I am very unhappy about this turn of events. I’m far away, and standing in the middle of a park. It will take me a while to get to her. I certainly don’t want to tell her to get closer or do anything that could put her in danger.
“Call Congers,” I say. “Tell him what’s going on; tell him you think they are Bennett’s men.”
“I shouldn’t call Bradley?”
“Bradley’s a waste of time; the most he might do is call Congers himself. Better it should come from you, because you’re on the scene. Don’t tell Congers I told you to call; that will just make him think it’s a waste of time. Make up anything you want, but make sure he gets his ass down there, with a bunch of agents.”
“Okay, Doug. I’m on it.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say, and I cut off the call.
I still don’t see Bettis, but that’s not high on my list of concerns right now. The two goons in the park told me that there was going to be a meeting of the guys that Bennett was recruiting, for huge money, and I’d bet a similar amount of money that that is what Jessie is watching.
I start back for the car on a run. If Bettis sees me, so be it. I reach the car and get in. I’m just about to turn the key in the ignition when I hear, “What the hell are you doing, Doug?”
The voice is coming from the backseat, and it belongs to Jerry Bettis. I see him in the rearview mirror; he is directly behind me. I can’t see if he’s holding a gun, but it certainly wouldn’t surprise me.
“I came for a swim.”
“Don’t be a wiseass, Doug. You’ve been following me for two days; you must have forgotten how to do it without being noticed. You even let me lead you into this trap.”
“Then you know what I’ve been doing. I’ve been following you.” I’ve got to get away from him somehow, but it is not going to be easy, with him directly behind me inside my car.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I think you’re working with Nicholas Bennett. I think you’re dirty, Jerry.” I don’t want to have a long conversation with him; I want to get to Jessie. I don’t want to talk about how Bennett had to have found out from him that the New York Times story was wrong, because no further attempts were made on my life.
But then, just thinking about that triggers an even more frightening thought, something I hadn’t realized before.
“You must have landed on your head harder than I thought,” Bettis says. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”
I’m talking, but my mind is racing, and I’m just hoping that what I’m thinking is wrong. It has to be wrong. “Because somebody on the inside has known every move I’ve been making,” I say, grasping at straws. “And you and Bennett set up Oscar Filion.”
“Who is Oscar Filion?”
I have a feeling I’m being dragged to a place I don’t want to be, a place that scares the shit out of me. “Jerry, you arrested a guy named Oscar Filion. You testified against him at trial.”
“Oh, right,” he says, remembering. “It was a murder case; he got convicted.”
“You said at trial that there was an anonymous tip that came in, which provided the information that ultimately led to the arrest.”
He takes a moment, thinking back. “Right.”
“Who got the tip? Who took down the information?” I ask, knowing and dreading the answer.
“My partner; he did most of the legwork, but he was tied up on something, so I made the arrest. It was Dan Congers.”
“Jerry, if you’re not going to shoot me, get the hell out of the car.”
Jessie was surprised at the reaction she got from Congers when she reached him.
She expected some pushback, some skepticism, based on the waste of time that took place the first time agents were sent to the auto dealership.
Instead he listened to everything she had to say, and had only one question: “Did Doug tell you to call?”
“No,” she said, “I haven’t spoken to him about this. He’s not reachable right now.”
“Okay,” Congers said. “I’m not far from there. I’ll be right over, and then we can assess what kind of manpower we’ll need.”
She told him where she was, but she didn’t have to because he already knew from last time. And he didn’t mention that the reason he wasn’t far away is that he was already headed there.
He arrived in less than five minutes, and she got out of her car to greet him. Before she could tell him what was going on in more detail, he said, “Come on, get in my car and let’s see what’s going on.”
She got in the passenger seat, and they drove over to the dealership and parked in the back. “Let’s go in,” he said.
His approach surprised her; they could be walking into a dangerous situation. “Just like that?” she asked.
“Just like that, Jessie,” he said, the gun already in his hand. “Just like that.”
I could have explained to Bettis what was going on.
It would have taken some time, which I don’t have. He might have believed me, but more likely he wouldn’t. If he did, he could have called Captain Bradley and tried to convince him to send officers to Garfield. Maybe Bradley would have believed him and sprung into action, but more likely not.
But those details are only part of the reason why I didn’t tell him, and not the major part. I’m afraid that Jessie is in danger, and officers descending on the place would increase that danger.
The first thing I do is call her, but she doesn’t answer the call. It could be that she’s gotten out of the car to get a closer look at the building, and left her phone behind. But I don’t believe that for a minute, and it leaves me with a cold chill of fear.
I briefly consider calling Bradley myself, but reject the idea for the same reason I didn’t have Bettis do it. If he didn’t believe me, it would accomplish nothing. If he did, and sent officers, the outcome might be worse.
I call Nate in the hospital. I’m afraid he might have been released, and I don’t even remember his cell phone number. But he answers the hospital phone, and when he does, I say, “Nate, I’m glad you’re still there.”
“Thanks a lot. The damn infection is getting worse, and—”
I interrupt. “Nate, let me do the talking; this is important.” I go on to tell him the situation, and conclude with, “If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call Bradley and convince him to send in the troops.”
“Got it,” he says. “What are you going to do?”
“Beats the hell out of me.”
It’s going to take me at least another twenty minutes to reach the auto dealership, which is going to be the longest twenty minutes of my life. I was telling Nate the truth; I have no idea what will be waiting for me, or how I will deal with it.
When I finally get there, I drive past the place where I know Jessie should be. Her car is there, but she is not. If there was the slightest spark of hope left that I was wrong, that extinguishes it.
I continue driving, and pull into a diner’s parking lot about three hundred yards down the road. I park and place a call to Congers at his office, since I don’t have his cell phone number.
“This is Doug Brock,” I say to the person who answers the phone. “I need to speak to Lieutenant Congers.”
“I’m sorry, he’s out.”
“I lost his cell phone number, so please patch me through to him,” I say.
“I can’t do that.”
“It’s very important. If you reach him, he will want to talk to me.”
There is a hesitation, and then the woman says, “Hold on, please.” After a couple of nervous minutes, she says, “Lieutenant Congers is on the line.”
“Brock, what is it now?” he asks.
“I’m just checking in to see where you stand on what we talked about,” I say.
“That’s it? That’s what was so important?”
“It’s very important, although maybe to me more than you.”
He sighs an exaggerated sigh. “All right, when
I get back to the office, I’ll check on the progress, and get back to you.”
“I have an interview scheduled with the Today Show tomorrow morning.”
“Good for you,” he says, just before disconnecting the call.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, asshole,” is what I say to the dead phone.
The call has removed any doubt that Congers is at the auto dealership. If he wasn’t, he would have made some reference to the fact that Jessie had called him. The fact that he didn’t means that he is not being up-front with me, and the only possible reason for that is that he is on the other side.
He has Jessie, and they are in that building. One way or the other, I’m going to be joining them.
Nine of the twelve explosive-filled cars had already left the building.
The other three were ready to do so, their drivers behind their respective wheels. They were spacing it out and leaving at five-minute intervals; a caravan pulling out at once might have attracted attention, were anybody watching. Each time one was ready to go, the large door opened, and closed after the car departed.
In an office adjacent to the room with the remaining cars were Nicholas Bennett, Luther Castle, and Ahmat Gharsi. The outside of the office was glass, so they could see out into the garage area. The men sat at a small table, empty except for a landline telephone that was in front of Bennett.
Bennett had asked Gharsi once again to go over the timing of the events to follow, so that they could know what to expect, and have time to cement alibis.
“Assuming your people return and report that their missions went as expected, I will confirm at least a few of those reports by personally inspecting them. Then, at midnight, I will dial a number. The receipt of that phone call will trigger the first of the explosions.”
“And the others?”
“There is a different cell number for each. I will dial them, three minutes apart, which will detonate them one at a time,” Gharsi said. Some of what he said was not true, and was said for Bennett’s benefit, so that he would not attempt to interfere with anything before the remainder of the drivers were on their way.
The phone rang, and Bennett quickly answered it. He simply said the word “Nicholas,” and then was quiet as he listened to the caller. When he hung up the phone, he said, “The money has been received.” Then he allowed himself a small smile. “Excellent.”
The door opened, and Congers came in with Jessie, his gun nestled in her back. The three men’s faces registered their surprise, and Gharsi asked, “What is this?”
“This,” Congers said, “is evidence that you people are not careful enough. She is a police officer. I would introduce you all to her, but she won’t be alive long enough for you to establish much of a relationship.”
“And who are you?” Gharsi asked.
Bennett answered the question. “He’s the man who made all this possible.”
I am going to need some help.
Approaching the used car dealership by myself is too risky; there is far too great a likelihood that I will be detected. If there is still a chance to save Jessie, that would destroy it.
I go into the diner, and let my eyes scan the place. There are six tables occupied, three by groups including kids, one by an older woman sitting alone, one with a couple in at least their late seventies, and one by three guys that if they’re not truck drivers, they should be.
An easy call.
I walk over to the table with the three guys and sit down with them, clearly surprising them in the process. “Do any of you guys recognize me?” I ask.
Two of them reflexively shake their head, but the third guy is clearly trying to place me. “Yeah, you’re that cop, right? The one who shot that guy in the theater.”
“That’s me. I need one of you to help me. It’s a matter of life and death.”
The two that didn’t recognize me don’t seem thrilled by the prospect, perhaps focusing on the “death” part of my request. But the third guy seems amenable. “What do I have to do?”
“What’s your name?”
“People call me TJ.”
“TJ, all you have to do is drive me over to that used car place down the road, park, and start to go in as if you’re interested in buying a car. They’re not open, so you turn around, get back in your car, and drive away.”
“That’s it?”
I nod. “That’s it, and if you do it I’ll take you on the Today Show with me tomorrow morning.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” I confirm.
“You gotta work tomorrow,” one of TJ’s buddies says.
TJ shakes his head. “That ain’t happenin’ … I’m goin’ on TV.”
“You ready?” I ask. When he nods, I say, “Let’s go.”
We go out in the parking lot, and I tell him that we’ll take his car. It turns out he has a covered pickup truck, which is even better. I quickly re-explain what he is to do, and he nods and says, “I got it.”
He pulls up close to the building, near the end on the right side as we face it. It shields me from anyone seeing me when I get out the passenger side, while he gets out on the driver’s side. He walks left toward the entrance to the showroom, while I go right, along the wall, to loop around toward the back.
The dealership is closed; it’s after hours and the gathering darkness is a plus. All TJ is supposed to do is try the door, pretend to determine that it is locked, then get back in his truck and leave.
I know the inside of the building from having been in there when we were conducting the search. I’m sure the room that had the dozen cars in it is the one that the drivers are leaving from, although I don’t know if they’ve all left. More importantly, I don’t know if that’s where Jessie is.
I can’t stay out here too long; eventually I’ll be seen. But I also cannot go bursting in without any idea of what I’m bursting in to. I press my ear up against the wall, and dial Jessie’s cell phone. I can hear it ringing, and it sounds like it’s off to the right, which is where an adjacent office is. She’s either in that room, or near it. The call goes unanswered.
Suddenly the garage door opens and a car comes out. I hide against the wall and peer through the open door. The driver doesn’t see me, because I’m on his passenger side, and he seems very focused on his driving. With his cargo, I don’t blame him.
In the brief instant I have, I see that there is one car remaining in the room. I also catch a glimpse of a group of people in the office, since its outside wall is glass. I can only identify some of them quickly in the moment; I see Bennett, and Congers.
And just before the door closes again, I see Jessie.
“So where do we stand?” Congers asked.
Luther Castle was the one who answered. “The last car is about to leave.”
“Perfect. And when do the fireworks go off?”
“Gharsi will start making the phone calls at midnight tonight, setting them off one by one.”
Congers turned to Bennett. “And the money?”
“Received.”
“You did a beautiful job,” Congers said. “It couldn’t have worked out better.”
“As I predicted,” Bennett said.
“You really did. I’ve got to hand it to you. You, me, and all your people wind up rich, I become a national hero for stopping the worst attack ever planned on our mainland, and the only unfortunate loss of life is our lady friend and this terrorist.” He pointed to Gharsi as he said it.
“What is he talking about?” Gharsi asked, turning to Bennett.
Bennett didn’t respond to him, but instead turned to Castle. “Luther?”
Gharsi turned to look at Castle, who was pointing a gun at him. He didn’t react to the threat in any way, even as Bennett said, “You are in over your head here, my friend.”
Congers said, “Let’s not move too hastily. Are we sure we know where the cars are going to be parked?”
“Luther chose the exact places himself,” Bennett said, and then turned
to Gharsi. “Time to die, my friend; it’s been very profitable knowing you.”
“Hold it,” Congers said, looking out into the area where the cars were parked. “Wait until the last car leaves. No sense having an additional witness.”
Almost on cue, the large door slowly opened, and the last car pulled out. “Now you may kill him,” Congers said.
Castle raised his gun, but then turned and put a bullet in the center of Congers’s forehead. He turned again and pointed the gun at his boss, Bennett. “Well, Nicholas … I now have control over the organization, and the bank account, which is quite full right now. You’ve taught me well.”
He slowly readied to pull the trigger, pointing the gun at Bennett’s head. “Consider this a forced retirement, a changing of the guard.”
The door opens, and the last car pulls out.
There is no question that this represents my best, and probably only, chance to get into the building undetected. As the car moves out, I move in, then inch along the wall and crouch behind a pile of tires.
As soon as I do, I hear the shot.
I look toward the room, and see Luther Castle holding a gun, apparently just having fired it. A body is lying on the floor; I can’t tell who it is, but I no longer see Congers. I think the man next to him is Gharsi, who has miraculously come back to life.
Across from them is Bennett, seated in a chair, and Jessie is standing against the wall. I think I hear a loud crashing noise from somewhere either on the other side of the building or outside. The people in the room react slightly to it as well, but not enough to make them go to see what it was.
I start to inch toward the room, my gun drawn. I need to get a better angle if I’m going to fire into the room, but I don’t see how. At best I’ll be able to get one of them, but I have no way to prevent one of the remaining two from shooting Jessie.
Just as I’m getting into a better position, I see Castle raise his gun slightly and fire. Jessie goes down, but the motion isn’t that of a person who has been shot. I believe she is diving under the table; at least that’s what I want to believe.
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