by Jim Plautz
Wimbledon, the third leg of tennis’ grand slam was over and Mary and I were taking a much-deserved two-week vacation. Ireland in July is beautiful, especially if you can afford to stay in an authentic, 15th century, air-conditioned castle overlooking the Celtic Sea. Ken and Chris decided to join us even though there was no longer any need for protection. Agbu was dead and Chris assured me there were no more brothers seeking revenge.
The kids were scheduled to arrive tomorrow from London’ Heathrow airport. Pete had lost in the second round to a qualifier, but made it to the quarterfinals in doubles. He was still not fully recovered from his neck injury and we hadn’t expected much. Lisa had made it to the quarterfinals before losing to Venus Williams in three sets. Ambre almost made it two grand slams in a row, losing to Williams in the finals. Pete was at her side.
Carlos nearly died on the operating table and his life hung by a thread for several days. One bullet collapsed his lung, narrowly missing his heart. Another bullet entered his stomach and required several operations to repair damage to his lower intestines. He was still hospitalized and his prognosis looked good, although doctors warned him he that could never play tennis again. The injuries to his lungs would never completely heal. The mantle of Spanish tennis had been transferred from Carlos to Nadal.
I thought of Susan Peterson and the unlikely chain of events that had placed the gun in my hand. The French released her into U.S. custody where she would receive the treatment she obviously needed. Mary took a personal interest after learning how her husband Bill had died, and planned to visit when her doctor said she was strong enough. Mary and I both felt that in some way, Mrs. Peterson had saved us from Agbu.
Pete and Carlos were named French Open co-champions. There was no precedent for what had happened and French officials were undecided. Sentiment was growing to award the title to Pete since Carlos was unable to continue, but Pete wouldn’t hear of it. A compromise was reached to name co-champions and the week before Wimbledon Pete had delivered the single trophy to Carlos in his hospital room. “You keep it for a while, at least until you are out of the hospital.” Mary and I agreed with Pete’s decision, particularly since Pete might be dead if Carlos hadn’t intervened in the locker room. Sharing the championship and the trophy was the right thing to do.
“Chris, does the CIA think there was enough explosives to bring the roof down?” I asked. “I’ve been getting conflicting reports from the Clark engineers.”
“Nobody knows for sure, but I can tell you this. If Agbu presses the send button, you wouldn’t be around to worry about it.”
“None of us would be,” Ken added. That little puppy would have blown up everything within fifty feet.”
“I’m well aware of that and I hope this is the last time Jim has to save my life.”
“Did I hear that there were other explosives around the stadium?”
“That’s right, Mary, they set eight other charges inside and two outside the complex. We found and defused half of them, but the others would have killed a bunch of people. Even worse, there would have been panic. That was their objective.”
“Why? If Agbu was after me for killing his brother, why would he try to create panic? I understand him trying to blow up the dome to get at me, but why the rest of it? Why the anthrax?”
“That wasn’t his idea, that was Al-Qaeda. Agbu’s uncle Enrique and the other Basque told us the whole story. Al-Qaeda couldn’t find a way into the stadium so they forced Agbu to use his Basque connections to create a panic and force the people outside the perimeter. They had bombs in the parking lot and canisters of anthrax in the subway cars. The death toll would have been in the thousands.”
“Why did Agbu do it? He must have known the Basque would be implicated.”
“Yeah, but he still needed their drug connections. That’s how he was funding his New ETA movement. Enrique told us that Agbu disliked Al-Qaeda, but still needed them until his Mexico connections came through.”
“So it was Agbu that blew up the stadium in Mexico,” I concluded. “Who set off the bombs in the city?”
“Al-Qaeda set off the bombs at the walking bridge, police station and the Musee d’Orsay art gallery, but Agbu’s group blew up the statue outside Roland Garros. He needed a diversion to get into the stadium.”
“How did he get into the men’s locker room,” I asked. “Didn’t he need to know the combination?”
“I’m not sure who gave him the combination. Ambre remembers telling him how she got in and left a note for Pete the first day, but she swears she didn’t give him the combination. Carlos met with Agbu, but denied even knowing the combination. He might have gotten it from one of the Spanish players, the same one that gave him the player’s pass. We probably never will know for sure.”
“You know, there’s another option; Bruno. He might have used his connections to get hold of the code. You know, the code wasn’t changed since the day before the tournament began.”
“How did Bruno fit into all of this? Why would someone want to sabotage the stadium that he had helped build?”
“The French picked him up a week later in Lisbon, but he isn’t saying much. Rico told us he was looking for revenge after being fired, but there might be more to it than just revenge. He grew up in Southern France in one of the two departments that the Basque claim as their homeland. Whatever the reason, the French are going to prosecute him for attempted murder. He was responsible for giving Agbu the detailed plans of the stadium and security.”
“Chris, what is going to happen to the New Basque movement that Agbu had started? You know, he was doing some pretty good things for the Basque people.”
“It’s interesting you bring that up because I got a call last week from Carlos. It seems he is interested in taking up where Agbu left off, but without the drug money. Carlos grew up with Agbu and still believes in the Basque cause.”
“I guess it’s the old half-empty or half-full debate,” Ken concluded in his obscure way. It bothered me sometimes that I understood him, and tended to agree with him most of the time. There was a lot of brilliance in what Agbu did for the Basque.
“Hey, look who’s here?” Mary said, pointing to the three familiar figures walking towards them.
Lisa, Pete and Ambre were striding towards us with smiles on their faces. The sun glittered on the large diamond that Ambre wore on her left ring finger.
Phenom
Another Thrilling Suspense Novel
By
Jim Plautz
Coming Soon!