The Carolina Coup: Another Rwandan Genocide? (The Jeannine Ryan Series Book 4) (31 page)

“Maximilien turned his attention back to the phone.

“Did you hear that, Morris?  You have failed!”

At the other end of the line Morris stayed silent.

At a motel in Georgetown, South Carolina, Denise Guerry sat up and pushed back the bed covers.  Bill Hamm was slumped in the chair in the corner.  His eyes were closed and his breathing was regular.

After hiding the truck with Gutera’s rockets, they had arrived at the motel late, and the only available room was one with a single Queen-sized bed.  Initially Denise had been pleased.  Even though Bill had insisted on sleeping in the chair, she had been sure that by the wee hours he would slip into bed beside her.  But now the sun was bright, and she had awakened only to see Bill, eyes shut, still in the chair.

Even so she was not discouraged, she knew when a man checked her form while pretending not to, and she knew she had passed all Bill’s evaluations.  He would not be able to resist much longer.

Though his eyes were shut, she did not stop posing.  She sat on the edge of the bed nearest him, and stretched a bare leg to its full extent before slipping it into her jeans.  As the second slim limb followed, she glanced sideways.

His eyes appeared closed, but she was sure he had seen her.

She went to the dresser and turned on the small coffee maker.  Dark drips coalesced into a single stream while she picked up her phone to call Henri.

The French conversation was over in a few minutes and the coffee was ready.

She took a cup to Bill and held it under his nose.

Is he really asleep?

He opened his eyes.  They were wide and clear, not at all foggy.

Did he hear me talking on the phone?

That question was answered immediately.

“Was that Henri on the phone?”

She nodded. 
Good, he’s jealous!

“Henri wants to meet with me, alone, without you.”

His answer surprised her.

“Denise you can’t do that.  It’s not safe.  That man despises you.  What did you do to him?  He is dangerous.”

“He wants me.  He wants to sleep with me.”

His answer startled her further.

“Maybe?  But only to vent his anger.  He would hurt you afterwards.  And he likely will kill you if you meet him by yourself.”

Her mind raced.  Could Henri really hate her?

She thought of Angelique.  Of course he could.

Her thoughts raced on.  Had Maximilien already convinced Paris that she was the enemy?  Had they instructed Henri to eliminate her, like they had Byrd?

Surely Uncle Roland would not permit that.

But the ugly fact was that Uncle Roland would take care of himself first.  The truth appeared in high definition.

Henri now was SÉGAG’s assassin and she was the target!

She stood frozen, staring into Bill’s eyes.

In spite of her terror, she saw something in them, a new revelation.

My God, this man does not want me hurt.

He cares!

Call it a ‘conversion,’ an ‘epiphany,’ or ‘whatever,’ in that small motel room in Georgetown, South Carolina, Denise Guerry changed.

The rumpled bed stayed the same, the window curtains stayed partly open as before, and the dark coffee stains remained on the dresser.  But Denise was not the same.

Her past choices flashed before her.  She had treated others as pieces to be moved on a game board, and if necessary, sacrificed.

Her decisions had impacted real people.  Intentional or not, she and GES had caused misery and brought suffering to live individuals, not wooden tokens or plastic game tiles.

Specifically, Bill no longer was merely a man caught in her seductive scheme, but a person whose eyes reflected sadness, pity, and a true concern for her.  Not for her achievements, or her money, or even her body, but for Denise Guerry, the person!

His eyes had pierced her facade and he had seen the real woman, insecure, frightened and vulnerable.

And still he had not rejected her.

Henri Duval sat in the breakfast area of the same motel where Bill and Denise had spent the night.

When Denise had called and mentioned that Hamm still slept, Henri had proposed that they meet.  Now he sipped his coffee and waited.

He was no assassin, but to kill in self defense was not murder.  If he disobeyed orders and spared Denise, then SÉGAG would kill him, and without his protection Angelique would fall prey to Gutera.  Besides Denise would have let Gutera murder Angelique.  Yes, killing Denise was justified, otherwise he and Angelique both would die.

He glanced down at his watch.  Denise was overdue.

Then he looked up.

There she was, standing in the doorway.

Striking!

Her neatly fit jeans, and discrete, but amply filled, blouse showed her form to full effect.  Henri was not the only man in the room to focus on her entrance.

He pulled back a chair. 
Damn, she is alluring!

Henri steeled his will.

But poisonous!

She sat and balanced a large purse on her lap.

“Well Henri, you wanted to meet me without William Hamm.  ‘
Me voici,’
Here I am.

Henri frowned.

“Frankly, I’m surprised that you came alone.  What happened to Ian?  And who is this guy Hamm?  Why more muscle?”

“Henri, just tell me what you want?”

“I want you to come with me.  There’s something outside in my car you should see.”

She recalled Bill’s words:
… [he] despises you. … he likely will kill you if you meet him alone.

Denise looked about.  Half the tables were occupied by over a dozen individuals eating the free breakfast included in the price of the room.  She was safe here.

“Henri, I will not go anywhere with you.”

Sweat beaded on his forehead.  He flicked his eyes to the right-hand pocket of his jacket.  She caught the signal.  An ominous object distended the fabric.  He muttered.

“Denise, this is hard enough.  Don’t make it harder.”

“Forget it Henri, I too have a gun.”

Her right hand was in her purse.  He understood.

She smiled and continued.

“I know you, Henri.  You would never carry your Browning flopping loose in that pocket without the safety on.  But mine has a round in the chamber and the safety is off.  I will put three bullets in your gut before you can get off a shot.  So, Mon Cher Henri, relax, I propose a truce.”

Henri took his hand from his jacket pocket.

She smiled again.

“We should talk.”

Denise rose from the table and went to the breakfast buffet.  She put a cheese Danish on her plate and drew a cup of coffee from the urn.  She returned to the table where Henri sat, his head in his hands.  She spoke.

“Henri, you could never have killed me in cold blood.  That is not you.  I know that.”

He did not look up.  His head sank lower.

“Henri, something has happened to me, something I don’t understand.  I was wrong to support Maximilien, and I was wrong to want Angelique dead.  I don’t even know her.  I’m sorry.”

She choked.

“I know you can never forgive me.  All I can say is that at that time, nothing was real to me.  And now, dear God, suddenly everything is, terribly so.  God help me!”

“Denise, don’t invoke God.  In our France, modern women don’t believe in God.  You know that.  Don’t fake it.”

“You’re right, I don’t know about God, but maybe I should.  And I’ve been a fake all my life.  I hated unpleasant facts.  I refused to listen when you tried to tell GES about the real genocide.  I’m sorry.”

She swallowed.

“Henri, I can never understand that horror, but I assure you I will do everything I can to stop Gutera and his men from restoring their ‘Hutu Power.’  And that means stop them from hurting Angelique or you.”

Henri stared, mouth open.

“Denise, what kind of game is this?  You would have slept with me just to get your way.  You are dangerous.  Because of you Angelique could have been raped and hacked to death.  And now you would protect us.  How dare you!”

“Henri, I know you are honorable.  But I also know GES and SÉGAG want me dead.  They sent you to kill me.  I’m not wrong about that.”

But Henri did not hear.  He was elsewhere, in a banana grove.

... a once-human face stared vacantly upwards at a mass of broad leaves that hung, suspended and lifeless, from an adjacent banana tube.  The girl was young,
... . 
A panga had cleaved her cranium.

His eyes glazed over.  He stood and went to the door.

Denise shifted sideways to watch him go.

But he stopped, his eyes blank. 
... some distance away, obscured by a dry banana leaf, lay a woman, hacked and barely recognizable, a mutilated infant near her knees.

Too much!  He shook his head, but his eyes did not clear.

Nearby lay another mutilated woman, chopped, bleeding and barely still alive.  Angelique!  Gutera stood over her while Denise Guerry looked on smiling.

Henri drew his Browning and chambered a round.  He turned and squeezed the trigger.

“Crack. Crack!”

Denise jerked backwards and slumped to the floor as the chair splintered and collapsed under her.

From across the room, a man jumped up and stared.  At the buffet, a security guard, a Taser on his belt, looked up from his plate of eggs.  Several men rushed to the fallen Denise. All eyes were on her, not Henri.

He slipped out the door. In the lobby, no one noticed him.

At the knock on his door, Bill Hamm opened to a middle-aged couple supporting a pale Denise Guerry, her arm bloody and hanging loose at the side.

“Denise, what happened?”

The answers flowed.

“She was with a man.  The rat hit her and ran away.”

“No, I tell you I heard a shot.  He shot her.  We should call the police!”

“Harry, there was no gun.  That was the chair cracking.”

“Look at her arm, that’s a bullet wound.”

“She ripped it on the chair, you saw the back was split apart.”

Denise freed herself and stood erect to face Harry’s wife.

“You’re right, Madam.  The chair slipped from under me and I fell.  And that man was a stranger.”

Harry’s wife stared at her.

You knew that man, honey, and he knew you.  He was angry.

Harry’s wife looked at Bill and understood.  Her eyes returned to Denise.

OK, so you don’t want your husband to know.

She took Harry’s arm.

“We should go and let her husband take care of her.  There’s nothing more for us here.”

She and Harry left.

Bill looked at the red gap of torn skin on the inside of Denise’s arm.  Her purse was wrecked.  Evidently the bullet had been deflected by something metallic inside.  Of course, her Browning.  He looked.  The gun now was useless.

Without a word, he sat Denise in the chair, wiped the line of oozing blood from her arm, and stanched the flow.

She looked up.

“You were right, Bill, I shouldn’t have gone alone.  I’m sorry.”

She slumped down and shut her eyes.  She winced as Bill cleansed the wound.  When he finished wrapping it, she shivered and closed her eyes.

“Bill, I’m cold.”

He covered her with a blanket.

Elsewhere in Georgetown, Jeannine took a last sip of coffee outside the McDonald’s while Angelique used the bathroom.  She watched as Stew threw his sling on the ground and swung his arm in circular motions.

“Stew!  What are you doing?

“Exercising.  My shoulder feels a lot better.  I’m not a cripple.”

He continued to move his arm as Angelique appeared and hopped into the back seat.  Jeannine called to him.

“Stew, get in.  We have to find Fred’s truck and Bill.”

“I’m not coming with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m FBI.  Your friend Hamm is wanted and I would have to arrest him.  I called Jack Marino in Charleston.  He’s arranged a rental car for me.  It’s waiting only two blocks away.  I’ll walk.  And he purchased a gun and ammo for me too.  They’re holding it at the gun shop.”

“But we need your help.”

“And you have it, but first I have to meet Jack and get him to stop his obsessive pursuit of you and Hamm.”

“But there’s no time.  The
Étoile d’Afrique
is ready to sail.”

“But the rockets are not on board.  He and the Guerry woman hid the Port Authority truck.  Bill will be in the clear.”

He kept on.

“Now we have to apprehend Gutera and his gang.  You and Bill don’t have the manpower for that.  The FBI does.”