Uprising - The Suspense Thriller Part 33

"Three people dead is enough," said Raider.

"What do you mean, three?" asked Oth.e.l.lo. "You just said Gus is alive. That means just Freedom and the man he killeda"who else? Someone from the counter-bashings has died?"

"You don't know," Raider said flatly. "You really weren't a part of it?"

"Part of what? What are you talking about? Who else is dead besides Freedom and the Bible-thumper from the parade?"

Raider sighed. "Bruce Jones, Jasper's reporter slash lover. Had a fatal car accident in Long Island yesterday morning, about the time you were drugging me."

"No."

"Yes. Convenient, considering he was in the process of investigating the counter-bashings, at least that's what they said he was doing on one of Jasper's rival news networks."

"He was," Oth.e.l.lo said in a daze, "according to what Jasper said at Summerhill. Bruce didn't agree with our tactics, but Jasper said not to worry, he'd take care of him."

Raider blew a sarcastic breath. "He did a thorough job. My guess is Hollinquest was also trying to send a message to you and Deon."

"Don't f.u.c.k with him."

"You learn quick."

"Can you stop him?" Oth.e.l.lo asked. "Get him for murder?"

"Realistically? No. But can't you see, O, this has all gotten way out of hand. What's next? Who's next? It's like a snake feeding on itself."

Oth.e.l.lo circled the clearing, digesting this latest news and trying to sort out the chaos in his head. "I had nothing to do with Bruce Jones's death."

"I believe you."

"And you give me your worda"whatever that's wortha"that you're on the up and up with this deal thing?"

"You say you know me; you figure it out."

Oth.e.l.lo stopped pacing and stared at the stage.

"When I came face to face with Herman this morning, all I could think about was how pathetic and ugly he looked, not just aesthetically ugly but hideous in the soul. His fat bulges were just physical manifestations of his inner evil. And for a second, I thought to myself: this man is worthless to me and who I am. But I was too caught up to dwell on the thought. I've been too caught up since the night I got mya"I shot up his image on the television." He took a long, drawn-out breath and shook his head. "I can't go back to the life I've known, but I don't want this either. I don't want to waste my life putting a hole in his head." He turned to the FBI agent from Nantucket. "Or yours either, Raider Kincaide."

The relief in Raider's face was visible. "I always said to myself you had brains."

They both shared the slightest hint of a smile, then looked down to the ground out of shyness, as if they were in the early stages of dating all over again.

"Raider, do me a favor." Oth.e.l.lo's whole body began to tremblea"a delayed reaction to the day's build-up. "Let's get out of here. You said we're going to walk out of here together. Can we do it now?"

"You betcha. Only it may not be as easy as all that. We have to get to the parking lot by walking through that pedestrian gate."

"Oh, G.o.d, the metal detector."

"Exactly. You'll never get away with packing that piece in there."

"I'll dump it."

"Right. But we also can't just leave it here to be found. Tell you what: is it just out in the open? In your hand?"

"It's inside a brown bag. My lunch bag."

Raider nodded to the trash can at the far end of the stone bench. "Discreetly dump it in there. Then we walk away. Once we're at the gate, I'll say I forgot something and you go on out. I'll come back for it and use my federal agent ID to get it out, say it's mine."

"Perfect." Oth.e.l.lo took a few steps toward the trash can, then halted abruptly, three months of clever lies washing over him like an ominous shadow.

He turned back to Raider. You almost had me, Oth.e.l.lo's face read.

"What?" protested Raider. "This is legit."

"You just want the gun away from me, then pouncea"game, set, match, Kincaide."

"I thought you knew me better than that."

"All I know is the fantasy you trumped up for me." To distance himself and stall for time, he walked to the opposite end of the clearing.

"There are those who oppose decency," Herman was saying, "but they shall not have their day in the great state of South Carolina."

"Oth.e.l.lo, I'm being honest here."

For a long, still moment, Oth.e.l.lo regarded the man from Nantucketa"mind, body and soul.

"I'm not going to be arrested for pulling a gun on Senator Evil or you," he then said. "Uncle Sam can get me on the other charges, but not attempted murder." He removed the brown bag from his jacket and walked over to the trash barrel. Raider leaned forward, but he held his ground. Oth.e.l.lo took one good look at him, then bent over and carefully placed the bag at the bottom of the trash can. "Your move, 007," he then said, but before either of them could react, they caught sight of Winston Callahan, the six o'clock shadow, hurrying toward them.

"There you are, Mr. Kincaide."

Both Oth.e.l.lo and Raider started to reacta"Raider because he'd just heard his name and Oth.e.l.lo because he wasn't sure if Callahan meant Mr. Kincaide, the custodian, or Mr. Kincaide, the FBI agent who'd just gotten the suspect to relinquish the gun.

"We've been looking all over for you." Callahan made a beeline to Oth.e.l.lo and grabbed his hand for a good hearty handshake. "The senator has a great ideaa"oh, h.e.l.lo," he said when he saw the real Mr. Kincaide, who was standing there looking quite confused.

"This is Mr. Baumgartner," Oth.e.l.lo said, quickly indicating Raider. "One of our fellow upstanding citizens."

Callahan and Raider shook, then Callahan explained to Raider: "The senator was so touched by Mr. Kincaide's coming to work even though he just buried his wife, we would like him to speak up on the podium."

"Say what?" came from Oth.e.l.lo.

"That's right," said Callahan. "We don't have a single representative of the ethnic communities up there and the world would just love to hear your story."

"That's not possible," Oth.e.l.lo uttered hastily just as Raider said: "He can't do that."

"You see," Oth.e.l.lo continued, "I'm shy. I could never get up and perform in front of an audience. I'd probably have a heart attack and join my Elizaa"Isabella."

"Besides," Raider began, "Mr. Kincaide was just telling me how he was starting to feel ill in all this sun and I was about to offer him a ride home."

"And I was about to accept."

"So come on," Raider check himself for a split second to make sure he called the old black man by the right name, "sir, uh, Mr. Kincaide. I'll get you home." He grabbed Oth.e.l.lo by the elbow and began to escort him off the clearing.

"No," Callahan insisted and grabbed Raider's arm. "The senator needs Mr. Kincaide." He then smiled at Oth.e.l.lo "Won't you give us a few minutes? He'd be greatly appreciative."

"I can't," Oth.e.l.lo said, and he and Raider continued walking.

"I think you can if you try. Your supervisor, Mr. Jefferson, would be rightly impressed, I do know that."

"Mr. Kincaide said he's tired," Raider said forcefully.

"I think Mr. Kincaide ought to decide for himself," said Callahan.

Oth.e.l.lo turned to him. "Do you want a heat-exhausted, black heart attack victim on your hands today?"

Callahan fell silent. Not wasting any time, Raider began leading Oth.e.l.lo toward the front gate once again.

"Get me out of here, stat," Oth.e.l.lo pleaded under his breath.

"Take 'er slow, old man. Don't look back."

Frustrated, Callahan put his hands on his hips and stomped his foot to the ground. Then he decided to see what the old man had just put in the trash can moments earlier. The barrel was empty save a brown bag. He lifted it, surprised by its heaviness. He opened it, saw the shiny black firearm and gasped and dropped the bag. The gun clanked back into the barrel, causing a shot to be fired. It was a m.u.f.fled shot, contained inside the barrel, but loud enough to garner the attention of the entire grounds.

"A gun!" Callahan shouted. Half the crowd began screaming and running, the other half ducking for cover between the rows of folding chairs.

"Come on," Raider said and took off for the gate. The crowd's frenzy multiplied by the second. The other men on the stage dove on Herman. At least eight state policemen and red blazers ran toward Callahan, who began spinning around and grabbing at the sides of his head. The men reached him and tackled him to the ground. As he was going down, Callahan tried to point to the real culprits running toward the exit, but his words and motions were lost in the confusion and Raider and Oth.e.l.lo made it to the gate.

"n.o.body gets out of here!" the guard yelled to them. "This is a security alert!" It was the same young man who had let Oth.e.l.lo on the grounds without a pa.s.s.

"This man is ill," Raider said, holding Oth.e.l.lo by the waist. "It's his heart."

"Emergency teams are on their way. We have strict rules for security alerts."

"He's an old man, he needs help now!" Raider yelled.

"You trying to tell me about security?" the guard yelled back.

Raider let go of Oth.e.l.lo and stood toe-to-toe with the guard. "Do you want a heat-exhausted, black heart attack victim on your hands today?"

"The paramedics will be here faster than anything youa""

The guard's words were interrupted by a blow to the back of his head. He fell to the ground, revealing Oth.e.l.lo standing behind him, holding a large rock in his hand. As a way of explaining, he nodded behind Raider at the two state cops running toward them from the Callahan fracas. And they weren't the only ones after them. Two other red blazers to the left of the gate were forty yards away and gaining.

"This way," Raider said, and they took off to the right, toward the parking lot. "Run ahead of me."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it. Like I'm chasing you. Run. Fast. Faster. To h.e.l.l with Joea"run!"

Oth.e.l.lo did his best imitation of an Olympic sprinter, churning his legs until they were burning. When he glanced back, Raider was far behind. Even farther back were the two cops and two red blazers. All four of them were now running past the pedestrian gate, taking out their guns.

"Behind the vans!" Raider yelled to Oth.e.l.lo when they reached the parking lot. Up ahead were two long columns of media vehiclesa"television vans and 4x4s. Oth.e.l.lo ducked between them and kept running. Seconds later, Raider followed. The uniforms saw this and cut across the gardens, hurdling hedges and benches and making a beeline for the parking lot. Closer to the lot, they split upa"two breaking right to pursue from behind and two breaking left, hoping to head off the suspects at the end of the column of vehicles.

The two who broke left were fifteen yards away from the end of the column when Raider came running out from the vehicles without Oth.e.l.lo. When he saw his fellow officers of the law, he threw his hands helplessly in the air and shouted: "Where the h.e.l.l is he?"

The two cops, a mulatto man and white woman, rushed him, guns pointed. "Freeze right there!" ordered the woman.

"Did you see him?" Raider kept his hands in the air for two reasons: to drive home the helpless act and to keep these local yokels from getting trigger-happy.

"Hold it and keep those hands up!" yelled the mulatto cop.

"I'm FBI, you idiots." Having antic.i.p.ated this, Raider kept his hands up, but with his right one, carefully brandished his badge in the direction of both cops. When he felt the momentum begin to swing his way, he threw the badge to the lady cop.

The two red blazers who had pursued from behind caught up with them. "That's one of the two the suspect Callahan ID'd," said the shorter of the two.

"I'm here on a tip in a federal investigation," Raider said.

"Looks legit," said the lady cop, flashing the badge to the red blazers.

Raider s.n.a.t.c.hed it back and hurriedly retraced his steps until he was once again in the parking lot, searching the area he had just exited. "Where the h.e.l.l did he go? Anybody see him?"

The othersa"still somewhat suspiciousa"followed him, staying on his heels and also scouring the parking lot for the other suspect. As they did, the mulatto cop said, "Mr. Callahana"the man in custody, the head of the museuma"claims he saw a black man putting the gun in the trash can,"

"I saw you helping that black man club one of the members of our private security force," said the taller red blazer.

"I didn't know who it was." Raider moved up and down the row of vehicles, his mind more on the search than the information they were bombarding him with. "He said he was having a heart attack. I was helping him. Next thing I knew, he knocked your man out. I lost him between the trucks."

"Is this the guy you got the tip about?" asked the lady cop.

"The guy I'm after is white."

"What about the gun?"

"I don't know about that. We're wasting time. He's not here."

"We need to spread out," said the shorter red blazer, "call more officers to this area."

"Let's check under the vehicles," said the ever-efficient lady cop, standing next to a blue news van.

Raider shook his head, then pointed to a white semi at the far end of the lot. "I saw somebody dodge under there right before I saw you guys. He probably went out the other side and into the woods."

Underneath the blue news van, Oth.e.l.lo lay as still as humanly possible, his eyes locked on the pair of black women's boots less than a foot away. Another pair of men's dress shoes walked toward her.

"I'll radio for help," the man's voice said.

"The woods are our best bet." It was Raider's voice. His white, worn-out sneakers joined the duo a sneeze away from Oth.e.l.lo.

"He couldn't have gone far," the lady cop said. "I say we search under the vehicles."

"There he is!" Raider pointed to the forest on the other side of the parking lot. "Just came out from behind that tree."