Danger Point
Page 28
DJ points his loaded bow toward the Captain. “Could you two please have your reunion later? Step away from my wife, you fucking sack of shit.”
Murph sees the Captain’s gun on the coffee table, about an arm’s length away. He dives for it at the same time Sprague does. DJ runs toward Maria as Murph and Sprague struggle for the gun. Sprague punches Murph hard in the solar plexus and winds him. He grabs the gun as DJ stands and aims the bow. Sprague ducks through the door as the arrow hits the wall above him. He runs out, down the hall and up onto the deck. Murph bends over on his knees, gasping for air. He struggles to his feet, grabs his gun and heads after Sprague. The Captain turns and fires once but misses as Murph slips into one of the unoccupied staterooms. Sprague heads up onto the deck, Murph on his heels. Murph balances on the deck railing, plants his feet and aims at the retreating back of the Captain. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something in the water. He turns and recognizes Bobby, floating face down. He glances once more as Sprague leaps off the boat, down onto the dock, running.
“Fuck.” Murph mutters as he drops his gun onto the deck, peels off his vest, kicks off his shoes and dives overboard to save his friend.
◆◆◆
I don’t remember anything else until DJ wakes me up. I’m sitting on the deck, gasping for air, coughing out water. I try to force out the words, to ask him what happened, when I hear a huge explosion somewhere outside of the harbor.
◆◆◆
John G., Alexis, The Master Chief and Delany are on the bow of The General’s boat when the barge explodes less than one hundred feet away from them. They’re slammed against the bulkhead, showered in water, sand and shrapnel. The group litters the deck of the boat, blood and carnage surrounding them, the last thing John G. sees before losing consciousness is Alexis slumped up against the bulkhead with blood oozing from her mouth, Ferguson attempting to cover her and protect her from the falling debris.
◆◆◆
I try to clear my head and sit up. I look around and see DJ, Murph and – thank God – Maria. Murph has blood seeping from a crude bandage on his arm but everyone else seems okay.
“Another couple minutes in the water, Bobby, and you might not be sitting here,” Murph says.
Maria shakes her head and says, “You have more lives than any cat I’ve ever met, Bobby Paladin.”
DJ reaches down and I grab his hand as he pulls me to my feet. “I’m okay. Just a little bashed up. There were two guys standing in the salon and they caught me off guard when I came up on them. One guy was some kind of a giant and the other guy was a little Arab holding a silver briefcase like held his lunch money and he was afraid some bully was going to steal it.”
Maria turns to her husband, “Honey, those are the guys I was telling you about. The Arab guy has some type of flu virus he’s going to release near the Rose Bowl later on today. You have to stop them!” DJ looks at me, “Bobby, the Carroll’s’ house is two blocks down the street. They’re in Hawaii right now. We need to borrow their car. Murph, can you get us clearance to break the speed limit on the freeway?”
Cradling his arm, Murph pulls his phone out of his pocket, “What kind of car are you going to be driving?”
“A Lamborghini 560, copper color, with vanity plates that read, Piece of Cake,” DJ shouts over his shoulder, “Get on it!”
He grabs my arm and we jump off the boat and start running down the street. I stumble to keep up with him.
“Are you nuts, DJ?!” I yell, “Ken loves that car more than he loves his wife!” We stop at the Carroll’s garage door. DJ punches in the access code, which he remembers from when we renovated the Carroll’s home. The garage door slides open and there sits the Lamborghini. It’s so beautiful.
“Bobby? Bobby!” DJ shouts as he opens the driver side door, grabs the keys from under the floor mat and starts the car. I jump in as the car roars to life, the sound magnified in the enclosed space, and DJ squeals out of the garage and accelerates up the street.
Chapter 61
“Don’t try to talk. You’ve been badly wounded.” John G. can barely hear the medic because of the ringing in his ears. He looks into the eyes of the young woman as she injects him with something for the pain.
“The team,” he gasps, “Where’s the rest of the team?” But before he can hear an answer, he slips back into the black void.
◆◆◆
DJ and I are hauling ass up the freeway. “Maria described the car those guys are driving,” he says, eyes intense on the road, “It’s a dark blue Cadillac Escalade. She didn’t get the whole plate number, but she noticed it had four fours in it.”
“Great.” I say, “I got a good look at both of those guys. If we can find the SUV, we can take them down.”
It’s dark, late and starting to rain, just like that night so many years ago that changed my life forever. We’re coming up on the Pasadena freeway. This was the first freeway built in the United States, built in the 1940s and you can tell. It’s narrow with tight concrete walls that feel way to close to this very expensive car. I look over at DJ and he has that look of grim determination. I turn to look ahead and through the thin rain and see a dark SUV further up. That might be might our bad guys. Its reflective paint makes it seem as though it changes color as it passes under the freeway lights.
“DJ,” I say, “That might be them up ahead, in the right lane.” It’s so hard to tell in this rain.
He clenches his jaw and downshifts and the powerful car surges forward. I get a good look at the license plate; it has four fours in it. We pull up into the Caddie’s blind spot.
“You need to pass them so I can get a look at them.”
DJ pulls out into the next lane and passes them.
“It’s them. You don’t forget someone when he throws you overboard by your neck.”
DJ pulls into the same lane ahead of the SUV so we’re about a hundred yards in front it.
“Hang on, Bobby!” he says as he slams on the brakes.
Suddenly, everything is happening in slow motion. The Caddie swerves to the right and starts climbing up the embankment. The driver over corrects and the Caddie starts to roll over, again and again. It’s late enough that the light traffic on the freeway is able to swerve and get out of the way of the accident. Horns are blaring and people start to pass and pull over on to the side of the road. We pull onto the shoulder and get out of the car in time to see the Caddie roll over one more time and come to rest on its roof, the wheels are still spinning. I grab my gun and we slowly approach the car. I shout at the other drivers who are pulled over to stay back. I watch as DJ makes his way toward the driver’s side of the car and leans down to look in the window.
“This guy’s toast, Bobby,” he calls to me, “His neck is broken.” There’s karma for you.
We’re so concerned with the driver that we don’t notice the passenger climb out of the window until he’s running up the embankment, carrying the stainless steel briefcase.
“Stop!” I shout, running around the car and raising my gun. “Stop!” I shout again. “If you give yourself up now, you might have a chance.”
The man stops running and turns to face me, the hugging the silver case to his chest. “The General’s long gone,” he shouts. “He’ll never be caught and you won’t shoot me. I know of your past Bobby Paladin. You will never shoot anyone again. You are a coward! If you’ll excuse me, I have a flu virus to release.” He turns and starts to run up the hill.
I look over the barrel of my gun and see that my hand is shaking.
“Bobby!” I hear D.J. call my name as though from under water.
I take the shot.
Epilogue
For hours, the sheriffs, police and an alphabet soup of agencies have asked us the same stupid questions over and over and over again. Delaney finally shows up and takes the agent in charge aside. Fifteen minutes later, we’re alone with Delaney in the interrogation room. He walks over to the two way mirror and presses his ID against the glass.
“A little privacy guys, please?” he says into the mirror.
The lights come on in the observation room and we see half dozen men and women open the door and leave the room. Delaney sits down at the table, facing us.
“You both look like shit,” he says.
“Have you looked in that mirror today, Delaney?” I ask him, “Your career as supermodel is over, dude.”
He reaches up to touch the place on the side of his head that’s been shaven and stitched.
“It wasn’t paying me much anyway,” he says, with a slight smile. He turns serious as he looks at me, “Don’t worry about the shooting, Bobby. You did the right thing. There won’t be any charges filed against you. That terrorist was trying to unleash a deadly flu virus at the Rose Bowl during the President’s speech this morning. The canister in the briefcase is still intact and in a secure location. Your actions saved the life of the President and the lives of thousands of American.”
I spread my hands on the table and look down. I give a slight nod. Dr. Summers is really going to have her work cut out for her now.
“Where’s Murph? Did he tell you about Captain Sprague?” DJ says.
“I never did trust that son of a bitch,” says Delaney. “As we speak, Detective Murphy’s pulling together a task force to find him.”
DJ asks, “What about the rest of the team? Are they okay? That asshole said The General got away. Did he?”
I look up. “Alexis.” I say, “What about Alexis?”
“She’s alive, Bobby.” Delany replies. “You won’t see her any time soon, though. She’s going to need time to recover from her injuries. Her boss has had her transported back to Washington, D.C. for recovery, debriefing and reassignment when she’s healthy again.”
He pauses before continuing, “John G. sustained some pretty serious damage to his chest and face. He’s in surgery now. The doctors are very optimistic. The bad news is the Master Chief. He didn’t make it.”
“Ferguson? No. What happened?” DJ asks, shocked.
Delany shakes his head, “He was killed by the explosion, protecting Alexis. He gave his life so she could live. He was a true Marine.”
We’re silent for a few minutes before DJ repeats, “And The General?”
“Gone,” sighs Delany. “Not a trace of him or the submarine. They’re just gone. But you can bet your last dollar, that we haven’t heard the last of that man.”
◆◆◆
DJ and I finally are allowed to leave the Pasadena Police Headquarters.
“Let’s get this car back into Ken’s garage before anyone notices it’s missing,” he says.
“We’d better top off the gas tank.” I say.
DJ tosses me the keys to the Lamborghini.
“You drive,” he says, “I’ve had enough excitement to last me the rest of my life.”
Author’s Note
I would like to say thank you to Lori and Theresa all for their hard work. Without them this novel wouldn’t have been possible. I would also like to dedicate this book to my best friend, Richard Paul Weaver, Jr., who left us way too soon. And to Ray Felix from the Red Fox Lounge. To the Nines, Ray, to the Nines.