Burn Zone

49

ALEX DUARTE NAVIGATED THE STREETS OF HOUSTON CAREFULLY as they looked for the entrance to the industrial park that housed the address about which the hotel clerk had said William Floyd had asked. It was almost dark now, and traffic had quieted to the occasional big rig tearing out on a late delivery.

They knew Floyd was no longer using a Ryder truck, but had no idea what he was driving. What concerned Duarte most was, if they were done with the truck, what had happened to whatever they were transporting?

"Wish I could've talked to Forrest Jessup. I think he would've known what was going on and clued us in."

From the backseat, Félix mumbled, "This guy Floyd is the key. He'll tell us if Ortíz killed Gastlin."

Duarte thought about that as he shot a look to Lina, who was giving him a glare back. Had Félix lost track of what they were doing?

The DEA man said, "Lina knows this guy, and she hasn't given us shit. That's the fucking FBI for you."

Lina turned to face him. "What's that mean?"

"You probably already know about this asshole, Ortíz."

"No one knows who he is. I only know Floyd, and I guarantee he didn't do anything in Panama."

"Why don't you tell us everything you know about Floyd, then?"

"Because he's a source, and some of it's not for release."

"We're not fucking reporters. What's that mean, 'not for release'? Does that mean it's classified?" His speech was slurred.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"You said you guys got him on a child pornography beef. What sort of information could he give that would get him out of that? I'd never make a deal with a child molester." Félix folded his arms like he had just had the last word.

Duarte was concerned about his friend's demeanor and insistence on focusing on a single murder when the possibility of some kind of dirty bomb was a very real threat.

Lina said, "Let's just say he knew some very dangerous people."

"When?" asked Félix.

"The mid-nineties."

"And you still keep track of him?"

"He's involved in the whole white-power scene. He knows militiamen, Klan guys, Nazis. His latest group of friends are the border-protection people. They've been preaching to him about the need to secure our borders before something catastrophic happens."

Félix said, "Not all terrorism comes from other countries. Look at Oklahoma City."

Duarte looked over at Lina, who was silent and obviously tired of this conversation.

Félix threw down another beer, settled into the backseat and started snoring almost immediately.

Staub steamed at the behavior of this Ukrainian whore who apparently had one, overpriced skill. He sent Pelly to help her drive her Audi in through the big bay door into the central receiving area. Pelly then had to retrieve a huge case out of the new car's trunk.

Staub said, "Nice car on a college professor's salary."

She looked up from watching Pelly set down the heavy case and said, "Expecting this windfall from you, I took out a loan."

"Do you care what we do with the device?"

"I will be relocating, so I do not care. I believe your cash will ensure a very nice life for me anywhere I choose. And I promise I never willingly chose Houston."

She turned to her case and patted Pelly on the back. "Thank you so much, Pelly." She smiled and leaned in close. Her breasts pressed against the young man's back.

Staub couldn't believe someone would show this kind of disrespect to him. Ignore him and slobber over Pelly. He felt the blood rush to his face as he couldn't escape the image of his father and María.

He wouldn't let that happen again. Not with this arrogant bitch.

He worked to control his voice. "Pelly."

"Yes, boss?"

"Why don't you start cruising the area looking for our friend Mr. Floyd?"

"You don't think he can find the place?"

"I'll be surprised if he can find Houston."

"Yeah, sure, boss." Pelly smiled and nodded to the female professor as she started to set up some tools and supplies.

William "Ike" Floyd had trouble reading the street signs in this dark and dirty part of town. The lights all seemed to be in front of the big warehouses and nowhere near the street signs. He had a map from the slow girl at the Jacinto Arms, but it didn't seem to be helping him as he puttered up and down streets looking for the specific address.

The Ford pickup truck drove smoothly and attracted a lot less attention than the big rental truck.

It was just late enough that he couldn't find anyone to ask directions of either.

Finally he got a glimpse of the sign that looked like his street. He turned and slowed immediately when he saw the length of it and the number of giant warehouses lining both sides of the extra-wide road.

In the first parking lot, a small car sat under one of the parking lot's streetlights. A man stood outside the driver's door, looking down the street, too.

Ike pulled into the lot, hoping the man might have a better idea of where the address might be.

Ike rolled his window down as he approach the tall, fit-looking man with dark hair who was wearing a light-colored windbreaker.

"Excuse me," said Ike.

The man stepped closer to him and then seemed to stare for a moment.

Ike was startled when the man reached in the open window and grabbed him by the shoulder with a grip that stunned him.

The man said, "Get out of the car, William."

Colonel Lázaro Staub silently watched as Professor Tuznia carefully laid out tools from the large case she had retrieved from her Audi. The suitcaselike box opened out into trays, and she looked like she was preparing for surgery. He watched her slightly large bottom as it swayed, and then occasionally, when she turned, he'd catch a glimpse of her ample breasts. She reminded him of María Ortíz from his childhood more than any woman in Panama he had ever beaten. She hummed some unfamiliar tune as she stopped to wipe down a mirrorlike device.

Staub used his most impressive voice in his best English. "And what would a physicist use that for?" He smiled and stepped toward her.

She didn't even turn around to face him. "You would not understand."

Staub felt his left eye twitch. Who the hell did she think she was?

Then the professor stood straight and faced him. "Where did Pelly go?"

"Don't worry where he went. I am the one who hired you."

"And he is the one with nice legs and that wild, furry face." She smiled and placed one of her small hands over her chest.

Staub did not like the implication. Was this whore already thinking of cheating on him? He felt that familiar rage start to build in him. It didn't matter if he was not in Panama. He still had power. The power to cripple the U.S. She shouldn't speak to him like that. He looked at her more closely. How could a professional dress like that? The low-cut top, her muscled calves showing from under her skirt. His eye shifted into overdrive. He pulled out a cigarette and started to light it.

The professor didn't turn around, but, as if she had eyes in the back of her head, said, "Do not smoke."

He froze and stared at her shapely back. "I own this entire complex. You do not presume to tell me what to do."

"I'll tell you not to smoke while I am working, or you can find someone else." She stood and turned, leveling her dark, oval eyes at him. "Someone else familiar enough with these things to arm your weapon?"

He remained quiet and leaned back against the outside of the office, the unlighted cigarette still in his mouth. He glared at the professor, who had gone back to her precious tools. He picked up a thick yardstick that was lying against the wall where he was leaning. He flipped it between his hands, the whole time focusing his anger on the busy woman in front of him. He stood up and started to pace, occasionally coming close to the professor, the entire time imagining what it would be like to put the bitch in her place. Then, without even realizing it, as he walked past her, he swung the yardstick and broke it over her backside.

She flinched and stood up, spinning as she did. "You struck me."

He stared at her, the broken yardstick in his hands.

She said, "Are you crazy?" She just looked at him. "You are. You're insane."

Before he could control it, he felt himself take a step and his hands start to move on their own. "You think I'm crazy." He had his hands around her throat before she could react. He dropped his right hand and grasped the top of her blouse and yanked. The cotton top ripped off, revealing a tight black bra and plenty of breast. He hooked a finger in the front of the bra and pulled violently, popping the clasp and pulling it mostly off her shoulder.

She stood defiantly, no fear in her eyes. What had she been through before coming to the land of the free?

His right hand joined his left around her throat. He slowly applied the pressure as he ignored her slaps and clawing. Then, as her oxygen was cut off, little by little he saw fear start to spread onto her face. He enjoyed the look so much, he forgot how vitally he needed her special talents.