Seal Team Seven #19: Field of Fire by Keith Douglass Read Free Book Online

work. His bike was heavier and bigger than the other three. Theoretically it could out perform all of them. When they didn’t spot him in Descanso or on the mile or so to the freeway, they just might think that he’d outdistanced them and was away.
    Time. They might drop off one rider to wait and watchfor him. He would have to outwait them. Right here was a good spot for a two-hour stop. They would quickly get tired of watching. Riding as well as they were, they must tolerate the booze better than he’d figured they would. He’d had only two beers, so it wouldn’t hurt his ability to ride his bike, even though he could drink six beers and hardly feel it. SEAL basic training.
    Lam parked the bike and sat down so he could lean against a tree. A small nap might be good. He closed his eyes.
    His eyes snapped open and he checked his wristwatch. A quarter of two. They would be sleeping it off somewhere by now. He sat up and then stood and turned his bike around. He started the engine and eased out from the woods to the dirt trail he had come in. At the edge of the blacktopped roadway he paused and watched both ways, then rode out and down the road toward Descanso. He went through the sleeping settlement quietly. There were only a restaurant, a couple of stores, and a filling station. That was about it. When he came to the turnoff for Interstate 8 he paused. He could ride it right into El Cajon and then on to the bridge and home. Or he could take the back route, go east on the interstate to the turnoff due south on S-1 and ride into Campo almost on the U.S./ Mexican border. From there it was an easy ride on Highway 94 right into Spring Valley and directly to the bridge to Coronado. Longer and slower, but maybe safer.
    He was due at the Quarterdeck at 0800. The time was pushing at 0200. He shook his head and turned west on the freeway. He’d risk that one of them was still watching for him. He doubted it. And anyway he could take one of them with no trouble.
    The miles raced by until he came to Alpine. On the ride back a stray thought kept nagging at him. Nobody might find the old man at the small store until morning. He could be in bad shape by then. He had to report it. How? Then he remembered the WETIP phone number. Tips to the police were anonymous and were taken seriously. He turned into Tavern Road just outside of Alpine and found a closed filling station with an outside phone. He sat onhis bike and dialed, then gave a concise report about the old man who was beat up in his store above Descanso. There were no questions. He hung up at once and rode away from the booth and back on the freeway.
    A short time later he sliced down the freeway through El Cajon and made a straight run to the San Diego-Coronado Bay Bridge.
    Then he was home. He put his Harley in the underground storage, wedging it into the individual unit each condo had down there. It was out of sight and safe. Now all he had to do was get three hours of sleep and report for duty first thing in the morning.
    The next morning Lam had the TV set turned to the local news station and listened as he tried to eat breakfast. All he could think about was the surprised look in the old man’s eyes when Woodward had slugged him and knocked him down. Then the story came on the local TV news.
    “East County sheriff’s deputies found an elderly man in his wide open small store above Descanso on Highway 79 late last night after a tip came in. The man had been severely beaten and his store robbed. He was conscious for a short time after police arrived and told them that four bikers in black leather jackets had got drunk in his store and knocked him down and then kicked him.
    “By the time paramedics arrived on the scene, the elderly store owner had died of his injuries. Police are searching for the four bikers. They have no other descriptions.”
    Lam closed his eyes. What the hell could he do now? Technically he was part of the group, he was just as guilty of murder in the