Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

planned. He carefully pulled into the light traffic and drove on until he was opposite the short side of the building, where there were several oversized garage-type doors. One was open. There was an exit that would take him to the parking lot on that side, and he gave in to the temptation to pull in and take a closer look.

Agent Azikiwe gave the order for three of his men to return to their vehicle then drive the perimeter road and parking lots to look for whom he referred to as ‘Brett.’ During the questioning he had also managed to get a description of the man. The other three agents would stay with him to wait for the valid security trucks to come for the gold. Linus and the others were ordered to sit on the floor in a circle, backs to each other. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

After about a quarter of an hour the sound of screeching tires broke the silence. It ended with what was obviously a collision. Azikiwe feared for his men and ran toward the nearest exit to the parking lot. There he saw the agents’ car stopped just behind a Prius that had crashed into the cab of a truck being loaded with building supplies. The front end of the Prius looked like an accordion; the driver having hit the truck at high speed. His agents got out of their vehicle and surrounded the crushed Prius, ready to arrest the driver, Lyle Brett. They had spotted him in one of the parking lots and had approached slowly. He had seen them and took off, back onto the perimeter road, where the agents gave chase. They had ended up back where they started. A van had crowded the driver off to the left, forcing him to exit again.

The agent joined his men at the scene of the crash. One of the agents had just finished calling for an ambulance, but clearly there was no hurry. Without a seat belt Brett had been thrown hard against the windshield. The car burst into flames before the body could be removed. There would now be a delay before the forensics team could complete crime scene protocol. A van arrived shortly to take the other men to jail. He called his superior to report that all was secure. He always felt great satisfaction when he could report there were no shots fired.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ben stood outside the ambulance doors, watching closely as the emergency medical technicians zipped the unidentified dead man into a body bag. He stepped aside as the body was transferred and strapped to a collapsible gurney, lowered from the vehicle and wheeled quickly through the double doors of the sala de emergencias. Ben’s sense of regret for the part he played in a man’s death momentarily overshadowed his anger about the man’s role in the kidnapping. Yet he couldn’t ignore the fear on the man’s face when confronted. There was no doubt in his mind that the man was complicit or he wouldn’t have tried to escape, but there was more below the surface. How he was involved could remain a mystery.

The adrenaline that had enabled Ben to give chase was spent. He felt drained and could no longer ignore the now familiar pain in his shoulder, nor the difficulty he had opening his jaw. In fact he ached from head to toe, having just survived a fight for his life with the man who had pursued him in London. He paused by the entrance, deep in thought, realizing that impulsiveness and anger had driven him to chase another man to his death. In order to live with that memory he would have to find out who this man was and why he was there.

Ben’s introspection was interrupted by the sound of a police van screeching to a halt beside the ambulance. Two uniformed officers got out and started toward him. A middle-aged man with a nervous demeanor was walking behind them. He had pulled his boina low over his forehead in a failed attempt to protect his identity. He scanned the surroundings as if expecting paparazzi to leap out at him. When they reached Ben, one of the officers asked in Spanish if he was the man who had ridden in the ambulance from Calle Estefata. Ben asked him to repeat in English, and haltingly he did so. The man pushed forward and pointed at Ben, confirming verbally that he was the one who chased the poor man into the path of the bulls. Ben suddenly realized that he could be in serious trouble. There was no point in denying it, yet there was much to tell about the reason he had given chase and about the man’s culpability in the kidnapping of his sister and former wife.

One officer pulled out his handcuffs and circled behind Ben, who asked if he was under arrest. The other officer shook his head no then motioned his partner to put the handcuffs away. He spoke to Ben again in Spanish. Ben understood enough to know he had to go with them to the station, so he gestured toward the vehicle and said, “Vamonos.”

Ben was desperate to find Ana and his parents, see Olivia, and find out if Valerie was alive. But since there was no way he could communicate effectively with the officers, he thought it best to comply. It was a short ride to the Comisaría located closest to Calle Estafata. It was there he had met Annunciata and sought help from Inspector Gonzalo Macias. As they walked Ben through the entrance he strained to see whether Macias was in his office behind the glass partition. Relief washed over him when he saw the inspector sitting on the edge of his desk talking on the phone. The officers led Ben to the counter, where the man on duty prepared to take his information and schedule him for questioning. Ben couldn’t wait. He