Guardian of Lies

THIRTY

I don’t want excuses,” said Liquida. He and the explosives man conversed over the walkie-talkies. “Take the bus and do it now.”

Liquida could see the highway patrol units as they closed in along the freeway. They had blocked off the highway in both directions, so the roadway was now empty. Two of the highway patrol cars were already parked under the bridge overpass. The cops were out of their cars, carrying shotguns and rifles, looking for cover and advantageous angles from which to fire.

Sheriff’s units from the jail had taken over the intersection of Magnolia and Prospect. They were exchanging gunfire with two of the button boys near the top of the ramp.

Liquida wasn’t bothering to inform his people of all the negative details. It would only sap their morale. If they waited much longer, the SWAT unit would arrive.

“How did your men get shot inside the bus?” he asked. “There was only the driver and one guard. You told me you killed them both.”

He listened for a second.

“Well, then, who shot your men? What do you mean you don’t know? Are your people afraid of a busload of women? Get your ass on board that bus, finish what you came for, and get the hell out of there. Get to the safe house. Otherwise nobody’s getting paid. Do you understand?” Liquida threw down the walkie-talkie and looked up at the sky.

They were beginning to breed like mosquitoes. Ten minutes ago there were two, now there were four local news choppers all circling over the action on the ramp.

How the hell did Demo Man think they were going to get to the safe house without being followed from the sky? If Liquida wasn’t careful, he would show up on TV. The arrival of the choppers had forced him back from the edge of the roof. He huddled in the shadows between two large air-conditioning units and continued to observe the activity on the ramp through the field glasses.

He watched as the demolition man fired up his soldiers, at least the two of them who were assembled near the bus door. Two others were up near the top of the ramp holding off the cops. The flaming cars were now just smoking rubble with an occasional flicker as fumes from the gas tanks floated past a hot spot.

The last lone soldier from Liquida’s army was positioned on this side of the bus, lying prone on the ground and taking occasional shots at the police who were trying to move in from the freeway side of the ramp.

The explosives man finished his pep talk. He reached into his bag of tricks, then walked toward the bus door with something in his hand. A second later he disappeared inside. There were two muted shots, what sounded to Liquida like a small handgun, and a second later the demolition man came off the bus holding his right shoulder. As Liquida watched him, a massive explosion ripped through the bus, blowing out the windshield and ripping a jagged hole in the roof. Smoke billowed from the front of the bus. The soldiers, armed with their AKs, stormed on board while the shock and impact of the blast was still having its effect. Automatic gunfire erupted inside. Liquida tried to zero in with the binoculars.

Suddenly a gun battle broke out at the top of the ramp. A large black SUV raced out from under the bridge on the freeway and drove past the bus, exchanging fire through the windows with the button boy lying on his belly on this side of the bus. Whoever was firing from the car must have hit him, because a second later the button boy dropped his rifle as his head slumped to the ground.

The black vehicle made a beeline for the bottom of the ramp, pulled a U-turn, and drove up the ramp in the wrong direction. It stopped on the other side of the box truck. The doors flew open and six men, all wearing black body armor and carrying short carbines and MP-5s, spilled out of the car. They raced around the truck and moved up the ramp.

Liquida could still hear shots coming from inside the bus.

One of his men at the top of the ramp began to retreat down toward the gully on the other side. Liquida lost sight of him for a moment. When he picked him up again, the button boy had joined up with the explosives expert and both of them were making their way up the embankment toward Magnolia Avenue and the van.

There was another flurry of gunfire at the top of the ramp. Liquida watched as police flanked the remaining lone button boy. Three shots rang out and he went down. Police started to flood down the ramp on foot, just as the six men from the black SUV reached the door to the bus.

Liquida picked up the walkie-talkie. “Hello. Hello.”

A voice crackled back on the other end.

“Are you in contact with them?” He was talking to the explosives man, who was in contact with the button boys on the bus. Through a separate radio. “Is it done?”

“Yes,” said the man. “She is dead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” came the crackling response.

“Excellent,” said Liquida.

He could see the demolition man talking on the handheld unit as he slipped through the hole in the fence, followed closely by the button boy who had left his rifle in the ravine and ditched his dark glasses and face scarf while climbing up the other side.

Liquida watched as three of the armed men from the SUV boarded the bus. A few seconds later gunfire erupted again from inside the bus. This time it didn’t last long. He heard several short bursts of pistol rounds from the MP-5s and then silence.

He focused the field glasses back across the ravine. The explosives expert and his young helper had made it to the van. They pulled away from the curb and did a U-turn to avoid all the excitement at the intersection on Prospect. Before they’d gone fifty feet, another shiny black SUV pulled out of a side street and cut them off. The occupants, all dressed like their comrades on the bus, opened the SUV’s doors, using them for cover, and trained their assault rifles and pistols on the stopped van through the SUV’s open windows.

As he was reaching into his pocket, Liquida had to wonder what the federal government was doing here so heavily armed. No one else used black SUVs like the United States government.

He took out a small metal box from his pocket, flipped the toggle switch on the top, and pressed the small black button. There was a large brilliant flash of light on the other side of the freeway. It was followed a second later by the sound of the blast and the shock wave as it rippled across the rooftop and rattled the metal panels of the air-conditioning unit where Liquida was sitting. Avis would miss one of their rental vans. He would have to remember the next time to use a little less C-4.