Mind Games
Chapter 15
See Chapter 1 for disclaimer
A/N: Thanks to all for the alerts and reviews - I very much appreciate them.
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Charlie reached the first floor, and took the second set of stairs that led down to the bottom level and the kitchen. He flew down the hallway to the side door, bypassing the kitchen, and hurried outside, ducking into the landscaping on the far end of the parking area. Pushing into a thick section of shrubbery, he shot a quick glance back toward the house, hoping the cook hadn't seen him cross the open space, and pulled out his cell phone, hitting speed dial for Don. "Don? Did Bishop call you? Okay, I'm out, heading through the back. Watch for me."
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Pierre and the Clemenceaus had hurried out into the hallway, only seconds behind Charlie, to find the elevator empty and available. "He took the stairs," said Jean, and they followed suit, hurtling down them and out through the stairwell doorway onto the first floor. All three of them immediately looked to their right, down the long hallway that led to the computer room.
"I'll check," said Pierre, and he hurried down the hall, past the ballroom and the foyer, and poked his head into the room. Mike looked up, surprised. "Did Archer come back down?" asked Pierre.
Mike shook his head, and Pierre shut the door, and sprinted back down the hall. "Not in there," he panted.
"Maybe he went to get something from the kitchen," said Guy. Jean was already reaching for the door to the stairway that led down to the bottom level, and the three of them hurried down it. Seconds later they were at the kitchen, and as Jean pushed through the door, the cook looked at him with an odd expression.
"You see Archer?" demanded Jean, and the cook nodded, wide-eyed.
"He just went out the side," he said. "I saw him through the windows. He went into the brush on the other side of the driveway – I think he was going through the back."
"Shit!" Jean exploded, and the three of them barged back through the door, barreling down the remaining hallway and out the side entrance. Jean headed for the Ford Expedition, waving Pierre and Guy toward the back of the estate. "Follow him," he barked. "I'll take the vehicle, and drive around the block and meet you there."
He jumped in the Expedition, and had his phone out and was dialing Montreaux before he even started down the drive.
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Montreaux picked up the phone in his study and listened, his face turning oddly still, like a wax impression. "Don't let him get away," he said. "Bring him back here." He hung up the phone and looked at Marsh, Khalid, and his men, who were staring back, silently.
"We have a problem," said Montreaux.
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The agent in the median in the front of the estate watched as the black Ford Expedition zoomed through the barely open front gates and cut a sharp left, heading west on St. Charles. He spoke into his headset. "We've got a black Ford Expedition out, heading west on St. Charles. He's making another left at the first block, heading toward Benjamin Street."
On the other end, Joe Bishop said, "Hold for a minute." He switched lines. "Don, you see Charlie yet?"
"Yeah," said Don, who was sitting in the Monte Carlo on Benjamin, outside the wrought iron fence that marked the back boundary of the Montreaux estate, "I see him – he's coming through the brush toward the gate now."
"Get out as fast as you can," Bishop said. "You've got company coming – black Ford Expedition."
Bishop hung up, flipped the line back to the agent in the median. "Anyone else coming?"
"Negative."
"Okay. Keep an eye out for that floral delivery van – let me know immediately if it comes out."
"Roger that."
Bishop dialed in another number. "French Street Team Leader," came the voice on the other end.
"You guys ready?" asked Bishop.
"Yes, sir, we're heading out now."
"When you take the estate, be advised, there are civilians on the property. The Archers should be clear, but there is a cook in the kitchen and possibly others, who are not involved. The targets will be armed. Proceed with caution."
"Roger that. Anticipate arrival in ten minutes. Out."
Bishop punched in another number. "This is Tran Air."
"Ian here. I can talk."
"Ian, the extraction is underway. The Archers are out, en route to the airport, with a black Ford Expedition possibly in pursuit. They will be heading east on St. Charles, toward I-90 south. Give them a call; they may need backup. If they don't, get yourself to the airport – meet them there. Call Agent 1 for me – I need to keep these lines open."
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Charlie charged through the last of the brush and fumbled with the gate, realizing after a quick attempt to open it that it was locked; the bolt appeared to be activated electronically. He could hear Pierre and Guy's voices and the sound of them crashing through brush behind him, and he shot a panicked glance at Don through the wrought iron bars, and then took a quick look over his shoulder. As he did, he noticed a small metal-encased electrical box on the ground in the shrubbery, about two yards behind him, and he darted over to it. Sure enough, there was a button. He pressed it, and heard the click of the latch behind him, and turned and dashed back to the gate. The door opened easily; he slipped through it and made the car in two large bounds, running around the front of it to the passenger door.
His computer case was sitting on the front seat and Don lifted it out of the way as he got in, then shoved it at Charlie as he threw the car into drive, pulling away from the curb with a screech of tires.
"They're right behind me," panted Charlie, clasping his computer to his chest, and Don gunned the gas, flying east on Benjamin, and made a left at the next intersection, heading back up toward St. Charles Avenue.
Charlie looked at him, wide-eyed. "Shouldn't we stay away from St. Charles?"
Don jabbed a finger at the area under the glove box. "Get rid of that bug."
Charlie stared at him, realizing that he might just have given away their direction; he was so rattled by the pursuit that he'd forgotten about it. He reached forward with one arm around the computer case still sitting in his lap, felt under the dash and pulled. The electronic device came free with a snap, leaving a dangling wire underneath the glove box. Charlie rolled down the window and tossed it out, and it bounced away on the pavement behind them. He rolled up the window and looked back at Don.
"We don't have a choice," Don said tersely. "Benjamin dead ends in two blocks, and St. Charles is the fastest way to get to I-90. Bishop called – he said the Expedition was right behind us. Put your seatbelt on - this might be a rough ride."
Charlie turned his head and looked anxiously over his shoulder. They had already turned off Benjamin, and were barreling up the side street – the Expedition wasn't in sight – yet.
He turned back around in time to grab the armrest with his free hand as Don veered sharply right onto St. Charles, the other arm still wrapped tightly around the computer case. As soon as they were around the corner and he regained his equilibrium, he reached for his seatbelt, his heart thumping. He shot a glance at his brother; Don gripped the wheel tightly and looked grim, but in control, and Charlie tried to relax. 'Don knows what he's doing,' he told himself. 'We'll be fine.'
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Jean Clemenceau screeched to a stop at the back gate, and Pierre and Guy, who had come out of the gate and were standing on the side of the street, ran toward him. Jean rolled the window down. "Get the automatics out of the back!" he yelled. They veered toward the rear of the vehicle, pulling assault rifles out of the rear from under a blanket, and ran forward, Pierre jumping in the front passenger seat, and Guy clambering in the rear seat, swearing as he barked his shin on the running board. Jean floored it, heading east on Benjamin. "I didn't see him," he growled, "Did you?"
"I saw him through the trees," panted Guy, sweating heavily. "He climbed into a black Monte Carlo – couldn't see the driver, but that was Don Archer's car – I'm sure it was him. They took off – same direction you're headed now. Must have turned off on a side street, but we didn't get out on the sidewalk fast enough to see which one."
"Merde. They could be anywhere by now," growled Jean. "We gotta take them out, or we're all dead men." He pulled out his cell phone and hit a button, and lifted the phone to his ear. "Mike – pull up the surveillance – the device in Archer's car."
There was a momentary hesitation; then Mike's voice came back over the phone. "The bug's dead. What's going on?"
"Check out the GPS tracker – we put it in the rear cushion – maybe they didn't find that one."
Mike's voice sounded in his ear. "Yeah, that's still there, apparently – I got a blip on the screen. They're headed east on St. Charles, about three blocks from here."
"Okay," said Jean. He looked at Pierre, who had remained silent, his lips in a tight line. "Get on the phone, call one of our lieutenants – try Sammy first, his territory's closest. We could use some help."
Pierre pulled out his cell phone and poked at it, bringing up the number.
Jean spoke back into the phone. "Mike, stay on the line – keep trackin' 'em, let me know if they turn off St. Charles. While you're doing that, get on another line and call up to Montreaux, tell him what's goin' on."
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"How in the hell could you let this happen?" demanded J. Scott Marsh.
Jack Montreaux's eyes flashed. "Ian Crocker has been working for me for months with no problems. The Archers were his recommendation and worked successful deals for me with my cocaine business. They have obviously had this set up for months – trying to get inside my cocaine business. I'm sure they stumbled on the weapons deal during the process."
Khalid was pacing restlessly. "We need to leave, now. We must go get the van."
Montreaux shook his head. "I wouldn't – chances are they will be watching for it. I think you should leave, yes, but on foot – go out through the back, split up, get a few blocks away and catch a cab."
Marsh gave Khalid a curt nod. "He's right. Take separate cabs and have them drop you a few blocks from the hotel, make sure you aren't followed, and walk back to your rooms and wait for me. We will regroup there."
Khalid jerked his head at his men, and gave Montreaux a last icy stare. "If we are caught, your ineptitude will not go unpunished," he stated coldly, and then turned on his heel and left the room.
Montreaux looked at Marsh as the door closed behind them. "This isn't over yet. They should leave for their own security – and ours – it wouldn't be good for any of us to be found together. If we can take out Charlie Archer, however, there will be no one to testify – he is the only one who has seen us together, and who can describe the visitors. And even though he's seen you, he has no idea who you are. If we can get him, we can fix this."
Marsh snorted. "If you think the Iranians will do business with you after this, you're crazy."
Montreaux smiled regretfully. "I hold no illusions. Now, I am simply trying to stay out of jail. I am sure I will be charged with cocaine dealing at the least, which I will deny – I will claim no knowledge of it. I would prefer, however, not to be charged with treason. If I were you, old friend, I would follow your visitors -," he broke off mid-sentence. Even through the thick walls of the mansion, they could hear the sound of car doors slamming outside the house. Marsh's sour expression turned to one of panic, and he jerked his head to look at the door, as if he expected men to come through it any minute.
"Ah, c'est dommage," Montreaux said, smiling darkly. "They are here already. You are too late. Perhaps you should get downstairs, go to the parlor on the first floor. You can tell them you were waiting to see me, and I hadn't called you up yet – that you have no idea what is going on." He stood there, still smiling with grim satisfaction as he watched Marsh bolt through the door, and then went to his desk and picked up the phone. If he was going down, the insufferable Marsh was going down with him.
"Mike," he said, "I need you to enable the destruct feature in our computer system. Yes. All of it – legitimate and non-legitimate. We are about to have an unfortunate system crash."
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Jean Clemenceau swore, and snapped his phone shut. They were sitting in traffic, at a light two blocks from the I-90 ramp.
"What?" asked Pierre.
"Mike said there's a bunch of men at the house – some kind of SWAT, or tactical team. He said Montreaux just told him to wipe out the computer system – he's going to lose the GPS tracker."
Guy looked at the back of Pierre's head. "Sammy's on him, though, right? And we know they just got onto I-90 South."
Pierre nodded, his cell phone at his ear. "Yeah, I still have Sammy on the line. He says he got on the next exit down, before them; they just passed him and he got a good look. He met Don Archer a week ago – says it's them for sure." He broke off and listened for a moment. "He's right on their tail. They're still on the highway, getting ready to cross the river."
The light changed, and Jean surged through the intersection, weaving around traffic. "I wonder where they're goin'," Guy said. "If they were headin' toward the airport, they would've taken I-10."
"I'll bet you they're going to Alvin Callender Field – the Naval Air Station," said Jean, snapping his fingers. He put both hands on the wheel and powered the Expedition up the ramp so fast that it went airborne at the top, and the traffic in the near lane veered to let them in. He reached out his hand toward Pierre. "Gimme your phone."
Pierre handed it to him without a word, and Jean put it up to his ear. "Sammy – we think they're tryin' to make the Naval Air Station. We can't let 'em get onto the base, we'll never get to 'em with the security there. You need to slow 'em down, force 'em off the road, then just keep goin'. We're right behind you – we'll come along and finish the job."
He thrust the phone back at Pierre. "Get your guns ready. We can't stop on the highway. We'll have to blast 'em as we go by, then have Sammy circle back around to make sure we got the job done."
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J. Scott Marsh made it to the first floor; then forced himself to stop and think. Montreaux's suggestion that he sit in the parlor and pretend he hadn't talked to Montreaux yet was weak, and Jack Montreaux knew it. Marsh's mere presence here would indict him – even if he told his superiors he was doing investigative work on his own, the story wasn't credible. He was too highly placed for that, and too ambitious. They never would believe that he hadn't told them of his suspicions, in order to get the credit for foiling the scheme. No, he could not be found here when they came in. He needed to hide.
Hiding was certainly a last resort; the tactical team would tear the place apart, but there was one spot that Marsh knew of that might work. He had spent afternoons in the mansion as a child, and he and Jack had spent hours playing hide and seek – Marsh knew all the best places, and he headed for one of them now. He could hear feet pounding down the hallway beneath him as ducked into the dining room and dashed over to the dumbwaiter, pulling frantically on the cord to bring up the lift. Holding both cords tightly, he stepped inside onto the platform and closed the chute door, just as the hallway door outside the dining room burst open.
His muscles straining with the effort, Marsh slowly played the rope, lowering himself about two thirds of the way down, until he felt the ledge – a support beam between two wall joists. It was smaller and narrower than he remembered, and he stepped onto it awkwardly, carefully, his grasp on the ropes loosening as his weight transferred from the dumbwaiter platform to the ledge. He reached out with one hand and steadied himself by grabbing a wall joist, and now securely on the ledge, quietly lowered the dumbwaiter platform down to the kitchen. He was standing in the dumbwaiter chute, midway between the bottom and the first floor, immersed in darkness, his only enemy a flashlight.
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Charlie twisted to look behind him, still clutching his computer case, and Don glanced in the rearview mirror as he spoke into the phone to Ian. "I still don't see the Expedition. Maybe we lost them."
Ian's voice came through, crackling with static. "I just got on the highway, and I'm moving fast – we'll find out soon enough – if they're on the highway, they're probably between you and me."
Don trained his eyes forward, and Charlie turned back around in his seat, as a white Econoline van pulled from behind them and accelerated, coming alongside them to their left. The Oakwood Shopping Center whizzed by, the Monte Carlo started around a bend in the highway, and Don said into the phone, "We just passed exit 8; it looks like the next exit is the one for Route 23 South."
He didn't get a chance to hear the response, because in the next instant, they felt an impact and a sudden lurch as the white van, without warning, plowed into the side of their vehicle, and the Monte Carlo swerved toward the side of the road. Charlie gasped as Don dropped the phone and gripped the steering wheel, trying to muscle the car back into the lane. The van gave way a bit, but the respite was short-lived; it immediately smacked back into them hard, pushing them sideways again as Don desperately tromped on the brake. They had a fleeting glimpse of a concrete piling for an overpass coming at them much too fast, and then the world exploded.
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End Chapter 15
A/N: You just traded one cliffie for another, I'm afraid. (Evil laughter.) 'Til Tuesday...