Above Ground (22 page)

In Colombia, Carlos flung his telephone against the wall and swore.
Because Damien lives in Canada, he thinks he can spit in my face!
His orders were clear. Retaliation would be immediate!

Jack had made two serious miscalculations. First, he had presumed that Carlos was a businessman and relatively sane. Second, he knew Damien as a pragmatist and had expected him to react calmly and logically to a situation that would see his power restored.

It was taking Jack much longer than he had expected. More than three hours passed before he lifted The Toad out of the trunk and placed him in the grave. He was exhausted. It would take at least another hour to finish.

He was just starting to shovel the dirt back in when an arc of headlights over the hill and the sound of a horn at the gate caused his body to tense.

Laura pretended she didn't notice the small white car with
SECURITY
printed on the door as it slowed down on the street before turning in and parking behind her. She discreetly unbuttoned the top two buttons on her blouse, then held her face in her hands and started crying.

Moments later, the beam from the security guard's flashlight hit her face. Her mouth and eyes opened wide
with apparent shock. Her elbow hit the horn as she scrambled to roll the window down.

“Miss, what are you doing here? I'm going to ask you to move your car immediately. You're blocking the entrance.”

“Oh, sir. I'm sorry,” she sobbed. “Can't you just drive around me?”

“It's pretty tight,” he replied. “Still, would you mind explaining to me...” He stopped when his flashlight beam fell upon Laura's sleeves.

Jack had provided her with surgical gloves to help roll back the sod, but they had not protected her arms. Now she saw dried mud on both sleeves.

“I want you to step out of the car, now!” he ordered.

Oh, man...

Laura stepped out and the security guard shone his flashlight over her body, then saw that her shoes were also muddy. He held the flashlight above his head and slowly shone a beam of light across the cemetery grounds. “What have you been doing in here?” he demanded.

“I'm sorry,” sobbed Laura. “I'm sure I killed it. I don't know what to do,” she wailed.

“You what?”

“The cat,” said Laura, pointing down the street toward the corner of the cemetery grounds. “Down there, by the culvert. I was driving and it just ran out in front of me.” She put her hand on the guard's arm and added, “I tried to stop! But I ... just couldn't. I heard the noise of its little head under my car. My God, it was sickening. I can't bear to think about it!”

“Oh!” said the guard as he shone his light toward the corner. “I didn't ... I'm sorry. Take it easy. It's not your fault if...”

“I, I pulled in here and ran back. I thought I heard it down in the culvert. I reached in, but I couldn't find
it. It's so dark and dirty down there. I don't know what to do. We can't just leave it there!”

The security guard allowed his flashlight to pan Laura's body one more time before saying, “Come on, hop in with me. Show me exactly where. We can use my flashlight to look.”

Laura rode with the security guard and directed him to park down the block.

“It's almost four-thirty in the morning,” noted the security guard. “You always out this late?”

“Not usually. My girlfriend organized a singles party. By the time I helped her clean up, it was pretty late. She wanted me to sleep there. Wish I had.”

“Really?” The security guard's tone revealed his interest as he adjusted his rear-view mirror lower than it should have been. “Meet anybody interesting?”

“No,” said Laura glumly. “Just the usual beaters, cheaters, and bottom feeders. Sprinkled with a few who were either emotionally or physically gimped. Then there were a couple of gays and lesbians. Wasn't for me. The men I did talk to were wussies.” She then glanced at him and said, “Isn't your job dangerous? Working out here all alone at night?”

The first rays of sunlight were visible on some scattered clouds to the east when Jack slowly drove past Laura and the security guard. They were still parked at the end of the block and Laura was drinking out of a Thermos cup.

Fifteen minutes later, Laura parked behind Jack and walked to his car. She turned her back briefly as she remembered to do up the buttons on her blouse, then got in.

“What took you so long?” she asked. “If I had to
sit another minute with that wannabe cop I'd be digging him a hole in there!”

Jack allowed himself a grin, then said, “Sorry. It was a lot tougher to do than I thought it would be.”

“Oh? So this is the first time you've done this?”

Jack ignored the question and said, “Let's find a washroom to clean up. Then go sit on the Spotted Owl.”

“Speaking of that, how come you're not dirty?”

“Had an old pair of coveralls in the trunk. Bought them last year for Danny when he had to do surveil-lance from a pile of garbage.”

“Would have been nice if you had thought to provide me with a pair,” she said, gesturing to the dried mud on her sleeves. “Not to mention, my shoes are ruined.”

It was six-thirty when Laura used the binoculars to scan the motel from a lot across the street. “How long, you figure?” she asked.

“There's a bloody smear on the sidewalk outside the door. Someone should notice.”

Damien thanked Vicki when she poured him another cup of coffee, then went back to reading the morning paper. It was nine o'clock in the morning. Buck and Sarah were still in bed, but Katie was up and chatting with excitement about going to an afternoon birthday party. Vicki had promised to take her shopping for new clothes for the event.

Damien leapt from his chair when Katie toppled her glass of orange juice, sending the liquid over the edge of the table.

“Sorry, Dad! It slipped!”

“It's okay,” he grumbled. “Quit talking and get a cloth.”

Vicki smiled at her husband and said, “It's a pretty big event. Not every day that your
much
older friend turns nine.”

Damien rolled his eyes, then said, “Right. Older by what? Five months?”

“We'll leave in a few minutes, honest,” said Vicki, kissing Damien on his forehead as he sat back down.

Damien received a message on his BlackBerry. It was from Lance. The message was coded but told him that the shipments had gone as planned last night.

Is this good news or bad? Good news is I'll be getting my money back. Bad news is there's little doubt as to who will be the new national president.

“See ya in about two hours, Papa Bear,” said Vicki, giving him another kiss on the top of his head.

“Goodbye, Daddy.”

Damien wrapped one arm around Katie and gave her a hug and then a kiss. “Tell Mommy that she's not to spend more than five dollars on you,” he said.

“Daddy!”

Damien chuckled, but his joy turned sour as soon as Vicki and Katie left.
The Toad isn't the type to want anyone with brains around who could question his actions once he takes over. Surprised he isn't here gloating right now.... Hope his hangover kills him.

Vicki found a place to park, then opened her door to get out. She was thinking that her life had been blessed. Her family was happy and healthy, and her husband had climbed his way to the top of the ... corporate ladder. She smirked when she thought of it as a corporation.
But that's what it is, isn't it? An international corporation continuing to expand around the world.
This thing with the new mortgage and The Toad ... somehow it would work out. It always did.

She had turned in her seat and placed one foot out of the Hummer when a man's fist buried deep into her midriff. The air exploded from her lungs and her body doubled over as the force of the punch rammed her backwards across the seat.

Vicki gasped for air as she tried to scream, but the man's fingers and thumb formed a claw to dig deep into her throat and squeeze until she felt her windpipe begin to collapse. She lay still, hoping he would stop. He stopped squeezing but kept the pressure on her throat.

Vicki saw other men moving about. She saw a man gripping Katie by the throat. Katie's bulging eyes briefly stared down at her as she was dragged out of sight to the rear of the Hummer.

“Think we've got action!” said Laura. “The maid stopped her cart outside the door.”

“Too bad,” replied Jack. “I was just starting to doze off.”

“She's kneeling down and looking up ... now she's standing ... knocking.” Laura passed the binoculars over to Jack.

“Using her pass key,” he said, then lowered the binoculars. “Guess you don't need binos to see that!”

The maid ran across the parking lot to the office. Jack and Laura looked at each other and then slumped low in their seats.

Vicki and Katie were gagged, blindfolded, and bound, with their wrists taped together behind their backs. Vicki guessed that her Hummer had been driving for
half an hour before it stopped. Then she heard the sound of a large overhead door close.

Moments later they were both hauled out and the tape was ripped from their eyes. Vicki saw that they were in a small warehouse. The strong smell of coffee was in the air and burlap sacks were piled on various pallets.

Two men held Vicki and Katie by the arms and roughly jerked them along to a pallet that contained only a few bags. Then they were shoved and fell beside each other onto the pallet. The two men stood over them, watching as Katie cried and choked through her gag.

Then two more men approached. One was carrying bolt cutters. The other rolled Vicki over onto her stomach and then grabbed her hands. She tried to scream but the gag prevented any real noise as she twisted and rolled her body. She managed to roll over, digging her fingers into the sack for support and kicking upwards with her feet.

The men stood up, then looked at each other and laughed. They spoke to each other in Spanish.

Vicki did not know these men. Perhaps it was better that she didn't.

They were hand-picked from an army of desperate, violent men who wanted a share of the narco dollars. Carlos did not pick them because of their limited knowledge of English or even their willingness to do anything he asked. He picked them because they were likely insane. They inspired terror and would do anything asked of them. It was simply human nature to pick people who are like you — albeit not as intelligent.

Seconds later, both men were on her again. She fought and kicked hard. Katie got to her feet and kicked one of the men. He punched her hard in the mouth and she fell to the ground and didn't move.

Vicki quit kicking. Tears blocked her vision and she allowed herself to be rolled back over onto her stomach. She was conscious of the taste of coffee beans on her lips from where a sack had been torn. She felt a man's grip on her fingers and the cool metal of the bolt cutters as the pinchers tightened on her finger. For a brief instant, her brain refused to accept that the sound she heard, like celery being crunched, had come from her own body. For a moment it was as if her brain had detached itself from her body. She heard her own muffled cry as if it came from someone else, but then she felt incredible pain and knew the voice was hers. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying in vain to block it out.

Connie Crane and her partner arrived at the motel and a uniformed officer waved to them from the doorway of one of the units.

“Call came in about forty minutes ago,” he said as they approached.

Connie glanced at her watch and replied, “About nine-thirty, then?”

He nodded and stepped aside to allow them to enter.

Connie did a brief examination of the room while her partner fished wallets from each of the two victims. One had a pistol in his belt, and Connie saw a Mac-10 pistol lying on the bed in the adjoining room.

The radio response to their inquiries came back within seconds. Both victims were listed as probation-ary member of Satans Wrath out of Montreal.

“Gee, that's a big surprise,” said Connie sarcastically.

“What the hell are they doing out here?” her partner asked.

“Dope deal gone bad,” replied Connie.

“You find dope?”

“No, but this door is open to the adjoining room. There's a blood smear in the bathroom and it looks like a third guy escaped out the back window. These two yo-yos were killed instantly so it wasn't them moving around.”

“Could be dope. They have lots of firepower.”

Connie nodded and said, “That's their number one money-maker. Three guys — bikers — in adjoining rooms with only a double bed in each. They weren't here to sleep. Probably using the other room as either security or to stash the money or the dope. Being from Quebec even fits. Last year Intelligence discovered that assholes from Satans Wrath in Quebec were running speed out here.”