The Carolina Coup: Another Rwandan Genocide? (The Jeannine Ryan Series Book 4) (24 page)

In the Francis Marion National Forest on the outskirts of Huger, South Carolina, Eric Nyonzima tore the last of the duct tape from his wrists.  He picked up his crutches and hobbled towards town.  Angelique’s words echoed in his mind.

“Do you not know that your name, ‘Nyonzima,’ means ‘God lives.’  He is alive and He loves you.  All he asks is your repentance.  Turn to Him.”

But the words of Pascal’s father were also in his memory.

“Eric, when you cleanse the world of the Tutsi, you serve God.  He wants Rwanda freed from vermin.  He wants us to have our birthright, ‘Hutu Power.’”

But Laurette, his neighbor across the street, had been Hutu.  Her only crime had been to try to save a Tutsi friend, Nadine.

Eric liked Laurette, but he had not tried to help her.  Worse, he had watched passively as his frenzied friends mutilated her body, a Hutu body.  Surely God had not approved that.

And Henri Duval would have put a bullet in Eric’s head, but for that Tutsi, Angelique.  She had stopped the Frenchman.

I am alive because of her. She does not hate me.  She forgives me.

Crutches straining, Eric pushed towards the town.  He was confused.  His only certainty was that Gutera must not find him.

The afternoon sun was high in the West, when Stew Marks turned onto Route 50 and the approach to the Topsail Island bridge at Surf City.  Jeannine Ryan, until now resting in the passenger seat, opened her eyes.

She sat up.

“Sorry, I need to go to the bathroom.  There’s a McDonald’s on the right.  Can you stop there, please.”

Stew nodded.  He pulled into the lot and cut the motor. Jeannine dashed for the Rest Room.

He waited behind the wheel, content to be off the highway.  The drive from Charleston had been hard.  His eyes started to close, but he was aware that more cars had entered the lot.  Half asleep, he watched a van discharge a family of four, two rowdy boys and their weary parents.  Other cars had parked around the corner of the restaurant.  Finally, his eyes closed, his arms slipped off the wheel, and he dozed.

A noise awoke him.  Another car had parked next to his.  Two giggling teens pushed out and waltzed to the McDonald’s with their mother.  As they entered, the mother held the door for a family that was leaving, two boys and their parents who had just eaten.

Stew blinked.  It was the family that he had seen enter some time before.

How long have I been here?  Over thirty minutes?  Jeannine? 
But she was not in the car.  And her laptop and the canvas briefcase were gone.

A piece of paper was taped to the passenger-side window.

Mr. Marks,

I have to go.  I do not want to get you in trouble with your agency, so it’s better for you this way.  You have to follow your conscience but so do I.  Thanks for your help, and I know that when I give you all the evidence, you will know for sure that Bill had nothing to do with Byrd’s selling NSA secrets to GES.  All Bill did was to expose them.

Dear Stew, you are a sweet guy, and I appreciate all you did to help me.  I am sorry to leave you like this, but I did not want to wake you up.  You can see it is for the best.  Thanks again.

Fondly, Jeannine

Stew was torn with emotion.  He was angry at her departure but he loved her signoff.  She no longer detested him.

He leaned back in the seat and smiled.

Bill Hamm drove Paul Mutabazi’s car to Topsail Beach.  He had left Paul in Surf City.  Paul would be of little use in a fight.

The dead Sullivan’s guidance system was to be tested tonight at the ceremonial firing at the museum.  Bill had read and reread the local newspaper’s article.

… a radar guidance system developed locally by Sullivan Electronics currently owned and operated by Jack “Scooter” Sullivan of Holly Ridge.  

…Radar tracking will be from a temporary facility on loan to the museum by Guerry Electronic Systems of Chantilly Virginia.  As a backup, a French Oceanographic Research Vessel, “La Lutte” will track the missiles from an offshore location.

Bill parked several blocks away from the “Missiles and More Museum" and turned off the ignition.  He reached into the glove compartment for Paul’s .38 revolver.

The gun was gone.
Damn!

Evidently Paul had sneaked the weapon while Bill was not looking.  Bill clenched his fists and walked to a spot across from the museum grounds.  He took a position behind a post i
n
front of a small store.

The ceremonies would not begin until dark.

From his vantage point, Bill watched as GES technicians unrolled cables, unloaded monitors, and otherwise prepared a large tent that had been erected for the occasion.

A gray Acura sedan arrived.  A man in a suit stepped out from the back.  Bill recognized him as a frequent visitor to the Torbee building.  He was Bruno Belli, a computer scientist and electronics specialist, as well as a GES consultant.

Apparently Bruno was in charge of the preparations.

Then a tall man with a fair complexion emerged from the front passenger side.  He clearly represented muscle.  Bill did not know him, but the blonde driver was all too familiar.  Looking trim and attractive in tight jeans topped by a light chemise, Denise Guerry stepped from the car while the bodyguard watched with more than professional attention.

She straightened to full height in a smooth practiced motion.  Clearly the bodyguard approved her moves.  Bill had to agree.

Suddenly Denise turned and swept Bill’s side of the street with a cold eye.

He jumped back. 
Did she see me?

Seconds passed before she turned away.

“Ian, Hamm is here.  I feel it.”

“You saw him?”

“There was movement by that store over there.  I’m sure it was him.”

Short as his association with Denise was, Ian knew not to disagree.  But he liked certainty.

“Do you want me to go look?”

“No.  Stay by me.  I need to check our setup.  I can ask Maximilien to handle Hamm.”

Ian abhorred Gutera’s ways, and Hamm, if it were him, was still an American.

“Let me go.  I can handle Hamm.”

Blue eyes became ice.  He recoiled.

“Never mind.”

He followed her to the tent.

In Surf City, Wayne Johnson was behind the wheel of the Buick he had rented in Myrtle Beach.  Jeannine sat next to him.

“Wayne, thanks once again.  You’ve freed me from the FBI.”

“Not exactly.  They’ve been watching my house.  That Ford behind us is theirs.”

“But what will I do?”

“It’s all arranged.  There’s a vacation-style store ahead.  It covers a short block.  I have a rental car waiting for pickup at the end of North Topsail Drive.  Here are the keys.  I’ll drop you at the beachside entrance and park as if I’m waiting for you.  Go in and leave by the back exit.  Once outside, push the remote and make the lights blink.  Get in and go!”

He pulled in front of the store.

“The FBI is right behind us.  I’ll sit awhile to give you time to escape. The number of Bill’s new phone is under the seat of your car.”

She gave Wayne a huge hug.  Briefcase and laptop in hand, she went into the store.

Once inside, she dashed to the rear entrance.

Wayne turned off the motor and pretended to wait.

Stew Marks was parked at the McDonald’s near Topsail Island.  He had not moved since Jeannine’s departure.

At first, he had wondered how she had gone, but then he understood.  Of course, Wayne Johnson had picked up his “daughter.”  The man was loyal.

Stew’s phone buzzed.  The number was Jack Marino’s.

“Stew, I have a team watching Wayne Johnson.  He picked up a redhead, a woman, at a McDonald’s in Surf City.  My men followed them onto the island, but the woman got away.  She went into a store while Johnson waited.  It was a trick.  She sneaked out the rear entrance.

“It was Jeannine.  I’m at that McDonald’s.  She gave me the slip too.”

“You mean you were with Ryan?  Damn, Stew.  What’s wrong with you?  Work with me.  We can catch Hamm at the tests on topsail tonight.  Help me catch the rat.”

“Jack, I’m on leave.  I need time to think.”

“Then stay the hell out of my way.  And don’t try to warn Ryan.  I think you know where she went.”

“Jack, you should concentrate on stopping Maximilien Gutera, not Hamm.  He’ll likely be at Topsail tonight too.”

“Our assignment is Hamm.  Damn it Stew, we can do this together.”

“Sorry, Jack, I need to be on my own for a while.  Besides, the NSA will tie your hands about Byrd.”

“Byrd is dead.”

“Yes he is, but he was only a part of Gutera’s schemes.  They are very much alive.  Hamm and Ryan want to stop him.

“Stew, that woman is no good.”

“She’s a straight shooter, Jack.”

Jack had heard enough.  He hung up.

In Surf City the two FBI agents assigned to follow Wayne Johnson received a phone call from Jack Marino.

“Guys, I’m betting Hamm will be at the  missile museum tonight when the rockets with Sullivan’s guidance systems are fired.  Hamm has a stake in those rockets.  He’ll be there.”

“What about Johnson?”

“Forget him.  Meet me at Topsail Beach in half an hour.  You know the spot.  I’m tired of chasing Hamm.  Tonight the rat will come to us.”

In Topsail Beach, Bill Hamm watched the GES monitoring tent from a new vantage point.  After the close call behind the post, he had moved to a nearby clump of junipers.  Denise Guerry and the fair-skinned bodyguard were in the tent, out of sight.

Bill’s phone vibrated against his thigh.

“Jeannine!  Thank God!  Are you all right?  Is Marks with you?”

“I’m OK.  I’m by myself.  Wayne helped me get away.”

“Where are you”

“Near Wayne’s favorite place to eat.”

“Do you have everything with you?  And the laptop?”

“Yes and Yes.”

A commotion across the street drew Bill’s attention.  Denise Guerry had emerged from the tent.  She stood talking and waving her arms at Bruno Belli.  Her bodyguard was not in sight.

“Stay there.  Something’s up.  I got to go.”

Across the street from Bill’s hiding place, an impatient Bruno Belli stared at Denise Guerry.

“Denise, I told you I agree. with you.  We don’t need to encrypt the signals from the missiles.  Everyone knows that we are tracking them.  There is no need for secrecy.  None.”

He took a breath.

“Why do you keep asking me if I agree with you?  You know I do.  I don’t understand why you keep asking?”

Denise continued to gesticulate as if arguing.

“Because, Dear Bruno, you are not a good actor.  It was necessary that you thought I did not understand you.  Your reaction was superb, much better than acting.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you and I are making a scene.  Someone is watching us from behind those bushes.  I’m sure it is that CIA fugitive, William Hamm.  You and I are holding his attention while Ian Callahan smokes him out.”

She frowned.

“We only need to continue our farce a few more minutes.  By then Ian will have him.  Now, pretend to be upset with me.”

She waved her arms anew, but Bruno froze. She was right.  He was a lousy actor.  Fortunately further performance was not needed.

From across the street, Bruno heard a shout and a thump.  He looked up.  Two men grunted as they grappled on the ground.  They rolled behind a thick clump of junipers.  Moments later one of them emerged and disappeared along the side of a small store.

Bruno turned to Denise.

“Was that your bodyguard?”

“I don’t know.  The bushes were in the way.”

Their uncertainty was momentary.  A man crossed the street, dashing to avoid an oncoming car.  Bruno saw that he held a gun.

He was not the bodyguard.

The man spoke.

“Hello, Denise.”

“Bruno, I think we all met before in Chantilly, at the security conference.  You remember Bill Hamm.”

Bill pointed a Beretta at Bruno, but spoke to Denise.

“The man you sent to get me, was he the one called ‘Ian’?  He’s good.”

Denise sniffed.

“Apparently not good enough.  Is that his gun?”

Bill nodded.  He waved the weapon at Bruno.

“We all need to go inside the tent.  It’s too public out here.”

When he turned back to Denise, she had twisted slightly to loosen her blouse revealing a tantalizing cleavage.  His eyes stayed on her chest.  She smiled.

Bill did not.

“Denise, you look great, but the bulge by your left arm worries me.  I know you’re a crack shot, and I assume that is your Browning.  Don’t test me.  I can shoot too.”

Blue eyes went limpid as Denise pushed her lips into a pout.  She slipped sideways so that Bill could enjoy her profile and shoved Bruno towards the missile tent.  She moved deliberately in front of Bill so that he could admire her walk.

Bill followed her into the tent.  From behind, he could not see that those limpid eyes had frozen ice-gray.

Jeannine Ryan did not wait at the deli.  She craved action.

She would attend the missile tests herself.  She wrapped her distinctive hair in a scarf and hid her eyes behind dark glasses, not much of a disguise but better than nothing.

Then, she set forth for the missile museum and Bill.

In the missile-guidance tent, Bill Hamm let the Beretta hang loose and inconspicuous.  He motioned Denise and Bruno towards a monotonous row of monitors that all showed the same image.  Nearby, a lone technician was attaching cable to some sort of electronic box.

Denise waved the technician to leave before turning to Bill, her eyes blue and soft once more.

“All right Bill.  What can I do for you?  Now that Byrd is dead, there is no reason for us not to get along.  He was your enemy, I never was.”

Bill’s surprise was genuine.

“Dead?  But he was in jail in South Carolina.”

“Quite so, but he was no longer of use, so Paris eliminated him.  He no longer concerns you or me.  Byrd was the only obstacle between you and GES.  Your own government has abandoned you.  Join us.  We can make you rich.”

She smiled.

“And I can reward you in personal ways.”

Denise’s mind raced.  She was half sincere.  Hamm had been Byrd’s enemy, not hers, and GES could use Hamm’s CIA experience and contacts.  Plus she could justify a generous reward for him in return for the stolen items.

Besides, she might need protection from Gutera, and on the personal side, Bill obviously was superior to Ian.  The small scar on his cheek spoke of covert ops and danger, things she admired.

I can control this guy and enjoy myself doing it.

“What do you say, Mr. Hamm?”

Bill’s head ached from where Ian had butted him.

Does she mean this?

Jack Marino and his two FBI agents parked their Ford across from the missile-guidance tent in Topsail Beach.  Sam, the agent sitting in back, spoke.

“Jack, that guy who went into the tent after that blonde, that was him.  That was Hamm!”

Jack looked up.  The man was no longer in sight.

“It’s pretty far over there.  Are you sure?”

Sam waved a photo in the air.

“I’ve been looking at this damned picture for two whole days.”

Jack pointed at a car parked near the tent.

“OK, but first get me the information on that Acura.  It has a Maryland plate.”

“I already checked.  It’s leased to Guerry Electronic Systems in Chantilly, Virginia.”

“That figures.  They are the ones tracking the rockets tonight, and Hamm sold secrets to them.  We’ll wrap them up together.”

Jack turned back to his driver.

“You and I are going to check that tent.  Sam, you watch the car.”

Jack stepped out of the Ford, Beretta in hand, and headed across the street.

Inside the missile-guidance tent, Bill Hamm stared at the woman in front of him.  She looked great, except for those intense probing eyes.  They unsettled him.  He was dizzy and his headache was worse.

To his left, Bruno meekly moved near the door of the tent.

Bill tightened his grip on the Beretta, but Bruno turned back.

“Two men are coming.  They look like police.”

Denise ignored Bill’s Beretta and slipped to Bruno’s side.

“They’re FBI.  I know one of them, but I forget his name.  Wait, it’s ‘Marino.’  He belongs to Agent Marks.”

She turned to Bill.

“They’re here to arrest you.  Decide now.  There’s a company pickup outside the rear of the tent.  We should leave.”

She headed to the opposite end of the tent.  Bill hesitated.  She beckoned.

“Hurry, they’ll be here any second.”

He followed her.

Denise Guerry went to a pickup truck with the GES logo on the door.  The keys were in the ignition and the motor turned over smoothly.  She smiled.

This is easy.  I thought he’d be more of a challenge.  He’s just a man after all, but he’s virile.  I’ll enjoy him.

She motioned Bill inside.  He opened the door with his left hand while gripping the Beretta in his right.  Denise ignored the gun.  She no longer feared him.

He appeared dazed, or as she preferred ‘dazzled.’  Had he forgotten she still had her Browning?  No matter, she did not need it.

She understood men.

As for the missile tests, Bruno could handle them.  As long as Hamm was with her, he could not spoil the proceedings.  The tests would take place without interruption.

She drove north.  In the opposite direction, cars were backed up, heading for the festivities.  She crossed the Surf City bridge to the mainland and turned south onto Route 17.  She would hide Hamm at the farm where Gilles Smets had been killed.  The FBI had yet to find its location.  She and Bill would not be disturbed.

Bill still had not spoken.  She smirked.  Soon everything taken from Byrd’s safe would be in her possession.

Stew Marks was experienced and smart.  At Topsail Beach this evening, his experience had trumped the direct approach of Jack Marino.  Not that direct action was always wrong, Stew’s usual choice was to keep things simple, but with some individuals nothing was simple.

And with Bill Hamm nothing ever was.

Thus Stew had watched Jack’s “frontal assault” on the GES tent with skepticism. He did not believe that Hamm could be taken by surprise.  And he was right.

When Jack had “attacked” the front, Stew had placed himself at the rear to watch and wait.  Hamm and Denise Guerry had appeared on schedule and left in a GES pickup.  Denise had driven away behind buildings that blocked Marino’s view.  But not Stew’s.  He had followed Denise and Bill onto Route 17 south.

Stew kept Denise’s pickup in sight.  She was driving carefully, within the speed limit.  But knowing Hamm was in the front seat disturbed him.

Damn.
  Hamm’s presence confirmed his guilt.  That posed a problem for Stew.  He did not want to risk losing the little affection that Jeannine had shown for him and if he arrested Hamm, he would forever be the object of her scorn.

Hamm nauseated Stew.  Denise Guerry was most desirable.  Men wanted her and Hamm had her. 
Hamm, you scumbag, how could you betray Jeannine?  She deserves better!

That decided Stew.

No matter what Jeannine thought of him, he would take down Hamm for good!

Denise Guerry drove the truck south on Route 17.  Ahead was the road that led to the “Smets” farm, but she drove past without slowing down.  A Honda Accord had occupied the rear view mirror since Surf City.

The Accord had a lone driver, a male Caucasian.

Could it be that ass Jack Marino?  No.  Another agent had been with him at the tent and he would not be alone. 
Besides Marino is clueless
.

A single possibility remained, Stewart Marks, the only FBI agent Denise respected, and feared.

She glanced sideways.  Bill was no longer upright.  He had slumped over, chin against his chest.  His eyes had closed.  He was unconscious.  A red welt had grown on his forehead.

A head butt?  Before going down, Ian had left his mark.

Apparently Bill had been dazed during the entire ride, due, perhaps, to pressure from a clot or sub cranial swelling, and not from anticipation of her sensuous body pressed against his.

OK, Mon Cher Hamm, maybe you’re not as malleable as I thought.
 
Denise, you were over confident.  You know better.  Watch yourself.

She reached over and took the Beretta out of his loose grip.  Hamm might still be an enemy.

That resolved, she looked once again in the rear view mirror.

The Accord was still there.

In Topsail Beach, Ian Callahan limped to the Acura.  One eye had closed completely, and his right arm hung limp, straight from the shoulder.  There was an Urgent Care Center in Surf City, not far from the bridge.  He headed for it.

As he struggled to remain conscious, one thought was clear.  His service with Guerry Electronic Systems was done.

Maximilien Gutera had decided to avoid the ceremonies at Topsail Beach.  Rather, with a small cadre of his followers, he would pass the evening at the “Smets” farm, courtesy of Guerry Electronic Systems.  He cared little about the high-precision guidance systems.  All he required of his rockets was that they explode over the eastern region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo and not over Rwanda.  Accuracy was not a problem.