A thunderous boom came from somewhere in the parking lot, followed by an all too familiar swooshing noise. Eli dove toward Stacy, who stood like a frightened girl with her hands up under her chin. Knocking her down, he landed on top of her just as a rocket swooshed over the top of them and impacted ten feet above the building's doorway, exploding in a roar. Glass shattered, people screamed, concrete pieces of the wall turned into tearing shrapnel, and another rocket swooshed over Eli's head, leaving a spiraling white smoke trail. Again the building seem to shudder with the impact, and dust and dark smoke began turning day to dusk.
Eli screamed "Stay down!" to Stacy as he rolled off her and broke into a dead run into the parking lot. Immediately he saw a dark-haired man standing on top of a Buick's trunk, raising an M-72 antitank rocket launcher to his shoulder. Eli chambered a round, flicked off the safety, and lifted his pistol to fire, but a running wide-eyed cameraman slammed into his shoulder, spinning him around. Eli bounced off the side of a Mazda, caught his balance, lifted his pistol, and fired just as the dark-haired man was about to depress the firing button. The man's head snapped back and he toppled off the trunk. Eli ran toward the body, but a tall blond man holding a scoped rifle hopped down from the back of a camper shell on a pickup only ten feet away. The blond man saw him and raised his rifle. Eli fired. The man reeled back with the bullet's impact, which struck him above the bridge of his nose. Eli spun toward the sound of more shooting and saw men firing Mac-10s at the office entrance as they ran toward a white conversion van. He raised his pistol, but from the open sliding door of the van a small man appeared holding a chattering Mac-10. Bullets seemed to chew up the pavement just to the left of Eli's feet. He dove behind a station wagon, popped up and fired four quick rounds, ducked down, ran four steps to the front of the wagon, and popped up again. The van lurched forward, struck the back bumper of a new Lexus but kept going, pushing the new car sideways into another vehicle. Eli aimed and squeezed the trigger again and again as the van continued on. Its rear door window spider webbed with one of his bullets, then spider webbed again. A body tumbled out of the still-open sliding door as the vehicle squealed around the corner, missed it, and jumped the curb into a flower bed. Still going, the van bucked wildly as it sped down over the curb onto the road again. Not slowing at the exit, the speeding van struck the back end of a Toyota, knocking the small vehicle into the curb and up into another flower bed. The van, with its front bumper hanging on only one side, continued on, leaving a trail of sparks where the bumper was dragging on the pavement.
Eli spun, looking for any shooters left behind, but saw only other agents running toward him, holding their pistols up with both hands in the ready position. Breaking into a run, Eli headed straight for the building entrance, where people were still screaming and the dust and smoke lingered in a thick mist. The smell of the cordite and blood filled his nostrils as he dodged those lying on the ground, afraid to move, and those who lay in puddles of blood, beyond pain and fear. Crystallized glass lay like sparkling carpet beneath his feet as he pushed on, praying somehow she had lived.
He slowed and prepared himself for the worst as he approached the kneeling people around the bodies at the entrance. A middle-aged secretary knelt in an expanding pool of blood by Paul Eddings. She was brushing shards of glass from his pale face. Eli saw the bullet hole in the agent's forehead and continued on to the others kneeling by Ashley's still form. Closing his eyes just for a moment for strength, he stepped closer and leaned over to see her. "Oh God, no," he murmured as he sank to his knees. She was lying perfectly still, her hair, face, and neck matted with blood and brain tissue. Suddenly she jerked and her jaw and lips began quivering.
Eli leaned over her. "Ashley, it's me, Eli; can you hear me?" he said as he quickly inspected her for wounds.
"I don't think she was hit; I couldn't find any wounds," said a blood-spattered man kneeling on the opposite side of her. "I was just behind her and saw Eddings knock her back as he fell. We were lucky; the entrance overhang protected us from most of the glass and debris of the blast. What was it, a bomb?"
Eli cradled Ashley's head in his lap and with a shaking hand lightly brushed the gore and small crystals of glass from her eyelids. He felt something in the corner of her right eye that wouldn't move. He lightly touched the protruding sliver, and she jerked and moaned in pain.
"I'm sorry, Ashley, lie still. Don't move your eyelids .. . you've got something in your eye . . . you're going to be fine, Ashley . . . you're going to be fine. I'm here . . . I won't leave you . . . I'm here."
Eli heard sirens in the distance above the din of confusion and shouting of people rushing to help those wounded by gunfire or hurt by the debris, and he heard other sounds, whirring and clicking. Cameramen were snapping pictures of him and the bodies lying about. He glanced up just for a moment and saw Stacy Starr standing only five feet away.
Her hose had holes and runs, and blood ran down from one of her knees. The dress she wore was ripped at the sleeve, her hair was mussed and sticking up on one side, and she held her arm as if it were injured. And despite being in obvious physical pain, Eli heard her tell the video cameraman at her side to get a wider-angle shot. The sharks are feasting, Eli thought as he wiped the blood from his fingers on his shirt and began pushing more away from Ashley's forehead. "I'm here," he whispered to her. "Just lie still . . . the paramedics are on their way. Just lie still . . . I'm here."
Chapter 9.
Dahlonega, Georgia.
Ted got into the blue conversion van and slid the door shut.
Seated in the driver's captain's chair, eating Fritos, Glenn Henderson glanced in the rearview mirror at his friend before shifting his gaze out the front window toward the distant bank. "Where have you been?"
"Calming the lady down. Glenn, I think Mendez had Senator Goodnight popped."
Glenn nodded. "I was afraid of that when I heard it on the radio. That asshole doesn't mess around, does he?"
"No, he don't. The lady tried sendin' an e-mail to the senator's investigator, but his computer won't accept it.
She tried calling, too. Nothin'."
"Like I said, Ted, he's not messing around. They'll be comin' for the money soon."
"Yeah, that's what I thought, too. Anything so far?"
Glenn dipped his chin toward the front window. "Quiet as a mouse . . . nothing but locals going in and out."
"Where's Virg and Ramon?"
Glenn looked at his watch. "Virg ought to be relieving me in a few minutes. Ramon is probably racked out back in the motel room. I let them make a run to Atlanta to go shopping for clothes yesterday evening after the bank closed. Don't give me that look. I watched the bank, and they both had cell phones if I needed them."
"Christ'a'mighty, Glenn, what woulda happened if they moved the money when they were off in Atlanta?"
"Relax, Ted. They couldn't have moved it last night. A city road crew blocked the street off down there and did some patch work ... took most of the night. Anyway, the guys were back by nine."
Suddenly the van door opened and in stepped Virgil and Ramon. What the hell is goin' on? Ted wondered as he looked both men over. They were almost identically dressed, same color and style expensive slacks, same color belts, and even the same style and color tasseled loafers.
The only thing different about their clothes was that Virgil was wearing a dark blue polo shirt and Ramon was wearing a black one.
"Who the hell are you guys supposed to be, the Blues Brothers?" Ted asked.
Virgil Washington got in the front passenger seat as Ramon settled in the rear seat. Virgil pushed his new teardrop-shaped glasses farther back on his nose and lifted his chin. "Well, what do ya think, Ted?"
"Huh? What d'ya mean, what do I think?"
"My new look. What do ya think of it?"
Ted softened his glare as he studied Virgil's closely cropped hair and new clothing. "Eh . . . yeah, I kinda like it.
You really look different, but I didn't know
you wore glasses."
Pulling down the sun visor, Virgil tilted his head one way then another as he looked at himself in the vanity mirror.
"I don't wear 'em. Glenn gave me and Ray some advice on lookin' sophisticated. These aren't prescription, they're clear, but they do something, don't they? I mean it makes me look like a professor or somethin', don't you think?"
"Yeah, you have that Christopher Darden look, you know, the black lawyer that had O. J. put on the gloves. I like the clothes, too, real GQ stuff," Ted said.
"How about me, man?" Ramon asked. "Glenn told me about these socks. They're so thin it's like wearing nothing at all."
Ted glanced down at Ramon's ankle then shook his head.
"How about lettin' me know next time you guys are dressin' up. I'm feelin' kinda bad just wearin' these jeans and T-shirt here. I mean shit, here I got two sophisticated dudes dressed to kill, and I look like a hick. But, gee, guys, I hate to break it to ya, but we're supposed to be construction guys, remember? Dressed as Mr. GQs don't fit."
"We're cool construction guys," Virgil said as he adjusted the new glasses. "Me and Ray are doin' it in style from now on. Right, Ray?"
"There it is, Virg, we're sophisticated guys from now on," Ramon said, leaning back in the seat again.
Ted sighed. "It's about broads, isn't it? You guys meet some career ladies in the apartments?"
Virgil flipped up the sun visor and shrugged. "We met a few when we were off the other day. Ray and me worked out in the apartment workout room and we met a couple of real lookers. No big deal."
"And you need Glenn here to help you score with 'em?"
Ted gave Glenn a conspiratorial wink.
"I asked him to help us a little 'cause we didn't do so hot with them," Virgil said. "Glenn knows his shit, Ted. Just look at how the man dresses. He's cool, man. Well, now so are we. He says we need to work on our language skills, but other than that we should be good to go with the ladies."
Virgil looked over his shoulder at Ramon. "Right, Ray, we're ready for action, huh?"
"There it is, Virg. We're ready for the ladies now, man."
Ted rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right, two Army paratroopers made into sophisticated guys with glasses and socks, sure.
Listen to me, you two, you'd better keep a good eye on that bank tonight. I think Mendez is goin' to be movin' that money real soon."
"Why you thinkin' that, boss?" Virgil asked.
"Remember I told you guys how this was all set up? Well, we think Mendez had Senator Goodnight whacked. If he did contract the hit, that means he knows about the investigation and that means he's gotta move his money."
Virgil slowly shook his head. "Mendez must be really bad news to be takin' out a senator--gotta have balls to do that."
"I told you the man was bad," Ramon said, sitting up again. "I saw it on the news--they did the senator's family, too. That's Mendez, all right . . . he takes out everybody to teach a lesson."
Ted got up and grasped the door handle. "The point is, keep your eyes peeled. Ya see people go into that bank after hours, call me on the cell phone and me and Glenn will be here in five minutes."
Glenn slid out of the front seat and was about to follow Ted out the side door when Virgil motioned to the sack of Fritos in his hand.
"Ya gonna leave those for us, aren't ya?"
Atlanta, Georgia It was just past ten in the evening when Don Farrel approached the fifth-floor nurse's station where a young agent stood waiting. The agent handed a clipboard to the SAC.
"Sir, here's a list of our people and the status of their current conditions. We lost Tompkins an hour ago. The doctors did all they could, but his wounds were too massive. His death brings the number to seven of our people. Mrs. Sweeney is still critical, but as you can see, the others are all stable."
Farrel looked down the list of ten names; two were agents, two were legal analysts, and the rest were secretaries or administrative employees. After reading the status of each, he handed the clipboard back. "How many were treated and released?"
"Nineteen of ours. Mostly lacerations from the glass.
There were about the same number of press people and other office workers. Last count was six of them were killed and fourteen others are hospitalized throughout the city."
Farrel shook his head. "Those damn antitank rockets that hit the building did most of it. The explosions shattered most of the office windows facing the parking lot. . . . I saw on Agent Sutton's update that she's doing all right. Is Agent Tanner with her, by chance?"
The agent looked at the clipboard to refresh his memory.
"Sutton . . . Sutton . . . oh yes, the female agent. She had the skull fragment lodged in her right eye. I don't recall the agent's name, but he has premature gray hair. He's been with her since she arrived. While she was in surgery I got him a scrub shirt from a nurse so he could get rid of the shirt he was wearing--pretty gruesome with the blood and all.
He's with her now if you want to see him, sir. Room 314."
Farrel motioned to the clipboard. "The status report didn't say if Agent Sutton's eye could be saved or not."
"Oh no, sir, she's not going to lose it. I talked to the doctors who operated on her. The fragment lodged in the lower portion of her right eye and didn't do any damage to the pupil or lens. The fibrous sclera, the white of the eyes, was slightly punctured, as was the cornea, and there was some slight damage to connecting eye muscle. The surgeon assured me after her surgery that she would have no difficulty seeing from the injured eye within a couple of weeks."
"Thank God for that. I want you to stay here for a while because I expect the deputy director to come by. If he does, show him the updates and tell him I'm visiting my people.
I'll start with Agent Sutton. And thanks, you did a good job collecting the information. I appreciate it."
The young agent nodded. "I'm glad I could be useful.
And sir, when you talk to Agent Sutton, it was a glass shard that was removed . . . the doctors didn't tell her it was a fragment of Agent Eddings's skull."
"I understand," Farrel said. "Let's keep it that way."
Seconds later the SAC entered Room 314 and saw Eli sitting next to the bed with his head resting on the rail. He was holding Ashley's hand.
Eli heard his footsteps and began to rise, but Farrel waved him down and whispered, "Stay put; how is she?"
"I'm doing fine," Ashley said softly as she slightly lifted her head from the pillow.
"No, please lie back down, Agent Sutton. I just stopped by to ensure you were doing all right and also to find Agent Tanner." He stepped closer and patted her shoulder. "I'm very glad to hear the surgery went well and that you'll be on your feet soon."
"Yes, sir, that's what they tell me," she said just above a whisper.
Eli stood but kept hold of her hand. "She's still a little doped up, sir."
Farrel leaned over to Eli and whispered, "Does she know about Eddings and the others?"
Eli nodded. Ashley shook her bandaged head from side to side. "No whispering, please . . . I want to know what happened to the assailants, sir. Agent Tanner is being his typical self and won't tell me anything. Sir, I must know, please tell me. Did we get them?"
Farrel exchanged glances with Eli, then patted Ashley's shoulder again. "Agent Tanner shot three of them, Agent Sutton. Two were killed and one was wounded and is in Grady. Three fled the scene, but we found blood in their abandoned van in a shopping mall where they changed vehicles. It appears Agent Tanner may have wounded another when he fired at their fleeing vehicle. We ID'd only one of the dead, a mechanic-for-hire named Jorge Orlando.
The others didn't come up on the computer and probably won't. It appears they're Cuban. The Miami office sent us a list of those who were known to run with Orlando, and most entered the country illegally. We believe they were hired to assassinate Paul and then do as much damage as possible in the thirty seconds they had allotted themselves for the hit. The wounded assailant hasn't talked,
but plans and photos were found in the assailant's van. We also found a map of the Apalachicola River in the van. It looks like they were the same crew that made the hit on the senator and his family."
Ashley's eyes shifted to Eli then back to Farrel. "Did our people find anything on who let the contracts?"
"No," Farrel said, shaking his head, "and I don't think the wounded assailant will tell us. Maybe we'll get lucky when we collar the others. It's just a matter of time."
Ashley's unbandaged eye began watering. "They . . . they can't get away with this, sir. The people who let the contracts have to burn."
Duty Bound (1995) Page 13
