Blown Read Free Page A

man's gun bouncing across the floor. It stopped halfway between Kaplan and the LEO but remained within the line of fire of the remaining Italians, both of whom had taken refuge behind the bar. When he looked up, the dead Italian's body was draped over the wooden rail.
    Gunfire filled the air with its burning stench as round after round fired across the restaurant. Windows shattered. Glass rained down on the floor. Injured patrons moaned. With every gunshot, a hysterical woman screamed. He heard another woman chanting a prayer and two others crying. A cloud of smoke coalesced with clean air by the slow moving ceiling fans.
    After a momentary pause, the LEO and two Italian thugs resumed volleys of gunfire.
    Two against one.
    Better odds than before.
    The LEO ducked behind his overturned table and glanced at the gun and then at Kaplan. He was noticeably unsure how Kaplan fit into the scenario. Kaplan understood the man's dilemma and gave him as much of a reassuring I'm-on-your-side kind of look as he could.
    Maybe it was intuition, instinct, or sheer desperation but the LEO nodded. He held up three fingers and Kaplan readied himself to make his move. The LEO counted down with his fingers and at the balled fist he raised and fired. Kaplan sprang from his crouched position and dove toward the gun, grasping it in one smooth motion as he rolled into position next to the LEO. Both men ducked as another volley of gunfire emanated from the Italians.
    "Who are you?" Asked the LEO.
    "Someone in the wrong place at the wrong time."
    "Bullshit. You knew something was going down before I did. I want to know how."
    Kaplan didn't want to answer questions. No one was supposed to know who he was, what he was, or that he was even here. "Look, I only stopped to get a bite to eat. I was just passing through. Maybe it was my Special Forces training. I don't trust anybody so it doesn't matter how I knew, what matters is we don't end up dead."
    "Army?"
    Kaplan nodded. "Delta. ‘A’ Squadron."
    "No shit? I was ‘A’ Squadron too. Kuwaiti Resistance. Purple Heart landed me on the civilian side."
    More shots rang out. Both men ducked. "Let's see about getting out of here alive," Kaplan said. "Then we can chat."
    "You know, Delta," the LEO said. "I almost shot you when you charged the table."
    "Glad you didn't."
    Kaplan pointed at the man's belt badge, a silver star. "Marshals Service?"
    The man nodded. "WitSec."

3
    W itness Security .
    Some people called it witness protection. Technically, they were wrong.
    Unexpected, but it made perfect sense. Tropical Shirt was a witness.
    And that meant the U. S. Marshals Service didn’t consider Little Rock a danger area for the witness otherwise Tropical Shirt would be tucked away somewhere in a safe site and this guy would be delivering food to him instead of escorting him out in public.
    It also meant Tropical Shirt was probably in his relo area waiting to testify in a federal trial.
    And since the relocation area was known only within the agency, it meant the United States Marshals Service had a leak.
    "WitSec, huh? What's up with wearing the star around a witness?"
    The deputy looked down, "Oh crap. I forgot to take it off and put it in my pocket when we left the hotel. See, that's another reason I know you're not a drifter. Only insiders have that kind of intel. Who do you work for?"
    "Nobody," said Kaplan. "Lucky guess, that's all." Kaplan ejected the magazine, checked the number of bullets remaining, and then clicked it back in place. It was a Beretta. Exactly like his. "Four rounds, three in the mag, one in the chamber."
    The deputy held up his Glock, and ejected the magazine. "Seven plus one."
    "Spare mag?"
    "Already spent."
    Kaplan surveyed the layout. Not much to hide behind. "They’re reloading. We don’t have much time,” he said. “Divide and conquer."
    "What?"
    " Divide et impera . Latin for divide and conquer. In warfare, it means a tactical maneuver to