Jeannine noted the possessive “our,” but chose to ignore it.
“You need to go to the cafeteria now. There’ll be no news about Denise for hours.”
She dragged him from the waiting room and pushed him ahead of her. As they turned the corner, she looked back. Two policemen had arrived at the door to the waiting room.
“Bill, the police are here. We must go.”
“I have to see how Denise does. You can’t mind that.”
“This isn’t about me, Bill. Denise has a gunshot wound. The police have been notified. They’ll arrest you. Get in the elevator.”
A policeman rounded the corner of the hallway just as Jeannine hit the button for “One.”
Through closed doors she heard the shout.
“You! You in the elevator, wait!”
Arrived on the first floor, she looked back. No policeman was in sight.
She led Bill outside.
***
Henri and Angelique were blocks away from the hospital, when Angelique sat at attention. She could wait no longer.
“Tell me, Henri, did SÉGAG tell you to kill Denise Guerry?
“Angelique, you have to understand.”
“Understand that you would kill someone to save your own life? No, I don’t have to understand, and I don’t.”
Her tone hardened.
“SÉGAG wants Maximilien Gutera to rule Rwanda. Another genocide! And you do what they tell you?”
“It was only one job, and it was to protect you too. Denise wanted you dead.”
“Denise is sorry for what she did. She told me.”
“And you believe her? You are naive.”
“Maybe, but I trust God, and I know he can change us. What you saw in my country, the rapes, the killings, made you bitter. I saw more and was more bitter and hate-filled than you. God took that away. I want justice for the Interahamwe, but the hate and bitterness are gone. He changed me. He can change Denise and you too.”
“But, Angelique.”
“No. You pretended to be a doctor to get into the surgery area. A doctor of death, not life. If I had not found you, Denise would be dead and you would have her blood on your hands. God did not want that. He sent me to stop you.”
Henri could not reply. Angelique drooped, exhausted.
“I’m tired. I want my normal life back. I want to go back to the university. Take me to Florence. I have a thesis to finish.”
Henri remained silent. Eyes straight ahead, he turned onto Route 521 and headed inland towards I-95, and Florence.
Has she forgotten that Gutera and his thugs are in Florence?
Moments later, Angelique leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Henri, forgive me. I should not have said all those things. You believed you were protecting me. Thank you.”
He stopped on the shoulder and kissed her. She drew back.
“Henri, you must forgive Denise for my sake. She is sorry.”
She beat his arm with her fist.
“And never again tell me how desirable she is!”
***
Bill and Jeannine were a block away from the Georgetown Memorial Hospital, when several police cars, sirens blaring and lights revolving, arrived. Jeannine spoke.
“That’s more than a casual search. The FBI must have ID’d you. We just got away in time.”
Bill did not respond. Jeannine frowned.
He’s worried for Denise.
Jeannine decided to head to North Charleston.
***
******
Chapter 45
Friday, September 7
At the North Charleston terminal, Superintendant Ralph Morris sat at his desk. Tired as he was from his all night vigil, he dared not leave. He looked at his watch. It was past eleven, and the guards at the gate had yet to notify him of James Hyde’s arrival. Where was he?
Morris wanted that container. The Étoile d’Afrique would not depart without it.
He fidgeted with the papers on his desk.
Damn it, Hyde, hurry. You’ll get your bonus anyway, just get that container here.
He rose from his desk and began to pace.
***
On I-26, Maximilien Gutera stepped out of the gray Audi onto the shoulder of the highway. He stared at his motionless rig and waved his arms in desperation at the driver.
“Senteli, you fool. Why have you stopped? There is nothing here but pine woods. What are you doing?”
Claude Senteli stepped down from the cab of the container truck and examined the driver-side fuel tank. Fuel dribbled from multiple holes near the bottom of the cylinder. He turned to his chief and pointed.
“Whoever shot Pierre and that driver, hit the fuel tank. It’s almost empty. This truck is going nowhere.”
“Idiot, there’s a tank on the other side. Surely, it was not hit.”
“It was empty when we started. Hamm must have siphoned the fuel out. He did not want this truck to move.”
Maximilien huffed in exasperation.
“You make no sense. He would have emptied this side too.”
Claude leaned over the tank.
“He couldn’t. This tank has a device that stops siphoning.”
He turned back to Maximilien.
“We can unhook this truck and leave it here. Call Superintendant Morris to send us another cab to hook up to this trailer. We can still be at the terminal this afternoon. The ship will wait for us.”
Normally, Claude would never have dared to address his chief with a command, but there was no time to waste. Besides he was tired of Maximilien’s imperious attitude.
Maximilien grunted. He would deal with the insolent Claude after they sailed for Mombasa. For now, he complied and drew his cell phone from its pocket.
In seconds, superintendant Morris was on the line. Maximilien shouted into the phone.
“You’re the superintendant. Get me another truck. Now!”
***
Claude Senteli got to work while Maximilien Gutera spewed further frustration at superintendant Morris. Time was precious.
Fortunately, Claude was no stranger to trucking.
He circled the rig and checked the parking brakes on the trailer and cab. Then he tugged the safety handle to release the jaws of the truck’s “fifth wheel” and free the trailer’s kingpin. He succeeded but his hand came away coated with grease.
He wiped it as best he could and cranked the landing legs down to the ground. Then he mounted the catwalk to detach the coiled “Suzies,” electric and air connections, from the trailer. That done, he released the truck’s air suspension to lower the fifth wheel clear of the kingpin.
There was just enough fuel in the perforated tank for Claude to start the truck and guide it down a slight slope out of the way of the trailer with the container.
Done!
Claude stood back. The trailer was ready for coupling as soon as the new truck arrived.
He turned back only to face an angry Maximilien, his face distorted in an ominous scowl. Evidently, the chief did not like to be surpassed by an underling in any capacity, even knowing how to uncouple a trailer.
Oddly, Claude was not afraid. He spoke.
“The trailer is ready for coupling as soon as Morris’s truck arrives.”
Gutera suppressed his anger. There would be time for that later. He nodded to Claude, and sat in the gray Audi to wait.
His bodyguard stood by the car, an AK-47 hanging loose at his side.
***
At the North Charleston terminal, Superintendant Morris stood up from his desk. How had that madman Gutera gained possession of the truck? And where was James Hyde, the driver?
Gutera had been unwilling to give Morris any information concerning James. But Morris could guess.
James Hyde was dead.
And he was equally sure that any driver he sent with a truck to aid the madman, would end up like James, dead.
Morris could not send another man to his death. Damn you Gutera!
>
No amount of kickbacks and bribes was worth another life!
The superintendant was a large man who had come up through the ranks. Though now a manager, he identified with his workers rather than his superiors. The evident death of James Hyde, his young worker, angered him. He drew a Smith and Wesson .38 revolver from the side draw and stuffed it in his belt at the rear.
He was still afraid of Gutera, but no longer terrified into inaction. He called the garage to requisition a truck. He would drive it himself.
Fifteen minutes later he was on Remount Road headed towards the I-26 interchange.
***
When Stew Marks arrived at the site on I-26 where the bodies of Pierre Sehene and James Hyde had been found, both the bodies and Jack Marino were gone. After confirming that a big rig had been involved in the collision with the black Audi, Stew headed back southeast towards Summerville.
Rounding a curve, he spotted an uncoupled flatbed trailer on the shoulder to his right. On it was a Kenya-Carolina container, and parked next to it to it was a gray Audi. A tall black man peered from behind the car, apparently scanning the passing traffic.
A Rwandan? And Maximilien’s rockets?
Stew continued southeast without stopping. Shortly, he found a breach in the median used by police to wait for speeders. He crossed and headed back west towards the trailer. He would use the numerous pines on the median as shelter from which to observe whatever was going down.
Opposite the trailer, he parked on the shoulder to his right and dashed across the westbound lanes to the median. There he crouched behind thick shrubby pines. The Audi was there, but the black man guarding it was gone. Stew watched, as a second man (Claude Senteli) approached, opened the trunk and drew out a large object.
A grenade launcher!
Mouth open, Stew watched as the man clicked a Rocket-Propelled Grenade in the launcher and aimed it across the highway at the tree that sheltered Stew.
Stew ducked.
Tortured seconds passed before Stew heard a shout from across the highway.
“Claude, don’t shoot. Put that launcher away. Now!”
Stew could never forget that voice. Maximilien Gutera, his interrogator.
Claude obeyed. He detached the grenade from the launcher and shoved both items into the trunk. He turned, hands empty, as a police car, red-light twirling, arrived.
A state trooper, hand on holstered weapon, stepped out and walked to where Maximilien and Claude stood. The trooper addressed Maximilien.
“Is there a problem, Sir? Is that your trailer?”
Before Maximilien could answer, a Port Authority truck with nothing in tow arrived. Stew watched as a man stepped down from the cab.
“Officer, I’m superintendant Morris from the North Charleston terminal. That’s my container on the trailer. They ran out of fuel, that’s all. These men were watching it for me. I’m here to take it to the terminal. I’ve a ship waiting.”
He moved to Maximilien.
“Thank you, Sir, for your help.”
With no further words, Morris climbed back into his cab.
Smoothly, he backed up so that the notch of his fifth wheel was under the trailer’s kingpin. He engaged the air suspension to raise the wheel, and backed a few inches more to set the safety jaws about the pin.
Morris signaled Claude to winch the landing legs up while he connected the cables for air and electricity to the trailer.
Maximilien did not speak. The state trooper watched in silence as superintendant Morris mounted the cab and prepared to drive off with the trailer and container.
Stew knew he had to intervene.
***
Stew slipped the Beretta’s safety off and started to rise.
But a metal barrel pressed into his back, pushing him to the ground on top of his gun.
Who? The bodyguard!
He had not been in sight when Stew had returned.
Why doesn’t he shoot? Of course! He’s waiting for the trooper to leave.
The gun pressed harder against Stew’s spine.
From across the highway, Stew heard Maximilien shout.
“Claude, get in that truck. Go with Superintendant Morris. Do not let him go by himself.”
Moments later, both truck doors slammed, and the truck roared off.
The pressure on Stew’s spine did not lessen.
***
Maximilien Gutera watched as the trailer with his rockets disappeared down the highway. He looked back, to see the state trooper leaning over the fuel tank of the truck that was left behind.
“Sir, did you see this tank. These are bullet holes. Someone shot up this truck.”
Maximilien frowned. The trooper continued.
“Someone tried to hijack that trailer. What do you know about that? Was that driver really from the Port Authority?”
Maximilien stayed silent.
“Sir, help me. Answer my questions.”
The trooper’s face turned red. He drew his Glock.
“Sir, are you carrying a weapon?”
Maximilien panicked. He shouted across the highway to his bodyguard on the median. In fear, he reverted to a mix of the languages of his youth, Kinyarwanda and French.
Ngwino umfashe! Help me! Lui tirer dessus! Shoot him!”
The bodyguard shifted his AK-47 from Stew’s back, and fired.
“BrBrup, ..., BrBrup.”
“Crack.”
The trooper’s Glock discharged into the ground as he fell.
Instantly the bodyguard turned back to Stew, but the latter had rolled to his side and freed the Beretta from under his body.
“Crack, Crack.”
The bodyguard was pushed backwards.
“Crack!”
Stew’s last shot pierced the heart. The bodyguard toppled backwards, dead.
From across the road, Stew heard the sound of a motor. He jumped to his feet in time to see Maximilien Gutera at the wheel as the gray Audi sped away.
Left behind among the weeds on the shoulder was the crumpled form of the state trooper. A second highway patrol car had stopped behind the first. The trooper’s backup had arrived too late.
Stew withdrew through the pines and crossed the opposite lanes to his car.
***
In the Intensive Care Unit at the Georgetown Memorial Hospital, Denise Guerry stirred.
Bill? Where?
The nurse checked her vitals as Denise drifted off again.
A baby was vomiting from radiation poisoning. Nearby, an African woman lay moaning and retching by the shore of a lake. Non!
Denise shook all over. The nurse covered her with a blanket.
***
******
Chapter 46
Friday, September 7
Oh Highway 17A, near Monck’s Corner, South Carolina, Jack Marino slammed his phone on the dashboard of the car. From the passenger seat Sam Smith spoke.
“What’s wrong, Jack?”
“The Georgetown cops missed Hamm at the hospital. Idiots.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Take the phone. See if you can reach Stew Marks.”
Sam complied, but there was no answer. Jack nodded.
“I’m turning around. We’re going back to North Charleston.”
No sooner had he spoken, than a blue Ford passed them in the other direction.
Jack gaped. The driver was a woman with red hair.
Ryan! And the man with her must be Hamm!
Jack spun the wheel. Tires screeched as Sam’s shoulder was flung against the passenger door. The car swung about and ended in the opposite lanes, headed after the Ford.
Jack hammered the accelerator.
His prey were no longer in sight, but they would be soon.
***
Jeannine Ryan drove Bill Hamm’s Ford on Highway 17A near Moncks Corner, South Carolina.
Bill nudged her shoulder.
“Don’t look in the mirror, but someone is following us.”
&
nbsp; “What do you want me to do?”
“We’ll be at Moncks Corner soon. Highway 52 turns right, and Highway 17A continues straight ahead. Take Highway 52. Maybe that car is not after us. Maybe it will stay on 17A.”
Jeannine turned right onto Highway 52. Bill studied the mirror.
The car had turned with them.
Jeannine turned to Bill.
“Bill, do you have a gun? We don’t know who is behind us.”
“I have the Beretta I took from Ian Callahan.”
Jeannine pressed her lips together and drove. Moments later her cell phone buzzed. She put it on speaker.
“Jeannine, this is Stew, is Hamm with you?”
Bill spoke.
“I’m here. What do you want?”
“Gutera got his truck back. The rockets are headed back to North Charleston. I’m headed there now, but I’m far out on I-26. Where are you?”
“We’re past Goose Creek, on Highway 52. We’re a lot closer than you.”
“Hamm, you have to stop them while they’re still in port. Marino won’t notify the police or the Coast Guard. He thinks you’re using Gutera and his thugs as a scapegoat. He doesn’t believe there is a plot. He says you made it up as a diversion.”
“Someone’s been following us since Moncks Corner.”
“A maroon Ford Crown Vic?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Marino. What will you do?”
“I’ll think of something. I can’t shoot back, he may be wrong-headed but he’s still FBI.”
“Hamm, you have to ditch him. Those rockets must not leave port.”
The connection was broken.
***
Bill turned to Jeannine.
“We need to give Marino the slip. They’re hanging back so we won’t spot them. There’s a Burger King ahead. Speed up and turn as fast as you can.”
The Carolina Coup: Another Rwandan Genocide? (The Jeannine Ryan Series Book 4) Page 31
