Orb

by Arp, David E. ;

  “Will do. You’re nuts, you know?”

  Wes let out a hard breath. “I know. Cole and Jess think so too.”

  “Just one more thing before I go. How’d you know Jess was in that car?”

  “Look at the mud down the side. Red mud on white paint. Jess had the same color mud on her shoes this morning. She took a walk after we left your house and accidentally stepped into a hole at some roadwork, in the dark, not far from the hotel. I asked her about it just before she left for her run. Meshach must have driven through the same area. I just added two and two.”

  Bubba slapped him on the back and turned to get in the car. “You’ve still got it. Love you, bro. Stay low.”

  Wes slipped the pistol into its holster and walked toward the levee. The passenger door opened and closed behind him. The car pulled away. Tire noise faded over the next few seconds leaving the crickets and frogs free to sing without interruptions.

  He couldn’t see two feet in front of him. The porch light on the house across the highway gave off just enough light to deepen the shadows and make every step a new adventure. At the top, he squatted and sat on his heels, out of the skyline. Against the stars a man would be hard to distinguish, but not with a backdrop like ship lights or the communication tower’s strobes flashing three miles distant.

  Three sets of taillights were visible on the highway northward. One of them belonged to his rental headed for New Orleans and a hospital. That girl was hardheaded and insisted the ambulance be turned around in case someone who actually needed professional aid called for help. He loved it. Other than bruised fists, broken nails, sore fingertips from trying to gouge out Meshach’s only eye, and a craving for water, she’d come through unscathed.

  He touched his lips. Huh, like taking a nibble of a powdered sugar donut, she’d left a sticky remnant from the adhesive on the duct tape he’d removed from her lips. They would have to do that again. Soon. He tore his thoughts back to his task.

  The old trailer house would be a logical place to hide and stakeout Meshach’s car. After all, who would lie in the marsh with the bugs, mosquitoes, snakes, and who knew what else?

  Wes would.

  The man could arrive by automobile, but Wes suspected he was in the boat, either offshore or hidden out in the marsh somewhere. When Meshach beached the boat nearby, he wanted to be close enough to hear him breathe.

  ~*~

  The GPS showed Meshach nothing he recognized. The track history on the Lowrance plainly displayed his last route so he knew the location of the fish camp, but how far was it from there to his car? Two miles? Maybe two and a half? Both of his navigation aids showed water close to the levee and the highway just beyond. The location would put him a little over three miles from the camp, a mile or less from the car, and for him, just a stroll away from ole blue eyes.

  According to the sonar, six feet of water lay under the keel of the boat where he sat. Now, if that held true for the next half mile to the edge of the levee…Only one way to find out. He cranked up and engaged the outboard.

  Ten minutes later, he nosed the boat into the bank and killed the engine. Using his handheld GPS display for light, he assessed his gear. He didn’t need the cop’s pistol and extra clips. Never go into a scrape with an unfamiliar weapon. Stay light. Then, he saw his ten-power, Leica rangefinder. That would be useful. He draped the lanyard around his neck and placed the monocular into his shirt pocket. A man with one eye didn’t have need of binoculars.

  After dragging the anchor up the levee twenty feet and shoving the flukes into the soft ground, he continued to the top and stopped, overlooking the highway. Cops travelled highways, but not the beaten path atop the levee where he stood. His car wasn’t far, just around the long curve if the light in the distance belonged to the two-story house across from where he’d parked. He guessed roughly a mile, so no more than a twelve-minute walk. He set out at a quick pace.

  The Altima came into view. He stopped a good five hundred yards out, took a knee, and scanned the area with the monocular—car, trailer, brick house across the highway, then back to the car. No obvious tracks in the grass next to the Altima.

  The car. The left passenger door window looked like a mirror, reflecting light from the bulb on the house across the highway, but not the driver’s. He’d owned the car four days and had driven it twice. Think. Was it tinted or not? No, it didn’t matter. Either the window was down, or the glass was broken. If broken, why? Vandals?

  Oh, my PI friend, you think I’m dumb.

  ~*~

  Monday morning

  One boisterous frog in particular spent the night a few feet from Wes. The thing sounded like it should walk upright and weigh sixty pounds. The Middle East had flies like Alaska had mosquitoes, but nothing compared to the mass of insects that had shown an interest in every inch of his exposed skin.

  Bubba said he was nuts. Now, Wes wondered if he referred to going after Meshach alone or spending the night with the bugs.

  The eastern horizon grew brighter by the second. Wispy haze drifted over the area. The humidity was thick enough to slice. Patches of green marsh grass and cane breaks were separated by water like a neighborhood by streets and cul-de-sacs. To his left, a dozen snowy egrets stood one-legged in a watery patch of grass. The levee rose to his right. He’d picked a good position on a dry strip jutting from the levee. Not bad for stumbling around in the dark.

  A cockroach went about its business under the cover of darkness, like Meshach. He wasn’t coming, not with a cloudless dawn in full glow.

  Over the past hour, the traffic had increased. Turbocharged diesels whined and eighteen wheels pounded the pavement making it easy to distinguish semis from cars and pickups.

  Wes rose and shook himself, brushing at his hair and clothes to rid both of crawly critters. A shower and a hearty breakfast would be the first order of business when he got back to wherever. Tony and Agent Collins had taken over Shanteel’s place, uninvited, to dig into Meshach’s computer, not to stay and use it for the night. Tony should be in a hotel, but where? Wes missed covering that tidbit of planning last night.

  He turned on his cell phone and started for the highway two hundred yards distant. The waist-deep grass held heavy dew. His feet and pants were soaked in the first ten paces.

  When the cell booted, he punched Tony’s name. “Well?” was the first thing he heard.

  “Nothing but bugs,” Wes said. He topped the levee and paused. It really was a beautiful morning to look across the Mississippi River. The haze had settled into a thicker blanket, covering the waterway and making ships look like they floated on clouds.

  “I’m at the Lighthouse Inn, several miles farther south, but I haven’t slept. I’ve been waiting on you to call. Thank God, Jess is safe. You did good, Wes. Real good.”

  “Thanks, Tony. Did Cole or Bubba bring the car back to you last night?”

  “I’ve got Cole’s rental. You ready for me to come get you?”

  “If you would, please. I’ll be standing on the highway, I don’t know, a couple of miles north of those fancy fish camps we were at yesterday. Meshach’s white car is parked on the west side of the highway next to an old trailer house.”

  As he walked down the slope, he eyed the trailer. Someone had lived in it not long ago. The meter plugged into the box meant the electricity was still hooked up. As much mold grew on the sides and roof as the weeds in the yard.

  “We found some interesting items on Meshach’s computer. An auto-saved file, for one. He, someone, opened a new Word document and typed Mars, Ursa, Nakika, Ace of Spades, and a couple of others I can’t remember, like doodling. He deleted the document, but the auto-save stored it. Anyway, they’re platforms, rigs, production facilities, I don’t know. Oil companies give their projects unique names. I don’t know who owns the first three, but the last one belongs to Cole.”

  “He knows, of course.”

  “Everybody knows. He opened and accessed AIS too.”

  “What’s that
?”

  “Automatic Identification System: it’s a worldwide, integrated program used to track and identify any vessel enrolled and equipped. It’s the same as a transponder in an airplane. Vessels can ID one another at sea, and the system can be accessed via the Internet and provides real-time information on a vessel’s name, position or speed, any number of things. That’s what Meshach did. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that a team of SEALs has been alerted and put on standby.”

  Cole had been right when he’d said Meshach’s intentions could have national security implications. “Have you heard from Jess?” He walked a circle next to the trailer.

  “She’s OK. The doctor said she was good to go. She’s at Bubba’s place for now. Cole offered to fly her home, but she refused to leave. Can’t imagine why.” Tony’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone.

  Agent Carr arrived driving a small green Kia. He rolled down his window.

  Wes walked in his direction. “All right, come on. I’ll be waiting.” He punched off and pocketed the phone.

  “Good morning, Trent,” Wes said.

  “I don’t see a scalp.” He laced his hands over the steering wheel and leaned forward on his elbows. “Hop in. I’ll give you a ride.”

  Wes took a knee at the window. “Thanks, but Tony’s on the way. I have nothing to report, I’m afraid. A long night in the marsh.”

  “You did well recognizing the car. You saved that woman’s life. A man who walks around with his eyes open, like you do, would fit into our program.”

  “I like my job. Besides, I have a degree in Marine Corps. I think your requirements are more stringent.”

  Trent nodded. “Your girl died. It was in the paper this morning. I’ve got an autopsy planned for this afternoon. With that said, we’re trying to figure out a way to trap Lamech and Sullivan and get them into the open. You think of something, let me know. A question on that subject: would you be offended if I talked to Tony about employment?” The agent started his car. “If you have objections, of course, I won’t mention it to him.”

  “Please talk to him. He’s a consultant. I’ll be jealous, though. A replacement will be hard to find.”

  “Thanks. Oh, we’re going to haul Meshach’s car off this morning. You might give a fingerprint sample today when you get a chance, so we can eliminate you.”

  Wes stood. “Right after breakfast.”

  Trent gave him a quick salute and drove off.

  Wes moseyed back toward the trailer with thoughts of looking over the levee one last time before he left. Tony mentioned Jess had refused to leave. Good girl. He wished she would, but he was glad she hadn’t. Now, he had to deal with what-ifs, if they didn’t catch Meshach. How would he tell his daughter and son-in-law to be on the lookout for a one-eyed killer?

  A metallic click jarred him. He’d been around guns all of his life. He knew the source. He prayed it wasn’t the last thing he ever heard.

  32

  Meshach’s knee pushed into the middle of Wes’s back. The .45 pressing into the base of his skull hurt, but not as bad as his injured pride. One-upped by a psychopath. Again! Had Meshach been hiding in the trailer all along? Even last night when Wes had discovered the car and freed Jess?

  Not a shot fired, either. Wes hadn’t seen that outcome in all the scenarios his mind had produced.

  Once they’d engaged, Wes lost track of time and events. Not a word spoken in anger, just a struggle as two men fought to stay alive. If that meant killing the other man, so be it. What felt like minutes might have lasted only a few seconds. Then his mind settled and he realized he had the advantage. He reached for Meshach’s pistol lying in the grass. Another moment and two inches farther, and it would have been game over for the bad guy, but Meshach had pulled some kind of mixed-martial-arts move on him, reversed the hold, and grabbed the pistol.

  Now, here he lay, the vanquished wallowing in what-if.

  With his face pushed into the grass, Wes couldn’t see. That didn’t prevent him from hearing a slow-moving car along the highway. Had to be Tony looking for him. Wes prayed he’d stay put. God help them both if he decided to get out and wander around.

  Just drive off.

  The Corps taught recruits hand-to-hand techniques during boot camp, but like many physical abilities, if you didn’t use it, you’d lose it. In Iraq, Wes had operated under one self-imposed rule: never let the enemy close enough to put a hand on you. He’d flunked this time.

  Despite the obvious injury to Meshach’s right hand, he’d used the fist like a battering ram. Wes took every opportunity to inflict pain and further damage to the bandaged area, but the man never acted like he felt a thing.

  Stories of men doing superhuman feats, running on adrenalin—Sampson with God’s power upon him—floated among troops in the Iraqi desert. As some war stories went, they grew with every telling. Some he’d heard were true, some were not. Drugs could make a man crazy so that he would fight and kill with abandon, oblivious to wounds that would make a grizzly whimper. Meshach was methodical. No doubt evil, insane, but in control, and he had an uncanny ability to protect his eye. Wes had managed to break Meshach’s sunglasses, but every other attempt he made to disable the man’s vision Meshach thwarted.

  The car stopped. A second later, another vehicle sped past, followed closely by a heavy truck with bad tread or a lopsided tire zinging every revolution. The sounds mixed into one and then faded.

  Had a car door slammed? Tony? Did he get out of the car?

  The pressure of the pistol eased and left the back of his head. Then it went off with a deafening explosion.

  “Tony, run!” Wes screamed and tried to turn over, but Meshach had the advantage and hit him on the side of the face with the barrel of the gun.

  Wes’s world flipped out of control like it did the first time he jumped out of an airplane. Ground and sky inverted and spun. Two more rounds exploded from the .45 and rammed into the ground inches from his nose, jerking the sanity back into him just like the parachute did when it finally opened. What felt like a hot cigarette touched his right cheek as Meshach pressed the .45’s muzzle against his skin. He shook his head and screamed and the pistol impacted the side of his head again.

  “Keep it up,” Meshach said and pushed himself away. “The fat guy in the hoodie took a round. You’ll get one next. Come on, pops. Up. Walk.”

  Oh, Tony, Tony. Wes rolled to his right, onto his back. Meshach stood a couple of feet away, gun leveled at Wes’s head. He knew he wouldn’t survive lunging at the man.

  Looking across the top of the barrel from the business end and into the lightless green eye of a murderer wasn’t what Wes had envisioned. He did a quick sit-up with his knees pulled to his chest and stood without using his hands. He looked back over his shoulder for his techie but didn’t see his body. The top of the levee spanned twenty yards, a long shot for a .45 automatic. Tony might be fine and just laying low, but Meshach seemed confident that his round hit home.

  I’m going to kill you, Meshach. You shouldn’t have left me alive. Whatever it takes, however long, I’ll find a way.

  “I love Louisiana. The sound of gunfire is as normal as the ding-dong-ding of church bells around here. Your cell phone, where is it?” Meshach had just shot a man, but he talked as calmly as if they were discussing what to have for lunch.

  Wes felt his shirt pocket and inclined his head to indicate where they’d just come from, next to the trailer.

  Meshach looked him up and down. “Show me. Turn your pants pockets out. Drop your wallet and back up.”

  Wes complied. His wallet landed in the grass next to his lip balm. He took three steps back.

  Meshach bent at the knees. The pistol barrel never wavered. “Who was in the car? The guy you talked to?”

  Wes couldn’t think of any reasons to lie. “An FBI agent.”

  Meshach reacted with slight hesitation and a blank stare, but he didn’t seem surprised. After pocketing Wes’s wallet, he motioned with the gun which way he wante
d Wes to go. “You’re dumber than I thought if I have to tell you to move or I’ll shoot ya.”

  Unless someone in the house across the highway witnessed the fight, saw his hurried ascent over the levee at the point of a gun, or saw Tony fall, pistol fire wouldn’t even warrant a glance toward the report.

  Wes didn’t have to be told to stay away from the top of the levee. Deep weeds and grass made the walk a workout. A half-submerged refrigerator, the rotten hull of a wooden boat, sheets of corrugated aluminum from destroyed trailer houses, paper and plastic dotted the shoreline. All debris scattered by past hurricanes.

  He didn’t know a thing about Tony’s parents or siblings. He had an older brother he’d mentioned in passing once, but where? Lord, help me! What a mess!

  His left shoulder felt strange. He’d pulled something in the fight. Muscle shakes from fatigue quaked through his hands. Now that he had time to think about and assess the aches and pains, he was beat up and spent. He hadn’t fought like that since high school, but then he hadn’t tried to kill the kids he’d fought back then either. Looking back, he couldn’t even remember why they’d fought.

  The enemy had a face now. Short dark hair, a good start on a beard that hadn’t been trimmed in several days, nose distinct but crooked from a poorly mended break. He looked like any man until the sunglasses had come off. A red spot replaced the left eye and the skin was drawn, like there wasn’t enough to cover the hole where the eyeball had been, so the doctor had used a drawstring to pull it together. The wound didn’t look like anything a plastic surgeon couldn’t fix.

  Wes realized Meshach relished the look. A reminder? Fuel to drive his hate?

  They walked several minutes before the bay boat came into view, grounded against the levee. He’d yet to see a way out. A boat ride looked inevitable.

  Meshach kept Wes alive. Why? Hostage? Save him for another fate? Wes wasn’t going to complain about any options the man had in mind. He knew he’d barely slipped from the reaper’s grasp. Time. He’d take all he could get.