Wood's Wall

by Steven Becker

  41

  Heather keyed the code in the pad by the back door of the police station. The lock buzzed, allowing her to turn the knob. The scene unfolded as she slid through the room, looking for someone she knew who wasn’t already occupied. Every seat was taken, every phone in use, and those not on a land line had their cell phones to their ears. She glanced in each interrogation room as she walked down the hall toward the restroom. Trufante caught her eye as she passed the room he was waiting in. Forgetting the bathroom, she entered the room.

  “What are you doing here?” She asked.

  “Seems trouble has a way of finding me.” He leaned back in the chair.

  “We already established that phenomena.” She sat in the chair across the table. “What did you do now?”

  Before he could answer, a man entered the room, papers and a pen in hand. He looked at Heather, then shifted his attention to Trufante and placed the papers in front of him. “Sign where it says. I got a doctor to see you, and we can get on with this.”

  “Get on with what?” Heather asked.

  “And you are?” The man asked. “I’m Garcia, FBI.”

  She looked at Trufante. “Don’t sign that.” Then she turned to Garcia. “I’m with the CSI here. I know this man. He’s a witness in a murder in Marathon. I need to take him back there,” she bluffed.

  “Are you charging him?” Garcia asked.

  She paused, “No. But the sheriff …”

  He cut her off. “The sheriff nothing. He has agreed to be a confidential informant with us. Your sheriff has a problem with that have him call me.”

  “Her. She’s not going to like this.”

  He waved her off.

  She stepped to the back wall of the room and watched as he explained the paperwork to Trufante. He seemed oblivious.

  Trufante finished his signature and handed the papers to Garcia. “Sorry, girl. He promised to get me some pain pills.”

  She took a step toward the table figuring she might as well get as much information as she could. “What are you doing with him?”

  “He’s a CI.” Gracia gave her a quick overview of the situation. “I’m gonna wire him up and let him make his deal. You said you’re CSI, maybe you can help me.”

  “So, now you want my help. What’s in it for me?”

  “You can keep an eye on your friend here.”

  “I’ll help you as long as you keep me in the loop.” She needed to keep whatever little leverage she had.

  “OK, so we need to wire him up. You have access to the equipment here - let’s see what you can put together. I need to hear and record everything from 100 yards.” Garcia said.

  Heather left the room. She went toward the equipment room where the gear was stored, and selected what she needed. Thinking about Mac, she moved to the back of the storage area and pulled out her cell phone. Not sure if the burner phone could text, she called him, watching the door so as not to be overheard.

  “You ready?”

  “No, something’s come up. They’ve got Trufante here, and I just cut a deal with an FBI agent to wire him up and follow.”

  “Can you let me know where you’re going?”

  “Can I text you on that thing?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’ll send you the address as soon as we set up. That’s the best I can do.”

  “That’ll work fine,” he said.

  She disconnected and went back to the interrogation room.

  Trufante squirmed as she applied the tape that held the mike and wires to his body. “Drop your pants.”

  “Thought you didn’t swing that way.”

  She shot him a look and waited. “Here, tape this to yourself. Right below your unit, inside your leg. Even a girl wouldn’t frisk you there.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Pull that earring out.” She handed him another.

  “What you got here?” Garcia asked.

  “Camera. It doesn’t have much for range, but it can’t hurt. He’ll never suspect it.”

  She turned to Garcia and nodded. “Ready.”

  They left the interview room and went single file toward the entrance. Garcia had the papers in hand, ready to present them to anyone questioning what he was doing removing a prisoner from custody. Heather caught a couple of looks on the way out and nodded back, but no one questioned them.

  “Where’s the meet?” Garcia asked Trufante as they found his rental car.

  “Don’t know the address, but I can get us there. What about that doctor?”

  “Just get through this and I’ll set you up. I can’t have you going in there under the influence.”

  “Damn man, I work better under the influence.”

  ***

  Cesar paced the ground floor of the house like a caged animal. He was wearing a groove in the old pine floor, going from window to window. He checked his watch again, then went to the kitchen to check on the girls. Jose had arrived at dawn with them.

  They were late for the exchange, and Trufante’s number went straight to voicemail. Again. As vigilant as he had been, the knock on the door startled him. He went to the wall and slid toward the closest window. His paranoia settled, although his anger red lined as he opened the door for Ibrahim.

  “Use the back door. I don’t need anyone seeing you come in here.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Fuck if I know. They should have been here an hour ago.”

  “This had better happen, or the repercussions will be severe.”

  Cesar glared at him. The only good outcome in his mind was to put a bullet in the terrorist’s head. Maybe he’d shoot him in the ear, see if sand came out the other end. Despite Diego’s call, he moved toward the chair where his gun was hidden. He stopped short as he saw Trufante start up the walk outside.

  “Go hide. He’s here,” Cesar called out to Ibrahim, who took off into the kitchen. Trufante lost his balance as he knocked on air, Cesar having already opened the door. “Get your Cajun ass in here. I’ve been waiting, and that’s not good for your health. You got the stuff?”

  Trufante slid the backpack off his shoulder.

  “Not there you idiot. In the house, away from the windows.”

  Trufante went to the stairs giving Cesar a questioning look. “Where are the girls? I’m not giving this over until I know they’re safe.”

  Cesar went toward the kitchen and opened the door. “Tell him you’re OK.”

  Trufante relaxed as he heard both girls’ voices. He reached into the pack for a lead ball. “Here. Now, let them go.”

  “Not so fast, Cajun. You set me up last time. You think I’ll allow that to happen again?” Cesar called out to the kitchen, and Ibrahim emerged through the door. He handed him the backpack and watched as he left the house hoping this would end their relationship.

  “What now?” Trufante asked. “You got something for this?” He held up his finger. “Son of a bitch - hurts!”

  Cesar ignored the request. “Now we wait for him to call and assure me that there has been no switch. Why don’t you sit down? I have a proposition for you. Maybe a good opportunity.”

  Trufante sat on the stair. “You need me for something, I need something from you.” He held up his bandaged stump. “This son of a bitch is throbbing like a gator in a net.”

  ***

  They sat in the SUV. The motor was running allowing the AC to keep the heat at bay. Heather fiddled with the controls. She was happy with the performance of the gear; they were able to see and hear everything going on inside the house.

  “One’s leaving. We have to split up. I’m going after him,” Garcia said as he opened the door. “Keep an eye on our boy here.”

  “How do I reach you?” Heather asked.

  Garcia pulled a card from his pocket and tossed it on the seat before he slammed the door and took off. Heather sat there, alone. She was relieved that Jules was safe, having clearly heard Jules and Mel respond on the surveillance equipment, but unsu
re how to proceed. Then her cell phone buzzed on her lap, bringing her back to reality.

  “What happened?” Mac asked.

  “Crap, I got so wrapped up in this I forgot to call you. Give me ten minutes. I’ll pick you up in a black SUV at the dock where you dropped me off.”

  42

  Garcia followed the pink scooter through the busy streets. He didn’t regret his decision to pursue on foot. Gay Pride Week in full swing, the traffic would have made it impossible to follow the more agile scooter through the tight streets and crowds in the SUV. The scooter was going the same speed as his fast walk, having to wait for pedestrians at every intersection. He sighed in relief as the driver passed perpendicular through Duval Street. The man would have been invisible with the partiers had he chosen to turn.

  Garcia broke into a jog now that the scooter was out of traffic. Fortunately, the guy had pulled into a driveway, and he slowed to a walk, casually strolling by the house. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be observed from the outside, so he kept walking.

  With two targets, he had to make a decision. After hearing the girls voices, he knew he had to stay with the terrorist.

  He was two houses past the target when he pulled out his phone. “Are you moving?” He heard road noise in the background of Heather’s phone. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

  “There’s someone else I need to bring into this. I’m picking him up now. Should I go back to the house?”

  “You need to get back there now! I need you there.” He paused, trying not to show his anger over the phone, “Do you still have the connection to the wire and camera?”

  He waited for her to respond “No, I lost it.”

  “Hurry. Get whoever you’re getting and get back in range there. We need eyes on that house in case I’m chasing a red herring.”

  ***

  Heather drove like a maniac through the crowded streets. She knew leaving the house was wrong, but she needed Mac’s help. The SUV coasted to a stop by the dock, and Mac opened the door and hopped in on the run.

  “Nice ride. Looks like the Feds.”

  “Yeah, but this guy seems like he’s working on his own. He’s pretty cool for one of them.” Heather ran through the events of the past hour as she drove back to Cesar’s house, where they’d left Trufante.

  She parked a block away and rebooted the equipment. The camera showed a floor, moving back and forth, cowboy boots now in the picture.

  “I know those boots.”

  “Sshh. They’re talking.”

  Cesar was grilling Trufante about his knowledge of southern Louisiana. The Cajun was trying to explain the intricacies of the bayous and canals, and how the best route was into a town called Venice, the first town up the Mississippi.

  “Wonder what that’s all about? Maybe thinking of blowing this popsicle stand and setting up shop there.”

  “I wish he’d move around a little and show the room. I’m dying to know if Jules is OK.”

  “Yeah, Mel too.” He craned his neck to get a better view of the screen.

  Heather’s phone rang. “Yeah, I’m back on site. I have audio and visual.” She put the phone on speaker.

  “I’m thinking of calling a SWAT team into that house and letting them handle it. It’s a pretty straightforward hostage situation, and that’s what they train for. They’ll think it’s some kind of drug deal gone wrong.”

  “If you think that’s the best way,” Heather said.

  “Listen, whoever you are, name’s Mac Travis.” He said loudly to the speaker, “I know exactly what’s going on in there, and the people involved. I can get them out without SWAT.”

  “Mr. Travis, you are not an officer of the law, or authorized in any way to go into that house. Sit tight and wait for SWAT.”

  “We’re not waiting for the SWAT team. No way, not with that unstable bastard in there. They look at him wrong and he’ll shoot them. Trufante’s a total wild card. No. I’ll get ’em out.” Mac paused. “We have total surprise and Jules is trained for this. SWAT goes in there you’re going to ruin two careers — Mel and Jules will never be able to explain how they went rogue and ended up captives to a drug dealer.”

  “Heather, are you still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Under no circumstances is he to go after them, do you understand? I’m only allowing you to stay so we can maintain surveillance.”

  She hung up and stared at the monitor. The audio crackled. “Dude, they’re going to blow us up.”

  “Cajun, what kind of mierda you talking?”

  “You ain’t going to be smuggling nothing through the bayou if you’re dead. What if they blow that thing here?”

  The camera showed the sidewalk outside the house now. “Mac, look.” She shifted the laptop toward the passenger seat. “They’re moving.”

  Mac was already looking at the sidewalk in front of the house. “You don’t need that thing. It’s just the two of them — Cesar and Trufante Where are the girls?”

  ***

  Ibrahim fidgeted outside the closet-turned-safe-room badly needing more pain relievers, but he knew this was more important. Paradise was close - and there would be no pain there. Patel had been inside for ten minutes now — plenty of time to confirm the contents of the lead ball. Finally the door opened and he emerged, stripping the protective gear off as soon as the door closed. He nodded.

  “It’s good?”

  “Yes, Allah has blessed us. It is the correct material, just a little light. That can be attributed to the handling and residue left in the original box. You can call the drug dealer and tell him that we are through with him.”

  “No. Let him worry. It will keep him where he is and out of our hair. He’s caused enough trouble already.”

  “Very good. I will leave that decision to you. It is time to assemble the bomb. Do you have the rest of the materials?”

  “Everything but the primer. I was planning on forcing an explosion where the bomb will be placed. That will detonate the material.”

  “I would have preferred a self-contained unit.”

  “The bomb casing and shrapnel were easily obtained. The primer ingredients would have set off red flags. I think this is best.”

  “You are not the one to think here. Bring the material up here. I will pray and then start to assemble the bomb.”

  ***

  Davies walked off the stairs leading from Air Force One, breathing in the tropical night air. Black SUVs surrounded the plane as the passengers disembarked. The president was last and quickly whisked into an armored vehicle, identical to the others. The crowd started to disperse as the vehicle pulled away, the excitement over. The rest of the passengers — aides and press — warranted no attention. Davies walked toward the terminal, with only his carry-on and briefcase, and went right to the street and into a waiting cab.

  “Hyatt, please.”

  “Sure thing, man.” The driver pulled out of the taxi line, heading for the airport entrance.

  Half an hour later Davies checked into his room, ordered room service and sat on the couch, pondering his next move. He was convinced something bad was going to happen here, he just didn’t know what. Patel was either a terrorist or connected to a network. Thinking about it, the way he had blended into the top echelon of DC society so easily, portraying himself as Italian, he must be more than a low-level operative. He was likely very high up, if not a top leader.

  With that thought, Davies dialed Garcia’s number. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m a little busy right now. This follow Mac Travis thing has turned into more than we bargained for. Looks like Travis is one of the good guys. There’s some kind of terrorist connection here with the drug cartel and some guys I’m staked out on now.”

  “You know what’s going on here tomorrow?”

  “Here? Are you in town?”

  “Yes, but so is the president. He’s scheduled to give a speech on gay rights tomorrow morning. Here.”

  “Shi
t, we’ve got a problem. I’ve got to call in some higher ups. This is way over my pay grade.”

  “Let’s walk this through before you call. It’s almost ten now. The speech is at nine tomorrow. That’s less than twelve hours. It’ll take the big wigs that long just to assign units. On top of that, they’re all over that explosion up at the Bahia Honda Bridge. What assets are you in control of?” Davie’s practiced tone portrayed enough authority to redirect Garcia’s attention.

  “I’m working with a CSI from Marathon. Travis is with her. They’re watching a drug dealer who has hostages, one of whom is the sheriff from Marathon. I’m following guys who look like they might be trouble. Middle Eastern. That’s all I’ve got.”

  “Ok, I’m going to direct this from here. I’m at the Hyatt. You stay on surveillance. As long as we know where they are, we can contain this. I’ll call for help when we need it.”

  43

  Mac watched the two men walk down the street.

  “What do we do?” Heather asked.

  “We can’t split up. Let’s get Jules and Mel, first. They’re on foot. They won’t get far, especially if there are four of us looking instead of just the two.”

  Mac got out of the car and started jogging toward the house, Heather right behind him. When they got close enough, Heather went to the living room window and peered in, while Mac tried the door. No one was visible, and the door was locked. They made their way around the house, checking all the other windows and doors. The kitchen had a small back deck, large enough for a barbecue grill, flower pots, and a table and chairs. Heather went to the window there, staring intently through the opening. Mac checked the side of the house. She tried the door, but it too was locked.

  “Mac, they’re here! Come around!” she hissed.

  He ran around to the deck and looked in the window. The girls were gagged and tied back to back. He saw Mel in distress and moved quickly. The lock wouldn’t budge. The solid wood door was old but looked sound. He stepped back, aiming for the doorknob with a front snap kick. His foot went entirely through the door, caving in the lock and releasing the latch. Pain engulfed him when he tried to remove his foot and the ragged splinters pierced his flesh.