He looked over at the body guard who was sitting next to him. “Where are you taking me?”
“Like we said, Charles Morgan wants to see you.”
“You realize that man wants me dead,” Christopher said.
The guard glanced at him and looked back forward.
Christopher noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring. This man wasn't some anonymous henchman, he was a real man who had a wife and a home. Maybe a child or two and a dog who ran to meet him when he came home from this job. Maybe he possessed compassion for fellow fathers. Christopher spoke again. “Do you have any children?”
The man nodded. “I do. I have a young son.”
“I do too. I have a wife and two young sons. I'm a preacher.”
The guard didn't respond. He continued looking ahead.
Christopher nodded at the guard by the Gatling gun. “Were you guys trying to kill me back there?”
The guard didn't answer for a moment. Then he looked over at him. “We're sending a message to anyone who wants to cross Charles Morgan.”
Christopher felt a little bolder as he spoke. “But you saw Mr. Morgan push that man over the balcony. How can you support a man like that?”
The guard crossed his arms and leaned toward him. “We believe Mr. Morgan is the most powerful man in the world. The nation's economy rests on him. He's too big to fail and we intend to make sure he doesn't.” The guard pulled his pistol out of its holster and turned it in his hand. “I believe I'm supporting my country when I protect Mr. Morgan. I'm proud of what I do.”
Christopher rode in silence and didn't press him anymore. He studied the other body guards. There were three in the cabin with him. One beside him and two in front of him. They all had huge biceps, like Dillon, and two of them looked like they were covered in body art. The One near the Gatling gun was the one who had shot up and burned down Jim's house, and just the look of him scared Christopher the most. They hadn't put handcuffs on him – they hadn't even warned him not to try anything. What was he going to do against these guys? Two pilots were in the cockpit. It was unsettling to realize that he was completely at their mercy.
He might have begged someone to let him go, but he knew it wouldn't do any good, so he just watched for lights below and waited for them to land. What if he jumped off the helicopter and ran as they were landing? Maybe he could get away. If Dillon was there, he might be able to keep them at bay long enough for them to escape, but without him, he couldn't think of any way to pull it off.
He noticed a glow in the sky first, then lights in the distance. Soon, lights were growing brighter below. Then they began to descend. Christopher had been so nervous on the trip out, but now he had a strange calm come over him. He closed his eyes and silently quoted one of his favorite verses in times of trouble. “Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is thy faithfulness.”
He opened his eyes and saw that they were hovering over a landing pad beside the Morgan Corporate Headquarters. They gently set down on the tarmac and the pilots cut power to the rotors.
The guard at the Gatling gun opened the door and jumped out. Christopher unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Let's go,” the guard next to him said.
Christopher was led into the back of the building and into the hall of the first floor. He and three body guards walked into it and then into a large conference room. The room was even bigger than Charles' office. A huge table dominated the room, with leather high-backed chairs surrounding it. Nothing was on the table except a thick, Denver phone book. In one of the chairs sat Travis. Christopher 's heart jumped. He was glad to see him alive, but he looked terrible. Beard stubble covered his face and his hair was unkempt and greasy. His eyes were hollow and sad and he barely reacted when Christopher walked in. A wiry man in a red baseball cap stood behind him with a knife in his hand. The man glared at Christopher when he came in. The guard who was holding Christopher's arm led him around the table and sat him next to Travis, then stood behind him.
“Are you okay?” Christopher said to Travis, just above a whisper.
Travis nodded slightly.
Suddenly Christopher felt a sharp pain on top of his head. His sight went dark. Stars were dancing in front of his eyes and he struggled to gain control of his senses through the fog. The man in the red cap had struck him with the phone book. “Do not speak unless you are spoken to,” he said.
Christopher felt as though he were losing consciousness. He looked forward, squinting his eyes and opening them to try to drive the floating cells from his vision. He was in intense pain, but it was quickly subsiding. He tried to focus on where he was.
The man leaned over Christopher's shoulder. “This is the way it's going to work: Mr. Morgan is coming here to talk to you. You should be honored that he finds you that important.” He reached into his pocket and took out a silver thumb-drive and held it in front of Christopher's face. “Mr. Morgan just needs to know who all saw this.”
Christopher kept looking forward but didn't speak. He didn't recognize the memory device.
“And then, when he leaves, you're going for a little ride with me.”
Christopher's heart jumped at the cool way his antagonist had said this, but the man wasn't saying anything that surprised him. He was resigned to his fate and determined to go through it with dignity. But he wished Dillon were there to smash this guy in the throat and rescue them. He and Travis didn't have a chance against this room full of bodyguards. He closed his eyes and kept his teeth tightly closed in case another blow came. He didn't dare even glance at Travis, but he opened his eyes and used his peripheral vision to try to see him. Travis was looking forward, forlorn.
Just then, the door opened and Charles Morgan walked into the room. He was wearing a sport shirt and dress pants, with every hair perfectly groomed and in place. But his face was red with anger. “This ends tonight,” he said after he sat across the table from Christopher and Travis. He leaned on the table and stared at the men. He focused on Christopher. “We got the memory stick from Telluride, but you went back to Springfield.” He pointed at him. “Who all did you tell when you were there?”
Christopher stared back at him.
“We got your wife and the man you were staying with. I just need to know if you told anyone else.”
Christopher's eyes grew large. He couldn't speak if he wanted to. Then he was hit with a burst of searing pain. The room grew dark and stars danced in front of him. His head and neck felt like they were going to explode.
Travis jumped to his feet. “Don't hit him again. He didn't tell anyone else.”
Christopher weakly gestured to stop him from speaking. He feared what the man would do to him. “No, that's not true. I did tell someone.” He paused until he could speak clearly again and could focus on Charles' eyes. Then he spoke calmly with his strongest voice. “I told a detective at the Springfield police department. I told him everything I know.” His head began to clear and he felt a surge of courage and strength. “I also told a television reporter.”
Charles jumped to his feet and slammed his fist on the table.
The captor grabbed Christopher violently and put his knife to his throat. “Just let me do him, Boss. We don't need him anymore.”
Christopher could feel the sharp edge of the knife piercing his skin. The man was itching to plunge it through his jugular.
“Back off,” Charles said. “Just hold on a minute while I think about this.”
The captor pulled the knife away and pushed Christopher hard back into his chair. Charles sat and stared at the men. His eyes went back and forth between them and he fidgeted in his chair. He looked like a chess-player contemplating his next move. The room fell completely quiet for several seconds. Christopher glanced at Travis. He knew the man sitting across from them was trying to figure out the best way to get rid of them.
Charles squinted his eyes as he stared with them and he opened his mout
h to speak. At that moment, the bodyguard who was standing behind him with an ear-piece leaned close to his cheek. “Sir, there are police cars entering the compound. We've got to get you out of here.”
“Very well,” Charles said, standing to his feet. “We'll take them with us.”
The man in the red cap grabbed Travis and Christopher by the arms. “You heard the man.”
Christopher and Travis stood and followed Charles and his guards out the door and into the hallway. They went out the same door of the building they had come in, but this time, Christopher could see the red and blue flashing lights of several police cars outside the fence. The officers had arrived and surrounded the headquarters. One of them had a bullhorn and used it to command the guards to lay down their weapons and surrender. The guards began to shoot in the direction of his voice. Police officers ducked behind their cars and shot back.
Charles led them to the helicopter and the men began to climb in. The pilots got into place and guards began to take the seats in the back. One bodyguard jumped behind the Gatling gun and began to zip rounds into the police cars that he could reach, sending the police officers scrambling for cover.
“Sir, there's not enough room for all of us,” a guard said to Charles.
Charles grabbed Christopher by the arm. “We'll take him.” He pulled him into the cabin. Christopher landed hard in the same leather seat he had been in earlier. The Gatling gun whirred and casings fell on the floor, clinking at Christopher's feet. He could see Travis standing a few feet away with the man in the red cap behind him, holding his arms. Christopher watched as they turned and retreated back toward the building in the wash of wind.
“Take off!” Charles shouted.
The pilots revved the engine to get the rotor up to speed. The craft lifted off the ground and turned to the left. The gunner sprayed the cars around the fence as it did.
But one of the officers shot back with an automatic weapon. Christopher could see holes being formed in the front window bubble as bullets entered the cockpit. Christopher ducked. The aircraft was moving in a circle and gaining altitude, but it was clear that the pilots had been shot. The one that Christopher could see was leaning forward over his control stick. The craft stalled and nosed toward the side of the building. It was spinning and falling from the sky. It banked hard to the right and fell about twenty feet, crashing onto its right side. The gunner in front of Christopher smashed into the ground through the open doorway.
The impact knocked Christopher unconscious for a second, then he quickly came to his senses. He was in pain from the impact and could taste blood in his mouth. He hadn't remembered buckling his seatbelt, but he had and it was holding him in place in his chair. But he was lying sideways and Charles was on top of him, pinning him to the side of the cabin. Charles began to stir and tried to crawl out of the craft, but it was lying on its side and blocking the door. He couldn't get free and his elbow was digging into Christopher's ribs. Christopher tried to maneuver out from under him. He could smell his expensive cologne.
Suddenly the helicopter was lifted onto its wheels. Christopher was sitting aright in his seat and Charles fell over into the seat next to him. The police officers had come up and lifted it upright. Several thrust their guns into the cabin and ordered the men to drop their weapons and come out with their hands up. One guard was either dead or unconscious. The others surrendered. Charles put his hands in the air and followed Christopher out of the craft, stepping over the dead gunner. An officer quickly grabbed Charles and put his hands behind his back. He snapped handcuffs on him and read him his Miranda rights.
“I want my lawyer,” Charles said as they put him in the back of a police car.
A police officer checked Christopher to make sure he was okay. Christopher complied and then walked toward a group of officers near the door of the building. The officers were looking at a dead man on the ground. He had been cut in half by the helicopter's rotor blade. The red cap lay on the ground near his head and blood was everywhere. Travis was standing just behind him covered in blood.
Christopher ran up to him. “Are you okay?”
“I'm not hurt,” Travis said. He gestured to the man in pieces at his feet. “This man murdered my wife. He told me so.”
“Oh no,” Christopher said. “No.”
“We need you guys to move away from this area,” an officer came up and said. He tilted his head toward his car. “Come with me and I'll get you out of here.”
Christopher felt euphoric to be free from Morgan's grasp and to be in the hands of the police. He was elated to be free from the helicopter, but he was so sad for Travis, he could not enjoy his freedom. Travis rode beside him in silence.
“We're going to get you guys cleaned up and checked out at the station, then we'll have you on your way” the officer driving said. He looked at them in the mirror. “I'll need to ask a few questions if its okay.”
“My friend says they murdered his wife down in Telluride,” Christopher said. “Can you check on that for us?”
The officer spoke into his radio and waited several minutes for a response. It seemed like an hour to Christopher. Then he spoke to them again. “Is your wife Julia Reed, Sir?”
“Yes,” Travis said.
“She's not dead. She's at the trauma center in Colorado Springs. They say she lost a lot of blood but she should be okay.”
Christopher and Travis hugged each other and wept the rest of the car ride to the police headquarters. Christopher had never known such relief. He let it out in the form of tears and sobbing, and before they arrived, delirious laughter. He wanted so badly to check on his own wife but didn't even know how to ask the officer about someone back in Missouri. That would have to wait.
It was the first thing he did when they arrived at the police headquarters. He padded Rachel's parents’ number on a phone at the detective's desk. Rachel answered it herself. Christopher felt as though his feet had left the floor and he was floating above it.
Now he was more than happy to regale his terrifying adventure to the officers. Several gathered around him and Travis and couldn't believe what they were hearing. Christopher felt as though he owned the world, but he was careful to give God the credit for seeing him through his series of close calls.
After less than an hour of questioning, Travis told the officers that he really needed to get to his wife.
“If you can get me to my car, I'll take him,” Christopher said.
The detective cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, remember I told you we left it in that garage downtown? Do you have any idea what happened to it?”
The detective made a couple of phone calls then looked back at them. “It's in the police compound.” He reached into his drawer and pulled out a set of keys. “Come on and I'll take you to it.”
Christopher had forgotten how shot-up he had left his car. It had large-caliber bullet holes in the hood, the back window was completely shattered, and worse, the largest radiator hose had been split in half by one of the shots. There was no water in it and he didn't dare move it. He knew the delay was agony for Travis, but he couldn't help it; they had to wait for the officer to scrounge up a mechanic and fix the car – or at least get it in driving condition. After more than two hour's delay, they were finally on their way. There was no way to keep it warm with the back window out, but Christopher figured the cold helped keep him awake. Travis said he didn't care. Travis had come back to life.
It was after two in the morning when they arrived at the hospital in Colorado Springs. When they walked in, the receptionist tried to send them to the emergency room, seeing the blood on Travis' clothes and reasoning he had been in some sort of terrible accident and was badly wounded. After convincing her he was okay, they made their way through the building and were finally in her room. They stood at Julia's bedside and studied her as she slept in the dim light. Her neck was bandaged, but her color was good and she looked as though she were sleeping peacefully. Sylvia
Morales slept in the recliner.
“Should I wake her?” Travis spoke in a whisper.
“I think she would want you to.”
She opened her eyes and looked at the men for a moment. Then a huge grin came upon her face. “Hey sweetie.” Her voice was a raspy whisper.
“I didn't think I was ever going to see you again,” Travis said, fighting back tears.
“I know. I thought that was the end of me.” She studied Travis' face for a moment and grimaced. “You look terrible.”
He laughed slightly. “But I'm okay.”
She looked at Christopher and tilted her head. Then she reached out her hand to him. “Thank you for taking care of my husband. I knew you would.”
“Yes Ma'am.”
Sylvia awoke and stood to her feet. She came over and stood beside Travis, patting and scratching his back. “She's going to be okay.”
“Thank you for staying with her,” Travis said.
Julia adjusted the covers and tried to straighten her red hair. “I know I look pretty bad too.”
“You look great to me, Honey,” Travis said, taking her hand and caressing it.
She felt of her bandages with her free hand. “They say he just barely cut my neck.” She coughed and winced as though it pained her. “He could have killed me if he wanted to. They say he was just trying to scare us.”
Travis grinned. “Well, he scared us all right.” He paused and glanced at Christopher. “But he won't be scaring anyone else.” He adjusted her pillow. “When do you think you can go home?”
“Maybe tomorrow, if I don't have any fever.” She cleared her throat. “So what happened in Denver?”
“I'll be glad to tell you all about it, but you need to rest now.”
The Dead Peasants File Page 19