She was also dodging her emotions, not wanting to face the feelings she’d felt when Mac was led away. Deep inside her she knew her teenage crush was not realistic. He’d always been like a brother to her. For the first time in years she evaluated her feelings with a rational mind instead of using pure emotion. Oddly, there were so many emotions tied up in this. She was always more rational than emotional. She never understood why she had spurned his advances after his divorce. It just happened.
The sound of the front door opening snapped her back to the present. She hopped to her feet, leaving a sweat angel behind on the ground. A shotgun leaned up against the bench press rack, keeping her company. After this morning she had decided to keep it close. She picked it up and chambered a round, hoping the unmistakable sound of the gun cocking would be heard by the intruders. She maintained a firing stance as she approached the door, weaving back and forth through the furniture, trying to keep out of sight and obtain cover at the same time. As she approached the door, she saw three figures enter, one in a wheelchair. She worked her way closer until she could see.
“Dad?”
“You can put the gun down and relax, it’s just us.”
“What are you doing out of the hospital? You don’t look like you’re in any kind of condition to be out on your own yet.”
“I tried to take them back.” The woman in the nurse’s uniform said. “I did what I could, but these two are so stubborn that there’s no stopping them. I figured the best I could do was to stay with them and keep an eye on him. That way if something went wrong I could help.”
“I certainly appreciate that,” Mel said, noticing how the woman leaned toward Trufante. She turned to her dad. “So would you like to explain to me what’s going on here? And what is Alan Trufante doing with you and Christ, he’s hurt too.”
“Well maybe if we could all get comfortable … I could sure lie down and have a drink. Help get me settled in and we’ll talk about it.”
“I don’t see us getting up the stairs with you two. Mac’s office is over there. It’s got a couch. That’ll have to do.” The group moved toward the room. It took all of them to get him onto the couch. Wood relaxed, Trufante settled back into the wheelchair.
“Okay, Dad, start talking.”
“I could sure use a drink. Those pain pills have about worn off.”
Trufante started a stiff-legged attempt at the stairs in search of some alcohol, but Mel stopped him abruptly. “Negative. There’s no drinking for sure, and no pain pills until the nurse here tells me it’s okay. Now, why are you here?” She picked up her phone and started to dial. “Never mind. I’ll just call the hospital and tell them to come pick you two up.”
“Now settle down, Mel. Truth is we heard that Mac was in trouble, and there’s nothing we could do to help him sitting in that damned place. We need to make a plan and get him out of there, and then deal with our other problem. I’ll be fine. My partner over here just has a small leg wound.”
Mel turned toward the nurse. “Can he do any damage to himself here?”
“Not if he stays put. I can’t say for sure, but a patient can discharge himself with any condition at any time. I think the best we can do is just keep an eye on them. They’ll be safer with us watching them than if we let them go back and check themselves out again. I can go back tomorrow and get some antibiotics and pain pills.”
“All right, you guys can stay here tonight and we’ll see how things are in the morning. For now, I have to get a shower and some sleep.” Mel headed off to the shower.
Chapter 28
Jerry Doans sat at the hotel desk, a piece of stationery in front of him. He’d started a list of items he’d need to recover the bomb. At the top of the list was a boat. That might be a problem. After wrecking the last one, his driver’s license picture would be in every boat rental place from Key Largo to Key West. He’d need to get around that to make this work. He had thought about letting Behzad or the other guy rent one for him, but those two would look more like they ought to be renting a camel than a boat. Their appearance and lack of any kind of boating skills would send a red flag to the top of the pole.
If he wanted to pull this off, he’d have to leave them out of it. He actually had no intention of letting them get their hands on the bomb. He wasn’t sure how, but somehow, he was going to get his money and give them a worthless piece of metal.
“I’m going to need that $25,000 right about now.” He held up the list. “I’ve got things I need to buy.”
Ibrahim looked at him suspiciously. “Yes, we have a deal.” He reached under the bed and pulled out his suitcase. He opened it and withdrew five bundles of $100 bills. He set the money on the desk next to Jerry. “Here is your money, infidel. Now, I want to see some results. We will be watching you.”
Jerry pulled the money toward him. “You can watch me all you want, but if I see you, that means that somebody else might see you too. I’ve got this figured out. Don’t blow it. You just make sure you have the rest of the money when I deliver.” He lifted his shirt and stuck the bundles side by side into the waistband of his pants. “I’m outa here.”
***
The bar was about three-quarters full when Jerry entered. The bartender came over for his order - a shot of tequila and a beer. He needed something to steady his nerves. The shot went down before his butt hit the stool. Deep in thought, trying to figure out how to get a boat, he felt a hand grab his shoulder. He turned and saw a pretty face attached to the hand.
“Now, you take it really easy. You’re going to get off that chair and follow me out of here. I don’t want to have to cuff you in here and cause a scene. Understand?” The sheriff squeezed a little harder. She grabbed his free arm and had it behind his back in a lock before Jerry knew what was going on.
The bar door slammed behind them as the sheriff guided Jerry to the cruiser. “You’re the guy from the other night. I’ve been looking for you.” She spun him around and frisked him, pulling the bundles of cash from his pants. In one swift move, he was cuffed and in the back of the car. “That’s an awful lot of cash to be carrying around.”
“As far as I know, there’s no law against carrying cash. I don’t even know what you’re talking about, I haven’t been around here for a week.”
“We’ll head down to the station. You can go ahead and try to prove that. Until then, I’ll hold onto this cash,” she said as she laid the cash in the front seat.
Doans slumped into the back seat, trying to figure a way out of this mess. There were a handful of people at the bar the other night that could identify him. So she was right — he wasn’t going to be able to get out of that particular fight. Now, his cash in the sheriff’s hands and his freedom in jeopardy, he needed to reformulate his plan. If there was one thing he knew, it was that plans sometimes needed to change in the middle of an operation. As they pulled up to the sheriff’s station, he eyed the thirty foot boat sitting on a trailer, his brain starting to click into gear,
Jules walked him in the side door of the station. Doans knew he needed to avoid being booked. There would be no way out then. “I have some information that you might want to hear.”
“The only information I want to hear out of you is a confession for putting Wood in the hospital, shooting Trufante with the speargun and starting that bar fight the other night.”
“No, you got me all wrong. I’ve got a hot lead on some terrorists.”
He saw the disbelief in her eyes. But he knew even the remote possibility that he had any information, no matter how insignificant, could undo her career if one of the federal bureaus found out she had ignored a potential lead.
“This better be good, or it’ll come back on you.” She led Doans down the hallway. He grinned as they passed the rooms for mug shots and fingerprints. She led him to an interrogation room. “I’ll be right back. Maybe you ought to reflect on what you intend to say. False reports of terrorist threats could land you in trouble with the feds.” Doans was placed into the
seat facing the mirror, and handcuffed to a steel loop on the desk for effect. Jules went out to start the mandatory recording equipment and let the prisoner sweat for a few minutes, or maybe as long as it took her to eat dinner.
Doans was used to this kind of pressure. He knew the sheriff was putting him on ice, and would leave him for a while. The solitude of the interrogation room for an hour or so was sometimes enough to break a prisoner by itself. Doans got as comfortable in his chair as his restraints allowed, closed his eyes, and was asleep in five minutes.
***
“The son of a bitch is still asleep,” Heather said.
“Must be drugs or something. He didn’t seem under the influence when I brought him in,” the sheriff said. “Make sure the recorder is working. I’m going in.”
Heather checked the equipment and nodded.
Jules strolled into the room and banged her hand against the table, waking Doans. Then she pulled out the vacant chair and sat. “You said you’ve got information. Let’s have it. And it better be good, or you can spend the night in the drunk tank.”
“Now, is that any way to treat the guy that’s going to get you promoted?”
She ignored him. “Start talking.”
“Well, it started like this,” Doans said, his voice raspy. “You know I could really use a drink. You got any Coke?” He laughed.
The sheriff hit the table with her hand. “You can toy with some, but not me. You have five minutes. Speak. There’s a couple of mean-looking dudes, all inked up, in lockup. They’d love a roommate.”
“Well, you know, there’s a bomb out there. There’s a couple of guys that know where it is and a couple of terrorists looking for it. I kinda got dragged into this mess. I’m just trying to help out here. I’ll admit this may have gotten a little out of hand.” Doans gave his twisted, abridged version.
“Out of hand, is that what you call it? I got a friend of mine in the hospital ‘cause of you, and another guy had a spear sticking out of his leg, never mind about the bar fight. And now there are two terrorists here?”
“Well, things didn’t go quite as I planned. The cash was a down payment on me delivering the bomb to the terrorists. Now, of course, I have no intention of doing that. I was gonna get the FBI, or whatever bureau is in charge now, involved, but thought a little cash wouldn’t hurt. Now, I’m here, so it’s your lucky day.”
“You’re a freakin’ moron. Tell me where the terrorists are and I’ll get the Feds to pick them up. You think the bomb is out at that island where you crashed? Is that what you were doing out there?”
“That’s where it is. I had to make sure before I went to the authorities.”
“I’m going to put you in custody and see what the Feds want to do.”
Chapter 29
Behzad watched Ibrahim role out his prayer rug and wondered if he should grab a towel from the bathroom and start acting the part. The sun was rising and Ibrahim was on his knees, facing east and chanting the first of the five daily prayers. Behzad had not practiced his religion in years. He had more fear than love for Allah. Like many religions, the masses of Islam did as little as they could, just enough to stay out of God’s dog house. People did their own cost/benefit analysis of how much effort they should put into their practice, and in most cases it wasn’t much. The same was true for Behzad.
“You really should begin your practice again, my friend.” Ibrahim finished and rolled up his rug. He rubbed his knees. Ten minutes was a long time to be kneeling. He’d done the 5 or 6 minutes of compulsory prayers and added in another 5 minutes for a Sunnah, asking the prophet for guidance in their endeavor.
Behzad had escaped to the bathroom during the prayer. He exited now, toothbrush in his mouth, and shrugged his shoulders, feigning that he could not respond. He went back in and finished his toilette.
***
The sun was climbing in the sky, reflecting off the water as they headed over the Seven Mile Bridge toward Key West.
The minivan kept them at a distance from the cab driver, but they chose to speak in hushed tones. “What a glorious bridge to blow up,” Ibrahim said.
“It would not have the effect worthy of the effort. Have you thought about what we are to do with the bomb?”
“I have some ideas in mind. I think Key West would be the best target. We could obliterate the entire island, erasing the den of iniquity off the face of the world.”
Behzad was reluctant to admit this was a good idea for a symbolic target. With a population of close to 25,000 people, plus tourists, it was an ambitious goal. Many were his friends, though, and their innocence in this made him sad.
Ibrahim noticed. “They are infidels. All of them. There is one solitary mosque on the entire island. We will visit there today. Maybe the leaders will be sympathetic to our cause. Are you familiar with it?”
“Yes, brother, I know where it is located.” He failed to tell Ibrahim that it was only a few blocks from Duval Street, center of the Key West party scene. He passed it all the time. But like a library, knowing where it was and actually entering were two different things. They crossed bridge after bridge as they made their way closer to the southernmost point in the US. “We should go to your house first. We need to sit down, call some truck rental places, and see if the Imam of the mosque is there.”
Behzad tapped his foot incessantly. Unable to sit still, his paranoia increasing as the numbers on the mile marker numbers decreased towards zero - the end of the road. The ridicule he would face if Ibrahim discovered any more about his lifestyle was not going to be pleasant. In fact, he’d do anything to keep his friend out of his house. “Let me have your phone. I can start working on it on the way.”
“I am wary of using a cell phone. The NSA is listening. A land line, they need a warrant to listen to. No, we will wait and use the phone at your house.”
***
They pulled up to the purple house with turquoise trim and paid the driver. Behzad was so worried about Ibrahim that he failed to notice the other van parked across the street. They walked past the overgrown hibiscus lining the walk. Just as Behzad was about to enter the house, he looked up and saw both doors open on the van. Two men jumped out and ran toward the house. He panicked, loosing precious seconds working the key into the lock. Finally the lock turned and the door pushed open. Ibrahim darted in first, and Behzad followed. He started to shut the door when a booted foot blocked its path. Behzad tried to slam the door again, with no luck. The second man kicked the door and both men entered, guns drawn.
“Behzad, you freaking fag. You disappeared on me. Haven’t answered your phone in days. Someone less trusting than me would start to wonder if we were really friends after all.” The gun still pointed at them, the man waved them toward the kitchen and closed the door.
“What is the meaning of this? You know these men, Behzad?” Ibrahim lagged behind until he felt the butt of a gun land a blow to his head. He staggered forward into the kitchen.
“Just a misunderstanding, my friend. A small debt.”
“If you think ten grand is small, that’s up to you. Where’s our money?”
Behzad looked at Ibrahim for help. “I have your cash in the car.” Ibrahim came to his rescue.
Behzad breathed a sigh of relief.
The smaller man grabbed him by the elbow and walked him toward the door. “Just play it cool and nobody needs to get hurt.” He put the gun back in the holster clipped to the small of his back.
Cesar waited until the door closed before he backhanded Behzad across the face. Behzad fell from the chair and curled into a fetal position, trying to protect himself from the steel-toed cowboy boots slamming into his kidneys.
“That is the last time we are going to front you anything. He better have all my money.”
Behzad worked to get to his knees. “He’s got it.”
The door slammed, and this time the Mexican staggered in first. Ibrahim had the gun pointed at his head. “Both of you, against the wall there. Behzad, get o
ff the floor and get his gun.”
Behzad struggled to his feet and took the offered gun from Cesar. Ibrahim motioned both men into chairs.
“Find something to tie them up.”
Behzad thought for a moment and went upstairs. He came back down with two pairs of handcuffs. The locks clicked and the drug dealers were secured to the chairs.
“I’ll not ask what this is about now,” Ibrahim said. “Allah will want a full explanation at the gates of Paradise. Handcuffs and gangsters? Behzad, old friend, what have you been doing?”
Behzad glanced at the gun in his hand, wondering if this would be a good time to use it, either on himself or Ibrahim.
He quickly recovered his composure. The adrenaline focused his mind. “We have the guns now. It’s all good. The plan is still on track.”
Ibrahim stuffed a dish rag into the smaller man’s mouth.
“You think you need to fear Allah, Behzad? It is Cesar who will be coming for you.” Ibrahim forced the second towel into Cesar’s mouth, ending the threat.
Chapter 30
Joe Ward reached for the coffee pot on the sidebar of the breakfast buffet. This was his third cup this morning. He hadn’t slept well last night, and probably wouldn’t until the election was over on Tuesday. The room was a standard-issue hotel conference room, crowded with name-tagged guests. The names on the tags spoke to the cost of the fundraiser. For $1,000 a plate you got a name tag. For $10,000 the candidate was required to know your name.
Ward pressed the flesh, shaking hands, patting backs as he made his way through the crowd. He worked his way toward the back corner of the room, where Gary Hawkins was standing, deep in conversation with another man. Hawkins, now a professor at Georgia Tech, had been the nuclear advisor to the President for the last few years. He was just the man to give some enlightenment to the Vice President. For better or worse, he needed to know more about this bomb.
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