Caroline stopped dead in her tracks and turned. “You’re a bad boyfriend, you know that?”
36
Lying on her surfboard, Caroline could hear the roar of the wave fast approaching and with it, her spirit soared.
Mack, standing waist-deep in the water and holding onto the board said, “I’ll get you right in the pocket. Just paddle like hell and then pop up.”
“Okay, I got this. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“In a four-foot wave? Worst case, you get slammed down into the sand bar headfirst and break your neck.”
“I’m going to choke you,” Caroline yelled, paddling with all she had as he pushed her into the biggest wave of the set.
As the wave broke, Caroline popped up and rode it for a glorious nine seconds before she lost her balance and was engulfed by the crashing water.
She quickly breached the surface and shot Mack a poisonous look. She knew she had been easily manipulated, but she couldn’t hold it for long as she cracked a huge smile.
Mack and Caroline sat on their surfboards, floating just past the surf, with the sun setting behind them. They had surfed together nonstop all afternoon, as if they were two worry-free teenagers out having the time of their lives.
“Thanks,” she said, leaning back and staring at the sky.
“For what?”
“In this fake world, you’re able to just be you.” she explained. “I admire that so much. So, thanks.”
“You’re pretty fun yourself when you let loose—plus you’re a natural at surfing.”
Caroline smiled as she looked away.
“What?” Mack asked.
“I may have had a brief skateboarding stage in my youth,” she confessed.
“You on a board? Sick!” Mack laughed.
“Never judge a book by its cover, Maxwell. You won’t believe this, but... never mind.”
“Try me,” Mack said, pulling her close to him. “You can trust me with anything.”
“What happened with your dad?” she blurted out.
“What?”
She looked at him. His eyes betrayed his secret. “You never told me about it.”
Mack licked his lips and looked down. He trailed a hand through the water, thinking. “My mom left us. Dad was devastated, but we dealt with it together for years. Then out of high school, I was drafted and left home to go play baseball. I knew he still wasn’t over her, but I left anyway. I was only gone a month, but I guess he couldn’t take the loneliness. He tried to kill himself. So, I quit baseball, gave all the money back, and came back home to take care of him. That’s it.”
“You gave up your dream,” she said.
Mack shrugged. “He’s my father. I never should have left in the first place, but I did, and now I have to accept what happened. He’s much better now. The meds he’s on are working great, but that doesn’t change what happens to me at night, or when I’m alone with my thoughts, and all I can see in my head is the image of him sitting there like a rock, so ruined and so sad… What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Was being an FBI agent your childhood dream? Or did you put all your stock into professional surfing?”
Caroline smiled at the question. “No and no. Ever since I was seven years old, I wanted to be a lawyer. I was daddy’s girl, and we talked about law constantly. My whole life, he groomed me to one day have my name next to his at his law firm. I finally get there and, well, quit after a year. Pretty pathetic, huh?”
“Why’d you quit?”
Caroline turned a little, revealing to Mack the tattoo on her back. “I wanted to help people. You’ve never looked in the mirror and realized what a phony you are. It’s not fun. I let someone get off that shouldn’t have gotten off. He hurt a child. You want to talk about not being able to live with yourself.”
A man yelled from the beach.
“It’s Mason.” Mack said.
They immediately paddled in.
“I think I found who you’re looking for,” Mason said, showing them a cell phone video of a man in a tailored suit purchasing a burner phone. “He came in earlier in the week. He wasn’t a regular.”
“That would have been nice to know,” Caroline said.
“The guy was wearing a Patek Philippe Sky Moon Tourbillion,” Mason said.
“That watch costs more than most people’s houses,” Mack said.
“You ain’t kidding,” said Mason. “When I saw the watch, I didn’t really pay attention to what he bought.”
Caroline grabbed the phone and re-watched the video. “You can’t see his face. Is there any other video or angles we can use with facial recognition software?”
“No, I double- and triple-checked. He never showed his face from under that top hat,” Mason said.
“I’d like to recheck, if it’s okay?” Caroline asked.
Mason thought for a second. “One condition.”
“Anything,” she replied.
Mason smiled. “You have to stay in that bikini.”
Scowling, Caroline covered herself up with her beach towel.
37
At 5:00 PM, news vans arrived at McCormick Place. The crews emerged from their logo-plastered vehicles, hastily setting up their equipment in time for the 6:00 PM live broadcast. For three of the four networks, this was a big story; all of them had recently been overplaying every accident they could find that involved guns.
At the front of the crusade was Channel Two’s 6:00 Action News reporter, Loretta Rains. A good friend of Wright, she was known for her liberal slant, especially on gun control. She had even been quoted as saying, “Gun manufacturers and the NRA should take responsibility for the violence in America’s inner-city neighborhoods.”
Rains was a beautiful African-American woman with straight black hair. She wore a red blazer, white blouse, and matching skirt. She played up her high cheekbones and flawless complexion—both definite pluses before the camera.
“Loretta, you look great,” Heather said as she emerged from the crowd of protesters.
“You don’t look too bad yourself. Nice suit. When people see us on camera, they’re going to start talking.” Loretta smiled.
“It would be my pleasure to be thought of in the same league as the number-one news reporter in America.”
Loretta smirked. “You sure know how to make a girl feel good.”
“Let’s go get ready for the interview.” Heather made a fist. “It’s time to be the change we want to make.”
Gabriel adjusted the scope of the tripod-mounted rifle—and reminisced about death.
His first kill-for-hire had been in his hometown of Durango, Mexico, where a Mexican politician had paid him $5,000 American to take out a rival (Gabriel had refused to be paid in pesos). The job went off with cool efficiency, but oddly enough, soon after he had been paid, that first politician had died in a freak auto accident.
Gabriel smiled. He had never been connected to that death. That kill had been fun, too—and no politician talked to Gabriel like he was a peasant.
Since then, Gabriel had worked both sides of the border, building a reputation for getting the job done in his indiscriminate, massacring way. He always brought Diablo with him, ever since kill number three. Those who knew of it called it “Gabriel’s Trumpet,” because it had called so many unfortunate souls home.
He took a deep breath, watching carefully. The second mark had arrived. Pulling off consecutive hits could be a challenge, but not here. Not with two blood-red targets side by side. He would easily get the second shot off before the second mark could even react.
He recalled the terror of his past victims, relishing all the gruesome details of the kill. Handing out death gave Gabriel an unmatchable high, as if he were an equal to his Biblical namesake, the Angel of Death, who had wiped out thousands at the behest of the Lord.
The main target dipped behind a large man.
“
Little Red Riding Hood,” Gabriel hissed, “come out where I can see you. I promise I’ll help you get to Grandma’s house. C’mon, li’l puta.”
He sucked in short, controlled breaths of air. All marks in red have to go, he thought. In his version of Biblical times, when he plays God, the red blood of the lamb is the mark of death.
To steady himself, Gabriel began to methodically whisper to himself, “Old McGabriel had a gun, E-I-E-I-O. And in his gun, he had some bullets, E-I-E-I-O. With a bang-bang there and a bang-bang here, here a bang, there a bang, everywhere a bang-bang...”
His watch beeped: 6:00 PM. Kill time.
The targets’ backs were toward him as they faced the crowd of protestors. A cameraman pointed at Loretta to signal the beginning of the live feed, and Gabriel took his final read through his scope.
“Freeze and put your hands on your head, now!”
Gabriel didn’t move.
“I will shoot you in the back of the head if you don’t put your hands up in three seconds. One…”
Gabriel threw his hands into the air, then turned around. A security guard stood five feet from him, a .38 Special pointed at Gabriel’s chest.
Gabriel smiled. He took a step toward the guard. “I was just looking for the candy store,” he said.
“On the ground, now!”
He took another aggressive step forward, “I would kill for some chocolate.”
“I said on the ground, lowlife, or I’ll shoot!” The guard’s hands shook slightly.
“BOO!” Gabriel yelled.
The guard shot him in the chest. He collapsed.
Gabriel stirred slightly. “Help...”
The guard inched toward him, the gun aimed. “Easy does it.”
“Help,” Gabriel repeated.
The guard took one hand off the gun and reached for his walkie.
That was enough time.
Gabriel leapt up like a cat and headbutted the man in the face. The gun went skidding across the floor. Gabriel pulled a blade from his back and slit the guard’s throat before the poor guy knew what had happened.
He patted his chest. “Eez Kevlar vest,” he said in an exaggerated Mexican accent as the guard bled out.
38
“People are dying, every day” said Heather. “Being frozen in a debate, refusing to act, is no longer acceptable when that inaction, that speechlessness, carries a body count. We aren’t here to argue about what we should or shouldn’t have done at the last mass shooting, we are here to stop the one that will happen tomorrow, and the one the day after that, and to save every future life we can.”
The crowd cheered. Loretta was pleased with how the interview was going; animated with conviction, the two women sat side-by-side in a pair of director’s chairs, surrounded by a large group of supporters. They were sending a powerful message through the camera.
Heather continued, “People talk about the right to bear arms, and yes that is the second amendment—an amendment thirteen years after the initial drafting of the constitution, by the way. But here is the deeper truth. Look to the Declaration of independence, look to the pre-amendment constitution... and ask what happened to the inalienable right to life and liberty of the kids from Columbine? What about the dead first graders in Newton?” The crowd became even louder as Heather scowled into the camera.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Loretta said, feeling the passion of Heather’s message. Her voice became slightly sarcastic. “But a lot of people say that this interferes with their second amendment rights. Is that a valid reason for keeping guns in the house? Or around children?”
“Again, Loretta, if you look at the facts,” Heather said, “they speak for themselves. If you want to have a gun, be willing to admit you are in a militia. Let’s get a registry. Let’s get thumbprint scanners on triggers.” She put her hand out to enumerate her statements. “Why argue against the lives saved, the security? Because schools aren’t as important as murd—”
A flat crack echoed across the parking lot as Heather Wright’s chest opened up and a red mist of blood, rib fragments and gore sprayed out onto the news camera and crowd. It was the new shot heard round the world. Heather’s lifeless body slumped in her seat and then collapsed to the concrete.
A bloodcurdling scream from the crowd broke the disbelieving silence and everyone frantically scrambled for cover.
Heather’s gruesome death momentarily paralyzed Loretta. She sat rooted to the spot, gaping at the growing pool of her friend’s blood crawling toward her feet. Then her instincts kicked in—and she rose from her chair to run.
Before she could take her first stride, her right shoulder exploded into tattered flesh and shattered bone. The force knocked her face-first to the ground, and she marveled for a mad second that she wasn’t dead.
Crippled by terror and immense pain, Loretta struggled to move, and pleaded for rescue.
No one came to help her. As her consciousness faded, she saw the abandoned news camera was still pointed right at her with the little red light on—her death was going out live on TV.
Gabriel watched through Diablo’s scope as his second mark fell. Upset with himself for missing her heart on the first shot, he decided to let her suffer a little before putting her out of her misery. The .338 Lapua Magnum bullet hadn’t killed her, but it did keep her from running.
But her suffering bored him after ten seconds. Patience wasn’t one of Gabriel’s virtues.
“Loretta Rains, will you be my valentine?” he slurred softly, as he again took aim. “I promise I’ll put this lead arrow straight through your heart.”
On live national television, Gabriel did exactly as he had promised. Loretta’s screams for help were instantly silenced as the high-powered bullet tore through her heart.
Gabriel then grabbed the rocket launcher he had laid on the ground. The crowd had scattered, so as he took aim, he muttered, “Mis pollitos—where are you hiding, mis pollitos?”
Seeing that people had taken cover behind the large news vans, he locked in and fired. The missile exploded right underneath the Channel Two van, sending it and several people into the air, on fire and in pieces. The force of the explosion blew away the nearby people and vehicles like cardboard boxes in a windstorm.
Satisfied his work was done, Gabriel carefully dismantled Diablo and returned it to its carrying case, then slung it over his shoulder. As he walked away, he smirked wickedly to himself, knowing he’d earned himself a big piece of dark chocolate.
39
In the small office of BC Electronics, Caroline was reaching her limit. Hoping to get a better idea of this mystery figure, she had been forced to watch long passes on the suspect’s watch, while Mack and Mason gawked at it idiotically.
“Got it, enough with the watch!” Caroline barked “There’s nothing here. Nothing we can use facial recognition software on.”
“We find someone wearing this watch, we find our guy,” Mack said. “You don’t just see one of these walking around. It’s beyond rare.”
“When I have twenty stores, I’m buying that watch,” Mason added.
“You two need to get a clue about wealthy men,” said Caroline. “If he has that watch, he has ten others like it.”
“It’s better than nothing,” Mack challenged.
Caroline thought for a moment. “Is there video of the parking lot?”
“Actually, yes. These punks keep tagging my wall,” Mason said. “Hang on.”
Suddenly, both Mack’s and Caroline’s phones pinged. Mack caught it first: “No way. Heather Wright and Loretta Rains were assassinated live during an interview!”
“That’s terrible. I love Loretta.”
“We got a flight to catch to Chicago,” Mack said, then turned to Mason. “Text me if you find anything, like that guy’s plate number.”
“Do you think…?” Caroline asked, horrified. “Oh my...”
“What?”
“Mack...
oh my God...”
“What is it?”
“Heather Wright, Mack. Wright. That was one of the names on that list. She’s dead because of me.”
40
The silver moon hung on the backdrop of the twin peaks of Camelback Mountain. Bic, lying in the brush with his trusty pair of binocs, watched Steven Vorg working in his office. With the twenty-four delay, he couldn’t risk the chance of a man this important being called away suddenly for business. He wanted to keep close tabs on Vorg until tomorrow.
Bic was interrupted by a text message from Hawk, his only lifelong friend and the PI whom he had hired to find his father.
“Good lead.”
Bic dialed him.
“You found him?”
“Brother, I said I had a good lead—that’s it,” Hawk replied.
“You find him, you—”
“I know, brother—I got you on speed dial.” Hawk assured. “How’s the little girl?”
“Just finished her final Ph.D.,” said Bic. “She’s gonna do it. I know she is.”
“A true blessing, that girl is, to guys like you and me …” Hawk’s voice got serious. “Hey, this isn’t your usual deal, is it? Seems like you’re crossing some lines you haven’t in the past.”
Bic understood Hawk’s meaning. “I agreed to it. It had to be clean, and no kids.”
“Can’t blame a brother for making sure his people are safe,” said Hawk. “But seriously, be careful. There’s a lot of strange goings on. Some of my people tell me a lot of Russians have come to port. And not the tourist kind, know what I mean? And there’s rumor of some kind of shake up happening—in high places.”
Bic listened without comment. Hawk had a streak of paranoia in him. It’s what made him good at his job. “Don’t worry about that. Call me when you get more.”
“I will. And Bic, maybe get yourself a burner.”
Bic hung up. But his friend’s remarks made him think. This was the biggest fee he had ever drawn, and the most precise intel he had ever gotten. How powerful were his employers? He was making enough seed money to fund Gracie’s biotech startup—
Black Ghost Page 9
