Sullivan's Justice (45 page)

John and Rebecca might already be dead.

If that was true, she couldn’t bear to hear it. They’d murdered Moreno’s sister before he reached the Hartfield house. He had been right when he decided the only course of action left was to save himself so he could avenge his mother’s and sister’s deaths. The picture of Moreno’s mother appeared in her mind—her head several inches from her body. What if they beheaded John or Rebecca? She begged God to save her children.

Carolyn forced herself to think rationally. The urge to turn around and rush to her children was overwhelming, but the risks were too high. If she took the wrong action, Rebecca and John would die. What if the man had been lying and they didn’t know where she lived? She couldn’t take a chance of leading them to her house.

All she could do was keep driving. She may have outrun the man in the Jaguar, but that didn’t mean his cohorts wouldn’t head her off from a different direction. Her T-shirt was soaked with perspiration. She leaned closer to the windshield, trying to focus farther down the highway. When she didn’t see anything, she hit the buttons for the electronic windows and breathed deeply, desperate for fresh air. She was traveling over 120 miles per hour. Heat was rising from the engine into the interior and she could smell the gas fumes. The wind sounded like a hurricane.

Everything was too real.

Carolyn had been in tense situations before and they’d all resolved themselves. Her gut told her this time might be different.

As if he could read her mind, Van Buren said, “The only way you and your children are going to come out of this alive, Carolyn, is if we make a deal. It isn’t really necessary to die. I have men coming from Santa Barbara. It won’t be long before they intersect you. I know you’re approaching Carpinteria.”

She wasn’t surprised that he knew her location. The car must be equipped with a GPS system. But if this was true, why had it taken Van Buren so long to find it after it was stolen by Raphael? An image flashed in her mind. When she’d looked down from Hank’s police car into the Ferrari, she’d seen the man bending down with something cradled in his left hand. The gun was in his right. He may have been holding some kind of tracking device.

Carolyn began scraping the walls with her fingers, trying to keep her focus on the road at the same time she attempted to disable the GPS device. Not finding anything, she recalled seeing GPS bracelets that were manufactured for young children. If the device was that small, how could she find it without wrecking the car? She couldn’t reach under the seat where it had more than likely been tossed. Taking her eyes off the road could prove fatal.

“I’m listening,” she told Van Buren, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

“I know all about you, Carolyn.” He paused for effect. “A probation officer . . . what a miserable job. I bet you work nights and weekends to make what . . . less than a hundred grand a year. That’s a fraction of what I’m going to offer you.”

Carolyn saw flashing lights behind her. Maybe Hank had been killed and the police mistakenly thought the killer had fled in the Ferrari. She couldn’t tell which department the pursuing vehicles were from, as they were too far away. They could be highway patrol officers chasing her for speeding. Should she stop and pull off the road? How could she be certain they wouldn’t open fire on her?

“Did you hear me?” the man on the phone prompted her.

“I heard you,” Carolyn shot out. “No deal.”

“Money isn’t everything,” he said. “What kind of price tag would you put on your children’s lives?”

The most crucial question was if his men had really picked up John and Rebecca. He was shrewd, playing on her emotions to distract her from thinking straight. How could he have known that his people would fail and she would end up fleeing with the Ferrari?

Carolyn tried to assess her options. None of them seemed viable without tragic results. Giving him the car would be suicide. Why would he need to pay her when he could simply kill her? Turning it in to the police might cause him to take the lives of her children. The only way to stop this diabolical maniac was to eliminate the problem—get rid of the car. Maybe that was what Hank was trying to tell her during the shoot-out at the restaurant.

“Two million,” Van Buren said. “Bring me the Ferrari and I’ll pay you two million in cash. No one will ever have to know. You can move to another state and build a new life for yourself and your children. Put the money in the right investments and you’ll never have to work again.”

“I’m hanging up the phone.”

“I’m remotely detonating an explosive device sixty seconds after you disconnect. As your friend and future business partner, I suggest that you stay on the line.”

Carolyn’s mind was reeling. What he said couldn’t be true! A moment ago he was willing to pay her two million to bring him the car. Blowing it up didn’t make sense. She asked herself if the object she’d seen in the man’s hand had been a remote detonator. Another bluff, possibly? Folding now would give him the upper hand. She had to maintain her position. “I don’t believe you,” she said.

“I’m a businessman,” Van Buren told her. “For me to conclude my business deal, you must return the car to me immediately. I can’t allow it to fall into the wrong hands and I refuse to barter with someone in the sale of my own property.”

“So, if you can’t have it, no one can,” Carolyn said. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“We’re running out of time,” Van Buren said, his voice sparking with tension.

Carolyn took her foot off the accelerator. It was hard to think at this speed. The approaching taillights slowed. The fog had rolled in and she could no longer see what she had thought to be police units behind her, but she knew she couldn’t allow anyone to get close. If the man followed through on his threat to detonate a bomb, the officers could be killed. She pressed her back into the seat cushion and gripped the steering wheel with all her might, pressing her foot down on the gas pedal. The needle moved to 140. She felt as if she were in the cockpit of a fighter plane. The car didn’t even shimmy. The noise from the powerful engine was deafening.

Carolyn shouted, “If there’s really a bomb in here, why didn’t the police find it?”

“I need your answer now, Carolyn,” Van Buren said, pressuring her.

The rooftops of million-dollar homes rushed by just outside of Santa Barbara. How large a bomb could fit inside a sports car, and how many people could it kill? She didn’t know about such things. At the lab, the techs hadn’t been looking for explosives. A car bomb didn’t fit with the murder of two women by lethal injections. With everything backed up for the holidays, the lab had probably been pushing one car out after the other or simply too busy drooling over the Ferrari to figure out what was inside. “Tell me where you want me to bring the car.”

Van Buren told her he would meet her at the Santa Barbara Airport in fifteen minutes. Once Carolyn agreed, he disconnected.

As tears streaked down her cheeks, she pictured her children’s faces. Arriving home late the night before, she had gone into Rebecca’s room and kissed her on the cheek while she lay sleeping. Heading to John’s room, she’d knelt beside the bed and stroked his forehead, whispering that she was sorry they didn’t have more time together.

It took her several frantic attempts to get the damn phone to dial Hank’s cell number. Because it was voice activated, she had to modulate her words perfectly or it wouldn’t work. Controlling her voice was difficult when she was hysterical. As soon as he picked up, she said. “Get someone over to my house! They say they have my children!”

“Who?” Hank said. “Where are you?”

“Don’t talk, just listen. I’ve been talking to the man Moreno told me about on the built-in phone inside the car—Larry. He said he’ll be at the Santa Barbara Airport in fifteen minutes to take possession of the Ferrari. He says his men picked up John and Rebecca. He even called them by their names and said his men had been following them for days.”

“Van Buren,” Hank exclaimed. “The FBI informed us that Interpol has been tracking an arms dealer named Lawrence Van Buren. They believe he’s shipping nuclear material to North Korea inside exotic cars. That’s what must be inside the Ferrari.”

She shouted, “My kids, Hank! That’s all that is important to me right now.”

“Hold on,” he said. She heard him on the radio informing the dispatcher to send several units to her home. “Done.”

“So what he said was true. I’m a rolling bomb,” Carolyn said, the reality setting in. “He says he can detonate it remotely. How much damage can it do?”

“I don’t know,” Hank said, almost as panicked as she was. “I’m not a nuclear physicist. The FBI told us it was possible to make a nuke the size of a briefcase. The engine cavity of the Ferrari is pretty big. I’m sorry I put you in this mess.”

“A nuclear bomb!” Carolyn said, horrified.

“I’ll have to call in the military,” Hank continued. “If you’re approaching Santa Barbara, you’re not that far from the air force base at Vandenberg. Stay on the line, I’m going to trace the call in case we lose the connection.”

“Hang up, Hank,” she said, her fear raging. “I want to hear my kid’s voices. After you arrest Van Buren, check the coastline close to El Capitan. Also, notify CHP and any other law enforcement agency in the area to keep their distance in case he detonates the bomb.”

Before he could say anything else, she disconnected and told the phone to dial her home number. John picked up on the first ring. “Thank God you’re okay. Where’s your sister?”

“She’s over at Lucy’s. You sound—”

“Call and have Paul or Isobel walk Rebecca home.” Carolyn tried to sound normal. “Lock all the doors and windows and wait for the police. They should be there by the time your sister is back. You’re going to have to be strong, honey, not just for yourself, but for your Rebecca. I love you more than anything.”

“Mom, please . . . why are you saying these things?”

“I can’t explain. I don’t have time. Something came up at work. Everything will be fine. I just wanted to call and tell you that I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

“Give your sister a hug for me and tell her I love her. I have to say good-bye now, sweetheart.”

She sobbed as she reached up and pushed the button to end the call. The worst was over. Her panic subsided; she was resolved. In a strange way, she felt as if her life had been counting down to this moment. She’d heard that a person existed to perform one simple act—to turn right instead of left, preventing a fatal accident, to smile at a deeply depressed person and give them the will to continue living, to place a few dollars into the outstretched hands of a starving beggar.

Carolyn knew the exact spot for the one act she may have been placed on earth to perform. She saw the signs for the Santa Barbara Airport and continued driving. She didn’t have long. When Van Buren realized she had failed to make the turn leading to the airport, he would detonate the bomb. In a matter of hours, she’d been responsible for two deaths. First Moreno, then a short time later, she’d shot and killed a stranger. The sights and smells of his death were all around her.

She could feel a substance sticking to the back of her legs, and knew it was his blood. What disturbed her the most was that she had fired instinctively, as if taking a human life was insignificant. Had it truly been self-defense, or had she responded because of what had happened earlier with Moreno? She could have ducked, tried to shoot the gun out of his hand, or aimed at another spot other than his head. Her actions went against everything she believed as a Catholic. Her body shook as she prayed for God’s forgiveness, and for the courage she now needed to save lives instead of take them.

Carolyn saw the cliffs up ahead. She believed the bomb could be defused in the salty water, or at least, it might render the detonator useless. If not, the casualties would be minimized.

She had made her decision, said her good-byes. She would fight to survive, but she was ready. The stretch of road she was traveling on was deserted: no cars, no houses, no buildings. Somehow it was as if God had cleared the way to receive her.

Carolyn yanked the steering wheel to the left, gunning the engine and driving across three lanes. A moment later, she was airborne. As soon as the Ferrari cleared the cliffs, she killed the ignition and breathed in the exquisite silence. She felt weightless and free, as if she had sailed straight into the world beyond death.

Before the car made its descent toward the water, Carolyn removed her left hand from the steering wheel and grabbed onto the door handle. Throwing her body weight against the door, she reached with her other hand for her mother’s silver cross, clasping it in her palm just as her head slammed into the dashboard.

 

 

 

 

 

N
eil was waiting in the emergency room at Methodist Hospital with six other people. He was perplexed that nothing appeared to be wrong with them, outside of a kid with a runny nose. Why would someone take their kid to the emergency room because they had a cold? After the young black woman beside him finally stopped talking on her cell phone, he asked, “I don’t mean to be rude. But why are you here?”

“I have a headache,” she said, not looking as if she were in any pain.

“Maybe you should stop talking on your cell phone so much,” he said. “Either that, or take a couple of aspirin.”

A small man dressed in a blue nurse’s shirt came out to speak with Neil. “It will take us about ten minutes to complete the tests; then you can see Miss Asher, but only for a short time. You can see her on the fifth floor, where they’ll be prepping her for surgery.”

The nurse pushed him aside. When Neil turned, he saw a group of hospital personnel rushing toward the electronic doors. Two paramedics were pushing a gurney. A young man was screaming in agony. As they passed, he saw the man’s left leg was missing below the knee. What he assumed was the severed limb was packed in ice beside him. Neil collected himself and headed to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee.