Middle Of Nowhere

   Boldt cupped his penlight so the light barely shone down onto his open notebook, but it was enough to see by. He had sketched in the information provided by Dispatch and analyzed by Patrick Mulwright, head of Special Ops, who volunteered to help out. Intelligence, a division where Boldt had been lieutenant for a year, provided high-resolution military satellite images of Miller Bay. Within fifteen minutes of Boldt's request, Mulwright had come back to him with three likely sniper points: rooftops; either of two high-tension electric towers that strung four hundred thousand volts suspended across Miller Bay; and a marina, directly across the water.

   Boldt and LaMoia ruled out the nearby rooftops. Shooting a cop from the roof of a neighborhood house left too great a possibility of witnesses.

   "It's one of the two towers," LaMoia said confidently.

   "Across the water," Boldt added. "It gives him the distance for the scope, and the water gives a natural break to slow down or prevent any pursuit on our part. He escapes while we're attempting to catch up."

   "And what," LaMoia asked skeptically, "he goes on foot from there?"

   "Osbourne confirmed he'd been over here at least twice. He could have anything planned. He could have friends on the reservation. He could have left a car or a bike for himself."

   LaMoia agreed. "That tower over there makes sense."

   "So you take the car," Boldt said. "I'm on foot." He had rearranged the vest to sit beneath his sport coat, his weapon at the ready.

   "The advantage of the towers," LaMoia said, pointing out through the windshield, "is that he can see over the houses. He can see us if he's looking." Boldt quit the flashlight. "Not that he's up there yet. But he could be any minute now."

   "He can see you coming," Boldt warned. "And if he does, he'll take out Daffy. If he can't get me, he'll take her."

   "Now you're getting the point," LaMoia fired back. "And he wants you coming alone. He'll want to see a car drive up with one person inside. If there's backup, he'll see it."

   "But I've still got that half hour."

   Faint light from cars passing out on the main road cast enough light for LaMoia to trace a finger across Boldt's notepad. Boldt could now clearly understand the man's awkward speech patterns caused by his wired jaw. "You drop me over here. Right now. Believing he'll be facing this direction, I come up from behind. You drive back and park someplace with no view of either tower. You give me a good ten minutes because you're right: I'm a little slow. You can't scout it, Sarge, as much as you want to. He could see you. Even now, he could see you, and that blows it for Matthews. Who knows what he has planned for her? Maybe the car's rigged. Maybe the first bullet is meant for her if he smells a double-cross. At the appointed time, you drive in and see what you see. If my phone worked, I could call you, but it doesn't, so we do this blind." He added, "You hear a couple guys throwing shots, you'll know I'm onto something."

   Boldt wouldn't give up. He didn't want to drive into the drop blind. Protecting Daphne meant knowing the layout. He wanted a first look. Pointing to his crude map, he said, "I could make for this tower now, after I drop you off, and at least provide cover if he spots you—"

   "As if you could hit him at that distance."

   "He doesn't know what I'm shooting," Boldt protested. "Providing there aren't any shots thrown, then there'd be plenty of time for me to still arrive by car. If Mulwright described this right, this closer tower is far enough above the drop site that it wouldn't really be in the direction he's facing."

   LaMoia didn't like it, but he said, "Okay, so I agree. Is that what you want to hear?"

   "That's what I wanted to hear," Boldt agreed.

* * *

Boldt dropped LaMoia on a dead-end lane on the opposite side of Miller Bay, about a half mile from the high-voltage tower and the flashing red light that topped it. He crossed back to the west side and parked the car well off Miller Bay Road where it could not be seen by passing traffic.

   He crouched as he walked through the tall grasses and marsh plants, the high-voltage tower dominating his view. It rose a hundred feet or more on four interlaced steel legs, looking like an incomplete version of the Eiffel Tower, its four outreaching struts supporting six high-voltage lines, each the thickness of a man's forearm, that drooped lazily before rising again to the tower on the opposite shore. The sign hung on the chain link fence surrounding its base warned of the lethal electricity, punctuating its message with yellow lightning bolts. Boldt climbed over the fence and dropped to the other side, arching his back to look up and take in the enormity of the tower and the gray night sky that cried down its rain.