Horns of the Devil - Jeff Trask [02] Read Online Free PDF Page B

backward. The two other targets stood reflexively, first looking down at their friend, and then whirling back toward the rear of the yard, toward him. His second shot hit the man on the right, the bullet striking the center of his chest. That target had been closest to the door of the house, and he fell, blocking it and slowing down target number three as he tried to pull the door open. The third round struck this target in the back, squarely between the shoulder blades.
    The man with the eye patch paused to pick up the brass casings on the ground before turning toward the car waiting for him on the curb.
    “Home, Hugo.” He pulled the drawer open beneath the seat and dropped the rifle into it.

    Trask got out of the Jeep and started walking up the hill past the perfectly lined rows of white grave markers. It was half-past ten in the morning, and Lynn had said that Dixon Carter hadn’t checked in yet.
    Arlington was an awe-inspiring place. Trask stopped and looked out at the silent ranks, wondering how many were buried there, what their stories were. One of his three academic majors had been history, after all. He knew that some lying here really had been heroes, while others had just been unfortunate. He had been to military bases named after those whose only accomplishment had been to get themselves killed on their first mission. Other bases had been named after combat or service legends. All had assumed the risk by putting on the uniform. Many here had paid the ultimate price for their service. All rested quietly now.
    Not all the heroes chose to come here. Major Richard Bong, our Ace of Aces. Forty kills in the Pacific during World War II. Crashed and died on a test flight in San Francisco. The Japs couldn’t kill him; forgetting to switch on a fuel tank in a new plane did. They took him home to Wisconsin for burial.
    Trask couldn’t help but feel a little inadequate among these honored dead. He’d never seen combat. His knees had been almost destroyed by the time he’d graduated from the Air Force Academy. Too many innings playing catcher in baseball, too many football games. It would have been a waste of the taxpayers’ money for him to try to make it through pilot training. The flight surgeon who did his graduation physical told him that once he started pulling a few g’s in a fighter trainer, they’d have to pull his kneecaps. There just wasn’t enough cartilage to hold them in place anymore. So he’d stayed on the ground, gone to law school. His only fighting had been in the courtroom. He was still fighting those battles while his pilot classmates were all retired or flying desks of their own.
    He remembered the burial site from the ceremony. The route through the headstones and trees was still vivid in his mind.
    The grave’s just beyond the crest of the little ridge, toward the right.
    As he reached the top of the hill, Trask saw him sitting on the grass in front of the grave. Carter turned as he approached.
    “Hi, Jeff.”
    “Dix.”
    Trask looked past him to the marker bearing the name of Sgt. Juan Ramirez, United States Army. For a moment, the images returned. The pallbearers in their dress uniforms, the mournful notes of the bugle, the rifle shots fired in salute. The folded flag presented to Juan’s partner who was sitting here now, still blaming himself.
    “Are you here to give me the lecture?”
    “No. In fact, I was at the LEO Memorial today and got one myself.”
    “You? Why?”
    “I’ve always thought that Bob Lassiter took a bullet that was meant for me. Barry Doroz agreed that it probably was, but said there was nothing I could do about it now but move on.”
    “Sometimes that’s easier said than done.”
    “I know.”
    Trask waited for several long minutes for the big man to say something. He didn’t. Trask turned to leave.
    “Thanks for coming out,” Carter said.
    Trask turned back.
    “Nobody else thinks it was your fault, Dix.”
    “What anybody else thinks doesn’t