Highway to Vengeance: A Thomas Highway Thriller (24 page)

I spun on my heel, ran towards the four-foot
high railing, put my hand on top of it, and launched myself over
the edge.

I landed on one of the second level walkways
that criss-crossed the mall. My right knee buckled upon impact,
spilling me to the ground. I gingerly climbed to my feet, testing
my knee. A bolt of sharp pain shot through it, but there didn’t
seem to be any significant damage. Which was important, considering
how I was planning on getting away from the scene.

The shouts above me grew ever more
insistent. I sucked up the pain and turned and ran for the double
doors between storefronts, limping slightly, my shoulders tense in
anticipation of gunfire.

None came.

I slammed through the doors. They opened
into a narrow hallway with payphones and drinking fountains set on
opposite sides. At the end of the hall on the right were the
bathrooms. I took the door to the left, the one marked MALL
EMPLOYEES ONLY.

Through this door was a stairwell. I
descended the stairs, my footsteps echoing like gunshots in the
narrow space.

Once at the bottom, I came to another door.
Keeping it closed for the time being, I quickly stripped out of my
sunglasses, hat, sweatshirt and sweatpants and stuffed them under
the metal stairs.

Then I opened the door, walked outside, and
crossed the street, my collared shirt and khaki pants blending in
perfectly with the rest of the working class stiffs on the prowl
for lunch at noon on a weekday in the city.

Seconds after I inserted myself into the
crowd, a black SUV came skidding around the corner and slammed to a
stop. Three heavily armed men wearing black DHS windbreakers jumped
out and busted through the door.

I took a deep breath and walked steadily
away from the scene, forcing myself not to limp. Wary of the fate
of Lot’s wife, I resisted the urge to look back.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE

The trek out of the city was a relative
smooth one. Twice I was forced to duck into buildings to avoid
walking directly past some of San Diego’s Finest—making my route
far more circuitous than I had planned—but for the most part, I hit
no serious snags.

And so, almost thirty minutes after leaving
the mall, I came to a see-through plastic door that led to a
private dock just south of the Seaport Village. I punched a
four-digit code into the electronic keypad attached to the handle
of the door and there was a click and I opened the door and walked
out onto the dock.

Tied off to the fifth slip was a 40-foot
fishing boat named WILMA. I climbed aboard and walked into the
cabin.

Willis was sitting on the couch, drinking a
beer. A disassembled sniper rifle was sitting in an open case on
the coffee table.

“What took you so long?” Willis said. “I was
starting to get worried.”

“I waited around for a bit to make sure you
didn’t need help getting out.”

Willis laughed. “Funny, last time I checked,
I was the one saving your ass.”

“And a hell of a shot it was,” I said.

“No worries. I only wish I could have helped
out more. But I didn’t have an angle on the first two guys.”

“You helped out plenty.”

He shrugged. “So it appears that Holland was
a Homeland Security Agent after all.”

“It sure looks like it.”

“Which means that the guys who tried to kill
you were linked to Pittman.”

“Seems like a reasonable guess.”

“I guess Pittman wasn’t too keen on you
ratting him out to the feds.”

“Apparently not,” I said.

“But taking out an agent with Homeland
Security?” Willis said. “Pittman must have some serious chops if he
thinks he can get away with something like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure they set it up so that it’ll
be spun into a nice, tight solution. Just like Montoya’s murder.
Setting me up by killing my wife knowing I’d go and do their dirty
work and then killing me to close the loop.”

Willis set his beer down. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.
Wait a minute, you think they were behind Josie’s death too?”

“They had to be,” I said. “After you accept
the fact that Montoya was in bed with Homeland Security, Pittman’s
whole story about Josie’s murder breaks down. If Montoya was
working for the feds, he wasn’t negotiating with terrorists to
bring a WMD into the country via his tunnels, therefore he had no
reason to kill Josie.”

“Shit. I hadn’t thought about that. So this
whole thing was a setup? Starting with Josie’s death?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Willis thought about it for a moment, then
laughed under his breath. “You’re right. It all fits perfectly.
These guys are even better than I thought. We’re talking some
serious planning here. Old-school CIA-type stuff.”

“That’s what Holland said too. He seemed to
think they were mercs, working for hire for someone that wanted
Montoya dead.”

“Makes sense. But who were they working for?
And why did they want Montoya dead?”

“Your guess is as good as mine at this
point,” I said. “Holland told me only a few, hand-selected people
knew about the operation. I figure one of them was in danger of
being ratted out once Montoya started taking Homeland Security up
the food chain.”

“Could be,” Willis said. “Half the DEA guys
I know swear that the top-level CIA guys have been in bed with drug
cartels since before Vietnam. I never really bought into it, but
there’s certainly smoke there.”

“And you know what they say: Where there’s
smoke—”

“There’s usually a cigarette,” Willis said.
“Or something to that effect.” He picked up his beer, finished the
rest of it in one long pull, set the empty bottle back on the
table. He laughed and shook his head. “Fuck me.”

“Exactly,” I said. “But you know what? At
this point, I don’t give a fuck who was behind it. Obviously
someone out there knew Montoya was working for the feds and wanted
him dead. End of story. Right now, the only thing I’m concerned
about is getting my life back.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“I’m going to have a little talk with
Pittman, see if we can’t hammer something out.”

“Wait a minute,” Willis said. “Did I miss
something? This is the same guy you were just complaining about,
right? Moaning about how little you knew about him, about how he
might as well be a ghost.”

“That’s right.”

“Has something changed?”

I shook my head. “I still don’t know shit
about the guy.”

“Then how are you planning on getting in
touch with him?”

“I figured after what happened at the mall
today, he’ll want to get ahold of me as soon as possible, if only
to keep me from going to someone else with what I know.”

“That’s all well and good, but how is he
going to get in contact with you? ESP?”

I pulled Chris’s cell phone from one pocket
and the battery for it from the other. I opened up the back of the
phone, stuck the battery in, and showed it to Willis as though it
was a prize on a game show.

“Oh, I get it,” Willis said. “A magic phone.
Why didn’t you say so? Let me guess, you think of a person’s name
and the phone automatically dials the right number?”

“Not quite,” I said, stifling a smile. “I
got it from the girl that tried to kill me down in Mexico. I was
planning on giving it to Holland as evidence, but now I’m going to
use it to attract Pittman’s attention.”

“You’re pretty clever for a grunt,” Willis
said. “You think your little plan will actually work?”

The phone started to ring. I smiled and gave
Willis a wink.

“Well I guess that answers my question,” he
said.

I flipped the cell open and brought it to my
ear. “Are you ready to end this thing?”

“I guess that depends on what you had in
mind for the final act,” Pittman said.

“Meet me face-to-face and find out.”

“So you can kill me?” Pittman said. “I think
I’ll pass. Thanks though.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” I said. “I’m
going to make you a proposition.”

“You? Cut a deal? After all that’s gone
down? For some crazy reason I just don’t buy it.”

“Fine. Then I’ll just hang up. But the first
call I make after that will be to the Department of Homeland
Security to set up another meeting with them, but this time, I’ll
tell them straight off where I hid the bodies of your operatives
down in Mexico. You know, the nice-looking cunt and her partner
that tried to kill me after I finished off Montoya. And I’ll make
sure they get this phone in their hands too. Then I’ll call every
news outlet I can get ahold of, spill my story to them. And then
the television stations. And radio. And bloggers. And newspapers. I
won’t discriminate; I’ll talk to whomever will listen.”

There was silence on the other end of the
line.

“Pittman? You there?”

“I’m here.”

“Just making sure,” I said. “So what do you
say? Do you think you want to take the chance that whomever you’re
working for will start to see that you’re just as much of a
liability as I am? You being the only one I can actually identify
and all.”

More silence.

“I didn’t think so,” I said. “So here’s what
going to happen. I’m going to be at the statue plaza at Cabrillo
National Monument. At sundown, you’re going to drive up and park
and get out and meet with me face-to-face and we’re going to have
ourselves a little meeting.”

“Why wait so long?” Pittman said. “Don’t you
want to get this over with?”

“Sunset is peak time at Cabrillo,” I said.
“It’ll be full of couples watching the sunset. And I want as many
spectators as possible. Although you’ve already proven that big
crowds won’t stop you from doing what needs to be done.”

“Nor will they stop you,” Pittman said. “But
are you sure you don’t just need time to set up? To have your
friend in a good spot to shoot from?”

“That’s part of the reason too,” I said. “I
know you’ll have some people there, so I need a little protection.
But hopefully he won’t have to take a shot. Because if he does,
then that means we’re both dead men. And there’s no angle in that.
So what do you say, Pittman? Shall we finish this thing?”

“Sure,” he said. “Why the hell not.”

“That’s the spirit. I’ll see you at
sundown.”

I walked out of the cabin, flipped the phone
shut, and flung it into the ocean. Willis was shaking his head when
I walked back in.

“Not your brightest idea ever,” he said.

“What?” I said. “Tossing the phone?”

“No, dumbass, setting up the meeting at
Cabrillo. It’s a dead end. One way in and one way out. Not to
mention a heavy military presence all throughout the area.”

I smiled, chuckled under my breath. “I know
what you meant. And you’re right, Cabrillo is a dead end. Everyone
knows that. Including Pittman. Which should keep him from doing
something stupid.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then at least I’ll go out looking at one
hell of a view.”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO

I stood at the edge of the Cabrillo statue
plaza in the orange light of the fading sun, taking in the
incredible panoramic view of San Diego laid out before me, my eyes
tracking from the skyscrapers to thousands of boats in the harbor
to the Coronado bridge , the beach of Silver Strand, and finally to
the vast Pacific Ocean stretching eternally, wondering if this was
to be my last day on earth.

If so, I was fine with it. With Josie gone,
there wasn’t much to live for anyway, especially once I took care
of this final piece of business with Pittman.

Not like I was itching to die, but some
things simply couldn’t be avoided. If it was my time, it was my
time. Or, as some of my fellow SEALS were fond of saying: Let the
cosmos decide.

I heard a car pull into the gravel lot
behind me. I turned and saw Pittman climb out of the back seat of a
large SUV. He saw me and nodded, but waited by the car as it
emptied. Three of his goons joined him and together they walked out
towards me. I had no doubt there were more in the area. Which was
fine by me. The safer Pittman felt, the better.

I met him at the statue. His goons had
spread about the area. All were watching us intently, not even
pretending to mix in with the fifteen or so locals who had chosen
this evening to visit the Memorial.

“Only three men?” I said. “I have to admit,
I’m a little disappointed.”

Pittman gave me a look that said he knew
exactly what I was trying to do. “You know I’ve got more around, so
why pretend?”

I laughed softly, trying to look relaxed. It
wasn’t easy, considering I didn’t trust Pittman in the least. This
could go any number of ways, and only a couple of them were good.
But the fact that Pittman had actually showed up was a good first
step.

“You do understand our situation, right? Any
move made towards me, and my friend blows out your spine, just like
he did to your man back at the mall.”

“Mutually assured destruction,” Pittman
said. “Yeah, I’m familiar with it.”

“I’m sure you are,” I said. “And you also
should know that it won’t do you any good to kill me. I’ve already
made plans to get my information out if I don’t make contact with a
specific person in two hours.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you’ve made
arrangements,” Pittman said. “Just as you know we have our own. But
I assure you that no harm will come to you, unless, of course, you
bring it on yourself.”

“Well, considering the assurances you’ve
given me up to this point, don’t expect me to buy anything that
you’re selling me. You’ve been spouting lies like you were a
politician.”

I was just trying to get a reaction out of
Pittman, but he didn’t take the bait. He seemed completely relaxed.
Which was good. Or so I hoped.