Wood's Wall (27 page)

***

They sat two blocks away from the address Garcia had given Heather. Mac and Mel got out and went towards the house. Heather pulled out, did a three point U turn and headed the other way. They wanted to look like a couple out for a walk, holding hands as they cased the house. Mac wanted his own surveillance before meeting Garcia. 

Lights were on in most rooms, but there was no sign of occupants as they walked past. They went four houses past, then crossed the street and came back on the other side. Nothing had changed as they walked past again, then slid into the beauganvillias of the neighbor’s house. 

Garcia was sitting in a squat, watching the house. He didn’t turn as they pulled in next to him, but handed Mel his phone. “Send yourself a blank text. You’ll have my number then. We can use that to communicate. No more voice after this. They have a 55-gallon drum in the garage they’re making into a bomb. I believe the material is still in the house - they’re in there now. Why don’t you two go on the other side of the garage, see if you can see what they’re up to. Remember, text only.” 

“Great, another cowboy. What is it with you guys not calling for help,” she asked.

“I’ve seen the help around here, believe me when I tell you we are better off ourselves. On top of that it would take them hours to get it together. I think we only have minutes. I alerted Homeland Security to beef up security at the President’s speech site.”

“The president?” Mel gasped.

“Not now. Trust me - just go.”

Mac and Mel crept out of the bushes and walked down the street again, arm in arm this time. They passed the house and crept up to the garage. The position was more exposed than Mac would have liked, but he had no choice if they were to see inside the garage. 

Mel texted Garcia: ‘Ready.” She was facing the street, trying to shield the light from her phone from being visible when she saw two silhouettes approach. She knew it was Trufante from the man’s size and gait. The smaller man was obviously Cesar. She pushed Mac to get out of sight as they approached. He gave her a questioning look, then saw what she was pointing at, and they quickly retreated behind the garage. Mel texted Garcia about the men approaching and waited for his response, then Mac nudged her back to their original spot. The two men had passed them by. 

Garcia texted back that they were in the house now. That made the odds steeper, with Cesar there. They knew he would be armed, and that he wasn’t scared to shoot. “Sit and wait.” Garcia texted Mel.

***

Ibrahim gave Cesar a questioning look. “The material is correct. What can I do for you?”

“Not so fast,
Abraham
. What’s your timetable? I will not stop you if you tell me when and where. Let us get off the island, though, and you’re free to pursue your twisted goals.”

“I cannot tell you anything. Only Allah knows all.”

Patel came down the stairs, dressed in the hazmat suit. “Who are these men? What are they doing here?”

“I am getting rid of them now.”

“Wait. We need them to transport the barrel. It is more than we can do alone. I heard what he wants.” He turned to Cesar. “You help us get everything in place and I will make sure you have ample time to leave.”

Cesar nodded. “Deal, man. What’s the plan?”

“You have a boat?” He watched as Cesar nodded. “I will tell you when we need your help. Until then,” Patel motioned to the couch.

***

“What was that about the President?” Jules asked.

“He’s here.” Garcia glanced at his watch. “Giving a speech at the Truman White House in a couple of hours. I’m thinking that’s where all this is going to end up.”

“You don’t need me here. Let Heather and I go to the site and check it out.” This was too close to home for her to trust the bumbling Feds. She new the area and the threat, giving her an advantage.

“OK, stay in touch.”

46

Jules flashed her badge to gain access to the site. Even at five a.m. there was activity. Revelers were staggering by on their way home from the bars, watching as rental trucks lined up, quickly dumping their contents and leaving. The Little White House was the perfect location for the speech. Located on Front Street, just blocks from Duval and many of the resorts, President Truman’s retirement residence had been converted to a museum. The location allowed for most wanting to attend to get there on foot or via bicycle. Selected for it’s size, the space would look like a large crowd, but in fact was small enough to easily control. The time was carefully picked. Friday morning at nine a.m. would eliminate most of the drunks, who would be sleeping off last night. In Key West, especially during Gay Pride Week, you couldn’t tell a Tuesday night from a Saturday night.

She texted Gracia that they were there. Heather used her phone to take pictures until they started getting suspicious glances from the Secret Service. They circled the house, and it quickly became apparent that the most likely place to launch an attack would be from the water. The boat basin’s entry was unprotected, at least for now. Jules hoped that the Navy or Coast Guard would soon block the entrance to casual boaters. 

***

Cesar watched with curiosity as the two men assembled the bomb. Although it insulted even his sadistic tendencies, he was still interested. After all, you never knew when you might need to build a nuke. His violence was geared towards individuals who got in his way - not masses of innocents. He looked over at Trufante who was staring at his finger. They were in the garage, warming quickly as the sun hit the metal roof. Patel dumped bags of ball bearings into the barrel with Ibrahim’s help. He went back to the house and returned with a canister surrounded in bubble wrap. This was carefully placed in the center of the barrel and the remaining ball bearings were added around it. 

“You think about who’s going to lift that thing?” Cesar spurted.

Patel tried to tip the barrel, but it was too heavy. “You’re right. We need to make it lighter.”

“You got a freaking nuke sitting there! You don’t need shrapnel. Put it on its side and dump it out. Leave some if you want, but that thing’s got to be less than 200 pounds or it’ll capsize the boat. It’ll be hard enough as it is to keep it balanced, and I ain’t driving that mother fucker.” Cesar said.

The four men carefully set the barrel on its side, sweeping the ball bearings out with their hands.

“Now, how are we gonna get this out of here?”

“I’ll be back,” Ibrahim said. “I have a truck rented. The rental place opens at seven.” He glanced at his watch. “Almost time.”

“Better if I go. You’re too suspicious,” Cesar said. “I know the dude at the rental place. Maybe I can get him there earlier. Watch him.” He pointed to Trufante.

Ibrahim opened the garage door and pulled out his scooter. He looked toward Patel, who shook his head no. Ibrahim kicked the starter and pulled onto the street, heading back toward Duval. The streets were empty now, dawn on the horizon. He cruised back to Greene and turned left, heading toward the truck rental.

***

Mel sat on the ground. She leaned back and texted Garcia what was happening in the garage, as relayed by Mac, who was several feet off the ground in a tree, able to see through a window unobscured by a bush. It looked like they were finished with the assembly. Then the garage door opened suddenly, and Ibrahim left on the scooter. Mel sent an update to Garcia, who responded for them to stay with the bomb. 

Mac crawled out of the tree and went to Mel. “Maybe we should try and get Trufante out of there now. They’re just waiting.” 

“Let me see.” Mel went to the window. She turned back to Mac in shock, “Oh my freakin’ god - that’s Patel. Crap, I knew that guy was bad.”

Mac ignored her. He didn’t care who was in there. His mind was focussed on two things: getting Trufante out and diffusing the bomb. “They’ve got to be paranoid and tired. They’ve been up all night. Maybe we could create a diversion and get him out of there. Stay here, let me see what I can come up with.” 

She moved to follow. “I’m going with you.”

“Okay. Follow my lead.” 

***

“Tell Garcia we’re coming over.” 

Mac peered around the side of the garage. No one in sight, he stepped out quickly, heading away from the house. Mel followed, and they crossed the street together. The truck took them by surprise, barreling down the road way faster than the 15 mph speed limit. It hit a pothole and bounced, but the driver kept going. They stood on the sidewalk and stared, catching the eye of the driver before Mac realized what was happening and dove for cover. 

He landed on his shoulder and screamed out in pain. A dog answered, barking as it ran toward them. The dog itself was not a problem, but it would give away their location. The truck braked and stopped in front of the driveway. Cesar ran from the garage towards them. He drew his gun as he approached. The dog led him right to the couple. 

“Out of there,” he snapped.

Mac nodded at Mel, who went out first. He looked out of the corner of his eye and saw Garcia walk calmly up to Cesar, gun pointed at his head.

“Drop it, now. Set the gun down and kick it toward me.”

Cesar complied, cursing under his breath. 

“Now on your knees.” Garcia was going for a twist tie to hand cuff Cesar when the first bullet struck him in the back. He went down on the asphalt, blood quickly formed a stream leading to the gutter. 

Patel emerged from the garage, gun pointed at the group. “Amateurs. All of you inside.”

They left Garcia in the street and walked single file to the garage. “Ibrahim. Back the truck up. Cesar, tie them up. Then drag that body somewhere out of sight.” Patel ordered.

The truck beeped as it backed into the driveway, and the dog continued to bark. The beeping stopped as Ibrahim set the parking brake, and now it was just the dog barking.

Patel calmly crossed the street. One shot and the street was quiet again. “Filthy animals,” he muttered to himself as he crossed back toward the house. He motioned them into the garage with the gun. Trufante was still there sitting in a corner, nursing his finger. “Phones, please. Cesar, get the FBI agent’s when you move him.” They tossed their phones on the floor. Patel removed the batteries, then smashed each with the stock of his gun. Cesar walked back with Garcia’s phone and followed Patel’s lead, his cowboy boot smashing the phone to pieces. 

“Now, tie them up, all three of them.” The gun barrel pointed at Mac, Mel and Trufante.

“We need the Cajun.” Cesar said. It’s going to take more than the three of us to move that thing.

47

“Her phone’s off. It’s going straight to voicemail,” Jules said. She set the phone down and started the engine. “We’ve got two hours before this shindig starts. Let’s go get the boat. They’re going to come in by water. I’m not sitting here and waiting for some alphabet agency guy to tell me what to do. This is our home.” 

“What about Mel and Mac?” Heather asked.

Jules thought for a minute, “If we don’t stop the bomb, they’re all dead anyway. We need to take care of the big picture. Mac is pretty creative, we’ve got to trust him.”

The SUV pulled out from the curb, and she made the dock in minutes — a drive that would have taken half an hour during any time other than early morning. When they pulled up to the dock, Mac’s boat was bobbing a quarter mile out, swinging on its anchor line, bow toward land with the outgoing tide. 

“How are we going to get out there?”

“I have no idea how he got here.” They looked around for transport, anything to get them out there. Heather went out to the dock and saw the paddleboard tied by a surf leash under the dock. “That’s how.” She pointed to the board.

“That’s your deal, sister. I’m the golfer in the family.”

Heather sat on the dock and used her feet to maneuver the board parallel with the structure. She’d been on a stand up board before, but the water had been calm. Once situated she sat on the dock and set one foot at a time on the board, got on her knees, and untied the velcro closure that held the leash to the piling. Paddle in hand, she stood and started pulling towards the boat. The water was choppy from the wind now, but the outgoing tide was in her favor, making each stroke count for two. She almost overran the boat, unable to steer in the chop. After a moment of panic her hard strokes on the right turned the board towards Mac’s boat. She got on the dive platform and dragged the board over the transom. The engines started, she raised the anchor, and idled toward the dock.