Chapter 55
Dispatch had gotten through to the sheriff. He met us at the entrance to the locker room with a ladder. "Are you sure you know what you're doing, Wild?”
"You might want to get as far away from here as possible.”
"I'm already knee-deep in it now. If this thing’s going to go, I doubt I'll be able to get far enough away. Besides, I think this place might be considerably less interesting without you two around.”
I gave him a curious look.
“I'm going to deny I ever said that.”
I laughed as we hustled into the locker room. The sheriff set up the ladder underneath the smoke detector of doom. I put on a pair of sunglasses to protect my eyes from falling debris, climbed the ladder, then sprayed the device with several passes of liquid nitrogen until it was nice and frosty.
"30 seconds!" Jack called out.
I climbed down, took aim at the device with the sonic rifle, then squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
My eyes rounded like saucers. I shook the sonic gun. The lights had all gone out. “I thought you said this thing could go all day!”
Emily’s brow wrinkled. She took the weapon as I handed it to her.
“19 seconds,” Jack said.
Emily fiddled with it, flipping it on and off.
Still nothing.
“10 seconds,” Jack said.
Emily dropped the battery out, wiped the terminal, then jammed it back in like a magazine. She flicked it on and powered it up.
“5, 4…”
The lights flashed, and she handed the device to me.
“3, 2..”
I shouldered the weapon and fired the sonic pulse as Jack counted down to one.
My insides rumbled, and the pulse dusted the doomsday disk.
Adrenaline flooded my body. My heart punched my chest.
The lights of the disk went out.
Flakes drifted down from the ceiling.
We all shared an anxious look.
Jack looked at his watch again. “It’s after noon.”
Nothing happened.
I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the bomb didn't go off.
We all exhaled a relieved breath.
Emily climbed the ladder and scanned it with a thermal imager. There were no signs of activity inside the device. “No thermal fluctuations. “I think it’s safe.”
“I’ll get the bomb techs in here to remove the device,” the sheriff said.
I told him to put a BOLO out on Ashton and Newport. Ashton would be easy to pick up. Newport was probably long gone. “Send deputies over to DRI as well. I think you might find some security guards locked up in a storage closet, if they’re still alive.”
We left the locker room and stepped out of the stadium into a sea of chaos.
I found Thompson and caught him up on the situation.
The Coast Guard would be notified, and an international warrant issued.
Newport technically wasn't my problem anymore.
This was a federal investigation after all.
But Newport had made it personal. I was going to finish it. One way or the other.
I rounded up a small tactical team consisting of Erickson, Faulkner, Robinson, and Mendoza.
Emily told us where we could find Ashton.
She drove us to the station, and I filled out an application for a warrant.
Half an hour later, I had one in hand. The delay was infuriating, but it was part of the process.
Emily drove us to Ashton's Stingray Bay mansion. The guy had done well for himself, or was a trust fund baby. Emily certainly had an ax to grind with him, and I couldn't blame her.
The deputies followed.
We advanced to the front door, while Mendoza and Robinson covered the back door. I banged a heavy fist and shouted, "Coconut County. Open up!"
I nodded to Faulkner, and he heaved a battering ram against the door. The jam splintered, and the door flung wide. Glass shattered, raining diamonds.
We flooded into the vaulted foyer with shock and awe, weapons in the firing position. The team crunched across broken glass on the imported marble tile, cleared the parlor and the front office, then advanced into the living room.
"Coconut County! We have a warrant," I shouted again.
My barrel swept across the open concept space, clearing the corners.
Large window walls offered a view of the pool and canal beyond. A hallway led to a guest bathroom and bedroom. Erickson and Faulkner cleared it, then we took the stairs.
With eager barrels leading the way, we cleared a few more guest bedrooms and bathrooms, making our way to the master. We held up at the closed door, Jack taking one side and I on the other.
I shouted again, “Coconut County!”
There was no response.
Faulkner kicked open the bedroom door, and I swung my pistol inside, sweeping it across the room.
The place was empty.
French doors opened to a large terrace that overlooked the pool.
We flooded into the bedroom, cleared the closet, the bathroom, and checked under the bed.
There was no sign of Ashton. If he’d been here, he was gone now.
I wasn’t as concerned with him, but I figured he might know where Newport was headed.
My next call was to Isabella.