CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Killian backed down the Formula 350 Sun Sport’s three, 350 horsepower Mercury outboard engines and let the boat come to a stop on the lake’s choppy waters while he checked the GPS tracker on McKnight’s phone. According to the app he was now 4,378 feet away from Toni’s location. And from what he could tell by his own eye he was a half mile or so away from the island’s western shore, which rose up black from the dark, effervescent sheen of the water and stood solid against the unending layer of thick, angry clouds creeping across the tenebrous midnight sky. With his 10x32mm Cassini K-9MKII binoculars, the only day/night binoculars Walmart had in stock, he could see well enough the large concrete pier jutting out perpendicular from a large, concrete wharf which ran the length of the shoreline for approximately fifty yards. The pier appeared large enough to berth up to two modest-sized ships at a time. On either side of the wharf, the shoreline extended out as sheer, rocky cliffs, making a landing anywhere else along this side of the island impossible.
Back from the pier, lit up within the yellow glow of flood lamps mounted along an enclosing security fence, set a flat-roofed, square-shaped building. Killian could tell it was a warehouse of some sort because on the side of the building facing the lake was a loading dock with a medium-sized refrigerated box truck backed up to it. Behind the compound-like facility, looming over it as a seemingly impenetrable black mass, was the island forest – his immediate destination. From what he could tell, there wasn’t anybody inside the warehouse or anywhere else inside the facility. If what McKnight had told him was correct, there would be a two-man security team assigned to patrol the island at all times; however, it wasn’t unusual for the team to take extended coffee breaks within the resort’s staff break room during this hour of the night.
Down at the wharf’s waterline, to the left of the pier, was a small boat landing. Killian throttled the engines and headed for it. He would have to take his chances that he could get the boat docked and get himself into the forest before the patrol happened by on its rounds. As well-lit as the facility was, there would be significant risk in him being spotted has he attempted to make his way around it. And with the fence seeming to run right up to the edge of the cliff, there would be an even greater risk that trying to make his way around the outside of it could land him in the rocky waters below. When he was about three hundred yards off the island, he could see that, in addition to a large gate that controlled access into and out of the facility from the pier, there was a smaller gate, apparently for foot traffic, off to the left of it. There were stairs that led down from the gate to the boat landing. He followed the fence around to the front of the facility and located the main gate that controlled access to a road that winded its way out northward along the perimeter of the island. If the patrol were to come, that would be the road they would come by.
When the boat reached the pier’s midpoint, he shut the engines down and allowed it to coast the rest of the way. Once at the landing, he quickly tied the boat down and then made his way up the set of switchback stairs to the pier. Up on the pier he noticed the wind had picked up. Although the temperature was somewhere close to seventy, forty-degrees or so warmer than the Pennsylvania temperatures he was acclimated to, the brisk, damp wind off the lake set a chill within his bones. He raised the collar of Henderson’s sports coat in an effort to fend off the wind as he crouched low against the pedestrian gate to listen to the night and take note of his surroundings.
Below, small, fastmoving waves slapped against the wharf and rocked the boat, causing it to squeak against the rubber fenders that protected it from the concrete landing. Along with the blowing of the gusty wind and the fenders squeaking in time with the rocking boat, was the steady buzzing and chirping of the island forest. He then noticed another droning sound different of that of the forest. It was mechanical, coming from somewhere behind the warehouse; a sound which he assessed with high probability to be that of an HVAC system for climate control within the building. He listened to the night for several minutes more and heard no other sounds coming from within or without the facility.
There was a badge reader next to the pedestrian gate. Killian was confident either of the badges he had could open it. But there was no point in entering the facility; his goal was to get around it and into the cover of the forest without being spotted by the patrol. He climbed over the safety rail that lined the platform at the top of the steps and steadied himself, wary of the concrete landing twenty-five-feet below him. He made his leap for the fence and held onto it like a gecko stuck to the side of a wall. There wasn’t enough of a ledge jutting out from beneath the fence where he could walk along it; but there was enough where he could put his feet down and, while still holding onto the fence, shuffle along the ledge sideways. It was slow-going. One wrong move, one slip, and it would be a quick drop down to the rocky waters below.
He had made it only about a quarter of the way to the end of the fence when he caught the first glimpse of headlights making their way around the north end of the island where the road began to curve toward the facility. Unless he wanted to drop down into the water and take his chances with the rocks, he had no choice but to scramble back toward the pier as fast as he could and take cover down by the boat. His left foot slipped on the awkward hop back from the fence to the platform at the top of the stairs. He came in too low and was unable to get a hold of the top bar of the railing that ran along the outside of the platform. He fell fast and was not quick enough to catch the middle rail and was just barely able to grab onto the bottom one with his left hand. He hung there, one-handed, hating himself for the complete screwup he had become.
But he didn’t have the luxury to hang there for long feeling sorry for himself. He had to get it together fast for RJ and Toni’s sake. Below him was the landing and the boat rocking and squeaking against the rubber fenders. He considered letting himself drop down to the landing; it would be the quickest way to get to the boat. But it wasn’t worth risking twisting an ankle. He swung his right arm up and got a grip on the bottom rail with both hands and pulled himself up and over the railing. A beam of light reflected off the water behind him and then arced toward him like a sweeping searchlight. He made a start to head back down the stairs to the boat, but then he stopped. He pulled out McKnight’s security badge from his back pants pocket and held it up to the badge reader. There was a buzz and a click, unlocking the door. He swung it open and ran fast and low toward the back of the warehouse.
A loud clack rang out behind him, followed by the whirring of a motor. He took cover behind the truck backed up to the loading dock, cautiously stepping up on the running board and looking through the door windows to see the large gate separating the facility from the access road slowly rolling open. Lights of the approaching vehicle fanned out across the road and began bleeding into the lot. He didn’t wait until the light reached his position. He hopped down off the truck and ran low to the back of the warehouse, tucking himself tight in between a dumpster and the building’s corrugated metal siding. He listened as a vehicle pulled onto the lot and then continued around toward him.
At first, as the vehicle drove past the truck parked in front of the loading dock, he was afraid it was going to drive all the way to the back to where he was hiding. However, it stopped just after passing the truck. A door opened and he heard the sound of someone getting out of the vehicle. Killian unholstered Henderson’s Glock and held it tight against his body to muffle the sound as he chambered a round. He crept low to the corner of the warehouse and peeked around it to see what was happening. It wasn’t the security rover’s vehicle as he had suspected. It was a truck identical to the one already parked at the loading dock. The person who had gotten out of the truck was trotting up the stairs to the dock. Backup lights came on, followed by high-pitched backup warning beeps that seemed to momentarily silence the droning of the HVAC system farther down from him. The man up on the dock began speaking loudly in Spanish, directing the driver back.
When the truck was backed up to the dock, the driver put it in park and let it idle as he got out and trotted over to the stairs to join his companion. Killian crept back to his spot by the dumpster and waited as the two men went inside the warehouse. He heard an engine cough and then kick over, followed by what Killian assumed to be the whining motoring sounds of a forklift as it hauled supplies from inside the warehouse and out into the truck.
Whatever it was the two men were loading must not have been a priority shipment for, after they had finished, Killian watched them walk out toward the pier and light up cigarettes. He could hear the low unintelligible murmur of their conversation and could see only their backs as they looked out upon the black waters of Lake Bourne. It was hard to tell if they were looking southward toward somewhere beyond the gulf’s invisible horizon, or northward toward the hazy, nimbus-like glow of the lights of New Orleans.
After the men flicked away their cigarettes and returned to their task, Killian crept back to the corner and watched as they secured the receiving door to the warehouse and then the back door of the truck. After they pulled away from the dock and began heading out of the lot, Killian stayed close to the shadows as he ran to catch up with them. When the truck lurched as it shifted gears, Killian grabbed the handle on the truck’s back door and pulled himself up onto the back bumper. He crouched low and held on tight and watched the gate to the facility as it rolled shut behind him.
He was congratulating himself on his fast-thinking adjustment to his plan – he was never very keen on having to make his way through the forest, the most secure and direct way to the resort according to McKnight – when the beam from the headlights of an oncoming car began to shine on either side of the truck. The flashing of blue emergency lights soon followed, and Killian knew then it was the roving security patrol McKnight had warned him about. The truck began to slow down. Killian had a choice of jumping off and trying to make his way through the forest to his right or remaining where he was. Jumping off the truck and making his way down the face of the shoreline and back into the bay on his left wasn’t an option. That would put him right back where he started. No matter what he did, there was a risk he would be spotted so, once the truck came to a complete stop, he hopped to the ground and rolled under its back end, tucking himself as tight behind the back-left tires as he could, hoping like hell that he wouldn’t be spotted. If he was, then he would have to neutralize both the security patrol team and the two in the delivery truck before any of them had a chance to make a call out about his presence.
The truck and what Killian assumed to be the security patrol vehicle were both stopped alongside each other in the road. The headlights from the patrol vehicle blasted out strong from the back of the truck on the left side, catching the dustup from the road and enticing a frantic swarm of gnats. The blue flashing from the emergency lights layered over top of the headlights and warped the night all the way back to the warehouse and far out onto the lake. The clattering of the truck’s idling diesel engine made it hard for him to hear the conversation between the truck’s passenger and the security vehicle’s driver, but Killian was able to hear most of it. The most important thing he didn’t hear throughout the conversation was anyone exiting either vehicle.
“Need to see your badges,” a gruff voice from the security patrol vehicle said.
If there was a verbal response from inside the truck, Killian didn’t hear it.
After a moment, the voice from the patrol vehicle said, “What’s in the back?”
From the truck, a high-pitched voice in heavily-accented English said, “We are on a run for paper items. You know, toilet paper, paper towels.”
“Anyone else besides you two? Anyone in the back of the truck?” the voice from the patrol vehicle demanded.
“No, no. Just us,” said the voice from the truck.
“How about at the warehouse. Anyone there?”
“No, no. Just us.”
“Well, if you see anyone suspicious anywhere around the island, you make sure to notify security, understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
The blue lights went out. Killian rolled out from under the truck just as the patrol vehicle cleared the back of it. As the truck began to pull away, he sprung up from his roll. Staying low, he caught up with it in a trot and hopped back up onto the bumper just as it shifted into second gear. The security patrol vehicle, which looked from behind to be a white Jeep Wrangler, didn’t stop until it reached the warehouse gate.
As the truck headed north up the coast of the small island, all Killian could see was the forest rushing by close to the edge of the road off to his right; off to his left, also not far off from the edge of the road, was the jagged coastline; behind him was black, the glow from the warehouse had set like a mystical sun behind the far-off bend in the road. As the road continued to loop up around the coast, the forest began to thin and the coastline began to stretch out into a rocky shore. They were now looping back down on the east coast of the island in a southwesterly direction, down into the concave face of the island’s half-moon shape. The landscape to his left had been an ominous-looking bayou, dank and steaming; however, it now was a crisp manmade beach, its grains of white sand sparkling like stars in the sky.
The truck came to a rolling stop and then took a slow turn to the right. Killian saw that the road had split behind him. The road they didn’t take led to the front of the half-moon-shaped resort that rose up glistening and dreamlike into the night as they drove by it. The landscape all around him now was manicured lawns and gardens, lush and opulent.
As the truck slowed and turned left into the receiving area behind the resort, Killian hopped off the back just before it came to a stop and began backing up to the receiving dock. He took cover behind several dumpsters that were lined up at the back of the lot opposite the dock. He clipped Henderson’s badge to the blue blazer’s chest pocket. He then took McKnight’s Desert Eagle out of the backpack and tucked it into the back of his pants. He checked the clip in Henderson’s gun and then stowed it back into the shoulder holster. He then walked across the lot to the loading dock and trotted up the ramp just as the passenger of the truck he had rode in on was climbing up the stairs on the other side of the dock. Killian made eye contact with the worker, who gave him a suspicious look in return. Killian stopped at the top of the ramp as the worker began guiding the truck back into the bay. After the truck was in place and parked, the worker turned to look at him again.
“I’m with security,” Killian said with authority as he walked toward him. “You haven’t seen anyone suspicious tonight, have you?”
The worker took the cigarette from behind his ear and put it in his mouth. “Nope.”
The driver hopped out of the truck and joined his partner. “Que pasa?” he said as he flicked out a cigarette from a pack of Kools and pulled it out with his mouth.
“Security man here asking the same questions as the other guys. Wants to know if we’ve seen anyone who looks suspicious,” the partner said.
The driver looked at Killian as he lit his cigarette. He laughed. “You’re the first suspicious-looking person we’ve seen all night, holmes. Never seen any of you Rambo mother fuckers back here. What’s going on?”
Killian ignored the question. He made a show of walking around the platform as if he were looking for clues. He then hopped down to the asphalt lot. “If you do see anything suspicious, contact security immediately,” he ordered. He cased the area behind the dock and checked the insides of parked cars as if he were still on the hunt before walking away from the workers toward the other end of the building.
The resort was enormous and when he finally reached the end of the lot he looked back to see if the two workers were still watching him. But the lot curved with the back of the building and he couldn’t see them anymore. At the lot’s end he found the paved lane, wide enough for one vehicle, that continued to curve around the back of the resort and led to a helicopter landing pad, just as McKnight ha
d described it. Before following the lane, he checked the GPS tracking app on McKnight’s phone. It told him he was 173 feet from Toni. The closeness of his target created even more of an urgency in his task. He followed the lane, not to the landing pad, but to a sidewalk several yards before it that shot off from the lane and led to a small stairwell off the back of the building. At the bottom of the stairwell was a reinforced security door with a large red sign on it that said in bold white letters, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Killian took out Henderson’s Glock and chambered a round. He looked directly into the camera above the door and then placed Henderson’s badge over the card reader. The door unlocked with a click.
Killian pushed the door open slowly, Henderson’s gun at the ready. It was completely dark inside. He took out McKnight’s phone again and woke it up. The glow from the screen revealed a small room with nothing in it except a stairwell across from him and a security door to his left. He entered the room and walked over to the door. He put his ear to it. No sound. He checked the GPS tracking app. It showed that Toni was now only thirteen feet away. He put the phone back in his pocket and the room went dark, except for the red scan light on the badge reader next to the door.
He took a wide, ready stance before the door and then placed Henderson’s badge over the reader. At the click, he shoved the heavy door open with a foot and took cover against the wall next to the badge reader. The room was dark and quiet. He reached his left arm around the door frame and into the room, searching for the light switch until he found it. He switched on the light and then swung himself around into the room before the door could close, holding Henderson’s Glock with two hands out before him and keeping his back against the door to keep it open.
The Good Kill Page 31