Bombshell - Men of Sanctuary Series, Book Three (18 page)

“No such thing as coincidence,” Lucian said. “Someone went through a great deal of trouble to make sure Larsson was in the right place at the right time.”

“Exactly. With the device disarmed, John sent Keko out to me. I met her at the front door. Of course, the moment the news broke about the evacuation of the post office building, everyone was taking photos, video recording, texting. That’s how we know that exactly seven minutes after Keko disarmed the bomb—or thought she did—

the device rearmed and exploded.”

Lorelei shook her head. “Bastards. Lucky you both made it to the SUV.”

“We didn’t.”

Mac jerked upright. “What?”

“Scoff if you will,” Kamaka said, “but I sense explosions a microsecond before they happen. It’s a gift—of sorts. John saw it in action more than once. It’s one of the reasons he recruited me. I’m like a canary in the coal mines.”

Four sets of eyes zoomed in on Kamaka, mirrored varying levels of disbelief.

He sighed. “Man, I really hate this part.”

He rose, turned away from his audience. The big man unbuttoned his colorful Hawaiian shirt, exposed his broad back.

Lucian hopped to his feet. ”
Jeez
us jumped up holy
kee
rist and all the saints in heaven.”

From the waist up, the flesh of Kamaka’s back, shoulders, and the backs of his arms was pockmarked with scars of all shapes, sizes, and colors. “I’d show you my sexy ass, but you already have the idea. A square trash receptacle flew into us, which protected my legs, probably saved me from being hamstrung, or having arteries ripped open. Or even worse.”

Everyone looked solemn. They all knew what an explosive device in such a situation was capable of doing.

“Hold on, let me lend a hand.” Lorelei helped Kamaka get his shirt back on, turned him around, secured the buttons. “There you are, all prettied up again. What happened to Keko? More scars?”

Mac, about to jump in to say he hadn’t seen any scars, held his tongue.
Maybe the
tattoo hides the damage?

Kamaka beat him to it. “No. Just scrapes from the sidewalk and bruises from me.

I felt the bomb when it went up, had a millisecond to throw myself over her. Pretty much squashed poor boss lady. Then the trash receptacle hit us. A fancy trash receptacle, four-sided and sturdy, imbedded with round beach pebbles. Prevented worse damage.”

Mac felt a chill sprint through his body at what could have been, had Kamaka not acted so quickly to protect Keko.
Regardless of what you think of me at the moment,
you’re a good man, Charlie Brown.

Adam shook his head. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Kamaka sat again. “You might say that. Bits of shrapnel from the brick walls and metal window frames, plus lots of glass slivers, still work their way out of my hide. Plastic surgeon dudes said it would continue for the rest of my life. But at least I
have
a life. So does Keko. We would have been shredded if we’d been inside. Collateral damage. We don’t believe we were included in the original plan. John had to be the intended target. No one waited for ransom to be paid, that’s for sure.”

“None of those details showed up in the news reports.” Mac tapped his pen against the pad on the conference table.

The Hawaiian nodded. “Lots of pull ensured the important stuff didn’t reach the media. The officials leaked the version they wanted, so that’s what was reported. Keko and I checked as many news stories as we could find—the same reports, nearly word for word, skirting around the truth, as we knew it. The bitch of it was that no one took credit for it. That proved the most worrisome.”

Mac tried to get a grip on the situation. “So, upper echelon didn’t want the bad guys to know that the good guys figured out what really happened.”

“Best guess, yeah. NSA, Homeland Security, that crew. We were debriefed until our eyes crossed and our voices gave out, especially Miss Keko. After that, she and I tore the scenario down from every possible angle. The only conclusion that made sense pointed to the device being a prototype.”

“Prototype? For what?” Lucian asked.

“Okay, this is how we saw it. Consider a hypothetical situation. Let’s say a bomb threat is made during a very public occasion, maybe during a big deal fundraiser, or a speech of some political significance. Loads of politicians or military officers or upper level government types, whoever. Doesn’t matter, as long as they’re newsworthy. Pick the best target to create fear and chaos, or take out key leaders. Then, call in the bomb threat. The bomb is found—too easily—and dismantled.”

Kamaka shifted in his seat. “Everyone is pumped up with the success, congratulations are in order, cigars handed out. Assured that the threat is nullified and the white hats triumphed one more time, the party proceeds as planned. The device is surrounded by experts to examine while they wait for a containment unit to arrive.

Seven minutes later,
kaboom
! The experts are taken out, and so is everyone else in the immediate vicinity. Bad guys win, deal our side a serious hurt. Depending on the size of the device, hundreds, even thousands, could be killed or injured. Another 9/11.”

Lucian raised his hand. “Why seven minutes?”

“Again, best guess? No significance at all. Think of the blast that took John out as a test that just happened to be seven minutes long. As long as the device worked as planned, it could be set for any length of time. Someone would have studied our protocols, gotten a good enough grip to guesstimate how long it takes our people to carry out various procedures. Brilliant, in a sick and demented way.”

Lorelei nodded. “That scenario has merit. Bomb defused. Crisis averted.

Everyone feels safe. Politicians short-stroke it, everyone does a Snoopy Dance. Guests do their best to ignore it and continue to party on, show they aren’t afraid of a harmless explosive device in their midst. Instead of taking a bigger risk by planting a second device, one bomb could do the job.”

Lucian picked up the thread. “Figure in the logistics. The bad guys estimate it will take the vehicle with the containment device, say, fifteen minutes to arrive, since the bad guys probably have everything timed to the second—distances, traffic, as many variables as possible. They set the delay for eighteen minutes. The experts will check out the device while they wait. Maybe a S.W.A.T. team is hanging around.
Boom!
Major death and destruction to strategic personnel. Major damage to national morale.”

“All right.” Mac abandoned his notepad, tapped against the top of the table with his pen. “They know the device works.”
Tap tap tap
. “We know our enemies have their own explosives experts. Why grab Keko?”

Lucian picked up the ball. “Right. Follow me on this one. It’s safer to construct the devices here, rather than try to sneak them into the country. Okay, then. Smitty cops to the game, discovers he’s not working for our own red, white, and blue. He refuses to assemble the new device. The bad guys cut their losses, he’s toast. They set him up as the fall guy, a traitor to his country, if and when the killing is discovered before they sterilize the area. They get sloppy, our police force finds the devices too soon.

“Someone hangs around to observe the direction of the investigation, or maybe they intend to retrieve the components, which cost a pretty penny. Probably leaves the tracks Black Crow found. Lo and behold, another specialist arrives at Smitty’s place—

the same little gal who managed to be photographed at the post office by tens, maybe hundreds, of cell phones and cameras. Surveillance must have been trained on John, to assure they pulled off the assassination, which made Keko visible. Everyone exited the building, except her—she hurried
into
the building. With their video running, the bad guys would not have missed her and Kamaka in the aftermath.”

“So that’s good news,” Mac said. “They’ll keep her alive for as long as she can stall.”

When his pen resumed its maddening tapping, Lorelei snatched it out of his fingers.

“And you think she’ll be able to stall,” she said.

Mac and Kamaka replied instantly. “Absolutely.”

“Luce,” Adam said, “find Black Crow. If you can’t locate him, track down Abigail, send her after him. We’re going to need them both.”

Lucian snapped to attention. “What are you thinking, hoss?”

Adam kicked back from the table. “I’m thinking our kidnappers didn’t go too far.”

“And I’m thinking our kidnappers needed a backup plan,” Lucian said. “If Keko fails to complete the device, or she majorly pisses them off, who’s next in line if they take her out?”

He stopped Mac with a palm-up hand gesture. “Don’t panic yet. I’m just sayin’, follow the logic.”

Lucian tossed the broken necklace onto the table, turned to Kamaka.

“If what you say is true, the bad guys won’t have fled the area. You’re their fail-safe, big guy. They didn’t go far.”

* * * * *

Keko opened her eyes, but the world still looked black. She took stock.
Hands
bound behind me, blanket is fucking scratchy enough to sand off my skin
. She rolled onto her side, but waves of dizziness and nausea resulted.
Okay, maybe not such a good idea
. While she waited for the effects to pass, she rubbed her face against her shoulder. Not blind, only blindfolded.
I can deal with that
.

A thin but lumpy mattress barely cushioned her from whatever hard surface she’d been lying on. She wriggled a bit and discovered the mattress edge was shoved against a wall. When she felt along the wall with her chin, she identified it as wood paneling, but rough. Maneuvering until she could sit upright against the wall, the feeling of disorientation and the hangover headache began to ease off.

Her clothing appeared to be in order, which was promising, but her jacket was missing.
Damn, that bomber jacket is authentic
. When the blanket slid off, she felt a definite chill on her shoulders. Her feet were naked.
Okay, enough is enough. Who the hell
snatched my Christian Louboutin’s?

“What the fuck.” Her voice didn’t echo, so the room wasn’t too large or high ceilinged.

“What the fuck, indeed. How colloquial, Ms. Holokai of Larsson Demolitions.

Nice to see you awake.”

She faced the direction of the voice.
Male. Cultured. Possibly British, but more
probably American.
She needed more, to determine nationality for sure. “And you are?”

“Your captor at the moment, my dear.”

Definitely American. Urbane. Cocky. Hmm, also sounds familiar.

“At the moment. I see. Does that imply the relationship may change?”

“Possibly.”

“From what to what?”

“From captor to executioner.”

“Forget I asked.”

“As the lady wishes.”

”
Uh huh
. I don’t suppose I could bum a drink of water. Chloroform leaves a nasty taste and burns one’s mouth.”

“Clever girl. Of course.”

The floor creaked under him.
Wood planks? Old house?
He twisted the top on a plastic bottle—she heard the plastic crack as he broke the seal.
New bottle, probably safe to
drink, not drugged
. He moved closer, touched the opening of the bottle to her lips.

“It would be easier to drink if the blindfold was off and my hands weren’t tied.”

“No doubt. But then you might feel honor bound to try to escape, and I would be equally honor bound to kill you.”

“Good point.” She sighed.

He put the bottle to her mouth again. This time she drank.

No sense pissing him off. Yet
. “Thanks.”

She sniffed the air without moving her head, tried to get her bearings.
Musty.

Damp
. “So, is there a point to all this, or are you simply terribly attracted to me, but too shy to ask for a date? I’m really not that unapproachable, y’know.”

“Not that an evening with you is an unpleasant thought, considering your attire, but we do have business that requires our attention.”

Aha. Finally
. “And what business might that be?”

“The one thing we have in common, my dear.”

“The desire for a really good medium rare rib-eye cooked over flaming coals?”

“Bombs.” He sounded piqued.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know, bombs. Explosives. Devices of destruction. Bombs.”

She wiggled around until her legs were in front of her. “Sorry, can’t help. I seem to be fresh out of bombs at the moment. However, I’m willing to hold out for a well-grilled open-faced Reuben with very tender corned beef, light on the sauerkraut, lots of melty Swiss cheese, loads of Russian dressing. Rye bread, but no seeds. Seeds get stuck in one’s teeth. Very unattractive on a date.”

“For such a small person, you seem surprisingly food motivated. Also, as enjoyable as this badinage is, after dealing with fanatics and mindless drones for far too long, I have a deadline, and you are wasting my time.”

“I see.”
Sanctimonious asshole
. She tested her bonds.
Shit. Duct tape
. Wrestling with duct tape would be a lesson in futility.

The floor creaked again, followed by a metallic sound, something being dragged.

Maybe a chain?

“I do apologize, but I simply cannot allow you the opportunity to escape.” He snapped a cuff around her left ankle, the harsh metal rough against her skin.

Shit, not even fake fur lining, the barbarian
.

“I will release your hands, but I must warn you that I’m armed. Please don’t try anything heroic. When I give you permission, you may remove your blindfold. You cannot work if you cannot see.”

Work? Work at what?

He cut through the tape that bound her hands, then the creaking floor indicated he’d moved away. “You may remove your blindfold.”

Oh well, thanks a fucking lot, fella
.
Self-righteous prig
. Once she pulled the hood off, her eyes smarted and burned until they became accustomed to the light, better able to focus.