Double Doublecross (29 page)

“Any news yet on the bombing story?” she inquired gingerly.

“Not yet. The police think they'll have something within the next few hours. With their sophisticated equipment, they'll have somebody identified if he's on their database.”

Sara swallowed hard. If Phil was caught, then he might give the whole game away, and then there would be hell to pay from the law enforcement and the cartel. At the moment she could see no way out. However, she rationalized it was most likely Phil Speed would
not
be detected. He was a clever, resourceful person who would make certain it would be a difficult task to discover his whereabouts.

Phil Speed pulled back his sleeve and pressed the light button on his watch, it was approaching five o'clock. He knew it would be nightfall in a short while. The movie had come to an end, and he noticed his follower was keeping a close watch on him. He still hadn't figured out how to lose him. For thirty minutes or so he strolled around the complex, bought some popcorn and then made his way to the car.

Getting into his car, he slowly drove out of the parking lot, making sure the tail was close behind him. He drove up the on-ramp to the freeway, again making sure the tail was in sight behind him. It was time to get rid of him.

Driving cautiously at sixty miles an hour, he took the Oakland Airport off-ramp. A plan was forming in his mind. Soon he would lose him and be free to go wherever he pleased.

Thanks to that fool Carl Regis, he had to put up with this encumbrance but soon that would end. Slowly, he pulled into the airport parking lot and took a ticket. The parking lot was nearly filled to capacity. It would be difficult to find a space. Planes roared overhead creating a wall of noise, the pungent smell of spent aircraft fuel filled the atmosphere.

Motionless, he sat in the car and saw his follower pull into a space four parking places past him. After a couple of minutes, he slowly emerged from his car, went to the trunk and retrieved his garment bag as if he was going to catch a flight. He slammed the trunk lid down and placed his bag on the ground beside him. He knew his companion realized there was no schedule for him to be taking a trip to Seattle.

“Jerk thinks I've got the loot in this case,” he laughed to himself.

Crouching low and out of sight, he moved in a stooped run towards the other car.

The tail stood at his car door looking around for Speed.

Phil Speed worked his way around the rear of the car next to him. As the man turned his back to him, Phil Speed moved swiftly behind him, pulling the semi-automatic out of his inside pocket. He fired twice as he reached him. The shots were drowned out by the continuous noise of aircraft taking off and landing overhead.

The body was propelled forward by the force of the shots and lurched against the car door. Speed grabbed him under the armpits, and looked around him, making sure nobody was in sight. There was just one couple getting into a car about fifty feet away, quite unaware of the incident.

He waited until their car was out of sight, then he punched the trunk button and dragged the body to the rear of the car. Although it was a cold, damp night he was perspiring freely. Slowly, he eased the body into the trunk, folding the legs, putting it into a fetal position. The he retrieved the keys from a pocket.

Slamming the trunk shut, Phil turned to walk away, then stopped and returned to the car. Using the mechanized button on the key chain, he popped the trunk open. Leaning over the body, he searched and discovered a billfold, and he found a screwdriver in a small toolbox.

He opened the billfold and looked for the name on the driver's license.

“William Freshman,” he read out loud. “Well, you won't be so fresh later on,” he muttered to himself, pocketing the billfold.

Taking the screwdriver, he removed the number plates, moved to another car a few spaces away and swapped plates. He then took the swapped plates and secured them to his own car.

“Should throw a bit of confusion around for a while,” he said to himself with a smile.

He threw the keys under another car and made his way to the airport exit. Now he had to dispose of his car and pick up a rental. In a downtown high rise parking lot, he parked his car, made for the exit, reached the street, walked two blocks and phoned for a cab to pick him up just a block away. He was making his trail as obscure as possible.

When the cab picked him up, he gave the driver the destination of the local mall, close to a car rental office. Once inside the office, he asked for a four-wheel drive SUV, telling the attendant he was taking a trip to Mammoth for a two week skiing holiday.

He drove to a small hotel in the Napa Valley, checked in and grabbed a hamburger from a fast food place next door. Reaching his room, he sat eating his hamburger, reflecting on his actions during the last few hours. A surge of panic ran through him. Now he realized he had killed one of his own kind, and he would be hunted down persistently, probably by Harry Fennel or Dan Grover or possibly both. Those two were a couple of brutal thugs he didn't want to mess with, and for certain, he would be suspected of stealing the money. He had killed someone and would now be wanted for murder. Now his fate was in the hands of someone else and he had to somehow get his hands on the money—then make a clean getaway.

It was later in the evening when Rick Jacobs received a call from the local police. They were certain the perpetrator was someone who went by the name of Phil Speed. Their computer system had found a matching identity of a small time felon going by that name. He was known to be working
for drug lords in Washington State, transporting money around to different locations where it was merged into their money laundering system. The file stated he was known to be a violent and vicious person.

“We know where he lives, but he's left his apartment without a trace. We have an all points bulletin out to pick him up,” an officer's voice said.

When Sara heard the message on the speakerphone, she gave a shudder. Now Phil was on the loose and looking for a way to get at Rick for the one thing that would give him wealth.

“Well, that's something positive,” Rick said.

Feeling very uncomfortable about the news, Sara decided it would be prudent to call Carl Regis and find out if he knew the whereabouts of Phil Speed and what his next move would be. It was too late now to call him. She would wait until morning when Rick would be out of the house. Besides, he might have more questions for him after a good, sound sleep.

C
arl Regis was sitting quietly watching the television when his cell phone chirped. He knew it was not Sara because it rang continuously, but it might be Phil Speed, possibly letting him know where he was.

“Hello,” he said into the mouthpiece.

There was no answer, just silence as if someone was on the other end who wasn't speaking.

“Who's there?” he said impatiently. He was about to inquire if it was Speed, but stopped himself just in time remembering his apartment was bugged for eavesdropping in at least one place. Switching off the phone, he put the volume up on his television, and rattled a bottle and glass together to give the impression he was getting himself a drink. Quietly he opened the door to the corridor, took the elevator to the ground floor and walked to the back of the building where he was sure nobody could overhear him.

He dialed Phil Speed's number and waited.

The phone at the other end rang and it was picked up almost immediately. There was no voice on the other end.

“Is that you, Phil?” he said tentatively.

“What took you so long?” Speed said in an agitated tone.

“I guessed it was you. I had to make sure we weren't going to be overheard. Where are you?”

“Forget it. I'm not telling you. Now listen carefully. I don't have a tail anymore, but I can't move around too freely because I'm wanted for murder.”

Silence prevailed for a few seconds.

“Are you still there, Carl? Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I heard. What have you done, Phil?”

“I put my tail to rest—permanently. It was the only way. Now there's no turning back for us. Everyone will be looking for me. We need to get the money fast. Put the pressure on Jacobs—I can do that. I still have some C-4, detonators and a timing device.”

“What are you going to do?”

Carl was terrified. Murder! This wasn't in his book. The consequences were disastrous. This was a serious offense and he wanted no part of it. The only thing keeping him glued together was all the money they could get.

“It's none of your business at the moment. Just remember, you're in this up to your neck with me. If the cartel catches me, they'll get you too. You can tell that to Sara and the other jerk, what's his name …
Jacobs
. We're all in the shit together. You took the money, Sara looked after it and Jacobs
has
it. Okay?”

“What do you want me to tell them?” Carl said timorously.

“Tell them next time somebody will get maimed. It won't be him because he has the money, but his friends are an ideal target, and I'll get to them if necessary without any problem. I might give them a gentle reminder just to move things along. When you tell them this, use the word
maimed
—it conjures up beautiful pictures of disfigurement and pain. I'll
call you tomorrow, same time, around ten o'clock.”

The phone went dead. Carl switched off the phone and made his way to the apartment. He sat there in a trance. Things were turning ugly. He had no option except to go along with Phil Speed's plan. He knew Speed was right. They were all involved to a certain degree and the people in Seattle were totally unscrupulous. There was no way out. Besides, he wanted the money too. Before he went to bed he went over in his mind exactly how he was going to explain this to Sara. She could then pass Speed's message on to Jacobs and wait for his answer.

Sara found it difficult waiting for Rick to leave for the office the following morning. Impatiently, she made coffee and served breakfast as fast as she could. Rick stared at her bustling around the kitchen.

“You're in a hurry this morning, aren't you? You're usually still in bed when I leave for the office.”

“I thought it was time I helped you get off in the morning. You must have a lot of work to do with Stan setting up the new office.”

“Well, it's not so bad now that Pat's back helping us. She's one in a million. We couldn't manage without her. But you're right, I should be off now. See you later,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he left through the connecting door to the garage.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and decided to call Carl Regis at about nine o'clock.

The sound of the phone ringing startled her.

“Sara—” before she could finish, Carl Regis interrupted her.

“It's me, Carl. I've got some news. It's about Phil. He did it. He planted the bombs. I had nothing to do with it,” he said emphatically.

“I guessed as much. I–” Carl interrupted her again.

“He killed a man. He killed the man who was trailing him. We're mixed up in a murder,” he blurted out.

“How do you know that?”

“I spoke to him last night.”

“Where is he? What's he up to? And what do you mean by
we
?” Sara said in an excited, fearful voice. She guessed now Speed would be desperate and full of trouble.

“I don't know where he is. He wouldn't tell me. He could be ready to do something rash. You know what a hotheaded, mean bastard he can be when things aren't going his way.”

“I'll ask you again. What do you mean by
we
? I haven't killed anyone and neither have you. For Pete's sake, get a hold of yourself and tell me what he said!” she screamed into the phone.

Carl Regis related almost word for word the message Speed had conveyed to him, emphasizing the word
maim
as he was told to do. Sara's blood ran cold. Her first reaction was to call Rick immediately and give him the whole story, but first she had to know more about Speed's plans. Was he going to be more violent? More bombs perhaps? How desperate was he? Was he living close by? No answers came to mind.

“Okay! Okay! Leave it to me. I'll tell Rick, but he's pretty stubborn and won't give in easily. Most likely, he'll call Phil's bluff and things could get rough.”

“When will you tell him?”

“I don't know. I'll call you,” said Sara pensively. “I'll call you when I have some answers.” She hung up the phone wondering if she should call Rick.

She decided to call him right away and arrange to have lunch together. It would be safer to tell him face to face.

She called Rick.

Phil Speed sat in his rental car waiting for Sara to emerge from the house. He had arrived early and parked his hired car a hundred yards from Rick's house, waiting to follow her to Rick's new office. He was certain Carl would call her in the morning, and sooner or later she would get in touch one way or another.

He had guessed right. She was leaving the house. It was just possible, with a piece of luck, she was heading for Rick. He followed her carefully at a distance, making sure he didn't go over the speed limit. This was not a good time to get a ticket. He didn't want to take any risks.

“Now what's so urgent you want to talk to me about?” said Rick amiably.

“Promise you won't explode.”

“Don't tell me … you went shopping and bought out the store.”

“It's not that simple. I had a conversation with Carl on the phone this morning.”

“What does the little worm want—a smack in the mouth? That's all he's going to get from me.”

“He talked with Phil Speed last night. Speed admitted to setting off the bombs. They were aimed at your office.”

“Where is the bastard? I'll tear him to pieces,” Rick shouted in an angry voice.