Now his concern was Pelly and his ability with a pistol.
"What do you want, Pelly?"
"Release Lina and let me take the cash. We'll call it even."
As Staub considered the offer, secretly proud that his protégé had enough intelligence to think about the cash, he jumped at the sound of several gunshots in close succession.
Staub felt the impact of the bullets in his chest, like a fist, causing him to lose his grip on the small pistol as he fell backward. Somewhere in his head he heard it clink onto the cement floor. It sounded like it echoed.
From the floor he could see that Pelly had not fired. His assistant spun and started to open up at an unseen assailant high up in the shelving, popping off three quick rounds.
Staub heard his wheezing breath and knew the wounds were serious. He fought to keep consciousness and stave off shock.
Where was his phone? He still needed to arm the warhead.
Alex Duarte didn't care if he had killed William Floyd. He ignored the man slumped on the floor of the truck and immediately hit the gas and pulled the Ford truck into the corner of an empty parking lot to some kind of furniture store.
He reached down and found the little SIG-Sauer in Floyd's waistband and pulled it out, tucking it in his own belt.
He checked Floyd's pulse, which was steady, although blood from several lacerations pooled on the floor of the truck.
Duarte jumped out of the truck and raced to the rear. He popped open the tailgate and tried to slide out the open crate but realized it was too heavy. Instead he crawled up into the covered bed of the truck.
He ran his hand up the front of the metal cylinder in the crate, wiping packing straw away as he moved. Near the top of the open crate, he found several wires and a cell phone attached to it. He knew immediately that this was the triggering system. The question was whether they had installed an antitampering device. If this were really a nuclear weapon and they had spent such a large amount for transportation and arming, he doubted they would have overlooked something as simple as a method of keeping someone from disarming the bomb.
He swept away the straw from the small cell phone attached to the device. He could clearly see the open hatch in the bomb and the connection to the phone. He wondered when Staub planned to detonate the bomb.
He backed out of the truck bed, bounded back to the cab and tugged the limp form of William Floyd onto the ground. He dragged him back to the tailgate, ignoring the couple of street people who had taken notice and started to stare at him and the truck.
He sat William Floyd up and checked his eyes. He appeared conscious but dazed. Duarte patted him on the face, not sure exactly what to do. He shouted, "William Floyd, wake up. Wake up." Slapping him a little harder.
The man mumbled something unintelligible, then said, "What? What?"
"What was your target?"
Floyd's eyes settled on Duarte's face. "Nevada. Nellis Air Force Base."
"How does it detonate?"
"Mr. Ortíz has to call. Once he calls and sets the code, it starts the chain reaction."
Duarte looked at him. "Do you really think he was going to let you drive all the way to Nevada?"
Floyd just stared at him.
Then Duarte felt a chill as he heard the phone on the warhead ring.
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.