Killing Hope (Gabe Quinn Thriller) (59 page)

‘So which one’s the killer?’ Marty asked, breaking the silence.

‘Maybe they both are.’ I said. ‘Maybe they’re working together as a team.’

I looked again at the photograph of Harland Candlewood. Tried to imagine what he’d look like wearing a black baseball cap. Captured on the
Bellagio
surveillance footage, we’d seen the same wavy blonde hair sprouting out the back of
The Undertaker’s
hat. It didn’t take a wizard with Photoshop to see the similarities.

 
‘We got word back from Langley on the dental IDs.’ Miles Tomlin interjected as he came over. He pushed between Sonny and Shakes. Slapped a sheet of paper on the table in front of us. Stabbed a finger at a line of text marked up in bold. ‘Tests show the remains belong to –’

‘Damn it.’ I said as I read the words: ‘Ethan Davey Copes.’

‘Copes is a smokescreen.’ Marty nodded. ‘Your boy’s using an alias.’

167

^{___________________________}

We went through the rear entrance of
Caesar’s Palace
, weapons drawn and intentions steely. Shakes, Sonny, Marty and me – together with about a dozen geed-up cops and G-Men. Tried to keep it as low-key as we could. A SWAT unit was three minutes away. We didn’t wait. Couldn’t. We commandeered all the elevators. Let a troupe of Deputies from the Sheriff’s Department take control of the stairwells. With more uniforms taking siege around the entire complex.

According to the Front Desk, Candlewood’s key card had been active within the last thirty minutes. Which meant there was a strong likelihood he was still here, in the building, hopefully in his room: a Senators Suite near the top of the Palace Tower. Overlooking the hotel’s lavish pool area.

We grouped at the foot of the Tower elevators. Cops and Feds. We were all flak-jacketed and pumped. Sonny had a map of the suite’s floor plan opened out. We gathered around like a football team working out game strategies.

‘The suite is split into three sections.’ She told us, pointing them out. ‘Two bedrooms and en suites either side of the main socializing area. There’s a small reception hall as we go in. With a toilet to the right and a walk-in closet to the left.’

‘So we split into three teams of four.’ I said. ‘Miles, your team take the left-hand bedroom. Glenda, your team take the right. Marty, you’re with Sonny, Milk and me in the main living area. The rest of you cover the hallway and the adjoining suites.’

A gong sounded from the elevators. Doors parted.

‘Everyone know what they’re doing?’

I got fifteen sharp nods.

Sonny waved everyone into the elevators. ‘Okay, people. Let’s do this.’

I watched floor numbers increment. Shoulders pressed against the mirrored insides of the carriage. I could taste testosterone in the close confines.

Then we were pouring out of the elevators. Fists wrapped around gun grips. Hours of tactical training kicking in. We ran in silence down the hallway toward the target room. Keeping to the edges. Shooing surprised guests back into their rooms. Cops peeled off before we got there; securing the suites either side. We pressed backs against walls as a handful of hotel guests were cleared out of harm’s way and rushed down the hall to the waiting elevators. Everyone was running on a tank full of adrenaline. We waited for the cops to give all-clear hand signals. Then Sonny swiped the master key card through the lock on the double-doors and we piled in, one after the other. Fast and slick like hot oil poured over cold water. The suite was in total darkness. We fanned out. Some of us spreading into the bedrooms and en suites, as planned. Everyone following the white beams issuing from the Maglites clamped to their firearms.

I followed Shakes into the main living area. Sweeping the Maglite left and right as I went. There was a conference table surrounded by eight comfy chairs, tucked under the leaves. A sitting area. A huge window with the drapes pulled back, revealing a night-time view of a neon-glitter cityscape.

Miles:
‘Clear!’

Glenda:
‘Clear!’

Sonny:
‘Clear!

No one home. Candlewood had come and gone. We holstered weapons.

‘Somebody get the lights.’ I shouted.

They came on throughout the suite.

‘Search the rest of the hotel.’ I said to Miles as he joined us in the main living area. ‘He could still be on the premises.’

He nodded. Waved to his team. And they piled out the way we’d come in.

Sonny got on her police radio and ordered the troops downstairs to man the barricades.

If Candlewood was anywhere close we’d nab him.

I scanned the opulent Senators Suite on the upper floor of the Palace Tower. Looking for anything that would give us a lead on Candlewood’s location.

There was a metallic carry-on standing in the middle of the conference table, telescopic handle closed up. A handful of loose change on a writing desk. A return ticket to Boston on the lounge table, next to a Harland Labs brochure.

‘Anyone else smell that?’ I asked.

I saw cops wrinkle noses. Received several shakes of the head. There was a strange smell in here, I thought. Something not quite right.

‘Detectives!’

We converged on the master bedroom.

Glenda Hoyt was standing alongside a King-sized bed. On top of the fancy quilted throw was a long black raincoat and a black baseball cap with the words
Black Death
embroidered into the fabric just above the peak.

We were all astounded.

‘There’s our proof.’ Sonny said.

‘In here!’ Somebody shouted.

We backed out of the bedroom, into the reception hall. A Fed was waving us toward a walk-in closet. Too narrow for everyone to fit in all at once. Shakes stayed in the bedroom with Glenda while Sonny and I went to investigate.

‘Thought you should see this.’ The Fed said.

Inside, on an otherwise empty shelf, was a handful of hypodermics and several vials of clear liquid. I snapped on Latex gloves and picked up the nearest. The label said it contained potassium chloride.

Jackpot!

‘Check the carry-on.’ I shouted to Shakes.

‘I’m already on it!’ We heard Marty call from back in the main part of the suite.

And that’s when the world blew up in my face.

168

^{___________________________}

I have no idea how long I was out of things. Seconds, maybe. When I came to, I could hear people coughing, moaning, groaning. Somebody crying. It was dark. I was flat on my back. Disoriented. Took a moment to realize what had happened and where I was. I could hear bells ringing. Not sure if they were in my head or if it was a fire alarm. I spluttered out bits of gritty chalk. Eyes and throat caked in dust. I could smell smoke and cooking fat. Could hear what sounded like things falling, randomly crashing. Metal creaking. Sparks crackling. A stiff breeze swirling dust. It was cold. I coughed. Choked. Tried to sit up, but there was something big and flat pinning me down. Slantwise, about six inches above my face. Heavy.

‘Gabe?’

‘Sonny?’

She sounded in a tight spot. I felt a hand fumble into mine.

‘You okay, Sonny?’

‘I think so. Not sure. But I think so. What happened?’

‘Must have been a bomb.’ I said, working it out there and then. ‘In the carry-on. Triggered to go off when somebody opened it.’

I coughed out more chalky dust. Realized it was wall plaster.

We were lying in the remnants of the walk-in closet. The lights were out. Everything was displaced. Shattered. We were underneath the remains of the interior wall and maybe some of the ceiling. It was anyone’s guess what the rest of the suite looked like.

I could still hear people moaning. Someone sobbing. Blast victims fumbling around in the debris like blind people.

I managed to twist onto a side. Just. Difficult in the confined space. ‘Sure you’re okay, Sonny?’ It was a crazy question, given our circumstances.

‘Everything feels attached.’ I heard her shuffle. Felt her grip tighten as she pulled herself closer across the gritty carpeting. ‘You?’

‘I think so.’

Truth was, my head was splitting. Fireflies zigzagging in my vision. One cheek wet; blood coming from
Le Diable’s
strike. You can only crash a car so many times before it’s wreckage.

Sonny released my hand. I heard her try and push upwards against the collapsed partition. Heard loose rubble fall. Dust billow. Then she was right next to me in the darkness. Churning up dust. She coughed. I could just make out the shape of her face in the flashes of electrical arcing coming from exposed cabling in the shattered wall. Her face was close. I could feel warm breath on my lips. She grabbed my hand again. I squeezed it.

‘Damn room’s on top of us,’ she said. ‘You claustrophobic?’

‘Yep.’ But I was too worried about other things to let the fear take control.

‘Same here. Anyone else with us?’

I remembered the male cop showing us
The Undertaker’s
stash right before the walk-in collapsed. Shakes had been out in the master bedroom, with Glenda Hoyt, over the other end of the suite. Maybe a few other cops. Some Feds. I couldn’t swear on it.

‘Anyone else in here?’ Sonny asked, this time louder.

No one answered.

I could hear people moving around in the bedroom and maybe out in the main part of the suite. More debris crashing. People crawling over rubble. People coughing. Somebody still crying. Distantly, I could make out an alarm squawking – maybe sirens too. It sounded outside. Maybe Fire Department.

‘Oh my God.’ Sonny breathed against my face.

I sensed sudden infectious panic. ‘What?’

‘Marty.’ She said. ‘Marty opened the case.’

‘Crap.’

Now I remembered. Marty would have taken the full brunt of the blast. My stomach clenched. I shouted out his name.

Nothing.

I started to think the worst.

‘Can you move?’ Sonny asked.