Killerwatt (25 page)

Rhetta burst from sleep into an adrenalin-induced
fear.

After Ricky left, she laid across the bed to rest
her eyes. A scuffling noise from the back deck startled her to her feet.

Heart pounding, she tried to think about what she
had nearby for a weapon. She padded soundlessly along the carpeted bedroom
floor to her closet and slowly opened the door. Thankfully, the hinges didn’t
creak as loudly as they usually did. She promised herself to spray them with WD-40
later. Nothing much in the way of weaponry in the closet. Only clothes,
shoes—the usual stuff. A glance behind the door revealed her ironing board
suspended on a bracket, and next to it, the iron. Wrapping her good hand
tightly around the iron’s handle, she tiptoed to the back wall of the kitchen
where the sliding door opened to the deck. She flattened herself along the wall
and inched to the door, her arm raised above her head, ready to strike with her
iron.

A shadow moved across the door. She held her breath.
A short figure appeared.

Clutching a cat food bag tightly to her chest, Mrs.
Koblyk jumped sideways at the sight of Rhetta poised with the iron.

“Mrs. Koblyk, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare
you,” Rhetta said, sliding the door open and stepping outside. “I thought you
were an intruder.”

“I see the black car leave and I think you must be
again away. I come to take care of the little darlings,” she said, pointing to
the cats who’d begun meowing and entwining themselves around their legs. Mrs.
Koblyk looked like someone who’d just seen a ghost. Two bright red circles
dotted her cheeks, and she mopped her forehead with her sleeve.

“You’re very kind,” Rhetta said, setting her weapon
down on the deck table.

“Oh, missus, what has happened to your arm?” She
pointed to Rhetta’s sling.

“Nothing really, just a little sprain. I’ll be
fine.”

“You go on in and let me feed these babies,” Mrs.
Koblyk said, taking charge and ushering Rhetta to the door. “You must rest.”
Turning to the cats who were yowling plaintively, Mrs. Koblyk crooned to them
in Hungarian.

“Thanks,” Rhetta said. She hurried back inside, not
wanting to take time out to think of a story to tell Mrs. Koblyk about her arm.

Her ankle pain had eased and after she’d removed the
piece of festering splinter that had remained embedded in her other foot,
Rhetta was able to walk much easier. It helped that she now had on her own
footwear, a pair of leather walking sandals, instead of Billy Dan’s oversized
tennis shoes.

After five minutes of rustling around the closet,
Rhetta found a straw purse trimmed in yellow that matched her Capris. Because
she had nothing to put in it besides car keys, she tossed the purse back on the
closet shelf. She was sure she’d be able to keep up with a single set of keys.
That’s what pockets were for.

She wandered around the living room, the bedroom,
and finally the kitchen before locating the keys to the Trailblazer. They were
hanging on the hook by the back door, where they were supposed to be. She
yawned. She was still in fatigue overload.

Once inside the Trailblazer, and after adjusting the
mirrors and inserting the key into the ignition, she glanced around, again
mourning Cami’s empty space. Today, she was grateful for driving an automatic.
This, she could manage with her good arm.

It took a few minutes to maneuver past Mrs. Koblyk’s
car that the neighbor woman had parked diagonally behind both of the garage
doors, Rhetta was about to continue backing down the drive when Mrs. Koblyk ran
toward her, waving both arms. Rhetta stopped.

“I’m sorry I block the driveway. I can move.” The
old woman panted.

“No, no, I’m fine, no problem.”

God love her.

Rhetta arrowed down the county road, but eased up on
the accelerator, not wanting to get stopped yet again. Especially with no
driver’s license.

She’d have to ask Sergeant Meade exactly how she
should go about getting it back. She’d probably get it returned with an
invitation to court stapled to it.

Out of habit, she reached for her phone, then
remembered where it was. Then her heart cracked like an icicle in the sun as
she remembered the lost locket.

*
* *

The
entire city of Cape Girardeau was up and running like nothing had happened. All
of the signal lights worked on her way into Cape. She’d chosen Kingshighway
instead of using I-55. She knew all the signals worked because she caught every
one that turned red. Fast-food signs blazed, reminding her that it had been
years since she’d eaten. Her stomach rumbled.

Regretting now that she hadn’t fixed herself a PBJ
at home before taking off for the hospital, she groaned. She had no money. She
also had no keys, so she couldn’t get into the office to raid the petty cash
drawer. Oh, well, maybe starving was good for her diet. Maybe she could snatch
something off Randolph’s tray at the hospital.

Singing along with the Beach Boys, she pulled into
the hospital parking lot. Rhetta continued singing about driving like an ace as
she locked the car. She imagined the young Beach Boys zipping to the California
beaches in first generation Camaros and Firebirds while belting out their
songs.

As she got out of her car, a malevolent whisper
scorched her neck. “Your friend, she drives like an ace, like you say. This
time, you don’t get away.”

The heavily accented voice launched a cascade of ice
in her blood.

CHAPTER
57

That’s when everything erupted.

Although her blood had just run cold, now Rhetta
boiled over in rage. She whipped around with the ignition key in her hand and
lashed it across the swarthy face standing inches behind her. The man’s cheek
spurted blood. He cursed loudly and grabbed Rhetta’s hand, spinning her around
hard, slamming her against the front fender of her car.

With a vivid memory of the deadly blade this maniac
had wielded the last time they met, Rhetta twisted around hoping to bring her
knees up to his groin.

Anticipating her move, the man shoved her hard,
sending her to her knees. He held the knife in front of her, inches from her
throat. He took a step toward her.

“Who are you?” Rhetta asked, her voice cracking in
fear. She wanted to get him talking. Maybe she could figure a way out of this.

“It’s nothing to you, so do not ask,” he answered.
He snatched the front of her shirt and began to drag her to her feet.

“You will walk ahead of me, toward that green SUV,”
he ordered.

She thought of Randolph lying in a hospital bed,
undoubtedly put there by this creep and his thug friends, and her anger surged.

Before she could formulate an escape plan, a
different man’s voice shouted, “That’s all Razeen, drop the knife.” Her
assailant shoved her aside and began running. She fell to one knee, but gazed
up in amazement as two men tackled the would-be assassin, shoving him to the
ground. Without further pause, one man jerked Razeen’s arms behind him, clamped
handcuffs around his wrists, and began reciting his rights.

Do terrorists have rights?
The crazy thought bounced around
Rhetta’s head as she stared at the yellow block letters that spelled
FBI
across
the backs of the navy shirts of her rescuers.

*
* *

A
dozen more agents materialized from behind cars, pillars, doors, and everywhere
else. Police radios crackled. Where did they come from? How did they know that
this Razeen was going to be waiting for her when she pulled into the parking
space?

“Mrs. McCarter, my name is Harold Wexler, Agent in
Charge,” said a tall, blue-shirted officer wearing a bulletproof vest, and a
black ball cap emblazoned with the letters that matched his shirt. The freakin’
G-men!

Rhetta’s hand trembled as she extended it to Wexler.
He grasped hers firmly. Then the agent pulled off his cap and ran a hand
through his curly brown hair. She was too astonished to speak. She was lucky
she remembered her manners enough to accept his handshake.

“How did you know he was here?” she finally managed.

“When you called Sergeant Meade, he notified us.
We’ve been searching for Razeen ever since he escaped from the shootout at the
Scott County substation. We located him on the interstate and followed him. We
knew he had more up his sleeve.” Wexler tilted his head. “By the way, Mrs.
McCarter, that incident in Scott County? That was the bravest and dumbest thing
I’ve ever known a civilian to do.”

Dumbest? Crap.

Before she could launch into a defense, Wexler took
her good arm and began guiding her to the door. “Let’s go tell your husband
you’re all right.”

She acquiesced. Who was she to argue with her knight
in blue-shirted armor?
But still, dumbest?

*
* *

Wexler
accompanied Rhetta into the hospital. “Can we stop and see Woody? I’m worried
about him.”

Wexler agreed. They stopped at the orthopedic wing.
After getting directions to Woody’s room from the station nurse and walking the
length of the hallway to his room, Woody was gone. His bed was made. A nurse’s
aide followed them into the room.

“Can I help you?”

“Where’s Mr. Zelinski?” Rhetta said, searching the
room for Woody.

Wearing a hospital bathrobe and hopping on his good
leg, Woody pushed open the patient’s bathroom door and lumbered back into the
room.

“I thought you were gone,” Rhetta said, stepping
sideways so Woody could pass.

“Yeah? Well, I wish I was gone, but the doc says he
won’t release me for awhile.” He pointed to the temporary cast on his leg. “My
ankle’s broken. Doc says they’re going to operate on it tomorrow. Put some pins
in it, I guess.”

“Mr. Zelinski, you aren’t supposed to be walking
without help,” scolded the perky blonde aide.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” Woody answered, as
though that was explanation enough. The aide made clucking sounds as she pulled
back the sheets on the freshly made bed and helped Woody climb in.

“Agent Wexler,” Woody said and nodded to the agent.
“I see you found her.”

“What?” Rhetta swiveled from Woody to Agent Wexler.
“How do you two know each other?”

“I came by here earlier and got Mr. Zelinski’s
statement concerning the shootout, Mrs. McCarter. We were looking for you, too.
We’ll also need a statement from you.”

“I see.”
More statements. Crap.

Woody lay back and closed his eyes. The aide rolled
hers. “He’s not a very obedient patient. He shouldn’t be walking without help.”

With his eyes shut, Woody said, “Don’t scold me. My
wife is the only one allowed to do that. She’s on her way here now, probably to
give me a blistering lecture.”

“I can scold you, too,” Rhetta piped in. “You better
behave yourself and follow instructions.”

His eyes popped open. “Right. I always follow
orders. And look where it got me.” Woody waved around the room, then closed his
eyes. “I need to rest up for the Jenn barrage.”

“I think we need to go now, and let Mr. Zelinski
wallow in peace,” Rhetta said, marching out of the room. He lay back against
the pillows. She stopped at the doorway, then went over to Woody’s bed. She
leaned forward and kissed his cheek. His eyes flew open.

“Thanks, Woody.”

“That’s sexual harassment,” Woody said, rubbing his
face. A slow grin split his grey beard.

*
* *

When
they reached Randolph’s floor, sounds of laughter and loud conversation floated
down the hallway. Rhetta discovered the reason inside Randolph’s room.

Billy Dan sat on the side of Randolph’s bed, and the
two men seemed to be sharing something humorous, if their laughter was any
indication.

As Rhetta came in followed by Wexler, Billy Dan
stood. Agent Wexler introduced himself and shook hands all around. “We’ll need
a statement from all of you.” Everyone groaned in chorus. Wexler raised both
his hands, palms up. “I know, I know, it sucks. But we gotta have ’em.” Billy
Dan returned to his spot on the side of Randolph’s bed. Remnants of a recent
meal lay on the nearby tray table, and Rhetta eyed it hungrily. Rhetta kissed
her husband and then glanced around. The machines were gone. Grinning, she
snatched a small Styrofoam bowl of fruit and a spoon.

Wexler pulled out a chair for Rhetta. She sat
alongside the bed and dug in. Answering her husband’s raised eyebrows, she
mumbled around a mouthful of fruit, “I’m hungry.”

“I can tell,” Randolph said.

“Mrs. McCarter, Judge,” Wexler said, “I’d like to
let you know some of what happened. It’s classified, but you should know some
of this.” Wexler removed a folded sheet from his back pocket and unfurled it.
He handed it to Rhetta. She stared at the picture of the man who’d tried to
kill her.

Wexler tapped the picture. “This is Razeen Bin-Hajji,
the leader of the terrorist cell that was operating here.”

Rhetta sucked in a breath. She’d been right, but
hearing it from the FBI made it real enough for her stomach to flip over. The
flipping, however, didn’t deter her munching the fruit.

“The cell consisted of a radical Muslim group that
planned on taking down the electrical grid. This was a trial run, to see how it
would go.” Billy Dan, Randolph, and Rhetta all nodded. “The cell came close to
succeeding. Dr. Kenneth Reed was a key man in the operation.”

Rhetta gasped. Randolph said nothing. His expression
was sober.

“We questioned Dr. Reed extensively today, before he
lawyered up. He insists he didn’t commit treason and that he didn’t know about
the plan to shut down the grid.” Wexler removed his cap and again ran his
fingers through his hair. He replaced the cap and smoothed the brim. “Reed
claims he was paid handsomely to bring in certain Muslim doctors to work in the
hospital, and in the affiliated practices in the area. In his position as
Medical Outreach Coordinator for the hospital, it was Reed’s job to find good
foreign doctors to come to Cape Girardeau. It was easy for him to place Muslim
doctors who were part of the cell, along with the valid placements. Not all the
foreign doctors are terrorists.” Rhetta was thankful. Several of those doctors,
like Marinthe, had been invaluable to Randolph’s recovery.

Wexler continued, “Reed received huge sums of money
for placing the terrorist operatives.”

“Why would Kenneth ever agree to do that in the
first place, even if he didn’t realize they were terrorists? Didn’t he find
that request suspicious?” asked Rhetta.

“He owes hundreds of thousands of dollars in
gambling debts. Apparently, he sure loves that new casino here in Cape.”

Sergeant Meade appeared at the doorway just as
Wexler finished. Rhetta leapt to her feet, set aside the fruit cup, and hugged
him. He looked abashed at her enthusiasm. He stopped at the bed and shook hands
with Randolph.

“Judge McCarter, good to see you, sir. Hope you’re
doing well.”

“Doing great, now, thanks, Sergeant,” Randolph said
reaching for his wife’s hand.

Rhetta introduced Meade to Billy Dan. After shaking
hands, Meade found a chair out in the hallway and dragged it in to the room.
Once settled he said, “We’ve arrested Doctor Reed on state charges.” He nodded
to the FBI agent. “For the attempted murder of Judge McCarter. Looks like Dr.
Reed is the one now in a crap load of trouble.”

“Why did Kenneth try to kill Randolph?” Rhetta
asked, gazing at everyone in the room.

Wexler answered. “When Razeen found out Judge
McCarter survived the car accident, he gave Doctor Reed orders to finish the
job. Reed broke down when he told us that, and that’s when his lawyer showed
up. He didn’t get to tell us more. We’ll eventually get the whole story. By the
way, Agent Cooper in St. Louis was one of Razeen’s first victims, since Cooper
was the one to initiate an investigation into Al-Serafi.” Wexler had everyone’s
attention. The nightmare of events raced through Rhetta’s head.

“Razeen ordered everyone who’d seen the schematic
killed,” Wexler continued. “Hakim Al-Serafi was a victim of his own stupidity,
for leaving that message on Mr. Zelinski’s phone. Razeen believed that
particular blunder would raise suspicion.” Turning to Rhetta, he added, “As it
did with you and Mr. Zelinski, when you reported it to the FBI.”

Rhetta turned to her husband. “That was Razeen,
then, at the impound lot when Woody and I went to look at Al-Serafi’s car. And
I bet that’s who tried to run us off the bridge when we left the lot.”

Wexler nodded and answered, “You had the misfortune
of being spotted by Razeen when you went to the lot to examine Al-Serafi’s car.
It was easy enough to find you after that, especially with that car you drive.”

“Used to drive,” Rhetta said. “What about Billy
Dan?”

“He was a threat because he knew exactly what
generators would and could be affected.”

Billy Dan joined the conversation. He angled his
head toward Rhetta. “Judge, your wife here saved my life.” He held up his
bandaged arm. “For a minute there, I thought she was going to kill me first.”

Everyone laughed. Then Rhetta sobered quickly,
remembering Peter LaRose. “And Doctor LaRose? Is that why they killed him too,
because he’d seen the schematic?”

Sergeant Meade shook his head. “We received the
preliminary report from the Cape Girardeau police on Doctor LaRose. It seems he
was suffering from leukemia. That’s what killed him.”

A tear trickled down Rhetta’s cheek.

The room was still somber when Ricky Lane burst
through the doorway, waving a slip of paper.

“Hey, everybody, I just bought that ’81 Z28 for
Rhetta. We need to go load her up. Let the fun begin!” Whooping in glee, she danced
around the room.

Rhetta introduced her ebullient friend to everyone
present. Billy Dan scooted over and made a place for her beside him on
Randolph’s bed. Her red hair swung loose and for once Ricky wore a skirt, a
short purple one that showed off tanned legs. Rhetta watched as Billy Dan eyed
her. Ricky eyed back.

Doctor Marinthe arrived to check Randolph. Everyone
took that as a cue to leave and hugs were passed freely. Rhetta even hugged
Agent Wexler.

As everyone trooped out, Rhetta noticed Ricky helping
Billy Dan as he walked down the hall, an arm around his waist to support him.
They were talking animatedly.