The Shop

by J. Carson Black

  Oily black flames poured out of the roof, people running like ants along the sidewalk. Jolie sat down, stunned, and watched.

  At least thirteen dead, but probably many more.

  Gunmen had stormed the church compound in the early hours of the morning, shooting people in their beds, torching the church and the outbuildings.

  The Reverend Wembi and his wife were unaccounted for and believed to be dead.

  The fire in the church itself was still burning, but the police had secured all but one of the outbuildings, and the survivors had been taken either to a hospital for treatment or to a school nearby where contact could be made with loved ones.

  Stunned, Jolie watched.

  There was speculation who set the fire, but the general consensus was political. At least one terrorist group had claimed responsibility—a rival faction from the Congo.

  Among the missing was Grace Haddox, wife of the former attorney general of the United States.

  The phone rang.

  Kay’s voice—sounding lost. “Did you hear what happened?”

  “I’m watching it now. Is there any word about Grace?”

  “No, but I think she’s dead. I had this feeling…it’s…” She stopped. “I have to get out there.”

  “To the church?”

  “No—I think we need to be there for Riley. Just in case. Zoe and me.”

  Jolie said, “Can I go with you?”

  “I guess. Maybe that would be good—you deal with emergencies all the time, don’t you?”

  They were silent on the drive over. Zoe in the backseat. Jolie in the passenger seat.

  Kay’s knuckles tight on the wheel.

  Jolie’d only met Grace once, for less than half an hour. Grace had been polite, but dismissive. Look who Kay brought home. But Jolie had had recent dealings with Riley. Riley was a frightened child. Behind all the attention-seeking, Jolie felt Riley’s desperation. There was something she wasn’t getting. And now her mother might be dead.

  Jolie looked at Kay but Kay ignored her, her eyes on the road. Jolie could see Kay going through the contingencies, considering the alternatives, what she’d find, what she’d do. Jolie wondered if Kay was rethinking bringing her along.

  Jolie knew everything had changed. Kay was still mad at her, but that didn’t matter anymore. Kay had put that behind her for the moment. There was too much to deal with. Riley needed help, and Riley was family. Jolie marveled at how quickly Kay dropped what she’d thought was important before and focused only on her family and how she could help them. Kay had a strong bond with her family. Kay belonged, and she would always be there to help.

  Kay had invited her to belong, too.

  Jolie realized she wanted to belong. She wanted to have a family again. She prized her friendship with Kay. But something stood in the way. Her own small family. Her dad and herself. All her life her dad had told her to watch out for those less fortunate, to protect the weak. It had been ingrained in her. It was the reason she became a cop.

  Nathan Dial had been treated like so much garbage. His body was disposed of and his death was covered up. He had no one to speak for him, no one to step up and bear witness to the atrocity of his death.

  No one to give him justice.

  No one but her.

  53

  Landry’s watch alarm woke him at four a.m.

  Franklin had given Landry a guest room in the main house. Nothing fancy, which surprised him, because these were rich people. The room was functional but not spectacular. The white jacquard bedspread was nice, though. Landry had slept well. His wrist throbbed, but as long as he wore the wrist brace, it was all right.

  He made the bed, hospital corners as he had been trained to do, and sat on the jacquard bedspread. Thinking about Cardamone.

  He didn’t waste time wondering where Cardamone was. He knew Cardamone had flown to Panama City, but after that, he’d disappeared. If his thought processes were anything like Landry’s, he would stay away from hotels and rental cars. He would not use credit cards. He would rent a house somewhere nearby, a cash transaction.

  After Landry’s phone call to the Indian man at “Gulf Homes” last night, Cardamone would think Landry’s team was in place on Cape San Blas in preparation for an assault on the island in the small hours of the morning. If Cardamone didn’t hear soon, he would begin to wonder. Before too long, he would become worried. He would check the news and see nothing. In addition, the two men who had been keeping track of Franklin’s whereabouts—Agent Salter and Ted Bakus—had not reported in. Landry had Bakus’s phone. He’d expected to hear from Cardamone yesterday, but maybe the man was too cagey for that. Presumably, they would have called Cardamone if the attorney general did anything out of the ordinary.

  Landry thought it doubtful they’d check in with Cardamone if Franklin kept to his routine. Cardamone was a busy man. So it was possible he thought everything was okay.

  But when it dawned on Cardamone that there had been no assault on the island, he would send someone to the safe house on Sea Oats Lane.

  He might expect to find four dead men—that was within the realm of possibility. But instead of Jackson, Davis, Green, and Peters, he would find Jackson, Davis, Green, Salter, and Bakus.

  Landry thought he would be shocked by that. Cardamone would wonder: How did one-offs like Salter and Bakus meet up with his elite assassination team? And where was the fourth member of the team—the team leader?

  He would want to know what happened to Landry.

  Cardamone would run through a number of scenarios, the most likely being that Landry had killed the other five. But Cardamone wouldn’t know for sure.

  So what would he do next?

  He would double down. He would send another team, if he had one. Landry suspected he had at least one other team, maybe more. But it would take time for them to get here.

  Or, from what Franklin had told him about Cardamone, he would come himself. In an ideal world, that was what would happen. Cardamone would come alone, and Landry would be waiting for him. But Landry didn’t think so. Cardamone would send the other team.

  The question was, would Cardamone come along this time, to make sure?

  Franklin had told him Cardamone was hands-on. The man was proud of his time in special forces. According to Franklin, he spent hours a week at the firing range and worked out six times a week. His favorite saying was, “You make your own luck.”

  He would consider the assault on his men an assault on him.

  But he was smart. Had to be, to have survived this long. And the smart thing to do was stand back and let his team do their work.

  A quick knock and his door opened. Franklin stood in the doorway. He looked stricken. “Grace is dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “There was a fire at the church. A massacre.” Franklin came in and sat down on the bed next to Landry. His movements were slow and wooden, like a zombie’s. Shock.

  “Are you sure she’s dead?”

  “I know it. I can feel it.” Franklin looked at him. “She was the main target.”

  “Why was she the main target?”

  “Grace was the chief fund-raiser for Wembi’s church. She was in all the way. All the stuff they were doing, hiding assets, tax fraud. And she had friends at the capitol in Tallahassee. They were investigating the rival church for gunrunning and money laundering and their ties to dangerous groups in the Congo. It was all a competition between the two churches.”

  “A competition.”

  “Yes, but it got out of hand. The other reverend, Beebe, swore he’d wipe her out and all her family. It was probably just an empty threat to scare us.” He sighed. “But you don’t even know the half of it.”

  “What’s the rest?”

  “The vice president is dead.”

  Landry absorbed this. “You think Cardamone had him killed?”

  Franklin nodded.

  “How did he die?”

  “They say cardiac arrest.” Franklin rubb
ed the bridge of his nose, looking around as if he didn’t recognize where he was. Then he teared up. “She’s dead. The love of my life is dead, and it’s all because of me.” Then he reached around and grabbed Landry and held him in a sideways bear hug.

  It wasn’t a homosexual thing, Landry knew that. But he recoiled. More from the blatant show of emotion than anything else. But he let Franklin hang on to his neck, cry into his chest like a little boy—loud sobs. Embarrassingly loud sobs. After a decent interval, Landry patted him on the back and disengaged.

  “Turn on the television,” Frank said. “They might have news. Maybe she’s not dead.” His voice sounded hopeful but strangled by tears.

  Just then Franklin’s cell phone rang. He answered, stood up, and went to the open doorway. “You’re sure?” he asked. “When did they—? They’re sure? They’ve made an identification? You’re sure?”

  His footsteps echoed down the hallway.

  When Franklin was gone, Landry turned on the TV. As Franklin had told him, there was a fire at the church.

  Landry looked at his watch. It was now almost six a.m.

  Decision time.

  Now he knew for sure there was another team. It was the team Cardamone had sent to the church to kill Grace. Landry headed a team of four, so it was likely the other team had four members as well, although he would allow for more.

  Landry changed channels to CNN. He kept the sound turned down. The screen was divided. One showed the church, the boiling smoke, the firemen. The other, the larger screen, showed a panel of doctors at a press conference, talking about the vice president’s death.

  Cardamone’s other team was in Tallahassee. Tallahassee was two hours away by car, less than half that time by jet. The minute Cardamone knew about the safe house, the other team would be on its way to Indigo.

  The wise choice would be for the team to set up and wait until the early hours of the morning, or at least until midnight, but Landry couldn’t count on that. With the weather as cover, they could just as easily come in and take them out quietly, then wait until dark to do the second half of the job: to make it look like a Congolese uprising. Landry couldn’t rule that scenario out. He had to plan for the possibility that they were two to three hours away at the latest.

  It was even possible they could be here now.

  Landry switched to the local channels to see if there was anything about the house on Sea Oats Lane. The only shows on were talk shows. The church fire in Tallahassee and the death of the vice president of the United States didn’t make a dent in the talk show lineup, apparently.

  Landry had no idea where Michael Cardamone was in the space-time continuum. So he decided to act as if Cardamone’s other team was on their doorstep.

  He made a check of the island, looking in the places he would hide his people if he’d been the team leader. Plenty of places to look. The island was a wonderland when it came to accessibility. It could be accessed by water almost all the way around, and by the causeway. There were secret passageways. Stables, boathouses, cabanas, lush vegetation. He couldn’t cover it all, but after the seventh or eighth hiding place, he sensed the team wasn’t here yet.

  Then he went looking for Frank.

  Frank sat at an umbrella table poolside. Riley was with him, dangling her legs in the pool.

  If Landry was interrupting anything, it hadn’t really gotten started yet. Franklin and his daughter were like two distinct pods, separated by a small space.

  As Landry approached, Riley glared at him. Her eyes were red from crying. Franklin, on the other hand, looked distracted, almost thoughtful.

  “Franklin,” Landry said.

  Franklin looked up. In another world. “What?”

  “How many employees do you have right now? On the island.”

  “Employees?”

  Riley said, “Why don’t you go away?” She pulled her feet out of the pool, dripped her way across the tile, and reached awkwardly around to hug her father’s neck from behind. Landry thought she’d need a lot more practice.

  Franklin didn’t seem to notice his grieving daughter was hugging him around the neck. “Employees?” he repeated.

  “How many?”

  Franklin closed his eyes, counting in his head. “Four, altogether. At the moment, because we hire out to a grounds crew. The maid, two kitchen help, and the senator’s attendant, Jason.”

  That trued up with Landry’s own count. “Are they the only people here, other than the family?”

  “Other than the senator, yes.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “They have to go.”

  “Go? Why?”

  “Never mind why. You need to get them off the island.”

  “What will I tell them?”

  “Tell them they have the day off. Tell them it’s a free day. You’re a good talker, Franklin. They’ll believe you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now.”

  Riley said, “Why don’t you leave us alone? Can’t you see we’re in mourning?”

  Franklin patted her on the shoulder. “He’s trying to help us, puddin’.”

  Landry said, “Round them up and get them off the island. The three of us will meet at the octagon house in ten minutes.”

  “You can’t order my daddy around like this!”

  “Franklin? Do it now.”

  Franklin nodded, then walked to the golf cart. Riley dogged his steps, turning back twice to give Landry a furious glare and a few choice profanities. Franklin got into the golf cart and Riley shoved in beside him. She might as well have been a gnat for all the attention Franklin paid her.

  Five minutes later, Landry watched through binoculars as the four employees trooped to their vehicles and drove out. Franklin had followed them to the edge of the island. He sat in the golf cart, watching as the cars filed across the narrow causeway and out past the empty gatehouse before turning on Cape San Blas Road.

  Franklin started up the cart and made the U-turn. Abruptly, the cart jolted to a stop. Riley jumped out and ran out onto the road, waving her arms.

  Landry saw what she was running at. An SUV had turned off Cape San Blas Road and was now bumping along the causeway.

  “Mom, stop!” Zoe shouted. “Stop the car!”

  As Kay hit the brakes, Zoe slithered out of her seat belt, shoved open the door, and ran out onto the causeway to meet her cousin.

  They hugged. Riley was sobbing. Jolie could hear it even with the air-conditioning on and the windows rolled up.

  Kay got out too, and Jolie followed suit. They all met halfway down the narrow road, the water lapping up on the rocks bordering the causeway. If Riley and Zoe had ever been in a fight, it was hard to believe it now. They were wrapped in each other’s arms, holding tight, Riley’s jagged sobs rending the air, Zoe saying over and over, “It’s all right, it’s all right.”

  Kay with them, one hand holding on to the loop at the back of Zoe’s jeans.

  A tableau. Jolie stood off to the side. She was the outsider, but that was okay. It reminded her what her job was.

  A golf cart zipped up, and her uncle got out.

  Jolie had never met him. She’d seen him on TV though, had watched him during the congressional hearings. He had been charged with criminal failure to report taxable income, although there had been more serious charges—bribery and tax fraud—that had been dismissed in favor of the one count. Mostly, she remembered, in answer to their questions, he’d said, “I don’t recall.”

  He walked up but then hung back. Finally, he tapped Kay on the shoulder. “You have to go now.”

  Kay looked at him, incredulous. “What are you talking about, Frank?”

  “You have to go. You’ll have to go up to the gate and turn around. Why don’t you take Riley?”

  “Riley?”

  “She can go with you.”

  “What are you talking about? We’re here because—”

  “You have to go, Kay! Now!”

  Ka
y seemed to grow in stature, and she was pretty tall to begin with. “I will not. Riley needs us. You need us.”

  Riley and Zoe were walking toward the island, still hugging, Riley still crying, but she was talking in between sobs. Franklin Haddox looked in their direction. “Riley! Get over here right now!”

  Kay shot a glance at Jolie, and Jolie understood exactly what it meant. Get in the car. She did. Kay climbed in, pulled the heavy door closed with a hard thump, belted herself in, and put the car in drive.

  Franklin was yelling at the window. “Kay! Kay!”

  She ignored him. He ran alongside, pounding on the door. “You have to go! You have to get out of here!”

  She drove off the side and onto the rocks to get around the golf cart. The SUV canted sideways and the water lapped at the wheels, but they made it.

  Franklin running after them. Pounding on the back window.

  They reached the island.

  Music filled the car—Kay’s ringtone. She answered but didn’t take her foot off the accelerator. They were almost even with the girls. Kay dropped the phone, thrust the car door open, and yelled, “Get in!”

  “We’re not leaving!” Zoe shouted.

  “Yeah, okay, we’re not leaving,” muttered Kay. Then she said into the phone, “Did you hear that, Franklin? We are not leaving—”

  Kay turned to Jolie. “He hung up on me.”

  Franklin was now even with Riley and Zoe. Riley was yelling at him. Zoe was showing her solidarity. Franklin was thumbing his cell phone, and he seemed to be pleading with the girls. It looked to Jolie as if he was alternately talking on his cell phone and to the girls.

  Kay tracked them in the SUV.

  Music filled the car again.

  Kay ignored it.

  She drew even with the girls, buzzed down the window, and said “Get in.”

  “I’m not going home!” Zoe said.

  “No, you’re not. Just get in.”

  The girls piled into the car, and Kay accelerated past Franklin. Music filled the car again.

  This time she answered. “What is it, Franklin?”

  She listened. She snapped her phone closed and announced, “He wants us to meet him at the octagon house.”