Fatal (6 page)

Cassie had been waiting under the kitchen table with a small fire extinguisher in her hand. When the pair hit the floor she stepped out, swinging the heavy steel cylinder with everything she had into the face of the man under Ronnie. The man’s nose exploded. She hit him again. His forehead caved in. Ronnie rolled off, grabbed her before she could hit him again. “Stop, stop. It’s over. He’s done.” He could hear her breathing in the new quiet. “There’s another one,” she said, moving quickly now. “He’ll be waiting outside, probably in back. Help me.”

She reached down and grabbed the leg of the man on the floor, dragging him towards the living room. Ronnie got hold of the other leg and pulled. A long streak of blood followed the head. So this is what they mean when they say “dead weight,” Ronnie thought. Finished dragging him into the living room, Cassie moved to the front door, opened it slowly and stuck her head out. She motioned Ronnie behind her with a wave of her hand. Once out front, Cassie turned right, crossed the front yard and went around the corner, moving between their house and the adjoining house in a crouch. She reached the backyard and dropped to the ground, edging her way up to the corner of the house. Ronnie was close behind her. The night was still silent as they waited.

*****

Brooks had gone over a block and turned left, counting houses as he went. Without slowing down he moved up the driveway behind the target house, jumping a low chain link fence, moving deeper into the backyard. Making his way through, he had to step carefully over toys and bikes and the remnants of children at play. A large oak tree provided deep shade in the corner, almost complete blackness that covered half of the adjoining yards. He moved into the shadow, settling in, and allowed his eyes to adjust, waiting for his partner to come out the back. The back door was open already.
Mead mustn’t have had any problem at all if he was in already.

Five minutes passed. A mosquito or two buzzed around Brooks’ head and he swatted them away. He looked at his watch. Another five minutes went by. Brooks was starting to get impatient. He felt the sweat run in a thin trickle down his back. The mosquitoes, drawn by the perspiration, buzzed even closer. He swatted them away. He checked his watch again, decided to wait another five minutes. Maybe he was too late, he thought. Did Mead already have the kids out in the car and was waiting for him? He tried to think back on how long he had taken to get into position. He wanted a cigarette. Finally, he got up and went over the fence into the backyard.

*****

Cassie saw the shadow come across the fence and begin moving across the backyard, stopping every ten feet or so. The open door beckoned. He hesitated a longer moment as he approached the low porch, leaning forward, trying to see inside the door. Cassie pulled back from the corner, leaned and whispered into Ronnie’s ear. “Go around the front to the other side. If he gets in the house, we have a problem. Make some noise over there and I’ll tackle him from behind. He’s probably got a gun, so we’ve got to be quick.” Ronnie nodded, moving off in the darkness. Cassie waited, counting the seconds in her head. She got to eleven when the rattling of a garbage can broke the night. Sticking her head back out around the corner, she saw Brooks stop. One foot on the back porch, he pivoted left, turning his back to her, moving toward the driveway. She came out of a crouch like a sprinter, running hard and low. She was running full tilt when she caught Brooks just behind the knees with her shoulders. He went down hard. He was already starting to roll over when Ronnie came down the driveway at a run. Ronnie didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate; he kicked him in the face with his boot. Stunned, Brooks tried to push up with one hand and Ronnie kicked him again, in the temple, and then twice more until he stopped moving.

Getting both of them into the back seat of the Polaris took an hour of hard work, moving as quietly as possible. Brooks was trussed up with clothesline, his mouth taped. His dead partner took more effort. Cassie wrapped the head in garbage bags so he wouldn’t bleed all over the car. Ronnie struggled to drag him out the door, his legs flopping around, hauling him over to the car and stuffing him in alongside his unconscious partner. That done, they set about cleaning the blood up inside the house, a job that took two rolls of paper towels. Ronnie scrubbed down the floor with Pine-Sol, dumped the bucket in the corner of the back yard, and put it away underneath the kitchen cabinet. When he was done, the kitchen floor was spotless. Cassie sat at the table drinking coffee. Ronnie got a cup, dumped sugar and milk in it. He sat down across the table from her, catching his breath. “I hope the boat’s got fuel,” Cassie said, leaning toward the window. She looked out at the sky. “At least the weather’s nice.”

*****

Three hours after midnight, three hours of waiting at the hotel with his mind racing over everything he didn’t know, Andre Kohl gave up and went to take a look himself. He had sent his men out to collect the college students, who he now knew as Cassie Reynold and Ronnie Gilmore, thinking he would have them standing in front of him shortly. Nothing indicated they were operating under any kind of protection. It was an in and out job. How much of a problem could they pose? Now they were overdue. He was in a dark mood as he made his way out to the university area.

A quick drive around the block told him nothing other than that his men had arrived. Their car, a rented Cadillac, sat on the corner. The apartment was dark. The old Polaris the kids drove was gone. He drove around the block, slowed in front of the apartment, checking the windows again. There were no lights and no movement. With nothing to go on, he pointed his car back downtown. His mood got even darker as he maneuvered through the downtown traffic.

*****

The drive out Chef Menteur Highway was easy, no traffic to contend with. Ronnie guided the car down the one-lane road, the occasional streetlight breaking the darkness. Out on the lake to his right there could see lights of shrimpers working their way back to shore, or fishermen working their way out. The camps lining either side of the road were mostly dark, though some burned an outside light over a porch or the dock behind. Cassie was quiet beside him, but he knew her mind was working things over. Traveling with one dead man in the back seat and another that would soon be dead should have bothered him more, he thought. It disturbed him that it didn’t. What did that say about him?

Four years ago, when the CIA first discovered that Ronnie and Cassie had the ability to provide information through Remote Viewing, they had gone through desperate times. They were younger then and had fought back hard enough to win a reprieve. They had also been lucky to have Philip Archer step in. Ronnie had been through enough in that time to know that men intent on using them for their own reasons would stop at nothing. It had been made clear to him that his own life, and Cassie’s, would be sacrificed if necessary. To this point, it had only been Archer, and now Francis, that knew of their existence. That might have changed. Francis may have given them away. It had long been Cassie’s contention that one side was no better than the other, that only the inherent decency of General Archer kept them free and happy. That thought occupied his mind as he rolled down the highway. The men who pursued them would stop at nothing, but so far they had failed to contend with the idea that Cassie would stop at nothing either. When pushed Cassie would push back with a kind of lethal ferocity that she kept chained somewhere inside, unleashing it only when necessary. The duality in her nature both fascinated him and disturbed him. He knew her beauty and her simplicity. He also knew what she could do when cornered, and he knew she was feeling cornered now.

He found the driveway of the Reynold fishing camp and hooked a right down the muddy driveway. Cassie’s father had sold his business two years ago, buying the camp with the intent to move out there permanently and spend his days fishing. Her mother put an end to that idea. The Reynolds stayed put in their home in New Orleans East, using the camp mostly on weekends and the occasional few weeks stay with family and friends. Cassie’s father did the maintenance during the summer and kept the place ready to go at a moment’s notice, as if his wife would experience some revelation and hurriedly pack their bags. Ronnie knew that would never happen, but it was a nice place to have.

In the summer, the family gathered, spending most of their days out on the water or drinking beer on the back porch and working the crab traps strung out along the dock, baited with chicken necks or whatever happened to be available. On a good day the nets would be filled with blue crabs, which would find their way into the boiling pot. The wooden table kept in the garage would be hauled out and the family spent their time cracking open the spicy crabs, washing them down with beer and soft drinks and conversation. There was also a boat for fishing, and on calm days Cassie’s father would grab whoever was around and head out, making his way out to the Rocks or the Castle or the long haul over to Highway 11 and the Railroad Trestles, where the speckled trout ran thick in the spring.

Tonight, though, the camp was dark as they made their way down toward the water. Ronnie pulled up in front of the garage door. The building was made of wood and tin and served not only as a garage but also as a boathouse. The highway side had enough room to pull two cars in side by side. Moving further back, there was a slip for the boat. It was easy enough to come in from a day of fishing, dock the boat, get right in the car and drive off. Now it made for good concealment.

Cassie got out and opened up the door while Ronnie drove the Polaris inside. He shut down the engine. A twenty-five foot Stamas, covered with a tarp, was in the slip with a Chrysler engine. On overnight trips it could sleep four in the cabin. On day trips it could hold six easily with room enough for everyone to swing a pole. Cassie shut the overhead door behind them. In the back seat, one of the men stirred. The other would never stir again.

Cassie
wasted no time. She was running on adrenaline and inner drive. The cover came off the boat. She hopped in and connected the battery. Went up front and turned on the switch to check for fuel. There was a full tank. Her father kept things ready. She hit the button for the bilge fan, got back out, and went to the car where Ronnie had opened the rear door. “Grab the live one first,” she said.

Together they hauled Brooks out. His head hit the dirt floor with a thump. Ronnie picked him up under the arms. Cassie got his legs and they lugged him down the dock next to the boat, swung him once and tossed him onto the deck two feet down. They returned to the car, dragging Mead’s body out, and threw him down on top of Brooks, who was moving around some now.

“Wait. I’ll be right back,” Cassie said. She made her way out the side door, crossing the yard and running up the steps and into the camp itself. She was back three minutes later, a .22 pistol stuck in the back of her jeans’ pocket. She got in and hit the starter button. The engine fired up right away. Ronnie untied the lines on the bow and stern, guiding the boat back through the slip. The rear came out from under the overhead cover. Cassie brought the bow around, pointed it toward open water and accelerated smoothly as the craft found a nice even plane, cutting across the water into the open expanse of Lake Borgne.

To the east, there was only the faintest trace of growing light. A breeze was blowing from that direction that promised heavier winds later. Cassie kept them moving directly into the middle of the lake. Ronnie looked west, where the shoreline was barely visible, highlighted by dock lights. A vehicle moved down the highway behind them, growing fainter with distance. Fifteen minutes out, Cassie slowed, bringing the boat around in a wide arc. “This is good enough,” she said, bringing the engine down to an idle.

“Let’s get rid of him first,” she said, pointing at the dead man. They struggled and got him up over the side. He hit the water with a splash, drifted away and down, and was out of sight a minute later. Cassie turned to look at Brooks. His eyes were open now, wide. He had seen his partner go over the side. “Time to have a talk with our friend here,” Cassie said, pulling the .22 out of her back pocket. “I’m sure he’s got a story to tell.”

*****

In Washington, D.C. the clock read one hour later and Luke Francis was already at work. He’d arrived on a redeye flight and gone straight into the office. He was tired and angry. His work under Archer had been important, but he had always felt like he was on the outside. Now he was at the center of things. From the small desk in the transportation company, he could pull strings. He was now at the hub of power, where he felt he belonged. Biding his time under Archer had been a study in patience, and now his patience had run out. When Archer, struggling under the weight of his cancer, had briefed him on Ronnie and Cassie, Francis had been silent. On the inside was elated. The power he could wield almost made him dizzy, and he struggled to appear serious. Archer argued for the sparing use of their talents. Going to the well too often, he counseled, would risk exposure and loss of what he considered his greatest discovery. “Power like that has to be used selectively,” Archer had said from behind the desk now occupied by Francis. “Keep them in your back pocket. The more you use them, the greater the chance of exposing them.”

Francis had almost gone out of his mind with anticipation waiting for Archer to pass the baton. Archer was old and cautious. Francis thought himself young and bold. More so, he thought himself deserving of power. The idea of holding all the strings in his hand and playing things like a puppet master kept him awake at night. Now that his time was here, he wanted to move on anything and everything. There would be no more sitting around waiting for things to happen. His first meeting with Ronnie and Cassie had not gone well. They seemed unimpressed by his hold over them, the girl especially. Her warning as she went out the hotel room door grated on him. If she thought she could bite back harder than he could, well, she had a lesson coming. He was in control now. Archer was dead. Luke Francis was running things now and she had better get used to it.