Thunder in the Night (Crimson Romance) (24 page)

“So what if we find something out while you’re gone?” Mart asked. “What then?” He brought one hand up to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Before I go, I’ll speak with my local counterparts, apprise them of the situation. I’ll make sure both of you have their phone numbers, and then, if anything does happen quickly — and I do mean anything — you must get in touch with them at once. At once!” Her voice was stern and emphatic. She further emphasized her concern by putting her hand on my arm. “Take no chances! Follow my instructions. I wouldn’t forgive myself if either of you came to harm.”

Mart slipped an arm around my waist. The tangle of nerves I’d been harboring in my belly unknotted as our eyes met, his an oasis of calm in this sea of anxiety.

We scouted the service road in both directions, finding that while one way led onto a busy thoroughfare the other came out at the back end of an industrial park.

“Where you would expect to see and hear trucks at all hours of the day or night,” Mart concluded.

Turning back, we headed through the woods again and onto zoo property.

Even though we spent the next several hours tramping around the zoo taking photographs and notes, at the end of our day we hadn’t added anything else to our list of clues, and nowhere looked as inviting for moving contraband as that path through the woods. Soon the three of us were in Mart’s car on the way to the airport. Ishani pulled off her baseball cap and shook her head, sending her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. Even as she applied lipstick and a dusting of powder, transforming into someone more closely resembling the glamorous lounge singer, she gave us instructions and warnings and phone numbers.

With Ishani’s admonishment ringing in our ears, we watched her plane take off, arching south in the sky on its long journey.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was after we’d gotten back to the car and were in a line of traffic waiting to leave the parking structure that I spotted the van.

“Mart, look!” My finger pointed at the road we could see running past the garage.

A maroon van, emblazoned with the catchy zoo logo, was pulling onto the same service drive we’d seen — and followed — the day of our return from Belize. It was too far away to make out who was driving, even though I leaned out the window to look.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Mart said in a calm voice, showing none of my excitement.

“I’ll say! Ishani said watch for something suspicious and here it is — already!”

“Clark is supposed to be at a meeting today in Milwaukee. That’s two hundred miles from here.” Mart’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

The line of cars inched forward. Soon, we’d be out of the gloomy building. But would it be too late to follow the van?

“Let’s follow it,” I said. “I mean, this is exactly the kind of thing Ishani told us to watch for and here it is dropped right into our laps!”

Another car pulled out of the garage onto the road and we moved ahead once more. Mart turned away from me to check oncoming traffic. When it was clear, he accelerated sharply, the car sputtering with the effort, and turned in the opposite direction of the van.

“What are you doing?” I demanded of his profile. “We can’t miss a chance like this, Mart. We’ve got to follow — ”

“There’s a method to my madness,” he promised. “Give me a minute and I’ll explain.”

I sat back against the seat, folding my hands and pressing my lips together until they hurt. We moved down the road at a snail’s pace, letting other cars surge around us, speeding off into the day’s twilight. After we’d gone half a mile or so, cresting a small hill, Mart pulled onto the gravel shoulder and shut off the engine.

“Okay,” he said, turning to face me, “here’s my idea. We know where that service road leads. We know where that van is headed. There is only one road out of the airport to the freeway. This one.”

“So, when the van goes by on its return journey, we’ll just fall in behind,” I followed the thought to its logical conclusion and was rewarded with a wink.

“Go to the head of the class,” Mart teased. His eyes darted frequently to the rear-view mirror, watching for the van.

It made sense, I conceded, settling down to wait. How long could it take to load up the van and zoom past us back toward the zoo? We’d have to move quickly when it did appear. Darkness was falling rapidly and, if we lost sight of the van, we might never have another chance like this to follow it. Or, at least, never one so convenient.

A stream of cars went past us, our car swaying with each one. The speed limit along this stretch was forty miles per hour, but few drivers observed the regulation.

With neither of us speaking, the silence in the car made my ears ring. I was glad when Mart leaned over and snapped on the radio. The lilting, gravelly voice of a popular country-western singer filled the air and my toes tapped out the rhythm of the song.

Another ten minutes crept by. I’d grown lax in my vigilant watch of the traffic, picking at my fingernail polish as my mind wandered off. I was looking out the window into the field at the side of the road when Mart bolted upright.

“Here we go!” he said, reaching to start the ignition. It caught on the second try.

“You’ve got to get that checked,” I said, shifting my seatbelt.

“Can’t get it into the garage until next week,” he said, putting the car in gear as a maroon van passed on the left.

The zoo logo had been obliterated by a magnetic sign advertising a real estate company. I noticed the driver was observing the speed limit. It wouldn’t do to get a speeding ticket, I supposed, and invite the scrutiny of police. Our car slipped neatly onto the road, a few discreet car lengths from the van. It was full darkness now, which seemed like a point in our favor at this stage. The driver would be less likely to notice us.

We moved onto the freeway and remained in the slower right lane, following the van to the interchange leading to the zoo — and then beyond it. If Mart was surprised by this, he didn’t let on, keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

“Where do you think it’s headed?” I asked. “If not the zoo, where?”

“I don’t know, Allison. Beats me.” He blinked heavily and refocused, humming along to the radio and easing up on the gas as the van slowed at the bypass. It was nerve-racking pursuing the other vehicle, trying to second-guess its movements.

To our mutual surprise, we headed downtown, pulling off the freeway at a busy area of restaurants and overpriced boutiques. The van parallel-parked and we cruised slowly past it, looking for another empty spot.

“There’s one!” I pointed across the street a few cars down and Mart executed a swift and risky U-turn to nab it.

“Look, the driver is getting out!”

Mart glanced over at the van as he finished backing into the space and I felt one wheel bump over the curb.

“Well, I’ll be!” he exclaimed, straightening us out in a hurry. “That’s Kyle Armour, one of the groundskeepers. I was sure it would be Clark behind the wheel.”

We watched as the man closed the door of the van and pocketed the keys. Then, he put coins into the parking meter and walked away.

“Should we follow him or stay with the van?” I wondered aloud.

“Stay with the van. That’s what we care about.” Mart spoke swiftly, without deliberation.

“Then we might be here waiting for hours,” I mused. 

Just outside, only a sidewalk away, was a little cafe. I could practically smell the coffee and realized I was hungry.

“Mart, I think I’ll just pop in there and get a cup of coffee to go. Interested?”

“Um, sure. That sounds good. And maybe a bran muffin?” he suggested, adding. “But make it fast.”

Inside of ten minutes, I was back, carrying a paper tray with two cups of hazelnut coffee and a wax paper bag with four jumbo-sized muffins.

“Take your pick, Mart. We’ve got banana nut, bran, blueberry, and cranberry.” When he raised his eyebrows, I said, “There’s no telling how long we’ll have to sit here. We may as well have a picnic.”

He wrinkled his nose at my frivolous choice of words, but tucked into a bran muffin while I broke off big chunks of the blueberry, consuming them slowly.

One hour stretched into two. Mart cracked the windows to bring in some fresh air, but the car’s seats became uncomfortable and constricting. My legs felt crampy and the small of my back started to ache. My head kept slipping to one side as I drifted off to sleep, but when it came into contact with the window, I’d jerked upright.

Shifting over, I leaned my head against Mart’s shoulder instead and muttered, “It’s never like this on television.”

Chapter Thirty

“Allison, wake up!” Mart gave my shoulder a jostle. “Allison! Allison, look. Guess who’s here?”

I came to with a start, blinking uncertainly. Where was I? Not in bed, that was obvious. Then memory flooded in, filling the gaps, and I pushed myself upright.

Street lights illuminated the scene before us. Clark was clearly visible as he climbed into the van and started the engine. A puff of white smoke from the exhaust billowed out in the cool evening air, then dissipated. Mart had put the car into gear and was checking his mirrors in preparation for another U-turn. He maneuvered quickly. The engine gave only a tiny sputter and a squeal of protest came from the tires. We were in pursuit once more.

Clark drove at a sedate pace three blocks north and eight blocks east. The van turned into a parking structure near the best hotel in town.

We followed almost the whole way before we ran into trouble. With every passing block Mart’s car had been losing speed, despite his efforts to punch the gas pedal. Just as Clark made that turn into the structure, we lost power entirely.

Cursing in frustration, Mart steered safely to the curb. If I’d been behind the wheel, I would have pounded it with both fists. But Mart was already getting out of the car and waving me on. I hurried to join him on the sidewalk and we sprinted forward, holding hands.

“Change of plans,” he said, sparing time for a sardonic smile.

We were less than a minute behind Clark and there were few vehicles pulling into the garage at such a late hour. It had been after one
A.M.
the last time I’d checked the clock on Mart’s dashboard.

“This could get a bit dicey,” he said. “We’ll have to be really quiet in here. No talking.”

“Got it,” I whispered as we scrambled up a flight of dimly lit steps in the far corner of the structure.

Clark’s van was just pulling into an empty slot along the shadowy outside wall of the building. A four-foot concrete barrier ran down the middle of the garage separating cars going up from cars going down. If we could reach it unseen we could crouch out of sight on our side of the wall and listen to Clark from just twenty feet away on his. And by peering between the cars parked on his side, we might even be able to see, too.

I pantomimed the idea to Mart with a few gestures and he nodded. Finger to my lips, I led the way, bent over low and running lightly. Any noise from our footsteps was covered by Clark’s still-running engine. We were in position, tucked against the wall between a minivan and a sedan just as a sudden silence fell. Clark had killed the engine.

We were both totally alert now as the possibility of action drew nearer. We heard Clark put the van window down and soon caught a whiff of smoke from his cigarette.

Only a few minutes passed before we heard the sound of an engine as another car approached. A big, black, unmarked van pulled into the slot next to Clark and a man promptly got out. The slam of his car door echoed loudly in the night air.

“Who is it?” I hissed as we strained to see.

The silhouette was taller than Clark, with a stocky build like a football player.
Not a man to tangle with
, I thought.

Mart shook his head. “I can’t tell,” he mouthed.

Clark and the man shook hands and moved to the back of the zoo van. When they opened the door at the rear and stood before it, they blocked our view almost completely for a moment.

“As you can see,” Clark said, turning sideways and fumbling with something in his hands, “I have some lovely specimens tonight. Just picked them up this afternoon.”

His companion mumbled something low and unintelligible. Mart and I glanced at each other. “Did you catch that?” our eyes asked in silence. Then, we both shook our heads, turning back to the scene.

“No casualties this time,” Clark laughed and I felt Mart tense in anger.

“Good. Last time the number was too high.” The man’s voice was as intimidating as his appearance — gruff with disapproval and scratchy as an old record.

Clark babbled out a sentence of explanation, trying to placate his customer. We could see him gesturing in great animation, turning on his legendary charm. It didn’t seem to wash this time and he soon lapsed into silence, taking a step away from the other man.

The bigger man was intent on the contents of a rumpled parcel Clark had just handed over. It looked about a foot long and was rounded off at the edges, making me think of a big submarine sandwich. With careful motions, the man unfurled the covering and bent low over the contents in examination. Clark, hovering nervously nearby, prevented us from seeing what was under inspection and again I heard Mart’s murmured oath.

There was no handshake to conclude the deal, just a nod from the big man, who then produced an envelope, presumably filled with cash. Clark made short work of pocketing it then lifted a wooden crate from the back of the van.

Beside me, Mart was quivering with barely suppressed rage and I knew he had to fight for control of his emotions. I placed my hand on his arm and he flinched in reaction, but his eyes never left the scene across the darkened building.

It must be hard for him
, I thought,
to sit still when everything inside is shouting: Run over there! Don’t let them take that crate away! Save the animals!

To his credit, Mart repressed that temptation and we watched, motionless, as the transfer was completed. The two men put their heads together and we couldn’t make out a word of conversation.