Lenny dropped to his knees and grabbed his head with both hands. “Oh, my God! Oh, Lord! What did I do?”
Travis dropped his shovel, walked around Butch who was still passed out and then walked over to look at Raymond. Lenny’s bullet had hit him in the center of his forehead.
Travis said, “He’s dead.” He walked back to look at Butch’s head closer. There was a wide gash and blood everywhere. “This one might be dead, too.”
Lenny walked over to stand next to Travis. “Now what? We can’t leave two bodies here.”
Just then Butch moaned. Travis and Lenny both jumped and ran back toward Raymond’s body.
Travis gasped for breath. “He’s not dead!” Travis saw the neighbor’s light go on and panicked. “We’ve got to get out of here.” Travis pointed to Raymond. “Let’s put him in the back of your truck.”
They quickly dragged Raymond’s body across the sand and gravel to the back of the truck. Travis tossed both guns in the bed and they both hefted Raymond in. Lenny unrolled a tarp to cover the body and Travis tipped over Lenny’s small cement mixer to hold the tarp in place. Lenny ran over and grabbed the burn barrel and the lid.
He tossed it into the back of the truck and said, “I heard mob guys put bodies in these. It’s what they’re really for.” Travis just shook his head and assumed Lenny’s beer was doing his thinking.
Travis got in the driver’s side and they sped toward the highway. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. Lenny kept looking to the back of the truck and moaning. They got near town and Travis pulled over. He looked at Lenny and said, “I have no idea where I’m going.”
Lenny unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door. “I’m gonna puke, man.”
*****
Butch was falling in and out of consciousness. His head was killing him. Finally, he sat up. He was alone. Raymond was gone and his gun was gone. The last thing he had remembered was something hitting his head. Had Raymond taken Lenny to get Travis Cummings? They had left him for dead. Where had they gone?
Butch gingerly stood and started walking back toward the house. He went around the side yard and saw a freshly dug large hole. They went to get Cummings alright. They were going to bring him back to bury him. They probably planned on burying Butch in the same hole. Butch slid down the corner of the building and sat in the sand to wait. They would be back. He reached into his ankle holster and pulled out his backup gun. He checked that it was loaded and carefully leaned his head back against the side of the house. Raymond was going to be sorry.
*****
Lenny and Travis sat in the truck watching the tarp in the back and half expecting Raymond to jump back to life. A patrol car passed them twice. It was ten o’clock at night, just outside of New Buffalo, and they were parked with the engine running.
Travis put the truck in gear. “We can’t just sit here. That cop is going to circle back to see what we’re up to.”
Lenny moaned. “I just killed a mob dude. Now we’re both hiding from the mob.”
Travis checked the rearview mirror. “Do you know this area very well? Is there someplace we can dump this body?”
Lenny looked thoughtful. “There’s a river in a town about fifteen minutes east of here that has some really remote spots. We could put the body in the barrel and throw it in the river.”
Travis thought out loud. “We really don’t have a way to get out on Lake Michigan. That would be better. What’s this town with the river called?”
“Buchanan. There’s a really hidden boat landing there. We could just roll it in there or we could drop it off the bridge. The bridge is probably better since its dark.”
Travis turned the truck east when they hit U.S. 12 at the end of the main street of New Buffalo. He saw the sign for Buchanan and sighed with relief. Lenny wasn’t as drunk as he thought, thank God.
Lenny sat up straighter and said, “We best take one of these side roads and seal him up in the barrel.” He still couldn’t believe he had shot his childhood friend. He couldn’t believe any of this had happened. “Ain’t gonna want to be doin’ that on the bridge.” Lenny got a strange look on his face. “Listen, don’t get all worried or nothin’, but I’ve got an idea. There’s a million dollars waiting for a head, right?”
Travis nearly ran off the road. “My head!”
Lenny quickly added, “What if the head was all burned and shit? Who would know the difference?”
Travis couldn’t believe Lenny had asked that. “There’s more than one problem here. Do you think you can cut a man’s head off? Then what? You’re going to set it on fire and take it where? You’ll have to show up at Dominick’s to collect the money. Think about it! You just killed one of Dominick’s thugs and his buddy knows you did it! Do you really think you could walk into Bruno’s Bar and hand Dominick a smoldering head? The wrong head?”
Lenny said, “I was thinkin’ you would cut off the head and I’d have Uncle Artie handle the sale.”
Travis pulled the truck onto a side road and rolled onto the shoulder near the woods. “I’m not touching your dead mob guy. I’ve got enough trouble right now. You want his head? Go back there and get it!”
Lenny’s eyes opened wide. “I ain’t doing it!”
“Then shut up and help me get him in the barrel.”
Twenty minutes later Travis was pulling the truck back onto U.S. 12 and heading toward Buchanan. He glanced at Lenny who had the facial expression of someone who had just lost a million dollars.
Travis chuckled, “Truth be known, whatever sucker turns in a head will get popped before he sees a twenty-dollar bill.”
“Really? You think they’d weasel out of payin’?”
“Lenny, it’s not the state lotto, it’s the mob.”
Chapter Ten
Monday, 8:00 p.m., Offices of Global Investments, New York City
J.T. Barrimore was led into Mason’s office and stood waiting to be acknowledged. Mason turned from the floor to ceiling window, sat in his chair, and gestured for J.T. to sit. The stunning display of the New York City night lights was breathtaking from this altitude. Mason’s highly polished mahogany desk sat majestically in the center of the tastefully decorated room. There was nothing on the desktop, not even a fingerprint. This was not where the dirty work was done. Mason’s ten thousand dollar suit and fifty-something good looks were in stark contrast to his angry expression.
J.T. was the president of Goliath Security and not accustomed to being personally summoned to explain failure. He had courted Mason’s investment group for two years before earning the status as their primary security firm. J.T.’s team of information technicians was the best in the business and his stellar reputation was unblemished, until now.
Mason said, “I gave you a heads up two hours ago on this DIANA mess. What can you report?”
J.T. inhaled; nothing he was going to say was going to please Mason. “Dr. Angel Sanchez will be impossible to secure under the circumstances. Dr. Larson is in Chicago. He is the secondary man in charge of Project DIANA research and the primary threat to our plan. He will be secured today.”
Mason frowned, “You realize this is the most important assignment I have given you? Your people treated it like a babysitting job. All they had to do was keep two scientists under wrap for a couple of days. Instead, they killed two CIA agents in Lead. One of your Chicago team is in the hospital and we still don’t have the scientists. What happened?”
“I don’t know, sir.” J.T did know that once the assignment failed, his team had split up to go into hiding. Goliath Security terminated people that failed. J.T. guessed they were halfway across the world by now. He would probably never know what actually went wrong, but he would find them.
“Well, Nick Stryker knows! He told me everything I told you over two hours ago. How is that?”
“I don’t know that either, sir.”
J.T. now realized why Mason had insisted that the team members reported directly to him on this assignment. Mason had person
ally confirmed that each team member had his cell phone number and understood to report to him the instant anything happened. J.T. had no opportunity for damage control.
“What did you find out about Stryker?”
“There is nothing on any database for that name. Technically, he doesn’t exist. Perhaps he gave you an alias?” J.T. was actually more worried that ‘Nick Stryker’, or whoever he was, had help from the FBI or the CIA. Nick Stryker wasn’t ‘too clean’, he was invisible.
Mason walked to the window, turning his back on J.T. “Dominick Guioni knows him personally and vouched for him. Mr. Stryker exists and knows more about the specific activities of your failed team than you do. He even insisted on keeping Joe Small on the assignment. So, Joe Small knows him, too. How do you explain that?”
“I can’t, sir.” J.T. silently cursed Mason for failing to tell him of the connection between Dominick Guioni, Joe Small and Nick Stryker. That would have been helpful to know.
“You can’t explain anything then. Is that your report?” Mason turned around. “You have twelve hours to secure Dr. Larson and Nick Stryker. Not one minute more or your competition will terminate you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mason motioned for J.T. to leave and he did.
Mason pulled open the center drawer of the desk and opened a monitor screen. His people were reporting that international authorities were crawling all over Geneva. They assured him the project was still safe, for now. The authorities were looking in all of the wrong places. Interpol, however, were looking for the scientists involved and that was more troublesome. Kyser had talked, but obviously not enough to name names.
Mason had seen Dr. Gustoff Kyser’s name on the missing jet’s manifest on the evening news. He knew that to be false. The project could survive the loss of Kyser. It was clear that Kyser had not survived the CIA’s reaction to his retirement announcement. Mason had expected as much. He needed to give the CIA something else to worry about.
Mason dialed his Moscow counterpart. “We need a diversion. It’s getting too hot in Geneva.” Mason listened a moment and then raised his voice. “Do I have to do everything? Do something fast and big. Shoot a damn commercial jet out of the sky! Do it over the Ukraine; that ought to start something. Notify Putin that it’s just us. Do it now!”
Mason dialed his German counterpart. “Geneva is getting hot. I want those train centers bombed immediately. They’re far enough away not to risk our project, but close enough to draw Interpol and the CIA to the other side of the city. They’re also close to the United Nations Building. That would be a nice touch.”
J.T. sat outside of the office building in his car and placed a call to secure the next flight to Chicago. If Nick Stryker was real, he was a larger threat than Mason realized. J.T. was grateful he had kept his skills sharp. In fact, he was probably in the best shape of his life. He was going to do this assignment himself.
*****
Nick sketched out a map for Dalton and Chris to his house and gave Dalton the extra key he carried in his wallet and a slip of paper. “You’re going to need this security code once you enter the house. The alarm box is just inside the foyer closet.”
Dalton took the key and paper. “Where are you going?”
Nick smiled, “We could live about an hour on the food I have in my house. I’m going to get some groceries. I don’t know if you planned for staying over. Give Jen your sizes if you want. She’s agreed to pick up a change of clothes for Chris and drop them off.” Dalton watched as Nick brought up the CIA black site on his phone.
“Where’d you get the passcode for that?” Dalton knew the government internet and passcodes to the CIA site were monitored heavily and changed often.
Nick answered, “I have a friend.” Nick looked at Dalton, “I want the code for Chris’ locator map, please.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“I didn’t say that. The code?”
Dalton assumed whoever gave Nick the access code to their account was higher up than his own ranking.
Dalton took Nick’s phone and typed in the code. “There. I have the feeling I just signed my retirement papers.”
Nick tested the code and a map appeared showing a red dot for Chris at the 107th Precinct. “Thanks. I’ll see you guys in about an hour. If by some chance Joe shows up early, give me a call.”
Nick saw Jen checking the tags on Chris’ clothes. He obviously didn’t know what sizes he wore.
Nick walked over to Jen. “Thanks for helping with this. I only have an hour to get set up. We were either going to have clothes or food, not both.”
Jen smiled, “No problem. I also called Lacey and told her about your surprise jammie party in case you two had plans.”
“I forgot all about Lacey. Am I in trouble?”
Jen laughed, “No. She knows how you get. She said to tell you she’ll be at her house watching a movie.”
Jen whispered, “Chris is pretty upset about that missing jet. They’ve begun to search the Indian Ocean for wreckage.”
Nick thought about Chris’ statement that Dr. Kyser would not have been on that jet. “Something else is going on. I just have to figure out what.”
*****
Directorate Benson Anders woke to the sounds of beeping. He was drowsy and his vision blurred. A doctor was at his bedside.
“Directorate Anders, can you hear me?”
Benson thought he had grunted an answer.
“Benson, can you hear me?”
Benson answered, “Yes. What happened?”
The doctor said, “Your appendix burst. You’ve had surgery. I expect you’ll be fine.”
Benson was relieved to hear that it had been an appendix problem and not his ulcer. He tried to sit up. His mouth felt like cotton balls lined it. The doctor offered him a glass of water with a straw.
Benson took a sip and reached for the control on the bed to rise to a sitting position. His stomach ached, but he knew the real pain would come when the drugs wore off.
“When can I leave?”
“I’d like you to stay at least three days.”
“That’s impossible. I’ll leave in the morning. Please make the arrangements to have me taken to my office.”
The doctor frowned and left Benson’s room. Benson leaned his head back and wondered if his nightmares had been drug induced or a premonition.
*****
Dr. Elliott Nobel had survived the CIA’s rigorous questioning and expected to be reunited with his team. Agent Patton entered the small interrogation room, his brow furrowed.
Agent Patton said, “Dr. Nobel, we now know that Dr. Gustoff Kyser was working with a team in Geneva duplicating the DIANA project. We are convinced that you were not aware of this. We are hopeful that you may be able to help us identify who these other scientists may be.”
Elliott’s mind raced. He had no idea who Gustoff may have been associated with. It was little comfort that Patton had just admitted the CIA finally believed he was innocent. He still hadn’t seen his team or been told what had been done to the other passengers. Elliott’s blind trust in the CIA had stopped six years ago.
Elliott said, “It seems to me that Dr. Kyser will have to tell you who is on that team and what they intended to do with the research. I’m sure the CIA knows exactly who I speak to and probably what is said. I’m afraid I can’t help you. I would, however, appreciate being reunited with my team. I would also like to know the condition of the other passengers on our jet.” Elliott was angry. “Here’s another question for you: where in the hell am I?”
Agent Patton said, “We have given thoughtful consideration to the concerns you have mentioned. At this time, I’m unable to answer your questions. I can assure you that your team and the passengers on your jet are safe.”
Elliott stood, “Then why am I being questioned and held like a prisoner? This doesn’t make any sense. If you have questions about Kyser, ask Kyser and let the rest of us go.”
Agent Patton said, “Dr. Kyser has died.”
Elliott sat back down. A dark thought crossed his mind. The CIA killed Kyser and they didn’t know how to cover it up. “What has the public been told about our jet? Surely someone noticed that we never landed.”
“Your jet was reported missing an hour after takeoff. It is presumed to have crash landed in the Indian Ocean.”
Elliott’s heart sank. “Of course. That’s how you get rid of Kyser. What about the rest of us?”
Agent Patton said, “That is simply the current news spin on your jet. It doesn’t mean anything more. We are simply trying to buy time. Dr. Kyser hinted that his research team intends to implement DIANA.”
Elliott went pale. “They can’t! The DIANA project is flawed; Kyser was just too arrogant to look at the data.” Elliott’s mind was racing. How could any respectable astrophysicist justify implementing a research project? “DIANA is years from being ready to actually implement, if ever. The consequences would be catastrophic!”
Agent Patton nodded, “Which is why we need your help in locating the Geneva team and their super collider.”
Elliott rubbed his palms over his face. “They have a Super Collider?” Elliott was trying to focus his mind while living a nightmare.
Agent Patton nodded, “You understand now why your cooperation is crucial Dr. Nobel. Once we have isolated and diffused this threat, I would expect to hear that an emergency landing had been made by your jet and a full rescue was underway.”
So, that was the deal. Elliott was expected to figure out where the secret Geneva team and their collider were in exchange for their freedom. Elliott sat up straight, “I don’t know what help I can be, but you need to put me with your top technical people.”
Zero Margin: Nick Stryker, Book Three The Shallow End Gals (Nick Stryker Series 3) Page 9