Chapter 18

Lawn Mangers

 

This year, forgo the secular yard tableau of blow-up snowmen and plastic Santa-and-reindeer with blinking red noses. Instead, go with the rarely used lawn manger.

Why? Because this holiday isn’t about shopping, or overeating, or getting upset with your in-laws.

And it’s certainly not about snaring the teenagers who think it’s funny to steal the plastic baby in your manger.

Okay, maybe it is.

That said, three rotating stop-motion security lights, a trip wire tied to an alarm bell, and a Doberman will do the trick just fine.

Here’s hoping they’ll be released from Juvie by Christmas Eve!

 

“Well, this is quite a conundrum.” Ryan stares down at the Kate Spade bags. “Two identical cases, holding identical items: bricks wrapped in Saran Wrap, each with a note attached. The paper is from the same ream, and the notes were generated from the same printer. Unfortunately, neither have traceable prints.”

“The only thing different is the coded messages on the notes,” Arnie informs Ryan, Abu, and me. “One of them lists the landing coordinates, flight number and flight manifest of a Boeing 787, which is flying in tomorrow to Orange County’s John Wayne Airport. It’s a junket to thank Arabian Airlines’ CEO, Sheikh Abdul Saeed Bakar, for switching its purchases from Boeing’s competitor’s aircraft, the Airbus 330, to the new Dreamliner 787. Bakar also happens to be a vice president of the United Arab Emirates. Other prominent members of the UAE are also onboard. Many are shareholders in the company’s largest investor group, which is based in Qatar.”

“If they are murdered on US soil, diplomatic relations with the Arab world’s power elite will be at an all-time low,” I say. “And for it to happen on Christmas Eve day, too, would mean all hell breaks loose.”

“Which is why we have to stop it,” Ryan continues. “The message puts the shooter on the back patio of a sandwich shop adjacent to the runway. We’ll have eyes all over the shop’s customers and staff.”

I’m almost afraid to ask, but someone has to. “And the other note?”

Arnie pulls out his encryption. “It’s got the flight information for POTUS’s trip into LAX tomorrow: landing time, coordinates, everything. Before spending time with his wife’s family in Cheviot Hills, he’ll be glad-handing the UAE contingency.”

“Not if their brand new Dreamliner goes up in smoke,” I murmur.

“That’s just it.” Ryan glances at me. “Since we can’t tell the bags apart, we don’t know if the Quorum plans to shoot down the Dreamliner, or Air Force One. They’ve only got one launcher and one rocket, so it’s a fifty-fifty chance either way.”

“Can’t they divert Air Force One to another airport, to play it safe?” I ask.

“I’ll make that call, but only if we haven’t resolved this by the time POTUS is nearing LAX,” Ryan mutters.

I know what Ryan is thinking. When the president of the United States is on the move, the security manpower set in motion is monumental. One false alert and Ryan can kiss his career goodbye, not to mention Acme’s operation on behalf of its one and only client.

“I thought Valentina went dark,” I say. “What was she doing there, anyway?”

All eyes go to Ryan.

He shrugs. “I was contacted with the time and place to pick up the intel we needed on the Quorum’s target. She’s on the run from the Quorum.”

“She contacted you directly?” I can’t believe my ears. “Even if she did, why would you believe anything she says? I’m guessing the Quorum has sent her off on another mission. And let’s not forget she’s the reason Jack is dead! If she hadn’t told me about the storage unit, he’d be with us right now.”

Ryan starts to say something, but holds back.

Smart move, since I’m mad as hell. “Come on already, Ryan! Am I the only one here who isn’t convinced Valentina’s little last-minute switcheroo with the bags wasn’t already a set-up?”

“Donna, even if it was, we’ll never know which one of the bags was switched.”

I feel the tears welling up in my eyes. “I guess that’s my fault, for mixing them up.”

Emma sticks her head in the door. “I have bad news, boss. Turns out the Quorum was able to smuggle another MANPAD stateside.”

Ryan closes his eyes in disgust.

When he opens them again, he turns slowly, looking each of us in the eye. “That means there’s now a fifty-fifty chance that the dud we planted in the MANPAD at the storage unit will be the one used by the shooter. We’ll just have to double up on our resources. Abu, you and I will cover John Wayne with a tactical team. If there are no fireworks when the 787 lands or we stop them before they happen, we know Air Force One is in the clear. If not, Donna and Arnie will be monitoring Aviation Boulevard by LAX until Abu and I bring the tactical team your way. The airports are fifty minutes from each other, but we’ll have plenty of time to get there, since the flights are two hours apart.”

“That’s one long boulevard,” I point out. “Any more specifics you can give me?”

“All we know is that it will happen where Aviation Boulevard meets the highway,” Arnie explains. “Something called Shaka Pops is ground zero.”

Emma nods. “‘Shaka Pops?’ I’ll get right on it.”

“Good,” Ryan says. “One way or another, this isn’t going down. We owe Jack that much.”

 

I slip into Saint Dominic’s at midnight, because I don’t want anyone to see me light a candle in front of the statue of Jude, the patron saint of lost causes.

No, I don’t think the morning’s mission will fail. I look forward to seeing Carl cuffed and taken away for life in prison. It’s what he deserves.

Actually, he deserves a bullet between the eyes.

And I may have to be the one to take that shot.

This time I won’t hesitate.

I’ll do it for Jack.

Jack is surely my lost cause.

As I bend in front of the altar, I ask for forgiveness, for putting him in danger. Yes, I blame myself for his death. I told Jack I believed Valentina’s intel. Where she’s concerned, I should’ve never let my guard down. And if someone were to enter the storage locker, it should’ve been me, not Jack.

In the long run, my children will be my solace. I realize this.

But I also know that my life is nothing without Jack.

Because I’m alone, I can speak these things out loud. I can sob, because no one is around to hear me with the possible exception of St. Jude.

And I speak out loud, as if Jack is right here beside me.

I tell him, that I love him with all my heart, and I always will.

I tell him how badly I miss his smile, his smell, his touch, that I will always remember the arch of his nose, his laugh, and the adoration I see in his deep sad eyes whenever he looked at me.

I tell him I will miss him until my dying day.

I beg him to forgive me for my ambivalence toward Carl, and for my jealousy over his pain of losing Valentina.

And for the insecurities that kept me doubting his love.

Then I cry some more.

Just as I open my eyes, the candle I lit in Jack’s memory flares high and flickers brightly, as if caught in the undercurrent of my grief.

No, the breeze is real, and it’s coming from the swinging doors behind me.

I turn in time to see the shadow of a tall man slipping away.

I’ve been followed.

That’s never a good thing.

I run out after him, slamming through the double doors, down the broad stone steps and out onto the sidewalk. The car is pulling away, and yes, he’s driving it.

Santa.

Seriously, Carl needs a new cover.

While he’s at it, Carl needs a new life, too, because the one he thinks he has with me ain’t happening, no matter what baloney he fed Valentina.