His transmitter had a range of a mile, but he had stopped half a mile from the village. He could do everything from here, guaranteeing himself a clean getaway. Television news had told him that the Reverend Henry King Johnson had not requested Secret Service protection, and Teddy was relieved about that.
Todd reached the deserted slave village and got out of the pickup. He walked from cabin to cabin, checking each one thoroughly, then walked to the church and went inside. Two ladies, one white and one black, were arranging flowers at the altar, and they greeted him politely.
“Are you part of the wedding party?” one asked him.
“No,” Todd replied, “I’m a guest at the inn, and I was just taking a little tour of the island. Is there a wedding today?”
“Yes, and they should be arriving any minute,” one woman said, consulting her watch.
“I wish the couple every happiness, then,” Todd said, and left the church. He walked slowly around the little building. It was set on stone pilings about four feet high, elevating the building over the rest of the village. The area from the floor of the church to the ground was covered with wooden latticework. Everything looked in order here, but Todd wanted to walk the perimeter of the village and check for intruders. He pulled the Sig pistol from his belt and checked its readiness, then kept it in his hand as he walked. From what the late Owen Masters had told him, his chances in an encounter with Teddy Fay would be poor, and he wanted to improve the odds.
He walked as silently as he could, looking as far into the trees as he could see, looking for wires on the ground or anything that could mark a danger.
He heard car doors slamming and looked toward the village to see the tall, handsome Reverend Johnson get out of a car and walk toward the church. He went inside, followed by the small procession of the wedding party, no more than a dozen people.
As Todd watched, rays of sunshine broke through a cloud and illuminated the building. The effect was theatrical, as if God were personally blessing this union, turning his own spotlight upon it. And then Todd saw, under the building, illuminated by the sunshine, the tank.
58
For just a moment,Todd froze. he must get those people out of the church, he thought. Then he changed his mind and began running. He tore around the church to the rear of the little building and began pulling at the latticework surrounding the crawl space. It was nailed firmly on, but by bracing a foot against a post he got a corner loose.
A large black man in a suit and tie came around the corner of the building. “Hey, what are you doing there?” he yelled.
“Help me get this off!” Todd yelled at him.
“What are you doing?”
“There’s a large bomb under this church, and if I don’t get to it in time, we’re all going to die.”
The man grabbed the latticework next to Todd, and they pulled together. The extra weight and strength did the job, and the latticework came away, dumping both men on their backs.
Todd scrambled to his feet and dove under the church, crawling as fast as he could.
“What can I do?” the man behind him yelled.
“Get those people out of the church and as far away from it as possible!” Todd yelled back. He reached the propane tank and found something electronic fastened to it with duct tape. The device had a flashing light and a short antenna. Todd got his Swiss Army knife out of a pocket and a blade open, and with one hand, he grasped the antenna in his fist, hoping that would keep it from receiving. With the other hand he sawed at the duct tape.
Teddy had gotten close enough to the church to hear the cars stop and the wedding party walking up the wooden steps of the building. He gave them another two minutes, then held up his remote control and flipped a switch. To his surprise, nothing happened. He flipped the switch off, then on. Still nothing. Teddy didn’t understand; he had built these two devices himself and had tested them thoroughly the day before. Maybe he had miscalculated the range. He started walking toward the church, switching the remote on and off.
Todd worked his way through the tape, and finally the device came away in his hand. He could hear running feet above his head as the wedding party fled the church.
Still grasping the antenna, he scurried from under the church on his knees and elbows, got to his feet, and began running away from the building. When he was fifty yards away, he flung the device as far as he could and kept running. It exploded before it hit the ground, sounding like a big firecracker and pelting Todd with bits of plastic as he ran toward the pickup truck. He had no wish for a conversation with either the wedding party or the law enforcement people who would, eventually, show up.
He got into the truck, started it, and backed down the road for fifty yards before he could turn around and start back toward the airstrip. Then, suddenly, he slammed on the brakes and came to a halt.
Teddy Fay had not landed on the Cumberland Island airstrip, Todd was certain of that. But if not, then how had he gotten here? By boat? Todd doubted it. Then it came to him: the beach. Teddy had landed on the beach. There were eighteen miles of firm sand with nothing to impede an airplane.
Todd got the truck going again, then, as he approached the landing strip, he turned left on a road that led to a beach house.
Teddy heard the bang and saw smoke rise from the charge, but it was not from the direction of the church, and the propane tank had not exploded. He could hear shouting ahead of him, and he turned and ran back toward the beach at a fast jog. He had most of a mile to go, and he didn’t want to exceed his fitness level. He ran along on some sort of animal path, which helped him move faster, sending a scared armadillo scurrying off into the brush.
He reached the airplane out of breath, and he stood, leaning on the fuselage and taking deep gulps of air until his blood began to reoxygenate. When he was steady on his feet again he tossed his backpack into the Cessna and began throwing aside the brush and palm fronds that hid the airplane.
When he had cleared everything away, he ran forward and grabbed the tow bar that was still attached to the nosewheel and started to pull. It took all his remaining strength to get the airplane rolling, and it was slow going. As he got onto the firmer sand of the beach, the towing got easier, and the airplane moved faster. The tide was out, and Teddy pulled the aircraft onto the packed, wet sand left by the outgoing sea.
He got the tow bar undone from the nosewheel, placed it in the rear seat of the airplane, and got in. He sat, breathing hard and sweating from the exertion, trying to keep the sweat out of his eyes while priming the airplane’s engine.
He checked that the mixture was on full rich, cracked the throttle a quarter of an inch, and turned the ignition key. The propeller began to turn slowly, but the engine did not catch. He primed it a little more, then tried again. This time there was a cough from the engine, and it began to run roughly. He leaned it a little, until it ran smoothly, then got the airplane rolling along the wet sand. It was slow to pick up speed, but then the airspeed indicator came alive and read thirty knots. Then, to his astonishment, he looked down the beach and saw a pickup truck, all four wheels in the air, rocket over the crest of a dune, then hit the ground and wallow through the loose sand toward the beach.
