Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(48)

Connor slid a file across the table. “Yeah. Let me know if you need any of these findings explained, but Rory’s right. We’re ready for another job.”

“Good to know. Steven?” Mark turned to the other quiet man in the room, relieved he didn’t have to fight everyone.

“Yes, sir. I have further analysis of the weapon and rounds that actually hit the victim.” He flipped on the overhead video. The extremely slow motion and close-up clip showed FBI Agent Becker’s unusual weapon and the projectile fired from it.

Mark hadn’t seen a rifle like it, nor had he seen the oblong rounds tumbling end over end until they hit the windshield and shattered the glass. Alex slumped forward. Becker fired again. The second and third shots caused identical damage.

Ember whimpered.

It was god-awful hard to watch.

“What the hell kind of projectile is that?”

Steven calmly continued. “Not sure, but take a close look at the rifle, sir.”

Mark watched while Becker disassembled his weapon. It wasn’t the standard issued M-40 rifle, the M107 fifty-cal Browning machine gun, or the M-110 semi-automatic Marines used. This barrel was long, but much too wide, the buttstock compact. Downright short.

Instead of a magazine, Becker detached a rounded canister from the bottom slide. The whole damned thing fit in an ordinary gym bag.


“You ever seen anything like it before?” Mark asked Steven.

“No, sir. I have not.”

“What kind of ammo?”

Steven cringed. “I’m still not sure if it is ammo, Boss, umm, damn it. Sorry, Mark.”

“Still no heat signature?”

“Not one we’d expect from a 10-millimeter.”

“It almost looks like a paintball gun,” Rory commented.

Steven’s report roused everyone’s attention, but Mark wasn’t about to send his team on a ghost hunt. There was a logical explanation behind all this misleading evidence.

There has to be, damn it.

“Good work, everyone. Steven, since you discovered the shooter, take the lead in tracking Becker down. Who do you want to work with?”

“Taylor and Izza, sir.”

“Sorry. They’re tracking the last five suspects.” Mark turned to Izza. “How’s that going?”

Her brows narrowed. “I can’t find them. They’re nowhere.”

Taylor spoke up. “Right. No physical street addresses. Only post-office boxes. Stevenson has a mother in Oklahoma, but she hasn’t heard from him in years. Said she doesn’t want to.”

“None of those jerks are even married,” Izza added. “Every last one of them is divorced. We checked DMV records, too. We can’t find anything but the police records we showed you earlier, and even then they have no forwarding.”

“All five of these guys are off the grid,” Taylor said, “What’s worse, they’ve been virtually non-existent since they left the service, which is downright scary now that we know what they’re capable of. It’s as if they’ve been planning revenge on Alex for years.”

Acid flooded Mark’s gut. Damn Charlie Oakes to hell. He might not have been the mastermind to this gang of ten plot, but he should’ve alerted Alex to it a helluva lot sooner.

“How about you let me and Connor take a shot at finding them?” Rory asked. “That’ll free up Izza and Taylor to assist Steven, and you know what they say about a second pair of eyes.”

Leave it to Rory to offer a viable option. “Thanks. Good idea. Consider it done. Mother, can you help with Becker’s cell phone and GPS, maybe get an angle on him so Steven knows where to start?”

“Yes, Mark,” she answered primly, her eyes still on her fake nails. Whatever bug had climbed up her butt, it seemed to have taken up permanent residence.

“Good. The minute we know where the five are, we make our next move.”

“What is our next move?” Rory asked.

“Ha. You and Connor go introduce yourselves, whatcha think?” Izza smirked as she gave Rory a high five. “Tell me. I want to go with you.”

Rory smacked her open palm. “Trust me. I’m all for that. The quicker we nab these dogs, the better.”

“Izza’s right,” Mark agreed. “Any other questions?”

No one spoke.

“Good. Report in every hour, on the hour. Stay safe. Maverick. Hang back a minute.”

The room cleared. Mark blew out a big sigh. No wonder Alex called this business his stupidest idea ever. It only took a couple disgruntled employees to ruin it for everyone.

He faced the angry man to his left. Hands down, Maverick was the better agent. He did a hard day’s work every day, while Landon seemed more enamored with Lisa Channing.

Maverick lifted his chin and ground out between clenched teeth, “I don’t give a shit if those two are banging each other’s brains out.”

“Me neither. Wish they’d keep it out of the office, though. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Maverick’s nostrils flared. He all but snorted, the cords in his neck as tight as his fists. Mark didn’t get the feeling he wanted to take a swing at him. He didn’t answer the question, though.

Mark opted for the middle line. “Guess I owe Mother a new coffee pot.”