tc.patriotgames-第108章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　　　By　the　time　he　was　finished　drying　his　hands；　he　had　a　collection　of　twenty　spent　bullets。　The　metal　jacket　on　each　showed　the　characteristic　marks　made　by　the　rifling　of　the　machine　gun's　barrel。　The　marks　were　roughly　the　same　on　each　bullet；　but　slightly　different；　since　the　gun　barrel　expanded　when　it　got　hot。
　　　　He　took　a　small　box　from　the　evidence　case。　This　bullet　had　gone　pletely　through　the　body　of　a　police　officer；　he　remembered。　It　seemed　such　a　puny　thing　to　have　taken　a　life；　he　thought；　not　even　an　ounce　of　lead　and　steel；　hardly　deformed　at　all　from　its　deadly　passage。　It　was　hard　not　to　dwell　on　such　thoughts。　He　placed　it　on　one　side　of　the　parison　microscope　and　took　another　from　the　set　he'd　just　fired。　Then　he　removed　his　glasses　and　bent　down　to　the　eyepieces。　The　bullets　were　。　。　。　close。　They'd　definitely　been　fired　by　the　same　kind　of　gun　。　。　。　He　switched　samples。　Closer。　The　third　bullet　was　closer　still。　He　carefully　rotated　the　sample；　paring　it　with　the　round　that　was　kept　in　the　evidence　case；　and　it　。　。　。
　　　　〃We　got　a　match。〃　He　backed　away　from　the　'scope　and　another　technician　bent　down　to　check。
　　　　〃Yeah；　that's　a　match。　One　hundred　percent；〃　the　man　agreed。　The　boss　ordered　his　men　to　check　other　rounds　and　walked　to　the　phone。

　　　　〃Shaw。〃
　　　　〃It's　the　same　gun。　One…hundred…percent　sure。　I　have　a　match　on　the　round　that　killed　the　trooper。　They're　checking　the　ones　from　the　Porsche　now。〃　
　　　　〃Good　work；　Paul！〃　
　　　　〃You　bet。　I'll　be　back　to　you　in　a　little　while。〃　
　　　　Shaw　replaced　the　phone　and　looked　at　his　people。　〃Gentlemen；　we　just　had　a　break　in　the　Ryan　case。〃

Chapter　22　Procedures

　　　　Robert　Newton　took　the　agents　to　the　quarry　that　night。　By　dawn　the　next　day　a　full　team　of　forensic　experts　was　sifting　through　every　speck　of　dirt　at　the　site。　A　pair　of　divers　went　into　the　murky　water；　and　ten　agents　were　posted　in　the　woods　to　watch　for　pany。　Another　team　located　and　interviewed　Newton's　fellow　woodcutters。　More　spoke　with　the　residents　of　the　farms　near　the　road　leading　back　into　the　woods。　Dirt　samples　were　taken　to　be　matched　with　those　vacuumed　from　the　van。　The　tracks　were　photographed　for　later　analysis。
　　　　The　ballistics　people　had　already　made　further　tests　on　the　Uzi。　The　ejected　cartridge　cases　were　pared　with　those　recovered　from　the　van　and　the　crime　scene；　and　showed　perfect　matches　in　extractor　marks　and　firing　pin　penetrations。　The　match　of　the　gun　with　the　crime　and　the　van　was　now　better　than　one　hundred　percent。　The　serial　number　had　been　confirmed　with　the　factory　in　Singapore；　and　records　were　being　checked　to　determine　where　the　gun　had　been　shipped。　The　name　of　every　arms　dealer　in　the　world　was　in　the　Bureau's　puter。
　　　　The　whole　purpose　of　the　FBI's　institutional　expertise　was　to　take　a　single　piece　of　information　and　develop　it　into　a　plete　criminal　case。　What　it　could　not　entirely　prevent　was　having　someone　see　them。　Alex　Dobbens　drove　past　the　quarry　road　on　his　way　to　work　every　day。　He　saw　a　pair　of　vehicles　pulling　out　onto　the　highway　from　the　dirt　and　gravel　path。　Though　both　the　car　and　van　from　the　FBI　laboratory　were　unmarked；　they　had　federal　license　plates；　and　that　was　all　he　needed　to　see。
　　　　Dobbens　was　not　an　excitable　man。　His　professional　training　permitted　him　to　look　at　the　world　as　a　collection　of　small；　discrete　problems；　each　of　which　had　a　solution；　and　if　you　solved　enough　of　the　small　ones；　then　the　large　ones　would　similarly　be　solved；　one　at　a　time。　He　was　also　a　meticulous　person。　Everything　he　did　was　part　of　a　larger　plan；　both　part　of；　and　isolated　from；　the　next　planned　step。　It　was　not　something　that　his　people　had　easily　e　to　understand；　but　it　was　hard　to　argue　with　success；　and　everything　Dobbens　did　was　successful。　This　had　earned　him　respect　and　obedience　from　people　who　had　once　been　too　passionate　for　what　Alex　deemed　their　mission　in　life。
　　　　It　was　unusual；　Dobbens　thought；　for　two　cars　at　once　to　e　out　of　that　road。　It　was　out　of　the　ordinary　realm　of　probability　that　both　should　have　government　license　plates。　Therefore　he　had　to　assume　that　somehow　the　feds　had　learned　that　he'd　used　the　quarry　for　weapons　training。　How　had　it　been　blown？　he　wondered。　A　hunter；　perhaps；　one　of　the　rustics　who　went　in　there　after　squirrels　and　birds？　Or　one　of　the　people　who　chopped　wood；　maybe？　Or　some　kid　from　a　nearby　farm？　How　big　a　problem　was　this？
　　　　He'd　taken　his　people　to　shoot　there　only　four　times；　the　most　recent　being　when　the　Irish　had　e　over。　Hmm；　what　does　that　tell　me？　he　asked　the　road　in　front　of　his　car。　That　was　weeks　ago。　Each　time；　they'd　done　all　the　shooting　during　rush　hour；　mostly　in　the　morning。　Even　this　far　from　D。C。；　there　were　a　lot　of　cars　and　trucks　on　the　road　in　the　morning　and　late　afternoon；　enough　to　add　quite　a　bit　of　noise　to　the　environment。　It　was　therefore　unlikely　that　anyone　had　heard　them。　Okay。
　　　　Every　time　they　had　shot　there；　Alex　had　been　assiduous　about　picking　up　the　brass；　and　he　was　certain　that　they'd　left　nothing　behind；　not　even　a　cigarette　butt；　to　prove　that　they'd　been　there。　They　could　not　avoid　leaving　tire　marks；　but　one　of　the　reasons　he'd　picked　the　place　was　that　kids　went　back　there　to　park　on　weekends　　there　were　plenty　of　tire　marks。
　　　　They　had　dumped　the　gun　there；　he　remembered；　but　who　could　have　discovered　that？　The　water　in　the　quarry　was　over　eighty　feet　deep　　he'd　checked　　and　looked　about　as　uninviting　as　a　rice　paddy；　murky　from　dirt　that　washed　in；　and　whatever　kind　of　scum　it　was　that　formed　on　the　surface。　Not　a　place　to　go　swimming。　They　had　dumped　only　the　gun　that　had　been　fired；　but　as　unlikely　as　it　seemed；　he　had　to　assume　they'd　found　it。　How　that　had　happened　didn't　matter　for　the　moment。　Well；　we　have　to　dispose　of　the　others　too；　now；　Alex　told　himself。　You　can　always　get　new　guns。
　　　　What　is　the　most　the　cops　can　learn？　he　asked　himself。　He　was　well　versed　on　police　procedures。　It　seemed　only　reasonable　that　he　should　know　his　enemy；　and　Alex　owned　a　number　of　texts　on　investigative　techniques；　the　books　used　to　train　cops　in　their　various　academies；　like　Snyder's　Homicide　Investigation　and　the　Law　Enforcement　Bible。　He　and　his　people　studied　them　as　carefully　as　the　would…be　cops　with　their　shiny　young　faces　。　。　。　
　　　　There　could　be　no　fingerprints　on　the　gun。　After　being　in　water；　the　skin　oil　that　makes　the　marks　would　long　since　have　been　gone。　Alex　had　handled　and　cleaned　it；　but　he　didn't　need　to　worry　about　that。
　　　　The　van　was　gone。　It　had　been　stolen　to　begin　with；　then　customized　by　one　of　Alex's　own　people；　and　had　used　four　different　sets　of　tags。　The　tags　were　long　gone；　underneath　a　telephone/power　pole　in　Anne　Arundel　County。　If　something　had　resulted　from　that；　he'd　have　known　it　long　before　now；　Alex　thought。　The　van　itself　had　been　fully　sanitized；　everything　had　been　wiped　clean；　the　dirt　from　the　quarry　road　。　。　。　that　was　something　to　think　about；　but　the　van　still　led　to　a　dead　end。　They'd　left　nothing　in　it　to　connect　it　with　his　group。
　　　　Had　any　of　his　people　talked；　perhaps　a　man　with　an　aching　conscience　because　of　the　kid　who'd　almost　died？　Again；　had　that　happened；　he　would　have　awakened　this　afternoon　to　see　a　badge　and　gun　in　front　of　his　face。　So　that　was　out。　Probably。　He'd　talk　to　his　people　about　that；　remind　them　that　they　could　never　talk　with　anyone　about　what　they　did。
　　　　Might　his　face　have　been　seen？　Alex　chided　himself　again　for　having　waved　at　the　helicopter。　But　he'd　been　wearing　a　hat；　sunglasses；　and　a　beard；　all　of　which　were　now　gone；　along　with　the　jacket；　jeans；　and　boots　that　he'd　worn。　He　still　had　the　work　gloves；　but　they　were　so　mon　an　item　that　you　could　buy　them　in　any　hardware　store。　So　dump　'em　and　buy　another　pair；　asshole！　he　said　to　himself。　Make　sure　they're　the　same　color；　and　keep　the　sales　receipt。
　　　　His　mind　ran　through　the　data　again。　He　might　even　be　overreacting；　he　thought。　The　feds　could　be　investigating　some　totally　unrelated　thing；　but　it　was　stupid　to　take　any　unnecessary　risks。　Everything　that　they'd　used　at　the　quarry　would　be　disposed　of。　He'd　make　a　plete　list　of　possible　connections　and　eliminate　every　one　of　the