Burn Zone

by James O. Born

Duarte identified himself and asked a few questions. The patrolman only knew that someone walking his dogs had found the body and that it had been dead only a short while when it was found. No one had heard anything or seen anything.

  Then they found the pay phone in front of the little store named Santa Anna's Pit Stop. It appeared to be little used.

  As Duarte surveyed the area from the phone, he turned to Lina, who was doing the same thing. "The only thing I see worthwhile is the hotel."

  Lina said, "The cops already checked it."

  "But they didn't have a photo of who they were looking for."

  Lina said, "Good point. Let's go."

  They let Félix snooze in the backseat as they parked in front of the little office of the Jacinto Arms. The young woman on duty looked as happy to see Duarte and Lina as she would to see masked robbers.

  "Sixty-five a night is the best I can do." She said it with no emotion, almost like a computer.

  Duarte flashed his identification. "Just have a few questions."

  "Already talked to the cops. Don't know nothin'."

  Duarte held up the driver's license photo of William Floyd and set it on the small counter. "Was this guy a guest here?"

  Her big brown eyes slowly tracked down to the photo, and then she actually seemed interested for a moment as she studied the photo. "Yeah, he was here."

  "Can I see his registration?"

  She fumbled with a few cards next to her computer and handed Duarte one.

  He looked it over, but all it said was "Bill Johnson, New York."

  Duarte said, "You get anything else from him? What he was driving? Any information could help."

  She nodded and typed in a few keys. "He was drivin' a Ryder truck but said he was done with it. I didn't see what he left in." She handed a sheet of paper from the printer to Duarte. "But he asked for directions here. It was still in my Mapquest on the computer. No one else needed directions."

  Duarte stared at not only the address where Floyd was headed but a concise map, too. Man, was modern police work getting easier.

  ***

  Pelly and Staub had eaten a good meal at a chain sports bar a few miles from the warehouse. It was the first restaurant Pelly had seen in the area. Now they were sitting in a small office by one of the doors to the warehouse, waiting for both William Floyd and a professor from a nearby university whom the colonel had somehow heard would arm his nuclear weapon for a crateful of cash.

  Pelly hadn't looked in the sealed crate yet, but knew the footlocker-size box did indeed have a lot of cash in it.

  The manager, Mr. Duplantis, had been told to leave, and the colonel had been shown how to set the alarm. In the bright fluorescent light of the office, Pelly wondered if Colonel Staub ever worried about the moral consequences of his acts.

  Pelly justified his own actions one of two ways: business reasons or teaching someone a lesson about making fun of him and his condition. But a nuclear weapon set off in the U.S.? That was going to kill a lot of people no matter where they sent it. He mulled over the prospect as he sat in silence with Colonel Staub.

  After more than an hour, the bell for the front door rang. Pelly looked up at the colonel, who nodded for him to answer it.

  Pelly walked past the big bay door that allowed trucks into the facility and went to the small door marked PUBLIC/ADMINISTRATIVE. He opened the hollow metal door, then froze for a second. This wasn't who he had expected.

  ***

  Alice Brainard had gotten Scott Mahovich working right away on the samples that Alex had sent her. She had a growing sense of the importance of this case.

  No one was saying that a nuclear weapon had come from the cargo ship, but they weren't taking any chances. No one at the sheriff's office had asked her about the FBI interview. She had just continued her work. But all she could think about was Alex Duarte and his safety.

  Scott, the DNA scientist, popped into her office. "I'm working on these samples you gave me, but in light of the interest by the FBI, I'm going to have to report what I've been working on."

  She cut her eyes up from the clothing she was searching for fibers. She was past the point of leading this guy on. She was not in a cute workout leotard. She didn't have on makeup or have her hair in anything but a ponytail.

  She leveled her stare and said, "You will work those samples up, keep your mouth shut and stop bothering me."

  "Or what?"

  "Or I'll get up, march over to you and you'll have to tell all your deputy buddies how a girl kicked your ass."

  He hesitated.

  She stood up quickly, scooting the chair out from behind her.

  He held up his hands. "Okay, okay. But when will it end? Am I going to just keep doing samples for your boyfriend?"

  "Yes, until he doesn't need our help anymore." She went back to work, ignoring the tall, gangly man. She thought, That felt kinda good.

  ***

  Pelly heard the colonel call out, "Who is it?"

  Pelly smiled, knowing this was not what his employer expected either. He stood aside so the guest could enter. "Please, Dr. Tuznia, come in."

  The forty-year-old woman did not look like a nuclear scientist. She was very well-built with dark hair that ran across her pretty face. If it weren't for her Slavic cheekbones, she would have looked Hispanic.

  Her hips swayed in a very unprofessorlike way in her midlength skirt. Her large breasts jigged slightly as she walked. Pelly didn't even mind the fascinated look she gave him. As she stepped through the door, she ran a confident hand across his overgrown face and winked.

  "That is impressive," she said, her accent sounding like a Russian spy in a cartoon. "Hypertrichosis?"

  Pelly nodded.

  "I like it." Her long straight nose was the perfect highlight to her high cheeks and white teeth.

  Pelly didn't want to miss the look on the colonel's face as she walked into sight. This was the spitting image of every woman he had ever ordered whipped. She even looked like the secretary the colonel had beaten for using the phone for personal calls.

  Staub stood inside the office, smiling at first, then, failing to hide his surprise, said, "Who the hell is this?"

  The professor stepped into the office and offered her hand. "Marise Tuznia."

  Staub took it, his mouth still agape. He didn't give his name.

  "I thought Dr. Tuznia was a man."

  "He was. That was my father. I am also a Ph.D. in physics. I could call my brother. But he is a doctor of dentistry."

  Staub stood speechless.

  Pelly enjoyed every second of it.

  The professor said, "Now, Mr. Ortíz, do you have my money?"

  Staub nodded. He stepped over to the crate he had had brought up to the office, popped opened a big folding knife and cut the seal around the top. Then he pried off the top of the crate.

  Even Pelly had to catch his breath at the sight of the U.S. currency stacked inside the box.

  The good-looking professor stooped down to the crate and ran her hand over a couple of rows of cash.

  Staub said, "Do you wish to count it?"

  She gazed down at the fifty-dollar bills and shook her head. "Even if you are off by a million or two, I'm still rich." She stood and said, "Where is the device?"

  "On its way."

  The professor looked at Pelly and smiled. "What could we do with the free time?"

  Pelly smiled until he saw the look on his employer's face.

  49

  ALEX DUARTE NAVIGATED THE STREETS OF HOUSTON CAREFULLY as they looked for the entrance to the industrial park that housed the address about which the hotel clerk had said William Floyd had asked. It was almost dark now, and traffic had quieted to the occasional big rig tearing out on a late delivery.

  They knew Floyd was no longer using a Ryder truck, but had no idea what he was driving. What concerned Duarte most was, if they were done with the truck, what had happened to whatever they were transporting?

  "Wish I could've talked t
o Forrest Jessup. I think he would've known what was going on and clued us in."

  From the backseat, Félix mumbled, "This guy Floyd is the key. He'll tell us if Ortíz killed Gastlin."

  Duarte thought about that as he shot a look to Lina, who was giving him a glare back. Had Félix lost track of what they were doing?

  The DEA man said, "Lina knows this guy, and she hasn't given us shit. That's the fucking FBI for you."

  Lina turned to face him. "What's that mean?"

  "You probably already know about this asshole, Ortíz."

  "No one knows who he is. I only know Floyd, and I guarantee he didn't do anything in Panama."

  "Why don't you tell us everything you know about Floyd, then?"

  "Because he's a source, and some of it's not for release."

  "We're not fucking reporters. What's that mean, 'not for release'? Does that mean it's classified?" His speech was slurred.

  "Yeah, pretty much."

  "You said you guys got him on a child pornography beef. What sort of information could he give that would get him out of that? I'd never make a deal with a child molester." Félix folded his arms like he had just had the last word.

  Duarte was concerned about his friend's demeanor and insistence on focusing on a single murder when the possibility of some kind of dirty bomb was a very real threat.

  Lina said, "Let's just say he knew some very dangerous people."

  "When?" asked Félix.

  "The mid-nineties."

  "And you still keep track of him?"

  "He's involved in the whole white-power scene. He knows militiamen, Klan guys, Nazis. His latest group of friends are the border-protection people. They've been preaching to him about the need to secure our borders before something catastrophic happens."

  Félix said, "Not all terrorism comes from other countries. Look at Oklahoma City."

  Duarte looked over at Lina, who was silent and obviously tired of this conversation.

  Félix threw down another beer, settled into the backseat and started snoring almost immediately.

  ***

  Staub steamed at the behavior of this Ukrainian whore who apparently had one, overpriced skill. He sent Pelly to help her drive her Audi in through the big bay door into the central receiving area. Pelly then had to retrieve a huge case out of the new car's trunk.

  Staub said, "Nice car on a college professor's salary."

  She looked up from watching Pelly set down the heavy case and said, "Expecting this windfall from you, I took out a loan."

  "Do you care what we do with the device?"

  "I will be relocating, so I do not care. I believe your cash will ensure a very nice life for me anywhere I choose. And I promise I never willingly chose Houston."

  She turned to her case and patted Pelly on the back. "Thank you so much, Pelly." She smiled and leaned in close. Her breasts pressed against the young man's back.

  Staub couldn't believe someone would show this kind of disrespect to him. Ignore him and slobber over Pelly. He felt the blood rush to his face as he couldn't escape the image of his father and María.

  He wouldn't let that happen again. Not with this arrogant bitch.

  He worked to control his voice. "Pelly."

  "Yes, boss?"

  "Why don't you start cruising the area looking for our friend Mr. Floyd?"

  "You don't think he can find the place?"

  "I'll be surprised if he can find Houston."

  "Yeah, sure, boss." Pelly smiled and nodded to the female professor as she started to set up some tools and supplies.

  ***

  William "Ike" Floyd had trouble reading the street signs in this dark and dirty part of town. The lights all seemed to be in front of the big warehouses and nowhere near the street signs. He had a map from the slow girl at the Jacinto Arms, but it didn't seem to be helping him as he puttered up and down streets looking for the specific address.

  The Ford pickup truck drove smoothly and attracted a lot less attention than the big rental truck.

  It was just late enough that he couldn't find anyone to ask directions of either.

  Finally he got a glimpse of the sign that looked like his street. He turned and slowed immediately when he saw the length of it and the number of giant warehouses lining both sides of the extra-wide road.

  In the first parking lot, a small car sat under one of the parking lot's streetlights. A man stood outside the driver's door, looking down the street, too.

  Ike pulled into the lot, hoping the man might have a better idea of where the address might be.

  Ike rolled his window down as he approach the tall, fit-looking man with dark hair who was wearing a light-colored windbreaker.

  "Excuse me," said Ike.

  The man stepped closer to him and then seemed to stare for a moment.

  Ike was startled when the man reached in the open window and grabbed him by the shoulder with a grip that stunned him.

  The man said, "Get out of the car, William."

  ***

  Colonel Lázaro Staub silently watched as Professor Tuznia carefully laid out tools from the large case she had retrieved from her Audi. The suitcaselike box opened out into trays, and she looked like she was preparing for surgery. He watched her slightly large bottom as it swayed, and then occasionally, when she turned, he'd catch a glimpse of her ample breasts. She reminded him of María Ortíz from his childhood more than any woman in Panama he had ever beaten. She hummed some unfamiliar tune as she stopped to wipe down a mirrorlike device.

  Staub used his most impressive voice in his best English. "And what would a physicist use that for?" He smiled and stepped toward her.

  She didn't even turn around to face him. "You would not understand."

  Staub felt his left eye twitch. Who the hell did she think she was?

  Then the professor stood straight and faced him. "Where did Pelly go?"

  "Don't worry where he went. I am the one who hired you."

  "And he is the one with nice legs and that wild, furry face." She smiled and placed one of her small hands over her chest.

  Staub did not like the implication. Was this whore already thinking of cheating on him? He felt that familiar rage start to build in him. It didn't matter if he was not in Panama. He still had power. The power to cripple the U.S. She shouldn't speak to him like that. He looked at her more closely. How could a professional dress like that? The low-cut top, her muscled calves showing from under her skirt. His eye shifted into overdrive. He pulled out a cigarette and started to light it.

  The professor didn't turn around, but, as if she had eyes in the back of her head, said, "Do not smoke."

  He froze and stared at her shapely back. "I own this entire complex. You do not presume to tell me what to do."

  "I'll tell you not to smoke while I am working, or you can find someone else." She stood and turned, leveling her dark, oval eyes at him. "Someone else familiar enough with these things to arm your weapon?"

  He remained quiet and leaned back against the outside of the office, the unlighted cigarette still in his mouth. He glared at the professor, who had gone back to her precious tools. He picked up a thick yardstick that was lying against the wall where he was leaning. He flipped it between his hands, the whole time focusing his anger on the busy woman in front of him. He stood up and started to pace, occasionally coming close to the professor, the entire time imagining what it would be like to put the bitch in her place. Then, without even realizing it, as he walked past her, he swung the yardstick and broke it over her backside.

  She flinched and stood up, spinning as she did. "You struck me."

  He stared at her, the broken yardstick in his hands.

  She said, "Are you crazy?" She just looked at him. "You are. You're insane."

  Before he could control it, he felt himself take a step and his hands start to move on their own. "You think I'm crazy." He had his hands around her throat before she could react. He dropped his right hand and grasped the top of h
er blouse and yanked. The cotton top ripped off, revealing a tight black bra and plenty of breast. He hooked a finger in the front of the bra and pulled violently, popping the clasp and pulling it mostly off her shoulder.

  She stood defiantly, no fear in her eyes. What had she been through before coming to the land of the free?

  His right hand joined his left around her throat. He slowly applied the pressure as he ignored her slaps and clawing. Then, as her oxygen was cut off, little by little he saw fear start to spread onto her face. He enjoyed the look so much, he forgot how vitally he needed her special talents.

  50

  DUARTE USED HIS NATURAL SPEED AND DECISIVENESS TO REACH William Floyd before he could react. The ATF agent didn't even bother to draw his pistol. He had his right hand through the open window of the pickup truck and on Floyd's shoulder before Floyd could clearly see who it was assaulting him. With a quick squeeze on the truck's door and the right pressure on his shoulder, Duarte had "Ike" Floyd on the ground and immediately bitching about the treatment.

  He just hoped Ike was the guy with the answers. As he patted him down roughly while holding his shoulder and pinning the larger man to the ground, he found a SIG-Sauer.380 tucked in the prone man's waistband. He tilted him and yanked out the pistol.

  "We got a lot to talk about."

  "Who the hell are you?"

  ***

  Lina Cirillo had hardly noticed the pickup truck that pulled alongside their little rental Cobalt before Alex Duarte had sprung from the shoebox of a car and yanked the driver out of the truck. Félix Baez never stirred from his deep sleep in the backseat of the small car. She jumped out without waking him.

  Now she had her pistol in her hand and rounded the far side of the truck to see Duarte holding down a larger man. As she got closer, her stomach tightened as she realized the man on the ground was William "Ike" Floyd.

  Lina came to a stop in front of them and said, "How'd you subdue him so quickly?"