The Carolina Coup: Another Rwandan Genocide? (The Jeannine Ryan Series Book 4) (32 page)

He peered into soft brown eyes.

“You know I don’t want to leave you, but this is for the best.  We’ll meet after Gutera is behind bars.”

He looked in the back seat of the car.

“Angelique, sit up front with Jeannine.  You two take care of each other.”

He strode in the direction of the car rental agency.

Jeannine switched on the ignition.

“All right, Angelique, we’re on our own.”

Superintendant Ralph Morris was still at his desk.  He had not slept.  Rather than return home, an easy prey to that mad Hutu Chief, he had elected to spend the night within the guarded fences of the North Charleston terminal.

The
Étoile d’Afrique
had arrived as scheduled, and even now was being loaded with containers by one of his ZPMC Super Post Panamax gantry cranes.  Gutera’s ship was not 23 containers wide, but Morris had assigned the ZMPC to it.  He wanted that ship loaded and out of his port as soon as possible.

But now Gutera’s critical container, on which everything depended including Morris’s life, was missing.

The Superintendant was at a loss about what to do once the loading was completed.

He was exhausted after the night’s fruitless search with no sleep.  His eyelids drooped.  Only at the second buzz of his phone did he pick up.

“What is it?”

“Mr. Morris?”

“This is Morris.”

“This is James Hyde, one of your drivers.  I’m at the steak house in Santee.”

“I know you, James.   Is there a problem?”

“I’m not sure.  One of the Port Authority flat beds is here, parked behind the restaurant.  I can’t find the driver.  Nobody has seen him.  The hood is cool.  Looks like it’s been here all night.  Do you know about this?”

“Is it loaded?”

“Yes.  The container belongs to
Kenya-Carolina Apex Distributors
.  Funny thing, it’s sealed and labeled like it’s ready to load on board.”

The rockets!

“Is it ready for the road?”

“I checked that before I called you.  The passenger side tank is near empty and there’s a mess of diesel fuel on the ground.  Someone must have siphoned the tank.  The left side fuel tank is over half full.  It has an anti-siphon device.  Whoever emptied the other tank couldn’t siphon this one.  It’s ready to travel.

Morris exhaled in relief.

“James, what are you driving?”

“My Ford F150.  I’m on my way to the terminal.  I report at noon.”

“James, do you know how to hot wire a truck”

James kept a thin steel shaft in his pickup.  He was expert at flipping door locks and hot wiring ignitions, but this was the boss he was talking to. He hesitated, before he spoke.

“I can do that.”

“Good.  Listen to me.  Leave your pickup truck at the steak house, and bring me that abandoned rig and container right away.  I’ll pay any speeding ticket, just get it here as fast as you can.”

Morris added.

“And there’s a $300 bonus for you if you make it here before eleven this morning.  I need that container now.

James grinned.

“Yes Sir, I’ll be there.”

Superintendant Morris leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes.  For the first time in hours he relaxed.  He dozed.

In Georgetown, South Carolina, Jeannine Ryan found the parking lot where she and Bill had left Fred Middleton’s gray truck.

Nothing had changed since she had last seen it.  She reached under the rear bumper, and felt along the truck’s frame.  The key was there, inside its magnetic holder.

She stood.

“There isn’t any note, Bill hasn’t been here.  We wait.”

Absently, Angelique nodded.  Her thoughts were only of Henri.

Jeannine leaned against Fred’s pickup.

Neither spoke.

Each kept her thoughts to herself.

Pine woods lined each side of Highway I-95 where Pierre Sehene stopped the black Audi on the shoulder some miles south of the Bass Drive Interchange.  He was glad to be away from the chief’s ranting at the loss of the rockets.  The three Hutus with him likewise welcomed the momentary respite.

Pierre just had adjusted his seat to a comfortable position when the parked Audi vibrated and shook in the wake of a passing truck.  Pierre ignored the shaking and focused on the speeding vehicle.

It was a Port Authority rig, loaded and moving fast.

But it was the logo on the side of the container that caught Pierre’s eye. 
Kenya-Carolina Apex Distributors!

Maximilien’s rockets!

Pierre started the engine and pulled onto the interstate while thumbing his phone.

“Claude, tell Maximilien that I found the rockets.  They’re on a truck on I-95 headed towards the I-26 Interchange for Charleston.  I’m chasing it.”

He took a breath.

“And Claude, get back to me right away.  I need to know what to do.”

He pressed the accelerator to keep up with the speeding truck.

Ahead the rig disappeared around a wide curve.

Pierre increased his speed.

The truck came back into view.

On I-95, Pierre Sehene followed the Port Authority flatbed as it sped towards the I-26 Interchange and Charleston.  Small pines filled the median strip to his left, while to his right larger trees closed in on the highway.

Nervous, Pierre strummed his fingers on the wheel.  He needed instructions.  At last his phone buzzed, Gutera’s right-hand man, Claude Senteli, spoke.

“Pierre, where are you and where is our truck?”

“I’m in the black Audi and I’m right behind it.  He’s turning off onto I-26.”

“Is there anyone in the truck other than the driver?”

“Not that I can see.”

“Good.  Stop that truck and grab the driver.  Hold him for Maximilien.  He wants to question him.  Is that Clear.”

“Clear.”

“We are coming up from Summerville.  We will watch for you and the truck on the opposite shoulder.  We will not be long.  Do not fail.”

“Click.”

James Hyde hummed as he took the I-26 ramp from Highway I-95.  Mr. Morris had not explained why the Port Authority rig with the
Kenya-Carolina
container had been abandoned in Santee, but James did not question the boss.  The $300 bonus answered any questions he might conjure up.

He studied the road ahead.  Visibility was good and I-26 was clear.  There were no dwellings in sight, only thick pine forests on both sides of the highway, and no highway patrolmen were sitting on the wooded median working their radars.

Good!

Then he looked in his rear view mirror.  A black Audi was approaching fast.  James moved slightly to the right to encourage the speeder to pass.  The Audi roared by.

James relaxed.  But the Audi swung into his lane.  Its rear lights flared bright as the driver braked sharply in front of James.  The car’s rear end with four interlocking chrome circles filled James’ field of vision.

What the hell?  No!

He jammed his brakes, rubber burned on the roadway as a high-pitched squeal pierced his ears. His forward motion had almost ceased when the truck’s front crumpled the Audi’s rear and propelled that vehicle into a small tree.  James fought the wheel, but, the trailer angled from the cab and the truck skidded sideways off the road.  For a brief instant, trailer and container tilted to the side, but together they rocked back into place and came to rest upright in the weeds near a row of pines.

All this in only seconds.

James exhaled.  His brakes had held, and the truck and its load were upright.  He was OK and the passenger compartment of the Audi appeared to be intact.

Dumb ass driver!

He stepped down from the cab as the doors of the Audi opened.  Four black men emerged.  Three of them brandished automatic weapons.

Crap!
 
Those are
AK-47’s.

What the hell is this?

Two of Pierre Sehene’s “soldiers” were still in their teens.  Pierre motioned them to wait by the wrecked Audi.  The third “soldier,” his AK-47 ready, walked with Pierre towards the truck.

The driver, James Hyde, stood motionless until they arrived.

Pierre spoke first.

“Where is Bill Hamm?  Why isn’t he with you?”

“Who the hell are you?  And who the hell is ‘Hamm?’ Your dumb-ass driving damn near caused me to lose my load.  And tell your guy to put that gun down.”

James Hyde was a big youth.  He was no taller than the two Africans next to him, but he was heavier and more muscular.

And quick!

He wheeled, grasped the weapon from Pierre’s guard, and hit him, hard.  The man crumpled as Pierre attempted to leap away.

Not far enough!

James seized Pierre by the neck, and held him with one arm as a shield.  With the other he raised the seized AK-47 and pointed it at the young Africans by the Audi.  Frightened, they aimed their weapons.

James hesitated as Pierre Sehene screamed.

“No!  Don’t shoot. 
Ne tirez pas
.  You’ll hit me!”

Too late!  There was to be no standoff.  Bursts from the panicked youths rattled the air.

“BrBrBrup, BrBrBrup, ..., BrBrBrBrup.”

“BrBrBrup, BrBrBrup, ..., BrBrBrBrup.”

Hostage and hostage-taker fell backwards in a heap.

“BrBrBrup, BrBrBrup, ..., BrBrBrBrup.”

The final rounds were unnecessary.  Pierre Sehene and James Hyde lay dead in the weeds.  The bodyguard rose and ran to the two “victors.”

All three bolted into the woods.

In Georgetown, South Carolina, Jeannine Ryan sat on the hood of Fred Middleton’s pickup while Angelique Uwimana paced.

“Angelique, relax.  Bill will be here soon.”

“It’s not Mr. Hamm that worries me.  It’s that woman.”

“You mean Denise Guerry?”

“She’s my Henri’s boss, and I don’t trust her with him.”

Jeannine did not trust Denise around Bill either.

Their thoughts were interrupted by a car turning into the lot.

Jeannine jumped off the hood and grabbed Angelique’s arm.

“It’s Bill.”

But the two women were not looking at Bill.  Each had focused on the passenger side.  Each sought her first look at the infamous Denise Guerry.

They stared.  The woman who stepped from the car was far from glamorous.  Her face was pale and her hair was awry and straggly.  A bloody blouse hung loose over her right arm which was wrapped in gauze through which a dark stain grew as they watched.

Jeannine frowned. 
This is the famous Denise?

She turned to Bill.

“What happened?”

“Henri Duval shot her.”

Angelique gasped. 

“Henri?  No!  He wouldn’t do that.”

“Angelique, SÉGAG commissioned Henri to kill Denise.  He had orders to kill her.”

Angelique buried her face in her hands.  Bill kept on.

“Denise is on our side now.  If Gutera found her he would kill her as soon as he would you.  Without her we never could have stopped Gutera’s rockets from sailing.  She bluffed the port superintendant into releasing Gutera’s container to us.  She risked her life for all of us, for you and your Rwanda.”

He muttered.

“And this is her reward, a bullet from Henri.”

Denise broke in.

“No, Angelique, It’s not like that.  It’s true that I would not have cared if Maximilien killed you.  I was horribly wrong.  I know you can never forgive me, but don’t blame Henri.  He was defending you from Maximilien and me, not obeying SÉGAG’s orders.  Henri is no hired murderer.  You must believe that.”

She caught her breath and added.

“
Chère Angelique, il t’aime beaucoup.
  He really loves you.”

But the emotional confession had taken its toll.  Denise shook uncontrollably.  She looked up at Bill.

“My arm, I have to sit.”

She slumped against the car.  Bill lifted her and put her on the front seat.  He felt her forehead and turned to Jeannine.

“She’s feverish.  I have to get her to the hospital right away.  You and Angelique follow us.”

Minutes later, Jeannine and Angelique were following Bill, to the Georgetown Memorial Hospital.

Only when the Emergency Entrance was in view, did Jeannine realize that she and Bill had not greeted each other.

At the North Charleston terminal, Superintendant Ralph Morris was at his desk.  It was past eleven, and the guards at the gate had not seen Hyde and the truck.

The
Étoile d’Afrique
was ready to sail.  Only Gutera’s container remained to be loaded.  Morris fidgeted.

Where was James Hyde?

On Highway I-26 not far from of I-95, Claude Senteli stopped the gray Audi on the shoulder of the highway.  Maximilien got out and stared at the damaged Audi and the
Kenya-Carolina
container on the flatbed trailer
. 
Claude pointed to two bodies in the weeds near the truck’s cab.

“Chief, that’s Pierre.  The other guy must have been  Hamm’s driver.  They’re dead, cut down, multiple hits.”

“Where are Pierre’s men?  They should have protected him!”

“There’s no sign of them.  They’re on the run.”

He wanted to add.

They know how you treat failures.

Claude examined the Audi and returned to his chief.

“The collision jammed the Audi’s rear tires.  It’s going nowhere, but I can drive this truck.  I used to drive a rig like this.”

Maximilien nodded and  turned to his bodyguard.

“Alain, Claude will take the truck.  You drive me and follow him.”

Only minutes later the truck and gray Audi headed for North Charleston.

Maximilien hummed to himself. His plan was back on track.  In only hours, he would sail with his container.  And after his dirty-bomb attack on the Congo, the government of Rwanda would be sanctioned.  In only months, maybe weeks, the current government would fall.

Hutu power would be restored.