by Bill Brewer
CHAPTER 33
With David gone, Carolyn knew she needed someone new inside Crepusculous. The CIA sleuthed out Vince Kronig’s cell phone number. Carolyn was pleasantly surprised when Vince agreed to meet her two days hence for coffee.
Wanting to get to the appointment before her, Vince parked his silver gray Porsche 918 Spyder in an on street spot about twenty meters from the outdoor café she had selected. He was seated at a table for two in the corner of the chained off sidewalk close to the coffee shop’s wall of glass windows.
The sidewalk was busy with passersby and he enjoyed people watching as he relaxed in the unseasonably warm weather. Curiosity was eating him. He was eager to find out what Carolyn wanted. As David, he had enough history with her that he could easily guess her request. As Vince, he was surprised to be asked to this meeting. He immediately agreed not only to satisfy his need to know, but because he still had a spot in his heart for her. She didn’t realize it, but she helped him find meaning in his life when he was at his lowest. She saved him from a likely execution, helping him return to Europe. She did it to stop the multi-bomb attack Crepusculous had planned for America. So far, that attack hadn’t happened, and as far as he could tell, the plan had been abandoned. The bombs, however, were unaccounted for, thus they continued to present a significant threat. He guessed she probably wanted to talk about the bombs.
Carolyn approached from the west, dressed in a mid-shin length skirt with thin black and white horizontal stripes. Her gait was altered by her pregnancy and she walked slower than the people around her. She wore a white top, which stretched over her abdomen. On top of that she wore a peach jacket which could no longer be done up if she’d tried. He stood up, pulling out the chair for her. Before she sat down, they shook hands.
“Thank you,” she said.
“My pleasure.”
Returning to his seat, he leaned forward, gazing at her pretty face. She did have a glow about her, although the medical professionals would call it gestational hypercapillarization.
“How are you doing?” he asked her.
“I am well, in spite of, or perhaps because of, my condition,” she said with a quizzical smirk.
“I think it’s fabulous that you are with child. I hope the pregnancy has been a good one.”
“Yes, thank you, it has. I’m due in two weeks,” she said as she gently stroked her protruding belly.
“Oh that’s coming soon. You and your hus- I mean, partner must be excited,” stammered Vince.
“I’m looking forward to the delivery. It’s a good thing pregnancy is not a permanent state,” chuckled Carolyn.
“I also understand there’s been a change in your job as well.”
Carolyn lost her smile and her stony expression demanded more information.
“I know it was tragic, but you are now the senior CIA Officer in the UK.”
“Where did you read about this? I saw no report in the news.”
“You know, the world is at our fingertips. It was covered in the U.S. news. Is progress being made in solving the crime?”
Lost in thought, Carolyn was silent for a moment. She seemed to have a hard time shifting gears from one topic to the other.
“No… no progress has been made. The evidence in Ramsey’s murder is rather strange.”
“How so?” asked Vince with a rising eyebrow.
“It’s really puzzling, but the security camera inside the bar captured the prime suspect as he left the men’s room.”
Vince shrugged. “That sounds good.”
“Yeah, but the guy took off his hat and glasses and looked right at the camera as he passed by.”
Wrinkling his brow Vince said, “That still sounds good. You got a shot of the guy’s face.”
With a frown and a shake of her head, Carolyn said, “The guy was Richard Ramsey.”
Pausing, while looking at Carolyn askance, Vince said, “The killer is the guy who was killed?”
Bringing her hand to her chin, lowering her eyes and shaking her head, Carolyn said, “You can’t make this shit up. It’s just unbelievable.”
“What about witnesses? It was a crowded place. Somebody must have seen something more?”
“Yeah, the police are interviewing everyone who was there,” she said dismissively.
“Was he a good colleague? Did you enjoy working with him?”
A blank expression crossed her face as she hesitated to answer. Vince quietly waited.
“Everybody has quirks. Some of his, I won’t miss.”
“I see.”
“Vince, the reason I asked you for this meeting is to share something with you that is highly classified. I know you don’t have clearance but without taking a risk we will not progress. I’m going to have to trust you.”
Slowly nodding his head like a bobble toy he said, “You can trust me.”
“I have no reason to believe that, but I’m in a tough spot. Did you ever meet David Diegert?”
Shaking his head Vince said, “No.”
“The coincidence that you and he are half-brothers is something with which I still struggle.”
“Is David Diegert classified information?”
“No, but a terrorist attack upon the United States set up by Crepusculous to wreak economic ruin was something for which David had credible intelligence. The classified part is that he was working undercover to determine the locations of several thermobaric bombs pre-planted in the U.S.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, it’s a serious situation. We want to locate the bombs and disable them without Crepusculous knowing.”
“I heard David Diegert was a violent assassin. He killed a lot of people.”
“Yes, he was, and did.”
“Then why would you trust someone like that?”
“I did not work with him because of his predilection for violence but because, like you, he had access to information within Crepusculous that could lead us to identifying the locations of the bombs.”
“How did you meet David Diegert? What was he like? I’m curious about having a half-brother I’ll never get to know.”
“Look I can only tell you so much. I only knew him for a short period of time. He was a tough guy that’s for sure, but he was also thoughtful and very concerned about stopping Crepusculous from attacking America. He saw the greater good and was trying to help.”
“Then what about him blowing up the apartment building in White Chapel?”
“I can’t explain everything and I have no idea why he was involved in that. But if you saw that video then you know how much damage a thermobaric bomb can do. There are twelve of them secretly located in the U.S. We need to find them and secure them. Will you help me?”
“You want me to spy on Crepusculous.”
“Yes. We can provide you with some intelligence and point you in the right direction, but we’d be trusting you to keep this confidential and report back to me with what you find. Your new found father has sides he hasn’t shown you yet.”
“Look I don’t want people to be blown up, but I just joined the family and I’m not yet all that familiar with the company and I sure haven’t gotten any access to Crepusculous. I can see why you’d think I could be helpful, but I think you’re expecting too much.”
“Does that mean you won’t help?”
“It means I have to think about it.”
“OK, I already sent you a text under the name Sarah Marsden. We can communicate through that.”
Vince checked his phone to see the text under the false name. He nodded at Carolyn.
While looking at her phone Carolyn sarcastically exclaimed, “Great!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh nothing, it’s just that my parents arrive tomorrow.” Carolyn went on, speaking to herself as if to commit it to memory, “Delta airlines, from New York, 4:00 pm arrival.”
“That’s nice, they’re coming to visit.”
With a sardonic smile she said, “I hope it’s going
to be nice.”
“Will they get to meet the father and stay for the delivery?”
Vince knew this was a difficult question for her, but the stress on her face was much more than he expected. She was struggling with her reply. As her face softened into a thousand mile stare, she absent-mindedly said, “They don’t even know I’m pregnant.”
Vince remained quiet. He watched as she came back to the present moment.
“I’m sorry to mention my personal problems. It was nice meeting you Vince. If you will excuse me I need to use the lady’s room before I go.”
Rising out of his seat Vince extended his hand, “I wish you all the best with the birth of your child. Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
She shook his hand with a firm, practiced grip. “I do not. I guess I’m old fashioned about it, but I do not know.”
“Well then, you will enjoy the surprise.”
“Thank you,” she said as she slipped her phone in her pocket before entering the coffee shop in search of the lady’s room.
Vince walked to the edge of the chained off seating area. He looked in the direction of his car, then gazed up the street in the opposite direction. When he did so a familiar face caught his eye, but the sight was fleeting. The man had turned away and Vince could now only see that the man wore black cargo pants and a black jacket with what looked like padded panels. His pants were tucked into sturdy black tactical boots. The attire was not that unusual, but the recollections started flooding his brain. Was he being followed by someone from Crepusculous?
He turned to walk to his car, all the while wanting to spin around to observe the man, but he knew not to give away such an obvious tell. Arriving at the Spyder he took the top down, placing the roof pieces in the forward stowage compartment under the hood. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he watched the front door of the coffee shop and saw Carolyn Fuller exit the building. She walked down the sidewalk in the opposite direction from him, towards the suspicious man. As she approached the first intersection, Vince saw the man in black step out of a doorway and fall in behind her. At the curb, a white van came to a halt on the crossroad in front of her. The side panel door opened and the man in black pushed Carolyn into the van. He climbed in behind her without looking back. The van’s door closed automatically sealing tightly enough that Vince could not hear Carolyn screaming.
The van turned left, passing by Vince. His hybrid Porsche violently lurched from its parking spot, did an immediate U turn, and sped up to the van. An exotic silver sports car did not make an inconspicuous chase vehicle. The van seemed to realize it was being followed as it turned several corners, attempting to evade the tail.
Inside the van, there were no seats in the back, just a wide-open cargo space with a metal floor interrupted by two interior wheel well fenders. The man in black from the street forced Carolyn’s hands behind her back, binding them with flexicuffs. Over her mouth, he placed a length of duct tape before moving forward to the passenger seat. Each time the van made a fast turn, Carolyn was thrown into the walls of the van. With her hands behind her back, the impacts of her collisions clanged off the metal walls.
The van careened through the streets as it made its way to the M4, accelerating up the entrance ramp and speeding into the right lane. On the highway, Vince was able to catch up to the van and pull up beside its front quarter panel. In spite of being a much smaller vehicle, Vince drove the side of his car into the front corner of the van forcing it out of its lane and onto the shoulder. The van’s driver struggled to keep the vehicle stable. He was forced to slow down on the rough surface of the shoulder. As both vehicles continued forward, the driver of the van turned into the Porsche, its greater bulk forcing the two seater sideways as the van sought to regain the pavement. Vince felt his car pivot on the corner of the van, his tires screeching as they slid across the asphalt. The van kept pushing the Porsche. Vince realized he was going to crash into the back of a large lorry. As the big truck’s solid metal bumper loomed in front of him, Vince turned the wheels of the Porsche, releasing it from the van while slamming on the brakes. The van, suddenly without the strain of plowing the Porsche forward, accelerated into the rear corner of the lorry, smashing its front quarter panel against the heavy metal bumper. Glass and plastic flew from the dented metal in a widening stream of debris as the van’s driver pulled back into the right lane accelerating his damaged vehicle.
The force of the impact sent Carolyn forward into the console between the two seats. Her head collided with the heavy plastic, bruising her forehead. The man in black grew angry with the driver.
“God damn it, keep this fucking van on the road and get us to LPU.”
Vince’s car had gauges, scrapes and an indented passenger door, but the mechanics remained intact. He down shifted to accelerate and was right back on the tail of the van.
“What is this fucker doing chasing us?” exclaimed the black clad passenger.
This time Vince approached the rear quarter panel of the van. He recalled seeing a video where a cop car stopped a fleeing suspect by angling the nose of his car into the rear of the offending vehicle, sending it into a tailspin. Vince’s problem was that the back of the van was higher than the hood of his Porsche. If it was going to work he would have to apply force to the rear wheels.
Glancing at the overhead sign, he saw an exit to the Heston Service Area coming up in a kilometer. Pulling his car close, he set his wheel next to that of the van. His car was lighter, but it had a powerful engine located behind the seats over the rear axle. Turning the steering wheel hard, he forced his left front wheel and fender up against the van’s right rear wheel. The van’s larger wheels crushed the front fender of the Porsche tearing the body part off the vehicle. Vince was nearly decapitated when the front fender skin flew over his head as it sailed into the highway. Contact between the two spinning tires produced a noxious cloud of acrid smoke as the van’s wheels resisted the lateral force. Vince could see they were fast approaching the exit for the Service Area. Torquing the steering wheel as he leaned to the left, Vince gunned the car’s supercharged engine. His rear wheels screeched as additional power flowed to the road through his extra wide tires. The little car had the strength of a truck and used it to skid the van’s rear end as the pavement for the exit widened in front of them. The driver of the van had no choice but to exit as the stench of burning rubber and thick smoke trailed behind them.
Vince braked hard, separating his car from the van, which regained control and began to turn towards the gas pumps of the service area. Quickly accelerating, Vince bashed the van, lurching it forward so it missed the turn for the area servicing regular cars. The van’s only choice was to turn into a vast, empty parking lot reserved for large lorries and extra-long trucks. As the van crossed the lot heading for the exit on the far side. Vince spun the wheel, gunning the Porsche, setting it perpendicular to the van and rocketing into the right front wheel. The front bumper cladding shattered as the low profile of the sports car drove into the van’s front tire, lifting it on to the Porsche’s hood, tilting the van to the left. The van plunged forward, rolling over the Porsche before colliding head on with a lamppost. As the airbags deployed, the van’s driver and front seat passenger were both smacked hard in the face.
Carolyn banged into the left side wall when the van’s right side went skyward. Blood oozed from a laceration on her head she received through hard contact with an internal door hinge. Smearing blood on her hand from her lacerated head, Carolyn’s pregnant belly made it nearly impossible to regain her balance.
Vince could see that the right front tire of the van was shredded; this vehicle was going nowhere. Reaching into the long stowage compartment of the door, Vince extracted a Brooks Brothers umbrella. The driver of the van, a bit dazed by the punch in the face from the airbag, struggled to stand as he exited the vehicle. Vince strode up, striking him across the face with the curved handle of the umbrella. As the driver stumbled, Vince grabbed his collar and pressed him up aga
inst the side of the van. Spinning the umbrella, he placed the metal ferrule against the stunned driver’s throat. Vince popped the end of the umbrella handle as hard he could, driving the metal shaft through the skin and into the trachea. Blood poured where only air belongs through the impaled windpipe. The driver instinctively clutched at his throat as he slid to the ground. Vince withdrew the brolly as the man choked on his dying breaths. Stepping to the side, Vince flung the sliding door open. In the van’s interior, the man he saw on the street held Carolyn in a headlock with a pistol pointing at her head.
Vince recognized the man--Pierre LeBeau. He was an operator for Crepusculous. Vince first met Pierre when David Diegert was at the headquarters training facility in Romania. Pierre was the only guy there to show Diegert any friendship. That friendship though was sorely betrayed when Pierre appeared in the elevator that served the penthouse at the Ambassador Hotel. Diegert possessed the single source device for detonating a dozen thermobaric bombs within the United States and was escaping with his mother. The sight of his only friend caused Diegert to hesitate, allowing Pierre to fire a taser, electrocuting Diegert, and taking him and his mother hostage. Pierre’s betrayal enraged Diegert, and now the traitor was kidnapping Carolyn. Pierre and Vince had never met, but the operator recognized Panzer’s newfound son.
In his French accent, Pierre shouted, “What the fuck are you doing? You are way out of line. We are carrying out orders. If you were anyone else,” he raised his pistol pointing it at Vince, “you’d be a dead man.”
Carolyn let out an astonished groan as, from under her skirt, an unexpectedly large volume of fluid fell to the floor. Pierre looked down in disgust. Vince swung the umbrella, knocking the gun out of the Frenchman’s hand. The pistol hit the floor, sliding under the driver’s seat. As Vince stepped into the van, he shoved Carolyn to the side thrusting her into the console between the seats. The amniotic fluid was surprisingly viscous causing both men’s feet to slide on the slippery steel. Pierre swung a fist, destabilizing himself and falling to the floor. Vince bent his right knee and dropped it into Pierre’s abdomen. From his kneeling position, Vince punched Pierre viciously, bloodying his nose and gashing an eyebrow. Pierre scissor kicked his legs, raising his left up to strike Vince in the face with the heel of his boot. Taking the strike on the chin, Vince fell back, into the puddle of amniotic fluid. Pierre looked to see the emergency jack strapped to the side of the van. Above the jack, held by a pressure clip, was an 18-inch tire iron. Snatching it, he instantly swung it at Vince who lifted his head just in time to see the iron coming. Raising his umbrella, he deflected the blow, entangling the iron in the black fabric. Pierre drew back, ripping the umbrella from Vince’s hand. Vince rolled as Pierre cleared the umbrella fabric and swung back through with the iron. The metal truncheon dented the sidewall of the van as it narrowly missed Vince.