The sound of a steel pipe colliding with facial bones was one that Marc, and certainly the driver, had probably never heard before, and not one either would soon forget. The green glow from the object the driver had been holding slipped from his hand and now lay on the vehicle’s front passenger seat.
Although the initial shattering of the car’s window seemed to take the backseat passenger by surprise, he recovered quickly. The man grasped his Meerschaum with his right hand and leaned forward, extending his free arm through the split between the front two seats, frantically patting the passenger seat, feeling for the device. Marc again reared back and, with the precision and power of a Major Leaguer, swung the steel pipe through the vehicle’s rear door window. Another dinger. The length of steel glanced off the back of the Meerschaum man’s head as his hand was about to grasp the device.
Marc opened the driver’s door and retrieved the glowing cell phone from the front passenger seat and slid it into his pants pocket. He pulled the unconscious driver from the car and laid him on the pavement. It was then that he noticed the boots the driver was wearing. They were the boots that the man who accompanied Akhtar had been wearing at the Aiken Irrigation plant earlier that evening. Then, he pulled the dazed Meerschaum man from the back seat and laid him next to the driver.
Marc pressed his intercom button and advised mission control of his situation. As he was doing this, he saw two sets of flashing blue lights rounding the corner of the building that separated the parking lot from the street on the other side. Two Georgia State Patrol cars screeched to a halt in front of the black sedan. A single trooper emerged from each vehicle, guns drawn.
“Received that, and thanks. We’ll advise the state of your position,” the voice of mission control responded.
As the troopers approached, Marc dropped the pipe, then raised his hands.
He identified himself, “Officers, my name is Marc LaRose. I’m working with the U.S. Office of Secure Transportation. We believe these gentlemen were intent on blowing up a shipment of nuclear materials.” Marc motioned toward the line of flashing lights along the interstate.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” one of the troopers asked as he looked from the bleeding men sprawled on the pavement to the pipe lying nearby. “We got a call to check out a suspicious vehicle parked behind that building,” he said, motioning to the warehouse behind them. “We get here and find you and them,” he said, glancing toward the bodies sprawled on the ground. “Right now, mister, you need to get down on the pavement, arms out to your side.”
Marc knew the drill and complied.
Over his intercom, Marc heard, “Marc LaRose, are you still there? I see blue lights coming from your position.”
“Boys, if you don’t mind, I think the convoy carrying the nuclear material is trying to communicate with me,” Marc said.
He watched as the troopers exchanged a glance. This was obviously something they had not expected and were apparently unsure about how to proceed.
“Better call Troop HQ and tell them what we got. Also advise them we’ll need an ambulance,” one of them said to the other.
“Mister Marc LaRose, mission control speaking, what is your situation?” Marc heard on his personal intercom. He lay still, watching, and waiting for the troopers to react.
Then, the older of the troopers went to where Marc was lying. He knelt down and frisked his backside and asked him to roll over. “He’s clean.”
The trooper motioned toward Marc, “Mr. LaRose, you’re free to respond to your mission control.”
“Mission control, this is Marc LaRose. The state police are here. We have two subjects in custody that I suspect were about to initiate an explosion on the interstate.”
“Roger that, Mister LaRose. Great work.”
The voice of mission control continued, “G-1 and 2, break off from the convoy, take the next U-turn and proceed to Mister LaRose’s location. You’ll see the state trooper’s blue lights in the parking lot. G-3 advises the situation with the tank truck has been remedied. A hazardous materials unit has been called to that location. T-1, follow your GPS coordinates around the disabled vehicle and proceed as planned. G-2 and G-3 will accompany you. I am contacting the Georgia State Police and will apprise them of our situation.”
A few minutes later, an ambulance arrived along with two Atlanta city police vehicles. The driver of the sedan was tended to as he lay on the pavement. It was obvious he had lost some blood due to the blow that Marc had inflicted with the iron pipe, but appeared to be regaining consciousness. As both men were loaded into the ambulance, the Meerschaum man looked over at Marc who was standing off to one side. “See you around, Mister LaRose,” he said with a twisted grin.
Marc reached inside the sedan and recovered the meerschaum pipe where it lay on the floor of the vehicle. He reared back and flung it to the other end of the deserted parking lot. Even through the dim lighting, Marc saw fragments of meerschaum scatter as the pipe hit the pavement. “Don’t think you’ll need that where you’re going,” he said.
The man’s grin slowly disappeared as the rear doors of the ambulance slammed shut. The ambulance turned and, with its siren emitting a loud wail, left the lot with one of the police vehicles following behind.
“We’ll need a statement from you about what happened here,” the remaining police officer said. Marc was still distracted with the ambulance as it left the area. “Sorry officer, were you saying something?”
“He said he wanted you to give him a statement.”
A man approached Marc from where he had been standing in the shadows of the parking lot.
“Oh yeah, sure,” Marc said, somewhat confused by the appearance of this third man, although his voice sounded familiar. He was dressed in fatigues similar to Charlie and the rest of the men in the MGT. He approached the police officer and flashed his ID. “We’ll be taking care of any statements, officer. You good with that?”
The officer glanced at the man’s ID. “Uh, yeah, I guess. Anything we can do, just let us know, sir.” With that, the police officer retreated to his vehicle.
The man turned toward Marc and held out his hand.
“You must be Mission Control,” Marc said, taking the man’s hand in a firm handshake.
“Before we leave the area and wrap this up, I just wanted to meet the man who saved us - and the city of Atlanta - a lot of trouble. Great job, Mister LaRose.”
“Yeah, well, uh, thank you, I guess. But, you know, I had a lot of help.”
“If you’re referring to Rebecca Tripp and the rest of the team, you’re right. I just wanted to personally thank you for your service. And just so you know, we have plans for Ms. Tripp as well. I think she’d be a big asset to our team.”
“I’d have to agree,” Marc said.
The man turned, then hesitated. “Of course, you understand, what happened here tonight didn’t really happen, if you know what I mean.”
“I guess. As long as you have all the details,” Marc said.
The man hesitated, his expression serious. “If you’re referring to Mr. Akhtar and his surveillance capabilities, yes, I believe we have. He’d actually been on our radar since he located to Jackson a little over a year ago. Unfortunately, we underestimated his reach. I have it on good authority that the issue is being dealt with as we speak.”
Marc thought about what he’d heard. “Well then, if my services are no longer required, any chance of getting a lift back to Aiken?”
“Of course. One of our MGT’s should be here shortly.”
Marc saw another set of headlights turning toward them from the street.
“As a matter of fact, looks like your ride is approaching as we speak.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The MGT with Charlie at the wheel, the same one that had brought Marc to Atlanta, came to a stop just short of where the two men were standing. Marc saw Rebecca smiling at him through the vehicle’s side window.
Marc looked back at the man
he knew only as Mission Control. “You’re sure the police won’t need my statement regarding what happened this evening?”
The man had already turned to leave. “It’s all taken care of. Have a pleasant ride back to Aiken, Mr. LaRose.”
With that, Mission Control climbed into a waiting MGT and left the area.
“Never figured you to be a big swinger - with an iron pipe that is,” Rebecca said as their MGT turned onto the I-20 on-ramp headed back to Aiken.
“Bad news travels fast. He was lucky I only had the pipe.”
“Word is he has a nice concussion that should keep him in the hospital a few days. So, how’s that lucky for him?”
“If I had had my H&K 40 caliber, he’d be spending the night in the morgue.”
They rode in silence for a few miles as the bright lights of Atlanta slowly dimmed in the rearview mirror.
Marc glanced at his watch. It was 12:30 in the morning, and he knew Laura wanted to leave for Columbia shortly after breakfast. With the two-hour drive to Aiken in front of him, he knew he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight.
“I understand you were offered a job with the federal government,” Marc said.
Rebecca glanced over at Marc. “Talk about news travelling fast.”
“Yeah, so what do you think?”
“I haven’t actually accepted the offer. But given what I saw tonight, the work looks challenging, so I guess, yeah, I’m considering it. What’s next for you?”
“Barring another national security incident, I’m heading back to the relative peace and quiet of the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York, first thing tomorrow morning.”
“I’ve never been there,” she said.
“You should try it sometime. The change might do you good.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Been living here in the South since I was born. It’s the only life I know. Besides, I looked Plattsburgh up on the map. Seems like it’s smack dab in the middle of nowhere.”
They both rode in silence for a few miles.
“So, how did you find out I lived in Plattsburgh?” Marc asked.
With the dim green light from the vehicle’s dashboard that seeped over the front seatbacks, Marc thought he noticed a smile on Rebecca’s face.
“Ever heard of the internet?” she asked. “I was curious after we met at the Savannah River Golf Links, so I Googled your name. Amazing what you can find out about someone with just a few keystrokes.”
“Okay. What else did you learn besides the fact the City of Plattsburgh is located at the top of New York State, a long, long way from New York City.”
“Well, outside the fact that Plattsburgh played a pivotal role in the War of 1812, not much. But I did learn that you’re apparently no stranger to excitement.”
“Oh, really?”
“Well, first off there was something about a wild train ride you were involved in that left Montreal for New York City and ended up in Lake Champlain.”
“Yeah, well, you see…” Marc started, but was cut off as Rebecca continued.
“Then there was this thing about a foiled terrorist plot to take the Village of Lake Placid out of future Olympic contention.”
“Well, it really wasn’t…” Marc started.
“Those were just the articles I had time to read before we met up last evening. But there were a few more, and from those and what I’ve seen so far this evening, it appears, Mr. LaRose, you don’t have to look for trouble. Trouble seems to have you on speed dial.”
“Actually, my number’s unlisted, but these days even the telemarketers have no trouble finding me.”
Marc noticed the exit sign for the city of Thompson, Georgia reflecting in their vehicle’s headlights coming up. He figured they were about forty minutes from Aiken.
“So, what time you think you’ll be leaving?” Rebecca asked.
“We fly out of Columbia. I believe our plane departs around two-thirty in the afternoon, so I figure we’ll have to be on the road by ten or so.”
“I see. So, uh, how would you like to spend the rest of the night at my place?” Rebecca asked.
She said this while looking straight ahead, appearing to watch the white lines on the road sweeping by the vehicle.
Marc glanced at the dashboard clock, then back over at Rebecca. “Sure, I’ll just need a lift back to Rose Hill in the morning.”
“That can be arranged,” she replied. “I just have to retrieve my SUV. It’s still parked in Phillip’s driveway,” Rebecca said.
“Yeah, along with my gun. Is that going to be a problem, I mean, with Phil and all?”
It was her turn to glance at the time. “It shouldn’t. He’ll be at work, won’t be home for another few hours, maybe a little longer with all that’s occurred this evening.”
Rebecca gave the MGT driver Phillip’s address.
It was after 3 a.m. when Rebecca turned the SUV into her condo’s parking lot on the outskirts of Aiken. Her unit was nestled in the center of about ten others, and, like many condominiums, the only difference between one unit and another was the unit number attached to the door. Marc followed as she led the way to the entrance. Upon entering, he noticed that the interior, although a bit small for Marc’s taste, appeared quite neat.
“I know it’s getting late, but you think we have time for a drink?” Rebecca asked.
“After what we’ve been through tonight, I think that should be a requirement. Whatever you’re having will do.”
She disappeared around the corner to where Marc suspected was the kitchen area, “I have vodka and bourbon.”
“Bourbon, with ice, please.”
As he listened to the sounds of Rebecca preparing the drinks, he glanced around the living room. Like Phillip’s trailer, there was a wall mounted flat screen TV hanging opposite a reclining chair, about half the size of Phillip’s. There was also a coffee table and an end table with a lamp, and a couch.
“So, where’s your dog?” Marc asked.
“My dog?” she answered. There was the sound of ice cubes being dropped into glasses.
“Yeah. At the golf tournament, I saw you with a Belgian Malinois.”
“Oh, you mean Buster. Yeah, when I’m not working, I board him at a kennel. I don’t have a lot of room here, and besides, the security company pays the kennel fees. He’s a great companion and a super drug sniffer.”
Marc took a seat at one the end of the couch. Rebecca reappeared, holding two glasses of brown liquid.
“Looks like I found another bourbon fan,” Marc said.
Rebecca handed Marc a glass and took a seat next to him.
“How many other bourbon fans have had the pleasure of your company, Mr. LaRose?” she asked, peering over her glass.
Ignoring her query, Marc brought the glass up to his nose and inhaled. He took a sip and savored the aroma of his drink. “Um, Wild Turkey,” he said.
“You’re as bad as Buster. He knows drugs, you obviously know your bourbons. Is there anything else you can tell from a single sip?” she asked.
Marc held his glass up to the light, examining its contents. “I believe it’s Wild Turkey’s Long Branch brand,” he said, then hesitated, giving his drink another swirl. “The notes of aged Texas mesquite charcoal are a dead giveaway. It appears you appreciate good whiskey,” Marc said. He then took another slow sip and held it in his mouth for a long moment before swallowing. “Yep, sweet heat, definitely Long Branch. Haven’t had this lately, but it’s good to be back,” Marc said.
“Glad you like it. You know, Marc, quality bourbon isn’t the only thing I appreciate.”
The sexual inference was not lost on him. “So, you’re really going to accept that offer to work for the Office of Secure Transportation?”
Rebecca hesitated. “Probably. The security job I had at the golf tournament is done, although I’m sure I could work for them somewhere else. But OST is close by, right there at the Site. Federal benefits are good, looks like there’ll always be work to do and they
like the fact that I have a trained police dog.”
As Marc was thinking how to respond, he noticed the flash of car headlights through the picture window facing the parking lot. Probably someone coming home from a late shift, he figured. He took another slow drink and set his glass on the coffee table.
“So, what time do you think you’ll be leaving?” she asked.
“Whenever you want me out of here, or 7:00 a.m., whichever comes first.” As he spoke, he noticed a shadow flit across the panels of sheer curtain covering the window. Then the shadow stopped. Someone was standing outside the window. Marc put a forefinger to his lips, leaned over and grabbed the half empty bottle of Wild Turkey by its neck. With his free hand, he switched off the lamp sitting next to him on the end table.
“Marc, what’s the…” Rebecca started, but stopped when she felt Marc’s hand grab her arm and pull her down to the carpet. “Oh, so you want to do this in the dark, huh?”
“You still have your car keys on you?” Marc asked, his voice tense.
“Yeah, but…”
“Hit the panic button.”
“But Marc, why…”
“Someone’s lurking outside your front door. Do it…”
Rebecca had her car keys in her hand, and as she pressed the emergency button, a volley of gunfire came through the door’s window glass, striking the wall and the back of the couch where Marc had been sitting seconds before.
As Rebecca’s SUV horn blared, Marc pulled her along the condo’s floor toward the curtain-covered window. When they reached the wall just below the window, another volley of gunfire came through the glass, punching holes in the curtain. A moment later, Marc heard the condo’s front door rattle. Someone was trying the doorknob, but it was locked. Marc slid across the floor toward the door, keeping close to the wall.
Suddenly the door burst open, followed by a large work boot. Then the silhouette of a man holding what appeared to be a gun filled the now-open door.
Masters of Terror: A Marc LaRose Mystery Page 22
