“It sounds like they’re cleaning house. What about Detective Duval?”
“There’s no word from him. He’s not at home and not answering his phone. He could be lying in a ditch somewhere.”
“Let’s get this guy before he flies the coop. See you at the airport.” Elliot killed the conversation and looked over at Rivka. He felt no remorse for the fallen police. They made their choices.
No sooner had Elliot put his phone back in his pocket than it chirped indicating a message had just come in.
“What is it?” Rivka asked looking over at Elliot, who was now engrossed in the email.
“It’s a message from Jennifer at McGill. I’ll fill you in later.”
Chapter 91
Rivka slowed the truck when they reached the private terminal section. The streets were still empty with no signs yet of the coming business day.
“There it is,” said Elliot pointing at an upcoming terminal building.
Rivka turned off the headlights and glided into the open gate of the terminal. There were a couple of vehicles already in the parking lot, but it was impossible to say if any belonged to Banik.
Elliot reached into the back and passed Rivka the bag of weapons they brought from Rayce’s. While she checked the contents and ensured the guns were locked and loaded, Elliot checked his own gun. There were eleven bullets still in the clip. He hoped he wouldn’t need any. If Banik was alone, he didn’t anticipate there would be trouble. Banik was not the type to get engaged in a gunfight; in fact, Elliot was certain he wouldn’t even be carrying a weapon.
Elliot and Rivka nodded to each other, exited the truck and advanced to the terminal. The large glass windows clearly showed that the reception area was empty and lit only by the ambient glow of overnight lighting. As expected, the door was locked. Rivka nodded her head toward the back of the building where the planes would be parked. There was only one plane in the back; it was parked outside the hangar. The lights were on in the cockpit, but the stairs were drawn up, and there was no indication of human activity within. Guns now drawn, they peeked into the hangar area through the large open hangar door; again, no sign of activity.
Elliot looked at Rivka and said quietly, “Maybe they’re not here yet.”
Rivka nodded and replied, “Let’s check out the front offices, and if they’re not here, we’ll wait for them.”
The hangar was a large Quonset building with a hangar bay about 100 feet long and 80 feet wide. Easily enough to house four or five planes similar to the one outside, but tonight it was empty. Not wanting to cross through the center of the wide, open area, Elliot led them over to the left-hand wall where a shelving unit ran the full length of the hangar. The shelving unit created a corridor down the left-hand side that offered cover in case someone walked into the hangar unexpectedly.
About halfway down the 80 foot corridor, a door hidden behind the shelves at the far end opened, and two guards armed with automatics walked into the hangar. Elliot and Rivka froze for a second trying to evaluate their situation. It didn’t take more than that second for them to realize they were in a bad situation. Trapped halfway down an 80 foot corridor with two hostiles at one end and nowhere to run or hide.
The two guards were only a fraction behind Elliot and Rivka in assessing the situation. Their weapons, already hanging around their shoulders, were in the process of swinging around when Rivka’s gun roared. One shot caught a guard in the upper arm and spun him back behind the safety of the end of the shelving units causing him to drop his weapon onto the corridor floor. The other took up position on the other side of the corridor behind the end of the shelving.
Rivka slid into a recess between two shelving units that partially shielded her while her gun blazed. There was no such alcove for Elliot. In desperation, he reached down into the bottom shelf and pulled a metal storage box out into the corridor and flopped himself down behind it. In his haste, he landed heavily on his bad shoulder, which sent a spike of pain through his body. He lost his grip on the Glock, and the gun skittered across the floor ending up 10 feet in front of him. The box was sturdy and would certainly offer him protection from incoming bullets, but it was only six inches high. Rivka saw this and knew that if the guards at the end of the corridor had time to aim, the box would do little to protect Elliot.
Rivka’s gun hand extended out into the corridor, and she kept the guards from getting an aimed shot at her exposed partner. The uninjured guard had his weapon on auto and intermittently stuck the gun into the corridor to spray short bursts of bullets down the makeshift hallway.
Years of practice had made Rivka a model of efficiency. She kept the guards in a defensive position by firing quickly and accurately. The spent cartridges flew from her gun like Pez out of a fat kid’s dispenser. Even the replacement of an empty clip took only seconds and did not allow time for the guards to make their target.
“Run back; I’ll cover you,” she yelled.
Elliot tried to make his move, but every time he started to get up, a burst of auto fire would flatten him again.
Rivka’s gun answered another burst from the auto with the clicking of an empty chamber. Rivka’s last clip was now spent; she was out of ammunition. The guard with the auto grasped the significance of what happened and stepped into the corridor, gun leveled and advanced toward the defenseless investigators. Rivka sized up the situation. She was out of ammo, and her partner was in a vulnerable position without his handgun. The gun was lying in the corridor 10 feet in front of him, but his wounded shoulder prevented him from reaching it. With certain death walking their way, circumstances dictated her next move. It would take her two steps to get Elliot’s gun and, with the guard now fully exposed, she could grab the gun, take out the first guard and then deal with the wounded guard behind him later.
She went for the gun. It was a gamble but a gamble that she had to take. Her second step toward the gun was never completed. The guard was ready for her play and opened fire. The first bullets missed their mark to the left, but as the automatic fanned across the corridor, they found their target. Rivka went down.
Chapter 92
Elliot heard the clicking of Rivka’s empty chamber. He was already anticipating it would happen and had gathered himself to lunge forward to get his gun. His lunge failed when his wounded arm would not cooperate. He slipped back down and slammed his face into the concrete floor. The chattering dakka sound of the automatic weapon and tzinging of bullets overhead brought his head up in time to see Rivka’s attempt to get to the dropped handgun.
Everything slowed down for Elliot as if the world were in slow motion. His body, frozen in time, unable to move, able only to watch as the scene unfolded before him. Rivka had already taken a stride past Elliot and was starting her reach down toward the dropped weapon. He saw the guard fanning his auto across the width of the corridor and heard the tzinging of the bullets as they passed overhead. The first hit struck Rivka in the fleshy part of the thigh, and Elliot saw an eruption of red mist exit from a ragged hole in the back of her jeans. The next bullet took her in the calf, breaking the shin bone and creating a joint in her lower calf where no joint should be. The gruesome scene, playing in slow motion before him, reminded Elliot of an old Sam Peckinpah movie. Rivka collapsed onto the floor in front of Elliot, still too far to reach the dropped handgun. She looked back at him, defeat on her face.
The ratcheting click of an empty automatic weapon filled the corridor. Elliot looked at the advancing guard as he was reaching into his satchel for a full magazine. He also saw the second guard behind, still holding his arm but bending down to pick up his dropped automatic. He looked back to Rivka. There was something new in her face, pain still there to be sure, but there was something else. It was hope.
“My leg, Elliot. My leg,” she cried pointing down, not at her leg but at her ankle.
Elliot’s body was still operating in a slow motion world, but his brain was racing at full throttle assimilating his surro
undings at light speed. He took a micro-second to process her words and understood their meaning in an instant. He stole one more look at the advancing guards to calculate exactly how much time he had. He reached over to Rivka’s broken leg, lifted up her pant leg and ignored her violent spasm when he pulled the Beretta from the ankle holster. There was no urgency in his actions. He knew precisely how much time he had and how much he needed. His arm swung around with a calmness that belied the situation until the Beretta gun sight settled on the first guard’s chest. Three shots were squeezed off in rapid succession that drove the advancing guard backward and ultimately down into a lifeless heap. The Beretta gun sight then moved decisively to the forehead of the remaining guard, and a single shot took the guard out before he could level his weapon.
Chapter 93
Elliot moved over to check on Rivka and examine her wounds. He heard the sirens of approaching police and hoped that it was Yves Renault. With two dead bodies and a wounded PI littering the hangar there’d be questions that he didn’t want to deal with at the moment. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911 to report a gunfight and the need for an ambulance.
“How you holding up?” he asked as he inspected the damage to her leg. She just nodded, in too much pain to respond properly.
“This may hurt, but I’ve got to stop the blood flow on this calf injury,” he said looking at her. She nodded in consent and looked away.
Rivka’s back arched, and she groaned audibly when the makeshift tourniquet tightened on her calf. Satisfied that the flow of blood had been slowed sufficiently, Elliot left her to direct the arriving police.
Elliot waved his arms for the incoming squad cars and silently wondered where Banik was. The first cruiser stopped a dozen feet in front of him, and the passenger side officer stepped out of the car and pulled his gun staying behind the open door.
“Sur le sol, maintenant!” he ordered.
Elliot complied without putting up an argument. There was a process that officers had to follow during violent episodes such as this. They would control the situation first and ask questions later.
“Ça va. Je le connais. Stand down. I know this man,” came Renault’s voice from the second cruiser. The first officer looked over to his partner and, with a nodded affirmation, holstered his gun.
“Elliot Forsman. You can get up. What’s the situation?” Renault asked as he moved toward him.
“You’ll find two bodies in the hangar. They’re Banik’s soldiers. They attacked my partner and me, and they lost. My partner Rivka is in there also. She’s been wounded. I’ve already called 911 for an ambulance.”
“Yes, we heard the 911 call. Where is Banik?”
“I don’t know. He could be in the building, or he may not have arrived yet.”
“Gaston, can you see to the comfort of the lady in the hangar? The ambulance should be here shortly,” Renault directed his partner.
“Francois and Pierre, come with me to search the building. Consider the fugitive extremely dangerous. I’ve already called for backup. Elliot, you stay here till we’ve cleared the building.”
Elliot could hear multiple sirens in the distance getting closer. The ambulance and at least two more cruisers, he thought. He waited by the cruisers until two of the officers came out. “There’s nobody in there,” Renaud said and then, on cue, received a call on his walkie-talkie.
“Dans l'avion!” he called to the other officer. They ran around to the back of the hangar. Elliot followed.
By the time he turned the corner, Renault and two other officers had their guns drawn and were yelling at the plane.
“This is the Montreal Police. Come out of the plane with your hands where we can see them.”
A moment later, the door opened from the top down revealing a set of stairs on the inside of the door. Alex Banik stood at the top of the open doorway with his hands in the air. He walked down the stairs with little apparent concern and allowed himself to be cuffed by an officer. Yves Renault proceeded to read him his rights. Banik's eyes fixed on Elliot before moving on to the officers.
“Please, please, officers. This is all a mistake. You won’t need your guns. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Bullshit, Banik,” said Elliot. “I know everything. The people you murdered, the pharmaceuticals that you lied about and the police you bribed.”
“I guess you have evidence of those claims. Do you? I can’t be sure what my chief of security has done, but I assure you I will not be implicated. After all, am I my brother’s keeper?”
Elliot looked over at the commotion behind him and saw the emergency team rushing into the hanger to attend to Rivka and additional officers gathering behind them.
“I’ve already made a call to my law firm. I’m quite sure I’ll be out of jail and relaxing at home by noon. Whatever it is you claim I’ve done will have to be proven in a court of law, and my pack of lawyers is very good at what they do. You may even find yourselves on the receiving end of some expensive counter suits,” he said speaking to anyone within hearing range.
Elliot watched the smugness of the man as he allowed himself to be guided to the waiting cruiser. He’s probably right, he thought.
“Banik, I know all about the failed memory tests on the first generation mice. Health Canada is shutting you down, and the FDA will follow. Biovonix is finished,” Elliot lied as Banik was being led to the cruiser.
For the first time, Banik lost his composure. He turned to face Elliot.
“Don’t interfere in matters you cannot comprehend,” he screamed. “Sacrifices need to be made for the greater good. This is bigger than you or me.”
“He’s got a gun!” yelled an officer from somewhere in the back, immediately followed by the flash and crack of a discharged handgun close to Banik.
Elliot saw Banik drop to the ground, and the nearby officers scatter and pull their guns. At the back of the turmoil stood Duval, gun already on the ground and hands rising in the air.
“Cuff that man!” yelled Renault.
“Medic! Medic!” yelled one of the officers calling to the emergency crew that was in the hangar attending to Rivka.
Elliot watched as Banik writhed on the ground with a serious chest wound. He was having difficulty breathing and, based on the facial contortions, was in extreme pain.
“Aide moi,” the officer shouted at Elliot, indicating for him to put pressure on the hemorrhaging wound.
Elliot stared blankly at the officer and then at Banik, who glanced up in an appeal for aid.
Elliot said nothing as he turned away and walked to Rivka.
Chapter 94
“Anne.”
“Elliot, so nice of you to call.”
“Can you come up for a minute? There’s something we need to talk about.”
“How mysterious. Gimme a sec.”
He heard Anne’s footsteps coming up the stairs and the lock slide open. With an economy of feeling, Elliot greeted her when she stepped into the room.
“Anne, there’s someone in here I’d like you to meet,” as the man in the adjacent room stepped forward into her view.
“Anne, Jory Jablanski. Mr. Jablanski, Anne Simmons. But I think you know each other already.”
Anne’s face blanched at the sight of Jablanski.
“Anne? Or should I say, Nikki? So good to see you again,” said Jablanski with a sneer of contempt. Jory Jablanski was nasty looking man. His dyed black hair was greased straight back exposing a widow’s peak on his forehead that pointed down to a misshapen nose that twisted to left. His arms and shoulders were well muscled, and his gut hung freely over a large Jack Daniels belt buckle. The scar on the corner of his mouth made Elliot think that this was a man who fought hard to get what he had and fought harder to keep it.
Anne reeled back as if punched in the gut. Her eyes darted from Jablanski to Elliot and back again, trying unsuccessfully to process the situation.
“Get away from me! How co
uld you? You don’t know what you’re doing,“ she finally blurted. Elliot didn’t know if she was talking to him or Jablanski.
Jablanski stepped forward and grabbed Anne by the hair in the back of her head in a swift, practiced motion. He gripped her face by the jaw with his other hand and twisted her face so he could examine her.
“You’ve changed, my dear. Now stop struggling, so I don’t have to mess up your pretty new smile.”
In a flash of anger, Elliot grabbed Jablanski’s wrist, their eyes locking on each other. They matched stares for a moment before he let the moment pass, and he backed away from a possible confrontation. “Mr. Jablanski. I think I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain,“ he finally said.
“You have, Mr. Forsman,“ and with that, he handed Elliot a thick envelope. “Cash, as per our agreement.”
“I don’t want to be a poor host, but whatever business you two have to discuss needs to be discussed elsewhere,” he said as he opened the front door.
Jablanski, with hair in one hand and her arm in the other, pushed Anne toward and through the open front door.
“Where’s my daughter?“ he hissed into her ear.
“Get away from me. Elliot, please. He will use her!” Anne shrilled somewhere between a scream and a sob trying to appeal to Elliot as she was forced out the door.
Elliot closed the door and stood by the couch at the front window. He heard Anne’s hostilities and cries. He didn’t enjoy what he just did, and he wouldn’t enjoy what he was about to do next, but it had to be done. The sound of a car door closing drifted through the open window, and then he heard Rayce’s raspy voice. “Hey, asshole, leave my friend alone.”
Elliot couldn’t make out the response as it was blown away on the breeze, but he understood the intent of the terse expletive. The sound of feet shuffling on pavement was accompanied by another vague curse and followed quickly by the sharp cracking sound of fist striking flesh and bone. A momentary silence hung in the wind, and then came a blistering string of East European expressions whose exact translation was unknown, but the meaning was quite clear. These were answered swiftly by another smacking sound and then by a yelp and the rattle of something metallic skidding across a road. A knife, thought Elliot. He looked out the window when he heard Anne’s footsteps running up the walkway toward the front door. He saw Rayce and Jablanski on the street. Jablanski was down on one knee, face bent over and a stream of syrupy blood flowing from his face. His right arm hung uselessly by his side at an unnatural angle, and a switchblade lay on the street a dozen steps away. Rayce held Jablanski by the back of the neck with one hand, and the other clamped on his limp shoulder and was speaking into Jablanski’s ear. Jablanski’s head nodded up and down as if in prayer.
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