Книга Army of Devils. Страница 29
Lyons sighted on a man in a suit sprinting across the gravel. The blast sent steel through his brain and heart and lungs. He died before he fell. A Chicano scrambled from the back of the truck. Lyons put a single blast through his body. Another Chicano stepped over the corpse. Steel from the Atchisson and from one of Gadgets's grenades ripped him.
"That plane!" Blancanales called out.
The Lear jet veered away from the carnage. An arm reached from the cabin and pulled the cabin door closed. Accelerating, the jet bounced across the field.
The helicopter pilot turned the Huey. At a hundred miles an hour, he attempted to intercept the jet before it lifted off. But the jet's engines took it into the dawn sky and away.
"Sorry, I couldn't stop it, it was too fast…" the copter pilot apologized.
"Back to the truck and the car. Put us down," Blancanales said.
Nothing moved in the scene. Anglos and Chicanos sprawled around the overturned truck and the unmarked sedan. As the Huey touched down on the field, the rotorstorm made the suit coats of the dead Anglos flap.
"We need prisoners," Blancanales told his partners.
Jumping from the helicopter, they fanned out to approach the bodies. They glanced into the Dodge. They saw only blood. In the truck, they found dead men and four hundred forty pounds of a white powder in thick vinyl sacks.
None of the dead carried identification.
After the search, Lyons finally spoke, his voice emotionless, beyond despair. "I'm going back to find Flor."
"There's not going to be anything to find, nothing that you'll recognize," Blancanales told him. "Let the fire department do it."
Lyons shook his head. "She's mine. I'll get her ready, I'll…" His voice faded away. Without speaking again, he left his partners. He walked the mile back to the crash site.
Two hours later, when a Drug Enforcement Agency car came for Blancanales and Gadgets, they joined Lyons at the wreckage.
Lyons stood in the desert, his back to the morgue workers who combed the scorched metal. They found only bones and ashes. With plastic gloves on their hands, the morgue workers put the pieces of a proud, brave woman in plastic bags for later positive identification.
Lyons walked east into the desert.