The minister’s aide used the pseudonym, “Gironde1.” His real name was Charles and his key was the Latin form “Carolus.” Backed by le ministre, Gironde1 was more dangerous than Denise’s uncle. For Henri to disobey would be to sign his own death warrant.
But Gironde1 was a coward and Henri hoped that the man would not commit himself in writing. Henri longed for any excuse to avoid this assignment.
Henri tapped a key and the decoded message appeared.
h.duval|removal|of|
d.|guerry|authorised|
by02001714112018
|gironde1|||b7
The message was lethal and clear. Henri stared at the screen in disbelief.
Denise Guerry must die!
***
Jeannine Ryan stepped out of the coffee shop in Mount Pleasant, across the river from Charleston. She handed her laptop to Angelique in back, and turned to Stew Marks seated in front.
“They had WiFi. I checked the Port Arrivals. There’s good and bad news.”
“I’ll try the good news first.”
“I know where Bill will be tonight, if he’s able.”
Stew frowned. Great, where Hamm will be! If that’s good news, what’s the bad?
“Okay, what’s the bad news?”
“The Étoile d’Afrique is two days ahead of schedule. It’s arriving at the container terminal in North Charleston tonight at ten. If Bill is anywhere near Charleston, he will be there.”
Jeannine looked at Stew.
“What do you think?”
“We need to stop Gutera’s rockets before they leave the U. S.”
Angelique joined in.
“Shouldn’t we call the FBI Agency in Charleston.”
Stew answered.
“I already did. My old partner, Jack Marino, is here in Charleston. I talked to him. He wants Jeannine and Bill Hamm to turn themselves in now, and me too. Jack is a stubborn man. He will not look at our evidence unless we come in. And my supervisor in D. C. backs him up.”
Jeannine added.
“Jack is an ass. By the time he looks at the evidence, Gutera’s ship will be in International waters.”
She started the car. Moments later they crossed the Cooper River on the grand Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge to join I-26 to North Charleston.
***
In Maximilien Gutera’s suite in North Charleston, his right-hand man, Claude Senteli, answered the phone. The caller was Pierre Sehene.
“Claude, let me speak to the Chief.”
“Maximilien cannot be disturbed. He is taking a nap.”
“Wake him anyway. That Guerry woman and some man are at the port terminal. They are checking the rows of stacked containers. They’re looking for our missiles.”
Claude looked at his Rolex, a perk of being Maximilien’s right-hand man. It was just after 6:00 pm, the terminal was closing. And the Étoile d’Afrique would not arrive for four hours.
“The man must be Bill Hamm. But what can Guerry do? Tell the port guards to arrest her.”
“The guards at the gate knew her. She’s rich and runs GES and the cash we used to bribe port personnel came from her company. Wake Maximilien now. He has to know.”
But it was too late. A growl came from the bedroom.
“Claude, who is calling? What is their problem?”
After two minutes Maximilien, fully-informed and wide-awake, had his shoes on.
“Claude, call the North Charleston terminal and get superintendant Morris on the phone. Tell him to stop Guerry. And get me a driver. We are going to the port terminal.”
“Now!”
***
At the North Charleston Terminal, Denise Guerry and Bill Hamm stared in awe at the long lines of containers stacked three and four high. At random intervals, mobile Rubber Tire Gantry Cranes (RTG’s) straddled the rows.
A crane operator named Tim approached and handed them hard hats and fluorescent vests. They mounted his electric cart and rolled along a line of containers that ran at a right angle to the quay on the Cooper River.
Tim was expansive.
“There are 15 rows here. We’re closed for the evening. That’s why the RTG’s aren’t moving. This place hums during regular hours. If your container is to be loaded on that African ship first thing tomorrow morning, I expect it will be here on row BH, near the wharf. There’s an RTG ready at the end of the row, and I had them move an empty truck chassis there too. I’ll load it for you.”
(Tim was happy to oblige the visitors. Denise Guerry had handed him four crisp fifty dollar bills. He would be late for supper, but his wife would not complain once she saw the money.)
As they reached the wharf itself, Tim pointed to a huge crane that projected over the water.
“We have six ship-shore gantry cranes here. This one is a ZPMC Super Post Panamax. We have two of them. They can reach over and load a ship over twenty containers wide. The other four are IHI Post Panamax gantry’s.”
Bill was anxious to find Gutera’s container and had no time for a tour, but curiosity overcame him.
“What does ‘Post Panamax’ mean?”
“It means that the crane can load a ship too large to go through the Panama Canal, maybe eighteen containers wide, but less than a ‘Super Post Panamax ship.’
“How many containers wide is a ship that can pass through the canal?”
“A Panamax ship? I’d say with normal-width containers, thirteen.
Tim stopped the cart.
“Ok, here we are. Your container should be about here.”
Denise stepped out of the cart. Sure enough, there atop a three-high stack was a container on whose side was displayed, Kenya-Carolina Apex Distributors. She turned to Bill.”
“That’s it. That’s the company Gutera and SÉGAG use.”
Tim nodded and mounted a metal ladder to the control cab atop the RTG. He waved to Bill.
“Climb on up if you want. You might like this operation. It’s not too bad if you like joysticks.”
Bill looked up as he climbed. He noted that the control cab had a glass bottom.
Tim called down to Denise.
“Ma’am, you must stand clear. There’s a rest room near that next line of containers. Wait by that door. This won’t take long.”
Denise shrugged. It had been a long day.
She stepped into the rest room.
***
The glass-floored cabin was mounted on the crane’s cross bar that straddled the row of containers. On each side the cross bar was supported by steel uprights mounted on rubber tires so that cabin and cross bar could roll freely along the row.
Bill Hamm watched through the transparent floor as Tim used two joysticks and maneuvered over the desired container. When the spreader attached to the corners, he lifted the container and rolled the gantry forward over the waiting truck. Then Tim lowered the container onto the chassis.
“Clank.”
Tim turned to Bill.
“Your container is loaded and ready to go. Not bad, right. This is a great job. You should try it.”
Bill nodded and gave Tim two more crisp fifty dollar bills, giving him a total of $300.00 with which to pacify his wife for missing supper.
Tim handed Bill the keys to the truck.
“Tell Miss Guerry the boss wants his rig back in 48 hours.”
Bill left Tim in the cabin and climbed down the ladder.
***
On the ground once more, Bill climbed into the truck and turned the key. The diesel rattled and settled into a low rumble. He stared at the door to the rest room.
Denise heard the engine and stepped out.
“Denise, the container is loaded. We’re set. I’ll drive the truck. You get the car and follow me to Summerville.”
She started away, but her phone buzzed. She turned back to Bill.
“It’s Henri. He’s outside the terminal. Gutera’s Audi just passed the gate. Maximilien is here, on the grounds.”
“We have to run. Tell Henri to mee
t us in Summerville.”
She ran to their car.
He rammed the truck into gear.
***
******
Chapter 41
Thursday, September 6
Superintendant Ralph Morris sat at his desk in the office of the North Charleston terminal. At Maximilien Gutera’s instructions he had worked late to await the arrival of the ship, l’Étoile d’Afrique. His neck was moist with sweat, and he tugged at his collar.
The late hour was not the cause of his discomfort. It was his visitor, Maximilien Gutera, himself. Morris shifted uneasily in his seat while looking down at the African’s shoes. They were of fine Italian leather. The man had rich tastes.
Up to now Morris had avoided direct meetings with Mr. Gutera. His “cash donations” had been transmitted to the superintendant by a third party, one with only hidden links to donor or recipient.
But tonight an enraged Maximilien stood over him.
“You idiot, how could you authorize Denise Guerry to remove my container from the premises without consulting me?”
“Mr. Gutera, Ms. Guerry is the CEO of GES. It is my understanding that GES finances your programs. How could I question her authority? I assumed you knew.”
Maximilien slammed his fist on the desk.
“You assumed wrong! Denise Guerry has been removed from GES. She no longer has anything to do with me or my programs. Is that clear! You should have called me. I pay you well. Do not aid my enemies.”
“Mr. Gutera, I’m sorry. I had no idea. I assure you, I always follow your instructions.”
“My container was to be loaded tomorrow morning. My ship cannot sail until it is recovered. You have failed miserably. I do not tolerate failure.”
Morris’s hands froze on the arms of his chair. The man’s mad.
Frowning, Maximilien Gutera turned to leave.
Superintendant Morris called out.
“Mr. Gutera, wait. Ms. Guerry told me the contents were unimportant. I was a fool. But we can find the truck. It is fitted with a GPS tracker. We can tell you where it is.
Maximilien stopped. You idiot, now you tell me.
Morris typed furiously on his computer.
A map with a blip appeared on the screen. The truck was nearing Summerville, South Carolina.
Maximilien called Claude who was sitting in the Audi.
“We must go to Summerville. Mobilize the men to meet us there. Arm them with AK-47’s and pangas.”
Maximilien turned to Mr. Morris.
“You are a lucky man. You are alive thanks to your GPS device.”
He strode through the doors.
Ralph Morris wiped his forehead.
***
Bill Hamm drove the flat-bed truck with Gutera’s container on Interstate 26 in South Carolina. He stayed under the speed limit.
Denise Guerry followed in the car. She saw the right-turn signal of Bill’s truck blink. Seconds later the truck pulled onto a wide shoulder and stopped.
Denise pulled over and walked up to the truck. She watched Bill reach under the dashboard.
“What are you doing, Bill?”
He did not answer, but continued to grope behind the panel. Finally he pulled an object from under the dash and muttered.
“Evidently the Port Authority keeps track of where their trucks are. I should have thought of this sooner. This damn thing means trouble?”
“What is it?”
“It’s a GPS tracker. Your friend Maximilien ... ”
“He never was my friend, and he certainly isn’t now!’”
Bill did not respond. He stood, silent.
Maximilien knows where the truck is, and he wants his rockets!
Denise read his thoughts.
My God! Maximilien knows where we are!
***
Denise stood silent while Bill Hamm studied the container on the truck. The painted letters, Kenya-Carolina Apex Distributors, were too large and bright to alter or conceal. There was no way to conceal the provenance of the load, and no way to remove it from the flat bed.
Bill turned as a third car stopped on the shoulder behind them. His hand slipped towards his Beretta. Denise stopped him.
“No, Bill! It’s Henri Duval, I told him where we were.”
A man the size of Bill approached and held out his hand.
“Henri Duval. You must be William Hamm.”
Bill took the outstretched hand and squeezed. Henri responded. Each returned the other’s stare.
After some seconds, Denise spoke.
“Stop! Give up. It’s a draw. Remember, Maximilien knows where we are.”
Henri relaxed his grip. Bill did likewise.
The Frenchman spoke.
“What does she mean? How?”
Bill held up the GPS device.
“Maximilien is tracking us. He wants his rockets back.”
***
The guard stopped Jeannine Ryan and Stew Marks at the gate to the North Charleston terminal. He appeared nervous.
“Sorry, Ma’am, you can’t enter the grounds. We closed at six pm. Come back tomorrow at seven. We open then.”
“Call your supervisor. I’m sure he will let us pass. It’s an urgent matter.”
“Sorry Ma’am. It won’t help. We had an incident earlier this evening. I have strict instructions from my supervisor to let no one enter.”
“You mean unauthorized people entered earlier?”
“Sorry Ma’am, I can’t say.”
Jeannine shifted her ring to her wedding finger and turned the stone inwards. With teary eyes she displayed her “wedding band” to the guard.
“Please help me. I had to leave my baby with a neighbor. My sneak of a husband was here to meet his girl friend tonight and pick up a truck or a container or something. I’m sure they met here. She’s a blonde bimbo who works in his office.”
She swallowed and continued.
“Could the incident this evening be about a stolen truck or its load, and a man and a blonde?”
Jeannine’s eyes went moist.
They carried the day. The guard stammered.
“That was it Ma’am. A guy and a blonde stole a container and took it away on a truck. Now don’t tell anybody it was me that told you. Now please Ma’am, you have to go back. No one gets past these gates tonight.”
Jeannine masked a smile.
“Thank you. You are kind and understanding. I won’t bother you anymore.”
She backed the car and turned around.
Thank God, Bill, that you have the rockets, but why are you with that woman?
Stew Marks noted Jeannine’s frustration. Her playing the aggrieved lover was not entirely feigned. Denise still was with Bill.
Unsure what to say, he kept silent.
As Jeannine drove back onto Remount Road, Angelique spoke from the back seat.
“Where are you going now? I was hoping to find Henri.”
“Angelique, I have no idea where your friend could be. I’m still trying to find Bill. I have one more place to try, a motel where he stayed in Summerville.”
She had started to say “he and I stayed,” but omitted the “I” out of deference to Stew Marks.
Damn it Jeannine, why did you do that? You don’t care what he thinks.
She recoiled in surprise.
Or do you?
***
Maximilien rendezvoused with his men on the outskirts of Summerville. He and Claude Senteli rode in a gray Audi followed by Pierre Sehene and three new recruits in a black Audi of the same year and model. The two cars drove onto Interstate 26.
From his back seat, Maximilien spoke at some length with the Captain of the Étoile d’Afrique before briefing his headquarters in Florence on the changing situation. Finally, tongue-weary, he clicked his phone off.
It buzzed immediately.
The call was from an agitated Superintendant Morris in North Charleston.
“I’ve been trying to reach you. The line was busy. The
truck is stopped northwest of Summerville, on I-26.”
“How far past Summerville?”
“Far, it’s close to the interchange with I-95.”
“You should have called me sooner.”
The superintendant stayed silent. He dared not remind Gutera that his line had been in use.
Gutera continued.
“Never mind, stay at your computer and stay on this line. Tell me if they move. You are fortunate, Mr. Morris, that they do not know we are tracking them.”
Morris answered.
“I’ll let you know the minute they move.”
Maximilien kept his line open. Claude used his own phone to call Pierre Sehene in the black Audi.
Both cars, the gray Audi and the black, headed for the interchange with I-95.
***
Henri Duval followed as Bill Hamm sped southeast on I-26. Hamm drove fast. Evidently he was not worried about being stopped by the highway patrol.
Henri needed to catch Denise Guerry alone, but that would be difficult because of Hamm. In their encounter, Henri had felt Hamm’s strength. The man was a formidable opponent. He must be cautious, Hamm would protect Denise. For now, he had to wait.
His thoughts shifted to Angelique. She should be safe with the police, whoever they were, but still he was troubled. In spite of the horrors she had seen, Angelique was truly an innocent.
Damn it Angelique, Denise despises you. She would have been happy had Gutera killed you.
Ahead of him, Hamm continued to drive fast. Distracted, Henri had lost ground.
He pressed his foot on the accelerator.
***
Maximilien Gutera’s gray Audi sped west on I-26. Maximilien spoke to a weary Superintendant Morris in North Charleston.
“Mr. Morris, what is the status? Where are they?”
“They have not moved. They are still on I-26 near I-95.”
“Excellent. My men and I can reach that intersection in ten minutes. Make sure you keep this line open.”
The Carolina Coup: Another Rwandan Genocide? (The Jeannine Ryan Series Book 4) Page 28