Survivor

by Logan Ryles

  Reed opened his snack bar. “Two reasons. First, like I said, I don’t kill good people. Not anymore. Second, if I had killed you, I wouldn’t see my father again. Gambit would call the FBI or the police or whoever, and set me up to take the fall for your death, and then he would probably kill my father anyway. I know, because my old employers used the same trick when I failed to kill Holiday. They kidnapped his goddaughter and threatened her life if I didn’t finish the job.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I called their bluff and killed a bunch of bad guys. Made a big mess in Atlanta.”

  She smirked. “So that’s what all the Atlanta headlines were about.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So, now you’re calling their bluff again?”

  He shook his head and spoke through a mouthful of the snack bar. “Just because they’re stupid enough to try the same trick twice doesn’t mean they’re stupid enough to be outsmarted the same way twice. My only hope of getting my father back is to talk to you, figure out who this Gambit guy is, and how to find him. And I need to do that before he discovers that you’re not dead and that a pothead from New Orleans is carrying my ankle monitor in his backpack.”

  “I’m afraid I’m about to disappoint you. I have no idea who he is.”

  He crumpled the snack bar wrapper between two powerful palms. “Well, then. You better start talking about what you do know. I’m playing nice, but you should know that my father’s life means a lot more to me than yours.”

  She shrugged, still betraying no signs of fear. He could tell she was weighing things out and trying to decide what to say, which meant that she did know something. He wondered if he should apply some pressure. Maybe pull out his gun.

  No, this woman was smarter than that. He would first have some faith in her and give her a chance to be helpful.

  Trousdale looked up. “I’m sure you know that I’m a first-term governor with no prior political experience.”

  “You’re a first-term governor with no prior experience of any sort. I read your file.”

  “Fair enough. So, I was elected to the office on a campaign of eradicating corruption in the state, on both a governmental and corporate level. We’ve got a lot of problems in Louisiana. People are struggling to get by. Big corporations are shutting down the small guy left and right, which is capitalism, but they’re doing it by cheating the system and exploiting loopholes. Of course, there are lots of problems in Baton Rouge, too. Politicians being bribed and blackmailed. All kinds of shady deals being made in broad daylight. It was my promise to uproot that system and instill some integrity into the state.”

  She paused as if she expected a question, but Reed didn’t answer. He didn’t care about her political ideals. He just wanted to know about Gambit.

  “So, I was elected, and I got down to business, but it wasn’t long before I hit trouble. My attorney general was on board with my priorities and was setting up a massive task force to prosecute organized and white-collar crime. He turned up dead not long afterward, his blood laced with poison. A few days later, somebody reached out to me via my website and asked to meet with me. There was something in the note about Matthews, my former attorney general, so I decided to hear them out. It was Gambit.”

  “You met him? In broad daylight?”

  “Absolutely. He wanted my cooperation in his enterprise—whatever enterprise he’s involved in. It was a vague conversation, but I wasn’t interested. I shut him down hard, and he threatened my family, so I made it my mission to destroy him.”

  Reed knew what that anger felt like, when somebody threatens the ones you love most. Apparently, Gambit liked to play that card.

  “I hired a new attorney general,” Trousdale continued, “and we put together a plan to flush Gambit out. We figured he was operating out of the Port of New Orleans based on some things he said, so we shut down the port.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No. We had some leads, but as you saw at the protest, people turned against us quickly. We couldn’t be transparent about why we shut the port. The whole thing was a disaster.”

  “When was this?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “I was hired last week. You must be applying more pressure than you realize.”

  “I’ve made some big mistakes,” she said. “Shutting down the port, trusting this new attorney general . . . It’s cost the state more than I bargained for. My lieutenant governor is currently under investigation for the port closure and the murder of my last attorney general.”

  “Did he do it?”

  She shook her head. “No way. Dan Sharp is a good man. One of the best. He was fully committed to the cause.”

  Reed grunted. “Then it was probably Gambit, and he probably set up Sharp for the murder, too. Who’s next in line for the executive office?”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “Gambit wouldn’t bring you down unless he controlled your successor. Lieutenant governor is like vice president, right? He becomes governor if something happens to you?”

  Trousdale nodded.

  “So, Sharp should be taking office right now, but if he is as idealistic and committed as you say, Gambit must know he can’t deal with him, either, which is probably why he framed him for the attorney general’s death.”

  A glint of understanding flashed across her face. “I never thought about that. . . .”

  “So, who’s next in line after Sharp? The new attorney general?”

  “No, in Louisiana, the AG is fourth in line. Number three is the secretary of state.”

  “And?”

  Maggie shrugged. “And, I mean . . . he’s a good enough guy, I guess. The secretary of state in Louisiana is an elected position. I didn’t have much say in who ran. I honestly haven’t dealt with him that much, but he always seemed on board with our objectives. Who knows. . . .”

  “My guess is Gambit thinks he can deal with him. He gets you out of the way, gets Sharp out of the way, gets your old attorney general out of the way, and now he has a governor who’ll play ball and a new AG who won’t investigate any of it.”

  Maggie shook her head. “That’s the snag, though. My new AG, Robert Coulier, is a fighter. I call him my pit bull. I brought him on precisely because he prosecutes with so much vigor. The AG slot is also elected in Louisiana, but because Matthews was killed in the middle of his term, I exercised my authority as governor to install a temporary replacement until the end of Matthews’s term. Coulier has some majorly rough edges, but he’s anti-corruption. Just before the bomb, he actually talked me out of resigning.”

  Reed puckered his lips and thought for a moment. “Well, maybe Gambit is planning to get rid of Coulier, also. There’s any number of possible plays he may have in mind.”

  Maggie folded her arms and leaned against the car. She dug her toe into the mud, her face twisted into a contemplative frown.

  “Why do you care?”

  “What?”

  “Why do you care what Gambit’s up to or what his plans are? If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t give a shit about anything except getting my dad back. Maybe killing Gambit. But none of this other stuff would matter.”

  Reed opened the trunk again and dug through a bag, producing a pack of cigarettes and tapping one out into his palm.

  “Smoke?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I don’t smoke.”

  Reed shrugged and slid a cigarette between his teeth. The first drag was ecstasy. It took the edge off of his frayed nerves and helped to slow his still-thumping heart.

  He said, “I made a promise to a friend of mine. She’s the daughter of one of the five men who started this organization. Her father was killed in New Orleans. The police called it an accident—something about a drunk driver—but it seems likely he was murdered by the same people who wanted Holiday dead and my father doped into insanity. I made her a promise that I would find out, and if necessary, balance the scales.”

  Maggie held his gaze. “Th
is friend of yours . . . she wouldn’t happen to be Holiday’s goddaughter, would she?”

  Reed took a long drag of the cigarette.

  “Doesn’t matter who she is. The point is, there’s actually a sixth man. His name is Aiden Phillips, and I believe he’s Gambit’s boss and that he’s behind all of this. I want to find him, and you can help me do that.”

  “How?”

  “It’s only a matter of time before Gambit confirms that you aren’t dead. We need to find him first and apply the necessary pressure.”

  “Pressure sounds lovely. But how do we find him? He could be anywhere in the country.”

  Reed flicked the cigarette butt into the mud. “Nope. He’s close. He’s not gonna risk being too far away from the things he needs to control. I’d bet he’s here in New Orleans. After all, if everything you say about his operation is true, and everything I think about Frank Morccelli’s death is true, then there’s something significant about this city in terms of their operation. It’s some sort of base or hub. I’ll bet he’s a lot closer than you think.”

  “So, how do you plan to find him in a state this big?”

  Reed shut the trunk. “Easy. I’ll use his address.”

  “Right. His address. Why didn’t I think of that? Let’s just google him. I’m sure there’s a listing for Dastardly Villain.”

  “Not google, genius. The car.”

  “The car?” Maggie squinted at the now muddy BMW.

  “Yep. The car. Hop in. I’ll explain on the way. You’ve got some espionage in your future.”

  Twenty-Nine

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Something about the explosion bothered Wolfgang all day. He watched the replay on every news outlet he could find while sitting on the edge of the hotel bed amid the wreckage of Japanese takeout, while the girls were huddled in the next room watching some comedy show. Banks was a mess but trying hard not to be. Kelly sat in stony silence, and Lucy . . .

  Lucy was something else that bothered Wolfgang. He didn’t see it when they first met, probably due to the distraction of having a sword pressed against his neck, but now that he watched her from across the room, the memories came flooding back in painful waves. Memories he hadn’t unpacked in years. Memories of another time, in another country, with another woman who bore a resemblance to Lucy that was impossible to ignore. Lucy was smaller than the other woman, and she had green eyes, not grey. She smiled a lot more, too, and certainly had more quirks. But the way she laughed, the quick snap of her wit, and the razor edge of her confidence. . . .

  Wolfgang looked away from Lucy as his mind traveled back, and he felt the damp sand beneath his feet again. He heard the wash of the waves on the seashore and the rustle of the wind in the palm trees. He felt her soft touch on his skin and the warmth of the glow in her eyes. Her fingers finding their way around his waist, pulling him in, kissing him softly . . .

  And then gunshots.

  Wolfgang winced and blinked away the memory. He refocused on the television.

  The TV flashed to a new view of the bombing, providing welcome relief from the images in his mind. This was the video he was waiting for—the long video, with more detail and clarity. It was shot at a clean angle from the northeast, about twenty feet from the bulletproof shield. That shield had probably saved the cameraman’s life, Wolfgang thought. How convenient.

  Or intentional.

  A few seconds passed. Governor Trousdale began her opening statements, then the first blast went off before a loud crack and a blast of flame. White smoke poured into the air from the base of the shield, and the camera’s view of the podium was quickly obscured as the smoke spread and screams filled the air.

  Then the second blast, much louder and much more pronounced, threw fire and fury toward the sky. The blast demonstrated all the characteristics of C4 but was much smokier than any C4 Wolfgang had ever used. It was so dirty, in fact, that the explosion failed to knock down the bulletproof shield.

  But it wasn’t the smoke or even the explosions that triggered his unease. Only milliseconds prior to the second explosion, something caught his attention in the bottom right corner of the screen. A grey flash. Something moving through the smoke and headed

  toward the podium.

  Wolfgang flipped through channels again, searching for a replay of the second bomb. It took him only a few seconds to find one, and this time he focused, waiting for that flash from the side of the screen.

  There it was. The flash was a man clad in a Louisiana State Trooper’s uniform, dashing toward the podium. The face was obscured, but the frame of the shoulders was unforgettable. Unmistakable.

  It was Reed Montgomery.

  Wolfgang flipped off the TV and stood, scooping up his keys from the nightstand. His pair of Glock 20 pistols, already suspended in shoulder holsters, swung beneath his armpits. Lucy had reluctantly returned them to him before leaving Mississippi.

  Wolfgang pulled his jacket on, then stuck his head through the door into the adjoining room. “We’re almost out of gas. I’m gonna top off the tank. Be back in a jiffy.”

  Thirty

  Interstate 10

  West of Baton Rouge

  Louisiana

  “How’s the car going to help?” Maggie asked.

  Reed passed a minivan laden with a tourist family from Oklahoma and flipped on the cruise control.

  “When Gambit hired me, I made a list of things I wanted for the job. This car was on the list.”

  Maggie snorted. “So you juiced him for a nice car. Good for you.”

  “A nice car would’ve had a V8 engine and a Chevrolet bowtie. This is a specific car.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I told Gambit the car had to have Louisiana plates and local registration.”

  Maggie puckered her lips, then realization dawned on her face. “Wait . . . local registration. There should be an address on that.”

  She reached for the glovebox, but Reed shook his head.

  “There’s an address, but it won’t get us anywhere. Gambit isn’t that stupid. These plates are probably stolen from a farm truck in a Walmart parking lot. And the registration is just a slip of paper, easily faked. That address could be a random house or an elementary school.”

  “Okay, so . . .”

  “I knew he would fake the registration, so I asked for a foreign car that he wouldn’t be able to swipe from a local automotive plant. A car that was specific enough and rare enough that he had to purchase it, in a hurry, from an authorized dealer.”

  Maggie stared at the dash a moment longer, and then a slow smile spread across her face. “Which would require an address. A real address.”

  “Yep. Dealerships process new registrations in house, requiring a verifiable address, not to mention a name and a check. All kinds of things. This stuff is all done by computer now, and even if he bought the car in Texas or Florida, I’m willing to bet that the Louisiana DMV already has the paperwork in their system and that Gambit hasn’t had a chance to doctor it yet, which gives us a narrow window of opportunity. As governor, I assume you have access to the DMV?”

  Maggie nodded. “Sure, I could get in, if you let me go.”

  “You’re not a hostage. You never were. But I think you should give serious consideration to remaining hidden. Once people know you’re alive, you’ll be put under protective custody, which will limit your ability to do anything about Gambit. And also—”

  “And also he’ll know I’m alive and kill your father.”

  Reed nodded. “Which isn’t your problem, but . . . I could use your help.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not as dumb as most politicians. And anyway, I’m already outside the law. I may as well take advantage.”

  Reed let out a mental sigh. There was always the possibility that Maggie wouldn’t play along. He was impressed by her mental fortitude and quiet confidence. If she had wanted to call the police, he couldn’t have let that happen—not while his father was a prisoner with a k
nife at this throat.

  “I guess we’re headed to Baton Rouge, then?” she said.

  “Yes. We—or you—need to get inside the DMV and pull those records without anyone knowing. Is there anybody you can trust? Somebody who would be discreet?”

  Maggie’s shoulders slumped. “Not anymore. Sharp may have, or my chief of staff, but they’re gone now. It’s just me.”

  “Okay, then. I assume you have some kind of ID? Something to get into buildings with?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got some codes and stuff. The DMV should be a relatively unrestricted building, actually. Just a basic security system and electronically locked doors. The only trouble is that my code will be logged, which will expose us, eventually.”

  “Right. But by then, it won’t matter. I’ll have my father back, and you’ll have risen from the dead.”

  Maggie nodded, but the gesture lacked enthusiasm. Reed wondered for the first time if she really wanted to be governor. He assumed that anybody who ran for office longed for the power and prestige, but maybe not Maggie. Maybe Maggie was burdened by the office. Maybe she was truly one of those people who just wanted to serve and was now broken by the extreme corruption and cynicism of the world around her.

  Maggie folded her arms, then wiggled her hips deeper into the plush leather.

  “It really is a nice car. Could use a sunroof.”

  “I ordered it without one.”

  “Why?”

  Reed grunted. “In case I roll it.”

  “In case you roll it? Should I be driving?”

  He offered a weak smile.

  “I always preferred trucks,” she said. “Or jeeps. Anything four-wheel-drive that I could get muddy in.”

  “Muddy Maggie . . .” Reed mused, a clear question hanging at the end of the sentence.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “It was in your kill file. I read all about you and your campaign. Pretty inspiring stuff. I would’ve voted for you.”

  He waited, hoping she might explain why she ran. He wasn’t sure why, but he found the subject intriguing.