The Showstone by Glenn Cooper

Author:Glenn Cooper [Glenn Cooper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2019-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

On a hot and hazy day, Cal drove to Fort Devens, about forty miles west of Boston. Ever since the closure of the army base, the FBI operated a firearms training center on the sprawling campus. Cal drove around lost until he found the place and presented himself to a guard. His name was on a list. Inside the range clubhouse Julia D’Auria was waiting in a pair of khakis and an FBI polo shirt.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Cal said. ‘This place is a labyrinth.’

She looked somewhere between pissed off and cheerful. ‘No problem. Special Agent Nesserian got tied up. It’s just me. You ready?’

‘Absolutely. Thanks for doing this.’

He heard something that sounded like a grunt.

D’Auria was suffering the consequences for strong-arming the Cambridge police chief to not only approve but fast-track Cal’s conceal/carry firearms permit. Cambridge had one of the lowest per capita license rates in the state and the chief wasn’t thrilled about being pressured. His response to Nesserian’s call was basically, fine, if you’re such an advocate, personally certify that the applicant is competent in firearm safety and use. And that meant blowing a Saturday morning. When Nesserian got called into another case, the burden fell to D’Auria, who was in Massachusetts working the bookstore murder.

D’Auria took Cal over to an indoor range with eight lanes and asked him by way of the first lesson, ‘What do you need before we enter?’

‘Plugs and glasses.’

He got nothing more than a curt nod and figured she was either always like this or just in a bad mood.

She gave him soft earplugs and safety glasses. Seven of the lanes were taken with special agents doing mandatory recertifications. A haze of gunpowder was in the air. Even with earplugs, the pistol fire was loud. Their reserved lane was down on the far end.

‘You ready?’ she said loud enough for him to hear.

He gave a thumbs-up and she pulled her sidearm from the molded plastic safety holster clipped to her waistband. She pointed the weapon downrange, ejected the magazine, and cleared the round in the chamber with a smooth pull, finishing the action with the flourish of catching the ejected round before it hit the counter.

The pistol was a small-frame Glock, but he didn’t recognize the model. He asked what it was.

‘Glock 19M,’ she said loud enough. ‘It’s the new FBI standard issue. It’s lightweight, shoots a 9 by 19-millimeter round, uses a fifteen-round mag, has excellent rapid-fire characteristics, low recoil, and just about never jams.’

‘I used the Beretta M9 in the army,’ he said over the racket.

‘I didn’t know you were a vet,’ she said.

‘It was a long time ago.’

She handed him the gun and watched what he did with it. He passed the first test by pointing downrange as she had done, and rechecking, manually and visibly, that the chamber was indeed cleared.

‘Let me see you empty the mag and reload it,’ she said.

He popped the ammo out with his thumb then smoothly filled the double-stack and seated the magazine. Then a pro move: he racked the slide, ejected the magazine, added one more round, then re-seated it.

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