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“Don’t worry, I am.”
Midleton wished he could feel more optimistic, but he was still smarting from his meeting the morning before. The president had turned into an absolute hawk. He needed someone to reel him in. Kennedy needed to be cut out of the inner circle. Midleton looked over at his fellow Democrat. “Maybe it would be a good idea to call Dr. Kennedy before your committee.”
Rudin scowled. “Why would I want to give the Republicans a chance to make political hay out of this?”
“Think of it as taking the wind out of their sails before they can make an issue out of it on their own.”
Rudin liked the idea. He’d love to take her to task and remind her whom she answered to. “I’ll do it, but I don’t want to hurt the president.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t. I don’t think she would ever expose him to that type of scandal.”
While waiting for his limousine to pull around, Senator Clark could barely contain his glee over how the meeting had gone. Things had not turned out in Germany the way he had planned, but n
ow, with these two buffoons offering their assistance, the end result would be the same. His backers for the Oval Office would be very happy. Very happy indeed.
The warehouse was located near the National Arboretum off Blandensburg. When the gray Dodge Durango came skidding around the corner, one of Duser’s men was waiting with the garage door open. The truck disappeared into the old brick structure. The man standing watch looked up and down the street and then pulled the door down.
Duser stopped the vehicle but left it running. When he got out, a man was standing by with a trash bag. Duser dumped his submachine gun in the bag and went around to the rear of the Durango. Sandra Hickock was lying in back. The bullet had smashed her beautiful face. He looked down at her and shook his head. Part of him was glad she was dead. She’d started to get a little possessive. In the end, it was probably the best thing, but right now it was a pain in the ass. He stepped away from the tailgate and began shouting orders.
His men went to work immediately. New plates were put on the Durango while Hickock’s lifeless body was stuffed into an oil drum. The drum was topped off with sand, sealed, and loaded onto the back of a flatbed with eight other drums just like it. In less than five minutes, the body and the guns were gone. As was the Durango, on its way to a chop shop.
Peter Cameron used the time to calm himself. He was an idiot for going along. This would be all over the news within the hour. Close to a hundred rounds had to have been fired. Almost all of them from silenced weapons, but that wouldn’t matter much once the police and the media showed up. The two parked cars looked as if they’d been caught in the world’s worst hailstorm, and the body of Mario Lukas was riddled with bullet holes. This was not the way he’d wanted things to go. Villaume had been right about Duser. The man was as subtle as a wrecking ball.
Duser approached Cameron with a new weapon in his hand. “Let’s go get the girl.”
“No.” Cameron was appalled.
“Don’t worry about the cops. They’ll be busy enough with the first crime scene.”
“No. We’re done for the day.” He rubbed his temples and muttered, “This is going to be all over the news.”
“Big deal. Reporters don’t catch criminals, cops do, and we have nothing to worry about. Any evidence that might tie us to that hit just exited the other end of this warehouse.”
Cameron was tempted to ask where it was headed and then thought better of it. “Nope. We’re done for the day.”
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Duser took a step forward. “We have to keep moving while we’ve got surprise on our side.”
“No, we don’t. For the last time…we’re done for the day.”
Duser looked as if he wanted to choke someone. “Bullshit!We move now, and we keep moving. I’m telling you, man, we’re going to have to deal with them sooner or later, and we’re better off doing it right now.”
Cameron shook his head. He did not like the idea of further exposure. Duser sensed this might be the problem and said, “Listen, you stay here, and we’ll take care of it. I want Villaume alone and on the run.”
He thought about it for a second and said, “No. Change of plans. I want Villaume, too, and the girl will lead us to him as soon as she finds out about Lukas. We keep Juarez under surveillance, and then we take both of them.”
Duser liked that idea. “Good plan. I’m sorry I got in your face. I’m just a little pumped up right now.”
It’s probably all that speed you took, Cameron thought to himself. “That’s all right, just make sure you don’t lose Juarez. She’s our only link to the Frog.”
A minute later, Cameron watched as Duser and McBride got into a Ford Taurus and left. Maybe he was having the wrong people killed. No, he thought to himself. Duser was unpolished and wild, but he could be controlled.
RAPP HAD SPENT the night on Marcus Dumond’s couch with a 9-mm Beretta clutched firmly in his left hand. Any thoughts of keeping Dumond out of it were gone. Rapp had come to grips with the fact that he needed some help. One huge question remained. Did Irene Kennedy send the Hoffmans to kill him? All his instincts told him no. He’d known Irene for more than a decade, and she was the most trustworthy person in his life. But in this paranoid business, how well did you ever really know someone? Rapp wanted to believe that Kennedy had nothing to do with the mess, but it was a hard one to swallow. She was not only the most logical choice but really the only choice. She was the link between the Hoffmans and him.
The two men were sitting at Dumond’s kitchen table. The apartment was a good-sized one-bedroom. The kitchen had a small breakfast nook, and the dining room had been converted into Dumond’s office. An eight-foot solid oak door laid across stacked cinder blocks served as a desk. The surface was covered with three computer monitors, mouses, keyboards, scanners, and a few things Rapp had never seen. Framed posters of several X-Men Marvel comic book heroes adorned the walls. Rapp was only four years older than Dumond, but it was as if the two had been born in different centuries. Dumond was out there on the edge, riding the wild waves of cyberspace.
Dumond was shoveling Cap’n Crunch cereal into his mouth while Rapp gave him instructions. “Make sure you don’t set off any alarms while you’re digging around.”
Dumond looked up, a drop of milk running down his chin. “Relax, Mitch, it’s what I do for a living.” Dumond’s job was a fantasy come true. He was both sanctioned and paid by the United States government to spend his days hacking.
