Double Doublecross (41 page)

He stopped when he was twenty yards from the bridge and waited for the sign of any movement. Straining his hearing, he thought he heard the sound of a lowered voice, but still there was no movement. Then he saw the flash of
light again—and fired two quick shots in its direction. He heard a grunt of pain and then silence. ‘One down and one to go,' he thought to himself, as he moved out of the gully back to the seclusion of the sand dune. Now he would wait for the next victim. He wondered which one he had hit, was it Fennel or Grover? It really didn't make any difference.

Grover briefly flashed his flashlight onto his watch. He had been gone almost thirteen minutes. Crawling slowly forward, he made his way to the edge of the bridge and stopped. He switched on his cell phone and spoke in a low voice.

“There's no sign of him anywhere, and there's a sea mist coming in. I'm in a kind of ditch at the moment, leading to a small bridge. Stay where you are and I'll move up to it—then give me ten more minutes,” Grover whispered.

“I'll stay with the car. I'll time you from when you get to the bridge. Okay?” said Fennel.

“Okay,” confirmed Grover.

After a few minutes, he reached the bridge. Crouching low, he lifted his flashlight and looked at his watch. Without warning, there was a scorching pain high on his left shoulder. He knew he had been hit. He let out a muffled groan and moved swiftly backwards, away from the bridge, and flattened himself on the floor of the gully. He winced as he reached for his phone and called Harry Fennel.

“What is it?” Fennel said.

“Shit! I've been hit. I'm over by the near end of the wall. He's here somewhere. Get me out of here!” wailed Grover.

“Stay where you are! I'll be with you in a second or two.”

Harry Fennel reached into the trunk of the car and grabbed a first aid kit he always carried with him. He switched it to his left hand and pulled the weapon from his waistband with his
right hand. Now he knew Speed was close by, and as far as he was concerned, it was his day of reckoning.

Reaching Grover, he ripped open his shirt for a closer look at the wound. In the dim light he could barely make out the extent of the damage.

“It seems to be just a scratch—quite a bit of blood but you'll live.”

“Don't talk. Do something for Christ sake! I know it's bleeding. I can feel it. It's burning like hell.”

“Hold still a minute.”

“What d' you mean
hold still?
Where the hell do you think I'm going? Patch me up and let's get the bastard!” grunted Grover.

Harry Fennel opened the first aid kit and took out a large thick pad.

“Press that hard onto the wound and don't let go.”

He unraveled some surgical tape and crossed it twice over the pad.

“That'll hold the bleeding for a while until I get you to the car. Can you stand up?”

“You're joking! We'll be a perfect target. He knows roughly where we are. We know he's somewhere over by the end of the gully, so I'll stay here while you make your way further to his right and then wait for me. I'll attract his attention.”

“What are you going to do, Dan?”

“I'll get him to give himself away.”

Harry Fennel moved in a wide circle to his left for about fifty yards, crouched behind a large garbage can and waited for Grover to make his move.

Dan Grover held the flashlight as far above his head as possible and flashed it twice.

He felt two bullets rip past his arm into the night.

Fennel heard the sound of the silencer but could see nothing—but he now knew roughly the position of Speed just ahead of him somewhere in the dunes. He waited for Speed to make the next move.

P
hil Speed lay in the dunes anxious to move on. Sooner or later he had to make a dash for the car which was about sixty yards away on the far side of the refreshment building. He knew one of them was hit, possibly dead. As for the other one, he wondered if he had hit him when he saw the second set of flashes from the flashlight.

Grabbing the plastic bag containing his future, he eased himself out of the dune and, under the cover of the incoming mist, crawled forward in the direction of the car, pushing the bag in front of him.

After crawling a few feet, he stopped—and listened. There was silence. Except for the sound of the distant surf, not a sound could be heard.

He decided to make a dash for his car. Getting into a crouch position, he ran out onto the hard surface of the parking lot and reached his car.

He felt the scorch of the first shot as it made contact with his right shoulder, spinning him sideways. He never felt the second bullet as it ripped through the back of his head, scattering blood and pieces of skull across the hood of the car.

Fennel looked around. He stood no more than thirty feet behind the collapsed body of Phil Speed. Nothing moved. Nobody was in sight. He turned and ran back to where he had left Grover, who was still sitting in the gully.

“Nice going, Dan! He gave himself away. How are you feeling?”

“Lots of pain … I'm still bleeding a bit. Seems to be slowing up.”

“Let's get you back to the car and take a look in the light. Can you walk to the car?”

“Course I can. It's my shoulder that's been hit, not my friggin leg,” Grover said with a wince.

Grover walked slowly over to the car followed by Fennel. They stopped and looked down at the unmoving body of Speed.

“Christ! What a mess! We can't leave him here like this. We'll have to put him in the car or the trunk,” said Dan Grover.

“First, let me take a look at your shoulder—then we'll move him. Sit on the trunk while I take a look.”

Fennel removed the blood-soaked pad and tossed it on the ground away from the trunk. The bleeding had practically stopped but it was a long bloody gouge. He doused a fresh pad with hydrogen peroxide and strapped it onto the wound.

“You won't need stitches, but you'll have a hell of a scar.”

“We'd better move the body. Let's shove it in the trunk,” grimaced Grover through clenched teeth. His shoulder was becoming stiff and painful to move.

Fennel went through Speed's pockets, and finding the keys, he unlocked the trunk and looked inside. He saw a small duffel bag and a suitcase and pushed them to one side at the back of the trunk. He then walked to where the body
was laying.

“What a mess! There's blood and bone
everywhere
! Good shooting, Harry!”

“Cut the compliments and give me a hand with the body. He sure is heavy. Grab his arms and lift him head-first into the trunk next to the bags.”

“What head?” joked Grover. “Just look at me—I'm covered with blood. There, that's his head in. I can't lift anymore—my shoulder's killing me.”

Fennel shoved the body to the rear of the trunk and slammed the lid. He locked the car doors, took the keys and threw them into the shrubbery close by. Opening his car door, he helped Grover into the passenger seat, closed the door, threw the plastic bag on the back seat, took one final look around at the deserted lot and started the car.

“When we get to the hotel, stay in the car and wait for me to get you a clean shirt. You look as if you've been in a war,” said Fennel.

“You don't look so good yourself,” said Grover as they drove out of the parking lot.

Looking across at the parking lot, Rick saw Speed arrive first. Fennel and Grover pulled in a few minutes later. He looked through his binoculars, straining his eyes in the direction of the cars. There was a mist rolling in, and his visibility was becoming impaired. Sara, standing by his side in the darkness, was becoming impatient.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“Not much. Unfortunately Speed arrived first and the others arrived just after him. One of them has disappeared behind the refreshment area; I can't see who it is from here. The mist is blocking out my vision.”

Rick looked harder through his binoculars. Someone was moving out there.

“One of them has just disappeared in the direction of the building. Now he's come back and taking something out of the trunk. Now he's gone again. What the hell's going on?”

Slowly the mist thickened, almost totally obscuring Rick's view. After a few minutes Rick saw movement through the mist.

“I think there's three of them getting into a car. The lights are on. They're moving out of the parking lot and left a car behind. It's difficult to see anything right now—we'll just have to wait until morning to see what's happened.”

Early the next morning, Rick was awakened by the sound of multiple sirens. Heaving himself out of bed, he walked over to the window and pulled back the drapes in time to see an ambulance, fire truck, several police cars and paramedic vehicles in the beach parking lot. He moved over to Sara and gave her a powerful shake.

“Sara, wake up! There's all kinds of activity going on over there. I'm going over to see what's up.”

Rick hurriedly dressed and made his way to the small crowd gathered around a police patrol car. Pushing his way to the front, he turned to a young girl in jogging attire.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I'm not sure. I think they've found a car with blood all over it, and someone said there was a body in the trunk. Nothing like this ever happened here before. It's scary,” she said in a timid voice.

Rick moved around to where a local police officer was posturing.

“What's wrong officer?” Rick said politely.

The officer looked directly at Rick.

“Found a blood-stained car and a body. Can't tell you any more than that,” he said with an air of authority.

Rick looked at the car. It was the one Speed had been driving. He stood there staring into space for a moment, trying to put the events of last night into some sort of sequence. He'd seen what seemed to be three people getting into the car in the early hours of the morning, but it was obvious there had been only two. However, one of them had appeared to need assistance getting into the vehicle.

He decided it must be Speed's body in the trunk, but he wasn't sure of it.

“They found a first aid pad soaked with blood over there,” a young man said, pointing in the direction of the restrooms.

‘Someone needed patching up,' Rick thought. The only way to get more information was to watch the local television station for the latest in developments.

Rick walked swiftly back to the motel room, opened the door and slumped into a chair.

“Quick, switch on the television!” he said in an urgent tone to Sara, “They've found a car covered in blood and a body in the trunk. I think it must be Speed. I thought they would have taken Speed and the money with them.”

“There's nothing on the TV at the moment,” Sara said.

“Leave it on and turn the volume down. Why don't you get some donuts and coffee. I'll stay here and wait for the news.”

Sara returned thirty minutes later with the donuts and coffee.

“Anything yet?” she inquired.

“Nothing so far. Pass the donuts over,” he said taking a sip of the coffee.

They sat there for another thirty minutes, their eyes glued to the set—then the breaking news came. The newscaster was speaking.

The body of a man was found in the trunk of a bloodstained car in the beach parking lot early this morning. A considerable amount of money, approximately fifty thousand dollars in cash, was found in a case next to the body, and it does not appear to be a robbery. The body was that of a large heavyset man, and judging by the body's size, it would have required two people to lift it into the trunk. Forensic specialists are being brought in to take samples of blood and fingerprints for DNA analysis. The FBI has been approached for assistance. If anyone in the area saw or heard anything, please contact the local sheriff's office. Any further news related to the murder will be posted later.

“They didn't say anything about the big haul of money, only the small amount I gave Carl,” said Rick, “so they must have taken it with them.”

“Isn't that what they were supposed to do—and hand it back to the cartel?” Sara asked.

“Yes, but I thought they would take everything. Don't forget, our fingerprints are all over the money that's in the hands of the law.”

“But you said they couldn't trace them to us.”

“That's true. We'll stick around for another day then we'll make our way back home. It'll mean a long hard drive. I want to get back within four days, so let's pack up now and move out early tomorrow morning.”

Arriving back at their hotel, Harry Fennel went quickly to the room, changed his shirt and took a clean shirt to the car for Grover.

“Put this on, Dan, and let's get to the room. I want to take a look at your shoulder.”

Dan Grover flopped onto the bed exhausted. The pain was intense, and his shoulder and arm were becoming stiff and uncomfortable. Harry Fennel stripped the antiseptic pad from the wound and dabbed it with a facecloth.

“It don't look too bad. Bleeding's stopped and it looks clean. I'll change the dressing and then we'll start on our way back. We've got to get away from here as soon as possible. How do you feel?”

“Crappy! Shoulder hurts like hell and stiff as a board. I can't travel too far like this and I can't drive either.”

“Well, we can't stay here. I'll do the driving and we'll take some of the back roads just in case they're looking for us on the highways. If we take it easy, we should be back in Seattle in ten days. I'll get the cases, check out and we'll be on our way.”

Grover grimaced and nodded his head in agreement.

Joseph Jones of the FBI Pathology Laboratory knocked and entered the office of agents Mike Wilson and Gary Johnson.

“Hi, JoJo. What's new?” Mike Wilson said with a smile. Everyone called him JoJo and he was used to it.