Another sound reverberated around the immediate vicinity; the sound of a large machine under full throttle. The front-end loader blew continuous black smoke as it bore down on the shack. Fuz Cooney aimed directly at the two men to the side of his shack. One of the cars was in between. Even for an old machine the pace was quick, the compacted flat ground no hindrance to keeping up the revs. With an expertise gained over years of practise, Fuz lowered the bucket until it traveled only a foot above ground. The remaining shooters hadn’t expected this — unnerved, they fired wildly at the oncoming machine, its driver open and exposed.
Lilburn knew exactly what he had to do. He stood up, but the gunmen were too busy focusing their attention on the madman bearing down on them to notice. Lilburn fired off his remaining bullets then changed magazines. One gunman was wounded in the leg but adrenalin kept him standing and firing. The other man had to change magazines but he fumbled, not concentrating on his weapon. The front-end loader briefly shuddered as the cutting edge of the bucket with its lethal teeth rammed under the belly of one of the cars, then rose upwards. The car was shunted sideways until its wheels caught. Unable to skid anymore, the car tumbled side over side, heading directly for the gunmen. One man screamed as over two thousand pounds of car hurtled at him.
When the dust settled all that was heard was the diesel motor of the front-end loader, and the sound of the gravel crusher, grinding on. Lilburn advanced to the shack, both hands on his weapon up at eye level, his finger on the trigger. Fuz switched off his machine.
Lilburn yelled out. “You OK?”
“Yer cotton-pickin’ right I am. Yee-ha.”
An arm appeared from the other side of the upturned car, then a man scrambled awkwardly to his feet. He raised his weapon towards Lilburn, who fired once, and kept advancing.
The other Cooney brother appeared and caught up with Fuz who had jumped down from his seat. “Holy shit, Fuz, ya missed our office! Bonus time!”
Lilburn side-stepped a few paces upon reaching the wreck, watching for a movement, any movement at all. The man he shot lay still, his eyes open, not blinking. Lilburn looked around. A shoeless leg from the calf down, not from the shot man, lay motionless underneath the rear end of the car. “Careful, boys. I got a leg sticking out down here.”
Chugga replied from the other side. “We got a couple of arms and part of a head ova here.” He peered down and screwed up his nose. “Brainless bastard… ain’t that right, Fuz?”
“Yep. I reckon he be dead and missin’ his brains.” Fuz sent a stream of spit flying to the ground. “Yer weren’t kiddin’ when yer said yer wuz in trouble.”
All three were accounted for. Lilburn lowered his weapon. He yelled to Evangeline that it was safe to come out. Looking for answers, he knelt down beside the second man he shot. Blood was seeping through the man’s shirt, the bullet having entered his chest. His machine gun lay nearby; Lilburn picked it up. It was a Škorpion. Czechoslovakian made, the serial number had been filed off the barrel. It was highly unusual for an American criminal to be using a machine gun — and at least two of these men had done just that. Rummaging through the dead man’s clothes he found a wallet with money, a driver’s license — and three sealed prophylactics. “Hey, Evangeline, you can come on out now.”
There was no reply.
“Evangeline.”
Something felt wrong. He rose to his feet and started walking. “Evangeline?”
Evangeline lay on her side, her back to him as he rounded the bulldozer. Her mouth was open, a trickle of blood fell from the corner, and her eyes were shut. Automatically he moved into first-aid mode. Her airway was clear, but he couldn’t see her breathing. His fingers felt for a carotid pulse while his eyes searched for any sign of injury. Not feeling a pulse his two fingers probed harder into her neck. Nothing. He shifted his fingers’ position. Nothing. Matt Lilburn cupped her head in his hand — and felt something wet and sticky.
The two brothers stood behind the Homeland agent. They watched in silence as he knelt on the ground holding the head of the pretty lady in his lap. Both men made the sign of the cross. The only sound was the crusher motor, still working. The last of the crushed gravel tipped off the end of the elevator belts and dropped to the heap below.
Matt Lilburn gently wiped the dust off Evangeline’s face as invisible angels hovered above.
Two helicopters could be heard in the distance, the sound of their engines growing steadily louder.
Chapter Thirty-six
The 2IC of Counter Terrorism spoke compassionately to the special agent sitting in the chair opposite.
“We have now taken Lopez into custody; she was brought in two hours ago.”
“Why only then, why not yesterday?”
Rob Olson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It was Director Hall’s call. He gave the order when I contacted him earlier this morning. He was on his way to Plum Island.”
Seconds ticked by as Lilburn looked across the desk to the second-in-command. “What about the surveillance? Who did she call a few hours ago? Who’s her contact?”
Olson looked puzzled. “We didn’t have her phone tapped.”
Lilburn averted his gaze to the ceiling. “Visual surveillance, what about that?”
“None was ordered, Agent Lilburn. I don’t know who suggested that to you, but there was no surveillance ordered on Lopez.”
Lilburn straightened — his muscles tensed, his eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you mean, no fucking surveillance?”
Olson rose angrily from his chair and placed two hands on the table. “Lilburn! You may very well have been through hell and back the last few days but that doesn’t…”
“Doesn’t what!”
The two men stared each other down, both fuming. Olson saw an insubordinate threatening his seniority — Lilburn saw a fatal lack of professionalism.
“Sit down, Agent Lilburn!”
“I’ll sit down when you start giving me some serious answers to my fucking questions!”
Olson reached for the phone. Lilburn banged his hand down on top of Olson’s. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Shocked, Olson sat back down.
“Director Hall confirmed to me, in person, that Lopez was being held in home detention and on high surveillance in order to flush out her contacts — to find Bomani. Now you tell me that didn’t happen. There was only one fucking way those gunmen found us so quickly at the quarry and that was because Lopez must have found out and told them our plans.” Lilburn could feel himself starting to shake with rage; he knew he had to contain it.
Olson sat back uncomfortably in his chair. “Alright then… how do you explain she knew you were traveling south by car? Did you tell her? Did Crawston tell her?”
With extreme difficulty, Lilburn held back from launching over the desk and throttling the arrogant prick. “Well, maybe, just maybe, we have another mole, someone who saw or overheard the message I left Hall. Where is Lopez being held?”
“Lilburn, you can thank your lucky stars I haven’t already had you arrested — so listen to me very carefully. You are not to go anywhere near Lopez. Do you understand? As soon as Director Hall is back in touch, we’ll get to the bottom of this. You are dismissed.”
“Go screw yourself, Olson.” Lilburn stormed out of the office.
Walking rigidly down the corridor, Lilburn was struggling to contain his last remnant of sanity. He passed the men’s restroom then doubled back, pushing the door open so hard it nearly rebounded on him. Walking to the hand basins, he turned on the cold tap and looked in the mirror, resting his hands on the cold porcelain. What stared back at him was the face of revenge. Taking handfuls of cool water he sloshed it over his face, letting the liquid fall off, dripping and soaking his shirt. What, where, why and how? The questions kept going over and over in his mind. Somewhere there was an answer and he would damn well find it. By the time he left the restroom he knew exactly where he was going.