Avenged

by Janice Cantore

  His eyes blinked and she saw the fear there. His mouth was covered with duct tape, and he was tied up in a sitting position. His head moved back and forth as if he were saying, “No” over and over.

  Anxiety knotted Carly’s stomach, and she wanted to say, “No, what?” but he couldn’t answer her.

  Carly lowered her gun and stepped forward to untie Londy, but Nick grabbed her.

  “No, look.”

  She followed the beam of his light and saw what Londy was sitting on. Two gray squares on either side of a large battery, attached with wires.

  Carly had been to enough training classes that showed pictures of objects like that. While the numbness of fear and dread paralyzed her where she stood, she didn’t need anyone to tell her it was a bomb.

  38

  A SICK FEELING gripped Carly by the throat. She and Nick moved back to the corner of their street to wait for the ATF bomb squad. Nick had seen a detonator, much like the one Carly had found at Walt’s, and that cued him to use caution. Though Londy couldn’t talk because of duct tape over his mouth, he’d been able to move his head slightly to answer questions with nods or shakes. The bomb would detonate if he were moved off the mound of C-4.

  Carly had retrieved Maddie from the house right away while Nick and the HB officer alerted their closest neighbors to evacuate. Now, the sky was tinged with pink and Huntington Beach PD had the block cordoned off. Carly could see their chief coordinating with the Red Cross people to find a place for the displaced homeowners to stay, in case it took an extended time period for the bomb to be rendered safe.

  Carly’s eyes were heavy with fatigue when Alex’s little red car pulled up as the sky brightened with sunrise. Ned stepped out of the passenger side. Alex had offered to drive Ned home from the marina. Carly wondered why they were still together hours later.

  Alex bounced over to where she stood, obviously pumped full of adrenaline and coffee. “Hey, Ned and I were doing some research about his brother. Londy is on a bomb?” The reporter’s eyes were big.

  Carly sighed and leaned into Nick, letting him explain what they had found while she continued to pray that Londy would be saved.

  “A pressure-sensitive device?” Ned shook his head. “We saw those a lot in Iraq. Booby traps—open a door and boom. Move a body—boom. But they aren’t impossible to disarm.” He held up a bag. “Erika heard what was happening when Alex answered his messages. She made you a couple of sandwiches, and there’s coffee in the car if you want it.”

  “Bless you, Ned.” Carly reached for the bag.

  A second ATF bomb vehicle pulled up. By now the neighborhood was awash in official vehicles and news vans. Carly had moved her car off the block.

  It was a Huntington Beach operation now, and Carly and Nick were asked to back off. They sat inside Carly’s car with Maddie to eat their sandwiches. Alex pestered everyone he could for access, but it was too dangerous.

  Carly had called Jonah to let him know about the situation. She hadn’t wanted Mary Ellen to hear about it over the news. Jonah said he’d wait to tell her because she’d just fallen asleep.

  “This will be a while,” Nick said after they finished the food. “You can curl up with Maddie and take a nap if you want.”

  Carly held up the coffee. “I’m getting a second wind, and that sun is bright. You think we can watch the ATF monitor?” The ATF agents had sent in a robot with a video camera so they could study the bomb safely.

  “Sure thing.”

  They got out and walked to the ATF vehicle designated as the command post.

  The scene there was controlled chaos. There were too many agencies involved for it to be anything else. In addition to the ATF agents and bomb guys, the Orange County Sheriff’s bomb squad had rolled. Plus, there were Huntington Beach officers and some Las Playas officers. Carly even spotted Agent Wiley talking to Captain Jacobs.

  Carly also saw an imposing-looking bomb suit and wondered if someone was going to try to defuse the device.

  Many of Carly’s neighbors stood outside the crime scene tape watching and waiting. News crews were everywhere, and three news helicopters hovered above. Carly looked down the street at the white van parked in her driveway. The terrible reality of the danger broke through her fatigue, and her mouth went dry. This was personal now.

  There was such a crowd around the monitor, Carly hung back.

  “Don’t you want to look?” Nick asked.

  She shook her head. “I’ll wait here.” She found a car to lean against and settled in to watch the activity and sip her coffee. Praying for Londy, she surveyed the activity around her.

  By noon, all of her second wind had worn off and she was yawning again.

  Wiley caught her eye and walked her way. “Edwards, I hear today is your lucky day.”

  “I guess that depends on your perspective.”

  “You didn’t move the kid. The ATF guys are certain there’s enough explosive under him to leave a huge crater.” He leaned next to her. “It’s probably the loss from Arizona.”

  “All of it?” Carly asked, hoping the nightmare would end here.

  “They won’t know until they make it safe. Who has such a grudge against you and that kid that he wants to blow you both to bits?”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “What?” He looked at her quizzically.

  “There’s only one incident Londy and I were both involved in. But everyone is in jail except for . . .”

  “Mario Correa. I know; he’s number eight on our hit parade.” He stared at her and pointed to the van. “You think he’s behind this?”

  •••

  Carly had to find Alex. She hopped away from Wiley and searched the ranks of press until she saw him. The cadre of press had grown exponentially as the day wore on. She bit back the disgust because she knew they wanted to see blood—Londy’s blood. She didn’t have to look far for Alex. He’d been moved behind a barrier, and he was trying to get her attention. He wanted access. She jogged to him, ignoring all the questions yelled her way.

  “Hey, any chance you can get me in there to watch the screen?”

  “I’m not here in any official capacity.”

  “But they let Ned stay in.”

  “He’s not a reporter. He’s a bomb guy. Listen for a minute—I have an idea about who is behind this.”

  “You mean you know who set the bomb?”

  “Maybe.” She told him what had popped into her mind as she spoke to Wiley.

  “Mario Correa?” His eyes narrowed.

  “Yeah, Correa. Suppose he was Barton’s partner and he’s behind all of this because he wants to get back at me and Londy, discredit us, keep us out of the Burke trial, or just kill us. I wish I had gotten a better look at him the night I saw him.”

  “Unbelievable,” Alex said. Then he was quiet. All Carly could hear was the noise of the crowd around him. Finally he said, “You could be right. Can’t you get me in there so we can talk about it?”

  “I’ll talk to Jake, but I’m not making any promises.” She turned to see Ned watching her.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to tell you that things are looking good. I think they’ll get Londy out of this.”

  “Oh, that’s great news.”

  “I couldn’t help but overhear part of your conversation. Did you say Correa—as in Mario Correa? The fugitive who was involved in the mayor’s murder?”

  “Yeah, why? Do you know the name?”

  “I heard that name when we moved here and it didn’t surprise me that he was in trouble with the law. He went to high school with my brother. I never liked him.”

  39

  CARLY RAN TO FIND NICK. He was watching the bomb squad’s video monitor as the call went up that the bomb was code 4. Nick and the guys around him cheered. One of them hailed the paramedics, who were standing by to tend to Londy.

  Carly could make out Londy’s battered face on the monitor and winced.

  Nick turned to her, gri
nning. “They got it. Now maybe Londy will have some answers for us.”

  “I think I have some answers. It’s Mario Correa. He’s behind all of this.”

  Nick’s smile faded. “What?”

  She told him everything she’d learned.

  Hands on hips, Nick frowned. “But why go after Londy? And why not just shoot him? Why shoot those other kids?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that it would benefit him if the charges against Burke were weakened or dropped. Maybe all of this is about getting Burke off so he can join Correa wherever he’s hiding.”

  “You would be the target then. You’re the star witness.”

  Nick was interrupted when a Huntington Beach officer walked up and slapped him on the back. “I hate to say it, but I was holding my breath, afraid I’d hear a boom.”

  The three of them turned and watched as the paramedics wheeled Londy away from the van. Now that the bomb had been made safe, the bomb guys would need to safely dispose of the explosive.

  Nick put his arm on Carly’s shoulder. “Let’s go see what Londy has to say.”

  As they walked to the medic van, Carly felt bone weary, not sure how long it had been since she’d seen Victor sprinting across traffic to tell her about Londy. When they reached the rig, she saw a stiff, sore, but obviously relieved Londy responding to the paramedics as they assessed his condition. He’d suffered a beating. One eye was swollen shut, and it looked as though his nose had bled. He looked at her, his good eye widening.

  “Who did this, Londy?” Carly asked when the medics stepped away so she and Nick could ask questions.

  “It was that harbor guy—Correa.”

  The confirmation jolted Carly. “You recognized him?”

  He nodded. “I saw him in the harbor before. I know him. He was real mad. Mad at you.”

  “About what? About Burke?”

  “Mad that no one is blaming you for killing Mr. Ned’s brother. I didn’t understand all of what he said, but he wanted to ruin your life and says he didn’t and things are worse now. He was also mad at Mr. Barton, too—called him stupid, said he messed up all the plans.”

  Carly frowned. “Plans for what?”

  “I don’t know. He was in a big hurry. But mostly what made him mad was the bridge dedication being canceled. He told me I was going to die. But he said if something went wrong and I lived, I was to tell you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He said he’s coming for you and he won’t miss now.”

  •••

  It was dark and early Sunday morning by the time the van, explosives, and all the newspeople had cleared their block and Nick and Carly were able to get back into their house. Speculation had Carly’s mind spinning as she stood in the shower, exhausted but relieved that Londy was safe.

  After he’d been thoroughly interviewed, all hell broke loose. The FBI in particular were like bloodhounds on a scent at the news that one of their most wanted was in the area. They sent a team to the marina to search Walt’s again. And they were going over the pedestrian bridge as well. From what Londy had heard, Correa had planned something for the bridge dedication ceremony. Bomb dogs were brought in to scour every inch of the structure. They’d also determined that there was still a fair amount of stolen explosive unaccounted for.

  “Did you ask Jacobs to check into Burke’s visitors?” Nick asked after Carly was out of the shower and dressed for bed.

  “Yeah, I did. It was just a hunch. Why?”

  “Because Michael Carter visited Burke twice.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. The most recent visit was about six months ago, right after all the explosives and guns were stolen. They’re studying surveillance videos. Michael Carter appears as a bearded man who bears a close resemblance to Mario Correa. It won’t be long before pictures of him are everywhere.”

  “That’s great,” she said with a yawn, falling onto the bed. “How is it you’re so alert? I’m dead.”

  “I’ll join you after I shower. I just got an update. Potter is still missing.”

  He leaned over her to tuck her in, but Carly barely felt his presence. She closed her eyes and was sound asleep instantly.

  •••

  Carly didn’t feel normal until eleven the next morning, when she stood with her face under the shower again, relishing the warm water washing away cobwebs and the last remnants of sleep. She dressed in shorts and a comfortable T-shirt and walked into the kitchen, inhaling the heavenly odor of coffee.

  Nick was on the phone and he blew her a kiss. From his side of the conversation, she could tell he was talking to someone in federal employ.

  She mouthed the words, “Anything new?”

  He nodded and held up a finger to indicate he’d tell her in a minute.

  Carly went about making breakfast. She pulled bacon, eggs, and mushrooms out of the fridge and looked at Nick. He gave her a thumbs-up, which told her he hadn’t eaten yet. It was omelets for two, then. By the time breakfast was ready, Nick was off the phone, and cheese and toast had been added to the feast.

  “Well, Burke confirms that it was Mario Correa who visited him—as Michael Carter. But he said it as a taunt, basically saying that we’ll never catch him; he’s too smart. He also said that Correa took over a year to plan his revenge carefully, that the harbor gig was his dream job and you took that away. And in the yearbook from San Pedro High? Dean Barton, Mario Correa, and Keith Sailor were all in the same graduating class.”

  “The pieces fall together.” Carly sat at the table, ignoring her rumbling stomach. “What nerve he has, to walk right into the jail like that.”

  “Well, his alter ego had no wants or warrants, and as long as he behaved himself, there would be no reason to check further. His first visit was right after Burke lost his bid for bail, and like I said, the last was six months ago.

  “But let’s eat.” Nick leaned over and gave her a kiss. “Boy, you were out cold.”

  “I was tired. How long have you been up?”

  “About an hour. I took the dog for a walk. Wiley called when I got back. The file on Mario Correa should be in your in-box.”

  Carly nearly jumped up from the table. She’d wanted to read the FBI’s file on Correa last night but Nick had talked her out of it. The FBI was rather sensitive about fugitive searches since one of their ten most wanted, Whitey Bulger, had been apprehended a couple years ago. It was discovered he had hidden in plain sight for more than a dozen years in Santa Monica, living a normal life.

  When the authorities learned that Mario Correa had been in Las Playas, they were determined that he wasn’t going to get away, live in freedom for a dozen years, and splash egg on their faces when he was finally caught. In high-handed fed fashion, they declared the search theirs and were closely guarding the information they’d collected on him. It was Ned who said he’d try to convince them to give Correa’s file to Carly. Turned out one of the agents called in to assist in the search had participated in some training with Ned when he was in the service. He was certain, in private, he could convince his friend to let loose with some info.

  “I’ll check it after breakfast,” she said.

  Nick smiled. “Then let’s pray and eat.” He took her hand and they bowed their heads. “Lord, bless this food to our bodies, and thank you for your love and provision. And I pray you keep Carly safe and help us put those responsible for the death and destruction in the city in jail.”

  Together they said amen. After breakfast they took mugs of coffee and sat together on the couch to review the file.

  Mario Correa Jr., aka Michael Carter, had been born and raised in Rancho Palos Verdes. His parents were extremely wealthy; his dad founded and ran an import/export business.

  Nick snorted when he saw that. “So the son is a perverted chip off the old block. His ‘export business’ as harbor superintendent just happened to be one that specialized in stolen and illegal goods.”

  Carly said nothing, jus
t kept reading. Correa and Barton might have been good friends, but unlike Barton, Correa had no criminal record. Sailor did, though. He’d been arrested twice for offenses related to illegal gambling. Correa must have exploited a known weakness. Correa either kept his nose clean, or he’d just not been caught until the mayor’s murder.

  A few years before Correa became harbor superintendent, his father had sold his business and moved with the wife out to Palm Desert to retire. Dad claimed he and his son were estranged, but the feds had watched him carefully for months to determine if Junior ever contacted his parents. They never saw evidence that he had.

  The feds noted that Correa did appear to have been estranged from his parents long before his illegal activity was discovered. He didn’t have a place of residence. He lived on a boat that was moored in the old marina. The boat, named the Rex, had been impounded and confiscated by agents. Carly remembered the yacht she and Jeff had been taken prisoner on. Searching through the paperwork, she found a reference to another boat, the Tango. This one had never been located, leaving the feds to speculate that Correa had sailed to Mexico and was living south of the border on the ocean.

  “I’ll bet it was Correa living on that boat—the one the marina guy told Alex about.”

  “And Jarvis has been covering for him?” Nick tapped his chin with an index finger. “There’s a waiting list for slips in Las Playas. Jarvis would have had to do a lot of tap-dancing to let a guy live there without questions being asked.”

  “Maybe not. With all the construction going on and the Oceans First protests, I’ll bet people are moving in and out or maybe even left their boats until the construction is finished. The mess and confusion may have helped to hide Correa.”

  “And—” Nick picked up her train of thought—“if he’s using a fake identity, he probably falsified the boat registration. Or maybe he’s not living in a slip. Maybe he’s just off the coast somewhere.”

  Nick turned to her and gripped her hand. “I know you want to get back to work, but until Correa is tracked down and put behind bars, you need to be careful.”