Page 32 of The 9th Man

Lo and behold. In the flesh.

He immediately recognized the weapon as a military-style semi-automatic rifle, which was surprising enough, but it was the packaging that really piqued his attention. From buttstock to muzzle tip the weapon was vacuum-sealed in clear, heavy-duty polyurethane. A few inches beyond the muzzle, where the bag’s end had been sealed, was a strip of red duct tape on which something was scribbled, but the ink had faded to a blur.

“What is this?” she said, leaning closer.

“Benji was preserving evidence,” he said.

“The question is, of what? And why?

He examined the rifle closer. “This is a Colt AR-15. It’s essentially a civilian version of the M16. It’s old, that’s for sure. First or second generation. We’re talking late 1950s to early to mid-1960s.”

“Is there a serial number? Check the receiver.”

He zeroed in for a closer look through the plastic, not touching or disturbing anything. “It’s gone.”

“At least we found it,” she said. “Now what?”

“Let’s get out of here and we’ll figure it out.”

Jillian rewrapped the gun. Together, they carried the three boxes out and slid them, along with the rifle in its case, into the Peugeot’s cargo area. They climbed in and started back toward the main entrance. As they rounded the last corner and the security gate came into view, he slammed on the brakes. A hundred yards beyond the security gate, outside the perimeter fence, a pair of black Renault sedans were parked, blocking the road. A lone man in a dark-blue suit exited one of the cars, strode around the hood, and faced them, empty hands at his side. He was medium in height, with swarthy skin, Asian features, and short dark hair.

“Looks like an invitation,” Luke said.

“Or a trap. How did they find us?”

He had a few ideas on that one. None of which mattered at the moment.

“We can’t stay behind this gate forever. Might as well see what he wants. What’s your effective range with one of those nines?”

“Forty yards. Ninety percent center-of-mass hits.”

She added a sweet, but brittle smile. He knew it well. Her game face.

But no use kidding each other.

This was serious.

He shifted the Peugeot into gear and approached the gate, which rolled open, then he drove past. He closed the distance to the Renaults until about fifty yards separated them.

He reached for the door handle. “Stay inside, unless you have to shoot.”

“If I do, you stay out of my line of fire.”

“If I go down, drive like hell—”

“Get real. I’d no sooner leave you than you’d leave me.”

Good to hear.

He lowered the windows so she could hear, then climbed out.

“Hey,” she said. “Don’t get killed.”

Seemed like a good thing to keep in mind.

He walked halfway to the Renaults and stopped. The man strode forward until ten feet separated them. Luke noticed a Bluetooth headset jutting from the man’s right ear. People were in contact with one another. One of the Renault’s rear doors opened. A thin, bald man emerged but remained behind the open door, hands out of sight.

Not good.