72
The D-boys were gone into the night. No question who had gotten the shooter. Colonel Gibson had drilled him twice in the heart, once in the forehead.
A car had arrived unnoticed at the other side of the house. Someone coming back uninvited. Maybe a shift change. Who knew.
It looked as if he came alone, but the D-boys had gone to make sure.
Connie wrapped the blanket around Clay. She’d have patted his face good-bye, if he’d had one. Two rounds, maybe three, to the back of the head had blown out the other side. Gerta folded the blanket closed. Between them they managed to lift his body into the back of the helo.
Then Connie returned to check on John and the major. He’d cut a big flap out of the back of Emily Beale’s pants and her underwear.
“Damn! I liked these pants.”
“Shut up, Ma
