smith got up and began walking in measured treads
around the long conference table, trying to decide on the right course
of action. He circled twice then stopped, clasping his hands behind his
back.
And we still don't know what they are, do we?
According to Rostervik, there's nothing really strange about them,
other than what we've already noted.
Yeah, they're fucking atheist, free-loving, gun-totin', gook-loving
radicals that don't want anything to do with the federal government.
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