by Tinnean
He took out his cell phone and dialed a number that wasn’t in his contact list. Deuce picked up on the second ring.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Jameson. I need you to round up a few men and drive down to Savannah. I’ll explain what I want you to do when I see you.”
“Why don’t you explain it now? Just so I know who to bring with me.”
Eric was about to glare at the phone, but that made sense. “I’ll need someone to pose as a utility man. No one suspects the gas man.”
“Ah. We’ll be doing a little reconnoitering. Got it. Okay, Boss. I’ll see who’s available.”
“Fine, fine. And make sure whatever vehicle you bring with you is untraceable.”
“Are you telling me how to do my job?” He made a scoffing sound. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Right. Call me as soon as you get here.” One way or the other, he planned to get his hands on the kid.
“Will do. Anything else?”
Eric stared back at the bitch. “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
Chapter 5
JAMESON WANTED THE job done as soon as possible, so by Friday, January 11, Deuce had his men down in Savannah and in position. The morning had been busy, and the afternoon was going to be even busier.
Deuce pulled the SCANA Energy truck he’d appropriated into the parking lot of the motel where Jameson was staying and grinned.
It was on the outside of town and kind of rundown—he’d been in it to get his orders when he first arrived in Savannah with three other men he knew he could trust. The carpeting was worn, the bedding smelled of mothballs, and mold grew in all the corners of the tiny bathroom. Deuce had lived in worse places, but he was willing to bet his butt Jameson was pissed as hell to have to stay there.
He tapped on the door.
“Yes?”
“It’s Deuce.”
There was the sound of the lock being turned, and then the door opened. Jameson stood there in a cardigan sweater. He shivered as the chill January breeze slipped past Deuce and hit him. The temperature was in the mid-forties, and he had the heat in the room cranked up.
Deuce could see how uncomfortable he was and made a point to conceal his distain. College boys. Jameson had been ready to give up on surveillance. It was a good thing Deuce was on the job. And it was a good thing Georgia natives had their lawns mowed no matter the time of year.
“Shut the door.” Jameson turned away and stalked toward the small sofa. He threw himself down on it and negligently crossed his legs. “What have you got for me?”
“Ace, Stan, and Trip are keeping an eye on the place.” He’d worked with these men often, and trusted them. Right now they were riding lawnmowers, blowing the grass cuttings into the street, and edging the sidewalk a few houses away from the Jackson place. Their job was to learn as much as they could about the area.
Some people were gonna come home from work and be surprised to find their yards manicured.
Deuce’s men would have tried for the Jackson property itself, but it turned out Jackson preferred to mow his lawn himself, although he left trimming the shrubs to a couple of guys from his construction crew.
“And?”
“You were right. No one suspects the gas man. They were having a barbecue and I went to read the meter on the next house over, which was some distance away from them. They didn’t pay any attention to me, but I was close enough to overhear their plans. Jackson’s going to Home Depot after the barbecue—he wants to pick up lumber to build a small shed—” Or something. “The woman and the kid are going with him. We can grab them there.”
“What about Jackson?”
“What about him?”
“I asked some questions about him, and it seems he’s very protective.”
“Boss—” Jesus, Deuce hoped Jameson hadn’t blown their plans sky high. Dr. Gautier, the person he really worked for, wouldn’t be happy; and when Dr. G. wasn’t happy, no one was happy.
Jameson hadn’t worked for her long enough to realize that.
Jameson scowled at him. “I made inquiries as to a reliable contractor.” It was obvious he didn’t like having to explain himself.
Yeah, well Deuce didn’t like winding up dead or in jail. Dr. Gautier paid well, but she wasn’t the sort who put herself out for her… employees.
“Don’t get your shorts in a twist.” Deuce kept his tone relaxed. “If Jackson gets in the way, we’ll just remove him.”
***
DEUCE AND HIS men were waiting in the parking lot when Jackson, the woman, and the kid arrived.
Jackson was a big man, about six foot three, and he probably topped the scales at two twenty. He actually paid attention to his surroundings. Deuce hadn’t had enough time to scope the situation, and Jameson was too much of an amateur to do that. They’d have to stay frosty, or things weren’t going to end well.
“Okay, Ace, keep an eye on the big guy. When you see an opportunity, take him out.” Guns going off tended to make people nervous, made them run away. They also weren’t likely to pay attention to who was shooting those guns, in too much of a hurry to get out of the line of fire. “Stan, after Ace shoots Jackson, bring the Hummer around to the front of the store and let it idle. Trip, you and I will grab the woman and the kid. As soon as we get them in the backseat, Stan, you put the pedal to the metal and get us out of here.”
Stan turned his head and grinned at him, a toothpick dangling from between his lips. “Not a problem, Boss.”
“Don’t let Jameson hear you call me that.”
Stan just continued grinning.
“Deuce, what about the other guy?” Ace asked.
Yeah; the other guy. They hadn’t been expecting him. As it turned out, Jackson and the woman were accompanied by another man, who was holding the kid’s hand. The man was unremarkable—under average height and he looked so skinny a strong breeze would blow him over.
“Shoot him as well.”
“Any preference as to where?” Ace took out his gun and made sure the safety was off and a round was chambered. Not that Deuce had to worry about him. They’d worked together before.
Deuce gave it some thought. He knew Ace was a good shot and would nail whatever his target was. “Go for a head shot for him.”
They’d already decided on shooting the big guy in the chest. Ace had narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment, then nodded. “You want me to hit the big artery.”
“Yeah. All that blood will either get people scared or wanting to help.” And with the other guy… well, people tended to get skeeved when the back of a head exploded out followed by brain matter.
Either way, it would give them time to get away.
“When do you want us to make our move?”
“We’ll wait until they come out.”
Jackson had grabbed one of those flatbed carts and the woman had a shopping cart. The four of them strolled into the big store. Well, the adults strolled. The kid bounced.
For a brief moment, Deuce wondered why Dr. Gautier wanted him. Then he shrugged. Not his business.
***
IT WAS ABOUT three quarters of an hour later when the quartet come out of the store, Jackson pushing the cart piled high with lumber. The kid sat on top of the wood, kicking his legs as if he was riding a horse, his head turned as he chatted with the big man.
Deuce was sorry the kid was going to be traumatized, but those were the breaks.
Ace took down Jackson with a single shot to the center of the chest—that would also make it look more random—but after that, things went south. Before he and Trip could grab the woman and kid, the skinny guy—the one he hadn’t expected to be any fucking trouble—shouted for someone to call 9-1-1 while he snatched up the kid, thrust him into the woman’s arms, and shoved them both back into the store. Then he turned toward Jackson and dropped
to his knees, putting pressure on the wound in an attempt to stop the blood that fountained out. His abrupt movement was the only thing that prevented Ace from putting a bullet in his brain. He did hit him—Ace was a regular Sergeant York—but Deuce could tell from here it wasn’t a kill shot.
The guy toppled over, and Ace swore. “Sorry, Boss. It looks like it’s just a scalp wound.”
And then Jesus fuck! Some cowboy shot back at them—apparently those Savannah natives hadn’t gotten the message about gunshots panicking them.
They were carrying themselves!
“Trip, get your ass back here!” Deuce hissed.
Trip bolted for the Hummer, but then he stumbled as he took a bullet to the back.
“Ace!”
“Gotcha.”
Deuce waited until his men were in the Hummer before he got in himself. This was why when he put out a call for a job, there were always men willing to work with him—he never left anyone behind.
“Okay, Stan, get us the fuck out of here.”
The tires squealed and the Hummer jumped forward. And then there was a thud and a muffled scream.
“Oh, fuck.”
Deuce had been watching behind to see if anyone else was going to play hero, but so far the crowd was gathering around Jackson and the other guy. At Stan’s words, he whipped his head around in time to see a woman, boneless as a ragdoll, land on the pavement a half dozen yards away.
“Sorry, Boss.”
Goddammit! How could so many things go so fucking wrong?
“Never mind. Just get us the fuck out of here.”
Fortunately, Georgia only required a rear license plate, and Stan had made sure to use one that had been lifted off an abandoned vehicle a few years before.
“Do we still follow the plan, Deuce?”
“Yeah. Get us to South Carolina.” A late model Chevy Malibu was waiting for them in a safe spot in Colleton County. They’d ditch the Hummer and drive up to Winston-Salem. They had a place there where they could lie low until Trip was well enough for them to get back on the job. Dr. Gautier wasn’t going to be happy, but he’d let Jameson take the heat for that. He was the one who was supposed to do recon, he should be the one who answered to her.
While Stan took the route that would get them to I-95, Deuce and Ace worked on Trip.
“How bad is it, Boss?” Trip asked. From what Deuce could see, Trip looked pale, but Deuce didn’t know if that was because of the wound or because this was the first time Trip had been shot. He was the youngest of Deuce’s men, although he wasn’t the newest. They’d worked together from the time Dr. Gautier brought Trip into the Institute.
“It’s just a scratch.” Ace sliced Trip’s jacket and shirt up the back with the knife he carried, while Deuce took out a handkerchief, folded it into a pad, and handed it to Ace to use as a pressure bandage.
Trip bit the heel of his hand to muffle a moan, but Deuce heard him anyway.
“Hang in there, Trip.” He hoped none of his men heard the tightness in his voice, or if they did, that they put it down to his aggravation at this massive fuckup. “Ace, I have to call Jameson.”
“Okay, Boss. Don’t worry—I’ve got this.”
Deuce grunted and pulled out his cell phone, then punched in Jameson’s number.
Jameson picked up on the first ring. “Well?” he demanded.
“It’s not looking good, Boss. The woman got the kid out of the way before we could grab him.”
“How did that happen?” Jameson sounded like he was chewing glass.
“Jackson brought along a third party.” It was something that couldn’t be anticipated, but Jameson wouldn’t appreciate that, the college boy asshole.
“Goddammit!” He breathed heavily. “What about Jackson?”
“He’s dead, if not now, then soon. He was bleeding out when we took off. The other man took a bullet to the head, but it looked like a crease, and I don’t know how he’ll fare.”
“Sloppy shooting.”
Like you could do any better? Deuce breathed deeply through his nose, and counted to ten in an effort to keep the words behind his teeth. “One of my own men was shot. You may not be aware, but the people down here are maniacs. Who carries a concealed weapon just to go to Home Depot?”
Jameson grunted over the line. “What else can go wrong?”
Deuce cleared his throat. “There was collateral damage.”
“Jesus,” Jameson muttered.
Yeah, that was pretty much what Deuce had thought.
“What happened?”
“Some woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wound up in the path of the Hummer and got hit pretty bad.” And Jameson better not be thinking this was their fault. “We can’t stay in Savannah. The cops might not connect us to Jackson’s shooting, but once they find the Hummer, they’ll be able to link it to the woman.”
“All right. I’ll return to DC and see about getting another crew. We know where the boy is now. That family will be tied up with grieving. We’ll use that to make another try for him.”
“Whatever you say, Boss.”
Jameson growled and hung up.
“Are we going back to Savannah?” Ace asked.
“No. We’ve got to get Trip to a doctor.” Deuce knew one in Walterboro who wouldn’t feel it was necessary to inform the cops of a little thing like a bullet wound.
“And Jameson?”
“I think this time we’ll let him and Dr. G. deal with this situation.”
Chapter 6
THIS WASN’T good. This was so fucking not good.
Eric glared at a security officer, daring her to comment about his lack of luggage as he stalked into the second level of the Savannah/Hilton Head Airport and headed toward Gate 10. American Airlines offered a nonstop flight on both Saturday and Sunday, but he didn’t have time to waste. He’d been fortunate enough to get a seat on a flight leaving that same evening; the problem was there was a connecting flight in Charlotte. What should have been less than two hours, wound up running over three. The jet wouldn’t land at Reagan National until almost 9:00 p.m.
He wasn’t happy about that, but he needed to talk this over with Holmes…
The plan to get the boy had been perfect. How the fuck could it have gone so wrong? He had expected collateral damage, but not at this point. Deuce was an experienced operative, and if he’d lost control…
This was a case of one hand washing the other, and Eric had no objection to that—it was all part of business as usual in DC.
That was what they were going to do for Wexler with Quinton Mann. Known as the Ice Man, he was a deputy director of Operational Targeting. That favor would tie Wexler to them with cords fastened with the Gordian knot, and he had to admit he was looking forward to whatever Holmes and Wexler had planned for Mann.
Eric knew of Mann—who in the intelligence community didn’t?—and had seen him at the huge celebration the CIA had sponsored on New Year’s Eve, a week or so earlier. He’d actually intended to approach Mann, but then he’d been distracted by a tall brunette who would have been a dream to dance with if she didn’t have a tendency to lead, and by the time the music ended, Mann was busy with an officer who had flown in from Europe.
The opportunity had passed Eric by.
It was probably just as well. He’d had a bit too much to drink that night, something he didn’t permit to happen often, but the champagne was an excellent vintage, and the results had him wondering what it would take to melt the façade of the Ice Man.
Most likely whoever tried would just get frostbite.
Not that Eric was interested in Mann per se, but he was certain Alec Watts, one of the men in Holmes’s department, wouldn’t mind the opportunity to seduce the straight Quinton Mann, simply because it would destroy Mann’s sense of self.
Well, perhap
s Eric would keep that in mind for another time.
Holmes intended to get Senator Wexler into the Oval Office no matter what it took. Since there was already a Republican in the White House and the powers that be wanted to keep him there, running in ’04 would have confused the issue and so was out of the question. Holmes had persuaded the senator it was in his best interest to wait until 2008. And in order for Wexler to be able to run, they needed money. Lots and lots of money.
Obtaining that funding in exchange for political favors wouldn’t have been a problem—it was one of those quid pro quo matters, which was the way it was done.
But Dr. Gautier was another matter altogether. They’d learned when she would be in her DC office and had gone to see her. Eric had let Holmes do the talking, and he suggested that in exchange for money for Wexler’s upcoming campaign, they would see all pertinent government agencies—the CDC, the Food and Drug Administration, any other agency—would look the other way. Any problems, he assured her, would be made to go away.
And she’d scoffed at him… at them. “Don’t you realize they already look the other way?”
Eric had been certain their plan was about to go down the toilet, but then she’d sent for them.
“I want the boy,” she’d told them, handing Holmes a file.
Eric had taken it from him and glanced through it. He’d frowned at what caught his eye. “What about his mother?”
“His mother?” She’d curled her lip and waved her hand at that. “Do whatever you like with her. She’s been a thorn in my side long enough.”
God, she was one coldhearted bitch, and when she learned how close they’d been to getting the kid but had still let him slip through their fingers… she wasn’t going to be happy.
Well, fuck it. Eric had no qualms in throwing Deuce and his men to the wolves.
He wasn’t taking the blame for this.
***
HIS FLIGHT LANDED at Reagan National more than three hours later, as he’d expected, and he called Holmes.
