PMadriani 12.5 - The Second Man

by Steve Martini

  As it was, he was going to have to drive like a son of a bitch to have any chance of getting away. As soon as he cleared the parking area, he took a sharp left.

  He was trying to get around them to the south. If he could get outside the perimeter fence that surrounded the post, he might have a shot at getting to some of the open roads in the area. If he could lose himself in the hills, there was a slim chance he could slip away.

  The minute he looked to his left, he knew it was hopeless. Everywhere was a sea of flashing lights. They were streaming up from the south. All of the roads in that direction were blocked.

  He stopped for a moment to survey the terrain. They were everywhere, like fire ants, flashing red dots as far as the eye could see. “Why? Why were they doing this? Why so many?” he wondered. “I’m only one man. Do they think I’m a god?” It was overkill. Akers knew it. At the same time, he realized, it was a tribute. Not to him personally but to his fighting skills. They were afraid of him. He had fought their wars and spilled his blood. Now he was home, and they were filled with fear. If only they knew. His arsenal of weapons was limited to the Ka-Bar, the small folding knife in his pocket, and his wits. Akers didn’t have a firearm.

  And he was rapidly running out of options. Ahead of him was a v-shaped intersection with three roads. Military vehicles with mounted machine guns blocked the two outer legs of the V. He could see them up the road, maybe a half mile out. The only route open was the one in the middle, a narrow thread of dusty sand that transected the V. It wasn’t really a choice. Akers knew why they left it open. Like so many other things in his life, it was a dead end.

  Chapter 26

  I HAD NO problem identifying Joselyn in the back of the car. I told the captain, and he radioed instructions to have the vehicle surrounded and to seal off the building so as to trap Akers inside.

  But it was too late. Before they could move, Akers came racing out the front door. He jumped in the car, backed out, and sped off, with Joselyn in the back.

  “Tell your people not to shoot,” I told the captain. We ran for the Humvee, and within seconds, we were in pursuit. We could see the small sedan ahead of us. There were two Humvees with military police between us and Akers’s car. They came to an intersection and stopped. I didn’t know why until we pulled up behind them. There in front of us, no more than thirty feet away, was Akers’s vehicle, stopped in the middle of the road.

  The gunner on the roof of one of the Humvees pulled the bolt back on his fifty-caliber to cycle the first round on the belt. I thought for a moment that this was it. That Akers was going to make a stand. And if so, I could sit here and watch Jocelyn as she died, caught in a hail of bullets. I could see her head though the back window of the car.

  I wanted desperately to get out, run up, and pull her out and back to safety. But I knew there was no chance. Any effort in that direction would trigger the end. I looked at Herman. He was grinding his teeth, his hand buried in the pocket of his coat, underneath the flak jacket. I knew what was there, the .45 pistol he had taken from the trunk of his car. If the MPs knew he had it, they would take it away from him in a heartbeat. But they didn’t, and Herman wasn’t telling them.

  Chapter 27

  AKERS PRESSED THE accelerator and headed up the road. There was no need to hurry. He watched in the mirror as the parade of military vehicles sealed off the road behind him, the highway to hell.

  He watched the mirror as the slow caravan of red kept coming. And there, lost in the confusion and chaos, the face of the woman sitting in the seat behind him. She seemed serene. Or perhaps it was just the effects of ether. The fact was, she was the only thing of value left in the car, and Akers knew it. He could use her as a shield. Akers knew that it might prolong the outcome, but it wouldn’t change it. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to use her in that way. The woman who only a short time earlier he was ready to kill had somehow softened him. Whether she realized it or not, she had reached something deep inside him, something he thought was dead. He looked at her in the mirror once more, assumed she was out of it, and said: “Sweetheart. I’m sorry about all of this. It seems that somehow I’ve lost my way.”

  “I know that,” said Joselyn.

  “How long . . .”

  “Have I been awake?” she asked. “Long enough to know it’s over. You know we all get lost at one time or another. Maybe now is the time to stop and try to find your way back.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “It’s never too late.”

  “You saw what’s in the trunk,” he told her. “And there’s more you don’t know about.”

  “You killed your wife,” said Joselyn.

  “How did you know?”

  “I guessed, earlier today. Some things you said. I knew you were running from something. What of the children?” she asked.

  “No, I could never do that,” he told her.

  They continued to roll slowly down the road, around a bend, for a moment out of the glaring headlights of the parade following them.

  “But I was ready to do it to you. You know that.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t have time.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why do you say that? You know I would have.”

  “You could have killed me in the room or here in the car. You had plenty of time and ample opportunity. Instead, you chose to put me to sleep twice. Why?”

  He thought for a moment, then finally said: “I don’t know.”

  “I do. I don’t think you wanted to kill me.”

  “If you’re trying to save my soul, don’t bother,” said Akers. “It was lost long ago. And don’t try to analyze me.”

  “I won’t”

  “No more talk,” he said. “There isn’t much time.”

  He took his foot off the gas and allowed the car to roll to a gentle stop. End of the road, middle of nowhere. In front of them loomed the grey walls of the old Spanish mission. Two Humvees with machine guns on top were positioned in front of it. The vented muzzles of the big guns were directed at their car.

  “I never got my pictures,” she told him.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe next time. You should come with someone else,” he told her. “I was never fit company. Not for a lady like you.”

  “You shouldn’t run yourself down,” she said. There was no way she could bring him back from the depths, and Joselyn knew it. Some things are irredeemable, at least in our own minds. And Cameron Akers had gone well past that point.

  His gaze wandered up the weathered brick walls to the stark twin crosses on the roof of the old structure. For a man whose entire adult life had been a constant battle between good and evil, right and wrong, he wanted desperately to believe. After all, he was one of the good guys. He had to believe that; otherwise, what was the point? And yet if he was good, if he was on the side of the angels, how was it that he had come to commit so many evil acts?

  He turned off the engine, then reached over and took hold of the handle of the Ka-Bar knife. He pulled it from its sheath.

  “I want you to open your door and step out of the car very slowly,” he told her. “Don’t make any sudden moves. Some of those kids out there are gonna be pretty jumpy. Probably never had their finger on the trigger in a situation like this.”

  “What about you?” she said.

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “I have a better idea. Why don’t you put the knife down. Roll down your window and put your hands out where they can see them. Give yourself up.”

  “No.”

  “This isn’t going to end well. You know that.”

  “It’s gonna be fine. Now just do as I say.”

  “I’m not sure I can stand,” she told him. “My legs are a little shaky. You did a number on me with the chloroform.”

  “It was the only time I had my way with you since we left San Diego.”

  Joselyn smiled. The fear drained away. The calm of his voice in
the face of impending violence, the two of them alone in the car, silhouetted in the headlights with guns trained on them humanized him in a way she had not seen before. She realized what it was. The image of Cameron Akers in his natural state.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he told her.

  Chapter 28

  HERMAN NOW HAS the .45 out of his pocket, clutched in his hand. I look at him and shake my head. If he shoots Akers, the MPs are likely to unload on him. He’s going to get himself shot.

  We’re out of the vehicle now, and I move forward toward the two MPs in the lead. One of them tells me to stay back. I ignore him. He has both hands up, holding the pistol and trying to steady it in order to get a bead on Akers. Before he can even think about it, Akers hoists Joselyn out of the backseat and directly into the line of fire.

  I step in front of the MP so he can’t shoot. He tells me to get out of the way. Herman is right behind me.

  We keep inching forward until we are out ahead of the two MPs with their drawn pistols. Akers is now no more than twenty feet away. One of the officers is screaming at me, telling me to get back behind the line. A sniper on the roof of the mission is taking aim at the back of Akers’s head. “Tell him to hold off,” I yell. I can hear them behind me, whispering into the com system for the sniper to hold his fire. If they shoot Akers, and the car is wired, we could all go up.

  “Mr. Akers . . .” I yell

  “Tell you what, you call me Cam, I’ll call you Paul.” He steadies Joselyn on her feet and holds her with one arm around her waist. But he doesn’t put the knife to her throat. “You’re a lucky guy, Paul. You’ve got a very nice lady here. I hope you appreciate her.”

  “It’s over,” I tell him. “Why don’t you put the knife down?”

  “I take it you found my wife.”

  “Your children are fine.” I would rather talk about something more positive. “They’re going to need a father. You should think about that. They love you.”

  “You think they’re still going to love me when they find out what I did to their mother.”

  “That’s a question only they can answer. You need to ask them.”

  “Give it up,” he says.

  “It was good that you cared enough about the kids.”

  “You mean that I didn’t murder them?”

  “That may sound funny, but it’s one hell of a consolation,” I tell him.

  “What do I get for that? The lawyer’s housekeeping seal of approval? You keep talking, I’m gonna cut my own throat,” he says.

  “He’s not going to hurt anyone,” says Jocelyn. “He’s done. Put down the knife. Please,” she pleads with him.

  “Joselyn, stop!” I tell her. “Just please be quiet.”

  “Don’t tell her what to do!” says Akers. “The lady has good instincts. It’s just that her timing’s a little off. She’s too late.”

  I look at her, wondering if he’s drugged her. It’s obvious she’s having trouble standing.

  “There is no sense killing another innocent person,” I tell him. “Isn’t your wife enough?”

  “That’s not a good argument, counselor. She wasn’t innocent. She kicked me out of my own house and kept me from my children.”

  “This is pointless,” says Joselyn. “He’s not going to kill me. He could have done it a dozen times today, and he didn’t.”

  “Be quiet,” says Akers.

  “Why don’t you just put it down?” she tells him.

  “No.”

  “What about the car? Is it wired,” I ask.

  “For what?” says Joselyn.

  “Don’t answer them,” says Akers.

  “Explosives.”

  “No,” she says.

  “How would she know?” he says. “Fact is, there’s a surprise in the trunk,”

  “What’s that?”

  “Open it and find out.”

  “There are no explosives,” says Joselyn. “The car belongs to another man. He is no threat. I’m telling you.”

  “Tell that to the cadaver in the trunk,” says Akers. “I think this has gone about as far as it can.” He leans up close into her ear, and says: “I’m sorry it has to end this way.”

  “No!” Joselyn screams.

  I watch as he releases his arm from around her waist. With his right foot he sweeps her legs out from under her. Joselyn goes to the ground, deadweight. An instant later, Akers steps over her and advances on me with the knife. He closes to maybe ten feet.

  Herman raises the pistol, but before he can fire, MPs shoot off several rounds. They hit Akers dead center in the chest. Half a second later, his head explodes in a ball of red mist, followed an instant later by the explosion from the sniper’s rifle on the mission roof behind him. Suicide by MP. Akers’s lifeless body drops to the sandy soil, his tortured soul lifted skyward in an earthy cloud of dust.

  Chapter 29

  THE ECHO FROM the rifle is still bouncing off the hills as I step around Akers’s body in the dirt and run toward Joselyn on the ground behind him. She is shaking, almost convulsive, crying, tears flowing down both cheeks as I lift her into my arms and cradle her head on my shoulder.

  “Easy,” I tell her. “It’s all right. It’s over.”

  “Why . . .” She tries to speak but cannot.

  Behind me, several of the MPs are huddled over Akers’s body, none of them making any effort at resuscitation. The wound to his head is massive and obviously fatal. I turn to steer Joselyn’s gaze away from the gruesome scene and slowly walk her around the gathering crowd toward one of the Humvees. She is still unsteady on her feet.

  Herman sees us and quickly talks to an officer, who immediately orders one of the drivers to get us out of there. Two minutes later, we’re on the road headed to the base dispensary, where Joselyn can recover and medics can take a look at her.

  TWO MONTHS LATER, and Joselyn is still seeing a therapist. She has nightmares of the events on the base, a contagion perhaps of the disease that ultimately took the life of Cameron Akers as well as his two victims. The precise trigger, what set him off, causing him to kill his wife, we may never know, but the underlying condition was clear. According to a recent study by the Department of Veterans Affairs, almost once every hour a military veteran commits suicide. Beyond this are the active-duty suicides. According to statistics released by the military, active-duty suicides reached a record of 349, nearly one a day, over a recent one-year period. Strange as it may seem, this is a lower rate than the general population, whose rate is on the rise. It seems we are a nation of suicides. Nonetheless, for every veteran killed by the enemy, twenty-five take their own lives. Many of these are the result of depression and mental illness.

  Figures show that there are more than 2.3 million American military veterans from the Iraq-Afghanistan wars, and of these, 20 percent suffer from posttraumatic stress disorder. There is no question in my mind but that Cameron Akers was one of these, and suffer he did, along with his wife, his children, and others who came in contact with him.

  As for his children, they are now living with Allyson Akers’s family, cared for and loved.

  Joselyn and I seem to have acquired a new beginning from all of this. My practice is on the edge, but the good news is that the two of us are closer than before. It is strange to say, but the nearness of her, not to Akers but to the sickness that consumed him, has given us new life—like a near miss with cancer. It makes the separation when she is away for business more difficult to bear, but as always, she needs her space and her own goals in life, and we need each other’s love.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  The Enemy Inside

  the next installment in Steve Martini’s thrilling Paul Madriani series

  Coming in hardcover May 2015 From William Morrow

  Chapter 1

  “I SAW IT in the paper this morning,” says Harry. “Sounds like a barbecue without the tailgate. Driver flambéed behind the wheel in her car. If you like, I’ll take it off your
hands, but why would we want the case?” To Harry it sounds like a dog.

  I ignore him. “The cops are still trying to identify the victim,” I tell him.

  Harry Hinds is my partner of more than twenty years, Madriani & Hinds, Attorneys at Law, Coronado near San Diego. Business has been thin of late. For almost two years we had been on the run, hiding out from a Mexican killer named Liquida who was trying to punch holes in us with a stiletto. This is apparently what passes for business in the world of narco-fueled revenge. And the man wasn’t even a client.

  For a while, after it ended and Liquida was dead, the papers were full of it. Harry and I, along with Herman Diggs, our investigator, became local celebrities.

  Everything was fine until the FBI stepped in. They announced publicly that they were giving us a citizen’s award for cooperation with law enforcement. For a firm of criminal defense lawyers, this was the kiss of death, Satan giving Gabriel a gold star.

  Referrals on cases dried up like an Egyptian mummy. Everywhere we went, other lawyers who knew us stopped shaking our hands and began giving us hugs, frisking us to see which of us was wearing the wire. Harry and I are no longer welcome at defense bar luncheons unless we go naked.

  “You look like hell,” says Harry.

  “Thanks.”

  “Just to let you know, a beard does not become you.”

  I have not shaved since yesterday morning. “I was up at four this morning meeting with our client at the county lockup in the hospital.”

  “You or him?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “Which one of you was being treated?” says Harry.