Deadly Justice (28 page)

Because it was too late for her.  She knew without a shadow of a doubt these men worked for Richard Webster.  And if he'd sent them to grab her, chances were good that she wouldn't live to see the next dawn. 

U
nfurled blueprints covered most of the conference room table.  They were taking a huge risk, narrowing their focus to the conference center where the presidential debate would be held in less than forty-eight hours.  Carpenter didn't want to think what would happen if they chose wrong.  What if Webster had an entirely different target in mind? 

Remy, Nate, and Gunner studied the blueprints they'd obtained, looking for the most logical places Webster's men would plant the C4 for maximum impact.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, wishing he could wrap both hands around Webster's throat.  If he was right and Webster's twisted plans escalated to political assassination, the man didn't deserve redemption.  Gun running and drug smuggling carried hefty jail time, but this?  Nothing less than the death penalty would suffice, because the end result meant massive casualties if he wasn't stopped.

It didn't bear contemplating.  Hundreds of people would converge on the downtown conference center.  Definitely the national press would be front and center.  Citizens from in and around the city, the Secret Service, and the candidates themselves along with their entourages, converging in one location, making themselves the perfect targets. 

“What if we're wrong?”  He threw the suggestion out to the men in the room.  Several heads lifted.  “Webster's killed before.  Hell, he took out my entire team and set me up to take the fall.  But this?  The assassination of a presidential candidate?  What's he gain, because he doesn't do anything without a return on his investment.”

“Taking McKinley down is pretty high on a lot of peoples' agendas, boss.  But getting him out of the running is a lot different than killing the man.”  Nate's quiet voice broke the silence.  The atmosphere remained on high alert, each man focused on finding the answer to stopping Webster. 

“We're making our best guess, bro.”  Remy's hand landed on his shoulder.  “I wish we had more intel, but all we've got is second and third-hand info and a crap-ton of C4 on a boat about to be delivered to our suspect.” 

“Ranger's on his way to put trackers on Abe's boat and the boxes of C4.”  Jean-Luc added.  Ranger was another of the Boudreau brothers, a former Navy SEAL, currently stateside, dealing with the fallout of being captured in Afghanistan.  Jean-Luc vouched for his brother, and that was good enough for Carpenter.

“I can't wrap my head around Webster playing political games.  That's what's throwing me.  When I knew him, he didn't give a rat's ass about anything going on in Washington, unless it affected his salary or how he got the job done.” 

“People change, boss.  He's not the man you knew.  Money corrupts even the most decent people.  Especially if you never had much to start with.  The love of money makes a man do things he never imagined himself capable of.”  Gunner smoothed a hand over one of the blueprints, never looking up.  Carpenter heard the bitterness beneath his words, knew the significance of the message.  Gunner's past wasn't something he shared easily, and though Carpenter knew the whole story, the rest of the team didn't, and unless and until Gunner wanted to share, it would stay that way. 

“Okay.  Let's play this out.  We know about the C4 on Abe's boat.  We have no idea if it's the only shipment, or if Webster has amassed a larger quantity, correct?” 

A series of affirmative responses followed. 

“The convention center's a pretty big building.”  He pointed to the unfurled blueprints.  “We need to pinpoint where the explosives would do the most damage.  If we assume the bottom line is to take out McKinley, obviously the platform where the candidates will be speaking from would be a prime target.” 

He grabbed a Dry Erase marker and sketched on the enormous white board mounted on the wall. 

“Beneath the stage area—is there any way under it, to set the explosives?”  He marked an X on his crudely drawn sketch of the platform area. 

“Yes, there's a large crawlspace beneath, for running electrical and cables.”  Carlisle had schematics on his screen, spun it around, and pointed to the egress areas beneath the stage.  “Here and here, you've got entrance and exit points.”

“Perfect placement for optimal damage.”  Carpenter pointed toward the ceiling.  “What about access there?” 

Nate ran his hand across the blueprints.  “Yes.  An extra three feet or so above the acoustic panels, mainly ventilation and duct work for the A/C system.  You could place C4 every few feet for maximum strike coverage.  If Webster's got enough, it easily could bring down the entire building.” 

Carpenter scrubbed his hand across his face.  This scenario went from bad to worse.  There was no way they could cover every point where Webster might plant explosives. 

C
arpenter surveyed the huge room inside the convention center where the debates would take place.  His men had completed a sweep of the entire location, but there was only so much space they could cover with their limited manpower.  Remy had called in off duty cops, buddies he trusted to keep their mouths shut, but it still meant their numbers weren't enough to cover the enormous building.

Andrea had gone upstairs a little while ago, needing a break, but with the promise that he'd call her when they'd come up with a plan.  He'd agreed she could be there for Webster's capture, though he wasn't happy about it.  While in his head, he knew she deserved to be in on the takedown, he wanted to keep her safe and apart from this.

There was a good chance she'd show up anyway.  Although he adored her, she wasn't the type to sit on the sidelines.  No, she'd charge into the action head on, and damn the consequences.  Besides, she had as much right to see Webster pay as he did. 

And Webster would pay.  If, no when, the bastard showed his face, they'd take him down.  Make him atone for all the lives he'd cost. 

“We haven't found anything.”  Nate's voice whispered from his left.  What if they were wrong?  Could Webster's target be something other than the presidential debates?  There wasn't anything else happening here big enough to garner national attention.  At least not in New Orleans, and not right now. 

“I've got men stationed at every entrance.  Loading docks and back entrances are covered.”  Remy's quiet words echoed through Samuel's earpiece.  “All packages are being checked before they're allowed into the building.  My gut's telling me this is a bust.”  Remy walked across the staged area with multiple podiums and microphone stands lined up like soldiers down the center.  His eyes swept over the platform and the multitude of seats and he stood with his hands on his hips, staring down at Samuel.  “We've made a mistake.  Picked the wrong target.  Webster's not gonna show here tonight.” 

He wanted to smash his fist into the wall, because he knew Remy was right.  Webster wasn't going to show.  Maybe all the C4 had been intended for sale and not for his own personal use.  Which was a scary thought—that much C4 in the hands of somebody even more unstable than Webster?  That knot in the pit of his stomach expanded another couple of sizes. 

“Keep the men at their posts, even though I think you're right.”  He scrubbed his hands across his face, to keep from screaming.  Damn it.  Webster was up to something.  He'd practically taunted him about his next job being his last one.  It had to be happening soon.  Webster loved to gloat.  Even when they'd worked together at the DEA, and he'd considered the man a friend, it had been one of the few things he'd disliked about him—that whole attitude of self-importance.

He pulled out his cell and texted Andrea, letting her know things were a bust, and not to come.  He walked forward toward the platform where Remy still paced.  Minutes passed with no response from Andrea, and he didn't like it.  She'd have been practically sitting on her phone, waiting for him to give her an update.

“Something's wrong.”  Tapping her programmed number, he waited, hearing the phone ring over and over before finally going to voice mail.  He didn't bother leaving a message.

“Andrea's not answering her phone.” 

“Aw, hell.”  Remy leapt from the stage and sprinted to Carpenter's side.  “Do you think…”

“Yeah.”  He dialed Ms. Willie, praying she answered, while he strode toward the exit, Remy hot on his heels.  Again, nobody answered.

“I'm headed back.  Neither Ms. Willie nor Andrea are answering their phones.  Tell Jean-Luc to meet me at the office.”  He didn't wait for Remy's response, instead sprinting for the exit.  The deep burning in his gut grew, and he swallowed past the panic.  He'd made a mistake, leaving them alone.  Never anticipated Webster would go after the women—that wasn't his style.  But he knew Webster wanted to cause him pain, and what better way than to take out the two women he loved the most?

The drive seemed to last forever.  He didn't give a damn as he sped through red lights, weaving in and out of traffic which was a snarled, tangled mess of people trying to get downtown for the presidential debates.

How could he have been so blind?  Webster was a master manipulator.  He wouldn't do something so pedestrian as blowing up a building, even if it meant national attention on a massive scale.  No, he wanted to dig the knife in deep and twist it, because Carpenter was his one mistake.  His Achilles heel.

After an interminable drive, he slammed the car into park and barreled through the front door, taking the stairs three at a time.  The front door to the penthouse apartment was closed, but he had a bad feeling and pulled his Sig Sauer from its holster, the familiar feel of the weapon in his hand providing an odd sense of calm. 

A harsh curse escaped when he spotted Ms. Willie, sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace, a pool of blood beneath her gray hair.  Kneeling beside her, he inhaled sharply when he found a pulse.  It was weak and thready but there.  Grabbing his cell, he quickly dialed nine one one, his focus alert.  He scanned the apartment while he gave instructions to the dispatcher.  Definite signs of a struggle, with a lamp shattered on the hardwood and the coffee table tossed over on its side. 

Adrenaline coursed through him as he visually checked every room within sight.  There wasn't a trace of Andrea anywhere—except her cellphone, which lay crushed behind the sofa.  No way to track her by GPS.

Paramedics paused in the doorway, and he slid the Sig back into its holster and directed them to Ms. Willie, who gave a slight groan when they started administering to her.  The need to question her seized him by the throat, to find out what had happened, but his affection for the older woman overrode his anxiety and need for answers. 

“Mr. Samuel.”  At her whisper, he knelt beside her. 

“Shh.  It's okay, Ms. Willie.  Let the paramedics take care of you.” 

“No, no.”  She struggled to sit up, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, easing her back down.  “Two men, they busted through the door.”  She stopped talking and winced when one of the paramedics touched the back of her head. 

“Don't try to talk.”  He ran his fingertips against her plump cheek, noting how fragile she looked, and felt a squeezing tightness in his chest.  When had she gotten old and fragile?  She'd always been a bundle of energy, buzzing around his home, tending to his every need.  He couldn't bear the thought he might lose her.  It was unfathomable.  She was the one good thing he had left from his youth.  The only person who gave a damn about a young boy who'd grown up way too fast. 

“Ms. Andrea—she fought 'em.  Could've gotten away, even with them having guns, except she stayed to protect me.”  Ms. Willie grabbed his hand and squeezed.  He clutched onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Did they say anything when they took her?”  The boulder-sized rock sitting in the middle of his chest seemed to have doubled in size since he'd walked through the broken front door. 

She started to shake her head and grimaced.  “Just that they were following orders.  One of them laughed, said you were chasing your tail.” 

“We need to get her to the hospital, and get this head wound checked out.”   The female paramedic gave him a look of sympathy.  Within minutes, they had Ms. Willie loaded onto a gurney and bundled into the elevator, ready for transport.  His heart ached to go with her, but finding Andrea took priority.  Webster would see her as a bargaining chip.  The bastard knew what she meant to him, especially after witnessing their shared night of lovemaking on the rooftop.

“Mr. Samuel,” her weak voice seared through him as he stood outside the elevator doors, holding them open with one hand pressed against the side.  He pulled in a deep breath, focused on his friend.  “Find Ms. Andrea.  She loves you and you love her.  Don't let Richard Webster win.” 

“I'll find her, I promise.  Now do whatever the doctor orders, and I'll see you in a little bit, okay?  And I'll bring Andrea with me.” 

Ms. Willie smiled.  “You're a good boy, Mr. Samuel.  You remind me of your grandpa.”  Her eyes got misty.  “I loved that old coot.” 

He jerked in surprise. 
Ms. Willie and his grandfather?
He'd had no clue, though now that he thought about it, it made a weird kind of sense. 

The doors to the elevator slid silently shut, and in the moment following their closure he heard a noise.  Instinct had the Sig in his hand before he'd taken another breath.  Jean-Luc stood in the stairwell, his hands raised by his chest. 

“Remy told me to meet you here.  What happened?” 

Carpenter led him into the apartment, explaining what he'd found.  He picked up Andrea's smashed cellphone and handed it to Jean-Luc. 

“Webster's got her.  This was all a ruse to get me and the team away from here, leaving the women sitting ducks.” 

“Samuel, we followed the intel we had.  The odds were good he'd hit the presidential debates, it was the logical deduction from the facts.” 

Carpenter shook his head.  “We were wrong.  Now Ms. Willie is headed to the hospital and Webster has Andrea.”