THE PRICE SHE'LL PAY: For the secret she never knew she had...

by Cara Charles

  Chris had promised to bring Pop to this spot, when his time had come to lay his last lines.

  ‘Guess my turn came first, Pop.’

  Chris could hear the sirens now, and something else. A chemical smell disturbed his peaceful retreat. A smile slowly came to his lips as his mind registered the sound.

  Digging.

  ‘Ya. You fuckers. Guess who got the last laugh.’

  Chris chose.

  A peaceful stillness enveloped him. His last conscious thought was of his beautiful morning sky, hoping Heaven had this blue of a sky and fresh powder. Everyday.

  The essence that was Chris Frances Steiner Wilson, former California Jr. Surfing Champion, gifted circuit skier and wonderful, fun loving guy, lifted up through the snow-laden trees. He felt a familiar sense of an overdue homecoming urging him on. He looked toward the full moon, hanging in the winter morning sky.

  Curious, Chris glanced down at his body as the two skiers he’d been chasing for two days stood over him, one checking his carotid artery, just as his Dad materialized out of the air and walked toward him.

  “Son? Chris?” His Dad’s voice was calling his name... “Son?”

  “He’s still got a pulse.”

  “He’s finished.”

  “Chris, boy,” the familiar voice called, inside his head.

  Chris’ attention was on the two skiers. It was like watching himself in a movie.

  The one in black on black chuckled. The other guy punched him hard in the shoulder.

  “Let it go, Chris.”

  Chris turned to see his Dad. The same Dad he’d lost at age seventeen. He felt his heart relax, as he was being embraced in that old familiar smothering hug of his Dad’s. An embrace so memorable he’d never forgotten it, and had yearned for it everyday since half his life ago. Here, is where Chris wanted to be, with Dad.

  “Dad... My God. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve been with you everyday. You were never alone son. Never.”

  “Can you believe Pop out lived us both?”

  “That’s why they call him ‘the Mountain.’ But what a reception he’ll have. His two best boys laying lines beside him, together again.”

  “I pictured it that way, too.”

  Chris and his Dad approached a crowd who Chris recognized, one by one.

  Off in the distance but approaching fast was the familiar barking of all of Chris’ old dogs. Pure joy filled Chris’ heart to overflowing, filling the empty places. He was whole again.

  THE CHEMICAL the skiers poured on the ground turned the snow into steam. They worked like machines, digging in the softening ground.

  “Don’t do this. He’s still got a pulse,” Comedian, the skier in black on black, said.

  Igor in red on black pulled a gun, “Plant him. He’s done.” Igor pushed him.

  “Jesus, man! You’re such a fucking Nazi!”

  “Something like that. Wanna join him?”

  Looking into this guy’s dead eyes erased any doubt.

  ‘Knew it,’ Comedian thought.

  COMEDIAN GOT into Chris’ still warm Avalanche Patrol jumpsuit. They lifted Chris into the steaming hole, threw the black on black ski suit on top of him, covered his body with lime, quickly filled the dirt back in, emptied their backpacks of chemical that fluffed the snow, plus fake snow to cover the fresh dirt. They pulled snow to cover the dirt on the snow. They wrestled the tokin' log over his grave, covered the log residue with chemical, snow and fake snow.

  Flinging Chris’ backpack with explosives onto his back on top of another backpack, Comedian dusted away their tracks with chemicals, dragged spruce saplings, sprinkled pine needles, and broken boughs around, making the ground look tamper free.

  Comedian pushed off, tree branch in hand and threw it into a distant tree stand, then raced ahead, returning to the ridge. He hated what he had just done. He’ll never forget Chris’ mysterious Mona Lisa smile. It was something that could gnaw at him for the rest of his life.

  ‘Fitting grave marker though,’ Comedian thought as he pushed hard to gain distance between him and Igor, the Nazi.

  Comedian, chosen because of his avalanche patrol experience in Colorado and because as a failed stand-up comedian, he was a damn good mimic. But the main criteria for his selection was, he resembled Chris in height, build and coloring. Their similarities should have made him uneasy, but he understood he had to fit into Chris’ gear and fool his buddies from afar.

  Comedian adjusted Chris’ still warm dynamite filled backpack, over his backpack. Chris’ felt heavier than it should, he thought. He’d search it for a walkie, phone and wallet.

  Sirens in the distance made Igor, the Nazi stop to listen. He spoke into a satellite phone then changed frequency. Nazi keyed his mike.

  Comedian keyed his mike acknowledging. Comedian could feel eyes behind him. Sirens meant they’d missed something. Comedian proceeded to the ridge at full speed putting distance between him and the Nazi.

  THE GUYS in Chris’ jeep monitoring Hal’s patrol GPS had seconds to pull off the road to avoid his speeding Ski Patrol jeep followed by an ambulance. They stayed on task, peeling off decals with a chemical as two others switched out Chris’ plates for Nevada plates.

  They left Chris’ Jeep at the Tavern. ‘Checklist completed’, the team reported in.

  Minutes later they were picked up at the grocery store.

  LARA DRESSED IN RECORD TIME, washed out their oatmeal bowls, ran around the condo doing the “close down” duties, double-checking her laminated chore list, while Tom loaded the car.

  “Hey Dad? Mom must be pretty sick. Asking us to come home is not like her.”

  “She sure didn’t sound like herself. Did she ever get a flu shot?”

  “No. She said the kids and seniors needed it. Meet you at the car.”

  “That’s your mom. O.K. I’m almost ready.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE — HURRY HOME

  LARA WAS LEANING on the car, her hands folded across her chest, when Tom and Boogey locked the front door. Tom put Boogey in his crate, then they got into their Q4. Lara got in the back seat with her pillow, down comforter, her Kindle, and her phone.

  “Dad? I’m a big girl now. Please don’t double check my work.”

  “Sorry, honey. Just did it to be safe, OK. Forgive me?”

  “Always. I double-check you too, Dad. Mom hates our little game. She feels like we leave the iron on. We have a new record. Twenty-two minutes.”

  “Wow. My mind is too full to remember it all. Glad you cover me, honey.”

  “Always. I’m starving. The oatmeal didn’t make a dent.”

  “We’ll stop at the market in Bishop, after we get off the mountain.”

  “Thank God. Please don’t let me eat the whole deli case.”

  “Add shortbread cookies and Cheetos to Mom’s sick food list.”

  “Those are for you.”

  Tom laughed, “No they’re not, add cookies for Boogey. Right boy?”

  Boogey barked from his crate. But a scent caught him as she shut the tailgate. He turned to look up the hill. He listened and barked at the stranger far out of sight.

  “Shh, Boogey. We’re going home to Mom, now.” Lara said.

  Within seconds they were on the deserted road leading down their hill by the lake.

  Someone walkied the Nazi far up on the hill as they pulled out of the driveway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO — ON OUR WAY

  TOM, LARA, AND BOOGEY set out.

  Back about 100 yards METAPHOR’s team followed. Reported in.

  ‘2 & 3 heading home. Spoke to Orca. Orca home now, sick? Thot she was AWOL.’

  Desiree was confused. She called the Mammoth team. “No not true! Orca is AWOL, purse stolen. Car still at mechanics. Stay close. I suspect a diversion. Back in one.” Desiree called street team in Santa Barbara, “Boys? Did you fail to report? Is the lady of the house home?”

  “No ma’am. House dark.”

  “Double check, I
’ll wait.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He knocked on the door then went around back. He walkied the van.

  “Check interior cameras. Dear wants a report.”

  He put the walkie up to his phone.

  “Ma’am? House still empty.”

  “Roger that.” Desiree said.

  She called her Mammoth team.

  “Boys? Had to be imposter. She’s not home. Close in. Stick close, be ready for an assault.”

  “Yes ma’am. They’re covered.”

  LARA COULDN’T FIND her phone. “Go back Dad. I forgot my phone on the charger. Sorry.”

  “It’s OK, honey.” Tom turned around.

  He noticed the other car far behind them slowed down.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE — SIDEWORK

  HIDING IN THE TREES, Comedian had taken off his backpack, and fanny pack. Digging deeper he found the C-4 bombs, meant for him but no walkie or phone. He knew. He’d been one step ahead of that Nazi at every play, and Carlos, and that privileged bitch, Mavra Kimirov. He was supposed to meet up with them, but ‘fuck ‘em.’ He was outta there.

  This morning he’d checked his bank account. His money was there. He transferred into another Cayman account immediately. Whatever he did from now on was his choice. That’s why he freelanced. He’d posed as his cousin, the rogue Special Forces guy with his own special skill set. The fake ID with his cousin’s nearly identical face, always worked.

  Comedian’s hidden backpack was full of bags of animal blood and two fresh pork shoulders with bone, stuffed into another Avalanche Patrol’s jacket. He hurried out of the trees, grabbed his hidden pack, and sat Chris’ open blast pack on top of it. He hoped Nazi would ski out as far as Chris’ pack with the Patrol Patches on it, to investigate. He would have a split second to act, once Nazi took the bait.

  Comedian lit a cigar and puffed it into a big ember. He took out just enough of Chris’ explosives to begin the tear down job and hurried to the far side of the ridge where he could throw the charges at the Nazi. He hoped he could kill the bastard with a few charges and send him down the mountain in sushi-sized pieces instead of bringing down the whole mountain. He waited.

  AFTER GETTING Lara’s phone the Andersen family returned to the road home.

  Up ahead, warning flag stands told both drivers, Tom and M4, there was a flagman ahead. A new detour. But the lone flagman was removing the detour sign. He saw them and pointed for them to continue toward the main road. He froze in his tracks, as he locked eyes with Lara.

  ‘He’s creepy,’ Lara thought as he followed their car, after they passed. She watched him watch her, then not knowing why she waved.

  He threw his head up in response.

  What was the matter with her? Flirting with a perfect stranger?

  He turned his back to their car, speaking with unusual animation into a walkie.

  He shook his head sad like, threw the walkie into the snow, closed the road and walked off. That freaked Lara out.

  THE METAPHOR VEHICLE stopped at the closed road sign. One of the guys got out and collected the walkie in the snow and waved his car through.

  “Bullshit. Drive through it.”

  TOM DROVE SLOWLY DOWN the snowy, but empty road.

  “Dad? Where are the other cars?”

  “Don’t know. Could be the flu has hit here. The lifts were empty, too.”

  “That flagman back there, his eyes never left the car, like he recognized me. He talked in his walkie, threw it in the snow then closed the road again. Oh good. Look there’s another SUV.”

  “Maybe you were the subject of a long conversation with his buddies. ‘Love at first sight, the one that got away,’ kind of thing. Maybe his buddy said, ‘now she won’t be back ‘til next year,’ and maybe he didn’t like himself too much right then. Honey. Every pretty woman has to learn how to handle guys that creep them out.”

  “His whole body language was sinister. It was the way he looked at me. Not the way he looked, Dad. Ya, know what I mean?”

  HAL, Avalanche Patrol Chief and Assistant Sheriff, Dave the EMT and Kane, Dave’s ambulance driver skied into at China Grove. Hal tried Chris’ cell again.

  “The subscriber you are trying to reach cannot be located.”

  “Has he even been here?” Kane asked.

  Chris’ walkie was active. The sun was at an angle, showing sections of drag marks leading away from the scene, but they had no reason to see it. A hint of aftershave and another smell, lingered.

  “Am I imagining it? ‘Cuz I smell that ‘girl killer’ shit of his,” Hal said.

  COMEDIAN THREW the first charge and second charge behind Nazi. Nazi dove for cover, too late. A bloody chunk, landed at his feet.

  “Bulls eye, you psycho asshole! It’s raining bastards!”

  HAL SKIED over to the edge and looked down. Nothing seemed disturbed. Kane stepped out of his sled harness.

  The two blasts shook the ground, but they seemed bigger than normal to these professionals.

  Instincts had Dave looking around the site.

  “Jesus! That was too fucking big. Can’t be Chris, blasting!” Hal said to Dave.

  “Never. Must be Mango. Chris would find a way of telling you he was O.K.”

  “I’ll try to find him on the ridge,” Kane took off over the ridge with the sled.

  THE NAZI HADN’T TRUSTED the Comedian, but he was sushi now and the charges he’d lit 45 seconds ago was their biggest dynamite bundle with the long fuse and was supposed to have given him three minutes.

  Comedian retrieved his reserve backpacks off the tree limb, put on his new fanny pack. He opened his larger pack and held onto the silks. Then he opened the two stops on the outer edges of the fanny pack. Comedian skied away, as the chemical hit his ski impressions and puffed them up.

  He saluted where the Nazi had once stood and took off, as small sections of the ridge were sliding south.

  ‘Ethan f-ing Hawke couldn’t have done better. Mission accomplished.’

  HAL WAS TRYING to visualize Chris’ last steps, “You call Mango?”

  “I did. No answer.” Dave said, puzzled.

  “Chris was alone,” Hal worried, a heavy combination for a Boomer. “We’re not leaving here until he shows up. Call Mango, again. Why aren’t they answering their Walkies? Maybe Mango’s out there and Chris drove himself to the E.R.”

  “He would have passed us, Hal.”

  “You’re right. What do you think?”

  “Call Howie.”

  HAL TURNED TO FACE SOUTH, “Howie? Did Chris check in?”

  “Ya, Hal? That’s him blasting. Why?”

  “Is Mango with him?”

  “No. Just Chris. You know Mango when he has a hangover. I’ve got back gate duty. Ben gave newbie Allen, the front. Ben headed to town to get some meds. What’s wrong?”

  Howie was distracted by the distant sound of a snowmobile, ‘Somebody wants to watch the ridge go.’

  “Chris called me with a 911, said he was having chest pain, his Jeep’s gone. You said Chris is blasting? I’m a bit pissed since I brought up Dave and Kane and their rig. It’s down below waiting. Out.”

  Hal heard someone yell, then a response, but he couldn’t make it out. Hal, out of his skis, was pacing like a worried father.

  “I’m gonna kick some ass!! Call Mango!”

  As Dave tried several times, Kane skied up, staying off the trail with his sled.

  “I saw him from far away. He waved. It’s Chris. Saw two broken tracks though. The tear down is almost done. He’s skiing out the back. Maybe, Mango’s meeting him on the other side. Probably, no reception there either. So save your breath Coach.”

  “He can’t ski out the back. He’s got the rest of this side to do. He’d better not be alone. I’m going to kill the both of them. Damn those boys!” Hal groaned.

  “Easy Coach. Pick your battles,” Dave put a calming hand on Hal’s shoulder.

  “Ya, ya. Sorry. I’ll chill, but my gut says dif
ferent,” Hal still paced.

  Dave walkied Mango again, “Mango? Mango? Come in.”

  Nothing. Then he called Mango’s cell. It went right to voice mail.

  “Mango? Dave here with Hal. Are you on the backside of Beyond with Chris? Chris called Hal with a 911, fifteen, twenty minutes ago having bad chest pain, saying he was at the Tokin Tree. Hal and I are here and Chris isn’t. His Jeep’s gone. Not like him or you not to answer, one of you is blasting. Let us know you’re both all right man. Hal’s getting gray over this and so am I, given Duke’s cardiac history. Chest pains are to be checked out, even if he’s feeling fine now. Out.”

  Hal called Ben.

  “Ben? I can’t raise Mango or Chris. Cars aren’t in the lot. You copy?”

  No response.

  “What the hell is going on? I thought the broken cable has been fixed? Anybody? Anybody within the sound of my voice! Mango and Chris are missing and I want Chris’ Jeep found. He called me with a 911, having severe chest pain. Anybody copy? Anybody copy? Shit, Dave! We can’t raise anybody from here. Chris and Mango are on duty. It’s not like either of them not to answer either their walkie or their cell. And where the hell is Ben? Somebody answer me!”

  Hal turned to Dave throwing his hands in the air.

  “Well, if this isn’t a cluster fuck! I’ll kill Mango if he’s ignoring me. God damn it! He’s pulled this shit before. I’m sick of being their mother! Did the whole fucking world disappear?”

  “Hal. It’s just a bad reception area.”

  “Mango? Come in, Mango!! Do you copy? Wake the hell up!” Hal chirped the Nextel phone again and again.

  Dave shook his head.

  “What the fuck’s the matter? Shit! Can’t a guy take a day off,” Mango shouted back.

  “Damn you, Mango! You’re on duty! Why is Chris alone? You know the procedure! We’ve been calling and calling! You’d better not be ignoring us?”

  “Sorry Coach. I slept so hard I didn’t hear the phone. What is so fucking urgent, Jesus! Please, Coach. Quit being his Mother. Had a hard night of lovin’ that’s all. You remember how it is.”

  “Mango? Shut up and listen, damn it. Have you heard from Chris?”