Thomas grinned. “That is so cool.” He handed the trigger back to Jonathan.

“The technical term is KFB,” Boxers said, rising to his feet.

“KFB?” Thomas asked, taking the bait.

“Ka-fuckin’-boom.”

They laughed, Thomas harder than the others. “Can I ask a question?”

“Do you do anything but?” Boxers grumped.

Thomas was learning Boxers’ crankiness. “We kept the bridge so we can get out, but aren’t we still cutting off our own escape with the trees?”

“We’re not here to escape,” Jonathan said without hesitation. “We’re here to prevail. If we don’t prevail, escape won’t be an option. If we win, we’ll have time to clear a path.”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t really think we might get killed here, do you?”

“Might’s a pretty tough bar to clear,” Jonathan said. “They’re gonna be shooting back.”

“But we’re better than them, right?” he pressed. Anticipating Boxer’s inevitable barb, he added, “I mean you. You’re better than them.”

“It’s not about being better. Half of it’s just about being lucky. Once a bullet’s in the air, it’s on its way to where it’s going. The best you can hope for is to stay out of its way.” It wasn’t what Thomas wanted to hear.

“You still got time to skedaddle,” Boxers urged.

Thomas shook his head, but he looked peaked. “I said I’d stay. I’ll stay.”

Jonathan clapped him on the shoulder. “Big Guy and I have both seen our share of shoot-outs. We haven’t lost yet.”

Thomas tried to smile, but reality was settling in. “What’s it like?” he asked. “You know, after.”

Jonathan cocked his head. “After a battle?”

“After killing someone.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as he decided not to answer. “We should head back,” he said.

“I want to know.”

“Soon enough, you will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I don’t have an answer for you. It affects different people different ways. It changes you, sure, but people all handle it differently.”

“How did you handle it?”

Jonathan sighed. Talk like this never came to good. “I guess it didn’t hurt me enough to make me unwilling to do it again.”

“But we’re ultimately talking more murder charges, aren’t we? Only these’ll be real.”

“Don’t worry about that, either,” Jonathan said.

“Why?”

Boxers guffawed, “Because they can’t charge you with nothin’ when you’re already dead.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

Father Dom smiled at the little girl on his office sofa and tried to make her feel at home. She’d arrived only an hour ago, and she was struggling to be bra of the kids, Roman Alexander among them. Mama called me just to give me a heads-up, but if Mama is disturbed enough to call the cops, then I think it’s worth looking into.”

Dom steeled himself for news he knew he wouldn’t like. “And because Mama called, I’m going to guess that the talking was more like touching?”

“Not exactly, but she seemed to think he crossed a line. The guy asked questions about Venice. About where she worked and what she did there. I don’t know if he knew that Roman is her son, but Roman didn’t know any better, so he just answered with the truth. About the time Mama saw them together and intervened, Roman was about to go with him down the hill to show him the way.”

“Who was this guy?”

“Nobody’d ever seen him before. Well dressed, they said. Suit and tie.”

Dom’s stomach tightened. There are no coincidences. Dom pinched his lower lip and scowled. “Didn’t touch him, though?”

“Nope. Didn’t do anything I could arrest him for, even if I knew who he was or where he went.”

“Did he ever show up at Venice’s office?”

“Not that I know of. I asked Mama to check that out and call me if he did. I haven’t heard back from her, so I can only assume…” He didn’t bother to finish the sentence. “Frankly, Father, I’m not as concerned about Venice as I am about strange guys hanging around an orphanage talking to little boys.”

“It’s not an orphanage.” It was an important distinction in Dom’s mind.

“Still, I think you can see my point.”

“I do. What do you recommend?”

The chief shrugged. “I don’t know. I was hoping that maybe you could shed a little light on what your friends at Security Solutions are up to. Does this have something to do with that?”

Dom didn’t like the tone of the question any more than he liked being stuck in the middle. “It wouldn’t hurt to be more vigilant over the next few days,” he said.

Chapter Thirty-nine

“Claymores?” Stephenson gasped. “I haven’t seen one of these in years.” They were out in the front yard of the lodge, making the final preparations for their defense.

Jonathan couldn’t tell from the man’s tone whether he was impressed or appalled. “One of the best antipersonnel weapons ever invented,” he said. “But they’re only a last resort, understand?”

“So if we see someone in the clearing, we just blow them up?” Jesse asked.

Jonathan shook his head. “No, if you see a lot of someones, and you know they’re all OpFor-excuse me, opposition force-then you can use them, and then only if they’re close. Effective range is only about eighty yards.”

“I’ve heard of claymores,” Thomas said. “Didn’t they use them in Platoon?”

Jonathan chuckled. The modern military was looking more and more like a video game every day. “Claymores have been around forever.” He lifted the wedge-shaped plastic box and displayed it to the group. “This baby has 700 steel balls in front of about a pound and a half of plastic explosive. When they detonate, they send a wall of buckshot out in a sixty-degree pattern that makes living through violence, while others just like to fight. I imagine a good handful will disappear as soon as the first bullet passes their head. The ones who are the most frightened will become the most fearless fighters.”

Jesse cocked his head. “Do I hear admiration in your voice?”

Jonathan continued working while he talked. “Respect is a better word. I respect anyone willing to die for a cause.”

“Even terrorists?” Thomas asked.

Jonathan nodded. “Even them.”

“But they’re the enemy,” Jesse protested.

“And my goal is to help them die for their cause. But I still respect them.”

“So, what’s next?” Stephenson asked.

Shadows were getting very long now; it would be dark soon. The explosives were set, the weapons were loaded, and the satellite link was established. His troops and his camp were as prepared as they were going to get. “I guess it’s time to make your phone call,” he said.

Stephenson’s expression didn’t change as he heard the words, but color drained from his face. He turned away and hobbled up the steps into the cabin.

“What phone call?” Gail asked.

“The one that’s going to bring hell to the front porch,” he said. “We alerted Ivan and his gang to our location by using Steve’s credit card at the Wal-Mart back in town. We wanted to get them on the road in the correct general direction. When Steve turns on his cell phone and makes a call, they’ll be able to zero right in on us. We’re at the point of no return.”

Gail cocked her head. “Why are you really doing this?” she asked.

“I’d like to know that myself,” Jesse said. The facial twitch that followed from Gail announced her wish that he would wander off somewhere.

Jonathan wished that himself. “Want to take a walk?” he asked.

“To where?” Jesse protested.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Jonathan snapped. He looked to Gail for her answer.

“Sure,” she said. This time, Jesse read her glare perfectly. He was staying behind.

Jonathan led the way toward the front tree line, his hands in his pockets, his rifle hanging from its combat sling like an exclamation point down the front of his body. When he felt far enough out of earshot, he said, “You go first. Why are you really doing this?”