Burn Zone

by James O. Born

  He spotted one across the street under the front cover of a small convenience store called Santa Anna's Pit Stop. He marched across the street with the three errant racists in line behind him. He could hear Charlie telling his buddies that Ike was full of shit. He'd show them.

  He dug his small sheet with phone numbers on it from his wallet. He looked at Charlie and said, "I need a couple more quarters."

  Between the three other men, they had nine more quarters, and Ike realized they had been panhandling at some point. They looked less and less like the examples he wanted white people to set.

  He dialed the number, then started feeding in quarters like the electronic operator instructed. After three rings he heard an answering machine pick up. "You have reached Forrest Jessup's house. Leave a message." He started to leave his name, then hung up. He had wanted to give the head man an update so he would be proud of the work Ike had done. He also wanted to show these idiots that he really did know Mr. Jessup.

  Charlie said, "What about it?"

  "Not home."

  "That's handy."

  Ike nodded. "It doesn't matter. I don't need your help anymore."

  Charlie said, "But this big ole Ryder truck is gonna attract a lot of attention. You might need someone to watch it. Because if someone is watching it, they won't fuck with it."

  Ike understood the threat. He was even a little surprised this guy could phrase it so well. Then he realized his biggest problem. It was too visible. Everyone knew that a Ryder truck carried the bomb in Oklahoma City. Maybe he did need a lower-profile vehicle.

  As he looked across the street, he could just see the top of the camper from the stolen F-150 pickup truck. Ford always advertised that it was the best-selling vehicle in the country. That meant there was a shitload of them around. Not very obvious. He wondered how big the bed of the truck really was, then a plan clicked in his brain.

  He looked at the sorry-looking men. "Okay. I'll tell you what. Let's drive out somewhere away from the prying eyes, and I'll show you what's in the truck."

  Charlie brightened, his missing teeth reminding Ike of a jack-o'-lantern. "Really?" said the man.

  "Yeah, I think I could find a use for you guys. But we won't all fit in the Ryder. Follow me in the F-150." He smiled, but knew they had no idea what had tickled him so much.

  44

  ALONE IN HIS HOTEL ROOM, DUARTE STARED AT ALL THE NOTES on the case. He knew they'd be useless now. The FBI agent and her NEST team from the FBI and the Department of Energy would run with this now.

  Duarte hadn't argued with the Department of Energy man or Agent Ruley. They were right. He had screwed up. Now they had to scramble to clean up his mess. No one liked to see something like that. He should have recognized that something bigger than a load of pot was in play when his witnesses started dying.

  Now Duarte realized that Ortíz, or one of his employees, had used the load as a cover for something else. The theory now was a dirty bomb of some kind. The DOE guy said they had identified the radioactive isotope as U-235, but wasn't willing to tell Duarte anything else.

  On the other hand, Duarte had told them everything he knew, including how he had tried to talk to several people but they had all been killed. Nothing the cops didn't already know.

  The FBI had asked him about Jessup, who they obviously knew was dead. Duarte answered honestly, saying he didn't know who had killed him. Which was true.

  They were looking for someone related to Jessup, and that had to be William Floyd. It all came back to the racist from Omaha.

  He looked down at the notes he had made with the initials of everyone involved. He had not shown it to the FBI agent, but he told her the suspicions he harbored.

  As he looked at the page, he remembered Félix's comments about William Floyd's initials W.F. standing for "white female" in every police station in the U.S.

  Duarte wished he had the resources to continue on the case. With Lina's access to the FBI data banks and to her source, they could continue to search for Floyd. He just wished he had access to her source, Pale Girl.

  Then he froze.

  Pale Girl. White female. William Floyd. Could it be? Would they use such an obvious code name? Was William Floyd a source for the FBI?

  He had to find Lina right now.

  ***

  Five minutes later, he was surprised to find Félix Baez with Lina in her hotel room. But by the look on their faces, they had been doing nothing too intimate.

  When Lina opened the door, her first comment was, "Looks like you've been visited by the new kids on the block, too."

  He stepped into the room and sat at the small table with Félix.

  Lina said, "You off the case, too?"

  Duarte nodded.

  "Don't worry. Right now there are teams of FBI and DOE people swarming over the docks and in Lafayette."

  "Why aren't you with them?"

  "They consider me a fuckup."

  "Why? You didn't do anything wrong."

  "I lost the source, Pale Girl."

  Duarte knew it was time. "We know Pale Girl was driving the package in New Orleans."

  Lina looked up at him as she slowly sat on the unmade bed. "And how do we know this?"

  "Cal Linley told me he gave it to William Floyd. Then I found the truck in Lafayette."

  She held her FBI-neutral expression the whole time.

  "And William Floyd is Pale Girl."

  Lina was careful. "How do you figure that?"

  "Look, Lina, you need to drop this FBI bullshit. If we want to contribute at all, we need to be straight with each other."

  "How'd you know Floyd was my source?"

  He just smiled. He didn't want to let her think he had just made an educated guess.

  Lina said, "What can we contribute? The bureau is all over this."

  Félix let out a big enough laugh for both of them. "You're kidding, right? If we depend on the FBI, we could be in a nuclear winter by the weekend."

  Duarte nodded. "We can do things unencumbered by administration. Anything we turn up could be a bonus. It doesn't matter who finds Floyd, but someone needs to and fast."

  Lina said, "We do have some information we could check. But what do we do with it?"

  Duarte smiled. "That's easy. We kick some ass."

  ***

  William "Ike" Floyd wasn't certain of where he was headed, but on the small access road that started right next to the Jacinto Arms he thought he would end up somewhere that would be private. The simple blacktop asphalt road seemed to go nowhere but also appeared to be quite long with nothing but acres of vacant land on each side. He was proud of himself for coming up with such a good plan and what he would tell Mr. Ortíz about the Ryder truck when he saw him.

  Next to him, the oldest Charlie had been rattling on about his life before a cocaine habit had wrecked him. Of course the habit had nothing to do with him. It was disease that had consumed him. He had been a heavy-machine operator in Daytona Beach, Florida, until he smoked some crack one evening and never bothered to go back to his wife and three kids, two of which were probably his.

  Charlie said, "I'll tell you what. Something like this can turn your life around. Helping you might be what I need to hold my head up high again."

  Ike just nodded.

  "I gotta tell ya, Ike. It's mighty impressive that you're doing so well in the National Army at such a young age. What're you? Thirty?"

  "Thirty-two."

  "What're we helping you with? I mean you can tell us, can't you? Another bomb, like Oklahoma City?"

  Ike snorted. "That was minor."

  Charlie looked at him and said, "You're crazy."

  "That's not what the court psychiatrist said."

  "Really, what are we gonna do?" The dirty man stared at Ike, waiting for an honest answer.

  Ike returned the stare and gave him an honest answer. "We're going to plant, then detonate, a nuclear weapon."

  45

  AT THE EDGE OF A WIDE CANAL THAT RA
N PARALLEL TO THE ROAD they had driven out, William "Ike" Floyd took his corner of the crate as they hefted it into the back of the stolen F-150 pickup truck. It just fit under the camper top fastened onto the long bed of the truck. Sweat dripped off his nose as he looked up at the three, dirty, huffing men.

  "Now what?" asked the youngest of the men, his giant swastika tattoo gleaming with sweat in the bright Texas sunshine. "When can we see this thing?"

  The three men all stepped to the same side of the truck in a tight bunch facing Ike.

  "C'mon, let's check the van one last time."

  The three men followed him to the Ryder van parked in front of the truck. He felt for the small SIG-Sauer pistol under his shirt.

  "Get the wood out of there," he said, pointing at the lengths of two-by-fours.

  The two younger men hopped up into the truck and grabbed the wood.

  Ike hoped that Charlie would follow his friends up into the covered van. It would have made things easier.

  He knew who he needed to cap first. He drew the pistol without pretense, trying to stay calm, and fired as soon as it was pointed right at the youngest Charlie's face. The sound in the van from the discharging pistol was thunderous and even stunned the other man inside.

  Ike didn't waste any time and pointed the small pistol at the other Charlie as he retreated, this time aiming for his body. He fired once and was shocked to realize he had missed him altogether. He took a second to breathe and then carefully aimed the pistol at the man who was now cowering in the corner of the van.

  "Please, Ike, don't."

  The plea had no effect on Ike. He squeezed the trigger again, this time striking the man directly in the forehead. He flopped onto the still form of the other man.

  Ike turned his attention to the oldest Charlie, who had raced around the side of the van.

  Ike didn't mind chasing him because he realized now that killing people gave him a rush. He took one last look at the two bodies in the back of the Ryder truck, then took his first step in search of the terrified man.

  ***

  Lina said, "If we assume Floyd was in Lafayette with the man who talked to the mechanic, then we have a starting point."

  Duarte nodded as he listened.

  She wished she had been able to predict William Floyd's disappearance. Lina had met him several times and still talked to the white supremacist by phone once or twice a year as part of her intelligence duties. She knew how important Floyd had been in the past and how the bureau had screwed up by not listening to him. Now it looked like he had once again gotten involved in something big.

  Lina said, "You guys know Jessup is dead."

  Félix nodded and Duarte said, "I went to talk to him last night, but was too late."

  The DEA man jumped up. "You were there last night?" He paused and composed himself. "I thought you said you were going today."

  Duarte shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so I went last night."

  Lina knew not to ask any details. She knew the straitlaced ATF man had nothing to do with his death.

  Duarte looked at Lina and said, "Can we expect any help from the FBI on our little investigation?"

  "Not officially. Meg Ruley is the rising star. If someone thinks we're working opposite her, they won't return my calls."

  "What will people at the bureau think happened?"

  "Right now, only that there was a radioactive hit in New Orleans. They might even think it was an error. I can see them using this as training or to show off to some senator. No telling. I think if they were really concerned, I'd be in more trouble."

  "Could we get the phone tolls?"

  "Yeah, sure, except if we tried to get Floyd's. Anything to do with him would be flagged."

  Duarte looked at her and said, "How'd he get to be an FBI source?"

  Lina wanted to tell him the truth, but her training kicked in and she said, "It's a long story."

  ***

  Lázaro Staub simmered on the entire drive from New Orleans, through Lafayette on toward Houston. He wanted no record of air travel, and they had time before the physics professor they had hired was ready. This was one of the times he was happy that Pelly spoke so sparingly. He sighed, thinking about how much fun he could've had. He had been so close to running a blade across Lina Cirillo's lovely throat. All he had to do was flip the blade open and make the swipe. The look in her eyes as her life dripped out of her would have been priceless. He had killed only one other woman like that, a prostitute in Colón who had tried to pass information about his operation on to the authorities. Unfortunately for her, he was the authority to whom she had tried to pass on the information. He had done it in the office of the National Police only because he loved the idea of this woman thinking she was doing her civic duty and having her throat slashed at the desk of the officer in charge.

  That had turned into a tricky business, with too many rumors flying. Pelly had been with him then and had gotten rid of the body. Along with a good-sized rug that was in the office at the time. Staub let out the rumor that Pelly had killed a girl who had called him a monkey. Not only was it completely plausible, but it enhanced his enforcer's reputation, not that the hairy young man's reputation needed any enhancement.

  Staub glanced over at Pelly. He had seemed down since he had missed the ATF agent and Lina in the car earlier in the day. He had not shaved obsessively like he usually did, and now he looked like something out of a cheap horror movie with his thick, curling black hair working its way up his cheeks almost to his eyes and down his neck to his chest.

  Staub said, "You know, Pelly."

  "Yes, boss?"

  "I may have been hard on you about missing Duarte. It was rainy, and he is quick."

  Pelly kept driving silently.

  "You are a big help to me."

  "Thank you, boss. But…"

  "Go ahead, Pelly."

  "Are you sure we should go ahead with this? I mean with the whole plan."

  "I know you worry that there is no bottom line to this, Pelly. By picking this target we get some satisfaction, and William Floyd and his group will get all the blame. You'll see. In a year, business will be better than ever, and the Americans will be looking under every rock for terrorists."

  Pelly nodded. "Maybe I see some value in it, boss."

  Staub patted him on the shoulder. In time, everyone did what he told them to.

  ***

  William "Ike" Floyd hesitated by the front of the Ryder truck. He had made sure the two men in the back were dead, and he was proud of his marksmanship. He felt like a badass now. He thought he'd catch the older Charlie hustling down the canal or back out the access road that led to the highway near his hotel, but he'd been wrong. Ten minutes of searching the area proved that the low brush was a lot thicker than he had originally thought and now he had a missing man on his hands. A missing witness.

  He had run out after him, but was surprised to find no trace, not even a trail of the scruffy old racist.

  He weighed the value of searching for him right now and leaving a truck with two bodies on the side of the road, or disposing of the truck and then having to dispose of the third man later.

  He spit and said, "Shit," as he walked to the rear of the Ryder rental and pulled down the rear door.

  He had already thrown an old piece of string with a washer tied to it to see how deep the water was. He had plenty of room.

  He jumped in the cab and started the truck, working it parallel to the water. He turned the wheel, threw the truck in low gear, revved the engine and then took his foot off the break as he flopped out onto the sandy edge of the access road.

  The truck slid off the edge and turned sideways as it hit the water and floated away from the shore.

  Ike smiled, thinking it couldn't have gone into the water better. Then his smile faded as he realized it was still floating. The big box on the rear was a well-sealed, giant flotation device.

  He watched as the truck lolled around in the dark, slightly smelly water. T
here was no current or flow to the canal. The water around the bright yellow truck bubbled, and it tilted one way, then the other, but didn't sink.

  Ike started to panic, wondering what he could do to fix this. The bomb was safely tucked into the Ford pickup, and he was ready to drive off to find the missing man, but he couldn't leave this mess to attract the attention of the first plane or helicopter that wandered by. Not to mention whatever vehicles traveled the isolated access road.

  Then the truck shifted and belched. The cab pointed further down and then started to sink. Slowly, like a crippled ocean liner at first, then in a great glop of escaping air, it disappeared underwater.

  Ike relaxed a little. That left one problem to solve. Ike pulled out his pistol and headed back to the Ford to start his search for Charlie.

  46

  ALEX DUARTE SAT IN LINA'S PLAIN HOTEL ROOM ALONE WITH the FBI agent. Félix had left complaining of aches and pains as well as a lack of sleep. The DEA agent's edginess had become more apparent every hour.

  Duarte looked at Lina and said, "I'm surprised Staub left so quickly."

  Lina shrugged. "I was surprised he stayed so long. He really didn't add anything here in the U.S. But who can tell with a guy like him?"

  "I thought you knew him pretty well."

  "Why?"

  "You seemed pretty, um, friendly with him."

  She stared at him, the color rising in her face.

  "You know what I mean." Duarte hoped that acted as a catchall apology.

  "You and Félix kill me. You can't see past your stupid dope deal."

  Now she had Duarte's attention.

  "The colonel had a few questionable contacts, so I acted friendly to him to see if he'd talk. I stopped short of being physically friendly and seemed to turn him off. There's a lot law enforcement guys like you never get. This is called 'intelligence,' and I was trying to gather it."

  If she was trying to make Duarte feel like an incompetent, immature jerk, she'd succeeded.