Burn Zone

56

PELLY TWISTED HIS BODY AT THE SOUND OF THE FIRST SHOT. HE raised his pistol to acquire the target and saw the muzzle flash up high in the shelves. He adjusted his sights, saw the figure of a man crouched on the top shelf and fired three times. The man on the shelves continued to shoot at Colonel Staub as Pelly sent two more rounds his way.

The man tilted, then tumbled off the top shelf, slamming onto the cement floor.

Pelly, using his training, continued to scan the area for other threats, then spun on his heels to check on the colonel's condition. His employer lay motionless on the floor.

He moved quickly to Lina.

"Are you unharmed?"

She was panting. "Yeah. Who did you shoot?" She couldn't see from her seated position.

Pelly took another quick glance at the still form of Colonel Staub, then rushed across the open loading area, past the Audi with Professor Tuznia's body in the trunk, to the front of the shelves where the gunman had fallen. He stepped around the shelves, then nudged the body with his foot. After a second, he crouched and turned the battered head faceup. The DEA agent, Félix Baez, was dead from two gunshots to the chest and a fractured skull from the fall. He also had a days-old bullet wound to his right arm where his sleeve had been torn. Pelly touched the hole in the side of his forearm, wondering where the wound had come from.

He hustled back to Lina. "I am afraid it was your friend Félix."

"You killed him?"

"I did not know who it was, but it doesn't matter. He was going to try and kill me. At least he stopped the colonel."

Lina craned her neck to see the fallen Panamanian cop and druglord.

Pelly looked over, too, and thought his boss might still be breathing, but by the position of the bullet wounds and the blood staining his shirt it didn't matter. He looked at Lina and said, "You'll be found soon."

"What about the bomb?"

"Ike does not have the phone number. It is harmless." He stood up and backed toward the office. "I'm sorry to leave you like this, but I doubt you'd give me a head start otherwise." He leaned down and muscled-up the crate of cash. "If I call you later, would you come help me spend this?"

Lina gave him a look without one of her crooked smiles. "Sure, just give me the address where I can find you."

"A cop to the end. I appreciate that. Perhaps I'll call you in a few months and at least see if you've changed your mind."

She looked over to where Félix had fallen off the shelf. "I can guarantee it would be a waste of your time."

"Goodbye" was all he said, as he turned and quickly made his way to the Chevy Impala, thinking of how he would leave the U.S. He strained under the weight of his crate and knew, however he left, it would be in style.

Colonel Lázaro Staub could hear Pelly's voice, but the words didn't come in clearly in his mind. He lay on the floor of his giant warehouse, wheezing lightly as he tried to maintain consciousness. Now the only thing that mattered was calling the bomb. Even if William Floyd was on the next block, it made no difference. Staub knew he was as good as dead. Even if he survived the gunshot wounds, he would be imprisoned in the U.S. for the rest of his life. He might even get stuck in the same federal facility as Manuel Noriega. That would be ironic. At least by detonating the bomb, he would be exacting the revenge he had lived for.

He tried to sit up, but pain shot through him like a lightning bolt.

"Mierda," he mumbled to himself as he relaxed and wheezed to catch his breath. He turned his head and focused on the glass of the office. He didn't see Pelly, and assumed whoever had shot him was either dead or had fled. Pelly had returned fire immediately and was deadly accurate with his firearms.

His vision seemed to come back into focus as he saw the short set of shelves next to the office. He knew his cell phone was on the third shelf. Revenge was only about fifteen feet away.

Rolling onto his side, then face down, he struggled to his hands and knees. Somehow it was easier to breath from this position. He started to crawl toward the shelf. From his peripheral vision he saw Lina still tied in the chair. She was speaking to him, but he couldn't understand what she was saying. He thought it was gurgling until he realized it was his own gurgling he heard.

His shoulder hurt and his breath came in shorter gasps as he crawled toward his phone, but now he had only one goal: detonate the bomb. He would wipe out the city of Houston. In the bargain he would catch the clever but treacherous Pelly as well as Lina.

After what seemed like an hour, he found himself at the base of the shelving unit. He used his hands to start to lift himself upright. Pulling his feet beneath him, he could stand under his own strength. Breathing was much easier, too.

His hand shook as he reached for the phone.

Now he heard Lina. She was pleading. "Don't do it, Lázaro. Think about the children in the area. Please don't."

He ignored her as his shaking hand picked up the phone. He reached into his pants pocket to recover the phone number provided by the Ukrainian. His vision was blurry, but he could still read the number. His thumb mashed button after button on the small Nextel phone. He double-checked the number before he hit the "send" button.

All was in order. He glanced around the warehouse and saw only Lina in the chair and a body near the main storage shelves. He didn't even care who it was. All evidence of their struggle would be swept clean in a few seconds.

He took a second to consider his life, feeling it leak out of him as he stood with the phone. He said a short prayer, asking God for strength. Now he understood what a Muslim suicide bomber might feel like, defending his country's honor.

Staub hit "send" and put the phone to his ear. He heard one ring. Then another. His heart continued to beat, but he felt it fading. Would he even live to feel the heat of the blast?

The third ring tone came through, and he checked the paper for the code to press in: 1-2-3-4. Now his clouded mind remembered. Then, as he was about to remove the phone from his ear to enter the code, he heard a voice.

"Hello."

He was stunned. "Who is this?" His voice was weak, but he still conveyed his outrage. Had he dialed the wrong number?

The voice said, "This is Alex Duarte of the ATF. How are you, Colonel Staub?"

"Duarte! How did you…" Staub would have continued, but he felt his consciousness start to slip as he lost his grip on the shelf and headed for the cement floor like a brick.

He had failed.