Body Parts (Rye & Claire 1) (21 page)

Paul Casey and Bobby Panther whipped around to see a woman standing there, chest-heaving, shotgun pointed directly at them.

The woman chambered another
shell. “Peter, get over here.” Simms limped past Bobby Panther. Jamming
his hand into his pocket, he pulled out the detonator. Staggering next
to Rosie, he held out his hand, thumb poised over a bright red button.
He pressed it.

The blast knocked over the
Panther brothers and drove Paul Casey up against a tree, driving a huge
cloud of dust out of the mouth of the mine that covered nearly the
entire clearing. By the time they got to their feet, Rosie and Simms
were gone.

“Everyone alright?” Paul said, between coughs.

The brothers looked first to the mine, then the trail.

“Shit, what the hell happened?” Bobby asked.

Paul ignored the question.
“Phil, get down the trail after them. Bobby, go back the way we came, on
the run, block the gate with the car. I’m staying to search the mine.”

Chapter Thirty Seven

Rye slowed to a jog
when
he lost his light to the first bend in the tunnel. He would have fallen
in the same vertical shaft that trapped Crystal if he hadn’t stopped to
listen to the sound of voices. For a moment, he thought he recognized
the voice of one of the guys who kidnapped him, but shook it off and
shuffled past the shaft. When he heard what he thought were female
voices he began to run, dragging one hand against the tunnel wall for
guidance. In the dim light of the airshaft, he could just make out the
image of a woman. As he neared, it became clear that it was Claire. Just
as he reached his wife’s side, an enormous blast rocked him backwards;
the concussion that followed caused his ears to pop.

Crystal looked up at Rye from
her position in the shaft and extended a hand. As he grabbed Claire by
the seat of her pants and collar, he shouted, “Go, go, go,” and threw
his wife into the air vent, diving in after her.

Chapter Thirty Eight

“I found Bonnie in the hall
, Jesus Christ, Peter,” Rosie said. Then I saw Derrick on the trail. Where’s Hubble?”

“In the mine, but he was dead before the blast.”

Rosie stopped running. “Everything’s turned to shit, Christ, turned to shit. What are we going to do?”

Simms reached over and pulled the shotgun from her grip.

“Keep it together, Rosie. We torch the clinic and the mansion and drive out the front gate like nothing’s happened.”

“Like nothing’s happened?
Have you seen yourself? You look like you were hit by a truck, the
grounds are littered with bodies … and who were those guys?”

Simms ignored Rosie’s ranting and started walking. “There’s no time for this, honey.”

The two moved on in silence until they reached the clinic.

“I’ll take care of the clinic, you torch the house. There’s gas in storage room. Now get going.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do? I’ve never set a house on fire before.”

“Goddamn it Rosie, use your imagination.”

* * *

Bobby Panther sprinted down the dirt road leading to Pericolo Lane, keys in hand before he even reached the car.

With tires spinning, he hung a
three-point U-turn and skidded onto the pavement headed for the gate. A
man in a blue suit and sunglasses stepped out from behind one of the
stone pillars.

The guy was built like a
linebacker, and waved for him to stop. Bobby was actually slowing down
when his door flew open and someone yanked him out. He’d wrestled for
twenty years and was undaunted by the giant of a man who had him by the
arm. But it was the .45 leveled at his chest and the sharp pain in his
arm that stopped him.

Phil Panther nearly tripped
over Derrick’s body. There was no reason to stop; he could see by the
twist of the head that the man was dead. When he reached the clinic,
fire was billowing out the windows. Phil ran around the wood and stucco
building searching for a way in but it was too late; he couldn’t get
within ten feet of the structure before being driven back by the heat.
When he reached the mansion, he opened the front door and called out,
but a collapsing staircase drove him back out. Covering his mouth with
his shirttail, he entered a side door but the heat was too intense to go
on. Pausing to cough and clear his lungs, Phil circled the mansion, and
not finding anybody, headed to the front gate.

Chapter Thirty Nine

Even before the dust settled
,
Paul Casey began picking his way through what used to be the opening of
the mine. With his shirt collar pulled over his mouth, he felt around
until the dust finally settled and he could see the mine was completely
sealed. His hip ached and his head throbbed, but he knew he couldn’t
rest until he caught up with the man who killed Rye Anderson.
It
was slow going down the trail to the clinic, which was burning itself
out. When he reached the mansion, the ground floor windows were blown
out and flames licked the outer walls. He finally allowed his pace to
slow as he approached the gate, but was surprised to find it open.

The car blocking the way
wasn’t Bobby’s muscle car, it was a black and silver BMW. A knot formed
in Paul’s stomach at the sight of Phil kneeling over a prostate figure.
Hopping as fast as his hip would allow he came up next to Phil, prepared
for the worst.

“Bobby.” Paul stared down at his friend in total disbelief.

“He’s fine Paul.” Phil said looking up. “But you’d better have a look in the BMW.”

Paul passed through the open
gate, and immediately recognized the two occupants as the woman with the
shotgun and the man who had blow up the mine. They were leaning stiffly
at odd angles. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he reached the
car—both had been horribly gutted.

As he turned from the car, Phil greeted him, his arm around his brother who was rubbing the center of his chest.

“Jeez, I think one of those blue suited goons punched me in the chest. Thought I’d been shot.”

Paul looked to Phil for an
explanation. “Apparently when Bobby got here he wasn’t the only one
looking to catch up with those two.” Phil nodded toward the BMW.

Bobby broke loose from his brother, walked the last few steps to the car and peered in the open window.

“I guess they wanted them a lot more then we did.”

Phil turned a grim face on Paul. “Rye and Claire?”

Paul shook his head. “The mine was sealed by the blast. Bobby, why don’t you drive down and get the local sheriff?”

Bobby shook his head as he
walked to join his brother. “Not a chance. The last time you sent me on
an errand I got punched in the chest by a gorilla. I’ll just call,” he
said, holding up his cell phone.

Chapter Forty

A stretch limo pulled into
the
gas station in Denton Beach. The windows weren’t tinted they were
blacked out. When the attendant walked up to the driver’s window, all he
could see of the lone figure inside was a silhouette.

“Fill it up?”

The window rolled down four inches, and the attendant noticed the driver never took his hands off the wheel.

“I need directions to Pericolo Lane,” a voice said in a thick accent. The voice didn’t come from the driver.

“Sure. Two blocks north, take a right at the Book Nook.”

The window rolled up and the limo drove off.

* * *

“Mildred, would you get a look at that limo?” Sally Moore said to her sister.

“Oh my God,” said Mildred. “I’ve never seen one so long. I wonder if it can make even half the turns on that road?”

“Could you bring me that box of books, I need to start now if I’m going to get them entered by the end of the day,” Sally said.

For the next twenty minutes,
Mildred and Sally Moore worked independently, one entering books, the
other shelving, occasionally interrupted by tourists and the few
regulars who routinely visited the Book Nook.

Mildred looked up from the computer as blaring sirens grew closer and closer.

“Sally, do you have your little TV on again?”

“No.”

Sally deserted her shelving and walked to the picture window that looked out on North Main.

“Something’s going on. Millie, come see.”

Mildred joined her sister at the window.

“My goodness, what in the
world would take two police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck? And
would you look at that black sedan.

Sally laughed. “Probably the FBI.”

The two women took turns speculating on what might be happening. As the sirens faded, the women went back to work.

* * *

The stretch limo slowed
at the gate of 20415, then stopped. The first of four passenger side
doors opened; a man climbed out, fastened the middle button of his sport
coat. The distant wale of sirens filled the air. The man—dark
complexion, hair slicked back—heard the sirens, but looking up and down
the road saw nothing. Without taking a step, he turned his upper body
only and spoke to someone inside.

”Claro.”

The remaining limo doors opened and six nattily dressed men emerged.

One, clearly the leader,
paused and looked around. “Beautiful,” he said. He too heard the sirens,
but they seemed so far away he thought nothing of it. He looked over at
Paul Casey and the Panther brothers, then at the stone pillar with the
address. He spoke in Spanish to his companions; all heads turned in an
attempt to locate the direction of the sirens. The leader walked across
the road.

Paul walked to head the man
off. As they met near the center of the road, the man stopped. “Excuse
me. I see that this is 20415.” He spoke with a strong Spanish accent,
then seeing Paul’s apparent confusion, added, “Please forgive me. I am
Eduardo Santana, representative to the Columbia delegation. We have an
appointment with Doctoro Simms and Señora Rehnquist.”

Paul had made the first man
out of the limo as a bodyguard the moment he stepped onto the road. He
was puzzled by this other man, however, until the names Simms and
Rehnquist were mentioned.

“Perhaps you could direct me?” Santana said.

The sirens were now clear enough that it was apparent that they came from several vehicles.

Paul managed to produce his
most cordial smile. “Certainly,” he said, and stepped back indicating
the silver and black BMW. “You’ve arrived just in time.”

The stranger shook Paul’s
hand. “Bueno, señor. Thank you very much.” He turned and walked back
toward the limo where he joined his companions. Paul walked back to join
the Panther brothers as quickly as his hip would allow.

“What did you tell the police?”

Bobby was still rubbing his
chest. “Everything I thought would get them up here in a hurry. Black
market organ sales, murder…and I threw in the fire for good measure.
Why?”

“Judging from those sirens we should see half the county’s law enforcement come flying around the corner any minute.”

Paul watched as the group of men from the limo—the Columbian contingent—walk across the street and converge on the BMW.

Paul’s eyes widened, and he
instinctively took a step back. The highway patrol vehicle whizzed by,
narrowly missing the men. It then suddenly turned into a skid, stopping
crossways to the road. A second vehicle, a sheriff’s patrol, skidded to a
halt parallel to the limo, blocking it from the delegation.

Paul and the Panther brothers
silently watched as an unmarked black sedan came to a skidding halt,
blocking the road. It hadn’t come to a complete stop when its doors flew
open and a half dozen men wearing orange vests with NSA on the back
emerged. Several knelt into the three-point position, aiming their guns
at the Columbians, who by now were looking for a quick exit. Three more
NSA agents crabbed forward, guns drawn.

Suddenly, the bodyguard reached into his coat, but a volley of bullets brought him down before he could pull his gun.

“Shit, are you sure that’s all you told them?”

An NSA agent, his gun still
drawn, interrupted Bobby’s response. “One of you Paul Casey?” Paul
looked to Bobby then back to the agent. “Yes sir, I’m Paul Casey.”

“Could I see some identification?” the agent said, aiming his pistol squarely at Paul’s chest. “Nice and slow.”

Paul used one hand to open
his coat and the other to extract his private investigator’s license
from the inside pocket, handing it over with two fingers.

The agent holstered his pistol.

“We started watching these
guys last week when they first entered the country. Columbian secret
service provided us with full profiles.”

Paul was totally baffled. “Why are you telling me this?”

“These men represent
Columbia’s black market organ distribution, and actually I was hoping
you could fill us in on who they were meeting.”

Paul looked first to Bobby,
then to Phil, then back to the agent. “Sorry to say that the only people
who could answer that question were killed in a mine explosion less
than an hour ago.”

He had barely choked out the words and was looking down at his feet, when the agent touched him on the shoulder.

“Who are they?”

Paul whirled around and
looked up the driveway, unable to believe his eyes. Phil and Bobby,
smiling broadly, began jogging in the same direction.

Rye was carrying Claire in
his arms. Crystal had a hand on his shoulder and was stumbling along.
All of their clothes were torn, their skin scraped and bleeding.

Bobby spotted blood running down Rye’s leg and broke into a run. “Get one of the EMTs,” he yelled, over his shoulder.

Paul turned and made a
beeline for the ambulance. Bobby took the unconscious Claire from Rye’s
arms, walked to the grass at the edge of the driveway and gently laid
her down.

Paul placed a hand behind Rye’s shoulders, helping him to lie down. “What happened?”

Rye turned his head and watched as a pair of EMTs set down next to Claire and began palpating for broken bones.