He looked at Mecho. “The Storrows were killed by someone on the beach. Mecho was there. He saw it. More to the point, he saw you. You pumped rounds into their heads and dragged them out to the surf. You’re plenty strong enough to do that, Cheryl. All that paddle- boarding you do, it would have been easy. Two old people, they weighed nothing to you.”
Landry said nothing but she looked at Mecho with hatred.
Puller continued, “And that’s why no one answered when you called Bullock and Hooper. They were under orders from me not to. I didn’t want you to think I was suspicious about you. Just them. Bullock didn’t want to believe that you were a bad cop, but when I told him what I’d found out, he really couldn’t defend you.”
“So you say.”
Puller kept looking at her. “That stretch of beach with the sulfur. It is part of Paradise. I checked with Bullock on that too. It’s not regularly patrolled because nothing ever happens there. But he did tell me that one of his officers volunteered to check on it from time to time. Care to guess who that volunteer was?”
Landry still remained silent.
Puller drew closer to her. “And on that ‘patrol’ one night when you were really checking on the flow of slaves, you saw my aunt sitting in her Camry with a journal, observing and writing notes. She could barely walk anymore but she still wanted her independence. And she got it by driving in her specially equipped car late at night when it wasn’t so hot and humid. And she saw something one night. And she told her friends, the Storrows. They probably drove out there too and saw what my aunt had. And they came to you, Officer Landry. You patrolled their neighborhoods. They respected you. They told you what they had seen. And you pretended to take a report and then you shit-canned it.”
He drew even closer to Landry and slipped his Ka-Bar knife out of its sheath. “So you went down to the beach where you knew the Storrows liked to take late-night walks and you popped them in the head and dragged their bodies out into the water so the tide would carry them away.”
He drew still closer and held his knife up so the point was an inch from Landry’s throat. Diaz looked on nervously while Carson drove the boat but kept glancing over her shoulder while this scene played out.
Mecho sat there stoically holding his injured forearm and staring at Landry.
“But I think my aunt suspected you. You know, ‘people not being who they seemed’? She was very good at seeing through bullshit. And maybe you realized she suspected you. And so you went to my aunt’s house, stole her journal, and then took her outside and stuck her head in that pool of water until she was dead.”
“You can’t prove any of that,” snapped Landry.
Puller eased the knife blade forward at the same time he snagged her hair and jerked her head back. The big veins riding up her neck were fully revealed. He pressed the tip of the Ka-Bar directly against one of them.
“With the seas as bad as they are and how we’re pitching all over the place I could easily lose control of this blade. And it could easily sever all the blood vessels going to your brain.”
“That’s not exactly the way to get proof in a court,” Landry said. But she stared at Puller, obviously trying to read the intent on his features.
He stared back at her with deadly calm. He was in another zone right now, even more so than in the killing room back at the oil platform. He was as focused as he had ever been, like he was about to make a kill shot on a Taliban at a thousand meters under a hot sun where the margin of error was nearly zero. The whole world contained just him and Cheryl Landry.
“Who said anything about proof?” he said quietly.
Landry tried to smirk, tried to look like she was still somewhat in control of this situation even though she never had been and never would be. “You’re not going to kill me, not with all these witnesses.”
Mecho said firmly, “We went out with four and we came back with four.”
Diaz shrugged resignedly, and Carson said, “The ocean is a big place, Landry. Things get lost from time to time and never show up again. But scum will eventually sink to the bottom.”
Puller added, “As far as anyone knows you’re still supposed to be on patrol. You didn’t call anybody to say differently and I sure as hell didn’t.” Landry looked back at Puller. Now there were tears in her eyes. “Look, maybe we can cut a deal.”
“Maybe what you can do is shut up and I’ll tell you exactly what you’re going to do.”
“What incentive is in it for me?”
“You either do what I tell you to do or your ass is going into the ocean.”
Landry looked at the raging ocean, the gunwale barely a foot away. “You’re in the military. You can’t just kill me like that.”
“Oh, I kill people like you all the time.”
“I’m a cop.”
“No, you’re the enemy. I judge what you’re doing as a crime against this country and what it stands for. That makes you a terrorist in my book. And in my book terrorists have no rights. You don’t get to remain silent. You don’t get access to a lawyer. And I’m sure as hell not wasting my tax dollars paying for your ass to sit in an American prison. I will dump you right out there and the last image you’ll see before the sharks move in will be me.”
Landry gasped, sniffled, and coughed and was seemingly trying to look as pitiful and helpless as possible.
Puller didn’t respond to any of this.
She was no longer a young, beautiful, sexy woman.
She was repulsive.
She had forfeited her rights when she had helped to enslave others. When she had callously killed three old people who were simply trying to do the right thing. All while wearing the uniform.
Carson added, “You know, if you were in the Army, we’d just shoot you.”
Landry, seeing that Puller was not bluffing,
stammered, “What do you want me to do?”
CHAPTER 91
Lampert was on his yacht contemplating the implosion of his business empire. The operation on the beach had been compromised. There were at least four of them in on it. Puller, the woman with him. The giant.
And Murdoch, who he knew now was not whom she appeared to be.
He’d had a mole in his midst and didn’t even realize it until it was too late.
His associate, Winthrop, had already paid the ultimate price for bringing a spy to them, unaware or not. His dismembered body was sinking into the depths of the Gulf as Lampert sat on his luxury ship.
Lampert didn’t know where Puller and the others were. He had hoped that the giant would have been dead by now, but he’d been tipped off.
Murdoch.
He didn’t know whether she was a member of a rival criminal enterprise or was with the police, but either scenario was equally problematic.
Ironically enough, the Paradise police didn’t concern him. He had aces in the hole there. But he was concerned about Stiven Rojas. The man had given Lampert an ultimatum. And that had been before this enormous screwup.
He had cleared the warehouse and sent the product back out to sea. The storm had interfered with his plan, but only to a limited extent. His intent was to keep the prisoners there until he had located a new landing spot and then he would take up his business once more.
It probably wouldn’t be in Florida. His people were right now looking at the logistics of funnel- ing product through Alabama.
The oil platforms were a godsend right now. Oil companies had a certain amount of time after shutting them down to do something with them. Many were cut off below the waterline and towed to other spots to create artificial reefs. This was the cheaper alternative in many cases. Other firms chose to simply dismantle them completely. Other firms, having run out of money or gone bankrupt, simply abandoned them.
There was safety in numbers, and the number of oil platforms no longer in use in the Gulf was in the thousands. And they were spread all over. There was no way the Coast Guard or anyone else could check on them all.
But he
couldn’t keep the product there forever. He would nail down a new landing spot and then start the shipments once more.
His next problem was obvious. Murdoch and the others. How much did they know? What would they do with that information?
Should I leave the country now?
Why wait until I’m arrested or have subpoenas served?
But what could they have on him?
There was no trail back.
Even if any of his men talked they had no proof. And he didn’t think any of his men would talk. Lampert had friends everywhere, including in the judicial and prison systems. This had been made clear to all people coming to work for him. And if they weren’t sufficiently scared of him, they were of Stiven Rojas.
That bastard can get you anywhere. Even in witness protection.
Of course, that means he can get me.
Lampert picked up his phone and communicated with his chief of security. His words were terse. “No one in and no one out. Call me immediately if anyone approaches.”
He next called his yacht captain. “I want to be ready to leave in the next hour.”
“The seas are still rough,” the captain said, obviously surprised by the order.
They had moved the yacht out into open waters to let it ride out the storm on anchor. A tropical storm was not the same thing as a Cat Four. A Cat Four could pick up a yacht and throw it onto land.
The seas were rough, and once or twice Lampert thought he might be sick. But he would take
vomiting over someone blowing out his brains. If he did have to make a run for it he would have to leave his wife and son behind. That was okay. He could always get another wife. And his son was growing up to be a real prick. He could fend for himself, with his trust fund.
“Well, that’s why I pay you what I do. One hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lampert clicked off and looked around his cabin. The finest materials from around the world and fashioned by immensely talented craftsmen stared back at him.
He had the best of everything. It was his due. He worked very hard. The rank and file had no idea how much hard work it took to build a fortune. And it was even harder work to keep it.
Taxes were too high and regulations were choking off business, but still he persevered. And he employed people too. Created jobs where there had been none before. He had done the same thing on Wall Street. And been vilified for his efforts.
He shook his head. Business was really just picking up too. He had put enormous amounts into infrastructure, training, equipment, manpower. The risks he took were huge. And it was all paying off. His product pipeline was the envy of the world. He moved more product than anyone else by a factor of five. He had brought precision and a business mentality to a formerly dirty, chaotic enterprise.
And unlike oil or natural gas or other resources, the supply of product was infinite. Until the world ran out of poor people he could have his pick. And the world would never run out of impoverished folks if he had any say in the matter. There was only so much room at the top. And he was not relinquishing his space.
Lampert knew that he had always been meant for bigger and better things.
But he had to survive. This was where the risk was greatest. This was why he was making so much money. Because it could cost him everything.
Including his life.
He refocused on the tasks at hand.
Rojas did not know of the latest maneuvers.
The storm had forced his boat far out to sea. He doubted the man would chance coptering in when the skies and winds were still too unpredictable. All that gave Lampert something he desperately needed now.
Time.
Time to figure this out. Plan his next moves.
Survive.
The unknown factor, of course, was Puller and his cohorts.
They had followed the truck with the product. They obviously knew what was going on. There had been a gunfight on the beach. He had not heard from his men, so he knew that they had lost.
So what was Puller up to?
He had tried calling out to the platform, but the call had not gone through.
The storm again. The timing truly sucked.
And then, as if in answer to his prayers, his cell phone rang. He looked at the number and smiled.
He clicked on and said, “I was hoping to hear from you.”
Cheryl Landry said, “I’ve got a lot to fill you in on. Can we meet? Now?”
CHAPTER 92
The storm was rapidly dissipating but downpours were still occurring intermittently as Danielle finished expending its energy.
It was daylight now, but Danielle was keeping the skies dark. It could have been the wee hours of the morning.
Someone knocked on the front door.
Lampert answered it himself. He had taken a tender to shore. He had thrown up twice because of the rough seas. Now he was hoping for some good news.
He stared across the threshold at Landry. She was drenched and her face was bruised.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked.
“Can I come in first? And can I get a drink?”
He turned and she followed him in. He led her to his private study and closed the door behind them.
“You want a change of clothes?” he asked.
“I’d like that drink. That’s what I really want.”
He poured her out a scotch from the bar set against one wall.
“I was on the Lucky Lady contemplating whether I should make a run for it,” said Lampert.
“Trust me, I was contemplating the same thing.”
“But on the phone you said you had good news.”
She accepted the scotch from him, took a sip, and then sat down in a chair opposite his desk. He sat down too, steepled his fingers, and stared at her expectantly.
“Well?” he said.
She took one more sip from the tumbler and then pressed the glass against her bruise. “The operation was compromised.”
“That I know.”
“Murdoch is a spy.”
“That I know too.”
“Her name is Lieutenant Claudia Diaz. She’s with the Colombian National Police.”
Lampert simply stared at her for a long moment before exclaiming, “Shit!
Landry smiled at this reaction. “I take it that you didn’t know.” She held up her glass. “You might want one of these.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Landry took another sip, sat back, and exhaled a long breath. “What happened is, I saved your ass.”
“How?”
“I never trusted Winthrop or Murdoch.” “Smart of you.”
“So I watched them. Winthrop was clean. Murdoch wasn’t. It was clear she was just letting him get into her panties so she could get close to you.”
“I can see that now.”
She smiled, cocked her head at him as the rain beat down outside and the thick dark swirling clouds kept the sun at bay. “And did she let you get into her panties?”
“Irrelevant to our discussion, but the answer is yes.”
“So you were deceived as well.”
“Women are my weakness. And I think I’ll have that drink now. But keep talking. I’m very interested in how you saved my ass.”
While he poured out a drink she said, “Your hit team against the big guy went awry. Diaz tipped him off.”
Lampert sat back down with his scotch. “And why would she do that? Is he working with her?” “It doesn’t matter at this point. They’re both dead.”
Lampert choked a bit as the scotch went down the wrong pipe. “Dead? How was that managed?”
“Like I said, saved your ass. Puller is dead too.”
“What about the other woman? You told me she was a general. Carson, right?”
“Dead too. They’re all dead. It’s not like we could allow any of them to survive.”
Lampert stared furiously across the desk. “You just ignited a shitstorm, Cheryl. The Pentagon w
ill be all over this.”
“And would you have preferred the alternative? They follow the trail right back here to you.”
“That would not have happened.”
“It did happen, Peter.”
He said nothing, just stared at her like she was the last thing he would ever see in his life. “They found out about the warehouse.”
“I cleared it. There was nothing to find.” “Well, they found the platform out there,” she said, pointing out the window toward the Gulf.
Lampert put down his drink and edged forward in his chair. His face was drained of color. “That is not possible.”
“The big guy? His name is Mecho, by the way. He was on that platform. Your people snatched him from Mexico. He escaped. Made it to shore. And then he made it back. Last night.”
“I thought that might be the case. I thought he was spying on me. But I didn’t know why. I just thought he was trying to steal something.”
“He was tracking you, Peter. What he wanted to steal was your whole life and everything you have. And he came really close to accomplishing that goal.”
Lampert took his glass and hurled it against the wall. “Son of a bitch!”
Landry watched the scotch drip down the once immaculate wallpaper.
“Get a grip, Peter. Like I said, they’re dead.”
“How?”
“I’m drenched and my face is smashed up. What does that suggest to you?”
“A fight in the storm.”
“To the death. Out on the platform. I won’t lie and say we didn’t take casualties. We did. They killed nearly all your guys, but in the end, we overwhelmed them with sheer numbers and a little luck.”
“How did you come to be there?” he asked, looking at her suspiciously.
“Like I said, I’d been following Diaz. They got on a boat. I got on a boat. They rode out to the platform. So did I.”
“In the storm? How is that possible?”
She looked at him incredulously. “I grew up in Florida. I’ve surfed in the aftermath of hurricanes. I’ve been piloting boats since I was ten. If it had been a Cat One or Two, maybe not. But a tropical storm, if you know what you’re doing, you can manage. And it’s lucky for you that I did. I thought that’s why you hired me. For my local expertise. And my balls under pressure.”
The Forgotten (john puller) Page 36