He looked at Heather who was frozen in indecision. “I’ll be OK. Get the girls.” He hopped back on his good foot allowing the door to open. Once she was in, he reached forward and smashed in the wood around the splinters. His foot came free, several mean looking pieces of wood embedded in it. His injured leg throbbed and would not take weight as he hobbled in behind her and collapsed in the doorway.
She searched the kitchen drawers until she found a knife. She went to work on Jules first, cutting her free. Jules reached to her mouth and pulled off the duct tape. “Mac, are you alright?”
“Yeah,” he replied, trying to pull the splinters free. They were so jagged it was like trying to take a barbed fish hook out - they just dug deeper in the other direction, enlarging the trauma. “Hurry up, we need to go after them.”
“I’ve got surveillance on them.” Heather went to Jules and hugged her.
Heather had Mel free now and the group stood over Mac. Mel went down to her knees to help him, “Mac, I …” she started to apologize.
“Never mind. You two have to go after Trufante and the drug dealer. Idiots likely to get himself killed.”
“What about you?” Mel asked.
He ignored her and spoke to Jules. “You guys go on foot. We’ll follow in the SUV. See if Heather here can work the equipment and get a reading on them.” He looked down at his blood soaked leg, “Don’t think I’ll be doing any running today.”
“Which direction were they heading?” Jules asked. “Who’s got a phone?”
Heather answered, “Toward Duval Street. Mac has the burner and I have mine.”
“Good. Give me yours.” Jules reached for the phone and they headed out the door.
Mac used the door jamb to gain his feet. He tried to walk on the injured foot and almost collapsed. Bright lights flashed in his head the pain was so bad. “You got any training?”
“Some. Stay here. I’ll see if I can find any supplies.”
Mac eased himself back to the floor to wait. He worked several of the splinters free but two larger ones were deep.
“Let me see that,” she said as she set an armful of supplies on the floor next to him. She went right to work on him, first cleaning the blood. As soon as she started prodding around the remaining splinters, he screamed in pain. “There’s infection showing already. I couldn’t find much but this.” She held up a large baggie half full with white powder.
“What the hell are you going to do with that?”
“It’s all we’ve got and I think it’ll work.” She reached into the bag and grabbed a handful despite his protests.
He watched as she started to rub the powder around the wounds. They quickly became numb.
“OK, here we go.” She grabbed one of the splinters and started working it around, feeling for the projections keeping it from pulling out.
There was pain, but it was bearable now. He waited as she patiently worked the second splinter free. “Nice work. Patch it up and let’s go.”
She applied a generous dose of the cocaine to the open wounds and wrapped the entire lower leg with strips torn from a shirt she had found upstairs.
44
Garcia watched the terrorist’s house, wondering what was happening at the other site. He thought of calling again, but stopped himself as the door opened. The man he’d followed walked out and went toward the detached garage. The light came on. Garcia thought about changing position when the man’s shadow became visible, moving back to the door. He was moving something awkward, but Garcia couldn’t make out what it was until the guy wrestled it through the doorway. The 55-gallon drum rolled easily on its rim now that he was in the open. He reached the stairs to the house and stopped, looking for the best way to get the barrel up the flight of stairs. Two steps later, he looked up at the remaining stairs and reversed course. He left the barrel on the walk and went back into the house.
Garcia felt naked as he ran across the lawn to look at the barrel. He had to get a quick look, even if it exposed him. He could always continue down the street, trying to look like the lone jogger in Key West with nothing better to do. He slowed when he reached the drum. It had appeared empty, from the way the man had handled it, but he tapped it to be sure. There were no hazardous placards on it — just a plain blue barrel. He continued to the house next door and hid behind a bush.
Two men appeared at the door now. One was the man he’d been following, the other remained back in the house. Garcia wished he had some binoculars. The man in the shadows looked familiar, but he couldn’t get a good enough look from where he was. They starred at the barrel speaking in hushed tones he could not understand. Both turned at the same time and went back in the house.
***
Ibrahim looked Patel. “It’s too big to get upstairs.”
“We have to assemble the bomb in the safe room. You should have thought about this before hand.”
“I got everything on the list I was given.”
“It’s too late now. Put the barrel back in the garage. I will assemble as much as I can upstairs. Then we will have to finish it in the garage. You have transportation when we are done?”
“Yes, I have a truck available at seven a.m.”
***
Trufante was dragging, despite Cesar’s constant jabs. “We gotta move.” The streets were insane, both with pedestrians and vehicles. It was like spring break every weekend here; traffic jammed at every corner and no parking for blocks. People, most carrying drinks weaved in and out of traffic.
“What’s your rush? Look at this. You’re too stressed, man, you need to enjoy yourself more.”
“We got business, you idiot. That’s how you get in all this trouble — mixing business with pleasure.”
Trufante ignored him and kept looking. He was walking backwards, his gaze following a group of coeds now, when he spotted Mel a half block behind. He quickly turned, hoping Cesar wouldn’t notice. He knew Cesar was armed. He also knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to act on the street.
Somehow he had to make the craziness surrounding them work to his advantage. He glanced up and down the street and saw a busy bar across the street. People moved steadily in and out of the crowded bar, the biggest and usually the loudest on the strip. Three bouncers were at the door checking IDs and making sure the crowd remained at the edge of madness, but not over it. It was a fine line to run a bar known for wild action.
Trufante made his move and crossed the street, heading for the door. “I need a bano, man.”
Cesar pulled his shirt from behind. “You go where I say.”
“Dude, nature’s calling. Chill.”
Cesar didn’t have any options. Unless he was going to shoot him in the street, he had to play along. “Hurry up. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
***
Jules spotted them crossing the street. “There they are. Mel, you see ‘em?”
Mel saw Trufante lean over and shake the hand of one of the bouncers, clapping him on the back like an old friend. Then disappeared into the bar, Cesar right on his trail. Jules ran across the street, phone in hand, dodging cars as she followed close behind them. As they got to the door, the bouncer reached his arm out.
“ID.”
Jules looked at him, then thrust her badge. “Here’s your ID! Call 911, tell them you have an armed and dangerous man in there. That tall guy that just talked to you, he’s cool. The other guy’s the one we want. Send one of these clowns to the back door.”
One of the bouncers took off around the corner, and Jules entered the bar, Mel following closely. The music had been loud outside, but it was a level higher in here. The band was playing a Jimmy Buffet cover, the dance floor packed. They had to walk sideways to move through the crowd, the thinner profile making it easier to squeeze through. The problem was, at five foot four and five foot five, they couldn’t see over the crowd.
“On the bar, girl. Point them out!” Jules yelled in her ear, pointing to the girls dancing on the bar.
�
�Been a long time,” Mel said as she pushed through the crowd. She reached a group of guys huddled together doing shots, and yelled that she wanted a boost up. They happily complied, hoisting her onto the bar top. She remembered a line from Hunter S Thompson: “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.” This was the scene around her. A couple of shots and maybe she could blend in, but sober, this was hard.
No one seemed to notice that she wasn’t shaking like the other girls. She wiggled enough to move down the bar and spotted the six foot five Trufante towering over the other revelers, heading toward the bathroom. She caught Jules’s eye and pointed, then looked for an escape route, but it was futile. Help getting onto the bar was easy, not so much getting off. As Jules headed toward the bathroom, she watched stuck on the bar, oblivious to the music.
***
Mac was getting impatient. The pain had eased considerably and he was able to put some weight on his leg. Jules had called Garcia with an update as soon as they had gotten in the car. Mac drove recklessly, honking at the partiers to move while Heather worked the equipment.
“Got something,” Heather said. “Getting better. Hey, pull over.”
“Yeah just like that.” He scanned the street, finally working the SUV next to a hydrant just off Duval Street. He moved his eyes to the screen. The camera was focused on a urinal. The audio was worthless once they’d entered the bar. Impossible to hear conversation, so Heather had turned it off. Mac thought for a second, trying to put himself into Trufante’s twisted mind, then motioned toward Heather.
“Turn the audio back on.”
Heather hit the button until they could hear. Trufante was humming. “Idiot,” Mac thought, until he realized what the song was. Boom boom, Out Go the Lights. Mac couldn’t remember the name of the song, but the meaning was clear: they were going to the terrorists.
“Heather, call Jules, tell her to get out of there ahead of them. They’re going to the terrorists.”
She tried her own number from the burner phone. “I can’t get her.”
“Crap. Stay here. I’m going to see if I can find him.” He was out of the car hobbling toward Duval Street. He spotted the bar he thought they were in and pushed through the line right past the bouncer. Two men from security followed. He quickly blended in, losing the men on the dance floor. Mac turned and spotted Mel on the bar, looking for a way down. He pushed toward her, playing the part of a jealous boyfriend as he moved people out of his way. He reached the bar, pulling two men apart as they were about to kiss.
He yelled for her, trying to get her attention. She saw him and started strutting in his direction. He reached up to help her, but his leg couldn’t take the weight. Fortunately, the crowd was thick enough to support them, keeping them upright. They held each other for support as they moved toward the bathrooms, the crowd moving like a divided highway. There was no way to cross the barrier of flesh when they saw Cesar frogmarch Trufante towards an emergency exit.
Mac saw Jules and signaled for her to follow. They pushed through the crowd heading to the exit.
45
Once outside Mac scanned the street, but there was no sign of them. “Call Heather. Maybe she has something,” Jules said.
Mac handed her the phone, his face clouded with pain and two shades paler than usual.
Jules took the burner, flipped it open, and redialed the last number. “Hey babe, you still got them?” The look on her face made it clear that the answer was negative. “What do we do now?”
“We’ll never find them in this mess.” He looked around at the crowds lining the sidewalks and spilling into the street. Cars were backed up as far as he could see. “Back to the car. We need to stay together and regroup. Heather picked them up once, she can do it again.” Mac said as he moved forward, his limp worse.
Mac led the girls back to the SUV, wincing in pain every time his foot hit the ground. When they reached the car, Jules took the wheel and tried to pull out, honking at the couple making out in the driveway behind them. It was gridlock.
“We’re two blocks from the end of the street. We should be able to set up a search grid — maybe four blocks each side of Duval.” Heather said.
“That’s really reaching. With this crowd it could take an hour to search four blocks.” Jules said.
“Slow down,” Mac said. We need a better plan than this.”
“Let me have a look at that leg while we’re waiting,” Mel moved towards him.
Mac lifted his leg onto the seat. He flinched when she touched the gauze. “That bad?”
“It’s already infected.” She prodded the bright red areas, “We need to get you to a hospital,” Mel said.
“It can wait ’til this is over. We’ve got to get Trufante back and stop the terrorists. Heather, give her that stuff - it worked.”
Heather handed the baggie to Mel. “Holy crap - is that what I think it is? Keep it down.”
“The windows are tinted. Give me that.” Mac said as he reached for the baggie. “Help me out here,” he asked Mel.
“You can’t put that back on there.” Mel said as he went to rewrap the wound with the old bandage. “Here.” She removed her t-shirt revealing a sports bra. The hem tore and she removed a section of the fabric which she wound around the wound, securing it by pushing the end up and under the wrap.
They had only moved fifty feet when she finished. The pain gone now, Mac looked up and saw Heather texting. “Got something?”
“Garcia. He’s staked out at the terrorist’s house.”
“Get the address, I bet that’s where they’re headed.” Mac said.
“How are we going to get through this?” Mel asked.
“Drive,” she told Heather. Jules stepped out of the car and Heather slid into the drivers seat. Jules was in front of the car, badge held high. They could hear her from inside the car - with the windows closed. She gestured at both vehicles and people, creating a space for the SUV.
***
They sat two blocks away from the address Garcia had given Heather. Mac and Mel got out and went towards the house. Heather pulled out, did a three point U turn and headed the other way. They wanted to look like a couple out for a walk, holding hands as they cased the house. Mac wanted his own surveillance before meeting Garcia.
Lights were on in most rooms, but there was no sign of occupants as they walked past. They went four houses past, then crossed the street and came back on the other side. Nothing had changed as they walked past again, then slid into the beauganvillias of the neighbor’s house.
Garcia was sitting in a squat, watching the house. He didn’t turn as they pulled in next to him, but handed Mel his phone. “Send yourself a blank text. You’ll have my number then. We can use that to communicate. No more voice after this. They have a 55-gallon drum in the garage they’re making into a bomb. I believe the material is still in the house - they’re in there now. Why don’t you two go on the other side of the garage, see if you can see what they’re up to. Remember, text only.”
“Great, another cowboy. What is it with you guys not calling for help,” she asked.
“I’ve seen the help around here, believe me when I tell you we are better off ourselves. On top of that it would take them hours to get it together. I think we only have minutes. I alerted Homeland Security to beef up security at the President’s speech site.”
“The president?” Mel gasped.
“Not now. Trust me - just go.”
Mac and Mel crept out of the bushes and walked down the street again, arm in arm this time. They passed the house and crept up to the garage. The position was more exposed than Mac would have liked, but he had no choice if they were to see inside the garage.
Mel texted Garcia: ‘Ready.” She was facing the street, trying to shield the light from her phone from being visible when she saw two silhouettes approach. She knew it was Trufante from the man’s size and gait. The smaller man was obviously Cesar. She pushed Mac to get out of sight as they approached. He gave her a quest
ioning look, then saw what she was pointing at, and they quickly retreated behind the garage. Mel texted Garcia about the men approaching and waited for his response, then Mac nudged her back to their original spot. The two men had passed them by.
Garcia texted back that they were in the house now. That made the odds steeper, with Cesar there. They knew he would be armed, and that he wasn’t scared to shoot. “Sit and wait.” Garcia texted Mel.
***
Ibrahim gave Cesar a questioning look. “The material is correct. What can I do for you?”
“Not so fast, Abraham. What’s your timetable? I will not stop you if you tell me when and where. Let us get off the island, though, and you’re free to pursue your twisted goals.”
“I cannot tell you anything. Only Allah knows all.”
Patel came down the stairs, dressed in the hazmat suit. “Who are these men? What are they doing here?”
“I am getting rid of them now.”
“Wait. We need them to transport the barrel. It is more than we can do alone. I heard what he wants.” He turned to Cesar. “You help us get everything in place and I will make sure you have ample time to leave.”
Cesar nodded. “Deal, man. What’s the plan?”
“You have a boat?” He watched as Cesar nodded. “I will tell you when we need your help. Until then,” Patel motioned to the couch.
***
“What was that about the President?” Jules asked.
“He’s here.” Garcia glanced at his watch. “Giving a speech at the Truman White House in a couple of hours. I’m thinking that’s where all this is going to end up.”
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