The Carolina Coup: Another Rwandan Genocide? (The Jeannine Ryan Series Book 4) by James E. Mosimann Page A
Authors: James E. Mosimann
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him.
“Have the Subaru towed to our lot in Wilmington, and have our forensics guys go over it. I’ll meet you in Wilmington.”
Stew pushed Wayne into his back seat.
“Damn it, Mr. Johnson, you should have called us. Your friend Ryan has crossed the line. I can’t help her now.”
Puzzled by that last comment, Wayne stayed silent as Agent Marks drove south towards Wilmington.
***
******
Chapter 12
Saturday, August 25
Hugh Byrd sped out of the Food Lion parking lot. He turned south onto Route 17, towards Wilmington.
Damn you Marks. So you think I was at the beach house with Holder, because of that damn spent magazine.
There had been no possibility of retrieving the empty casings from the house. The large number of them would have indicated automatic fire and a “Military” M16 rather than the “Civilian” AR15. Still the magazine could fit either. But Marks knew that Hugh had access to M16’s.
Hugh ground his teeth.
Watch it, Marks! I’ll declare you a security risk and you will be finished at the FBI.
Hugh shrugged. Forget Hamm, Ryan and Marks. He had a personal matter to attend to, that idiot Smets.
His phone vibrated, Denise Guerry’s number. He picked up.
“Where are you, Hugh?”
“North Carolina, near Surf City.”
“Hugh, do not harm Dr. Smets. Leave him alone, understood?”
“How could I hurt him? I don’t know where you hid him.”
Denise hung up.
Hugh laughed. He was a good investigator. Of course he knew about the “safe” farm.
And he was sure that Smets would be there!
***
Denise Guerry realized that she had underestimated Hugh. His complacency on the phone surely meant that he knew the “safe” farm in Pender County. He would look for Smets there. She had to act fast.
She called Henri Duval.
“Henri, where are you?”
“Near Onslow hospital, driving north on route 17.”
“Turn around. Byrd is on the way to the farm. He is going to kill Smets. You have to stop him.”
“But Hamm?”
“The Ryan woman picked him up from the hospital. She’s headed north, probably to Maryland. I have someone waiting for her there.”
Her tone shifted.
“ S'il te plaît , Henri, do this for me. Je t’assure , I know how to return favors.”
Her silken tone left no doubt as to what “favors” meant. Henri succumbed.
“All right, I won’t let Byrd harm Smets.”
But Henri had decided. He only would act in self-defense. If Byrd tried to kill the wimp, Smets, only then would he kill Byrd.
***
At a motel northwest of Wilmington, North Carolina, Angelique Uwimana knocked on the door. She was a Ph. D. student in Computer Science at Carolina Technical University in Florence, South Carolina. A Tutsi, she alone of her family had survived the Rwandan genocide.
At 28, Angelique was tall and willowy, almost statuesque. She stared at the even taller man who cracked the door open.
“Paul, let me in. Why did you want to see me?”
The man, Paul Mutabazi, opened. He ignored the question.
“Angelique, how did you meet this Duval, this Frenchman, of yours?”
“In Silver Spring, Maryland, when I was studying for my Masters at Maryland. Why?”
“You know he works for GES?”
“Of course.”
“Be careful of him, GES is not on our side. Does he know you are here?”
“No, Henri thinks I’m in Florence. He was to meet me there yesterday, but he didn’t show. I suppose he had business somewhere.”
“Business? You mean the Guerry woman?”
She shrugged.
“Never mind, Angelique. This is the reason I asked you to meet me here.”
He drew a newsprint photograph from his wallet and unfolded it. The photo was soiled, but not faded. He placed it on the dresser before her.
An involuntary cry escaped her lips. Tears formed as memories of her encounter with the man in the photo overwhelmed her. She sobbed. The years had not healed the hurt. She shut her eyes. Mutabazi’s voice sounded in
“Have the Subaru towed to our lot in Wilmington, and have our forensics guys go over it. I’ll meet you in Wilmington.”
Stew pushed Wayne into his back seat.
“Damn it, Mr. Johnson, you should have called us. Your friend Ryan has crossed the line. I can’t help her now.”
Puzzled by that last comment, Wayne stayed silent as Agent Marks drove south towards Wilmington.
***
******
Chapter 12
Saturday, August 25
Hugh Byrd sped out of the Food Lion parking lot. He turned south onto Route 17, towards Wilmington.
Damn you Marks. So you think I was at the beach house with Holder, because of that damn spent magazine.
There had been no possibility of retrieving the empty casings from the house. The large number of them would have indicated automatic fire and a “Military” M16 rather than the “Civilian” AR15. Still the magazine could fit either. But Marks knew that Hugh had access to M16’s.
Hugh ground his teeth.
Watch it, Marks! I’ll declare you a security risk and you will be finished at the FBI.
Hugh shrugged. Forget Hamm, Ryan and Marks. He had a personal matter to attend to, that idiot Smets.
His phone vibrated, Denise Guerry’s number. He picked up.
“Where are you, Hugh?”
“North Carolina, near Surf City.”
“Hugh, do not harm Dr. Smets. Leave him alone, understood?”
“How could I hurt him? I don’t know where you hid him.”
Denise hung up.
Hugh laughed. He was a good investigator. Of course he knew about the “safe” farm.
And he was sure that Smets would be there!
***
Denise Guerry realized that she had underestimated Hugh. His complacency on the phone surely meant that he knew the “safe” farm in Pender County. He would look for Smets there. She had to act fast.
She called Henri Duval.
“Henri, where are you?”
“Near Onslow hospital, driving north on route 17.”
“Turn around. Byrd is on the way to the farm. He is going to kill Smets. You have to stop him.”
“But Hamm?”
“The Ryan woman picked him up from the hospital. She’s headed north, probably to Maryland. I have someone waiting for her there.”
Her tone shifted.
“ S'il te plaît , Henri, do this for me. Je t’assure , I know how to return favors.”
Her silken tone left no doubt as to what “favors” meant. Henri succumbed.
“All right, I won’t let Byrd harm Smets.”
But Henri had decided. He only would act in self-defense. If Byrd tried to kill the wimp, Smets, only then would he kill Byrd.
***
At a motel northwest of Wilmington, North Carolina, Angelique Uwimana knocked on the door. She was a Ph. D. student in Computer Science at Carolina Technical University in Florence, South Carolina. A Tutsi, she alone of her family had survived the Rwandan genocide.
At 28, Angelique was tall and willowy, almost statuesque. She stared at the even taller man who cracked the door open.
“Paul, let me in. Why did you want to see me?”
The man, Paul Mutabazi, opened. He ignored the question.
“Angelique, how did you meet this Duval, this Frenchman, of yours?”
“In Silver Spring, Maryland, when I was studying for my Masters at Maryland. Why?”
“You know he works for GES?”
“Of course.”
“Be careful of him, GES is not on our side. Does he know you are here?”
“No, Henri thinks I’m in Florence. He was to meet me there yesterday, but he didn’t show. I suppose he had business somewhere.”
“Business? You mean the Guerry woman?”
She shrugged.
“Never mind, Angelique. This is the reason I asked you to meet me here.”
He drew a newsprint photograph from his wallet and unfolded it. The photo was soiled, but not faded. He placed it on the dresser before her.
An involuntary cry escaped her lips. Tears formed as memories of her encounter with the man in the photo overwhelmed her. She sobbed. The years had not healed the hurt. She shut her eyes. Mutabazi’s voice sounded in
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