any way.”
“Where are they?” she said.
Griggs felt his face flush. Didn’t any of these people believe in damned pleasantries?
“We’ll get you in there, ma’am.” He glanced at the .45 strapped to Flag’s legs, and the carbine strapped to his chest. This was his chance to even the score.
“Sir, you have to surrender your hog leg and rifle. No weapons past that line.”
Flag nodded toward the airmen unloading cases of firearms from the Stratotanker.
“I’m bringing in a lot more than this.” He tapped his .45 and walked past Griggs as if he wasn’t even there.
* * *
The table hastily set up in the outdoor shooting range was covered over with sub-machine guns, rifles, pistols, plenty of scary black plastic, and stacks of loaded magazines. There was enough ammo to begin and end a revolution. Yet Waller and Flag were impatiently waiting for the real weapons to be unloaded from the KC-135.
Moments later the first one arrived.
Floyd Lawton—Deadshot—was escorted into the garage by an army of armed guards, accompanied by a very worried Captain Griggs. He was shackled from head to toe.
“Unlock him,” Flag snapped. “C’mon. Lose the restraints.”
* * *
Griggs looked him, then at the gun show of weapons filling the room, then turned back to Flag.
“You know what this man can do?”
Flag scowled. “I’m here to find out.”
Griggs wanted to protest, but he was smart enough to know it would only get him into trouble. With half of Washington breathing down his ass, whatever was going on, it was big—way above his pay grade. He was trolling in some very dangerous waters, and if he wanted to make it out again, he would have to be especially careful.
Doing his best to ignore Lawton glaring at him, Griggs unlocked the assassin’s shackles and chains.
* * *
“So, what is this?” Lawton drawled. “Cheerleading tryouts?”
Flag checked out the table crowded with weapons. “What gave it away, Lawton? The fifty grand in Gucci weapons?” The colonel picked one up, checked it out, then dropped it back on the table. “Have at it, Lawton. Not that I’m expecting much. I’ve seen legends crumble.”
“Have we met?” Lawton asked, not sounding particularly interested. “Do we know each other? Because you’re sure acting like it.”
Flag checked out the Sig Sauer P220.
“I hunt people like you for a living,” Flag said as Lawton studied the table. “Mind showing us if you can run that iron or not?”
Lawton finished a quick survey of the weapons. He looked up and smiled. Six catwalk guards were aiming their carbines at him. He knew he could easily take out five of them if he tried, but it was possible that last one might cause him some trouble. He turned and eyed the distant steel targets that had been set up.
Hell. My dog could hit them
, he thought.
His fingers drifted over the banquet of weapons. He still wasn’t sure what was going on, which made him wonder if these were even real. Flag and company sure as hell wouldn’t let an assassin called “Deadshot” anywhere within a thousand yards of these babies.
He didn’t have to look to know Griggs was jumping out of his skin.
Good. Let him suffer.
Flag’s hand rested on his sidearm, fingers drumming the holster. He watched Lawton pick up a combat-tuned .45 pistol, savoring its heft. He slid a full mag into the grip, then sealed it with a satisfying
SNAP
. He thumbed the slide release. It clicked shut on a fresh round.
The .45 felt real. Felt heavy enough. He still couldn’t believe they would trust him with a working weapon.
Or maybe they’re just nuts. That would explain it.
Casually he aimed the gun at Griggs. Instantly a half-dozen riflemen had their weapons ready for the kill. They didn’t even have to wait for orders. Flag waved for them to chill. As one they lowered their rifles.
What the damned hell is going on?
“Everyone calm down,” Flag shouted, loud enough for all to hear. “I’d like to end the day
“Where are they?” she said.
Griggs felt his face flush. Didn’t any of these people believe in damned pleasantries?
“We’ll get you in there, ma’am.” He glanced at the .45 strapped to Flag’s legs, and the carbine strapped to his chest. This was his chance to even the score.
“Sir, you have to surrender your hog leg and rifle. No weapons past that line.”
Flag nodded toward the airmen unloading cases of firearms from the Stratotanker.
“I’m bringing in a lot more than this.” He tapped his .45 and walked past Griggs as if he wasn’t even there.
* * *
The table hastily set up in the outdoor shooting range was covered over with sub-machine guns, rifles, pistols, plenty of scary black plastic, and stacks of loaded magazines. There was enough ammo to begin and end a revolution. Yet Waller and Flag were impatiently waiting for the real weapons to be unloaded from the KC-135.
Moments later the first one arrived.
Floyd Lawton—Deadshot—was escorted into the garage by an army of armed guards, accompanied by a very worried Captain Griggs. He was shackled from head to toe.
“Unlock him,” Flag snapped. “C’mon. Lose the restraints.”
* * *
Griggs looked him, then at the gun show of weapons filling the room, then turned back to Flag.
“You know what this man can do?”
Flag scowled. “I’m here to find out.”
Griggs wanted to protest, but he was smart enough to know it would only get him into trouble. With half of Washington breathing down his ass, whatever was going on, it was big—way above his pay grade. He was trolling in some very dangerous waters, and if he wanted to make it out again, he would have to be especially careful.
Doing his best to ignore Lawton glaring at him, Griggs unlocked the assassin’s shackles and chains.
* * *
“So, what is this?” Lawton drawled. “Cheerleading tryouts?”
Flag checked out the table crowded with weapons. “What gave it away, Lawton? The fifty grand in Gucci weapons?” The colonel picked one up, checked it out, then dropped it back on the table. “Have at it, Lawton. Not that I’m expecting much. I’ve seen legends crumble.”
“Have we met?” Lawton asked, not sounding particularly interested. “Do we know each other? Because you’re sure acting like it.”
Flag checked out the Sig Sauer P220.
“I hunt people like you for a living,” Flag said as Lawton studied the table. “Mind showing us if you can run that iron or not?”
Lawton finished a quick survey of the weapons. He looked up and smiled. Six catwalk guards were aiming their carbines at him. He knew he could easily take out five of them if he tried, but it was possible that last one might cause him some trouble. He turned and eyed the distant steel targets that had been set up.
Hell. My dog could hit them
, he thought.
His fingers drifted over the banquet of weapons. He still wasn’t sure what was going on, which made him wonder if these were even real. Flag and company sure as hell wouldn’t let an assassin called “Deadshot” anywhere within a thousand yards of these babies.
He didn’t have to look to know Griggs was jumping out of his skin.
Good. Let him suffer.
Flag’s hand rested on his sidearm, fingers drumming the holster. He watched Lawton pick up a combat-tuned .45 pistol, savoring its heft. He slid a full mag into the grip, then sealed it with a satisfying
SNAP
. He thumbed the slide release. It clicked shut on a fresh round.
The .45 felt real. Felt heavy enough. He still couldn’t believe they would trust him with a working weapon.
Or maybe they’re just nuts. That would explain it.
Casually he aimed the gun at Griggs. Instantly a half-dozen riflemen had their weapons ready for the kill. They didn’t even have to wait for orders. Flag waved for them to chill. As one they lowered their rifles.
What the damned hell is going on?
“Everyone calm down,” Flag shouted, loud enough for all to hear. “I’d like to end the day
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