“I’m hanging up the phone.”
“I’m remotely detonating an explosive device sixty seconds after you disconnect. As your friend and future business partner, I suggest that you stay on the line.”
Carolyn’s mind was reeling. What he said couldn’t be true! A moment ago he was willing to pay her two million to bring him the car. Blowing it up didn’t make sense. She asked herself if the object she’d seen in the man’s hand had been a remote detonator. Another bluff, possibly? Folding now would give him the upper hand. She had to maintain her position. “I don’t believe you,” she said.
“I’m a businessman,” Van Buren told her. “For me to conclude my business deal, you must return the car to me immediately. I can’t allow it to fall into the wrong hands and I refuse to barter with someone in the sale of my own property.”
“So, if you can’t have it, no one can,” Carolyn said. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“We’re running out of time,” Van Buren said, his voice sparking with tension.
Carolyn took her foot off the accelerator. It was hard to think at this speed. The approaching taillights slowed. The fog had rolled in and she could no longer see what she had thought to be police units behind her, but she knew she couldn’t allow anyone to get close. If the man followed through on his threat to detonate a bomb, the officers could be killed. She pressed her back into the seat cushion and gripped the steering wheel with all her might, pressing her foot down on the gas pedal. The needle moved to 140. She felt as if she were in the cockpit of a fighter plane. The car didn’t even shimmy. The noise from the powerful engine was deafening.
Carolyn shouted, “If there’s really a bomb in here, why didn’t the police find it?”
“I need your answer now, Carolyn,” Van Buren said, pressuring her.
The rooftops of million-dollar homes rushed by just outside of Santa Barbara. How large a bomb could fit inside a sports car, and how many people could it kill? She didn’t know about such things. At the lab, the techs hadn’t been looking for explosives. A car bomb didn’t fit with the murder of two women by lethal injections. With everything backed up for the holidays, the lab had probably been pushing one car out after the other or simply too busy drooling over the Ferrari to figure out what was inside. “Tell me where you want me to bring the car.”
Van Buren told her he would meet her at the Santa Barbara Airport in fifteen minutes. Once Carolyn agreed, he disconnected.
As tears streaked down her cheeks, she pictured her children’s faces. Arriving home late the night before, she had gone into Rebecca’s room and kissed her on the cheek while she lay sleeping. Heading to John’s room, she’d knelt beside the bed and stroked his forehead, whispering that she was sorry they didn’t have more time together.
It took her several frantic attempts to get the damn phone to dial Hank’s cell number. Because it was voice activated, she had to modulate her words perfectly or it wouldn’t work. Controlling her voice was difficult when she was hysterical. As soon as he picked up, she said. “Get someone over to my house! They say they have my children!”
“Who?” Hank said. “Where are you?”
“Don’t talk, just listen. I’ve been talking to the man Moreno told me about on the built-in phone inside the car—Larry. He said he’ll be at the Santa Barbara Airport in fifteen minutes to take possession of the Ferrari. He says his men picked up John and Rebecca. He even called them by their names and said his men had been following them for days.”
“Van Buren,” Hank exclaimed. “The FBI informed us that Interpol has been tracking an arms dealer named Lawrence Van Buren. They believe he’s shipping nuclear material to North Korea inside exotic cars. That’s what must be inside the Ferrari.”
She shouted, “My kids, Hank! That’s all that is important to me right now.”
“Hold on,” he said. She heard him on the radio informing the dispatcher to send several units to her home. “Done.”
“So what he said was true. I’m a rolling bomb,” Carolyn said, the reality setting in. “He says he can detonate it remotely. How much damage can it do?”
“I don’t know,” Hank said, almost as panicked as she was. “I’m not a nuclear physicist. The FBI told us it was possible to make a nuke the size of a briefcase. The engine cavity of the Ferrari is pretty big. I’m sorry I put you in this mess.”
“A nuclear bomb!” Carolyn said, horrified.
“I’ll have to call in the military,” Hank continued. “If you’re approaching Santa Barbara, you’re not that far from the air force base at Vandenberg. Stay on the line, I’m going to trace the call in case we lose the connection.”
“Hang up, Hank,” she said, her fear raging. “I want to hear my kid’s voices. After you arrest Van Buren, check the coastline close to El Capitan. Also, notify CHP and any other law enforcement agency in the area to keep their distance in case he detonates the bomb.”
Before he could say anything else, she disconnected and told the phone to dial her home number. John picked up on the first ring. “Thank God you’re okay. Where’s your sister?”
“She’s over at Lucy’s. You sound—”
“Call and have Paul or Isobel walk Rebecca home.” Carolyn tried to sound normal. “Lock all the doors and windows and wait for the police. They should be there by the time your sister is back. You’re going to have to be strong, honey, not just for yourself, but for your Rebecca. I love you more than anything.”
“Mom, please…why are you saying these things?”
“I can’t explain. I don’t have time. Something came up at work. Everything will be fine. I just wanted to call and tell you that I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mom.”
“Give your sister a hug for me and tell her I love her. I have to say good-bye now, sweetheart.”
She sobbed as she reached up and pushed the button to end the call. The worst was over. Her panic subsided; she was resolved. In a strange way, she felt as if her life had been counting down to this moment. She’d heard that a person existed to perform one simple act—to turn right instead of left, preventing a fatal accident, to smile at a deeply depressed person and give them the will to continue living, to place a few dollars into the outstretched hands of a starving beggar.
Carolyn knew the exact spot for the one act she may have been placed on earth to perform. She saw the signs for the Santa Barbara Airport and continued driving. She didn’t have long. When Van Buren realized she had failed to make the turn leading to the airport, he would detonate the bomb. In a matter of hours, she’d been responsible for two deaths. First Moreno, then a short time later, she’d shot and killed a stranger. The sights and smells of his death were all around her.
She could feel a substance sticking to the back of her legs, and knew it was his blood. What disturbed her the most was that she had fired instinctively, as if taking a human life was insignificant. Had it truly been self-defense, or had she responded because of what had happened earlier with Moreno? She could have ducked, tried to shoot the gun out of his hand, or aimed at another spot other than his head. Her actions went against everything she believed as a Catholic. Her body shook as she prayed for God’s forgiveness, and for the courage she now needed to save lives instead of take them.
Carolyn saw the cliffs up ahead. She believed the bomb could be defused in the salty water, or at least, it might render the detonator useless. If not, the casualties would be minimized.
She had made her decision, said her good-byes. She would fight to survive, but she was ready. The stretch of road she was traveling on was deserted: no cars, no houses, no buildings. Somehow it was as if God had cleared the way to receive her.
Carolyn yanked the steering wheel to the left, gunning the engine and driving across three lanes. A moment later, she was airborne. As soon as the Ferrari cleared the cliffs, she killed the ignition and breathed in the exquisite silence. She felt weightless and free, as if she had sailed straight into the world beyond death.
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Before the car made its descent toward the water, Carolyn removed her left hand from the steering wheel and grabbed onto the door handle. Throwing her body weight against the door, she reached with her other hand for her mother’s silver cross, clasping it in her palm just as her head slammed into the dashboard.
Chapter 38
Wednesday, December 29—6:31 P.M.
Neil was waiting in the emergency room at Methodist Hospital with six other people. He was perplexed that nothing appeared to be wrong with them, outside of a kid with a runny nose. Why would someone take their kid to the emergency room because they had a cold? After the young black woman beside him finally stopped talking on her cell phone, he asked, “I don’t mean to be rude. But why are you here?”
“I have a headache,” she said, not looking as if she were in any pain.
“Maybe you should stop talking on your cell phone so much,” he said. “Either that, or take a couple of aspirin.”
A small man dressed in a blue nurse’s shirt came out to speak with Neil. “It will take us about ten minutes to complete the tests; then you can see Miss Asher, but only for a short time. You can see her on the fifth floor, where they’ll be prepping her for surgery.”
The nurse pushed him aside. When Neil turned, he saw a group of hospital personnel rushing toward the electronic doors. Two paramedics were pushing a gurney. A young man was screaming in agony. As they passed, he saw the man’s left leg was missing below the knee. What he assumed was the severed limb was packed in ice beside him. Neil collected himself and headed to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee.
Melody had suffered a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Neil had held her hand in the ambulance, terrified that she wouldn’t survive. She’d be going into surgery to remove the bullet, as well as a portion of her damaged intestines, within the hour.
A tall, dark-haired man walked up to him as he was waiting for the elevator. “Are you Neil Sullivan?” Dr. Graham asked, his voice laden with emotion. “You don’t know me, but I saw your picture in the newspaper. Detective Sawyer called me. He said you were with my daughter when she was shot. How bad is she?”
“She’ll survive,” Neil said, thinking the man was a sleazy reporter. “She told me her father was dead. Pretty nasty trick to get a story.”
“I’m not a newsman,” Dr. Graham told him, his face laced with concern. “I flew in from New York. I was at her house the other night, but I’m not surprised that she didn’t tell you.”
Neil wasn’t certain what to think. The man sounded sincere, though, and Melody had told her share of lies. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
The elevator door opened, and he followed Neil down the corridor to the fifth-floor surgical center. Before they stepped up to the counter at the nurses’ station, Dr. Graham took his arm. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me, she’s my daughter.”
A stern-looking female nurse directed them to the last cubicle. Dr. Graham lingered behind as Neil parted the curtains and stepped inside. Melody’s eyes were closed, and her face was alarmingly pale. A woman in the bed beside her was moaning.
By all rights, he should be the one about to go under the knife. Melody had fired at the man rushing toward him and taken the bullet that was intended for him. He touched her shoulder. Her eyes blinked opened. “Neil?”
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “How do you feel?”
“With my hands, dummy,” she said, then grimaced in pain. “Fuck, I think I’m going to die.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Neil told her, squeezing her hand. “The doctor said you’ll be fine. All you have to do is get through the operation.”
No matter how tough she talked, the glamorous veneer was gone and she looked childlike and vulnerable. “You saved my life, Melody.”
“All I did was react,” she told him, running her tongue over her dry lips. “I had a gun, so I used it.” She released his hand and turned her head away.
“I care about you.”
“Sure you do,” she said, rotating back toward him. “I’m not scared of dying. Death may not be that bad. Isn’t that what you were looking for the other night?”
Neil was stung by her sharp remarks. “I was wrong, Melody. No one should take his own life.”
“Death is death,” Melody said, pausing to catch her breath. “You care about me, huh? All I am is a good piece of ass with a fat bank account. That’s why you stuck around for so long, isn’t it? Then you were banging a schoolteacher behind my back. You were going to dump me and marry her.”
Neil’s mind was spinning. His love for Laurel had been an illusion. She had slept with a student. She’d also failed to tell him that she was still married. Maybe Laurel had been the piece of ass instead of Melody. He had her all wrong. She took a bullet for him. The wild party girl was just a protective shell that had finally cracked. He bent down and kissed her forehead. “Once you’re back on your feet, we’ll be together. Think you can handle that?”
“We’ll see,” Melody said, her eyes closing.
He walked out and sat down in a chair beside Dr. Graham. “You can go in,” Neil said, “but I think she’s too doped up to talk.”
“Thank you,” he said, extending his hand. “Michael Graham. I practiced medicine years ago. The doctor let me look at her chart. Abdominal wounds are extremely painful, but I’m fairly certain she’ll do well in surgery.”
The nurse came in and told Neil he had a phone call. He followed him to the nurses’ station. Dr. Graham walked toward Melody.
“This is Detective Mary Stevens,” the voice said. “There’s been an accident involving your sister.”
Standing beside his daughter, Dr. Graham felt tears roll down his cheek. He never imagined how much he needed to have Jessica back in his life, to be a father again, to love again. The recovery was going to be slow and painful. If she allowed him, he would take care of her every step of the way. Time was suspended as he stood there in silence. He’d missed most of her childhood—birthday parties, Christmas mornings, graduation, and watching his little girl blossom into a woman. The years to follow would be their time together as father and daughter. No matter how long they’d been apart, there was nothing now to stand between them.
Dr. Graham got up and went to the bathroom, soaking a washcloth in cold water. He returned, then gently stroked her face. “Jessica, Jessica…” he said, “Daddy is here.”
Her eyes opened, connecting with his. Although filled with pain, these were the eyes of his beautiful little girl. “How did you—”
“Stay quiet,” he said, interrupting her. “Save your energy, you’re going to need it for the surgery.” He continued to move the moist rag around her face. Her chin moved up as she closed her eyes. He saw a hint of pleasure. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m here to help you, Jessica. I’ll never leave you again.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she said in a whisper.
FBI agents Gray and Tushinsky had contacted Vandenberg Air Force Base and arranged to have a fleet of SH-2G Super Seasprite helicopters on the crash scene within fifteen minutes.
Hank’s car screamed down the 101 Freeway heading toward Santa Barbara. He wanted desperately to talk with Carolyn, but there was no way to contact her again, since she hadn’t given him enough time to trace her call. Her purse and cell phone were sitting beside him on the seat. When they reached the restaurant, they’d bailed out so fast, she’d left them behind.
Trying to save Carolyn by telling her to take the car was stupid. He knew that the men were after the Ferrari. In the heat of the moment, he’d gotten her out of the line of fire and put her into, as she had called it, a rolling bomb.
The dispatcher’s voice blared out of his console, “Unit two-twelve, do you copy?”
“Ten-four.”
“CHP reports that a red car was seen catapulting into the ocean just north of Goleta. What’s your ETA?”
His hands shook on the microphone. He should have explained to Car
olyn that just because the car might have nuclear material in it didn’t mean it was explosive. She’d sacrificed herself for what she’d thought would save the lives of innocent people.
“Unit two-twelve, copy?”
“My ETA’s twenty.”
Through the darkness, he could see the roadblock in the distance. In the sky, four choppers were flying in circles, their large beams of light zigzagging across the cliffs and into the water. The trail of cars came to a stop. His head dropped. The situation was too similar to the death of his brother. Andy had been out drinking and partying with his friends. A thirty-year-old surfer, Andy had skin that looked like leather and he smoked his first joint before breakfast. They’d built a bonfire on the beach. When Andy had left, speeding to show off his new Corvette, his tire had blown, causing him to lose control and drive off a cliff.
Hank had to make certain the military didn’t call off the search for Carolyn. Their priority would be to recover the car.
Several men in military uniforms holding M-16s were signaling for the cars to cross to the opposite side of the highway and turn back.
“I’m Detective Hank Sawyer, of the Ventura Police Department,” he said, pulling out his badge and draping it over his belt.
“I’m sorry, sir, we were told not to let anyone through, even police officers. We’re evacuating the area. Move on, please. It’s for your own safety.”
Hank’s frustrations ripped through his gut. He held back getting out of the car and causing a scene. Taking a deep breath, he told himself the soldier was just doing his job. He reluctantly drove away.
After his brother’s death, he had familiarized himself with ocean currents. Andy had been caught in an upwelling. Along California and Oregon, warmer water pulls surf away from shore, then cold water moves up to take its place. These strong, cold currents could move bodies miles from their point of entry. The water pulled them into deeper waters from north to south along the coast. If he was lucky, it would dump Carolyn back onto the shore through underwater canals. In the Ventura area, there were only about three spots to look. The rescue teams from Vandenberg might not know where they were.
Sullivan’s Justice Page 35