Vail had a map out and found the address. “It’s not far,” he said.

Kate called the radio operator again. “Check Alan Nefton’s driver’s license for a description.” Vail pulled away from the curb. After another minute, she said, “There’s no record on file for any Alan Nefton.” Kate disconnected the line. “Well, let’s hope the address isn’t a phony too.”

Kate watched the car’s navigational screen without saying anything to Vail, who, once seeing where the address was on a map, didn’t refer to it again. When they were within two blocks, he said, “That should be it there, the small house with the bars on the windows and door.”

“It looks abandoned,” she said.

“Probably because it’s wedged between those two industrial properties that are abandoned.” Both businesses were large and dwarfed the tiny residence between them. One appeared to be an old flour factory, faded black letters on its whitewashed wall proclaiming “Stabler Milling Company Est. 1883.” The other looked to be an automobile graveyard, its eight-foot fence keeping its exact contents hidden. “Probably the look he was going for.”

“And he doesn’t have to worry about the neighbors sticking their noses in his business.”

“Keep an eye out for the car. I’m going to drive by at a normal speed. Because it’s on my side, I’m not going to look at it. If anyone is looking out, they’ll watch me to make sure I’m not checking it out, so you have to memorize all the windows and doors.” Vail hung his arm out the window and, staring straight ahead, took off slowly.

Kate looked as straight forward as possible. “Okay, the west side has one window at the back with bars. The front, one barred door and a barred window on either side of it. The east side has a window toward the front but no bars.”

“That just leaves the back,” Vail said. “We’d better get surveillance out here.” They were a block and a half past the house and Vail was looking for someplace to turn around when he spotted a green Camry coming at them. “Okay, here we go. Don’t look at the car.” With his peripheral vision, Vail could feel the driver scrutinizing him. He leaned over and placed his palm on Kate’s face. Snarling, he pushed her head away roughly. Before she could react he said, “Sorry, he was eyeballing us.”

In the rearview mirror, Vail tracked the Toyota as it pulled up in front of the house. He turned into a driveway and parked so his car was difficult to see. They watched the driver get out. Kate said, “That’s him!”

“You recognize his face?”

“No, he’s too far away, but that’s the same Unabomber getup the woman at the Laundromat saw.”

Vail watched him go into the house. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Let’s go? Don’t you think this is a job for SWAT?”

“See that gate on the front door?”

“What?”

“It’s not closed all the way.”

“So?”

Vail put the car in reverse and backed out into the street. “Chances are he didn’t lock it because he’s leaving right away. We don’t have a choice.” Vail was now driving toward the house. “When I pull in, go along the east side of the house. Be careful going past the window.” He was close enough to see the property in detail now. “There’s a Dumpster in the back for cover, and it’s off to the side. You can watch both the back and the east side of the house from there. I’ll go in the front.”

“What about the window on the west side?”

“It has bars on it, remember? He can’t get out that way.”

“Okay. I guess.”

“It’ll be fine. Just make sure you get some cover. Take your cell phone. As soon as you set up, call in the infantry.”

Kate drew her automatic and pulled the slide back far enough to make sure there was a round already in the chamber. Vail turned quickly into the driveway and was out of the car before her. Keeping low, she sprinted around the side of the house to the Dumpster, then straightened up behind it. There was only a single door in the back of the house and it was covered with another iron gate.

Giving her a few seconds to get into position, Vail now swung open the front door. It was dark inside, and he knew he would be silhouetted if the Camry’s driver was in position to shoot. He drew his Glock and dove through the opening. As he did, an explosion lit up the room. Vail heard two rounds thud into the wall behind him. In the flash of light, Vail saw a dark figure standing in an interior doorway.

Now it was dark again. The door was slammed and some sort of heavy lock was thrown. Hugging the wall, Vail worked his way over to the door. A board creaked under his feet. A burst of three rounds ripped through the solid wooden door. Without standing completely in front of it, Vail kicked at the edge of the door just above the knob. It didn’t give at all. He had kicked in enough doors to know that this one was heavily barricaded and it was going to take more than foot-pounds to open. Moving back along the walls, he exited the front of the house. “Kate!” he yelled.

“Yeah,” she called back.

“You all right?”

“Fine. You okay?”

“He’s barricaded himself.”

“LAPD and our people are on the way.”

“Just hold your ground. He can’t get out.”

Vail could already hear sirens in the distance. As they grew louder, he heard a single gunshot, this time muffled. He knew what that meant.

FOURTEEN

AN LAPD CAR SWERVED INTO THE DRIVEWAY, AND VAIL WAVED THE and took out a shotgun, jacking a round into the chamber as he trotted to Vail’s position. Vail asked him, “Can you go and cover the back? There’s a female agent there with a handgun, but I’d feel better if it were covered with a long gun. Go along the east side of the house. There’s a window, but he’s barricaded in a room on the opposite side.” The officer didn’t hesitate, taking off in a low trot.

Within seconds, Kate joined Vail. “Did he shoot at you?”

“Yeah, but that last round wasn’t fired through the door.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Suicide?”

“If I were a betting man…”

An hour later both LAPD and FBI SWAT teams were in the small parking lot of the abandoned auto salvage yard that crowded up against the west side of the house. After a short disagreement as to how to broach the room that the gunman had barricaded himself in, the PD team agreed to take the perimeter while the Bureau made entry. First, bullhorn pleas were made for him to surrender. The only response was silence. Vail told the team leader that he didn’t think the standard battering ram or pry bar was going to be enough to open the inner door. “Well, let’s give it a try and see what happens,” the agent said.

Vail and Kate waited outside while the team leader gave the go-ahead. They could hear the battering ram thudding against the door. After almost a minute, there was a metal clang as the ram was dropped on the floor. One of the SWAT team members came out and got an explosive kit and took it inside. Within a couple of minutes the team backed out of the house, the leader holding the detonator attached to wires that ran back inside. “Everyone stand clear of the windows and doors,” he yelled. He waited a few seconds for all movement to cease and then yelled, “Fire in the hole.” He pressed a button. An explosion erupted and the team ran back inside.

Vail followed them in. A heavy metal rod ran from the floor two feet inside the bedroom door to just below its knob, anchoring into heavy metal plates at both ends. The door was twisted and hanging from one hinge. Vail stepped into the room.

In the corner lay Stanley Bertok, a nine-millimeter hole neatly torn through his right temple, a single trickle of blood less than two inches long now dry against his skin, his face recognizable in the sunlight that was coming through the barred window. Vail studied the body for a while before carefully touching the blood from the wound. It had already crystallized. Bertok’s mouth was open slightly, and without anyone noticing, Vail bent over to smell his breath. In Bertok’s curled hand lay the most sought-after gun in recent FBI history, his Glock model 22.