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I moved sideways from the door so I had a clean field of fire in case another bad guy came into the room. Measuring the distance between us, I was careful to make sure Dowd couldn’t reach for my gun.
He said, “I wouldn’t be quick to shoot again, professor. I’m not quite unarmed.”
He slowly raised a hand that clutched a stainless steel cylinder with two small lights, a green one that was dark, and a second burning bright red. It had a button on the top. His thumb was holding down the button.
“You’re shrewder than I thought,” he said. “I didn’t expect you here for some time. I’ve been trying to extract some information while you’re in San Diego protecting your first wife.”
“She’ll be fine.” My tongue felt as if it were covered with sandpaper.
“Well, no plan survives first contact with the enemy.” His eyes narrowed.
I kept my voice steady. Dowd was right about one thing: anger would only get in the way of the training and experience that would give me an edge.
I ordered, “Put your arms out and get on your knees, very slowly.”
He made no move to comply. “Aren’t you going to thank me for my service to our country like every other civilian parasite did?”
“On your knees.”
He shifted his weight, nothing more. “I want to show you something.”
“Don’t move!”
“I’ll do it slowly.”
I kept the gun on him as he stepped back toward a closet door, continuing to face me. Then he reached behind him and opened it slowly.
Inside, Peralta sat handcuffed to a chair. He’d been beaten badly. Blood was caked around his left eye. The last Claymore was strapped around his middle, with the front of the mine pointed inward.
“Kill him, Mapstone.” He sounded groggy.
Dowd held out his other hand, the one with the cylinder. “He’ll be dead in one second. This is a panic room, built for the family to hide in if there was a break-in. The walls are thick.” He closed the door.
“And this,” he indicated the device, “is a detonator for the Claymore. The walls aren’t thick enough to block the signal. Right now, the only thing keeping your friend alive is the pressure my thumb is exerting on this detonator. So if you shoot me, the green light goes on and your friend dies. I told you I’d kill every one you love.”
I kept the gun on him.
He cocked his head. “All I wanted was the list of Scarlett’s clients. You thought you were cute, the expensive case in the motel room, the fake flash drive inside. I should have realized two can play the tracker game. Tonight, when your friend the sheriff showed up to check on her old man, I could have hidden, made daddy pretend everything is fine. But I thought maybe Peralta might have the list. So far, no list. This is really pissing me off. All I want is the list of johns. Why was that so hard for you?”
“I don’t care.” I didn’t recognize my own voice.
His cheek twitched.
“Don’t you get it? We’d been robbing banks, but that was too risky. Eventually the illegal government in Washington would have gotten us before we were ready.”
He seemed eager to be understood.
I said, “You were going to blackmail Grace’s clients.”
“Exactly. I could have raised millions to fund the Brigade. Then the fun would have started. By the time we’re done, this country will be under martial law, and every target we strike will have evidence that it was done by the hajis and the niggers and the spics who shouldn’t be in this country. The Chicano Liberation Army. Al-Qaeda in America. The African Struggle.”
“But the groups don’t exist, right?”
“People will think they do. I’ve already got the Web sites reserved, so we can let these groups take credit when a shopping mall blows up. You don’t know how savage the American can be. We’ll make this a white man’s country again.”
“I think we’re better than that.” I nodded to the dead woman on the bed. “Anyway, she looks white to me.”
“Collateral damage.” He smiled. “Hunter said his slut-nugget daughter didn’t have a computer here. If she had, it might have had the client list. Too bad for him she didn’t. He had to watch while I humped his young wife a few times. She didn’t like it at first, but I won her over. It was awhile since she’d had a real man. Must hurt like a son of a bitch to see another man screw your wife. It’d make me want to kill the motherfucker doing it, but ol’ Bob just cried. ‘Course, I had him handcuffed. Then I strangled her slowly while he watched. At least he didn’t change his story.”
