Radioactive (The Rayna Tan Action Thriller Series Book 4)

by Wes Lowe

The gunman quickly fired two shots at Carter, but Carter pushed his arm away and the bullets whizzed harmlessly into the air.

  Hearing Marlena screaming, Carter leapt up and tried to cover her but another two shots rang out, this time from the Mexican gunman who was still by the palm tree.

  He missed Carter, but one tiny missile hit Marlena’s forehead, another in the heart. Instantly dead, Marlena’s blood flowed out of her body, creating two crimson pools on the ground.

  “You idiot!” yelled the man with the loot bags to the gunman. “We gotta blitz!”

  32

  The Chase

  Stepping backwards, the Spanish-speaking gunman kept the guests and security from following them by firing randomly into their midst while the other robber carried the bags of loot.

  Arriving at the entrance to the Grande Salon, both pivoted quickly and disappeared into the hotel.

  When the first shots rang out, Rayna and Barry leapt back into the helicopter. Unarmed, they were not being cowardly, but smart. There was no way that they could take either assailant down.

  Ducking down, they watched the entire macabre scenario unfold from the helicopter’s floor.

  When Rayna saw the two escape into the Grande Salon, she kicked off her scarlet stilettos and grabbed a gun from the helicopter pilot.

  She jumped out of the helo, then raced in pursuit of the brazen murderous thieves. When she saw them disappear into the hotel, she stepped into overdrive, not wanting to lose them.

  As soon as she entered, she saw the two men exiting the far end of the Grand Salon and flying through the metal doors to the kitchen.

  She raced down the corridor and into the kitchen, only to discover the thieves were not in sight. “Where did they go?” she screamed.

  “There, through the back door,” pointed a freaked-out dish washer through his chattering teeth.

  Rayna rocketed to the kitchen exit but when she stepped outside, there was no sign of the robbers. Then she spotted a black Ford Explorer booting it out of the driveway. A quick look through the passenger side window confirmed the passengers were the two gunmen.

  Rayna paused a nanosecond to take aim, then fired six shots in rapid succession.

  But the Explorer was a moving target and gaining speed. When the first shot pinged off the bumper, the driver, hearing the sound, started zigging and zagging, making it a more difficult target to hit.

  But he did not know that Rayna had been a top sniper with JTF2, the Tier 1 Special Operations unit of the Canadian Armed Forces.

  Her next shot hit the rear window. It exploded, sending shards of glass onto the road. Now she saw a clear path to the robbers, as the back row seats had been folded down.

  Rayna fired two more shots, one aimed at the driver, the other at the passenger. The driver didn’t know how lucky he was. In the midst of turning the steering wheel, he moved out of the bullet’s way.

  But no horseshoes for the passenger; she saw him slump, dead.

  With two bullets left, Rayna couldn’t risk having the driver evade her last bullets.

  She aimed lower and fired. Bullseye. One bullet in the left rear tire, the other on the right. Now out of control, the Explorer plowed into a hapless delivery truck, stopping it cold.

  Seeing the driver stepping out of the SUV, Rayna raced toward it, but when she was ten yards away, the vehicle, for no apparent reason, abruptly exploded with a huge ferocity.

  The momentum of the blast tossed Rayna five feet into the air, and backwards ten feet from where she was standing.

  Instinctively, her years of training as a martial artist kicked in.

  She tensed her core and as she hit the ground, she pulled her forearms in to protect herself and took the impact of the fall with them. Tucking in her head, she went directly into a roll. As she dropped to the ground, she tried to fight off the blackness that was overcoming her but knew it would be fruitless.

  In the haze, she heard another explosion as she stood up. It sounded as if it was a hundred yards away, but she knew it had to be right behind her from the direction of the Explorer.

  Rayna felt like she was moving in slow motion, but she was cognizant enough to realize that her head was rocketing toward the ground.

  She saw her life flash before her in a millisecond. At the speed she was traveling, severe traumatic brain injury was unavoidable. Minimum consequences were a skull fracture that could lead to serious physical and psychological symptoms.

  If she weren’t so lucky, coma, and even death would be her fate.

  Rayna broke the world record for the fastest prayer in the world.

  And then… a blur came from her side.

  It was Barry. Not as speedy as the woman who was young enough to be his daughter, he had followed Rayna as she pursued the gunmen. Seeing Rayna in full pursuit of the Ford Explorer, he grabbed the keys of a Ferrari from the valet, hopped in, and sped toward her.

  When he saw Rayna being hurtled into the air by the first explosion, he floored the accelerator until he caught up with her. He vaulted out of the car and was a half-step away from her when he saw the second explosion out of the corner of his eye.

  Knowing Rayna was woozy from the first blast, he dove to the ground and stretched out his arms. Just before Rayna hit the pavement, one arm scooped under Rayna’s skull, the other under her lower back. The momentum of the blast pushed Rayna right into the Fidelitas boss.

  When the two stopped rolling, the scrapes and cuts on his arms were evidence that his quick action saved Rayna from certain head trauma and brain damage.

  Even at thirty feet away, the heat from the blazing Explorer was searing.

  Barry picked the barely conscious Rayna up, and carrying her like a parent cradling a baby, limped away. He heard the screaming sirens of fire, police and ambulance vehicles growing louder. Looking around, he saw some of their vehicles parking by the hotel entrance.

  “Here,” he shouted.

  “Stay put,” shouted one of the paramedics when he spotted Barry carrying Rayna.

  Barry halted, breathing hard, and stood still with Rayna in his arms. The paramedic and one of his co-workers gathered a stretcher and hustled over to them.

  “We got it, sir,” said the lead paramedic.

  With the aid of the paramedics, Barry gently laid Rayna onto the stretcher. “Can you take her to UCLA Medical Center in Santa Monica?”

  “Of course. Do you want to come with us in the ambulance?”

  “I’ll walk and meet you there. A couple things I need to do first.”

  “Ok,” nodded the paramedic as he and his partner gently placed Rayna inside the ambulance.

  Barry punched in a Vancouver telephone number.

  “Hello, Reverend Henry Tan here. Can I help you?” answered Rayna’s father.

  “Henry, it’s Barry. You’re going to want to come to Los Angeles. Rayna’s hurt. She’s unconscious and is at UCLA Medical Center in Santa Monica right now.”

  “I will catch the next plane out.”

  “I’ll book the ticket so you bypass all airport protocol. Just get to the airport and one of my staff will get you the details while you’re on the way.”

  “Thanks Barry.” Henry hung up.

  Barry tried to approach the flaming wreckage but it was too hot to get near. He stopped as close as he could, then pulled the pocket square from his tux’s breast pocket. While the handkerchief was flimsy, Barry was able to quickly grab a few handfuls of the warm debris and ash off the ground. He stuffed them into his tux’s pocket before the police looked his way.

  He wanted to get inside the Conquistador, but with the hotel now being cordoned off and police barricades soon to be set up, Barry realized that was impossible. He also knew that the police would want to question him thoroughly, check his criminal record… yada, yada, yada. He would do that, but not just yet—there was business to take care of first.

  He had all he could get for now and started walking the mile and a half to the hospital. Ignoring the pounding
in his head and the soreness in his body, he played the scenario from the time he and Rayna stepped off the helicopter until the explosions. How did the assailants get in and out so easily? How was someone able to bring loaded weapons in? Every guest went through a metal detector as well as being patted down.

  How did this happen? The security at the event was tight. From their appearances and builds, Barry knew the perps were more than lightweight rent-a-cops; possibly ex-military or police.

  Who blew up the Explorer and why? There were two explosions. It didn’t seem possible that the Explorer had hit the delivery truck hard enough to explode. It didn’t make sense that it would be an accomplice. There was easily a million, possibly two million dollars worth of goods that had been confiscated from the guests, and that had gone up in smoke. The only thing that made even the smallest amount of sense was that it was an inside job of some kind.

  He made a call that was immediately picked up.

  “Hey Barry, what’s happening? Conquistador is all over the news. And so is Rayna. Is she okay?”

  Barry replied, “I’m on my way to find out. The announcement party was ambushed by a couple of brazen thieves who killed Carter’s wife. When they tried to get away, the Ford Explorer they were in mysteriously blew up. Rayna was chasing them, and good thing she didn’t catch up or she would have been either blown up or incinerated. She was unconscious and I sent her to the UCLA Medical Center in Santa Monica. Get her and Steve into the same room. Tell them they don’t need to worry about her getting infected by him. She was covered in his shit during the ride from Haiti and has no symptoms of anything.”

  “Will do.”

  “Rayna’s dad is heading to the airport in Vancouver and coming to LA to see her. Get him a ticket through our connections so he can skip all the BS. I’m heading to the hospital now.” Barry’s voice turned serious. “Dig up all the footage, images, bodies, and IDs, you can from the Conquistador crime scene. Check out the websites, news outlets, anything that might help us find out what the hell just happened. Anything.”

  Julio understood. Fidelitas, being a private organization, was not bound by the handcuffs that prevented government law enforcement agencies. Julio would break any law necessary to find the perpetrators. The only rule he needed to abide by was, “Don’t get caught.”

  33

  Another Patient

  When Barry arrived at the Santa Monica hospital, Rayna was lying on a bed in an ER room, being examined by the emergency room doctor. She was barely conscious, but alert enough to look in Barry’s direction. Laboring to hide her pain, she greeted her boss with a soft “Hi. Thanks for saving me.”

  “Nothing you wouldn’t do for me.” He turned to the physician. “Hello, I’m Barry Rogers. I work with Rayna. What’s on her menu?”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rogers. I’m Jerry Robson, the attending physician. We are just getting started. We’re going to check for concussion and brain trauma right away. Also, we’ll need to keep her in for several days to make sure there’s no dizziness, memory loss, impaired vision, loss of equilibrium…”

  “That’s not happening,” stated Rayna emphatically, her brain cells activating the moment she heard ‘keep her for several days.’ “Give me a couple of Tylenol and I’m good to go.”

  Barry knew that just like athletes that wanted to get back into the game, soldiers wanted back into battle. There was no point arguing. He had to prove to her that Dr. Robson’s was the prudent course of action. “Of course. First thing we need to know is what the license plate of the Ford Explorer was. You were staring right at it when you were chasing it down.”

  Rayna’s face tightened as she strained to recall what had happened only minutes ago but nothing came to mind. Frustrated, she answered, “I’m sorry. It happened so fast. Can’t remember.”

  “You just confirmed that you need to be checked out first,” said Barry calmly.

  Rayna was instinctively defiant. “I’m fine, Barry.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re a high level operative functioning at peak level. You should have seen the license plate number and remembered something. A few numbers or letters, what state the license plate was registered in.” Barry delivered his verdict. “Short term memory loss is a sign of brain trauma and I will absolutely not allow your health to be jeopardized.”

  It was hard to argue with facts.

  Rayna relented. “Okay.”

  While Dr. Robson checked Rayna, Barry was on the phone with Julio. He described his personal memories in microscopic detail of what had happened at the Conquistador and the events leading up to it, beginning with his phone call from Harold inviting him to the announcement party. Discovering the underlying reasons and who was behind the attack was going to take some time because none of the dots were connecting.

  Rayna was wheeled back into the room. After the initial diagnosis, neurological exam, cognitive testing, MRI and CT scan, Dr. Robson pronounced cautiously that there was no apparent damage. “I still want to keep you here for a couple of days so we can continue monitoring your symptoms. If nothing else, you need the rest.”

  Before Rayna could object, Barry said, “We have set up an extra bed in Steve’s room. You can stay there.”

  It wasn’t much of a date. Even though Rayna and Steve shared the room, the IV attached to Steve’s arm had pumped him so full of anti-virals and antibiotics that he was completely zonked out.

  Rayna shrugged. Better than a warm beer on a hot day. While she had agreed to the physical tests and staying in bed, that was it. She insisted that her mind was fully functioning, and ordered a large monitor be set up on an over-bed table with a laptop being connected to Fidelitas’ server. She swung the tray to face her and fixed a faltering gaze at it for less than thirty seconds before she was fast asleep.

  Everyone except Rayna knew that what she needed more than anything after what she had gone through in the last five days, was complete bed rest.

  Knowing that Rayna wouldn’t tolerate any delay in her participation in the investigation, Barry had asked Dr. Robson to slip ten milligrams of melatonin into her orange juice. That would likely ensure that she got at least eight hours of rest and hopefully more.

  This decision was not a violation of Rayna’s rights, but a move entirely within Barry’s authority. As a condition of being part of Fidelitas, Barry insisted that all employees give him Power of Attorney that allowed him or any other Fidelitas executive to have control over medical treatment, health issues or any other matter related to their well-being.

  34

  Grieving Husband

  While the crime scene was being processed, and Marlena’s body was being examined and prepared to go to the morgue, detectives were questioning Carter. He was under no consideration as a suspect—almost everybody who was there thought he was a hero. The detectives only wanted to get a jump on what was likely to be a high-profile case. Not wanting to appear insensitive, they released him after only an hour. To them, it seemed obvious that this was a robbery gone terribly wrong.

  Carter looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He lowered the knot of his two hundred dollar silk tie, then undid the top button of his tailored shirt. He then mussed up his perfectly coiffed hair and dragged his fingernails randomly down his cheeks, creating red scratch lines. He pulled out a few slices of lemon from his jacket pocket and tilted his head back, grimacing as he squeezed the juice from the yellow citrus into his eyes. He then took out a baggie containing black powder, dipped his finger in it, and gently rubbed it under his eyes.

  He walked to a bathroom stall, threw the lemon and baggie into the toilet bowl, and flushed them away.

  Returning to the mirror, he rumpled his neatly pressed shirt and ruffled his jacket. He slumped his shoulders and let his body go flaccid. Looking at his transformed self, he nodded in approval.

  It’s show time.

  He stepped back to the scene of the crime to Marlena’s corpse; it was just about ready to be taken to the morgue. Hoverin
g over her body, tears welled in his eyes. Stacey wrapped an arm around him, while his father shot a stone-faced grimace at his grieving son.

  “Come with me, Mom and Dad. It’s time.”

  The family walked into the Grand Salon, then strolled silently down the hall to the hotel lobby and exited through the front entrance. While a few insensitive glamor seekers took selfies with Carter in the background, it seemed as if a thousand different media outlets and freelance journalists were waiting for Carter, sticking microphones in his face, pushing their way forward to get close-ups with their cameras, and bombarding him with questions.

  “Mr. Johnson, do you have any comment on what happened… Mr. Johnson, does your wife’s murder affect your political aspirations… Mr. Johnson, what was on your mind when the gunmen started shooting…”

  It went on and on, and only the campaign staff tried to keep the entourage from swarming the senator’s son.

  That was much easier said than done. With everyone throwing random questions at him, Carter continued to keep his cool, nodded and patted the air, calling for everyone to regain their composure.

  The media-ignited pandemonium only subsided when Carter stepped up to a makeshift podium that had been set up. He made the effort to stand up straight and smiled faintly, eliciting clucks and sighs of sympathy.

  With a soft, almost reassuring tone, Carter began. “Today was not the day I thought it would be, and what I’m going to say is certainly not what I had prepared to say. I…”

  Pausing and blinking hard to hold back a river of tears, even the most cynical could not criticize the would-be gubernatorial candidate if he broke down at this point.

  Carter dropped his head for two seconds of silence, then lifted himself tall and spoke with a quiet forcefulness. “Dammit, I am going to say what I had prepared… just not all of it.”