Wood's Wall (25 page)

“What happened?” Mac asked.

“Crap, I got so wrapped up in this I forgot to call you. Give me ten minutes. I’ll pick you up in a black SUV at the dock where you dropped me off.”

42

Garcia followed the pink scooter through the busy streets. He didn’t regret his decision to pursue on foot. Gay Pride Week in full swing, the traffic would have made it impossible to follow the more agile scooter through the tight streets and crowds in the SUV. The scooter was going the same speed as his fast walk, having to wait for pedestrians at every intersection. He sighed in relief as the driver passed perpendicular through Duval Street. The man would have been invisible with the partiers had he chosen to turn. 

Garcia broke into a jog now that the scooter was out of traffic. Fortunately, the guy had pulled into a driveway, and he slowed to a walk, casually strolling by the house. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be observed from the outside, so he kept walking. 

With two targets, he had to make a decision. After hearing the girls voices, he knew he had to stay with the terrorist. 

He was two houses past the target when he pulled out his phone. “Are you moving?” He heard road noise in the background of Heather’s phone. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

“There’s someone else I need to bring into this. I’m picking him up now. Should I go back to the house?”

“You need to get back there now! I need you there.” He paused, trying not to show his anger over the phone, “Do you still have the connection to the wire and camera?”

He waited for her to respond “No, I lost it.”

“Hurry. Get whoever you’re getting and get back in range there. We need eyes on that house in case I’m chasing a red herring.”

***

Heather drove like a maniac through the crowded streets. She knew leaving the house was wrong, but she needed Mac’s help. The SUV coasted to a stop by the dock, and Mac opened the door and hopped in on the run.

“Nice ride. Looks like the Feds.”

“Yeah, but this guy seems like he’s working on his own. He’s pretty cool for one of them.” Heather ran through the events of the past hour as she drove back to Cesar’s house, where they’d left Trufante.

She parked a block away and rebooted the equipment. The camera showed a floor, moving back and forth, cowboy boots now in the picture. 

“I know those boots.”

“Sshh. They’re talking.”

Cesar was grilling Trufante about his knowledge of southern Louisiana. The Cajun was trying to explain the intricacies of the bayous and canals, and how the best route was into a town called Venice, the first town up the Mississippi.

“Wonder what that’s all about? Maybe thinking of blowing this popsicle stand and setting up shop there.”

“I wish he’d move around a little and show the room. I’m dying to know if Jules is OK.”

“Yeah, Mel too.” He craned his neck to get a better view of the screen.

Heather’s phone rang. “Yeah, I’m back on site. I have audio and visual.” She put the phone on speaker.

“I’m thinking of calling a SWAT team into that house and letting them handle it. It’s a pretty straightforward hostage situation, and that’s what they train for. They’ll think it’s some kind of drug deal gone wrong.” 

“If you think that’s the best way,” Heather said.

“Listen, whoever you are, name’s Mac Travis.” He said loudly to the speaker, “I know exactly what’s going on in there, and the people involved. I can get them out without SWAT.”

“Mr. Travis, you are not an officer of the law, or authorized in any way to go into that house. Sit tight and wait for SWAT.”

“We’re not waiting for the SWAT team. No way, not with that unstable bastard in there. They look at him wrong and he’ll shoot them. Trufante’s a total wild card. No. I’ll get ’em out.” Mac paused. “We have total surprise and Jules is trained for this. SWAT goes in there you’re going to ruin two careers — Mel and Jules will never be able to explain how they went rogue and ended up captives to a drug dealer.”

“Heather, are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Under no circumstances is he to go after them, do you understand? I’m only allowing you to stay so we can maintain surveillance.”

She hung up and stared at the monitor. The audio crackled. “Dude, they’re going to blow us up.”

“Cajun, what kind of
mierda
you talking?”

“You ain’t going to be smuggling nothing through the bayou if you’re dead. What if they blow that thing here?”

 The camera showed the sidewalk outside the house now. “Mac, look.” She shifted the laptop toward the passenger seat. “They’re moving.”

Mac was already looking at the sidewalk in front of the house. “You don’t need that thing. It’s just the two of them — Cesar and Trufante Where are the girls?”

***

Ibrahim fidgeted outside the closet-turned-safe-room badly needing more pain relievers, but he knew this was more important. Paradise was close - and there would be no pain there. Patel had been inside for ten minutes now — plenty of time to confirm the contents of the lead ball. Finally the door opened and he emerged, stripping the protective gear off as soon as the door closed. He nodded.

“It’s good?”

“Yes, Allah has blessed us. It is the correct material, just a little light. That can be attributed to the handling and residue left in the original box. You can call the drug dealer and tell him that we are through with him.”

“No. Let him worry. It will keep him where he is and out of our hair. He’s caused enough trouble already.”

“Very good. I will leave that decision to you. It is time to assemble the bomb. Do you have the rest of the materials?”

“Everything but the primer. I was planning on forcing an explosion where the bomb will be placed. That will detonate the material.”

“I would have preferred a self-contained unit.”

“The bomb casing and shrapnel were easily obtained. The primer ingredients would have set off red flags. I think this is best.”

“You are not the one to think here. Bring the material up here. I will pray and then start to assemble the bomb.”

***

Davies walked off the stairs leading from Air Force One, breathing in the tropical night air. Black SUVs surrounded the plane as the passengers disembarked. The president was last and quickly whisked into an armored vehicle, identical to the others. The crowd started to disperse as the vehicle pulled away, the excitement over. The rest of the passengers — aides and press — warranted no attention. Davies walked toward the terminal, with only his carry-on and briefcase, and went right to the street and into a waiting cab.

“Hyatt, please.”

“Sure thing, man.” The driver pulled out of the taxi line, heading for the airport entrance. 

Half an hour later Davies checked into his room, ordered room service and sat on the couch, pondering his next move. He was convinced something bad was going to happen here, he just didn’t know what. Patel was either a terrorist or connected to a network. Thinking about it, the way he had blended into the top echelon of DC society so easily, portraying himself as Italian, he must be more than a low-level operative. He was likely very high up, if not a top leader.

With that thought, Davies dialed Garcia’s number. “We need to talk.”

“I’m a little busy right now. This follow Mac Travis thing has turned into more than we bargained for. Looks like Travis is one of the good guys. There’s some kind of terrorist connection here with the drug cartel and some guys I’m staked out on now.”

“You know what’s going on here tomorrow?”

“Here? Are you in town?”

“Yes, but so is the president. He’s scheduled to give a speech on gay rights tomorrow morning. Here.”

“Shit, we’ve got a problem. I’ve got to call in some higher ups. This is way over my pay grade.”

“Let’s walk this through before you call. It’s almost ten now. The speech is at nine tomorrow. That’s less than twelve hours. It’ll take the big wigs that long just to assign units. On top of that, they’re all over that explosion up at the Bahia Honda Bridge. What assets are you in control of?” Davie’s practiced tone portrayed enough authority to redirect Garcia’s attention.

“I’m working with a CSI from Marathon. Travis is with her. They’re watching a drug dealer who has hostages, one of whom is the sheriff from Marathon. I’m following guys who look like they might be trouble. Middle Eastern. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Ok, I’m going to direct this from here. I’m at the Hyatt. You stay on surveillance. As long as we know where they are, we can contain this. I’ll call for help when we need it.”

43

Mac watched the two men walk down the street.

“What do we do?” Heather asked.

“We can’t split up. Let’s get Jules and Mel, first. They’re on foot. They won’t get far, especially if there are four of us looking instead of just the two.” 

Mac got out of the car and started jogging toward the house, Heather right behind him. When they got close enough, Heather went to the living room window and peered in, while Mac tried the door. No one was visible, and the door was locked. They made their way around the house, checking all the other windows and doors. The kitchen had a small back deck, large enough for a barbecue grill, flower pots, and a table and chairs. Heather went to the window there, staring intently through the opening. Mac checked the side of the house. She tried the door, but it too was locked.

“Mac, they’re here! Come around!” she hissed.

He ran around to the deck and looked in the window. The girls were gagged and tied back to back. He saw Mel in distress and moved quickly. The lock wouldn’t budge. The solid wood door was old but looked sound. He stepped back, aiming for the doorknob with a front snap kick. His foot went entirely through the door, caving in the lock and releasing the latch. Pain engulfed him when he tried to remove his foot and the ragged splinters pierced his flesh.

He looked at Heather who was frozen in indecision. “I’ll be OK. Get the girls.” He hopped back on his good foot allowing the door to open. Once she was in, he reached forward and smashed in the wood around the splinters. His foot came free, several mean looking pieces of wood embedded in it. His injured leg throbbed and would not take weight as he hobbled in behind her and collapsed in the doorway.

She searched the kitchen drawers until she found a knife. She went to work on Jules first, cutting her free. Jules reached to her mouth and pulled off the duct tape. “Mac, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he replied, trying to pull the splinters free. They were so jagged it was like trying to take a barbed fish hook out - they just dug deeper in the other direction, enlarging the trauma. “Hurry up, we need to go after them.”

“I’ve got surveillance on them.” Heather went to Jules and hugged her.

Heather had Mel free now and the group stood over Mac. Mel went down to her knees to help him, “Mac, I …” she started to apologize.

“Never mind. You two have to go after Trufante and the drug dealer. Idiots likely to get himself killed.”

“What about you?” Mel asked. 

He ignored her and spoke to Jules. “You guys go on foot. We’ll follow in the SUV. See if Heather here can work the equipment and get a reading on them.” He looked down at his blood soaked leg, “Don’t think I’ll be doing any running today.”

“Which direction were they heading?” Jules asked. “Who’s got a phone?”

Heather answered, “Toward Duval Street. Mac has the burner and I have mine.”

“Good. Give me yours.” Jules reached for the phone and they headed out the door. 

Mac used the door jamb to gain his feet. He tried to walk on the injured foot and almost collapsed. Bright lights flashed in his head the pain was so bad. “You got any training?”

“Some. Stay here. I’ll see if I can find any supplies.”

Mac eased himself back to the floor to wait. He worked several of the splinters free but two larger ones were deep.