Burn Zone

by James O. Born

  Félix didn't seem to care if they pursued any leads today. Instead he looked down at the sheet of paper on the table. "What's that you're working on?"

  "Just a flowchart on the case."

  "'B.G.' is for Gastlin?"

  "Yeah."

  Félix smiled. "The two in the corner are for Lina and the colonel?"

  Duarte nodded. "You're not the only one who thinks there's something fishy with them."

  "What's the 'W.F.' for? White female?" Félix smiled.

  Duarte hadn't noticed that the common police designation for a white female was the same as William Floyd's initials. Somehow it made a click in his head, but he couldn't put it together just yet.

  ***

  Pelly waited just down the street from Colonel Staub's hotel for his boss. He worked his hand, opening and closing his fist. It was a little sore from his fight the night before. He had hit at least three grown men in the mouth. That always led to a sore hand. He could see the entrance to the little bar he had been in the night before.

  He was sorry he hadn't been able to get to know the lovely Lina. She had backed him up in the ensuing melee and didn't seem upset by the hair that bulged out of his torn shirt. But he couldn't look at her dark eyes after the incident. He had simply fled, sure he had blown a chance to talk with the interesting self-proclaimed kickboxing champ.

  Pelly liked to stay busy and concentrate on work, because when he didn't he realized he was lonely. He had been on few dates where he hadn't paid the girl at the end of the night. The more he thought about the events of the night before, the angrier he got. He wished he could see Lina again. He'd shave down his whole body. Maybe even get a wax if it would help.

  From the front window of the diner, he saw his employer walking on the opposite side of the street like he was the king of New Orleans. In Panama, Staub was the undisputed boss, but Pelly doubted the Americans cared much about Panama. And he knew that was what motivated his boss. His idea of revenge made some perverse sense if anyone cared that Panama had been humiliated by the U.S. But now, years after the invasion, the people of Panama relied on the U.S. as much as they ever had. They needed protection and tourism as well as aid in the form of engineers and professionals for all kinds of projects.

  Pelly knew it would be difficult to keep the U.S. from figuring out who was involved in an attack like this. Pelly knew it could hurt the country not to mention their own business, but his boss seemed hell-bent on carrying out his plans.

  He stood as Staub entered the diner, then stepped over to the table.

  Staub said, "Pelly, we should not meet so close to my hotel. I would not want Duarte to see you."

  "I thought I'd make the meeting convenient for you."

  "While I appreciate your concern, I think we should not come close to the Marriott again. Understand?"

  Pelly just nodded.

  Staub continued. "Now we have another issue and an opportunity."

  Pelly just kept looking at his employer.

  Staub continued. "In addition to Duarte, the ATF agent, we should probably take care of the FBI agent on the case."

  "Won't that raise questions?"

  Staub smiled. "We'll be gone in a day or two. We'll drive to Houston then fly home. We must set it up in such a way that there are no witnesses or that I can give misleading answers."

  "What's the FBI agent look like?"

  "It's a woman. Haven't you seen her?"

  "Only from a great distance. I know Duarte and the DEA man."

  "She has dark hair and an athletic build. If I had more time, I'd have some fun with her. She would not do well under the whip. On the other hand, she's not built for it either. Not enough meat."

  Pelly felt disappointment that he had grown used to his boss's odd quirks. He had grown callous to many things in the years he had worked for Staub. He asked his boss, "How should I do it?"

  Staub gave an evil grin and said, "I may have a simple, fast way to wrap up these two problems."

  Pelly nodded. Unhappy, but willing to complete another task that didn't help their business in any way.

  40

  ALEX DUARTE HAD STARTED THE DAY ON A LIE BY EXPLAINING to Lina Cirillo that his bruised face was the result of running into a door. Félix knew it was from the Cajun Inn explosion and smiled smugly.

  Lina just said, "Yeah, sure." Duarte was still trying to figure out which piece of the puzzle she knew.

  Félix Baez was still in his own little world, focusing on who had killed his informant in Panama. Colonel Lázaro Staub seemed to have a voice Duarte had heard somewhere, and his English was much better. He wondered what the Panamanian cop knew about Ortíz and if he had chosen to keep quiet.

  Lina touched Duarte's arm and said, "We should shut things down on this case. It's not going anywhere."

  "No, Lina, you're incorrect. It's going somewhere. I just don't know where it's going."

  "You're chasing ghosts. Give it up or…"

  "Or what?"

  "The bureau might make you give up."

  "Why? What the hell does the FBI care about a little dope deal or a dead informant?"

  "It's the people associated with the deal who could hurt you."

  "Now you have to tell me what's going on."

  "Truthfully, I don't know. But the FBI can handle it without the assistance of the Rocket."

  She used his nickname like an insult. He fought hard not to mention the radioactive reading from the packing slip. Sure, there were a hundred reasons for it. A previous load of timber or tile in the container or even the pot itself might have some natural radioactivity. But he didn't want to give up his single chip yet.

  Colonel Staub wandered over from the elevators and greeted the three U.S. agents. He sat in his usual, stiff upright way and said, "I have several matters to discuss. It would be my pleasure to buy you breakfast at a little café I found several blocks from here. It is truly remarkable." He kept his dark eyes on Lina, with an occasional glance toward Duarte. Then he turned to Félix and said, "You may come, too."

  Félix stood up, his long-sleeved shirt tight around his chest. "No, thanks. I gotta make some calls." He turned toward the elevator.

  Duarte was going to decline, too, but he knew he'd never have his questions answered by avoiding the solutions. He needed to know what both the colonel and Lina knew. He had to put it all together.

  He stood with the colonel and noticed Lina's less-than-thrilled attitude to a free meal and a chance to get some answers from the Panamanian cop.

  Duarte hesitated at the front door, noticing the light drizzle for the first time. The weather summed up how he felt right now.

  ***

  William Ike Floyd woke up and instantly regretted inviting the three men to help him watch the truck. All three were asleep on the floor or couch of the hotel room on the outskirts of Houston, their alternating snores sounding like a manufacturing plant.

  The scruffiest of them, Charlie, was supposed to watch the truck until ten in the morning. He had clearly given up, and it wasn't even eight-thirty yet.

  Ike knew there was a risk to having these guys here, but he'd made it clear that his cargo had no value and that they'd get paid when they were done with the mission. He didn't go into details on anything other than that they were to stand guard and that if he met with a Panamanian they were to act tough in case he needed them to. Right now he was more afraid of Mr. Ortíz than he was of three beaten-down white supremacists who had never been accepted into any of the white-power organizations-not even the Klan, and they accepted anybody, as long as you were white. The oldest Charlie claimed he had been a member of the Klan in Daytona but judged by his description it was not any Klavern officially recognized by the national Klan organizations.

  He looked over the sprawled bodies, all shirtless and one only in his underwear, and thought, This is the most unattractive group I've ever seen. None of the men were what someone would call in shape. Charles, the youngest, had big arms, but his stomach had no
definition. All were pretty hairy, not like Pelly but still with more than he liked. And most important, all of them were over sixteen. A definite turnoff. He could make exceptions, but it had a lot to do with how old someone looked.

  He sat up in bed, then stood and shouted, "Hey, guys."

  They all stirred, but no one jumped.

  "Hey, get up."

  Charlie, the oldest of the three, wiped his eyes and said, "Yo, dude, what's the problem?"

  "The problem is that I let you guys stay here to help me keep track of the truck."

  One of the others peeked out the window. "What's the problem? It's still there."

  Ike looked over the group and realized he may have created another problem. He hoped he could handle this one by himself.

  ***

  Pelly answered his phone on the first ring. He had noticed the light rain start to pick up, but it had not impeded his view of the alley where Colonel Staub was supposed to lead the FBI agent and Duarte. Pelly had his pistol and knew they'd be boxed in the narrow roadway with high walls on each side.

  "Yes?" he answered the small cell phone.

  "We'll be walking your way in a minute."

  "Got it." He slapped the phone shut. Right now the alley was vacant. He could even try running them down with the car. That would make the colonel's explanation to the police more plausible.

  On the street behind him, he had noticed a group of six small children and two women. He dismissed it as a preschool class. They were looking in the wide window of an antique-doll shop he had spotted when he'd pulled in the edge of the alley.

  A large black man in a blue jumpsuit stepped out of a door in the alley and tossed a bag into a Dumpster recessed next to the wall. He left the door open as he disappeared back inside.

  Pelly saw a pedestrian at the far end of the alley and realized it was the colonel with the two targets just behind him. He could tell one of them was a woman with dark hair. It was Duarte he had to watch out for.

  ***

  Alice Brainard had been in front of her computer all morning. She loved doing research on things she knew very little about. It was a form of discovery, and she liked to discover stuff. If this had been the 1500s and she were a man, she would have been on one of Columbus's ships, or maybe one of the Spanish conquistadors'. She didn't agree with how they had treated the native people of Florida, but she liked their adventurous spirit.

  She had been on her Dell looking into the role of the Department of Energy and their Radiological Assistance Program. She realized that Jeff Jacobus, the best-looking firefighter she knew, had said that a lot of things gave off radiation, but she had no idea how many things were considered radioactive. Maybe she was jumping at nothing. Alex didn't want to raise a fuss about it just yet. He'd said it would get too many people involved in something that probably wasn't an issue in their investigation. He had already complained of getting sidetracked and about how the Panamanian cop and the FBI agent, Lina, seemed to have their own agenda and disappeared frequently.

  Along with the Internet, Alice made use of her considerable library. She hated to throw out books, especially reference books. Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything provided one insight on radioactivity. Hans Geiger, the inventor of the Geiger counter, was also known as a Nazi sympathizer who turned in many of his Jewish colleagues. What a creep.

  On the Internet she read an essay about nuclear weapons and the former Soviet republics. Then she read about how they might slip one into the U.S.

  She knew what she had to do. But first she was going to call Alex.

  ***

  Duarte and Lina stepped out of the hotel, and the rain hit them immediately. The canopy that they were told had blown away in hurricane Katrina would have kept them dry. He was a little annoyed that Staub had kept them waiting while he made a call.

  Duarte turned as Staub stepped through the door. "The café, it is down an alley two blocks."

  Duarte noticed the twitch in his left eye was working overtime.

  The colonel held out his hand like he was showing them into a ballroom, then started walking at a fast clip. Duarte and Lina fell in just behind him.

  Lina took his arm and leaned in like he would help keep her dry, her wet hair already hanging in her face from the rain.

  Duarte said, "At least we won't need to shower today."

  "Ooh, a joke. I like that." She let loose with her crooked smile.

  They followed Colonel Staub into the alley and felt some relief from the rain as the tall buildings seemed to block most of it. He noticed a single car at the far end of the alley, but no one else on either side.

  The colonel kept moving fast, increasing the distance between them.

  He saw the car pull away from the wall and start down the alley. He moved to the side, but saw the car pick up speed. Something told him they were in trouble.

  41

  WILLIAM "IKE" FLOYD FELT CLAMMY IN THE HOT TEXAS AIR outside the room. Standing by the Ryder truck, one of Ike's new friends said, "Looks like the fertilizer bomb used in Oklahoma City."

  Ike cringed. He knew the damn Ryder name carried those kinds of connotations. Ike also knew damn well the Ryder logo was too obvious if this idiot could spot it.

  Charlie, the oldest of the three, about forty, said, "I heard there was a third guy that walked away from the blast. He's still free. God bless him."

  One of the others said, "I heard it, too." He brushed back his dirty brown hair with his hand. "It's a big secret. Not too many people know it, but the truck had two men in it and the other dude helped with the bomb."

  Ike looked at the men. "If it's such a secret, how come you know?"

  The man looked at him. "Because we're in the Cause. C'mon, brother, you're a member of the National Army of White Americans. You had to hear this shit before.

  Ike just stared at him. He had heard it. Too many times.

  Charlie said, "I heard he got away scot-free."

  Ike just said, "I wouldn't call it exactly scot-free."

  ***

  Pelly had seen the distance between the two targets and the colonel. He thought he could swing the car in quick, making it look like a hit-and-run. It was one of the options he and Colonel Staub had discussed.

  The alley was clear and the colonel had moved to the left side, directly against a wall.

  Pelly still had his pistol in his lap, but this seemed like a better solution. He increased the gas, not roaring down the alley but moving fast enough to accomplish his goal. He figured the building walls would help when he struck the targets head-on.

  As he closed the distance, the female FBI agent swept her hair out of her face and turned toward him.

  It was Lina from the bar.

  They were so close he didn't know what to do.

  ***

  Lina didn't mind walking so close to Alex Duarte. He was the only one out of the three men who hadn't hit on her. In fact, he always appeared to be a gentleman. She could feel his hard bicep that, unlike many men, he never bothered to show off.

  The rain had let up, and the building blocked some of it. She didn't mind except for what it was doing to her hair.

  She was about to say something to Duarte as she used her hand to push her drooping hair back. Just as she saw a blue car bearing down on them, she felt him start to shove her. She used her weight to pull him with her.

  At the last possible second, the vehicle swerved in the narrow alley, clipping the other wall. That combination of their movement and the car turning slightly saved them from certain disaster.

  She ended up pinned by Duarte against the brick wall of a building, her body splayed tight to give him room. His eyes tracked the car as it turned the corner with a slight squeal of its tires.

  Duarte said, "Wow, that was close."

  "Thanks for pushing me."

  "Thanks for pulling me. You all right?" He eased back into the alley.

  "I'm fine. I felt the tire brush the bottom of my sandal."

&
nbsp; "Yeah, I felt it touch my foot."

  Lina smiled, noticing Staub rushing back to them. "Are you unharmed, my friends?"

  Duarte nodded. "He drives like he's from Miami."

  The colonel looked down the alley where the car had disappeared onto the street. "No, a Miami driver would've hit you."

  Lina touched Duarte's arm, leaned in and said, "We should work together more often." She liked his smile.

  But saw that Duarte was thinking about the car.

  ***

  Colonel Lázaro Staub kept his voice calm but knew that Pelly understood his tone.

  "Why didn't you shoot them?"

  "I thought the car would be easier to explain. I made a split-second decision."

  "Then how could you miss them?"

  Pelly hesitated, then said, "It was wet. They were quick. I was afraid I had misjudged where you were."

  If he didn't depend on the hairy young man so much, he might have pulled out his little Beretta and shot him in the head. But they were also in public. A nice, crowded tourist place called Café du Monde in Jackson Square. He had sipped the coffee and eaten the tiny pieces of fried dough with sugar sprinkled on them as he waited for his assistant. They had done nothing to calm him down. And after the encounter in the alley and the fact that she was soaked, Lina and Duarte had not eaten breakfast with him. Instead they had returned to the hotel.

  Now he had to focus. There were problems to solve. Staub wondered if he could leave New Orleans without taking care of Lina Cirillo. Would his ego allow it?

  He looked over at the calm Pelly. His face was clear of hair for a change. There appeared to be something about his manner as well.

  "Are you still with me on this, Pelly?"