The Constantine Conspiracy (18 page)
“Not sure how to answer that.”
“Didn’t expect you would. Sure you don’t want to take advantage of that hideout I offered?”
“I’d rather not, if that’s okay.”
“Then we’ll just sit together and wait for her. You and me—neighbors for the evening.”
“Good by me.”
“Don’t worry about Shannon,” Mabel said confidently. “She’s a smart woman, will expect surveillance and take precautions against it.”
“Where’s that come from?” Rick asked, hoping to unravel at least part of the mystery of Shannon Bridge. “Not normal for a woman to expect somebody to tail her.”
Mabel grinned slyly. “Shannon will say what she wants to say when she wants to say it.”
“You’re as cryptic as she is.”
“Maddening, right?”
“Most women are.”
Mabel smiled again. “You really plan to go to the police once Shannon shows up?”
“I said I would.”
“What Shannon tells you might convince you otherwise.” “What will she tell me?”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“And you keep answering questions with questions. Appears we’re at a stalemate.”
“You want more water?”
Rick settled into the chair and tried to reassure himself. If the cops followed Shannon, it didn’t much matter; he’d give himself up as promised once he saw her released. But if the assassin tailed her . . . Rick squirmed as he considered that possibility.
“Tell me about that cabin,” he said. “Just in case we need it.”
T
he stretch limousine holding Augustine and Charbeau moved slowly through the heavy Atlanta traffic, a summer thunderstorm making progress even slower than usual.
“We should have taken the helicopter,” Augustine lamented, the smoke from his cigar curling toward the ceiling vent that pulled it from the limo. “No matter that we’re driving less than five miles.”
Charbeau sat on the opposite seat, his hands in his lap, his Nike cap turned backward. “I released Tony Gonzalez and his mother,” he reported. “As you instructed.”
Augustine stared at the embers of his cigar. “No need to kill them,” he said. “They will not go to the police—too many cousins on the wrong side of the immigration issue for them to risk it. You explained that to them?”
“Obviously.”
Augustine puffed again. “The loose end in Montana cleaned up?”
“My boy there reported two direct contacts, subject last seen being hauled into an ambulance, bleeding like a stuck hog.”
“And your assistant?”
“I’ll personally tend to him once we conclude our business with Ms. Bridge.”
“The police will release her within minutes,” Augustine said.
“And they’ll put surveillance on her just as we instructed them to do.”
“She will no doubt flee to Mr. Carson. I suspect they agreed upon a meeting place before her little excursion at the memorial service.”
“That’s the way I figure it too. But we already know Golden Boy’s location. Tracked it from when he called you on Mr. Gonzalez’s phone.”
“You will arrive in Florida before the police, but you’ll wait on them to capture the boy. If anything unfortunate happens in that house, I want the police to take the blame, not you.”
“You figure Carson will turn himself in once he sees Bridge is loose?”
“He’s surprised us more than once in the past few days, so let’s assume otherwise.”
“Am I free to do what’s necessary if he reneges on the deal?”
“Take every care to capture him alive. He needs to understand why we required the death of his father; only then will he cease his fruitless effort to track his killer.”
“I’ll do all I can to deliver what you want.”
Augustine chewed the end of his cigar as the limo snaked around a curve. “What have you uncovered regarding Ms. Bridge?”
“She’s a fly in the frigging ointment.”
“That’s not what I call hard intel.”
Charbeau stiffened at the rebuke. “I put a couple of guys on it. They’ll sniff out her story quick enough.”
“We need her identity, her background, her motives. She brings great vigor to her task, a passion not found in ordinary women.”
“You reckon she’s in love with Golden Boy?”
“That’s possible, he attracts women like bees to honey. But something about Bridge tells me she’s different. Not one of his usual twinkies. The video from her police interview shows a woman of great character, morality. She surely views Mr. Carson’s lifestyle as something less than pure.”
Charbeau pulled off his hat and stared into it. “You think she works for—”
“Do not say it,” Augustine interrupted. “No reason yet to jump to that conclusion. If she does, we’ll deal with it when necessary. But until we complete our investigation, go on the assumption that she is as she appears—a well-meaning park ranger who takes friendship seriously.”
The limo stopped for a moment as a security guard at the entry of a small airport greeted the driver and checked his license. The thunderstorm stopped and Augustine closed his eyes to catch his breath, his chest aching. He ground his teeth against the pain, laid his cigar in a tray in the door, and faced Charbeau again.
“It’s time to initialize Operation Domino,” he said.
Charbeau squeezed the bill of his cap. “We’ve waited a long time.”
“It’s the boldest initiative of my life, Nolan. The one act to trump all others, the event that might reshape American culture in ways only men like us can imagine.”
“It’s an ambitious venture, got to say that—truly worthy of a man of your stature. The history books will make note of it. And recent events have made it more plausible than ever, opened a rare window of opportunity for you.”
“You have the most recent plan of action in place?”
“As you’ve ordered. We’ve drawn up a whole list of options, based on certain contingencies.”
Charbeau hauled a briefcase from the floor, pulled out a folder, and handed it to Augustine who opened it and quickly checked its contents. His well-trimmed eyebrows arched as he studied the schemes laid out on the pages. “Are any of these feasible?”
“All are bold strokes with certain risks, but yes, I feel good about the possibilities for several of them. Enough money makes almost anything doable, and as we both know, we got enough money to choke every elephant on the planet and then some.”
“Your timetable is most ambitious. Are we on target for completion of any of these scenarios?”
“One in particular seems most likely to fall into place soon. Look again at page four.”
Augustine flipped to the page and reread the outline presented there. When finished, he folded the binder, laid it in his lap, and took up his cigar once more. The limo slid toward a hangar where one of his jets sat ready to fly. “We have done some previous preparation for this, I see.”
“We had an agreement with the subject discussed there so, yes, we’ve already laid the groundwork for that scenario.”
“We may be discovered,” Augustine said. “If that happens, the authorities will have no choice but to prosecute, no matter the benefits we have provided them in the past. But it really does not matter. I am not long for this world.”
“You’ll outlive all of us,” Charbeau argued gently but without conviction. “Rich guys like you got too much money to die.”
Augustine chuckled but only for an instant. “I’m ready, you know,” he said, sober again. “I’ve been ready for many years.”
Charbeau stared into his employer’s eyes. Although he feared Augustine, he also admired him—his power, his persistence. “You’ll be remembered when you’re gone,” he offered. “More than a footnote, that’s for sure.”
The limousine edged to the jet and stopped. A pilot and two attendants stood by the plane, umbrellas over their heads, as Augustine stubbed out his cigar and again faced Charbeau. “Proceed on all fronts,” he ordered. “But go most aggressively with what you’ve shown me from page four. I agree with your assessment that the opportunity there may unfold within a short time. Report to me as needed, and if you require anything—money, manpower, whatever—contact me instantly.”
Charbeau nodded solemnly and reached to open the door, but Augustine’s grip on his arm stilled him for a moment.
“Much is within our grasp,” Augustine said. “If you bring it to fruition, your reward will surpass your greatest dreams.”
“I’ll go out on this one,” Charbeau said. “One way or the other, it’s my last gig.”
“Then make sure it succeeds.”
“That’s the plan, Boss Man, that’s the plan.”
A
lthough not sure why the police had released her, Shannon didn’t hesitate when Roche gave her the order to clear out. Within minutes she caught a cab to her hotel, changed into a pair of jeans, a pullover white top, and tennis shoes and ordered a rental car delivered. After checking out, she piled her baggage into the rental and pointed it south. Expecting surveillance, she executed a series of sharp twists, turns, and lane switches as she left, her eyes alert to plain sedans or small, one-colored vans. Thankfully, traffic out of Atlanta remained thick and that gave her cover. By the time she reached Macon, she felt she’d ditched anyone following.
Feeling a little calmer, she settled in for the drive. She wanted to call Rick but knew she couldn’t, not on a traceable cell phone anyway. Her mind reeled with a jumble of mixed emotions. Was it time to tell Rick the truth about her identity? Or should she let him go back to his grandfather, none the wiser but far safer. But he deserved more than that, didn’t he? Wouldn’t he want to hear everything, to learn who killed his dad and why? But giving him that information might destroy him, both of them for that matter.
Shannon rolled down her window and let the summer air wash over her face. “What, Lord?” she pleaded into the wind. “What do I do?”
Hearing nothing but the wind, she packed her prayer away, turned on the radio, tuned it to a talk station, and kept driving. The news spat out the latest rumors, one bulletin after another, but none of it new. About an hour south of Tifton, a new report rolled out and this one made her shake in her shoes. She turned up the volume.
“We have this breaking story,” the reporter said. “A source with the Atlanta police tells us that authorities questioned an unidentified female today regarding the location of Rick Carson, America’s most wanted billionaire idol. According to our source, the female spent time with Mr. Carson over the past two days in an undisclosed location in Atlanta. Stay tuned to this station, and we’ll keep you updated as information comes to us.”
The station went to a commercial and Shannon lowered the volume and tried to relax. At least they didn’t know her name. But that wouldn’t last long; bribes of all kinds were no doubt crossing palms at this minute in the effort to ferret out her identity.
She checked her mirror as if expecting a line of news vans to suddenly appear but saw nothing suspicious. Not satisfied, she darted off the interstate, made several quick changes of direction, then headed back to the highway. Again she studied the mirror without spotting anybody tailing.
She arrived outside of Destin just after midnight, her body aching for food and sleep. About a mile from Mabel’s, she slowed the rental and checked her rearview mirror again, searching one final time for a tail but seeing none. She pulled into a grocery store parking lot and waited a couple of minutes, just in case. Nothing moved. A half moon glowed overhead, offering reasonable light, but it revealed no threats.
When she rolled back onto the road, she doubled back for a mile, then switched around a block and headed to Mabel’s again. Finally feeling confident, she turned left and drove the last quarter mile toward her rendezvous with Rick.
Charbeau sat behind the wheel of an all-terrain jeep hidden behind a dumpster in a grocery store parking lot, his stocky body tense. A rifle armed with sedative-filled darts lay on the seat beside him and his ever-trusty Glock rested in his right hand. If events unfolded as he hoped, he wouldn’t need either of the weapons, but if Carson resisted, a well-placed dart would subdue him or a well-placed bullet would drop him. Although Mr. Augustine wanted Carson alive, Charbeau expected that outcome to prove difficult. If Carson died, tough tomatoes. Mr. Augustine would have to accept it and move on. They both had bigger fish to fry.
Charbeau spotted a car driving past and his heart rate edged up but only slightly. The car pulled into the parking lot and stopped for a couple of minutes, then started again, heading back the way it had come. He studied the silhouette in the driver’s seat and recognized Bridge from the photo the police had provided him through Augustine. Since he knew the car’s final destination, Charbeau took a deep breath and waited.
A few minutes later the car returned and Charbeau started his jeep. When the car disappeared around the corner, he finally moved, his lights off, his engine purring quietly in the morning dark as he stalked a woman that he now knew he might eventually have to kill.
