Read Online Wood's Wall by Steven Becker - Free Book Online

took a second to react from his mistake but he was quicker than the gunman. He slammed the car in reverse and floored the gas pedal. The car squealed backwards into a trap pile, causing an avalanche. Some of the higher traps fell on the car, though most of them blocked the road.
    Gunshots blazed through the traps — the only obstacle between Pete and the drug runners and he floored the gas pedal again, continuing in reverse, until he hit the main driveway. There he swung back and into forward, tires screeching and shooting the crushed coral surface into the air.
    One headlight was shot out, but he didn’t think the radiator had been hit. At least he hoped not. He hit the gas pedal again and accelerated out of the fishery’s entry, terrified. Behind him, he saw the truck’s headlights coming after him.
     
    ***
     
    Trufante lay on the ground in disbelief. How could easy money go so wrong? The barrel of a pistol looked down at him, Cesar’s right eye lined up behind it. 
    “Get up, you piece of Cajun trash. Let’s take a little walk.” 
    Cesar kept the gun pointed at Trufante as he got up, and brushed himself off. He motioned for one of his guys to pick up the package. Then he motioned Trufante toward the shed, the motor getting louder as they approached. As they entered the shed, he caught the glint of gold from the mouth of a very large man, wearing a rubber apron and gloves. 
    “You got two choices, amigo . You go in live or you go in dead. Either way, you’re going in. Be feeding yellowtails for fat touristas on the reef in a couple of days. Now, tell me a story.”

 
     
     
     
     
     

    12
    Mac watched Mel’s face as she slept. This was the only time she wasn’t full of vigor and passion, and she looked almost angelic. She had showered and fallen immediately into bed, a towel under her still-wet hair. It was the best possible outcome — sleep. She could handle a glass of wine, but sharing his glass was usually enough. Her little binge earlier was way past her threshold, and it had knocked her out cold. He covered her with a light blanket and left the room.
    Downstairs in his shop, he went to the workbench and turned on the magnifying light. The box, recovered from the office safe, sat on the table. He stared at it wondering what to do. It would have been too easy to turn it into the authorities. He knew Trufante was a magnet for trouble, either through karma or desire he wasn’t sure. In any event, he realized that he was here now and he had to help his friend. His brain swirled with the task ahead. The radioactive material in the box was more than dangerous. If it was what he thought, it could blow Marathon and half the Keys with it. He took a deep breath and took control of his thoughts. His first priority was to make sure the terrorists didn’t get the real material.
    A welding apron, gloves, and mask protected him as he clamped the box in the vise and drilled a larger hole in the same spot as the pilot hole he’d drilled earlier. He poured the contents onto a plate. 
    Lead was the preferred medium to protect against radiation. He scrounged around the shop and found a milk crate with an assortment of diving weights, then pulled out a large propane burner he used to cook stone crabs and took them outside. He stood over a large burner, moving an old pan back and forth over the flame, watching as the two sacrificial weights melted into a puddle. Then, the heat adjusted to keep the lead molten, he went back inside, searching for something to make a mold.
    A crab buoy caught his eye. Worried that the styrofoam would burn away, however, he tested a small piece. The lead smoked against the styrofoam, but didn’t burn it. He sawed the buoy in half and scooped out an area large enough to hold the material, half from each side, then whittled the buoy so there was a half - inch of material around the chamber. That should be enough of a shield to encase the plutonium. Put together, it was now the size of a