Bruce swallowed. “No, I didn’t know, Ray.” He pulled his car into the nearby Snyder firehouse off Main Street and parked. “What else? What else is the news reporting?”
Bruce’s phone was lighting up now with texts, first with Janice, then from Grace. They must be watching the news, too.
“Feds gotta be showing by now, yo. ATF, FBI, all them. Shooting on a federal base… sheeitt.”
Neither man said anything for a few seconds.
“This better keep our deal going forward, Brucie?”
Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the stress building. He looked up to see a few of the Snyder Fire Department fire doors opening.
“Big boy. I’m sending you something right now as a reminder. Of our verbal transaction, yo. This way, you don’t forget.”
Chapter 48
Lansing Residence, Sanborn, New York
The SWAT Team arrived behind a plethora of police sedans, all geared up with ‘Big Eddie,’ their favorite battering ram, helmets, radios, vests, and an array of weapons and communications. The canine unit had “JJ” the manhunter bloodhound dog at the ready as well.
“Ground Unit 451, County One, no civilians in the front or rear of the residence. No civilians in sight. You’re a go.”
Zeke and Bick flew low airspeed circles around the property, as far out as the tree line so they could observe the barn and house at the same time. Bick offered to let Zeke fly, but he declined with his shoulder in the sling. Bick moved the FLIR around so they could see in and around the barn, in addition to the trees.
“Ground Unit 456, this is County One. We have one civilian in the rear windows of the home. First floor. Unknown subject.”
“County One, 456, copy. Hey One, ah, request you land. We’ve got a wooden baton with blood and a chunk of flesh on it. Request for K-9 assistance for a search, over.”
Bick brought the aircraft around so he could land best he could into the wind, which was last known to be from the west. He lowered the collective just a little, pulled back on the cyclic for a slight nose-up attitude, and brought the aircraft to a five-foot hover. Zero airspeed, suspended in mid-air over a location on earth.
“No runway needed?”
Bick laughed, “No runway needed, Zeke.”
Bick lowered the collective with his left hand, and the skids touched the soft earth, then sank in the wet soil a bit. With a nod from him to the back, Taz ran out to do the job. Because the sheriffs had no idea what they were getting into, Taz was a good insurance plan if he came out the door shooting or running from the barn.
“County One, 456, we’ve been using the PA system on one of our cars, and we’re getting a hand wave from the window. Looks like it could be the homeowner coming to the door now. Stand by.”
Taz was restrained with his leash, but his ferocious barks were loud and repetitive, and his fangs were out. He was fired up to catch someone, and his handler Brad had to restrain him with two hands. Attack dog Taz weighed in at 90 pounds, and if in a chase, he could jump and knock down with ease.
Mrs. Lansing opened her back door as if it weighed hundreds of pounds, exiting her home one sluggish foot at a time onto her cement porch. Wearing a knitted shawl around her small, bent-over frame, she had no idea why the police were at her home. She held on to the rusted black railing on her steps while stepping down to greet the sheriffs.
Zeke was listening in on all the police radios in his headset, in addition to the aviation frequencies. A lot was going on in the cockpit at the same time.
“Zeke, this remind you of flying the B-2? Maybe while monitoring the joint terminal air controller or a section of fighters guarding ya?” Bick asked.
Zeke nodded in agreement and gave a thumbs-up.
“County One, dispatch.”
Bick leaned forward and turned up the volume for the police radio. “This is County One, go ahead, dispatch.”
“County One, we just received a 911 call from an active shooter at Niagara University. Caucasian male, fifties, matches your 10-35. Shooter was targeting two men wearing flight suits. Location on campus is the student center. Are you able to support, over?”
“That’s our guy! That’s Lansing!” Zeke yelled.
Gallagher Center, Niagara University, Niagara Falls, New York
“Charlie, I’m fine, over here!” Ford yelled.
“What happened to keeping a low profile and observing? I thought he hit you,” Charlie said, looking around. “What the hell are we doing? We are fricking lucky he missed us and everyone in the building. No one was hit, thank God.”
Ford and Charlie followed the crowd exiting and spotted Richard across the street near the tour buses full of athletes. Richard was looking around while jogging, in what seemed to be a search.
“Charlie, go get your Jeep. He’s on the run,” Ford told him.
Not a nano-second went by before Richard stopped and turned around and spotted Ford on his tail.
“Stevens! Let it go. Stop following me!” Richard told him. He pulled out his handgun and aimed for Ford. Ford hid behind one of the tour buses but didn’t hear any shots ring out.
Richard never fired and was able to hop into a university pickup doing landscaping, stealing the vehicle. He did a donut on the university’s lawn and drove off the landscape and curb to the street. He cut in front of the Alumni Chapel and was now on the front entrance of the university.
Charlie pulled alongside Ford. “Need a ride, sir?”
Ford jumped in the passenger side. “Where does he think he’s going now with that passport? Canada?” Ford asked.
“We both know he’s planning it. Tore off northbound toward the bridge.”
“Floor it then! Go, Charlie!”
Both of them were bouncing in the Jeep as Charlie ran over curbs, lawns, and trashcans. The large Jeep tires tore up the green sod grass, buckling the blades up and exposing the black dirt underneath. They passed the bushes that spelled out N-I-A-G-A-R-A on the front lawn with such a tight turn that it nearly rolled the Jeep over onto its back.
Charlie had the Jeep on the roadway now, and they could see the landscaping pickup truck approaching the visitors center for the New York Power Authority. They were driving on a road that crossed the top of the dam, a massive wall of cement that held back the water used to produce electricity. The immense Robert Moses Hydroelectric Power Project, built in 1961, took diverted water from above the Falls and produced electricity from 13 generators, discharging the water back into the Niagara River. It was one of the largest hydroelectric dams in the United States.
Richard blew the red light and kept going, and just seconds behind him were Charlie and Ford.
“Charlie, do that PIT maneuver you told me about when you get alongside him. Come on! No way he outruns you in that lawn truck. Do your thing!”
The PIT maneuver, or pursuit intervention technique, was an aggressive police tactic used when one vehicle overpowers a second one by turning hard into its rear side, causing the lead driver to stop. Many times, both vehicles roll and crash. Charlie was taught how to do it at the police academy in Columbia but had never tried it in a real situation.
Charlie pulled alongside the truck, and Richard looked outside the window.
“Ford, he’s going to shoot!”
“Then you better hurry your police officer ass up, Charlie. Now!”
Charlie yanked the wheel so that the front of his Jeep hit the back of the pickup truck near his rear wheel. Zooming at near 50 miles per hour, Richard slammed into the cement retaining wall of the dam, skidding sideways. His vehicle went airborne and flew in the air like a missile, landing on a road lower on the canyon wall. Falling six feet onto the Niagara Scenic Parkway, Richard bounced inside the cab while it slid on its back.
Because Charlie’s Jeep already had a high rollover risk, it wasn’t the best vehicle to do t
he PIT maneuver in. They rolled two times on the road, ending up about 40 feet from Richard on the lower road.
Charlie was wearing his seat belt but still banged his head on the roll-bar upon impact. Tossed around like a dog’s chew toy and still confused and fuzzy from earlier, it took time for him to realize what was going on. Ford was already out of the Jeep and inbound to Richard’s damaged pickup truck on foot with a purpose.
Richard crawled out from his upside-down vehicle, taking a moment to see where he landed after the rolling accident. Standing atop the Robert Moses Hydroelectric Power Project 380 feet above the Niagara River, he glanced way down at the bottom. Big drop down, Alex.
Ford came over to Richard swinging, connecting with Richard at first punch with a left jab. Richard took the punch, surprised at the power that Ford had for a jab. Ford followed with a right-hand punch.
The third fist missed Richard, but the next one didn’t. Ford got him good, and he felt energetic about doing it.
I agree, Alex, good one.
Richard was no slug, though, when it came to fighting. Richard came to quickly and could tell by Ford’s balance that he was a boxing rookie. Richard knocked him off his feet, and he landed on his butt. Ford wanted to get up and continue fighting, but Richard the boxer came alive. He was moving around the area, punching Ford like a heavy bag. Richard was standing over him, his eyes bloodshot red.
Ford’s vision was blurry, and he felt as if his hearing was lost for a moment. He had one arm down on the pavement, and his breathing was starting to become heavy. The bright western New York sun was in his face, and although he was mentally and physically tough, he was fraught. Ford sprang up from the road surface, yelling in anger and full of testosterone. But even with those two things and the will to fight, Richard was ready with his boxing fists. He continued to pounce on Ford, landing many, many punches to his face, head, and upper body.
“Stevens. You little turd of a pilot. You’ve been out to get me since you got here. This is bigger than just you and your little turd brother.” Richard gave him more powerful shots to the face.
What Ford didn’t know yet, that Charlie was well aware of, was that Richard was a college boxer. Countless hours were spent fighting his father in the barn, then with the kids in grammar and high school, leading to a college team. Years of abuse in his early years were being used against Ford.
Alex, these guys are after me.
Richard often heard his father’s voice in his head, too, as if he was back in the barn as a kid. The abuse was continuous, always yelling, nearly always negative.
“Richie, get that weight distributed across both those skinny legs! Harder worden! Bend those sticks!” Mr. Lansing screamed in his daydream. “Elbows down, hands up! Head behind your fists! Stempel! Stempel!”
His father’s abuse was constant, screaming with his thick accent, switching between his Dutch and English languages.
Ford looked like he didn’t know what hit him. Despite being a college football player at Notre Dame with above-average size and tough as nails, Richard’s speed and power were overwhelming to Ford. The thundering pounding wouldn’t stop.
Boom. Boom. Boom-boom.
Four blasting punches to Ford’s face before he could even react.
Crack.
A blasting punch to his gut.
“Richard. You mother...” Ford said, barely getting it out.
They were close to the edge railing now, the rusted horizontal metal rail that was bolted to the retaining wall to help prevent cars from going over and down into the water.
Richard was busy with Ford and did not see Charlie beginning to open his eyes now in the Jeep. Out of the corner of his eye, Richard saw Charlie moving around.
Boom. Boom.
Richard was landing the blows, taking out years of frustration on Ford. Ford was just about unconscious now, his lip cracked open and bleeding, his nose broken. Richard lifted him from behind and dragged him a few feet over to the ledge, putting him on the railing.
“No! Richard! Don’t you do it!” Charlie yelled, exiting the Jeep.
Richard had gotten Ford’s body over the railing, with Ford holding on with two hands, dangling 38 stories high above the tops of the hydroelectric generators. The drop was just about straight down. Richard leaned over to pop Ford in the face once more, landing hard connections, then pounding on his fingers to release his grip.
Ford could just about hold on with one hand, his grip weakening with each passing second.
Charlie ran over as fast as he could and tackled Richard to the pavement, while Ford hung on for dear life. He switched up his hands to help alleviate the pain, but his strength was zapped.
With ease, Richard got up and popped Charlie twice in the face, then came a roundhouse punch.
Ford could not see anything up top as he swayed slowly in the wind, but knew Charlie had a choice to make, and quick. He could help him back over the railing to safety, or continue to fight Richard.
Ford figured Charlie had made his decision because all of a sudden he was there, attempting to grab hold of Ford just as he was releasing his grip.
“Charlie, pull me up, bro.”
Charlie struggled with his one arm, as Ford felt he had a good, tight hold on him. They both saw Richard walk closer but he didn’t engage Charlie, looking sideways at the two of them struggle. Richard took out his P226 and pointed it at Charlie.
“What’s going on… with… him, Charlie?” Ford asked.
From over the top of the Niagara Power Vista came the County One helicopter, screaming at about 120 knots, with Bick and Zeke putting in a tight turn to see the fight go down. They had a clear view of the two accident vehicles, along with Ford dangling the some-380 feet in the air.
“Fordie, what are you doing hanging on down there, my friend? Come on, man,” Zeke said over the intercom. “Hold on.” From County One, the gasps came from the front seat. “Wish we had our sniper Brad in the back, Zeke. This isn’t looking good.”
Bick switched radios. “County One to any available ground unit. Have an active 10-71 on the Niagara Scenic Parkway Service Road, top of the Robert Moses. Dispatch, need you to relay to any available units. Active 10-71, over.”
“Bick, take us down there. Are you kidding me? I’ll get on the skid and help him,” Zeke said in a panic. “Let’s go, go!”
Chocks took a look from his perspective, but didn’t say anything. Bick was evaluating the entire situation, and knew his answer right away.
“Zeke, I’m sorry, man. The face of that dam is just too much. The height of the road… we don’t have a wench. If we got in close, our rotors will hit it from that angle. I’m… I’m sorry,” Bick told him.
The normally cool and collected Zeke, known to laugh at pressure and function like a machine under the gun, looked down below watching it unfold in a panic.
Chapter 49
Robert Moses Power Vista, Lewiston, New York
Richard got in his shooting stance, as it was an easy shot this close. “You two got in our way. We had it all figured out. Me and Bruce and Ray. Now, you pay. You got it? Payday,” Richard said.
“Let him live, Richard. Shoot me instead. Shoot me!” Ford said.
“Screw the both of you,” said Richard, moving his POA, or point of aim, about two feet to the right of Charlie instead, now aiming at Ford.
Good POA.
Richard inhaled and held it, then pulled the trigger twice.
Pop-pop.
The echo rolled and rolled, transcending the river gorge, both low and high in what seemed like forever.
“Uhh-uhh, Charlie,” Ford said.
Charlie could tell in an instant that Ford’s grip loosened due to the bullet impacts, struggling to both hold himself to the railing and the other hand to Ford.
“Ford, no, no. Come on, work with me, bro,” Charlie
said. “Hold on.”
Richard took off on foot, running north toward Lewiston.
Stevens Residence, Lewiston, New York
Emily sat on the sofa with a deep sixth sense that something was terrible was about to happen. She was sitting up straight with both of her hands on the baby and put her novel down to focus outside on her backyard. She closed her eyes, attempting to calm herself down, but it was to no avail. She rubbed the baby boy, attempting to calm him down, too, but he was too active. Kicking non-stop now, it was the busiest he’d been to date. Emily’s intuition, honed through years of dedicated service with MI6, was accurate. The feeling she had was intense, and deep down inside, she knew something was wrong.
Robert Moses Hydroelectric Power Plant, Lewiston, New York
The afternoon sun was beating down directly on them as Charlie watched in horror two bullets ripple the outside of Ford’s flight suit. The two bullets forced into Ford’s flesh, one through his ribs and into his lung, and the other in his small intestines. Both bullets tore through his flesh and tissue, destroying the healthy organs that pumped life into his body. His blood was coming out of both the entry and exit wounds, pooling inside Ford’s flight suit. Circles of red began to show around his upper body.
“Uhh. Brother. This. This is it. I can’t hold on for much longer.”
“What do you mean this is it? Yes, you can hold on. I got you, Ford. I’ll pull you up.”
It was nearly all Charlie could do to hold onto Ford, his strength draining out of him quickly.
“Hey…” Ford said, his tone much quieter than Charlie expected.
“Hey what?”
“I always believed in you.”
Struggling, Charlie held on as tight as he could. “With what?”
The Buffalo Pilot: A Ford Stevens Military-Aviation Thriller (Book 3) Page 24