“Afraid not. The writ was clear. I had no choice.”
Fox’s ire actually had a dual focus: half on A & A Litigation, whose tactics he had dealt with before in this odyssey that was bringing Chad Swan to justice, and half on Davies for falling for A & A’s bullshit. Since Nora Givens was long gone from the vicinity, Inspector Davies got both barrels.
“I can’t fucking believe this. You just let him walk out of here? And you didn’t even call me? I should cut your balls off. That’s if you had any balls, you gutless paper pusher.”
“Watch yourself, Agent Fox. You are in my town now.”
“Apparently not,” Fox said with palpable contempt, as he motioned with a jerk of his head to Drake and Jarboe, signaling they were leaving.
The door had barely shut behind them when Fox started spewing instructions. “I want an APB on Cruz right now! And I want him back in custody before he takes his next shit.”
Jarboe wasn’t quite sure what the charge was going to be, but a little voice inside his head told him that it probably wasn’t a good time to raise that issue. He would just have to figure something out. “I’ll take care of it. We’ll get him,” was all he said.
Chapter 52
Then
Chad was glad for the droning roar of the plane’s engines. The sound made it an effort to talk and thus made it easier to stay out of conversations.
There were seven other jumpers in the cargo area of the aircraft: two female, the rest male. For two of them, it was their first time, so they would be jumping with two of the three instructors on board. Like Chad, the other two jumpers, one male, and one very cute brunette, were going to be jumping solo, but something about the way the guy was behaving—fidgeting, checking and rechecking gear—gave Chad the idea it was one of his first solo jumps.
The solo female jumper must have picked up on this. Obviously the friendly type, she had already visited with the first timers, sharing a brilliant smile, and encouraging them with a humorous first time story of her own, only some of which Chad could hear. Now the brunette was heading toward the nervous guy and no doubt would help him loosen up as well.
As she moved across the compartment, Chad noticed that even in the loose-fitting jump suit she was wearing, she somehow had the ability to look attractive. Maybe it was more about her bright personality. Whatever. Chad snapped back from his little daydream, more concerned now that she would make her way over to talk with him and he would have to pretend for a few minutes that he actually cared about something.
He looked out the window, trying his best to appear like someone who did not want to be bothered.
This would be Chad’s 57th jump. He’d taken to freefall naturally—the literal freefall through the air, that is, although he had been excelling at the figurative kind as well. He had learned more quickly than most how to maneuver in freefall, speeding up, slowing down, even moving laterally. He’d often thought his rapid progress was largely due to the somewhat unnatural fearlessness that had appeared in him over the past year or so.
He’d started skydiving a little more than six months back, a year to the day after the disappearance of his fiancée, Jill. His first foray had been a tandem jump, suggested by his good friend Morgan, who saw skydiving as the most promising way to snap his dear friend back to life.
“What better way to get your head out of a death spiral than to put your whole body into one,” Morgan had said.
So they took that first jump together. Morgan loved it, but to his disbelief, it was too controlled for his best friend. Chad found it interesting, but in his languid state of mind, being tethered to an instructor who had all the control made the outcome too certain for him. For the experience he was looking for, he needed the kind of rush he felt would only come if he were faced with the decision of whether or not to open his chute.
So after that first tandem jump, Chad had switched over to accelerated freefall training, where the jumper is not actually tethered to an instructor. And since completing his first AFF jump, Chad’s habit had continued at a breakneck pace in his relentless quest to feel something—anything—again.
“Hi.” The cute brunette greeted him loudly near his ear, having worked her way over to him when he wasn’t looking. “I’m Becky,” she shouted, overcoming the sound of the engines.
He thought about just telling her he didn’t want to be bothered, but then decided someone so nice didn’t deserve that. “Chad,” he managed, extending his hand.
As she took his hand, he was surprised at how hers could feel delicate and strong all at the same time. Maybe delicate wasn’t the right word. Fine might be better.
“So how long you been jumpin’, Chad?”
“Just a few months.” Since simply talking took enough energy for him these days, he paused to gather the resolve to voice a few more words at the higher-than-usual volume level required inside the aircraft. “How about you?”
“Quite a while, actually. I started when I was seventeen.”
Chad nodded, not sure what to say in response and not really caring. “That’s great,” he eventually managed.
“Love it. Always will,” she shouted back nodding cheerfully, as if the extra body language helped her communicate through the din of the engines. “Well, good luck, Chad. I hope you work it out.”
He looked at her with a confused expression and shrugged, prompting her to explain.
“Well, I can tell you’re not scared. So whatever it is, I hope you work it out.”
He nodded, feeling a bit of a sting, then just looked out the window. Nice try, honey, but it’s not work-outable.
Several minutes later, one of the instructors—Chad remembered his name was Carl—stood up. He was the one instructor who would not be jumping tandem. “Okay, everybody, we’re at 14,000 over the drop zone. It’s show time! The two tandems first, then the three solos. I get to go last. And Pete and Alex up front get to deadhead back to the field.”
The plane hit a bit of turbulence and Carl had to grab the back of one of the seats to steady himself. “Whoa. That’ll be enough of that,” he said, shouting up in the direction of the cockpit with a grin.
The female tandem jumper and her instructor were the first out.
“Textbook!” Carl exclaimed, with a little arm pump. Another air bump caused him to bring the same arm down quickly to keep his footing.
“I’m not sure why we’re getting bumped around way up here today, but I say let’s just get on with it!”
The second tandem pair went out through the roughly five-foot square opening. “All right, lookin’ good!” Carl continued his energetic commentating. “Time for the solos. Who’s up first?”
Nobody said anything initially, then Becky chimed in as she stood up and started adjusting her gear. “I’ll go.”
“All right, then. Just a couple more—”
The craft suddenly yawed severely, alarming everyone and staggering Becky and Carl, who were the only ones standing. As a relieved smile came to Carl’s face, the plane abruptly dropped and pitched to its port side even more severely. Both Carl and Becky were first thrown up hard against the ceiling, then against the starboard side of the cabin. Carl’s head smacked hard onto something, possibly an armrest on one of the seats.
It might have been okay had the craft not then pitched just as hard and suddenly to its starboard side. Carl was caught up in one of the seats, but Becky was still floating and smashing around the compartment. In an instant, her head smacked against the grab bar above the opening in the side of the plane and like a rag doll she flopped out into unconscious freefall.
Chapter 53
Mercifully, the plane stabilized. Chad started the timer on his watch as he hustled over to Carl. It took only a quick look to see Carl was going to be no help.
He looked over at the nervous guy. “What’s your name?” Chad asked in as patient a tone as he could muster.
“Paul,” he said, wide-eyed.
“Paul, keep an eye on Carl. He’s semi-co
nscious. Don’t let him go unconscious, okay? And get the guys up front to return to the airfield and get him medical help as soon as possible.”
Paul nodded vigorously. Chad checked his watch. Twelve seconds gone. Still enough time, but barely, especially for someone with his limited skill level. He decided to do the rest of his thinking on the fly, literally, nodded good luck to Paul, and rolled out into the empty.
As he entered freefall, the roar of the relative wind obliterated all other sound. In his previous jumps, Chad had always found freefall to be the most absorbing and mind-numbing segment. Not so today. Today it was actually stressful, which, given the stagnant state of his mind, was not necessarily a wholly bad thing.
It took a few seconds for him to orient himself so he could see Becky. He was hoping to find her in a controlled belly down or, more likely, back-flying position, but what he saw looked more like an uncontrolled tumble. The other bad news, of course, was that he had both lateral and vertical distance to make up to get to her. On the plus side, he had a good deal of altitude to work with and a tighter fitting jump suit than Becky was wearing, meaning less resistance and thus greater air speed. Most importantly, he had the ability to position himself, which he figured would allow him to travel at least 50 miles an hour faster than the 120 miles per hour or so Becky was probably doing.
He decided sit-flying offered him the best combination of speed and control. Once he’d picked up some speed, he figured the biggest danger would be overshooting her. If that happened, he would almost certainly not be able to get back to her in time, given his apprentice-level skills. So he had to travel fast to get close enough to her, then begin slowing early enough not to go flying past her. Piece of cake, right?
He checked his altimeter: 12,000. He still had some time.
Was Becky using an AAD? He thought she probably was. But had she had a chance to set it before being flung out of the plane? And with an automatic activation device triggering a reserve chute at maybe 750 feet, if it even worked at all, what were the chances she would fare that well? Ultimately he arrived at the same conclusion he started with when he jumped out of the plane. Despite the fact that he had never even practiced catching up with someone else and deploying the other skydiver’s chute in freefall, Becky’s best chance for survival rested with him doing just that.
He shifted his body position to begin moving laterally toward her and lost some control. He regained by going into neutral position, which slowed him, but seemed a much lesser evil.
He tried again, more carefully, and started moving in the desired direction. He checked his altimeter and found himself now between 9,000 and 8,000 feet. He figured Becky was still about a thousand feet ahead of him. It was going to be close—at least he hoped it was.
When it appeared that he would be directly over her in maybe ten more seconds, he began to slow his lateral motion and concentrated on downward speed again, assuming a more upright position. He considered head-down position for greater speed, but decided to stay with sit-flying, since he felt he had better control with it.
He was gaining on her fast, and when she was about a hundred feet below him, he went into neutral position to begin slowing down. He checked again. They were at about 6,000 and change.
He was close now, about thirty feet above her, but he had a sinking feeling—like it might as well be a mile. She had gone naturally into a sort of curled up back fall, but was still rotating, which was not going to make things any easier.
Chad was still gaining on Becky, but more slowly now, which, while being a critical aspect of success, raised the question of whether he would get to her in time. He stayed cool and stayed the course: 4,000 feet.
He was still in neutral sit-fly position, but nonetheless seemed to be coming in a little hot. She was just a couple of feet away as he came sailing down to her. Not having done this before, and not confident he could find and cleanly grab her suit grips at the speed of his approach, he just went for a bear hug on initial contact. It was a bit of an impact and they rolled somewhat after connecting, but within a few seconds, he was able to get her in a more stabilized body position.
Chad was somewhat relieved to see that Becky seemed to be regaining consciousness, which bode much better for her chances of landing without further injury. When he was satisfied he had her in the best body position possible, he found her pull out and deployed her pilot chute. A split-second later, the pilot chute deployed the main and she seemed to come to a dead stop in space as he zoomed on. He checked his altimeter: 1,200 feet. Becky would be okay.
Five seconds later, he decided to deploy his own chute. With his chute inflated and slowing him, he looked up and saw Becky sailing peacefully at his two o’clock. Then he did a happy double-take. Yes, she did just shoot me a thumbs up.
* * *
Becky Hart would thank Chad Swan with the rest of her life for stopping her freefall—the same way he would thank her for stopping his.
Chapter 54
Now
The three high-powered attorneys sat puzzled in the elegant conference room on the twenty-seventh floor of the John Hancock Building in downtown Chicago. For the past half-hour they had been unable to determine why they had been summoned and exactly who they were waiting for. Since their combined billing rates came to well over $1,000 an hour and they had all traveled from distant cities, they were sure the two attorneys they were waiting for were senior partners, but they weren’t sure which senior partners.
At 45, Byron Meeks, a graduate of Harvard Law School, was the eldest of the three. Despite his relatively senior status in the firm, all the floor receptionist would tell him was that the two individuals were flying in from separate cites and that both had been delayed. The mystery around the whole meeting smacked of a termination setup and that would have worried Meeks if he were not as confident as he was regarding his performance with the firm, particularly over the last few years.
Daniel Parks, the other male in the room, was a 31-year-old Yale Law School graduate who had been with the firm, one of the largest in the world, for five years. He stood to get himself another cup of coffee. “Can I get either of you another cup?” he asked his two colleagues.
Meeks shook his head and waved off the offer with a “no thanks.”
After giving it few seconds’ thought, Nora Givens, the third of the three talents, accepted. “Actually, that would be great Dan, thanks.”
Nora, 30, was out of Columbia Law School and had flown to Chicago from Boston, having recently wrapped up a brief assignment in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Just as Dan Parks stepped away from the mahogany conference table and toward the sterling silver coffee server in the far corner of the meeting room, the receptionist entered the room with three 11 by 14 white envelopes.
Maybe we are being offered a package, thought Meeks. But why bring three from different offices, just to give them pink slips? Makes no sense.
“The parties you will be meeting with would like you to review these dossiers before they arrive. They expect to be here in about twenty minutes.”
Meeks gave an internal sigh of relief, but showed no emotion. One of his many skills. It wouldn’t be at all hard for him to land another position; he just didn’t need the distraction.
Dan Parks returned with the coffees for himself and Nora, then joined the other two in reviewing the pack of documents. Every few minutes, one of them would stop, prompting the other two to join in sharing confused looks over exactly why they were reading this material. It did not at all appear to be the type of case any of them, let alone all three, would normally be involved with.
Twenty-two minutes after the three received their information packets, a six-foot two, 37-year-old man with vivid blue eyes stepped off the elevator wearing a $4,000 Canali suit. Given his druthers, he probably wouldn’t sport such excessively expensive clothing. But, as co-founder of A & A Litigation, one of the most prestigious law firms in the world, he realized the importance of projecting a certain image.<
br />
Rock star execs were common in some fields such as technology, but much less so in the world of high stakes litigation. Both co-founders had learned the practice of their craft from Harvard Law. But it was the man who had mentored them from youth and who had helped pay for their education who had taught them to maintain their balance and encouraged them to study the strategies and philosophies of the great empire builders of business.
Together the two had risked everything more than a few times to get to where they were by the highly unlikely age of 37. From Inc to Fortune to the Journal, they had been featured in most every major financial periodical. But what they were most proud of was the fact that they still maintained virtually complete control over such a large and quickly growing firm.
When the tall man with the piercing eyes arrived in the conference room, Meeks immediately jumped to his feet. The other two followed suit, but it took a minute for them to realize the reason for Meeks’s haste—and his apparent reverence.
Meeks took the opportunity to recognize the co-founder. “We were expecting senior partners, but we never expected to be meeting with one of the founding fathers. It’s a true honor, sir.”
The man in the Canali suit smiled lightly, silently relishing the pun Meeks had employed in referring to him.
“You’re going to meet with the other one too, Byron. He should be along momentarily. And it is certainly an honor and a pleasure to see you again as well. We appreciate your leading the team we’ve assembled here to handle this case.” He extended his hand and Meeks returned his greeting enthusiastically.
“And Ms. Givens,” he said, extending his hand to Nora. “We have admired your work for some time now. We suspected you could aptly handle the situation in Cambridge and you did not disappoint. Thank you for your fine work.”
“Thank you, sir,” was all Nora could manage. There wasn’t much that put Nora at a loss for words, but learning from the horse’s mouth that the firm’s founding fathers were aware of her recent assignment with Angel Cruz left her somewhat stunned.
Romeo's Tell (A disappearance mystery turned international thriller) Page 15