One Blood

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

 

Monday

Baton Rouge, LA

 

Randy stepped back from the podium atop the steps of the Louisiana State Capitol building, the tallest capitol building in the United States. He’d survived another round in the boxing ring of public opinion by bobbing and weaving through flurries of tough questions. Credibility intact, Randy’s thoughts returned to Karen. He prayed that the Lake City arm of his sting operation had been successful.

Randy’s cloak of calm threatened to slip away, but he held it together by sheer will. He was deathly afraid of the consequences if he lost his head. Gazing down at the grand staircase, one step for each of the fifty states (listed in the order of their admittance to the Union), he steadied himself. His eyes settled on the quotation chiseled in stone beside the main entrance:

“We have lived long, but this is the noblest work of our whole lives…The United States take rank today among the first powers of the world.”

Flanked by his usual secret service escort, Randy re-entered the Capitol and strode down the striking Memorial Hall, adorned with the likenesses of several Louisiana luminaries. When he made it to the bank of elevators, he waved off the secret service man shadowing him and entered the elevator alone.

He straightened himself out in the reflective metal of the elevator doors as the numbers jumped in gleeful diagonals. The elevator settled to a halt on the twenty-seventh floor and Randy exited onto the promenade of the Observation Deck, which overlooked the city of Baton Rouge.

Here he would have complete privacy.

His thoughts turned to his old adversary. Panama X had assumed that Randy would be so distraught by Karen’s kidnapping that he’d make a mistake. He probably hoped Randy would just lie down and die. Somehow, Randy always beat the odds.

Panama X’s luck, however, had run out. At this very moment, he was being moved to the solitary confinement wing in Camp F, the Injection Center. Imagining Panama X in his final death throes brought a rare smile to Randy’s face.

The bars were back on his cell phone. He dialed Bill Edwards to find out the outcome of the morning’s activities. Voicemail picked up and Randy left a quick message for Bill to call him back with an update.

Storm clouds billowed around the needle of the Capitol tower. The hurricane would be the perfect cover for the Lake City and Angola operations. This time tomorrow, no one would ask too many questions about what had happened in Lake City, and no one would care that Lincoln Baker had been killed while trying to exit the prison. He’d be just another dead nigger in the right place at the wrong time.

His cell phone vibrated. It was Snake Roberts. But that was impossible because Snake Roberts was supposed to be dead.