Page 153 of The Fourth Option
“They said he’s a former SEAL.”
“Like a Navy SEAL?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fucking terrific. Professional killers. I’ve seen the movies.”
“There’s more. He also worked for the CIA.”
“What?” Matheson exploded.
“I know, sir, but they assure me he will be taken care of.”
“They already assured us of that. Why don’t they just put out an APB on this Walker guy and have every cop in the state looking for him?”
“I try to protect you from most of this, sir. There are some things you don’t need to know.”
“You just told me that some SEAL assassin CIA psycho with an arsenal who’s killed three cops is coming after me. I need to know!”
“I didn’t say that, sir. He probably doesn’t know who you are.”
“Probably, Christ! Listen to yourself.”
“Let me put it this way: our contacts in NOPD don’t want this guy talking. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Time is running out, as is my patience, to say nothing of Vargas. Jesus, Walt, they don’t call him Cuchillo as a term of endearment.”
“Vargas needs us and he needs his network of bought-and-paid-for law enforcement.”
“Chris Walker. Jesus. I’m tempted to start drinking again.”
“They’ll find him, sir, either the cops or Vargas’s crew. Let me put it this way: I wouldn’t want to be Chris Walker right now.”
“For all our sakes, let’s pray they find him before he finds us.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
IT HAD TAKENthree days of reconnaissance and preparation. Walker was ready.
He clung to a stanchion on the dockside crane at Dorado Freight in the darkness, observing. The Nautica Navigator Seascooter he had picked up at Cabela’s had conserved his energy on his swim upriver. He was in a thin black wet suit with a nylon belt that held his fixed blade, pistol, and a short steel wrecking bar. Back camo paint was smeared on his face and in his hair, and Merrell Nova 3 boots were on his feet. A Sea to Summit Big River dry bag pack was stashed ashore. It was empty now, but just over an hour ago it had held his backup plan.
In his hide site at Chalmette, he had mixed the fertilizer and aluminum powder in jugs and built detonators from rifle cartridges, combining hydrogen peroxide, acid, and acetone into a white powder after being filtered and dried. He had learned how to build the devices from the EOD techs in his SEAL platoons and Development Group squadrons. He had also excelled at the HME—Homemade Explosives—course at Dugway Proving Ground in Utah and gone even deeper studying the IEDs of the enemy in both Iraq and Afghanistan. He built upon that foundation in the CIA through advanced courses at Harvey Point, North Carolina, where he had perfected the darkest of arts. Now he was going to use that expertise on U.S. soil.
He was ready. All that remained was to wait for Gormley.
On his first day of reconnaissance, he was surprised that the area where he dispatched Babineaux and the three henchmen was not a crime scene. Had they simply cleaned it up and continued with business as usual? Who can make four bodies disappear?
Belle’s video analysis indicated that Detective Howard Gormley met someone at Dorado Freight on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at midnight. Walker had confirmed it on Monday. He met with a man whoWalker guessed to be Babineaux’s replacement. If the pattern from the hard drive Walker had liberated from the office held true, the detective would be there in an hour. Walker would be ready.
The river lapped softly against the pilings. A barge sloshed in the distance.
Walker adjusted his position and scanned the road. Headlights. A Dodge Charger. Same make and model as in the video. Why was Gormley early? Why had he broken the pattern?
Should he wait until Friday to make his move?
That would give the authorities two more days to tighten the noose. Walker needed answers tonight. The longer this played out, the greater the odds that the violence that found Connor and Leigh Ann would also find Belle and Gloria.
Walker climbed down from his perch on the crane, rubber soles silent on steel rungs. He moved quickly to the back side of a dumpster.
