The Gray Ghost by Clive Cussler
Sam drew him to one side. “He may have misled you in the beginning, but it’s clear he knows his stuff.”
“Except that he lied.”
“Water under the bridge.”
Remi, overhearing them, realized that Sam’s practical approach might not be the best way to convince Oliver of anything right now. The poor man looked as though he’d aged ten years in the last few days, stress etched in every line on his face. After his uncle’s arrest and his near escape from the warehouse, he needed a softer touch. At the very least some assurance that he wasn’t going to be in the line of fire. She reached over, put her hand on his arm, smiling softly. “And he is sorry. But when it comes right down to it, he was able to get the Gray Ghost up and running to your expectations. No one complained when he helped turn it into the showpiece it is, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that what counts in the end?”
“If he lied about that, how do I know he’s not involved in its theft?”
Sam, taking Remi’s cue, said, “You really think he’d risk his mother’s life?” He glanced toward Chad, who was pulling the fenders from the wall in order to disguise the Franken-Rolls. “I don’t know him personally, but my gut instinct is that he’s the kind of person who takes pride in his work and wants to do the right thing. Getting over this latest hurdle will bring us that much closer to whoever’s really behind the theft of the Ghost.”
“Exactly,” Remi said. “When we figure that out, we’re that much closer to clearing your uncle.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.”
“Not to mention,” Sam added, “Chad will be an asset. Regardless of his fake pedigree, he knows what he’s talking about. Still, if you want to back out, we won’t stand in your way . . .”
Remi could see Oliver starting to waver. “The choice is yours, but we need him in our court.”
“Your uncle needs him in our court,” Sam said.
Oliver took a deep breath, then nodded, his gaze fixed on Chad and the car. “I trust your judgment. Let’s do this.”
32
The shop smelled of spray paint. Remi was putting the finishing touches on one of the fenders, which made Sam glad they were handling the drop-off out in the open where the smell wouldn’t be an issue. Still, the most important aspect was the silhouette, and, two hours later, he squinted his eyes, trying to imagine what it might be like if the sun was shining on them, pleased to see that the car’s silhouette somewhat resembled the Gray Ghost.
Close up was a completely different story. The spot welds on the new fenders were obvious, even with the gray spray paint covering them. The chrome work had been buffed to a shine, the rust dabbed with paint. And the seat backs, both front and rear, now formed an arch similar to the Gray Ghost. Surprisingly, the leather and stuffing attached to the support with duct tape blended perfectly with the old upholstery.
Unable to find a perfect color match, Remi had spray-painted the cracked leather, and the duct tape holding it together, a slightly darker blue. “One good thing,” she said, tossing the empty spray can into the trash, “it doesn’t look quite so worn now.”
Oliver looked up from the headlamp he’d been buffing. “Let’s hope they don’t notice the color difference.”
“If Remi’s plan works,” Sam told them, “it won’t matter. They won’t get that close . . . How much longer?”
Chad held up the blowtorch. “One last weld on the left front fender. But we need time to let the paint dry. If they touch the seats, we’re done for.”
“Like I said, we don’t plan on letting them get that close.”
“How’re you going to keep them from seeing the car?”
“We time it right,” Remi said, “the sun will be angled directly behind it, blinding them.”
While Chad finished the welding, Remi went over what he needed each of them to do. Afterward, he looked at his watch. “Wrap it up. We need to get it loaded on the flatbed and put a tarp over it.”
Since their plan had changed, eliminating the need for a sharpshooter at the top of the hill, Sam and Remi flipped a coin to see who was going in the back way to get Chad’s mom out. Remi lost the toss. “Is it wrong that I want to see their faces when they realize the car isn’t the Ghost?”
“Hate to spoil your fun,” Sam said, “but I’m hoping we’re long gone before that happens.”
He rode with Chad, who drove the flatbed trailer, while Remi drove Oliver in their rental car, the four meeting up on the street near the park, where a few teenage boys were kicking a rugby ball around on the grass. Sam and Remi put in their Bluetooth earpieces, and he called her phone. “Ready?”
She patted the gun holstered beneath her shirt, then eyed the ivy-covered wall. “Where exactly is this gate?” she asked Chad.
“See where the boy in the yellow shirt’s standing? Right behind him.”
“Got it. Can they see it from the inside?”
“Only if they go digging through the ivy.”
“Oliver,” Sam said. “You stay with the car. As soon as Remi comes out with Chad’s mother, be ready.”
“I will be.”
Sam and Chad walked back to the truck, Sam going over what he wanted Chad to say when he called the house. “Remi and I will be in touch by phone the entire time. We need to get those two men out of that house and up the hill before that sun goes down.”
“You think it’ll work?”
There were so many variables why it wouldn’t, but Sam wasn’t about to mention any of them. The last thing he needed was to have Chad thinking about the possibility of failure. “No doubt.”
They drove around the corner, Sam directing him to park, just out of sight. They waited a few minutes until the sun was slightly above and behind the truck before driving past the corner house, stopping so that the flatbed and covered Faux Ghost cast a long shadow onto the paved street. If everything worked as planned, anyone looking at them from the front of Chad’s house would have a hard time seeing much else but the silhouette. “Loosen up the tarp on your side and make the call. Whatever you do, we need to get both men out of the house so Remi can get to your mother.”
“What do I do if they see you?”
“Their attention’s going to be on the car. I’ll be inside the cab with the window open, watching over your shoulder. Don’t forget, the sun’ll be in their eyes.”
Chad got out, unclipped the tarp, pulled it off, stood in front of the driver’s door, turned the speaker on his phone to low so that Sam could hear the call. “The Gray Ghost is here,” he said when they answered.
“Where? The only cars I see in front of your mother’s house are ours.”
“Look up the hill.”
33
A moment later, a man walked out to the street, holding a cell phone to his ear with one hand, the other hand in his right jacket pocket, probably gripping a gun. He looked up the hill, squinting in the sunlight, then turned back toward the house. “Frank! Get out here!” A second man walked out, Chad’s mother at his side. He looked their direction, shielding his eyes with his left hand, saying something to the man on the phone, who said, “Bring the lorry closer.”
Sam tapped Chad on the shoulder as a reminder. “No,” Chad ordered. “Not until you send my mother into the house. After that, walk up the hill. The car’s yours.”
The man hesitated, before saying, “You better not be trying something funny.”
“I just want my mum safe.”
The man said something to his partner, who, in turn, said something to Chad’s mother. At first, she seemed reluctant to leave, but eventually she returned inside the house.
“Remi,” Sam said softly. “She’s on her way.”
“I’m waiting for her.”
When the woman closed the front door, the second man dropped his phon
Great. Sam eyed the two men. In less than a minute they’d be close enough to see they’d been duped. Worse yet, there were several children walking on the street. “We don’t have a Plan C,” he told her. “Get her out of there before they’re close enough to see the car.”
“I’ll try.”
“What do I do?” Chad asked Sam under his breath.
“Hand them the keys to the truck, if you have to. We just need to buy Remi some time.”
Sam watched as Chad, both hands held out, dangled the keys to the truck so they were visible. The two men stopped, one of them reaching for his gun. “Who are you talking to?”
“I just want to get my mum,” he called out. “The car’s yours.” He tossed the keys at them.
“Get the keys, Bruno,” the other said. “I’ll call Colton and tell him we have the Ghost.”
Sam slipped out the door on the other side, working his way to the back of the truck.
“Sam?” Remi’s quiet voice sounded in his earpiece.
“So far, so good. Do whatever it takes to get his mother out of there.”
“We’ve got her. We’re on our way.”
He peered beneath the Faux Ghost, watching as the two men strode up the hill. The man on the left, Bruno, stopped, his eyes fixed on the car. “What the . . .”
“What’s wrong?” Frank said.
“That’s not the Gray Ghost.” Bruno drew his gun, about to turn back toward the house.
Sam gripped his Smith & Wesson, running around the truck to Chad’s side, aiming at the two men. No way was he going to let them anywhere near his wife. Finger on the trigger, he was starting to squeeze when he saw two girls at the bottom of the hill, playing hopscotch on the sidewalk.
Directly in the line of fire.
“You ever play rugby, Chad?” Sam asked, holstering his gun.
“Yeah.”
“Get ready . . .” He hopped up onto the flatbed trailer, picking up the tarp. “Hey, Bruno!” he shouted. “You forgot something.”
The two gunmen turned and looked up at him. Sam heaved the tarp at Bruno, jumped, using the larger man’s body to break his own fall.
At the same time, Chad charged at the second man, lowering his shoulder, ramming him in the chest.
They all hit the ground. The fall stunned Bruno. Sam grabbed him by his shoulders, pulled him up, slammed him back into the pavement, knocking the gun from his grasp. It fell to the blacktop a few inches away. Beside him, he saw Chad and the second man struggling, only then realizing they were fighting for control of the other gun. Chad had the weapon by the barrel, trying to push it away. He was losing.
Bruno glanced over, saw what was happening, his eyes finding the fallen gun a mere foot away. No way could Sam get to it or his own holstered gun without letting him go. Bruno gave him a sneering smile. “Say good-bye to your friend.”
“Not likely,” Sam said, driving his elbow into Bruno’s face. He dove for the gun, fired at Chad’s attacker, the ringing in his ears almost drowning out the other man’s scream and the screech of tires of the flatbed truck that followed. Sam saw the flash of a knife blade from the corner of his eye.
As Bruno rolled to his knees, lunging at him with the dagger, Remi jumped out of the car, gripping her Sig with both hands. “Drop it,” she ordered.
Bruno, his knife only six inches from Sam’s throat, eyed the almost thirty-foot distance between them. “I’ve seen you shoot. You really think you can hit me from that far?”
She fired. The knife flew from his hand, clattering down the street. “Guess not,” she said, moving closer.
Bruno raised both hands, a look of respect and fear on his face. A few feet away, his partner writhed on the ground, gripping his arm, moaning. Chad had wrested the gun from him, his hand shaking as he backed away.
“Are the police on their way?” Sam asked Remi.
“Any second now.” She kept her focus on Bruno and his partner. “Imagine running into our friends from Pebble Beach all the way out here.”
“Apparently, they didn’t get the word,” Sam said, taking the other gun from Chad. “We don’t have the Gray Ghost.”
He aimed the weapon at Bruno, about to ask who they were working for, when Chad’s mother rushed out of the car, slapping at her son’s hands as he tried to stop her. “Let go of me, Chad. What on earth has gotten into you?”
“Mum—”
She stopped short at the sight of Sam and Remi standing over the two men. “Why are these two pointing guns at your mates?”
“They’re not my mates, Mum. They’re criminals.”
“Rubbish!” She stepped between Remi and the two thugs. “We had tea together. Put that thing down, young lady.”
“Mum!” Chad rushed forward, pulling his mother back. The gunmen, seeing a break, scrambled to their feet, racing down the hill.
Remi aimed, following their path with her sight. “It’d be an easy hit.”
“Let them go,” Sam said, seeing the two little girls who had been playing hopscotch at the bottom of the street now standing there, staring at them, wondering what was going on. “I have a feeling we’ll get another chance.”
Remi lowered her gun but didn’t holster it until both men had jumped into their cars, tires screeching as they drove off in the opposite direction. Once they were gone, she walked over, picked up the knife, turning it about in her hands.
“Do you have to tease the bad guys?” Sam asked, as she returned to the car. He had Oliver pop open the trunk so he could empty the recovered guns and store them.
“It’s fun.”
“For you, maybe. That knife was a lot closer to my head than yours.”
“Oh, buck up, Fargo,” she said, holstering her gun. “You’d have done the same. So why didn’t you?”
He nodded toward the end of the street where the two little girls had come out of their state of shock, apparently, and were now racing back to their house.
Even Remi, an expert marksman, wouldn’t have taken that shot. The only thing behind her target was Chad’s empty house. She tossed the knife into the trunk, slammed the lid closed. “Now that the fun’s over, I suppose we should get out of here before someone really does call the police.”
“You call that fun?” Oliver asked.
Chad’s mother planted her hands on her hips. “Will someone please tell me what is going on?”
34
Mum. Are you and Dad trying to steal from Uncle Albert?”
Allegra’s heart clenched as she saw Trevor standing there, holding the journal. She’d always known he was bright. She’d just hoped that he wouldn’t figure out things so quickly. To make matters worse, Dex walked in, looking at the two of them, his gaze landing on what was in Trevor’s hands.
She tried to step between the two, but her ex snatched the journal and slammed it in the boy’s face. “You want to accuse me of something? Then come talk to me instead of sniveling to your mother.” Dex swung the book back as if to strike him again.
“Stop it!” Allegra said, grabbing the journal from Dex.
“I’m okay, Mum.” Trevor wouldn’t even look at her. He reached up, touched his red cheek. “It’s fine.”
“See,” Dex said, taking the book from her and tucking it beneath his arm. He pulled a bottle of ale from the refrigerator. “You coddle him too much.”
“You promised you wouldn’t hurt him,” she said.
Dex glared at her. “Yeah, and you promised you’d keep him out of my business. That didn’t happen, now did it?”
How had this all gone so wrong? Obviously, she should never have answered the door when Dex suddenly appeared on her porch a
When she’d tried to put a stop to everything, Dex pointed out how happy Trevor was with him there. Wasn’t she interested in securing the boy’s future? All she needed to do was make sure that her uncle placed the Gray Ghost in that car show, to help raise its value. Where was the harm in that? After all, her uncle needed to sell the car in order to save Payton Manor.
Foolishly, she’d believed him.
Even after the car was stolen, and her uncle arrested for murder, she hadn’t quite realized the depth of Dex’s involvement. After all, he was the one who brought her the papers to have Oliver sign over Payton Manor so that they could hire the best solicitor. He’d been so helpful, so caring. Had it not been for the Fargos’ timely arrival, Oliver would have gladly signed it.
It wasn’t until after the Fargos hired another solicitor that she took the time to actually read the document that Dex had given her. Her bruises were still healing from when she’d confronted him with her suspicions about who was behind the theft of the Ghost.
That she could handle.
It just never occurred to her that Dex would threaten to kill Trevor if she didn’t continue to cooperate.
That was all it took, and suddenly she was a blithering mess, getting in deeper and deeper, as Dex ran his scam. Naively, she’d thought that if her son never knew what was going on, Dex would get what he came after, then leave.
Just keep Trevor safe.