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''He's jerking you around," Raiders said. "He saw shit." |
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The blond pressed on. "And when exactly was that?" |
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"Last night." It seemed plausible, he hoped. |
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The man's expression did not change. "And what did you tell the FBI?" |
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"That you people were setting up a clandestine pumping operation to drain the well of any traces of the poison that killed my son." No point holding back now. |
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Raiders mumbled something to the man from the high-tech van. |
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"Then why are you two good citizens here alone?" the blond said. |
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"What makes you think we're alone?" |
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He stared at Calvin, then from a vest pocket removed a round length of metal. With deliberate turns he attached the silencer to the end of his gun barrel. |
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The blond nodded toward the door. Raiders and the others returned to the van, came out in shoes and pants and ran outside to check, their guns held close to their chests. |
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"Stupid to come here," the blond said. |
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Calvin looked at the silencer. So this is how it would end. Some nameless stranger in his own backyard . . . |
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Calvin nodded at the electronics van. "You're doing more than pumping the well." |
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"You got it. We're . . . neutralizing it," the blond said, figuring there was no need to hold back. |
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Which explained to Calvin the size of the shed and the heat. They were somehow sterilizing out the poisonous organics. There was probably a holding tank and some kind of filter in there, too. They must have been at it for the last thirty-six hours, from the moment he had moved into the hotel yesterday. "Who's paying you?" |
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When the blond didn't answer, Calvin said, "What's the difference? We're not leaving here." |
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"Guy's name's Roman," the blond man said. |
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"What's your connection with BiOmega?" |
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Unless he was leading him on, it appeared they were freelancing. |
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