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

by Cara Charles

  Mavra kissed him, “thank you, lover.”

  “Don’t kill one more person or I walk,” D shoved her off.

  He started jogging toward the lights and she followed.

  “Wait D!”

  “Keep up!”

  “D, I’m sorry…”

  “I don’t want to hear it!”

  John called Dez to give an update on the plane as they raced for Snug Harbor, “Dear? That plane landed on Bailer Hill. Sheriff’s office got reports of a low flying plane in Hannah Heights. Bet they hoofed it to town.”

  “You’d better have money on you!” Dimitri demanded.

  “You know I’ve got a wad of hundreds. Just one will excite them.”

  As the headlights got closer, Dimitri waved his arms.

  It was a Ford 250 pickup. A young kid was driving. He slowed and stopped.

  “Need help, sir?” a fresh faced, dimpled, curly haired kid of twenty-six asked.

  “Yes. Our car broke down on the West Side. We’ve been walking back to town. It would be a cool hundred for ya, if you could give us a ride back,” Dimitri asked.

  “Sure. Sit up front. Our dogs own the back seat. The money’s not necessary. Thank you, anyway. Looks like snow,” the kid said succeeding at keeping suspicion off of his face, while he turned up the heater.

  Mavra smiled at the cute brown haired boy, as she ran around the headlights, to the passenger door Dimitri opened for her. Knowing the boy was watching her, Mavra said something to D. He shook his head no.

  The kid didn’t catch it. He would have hauled ass if he had.

  Mavra jumped up into the cab, passenger side, “So kind of you to stop for us.” ‘He didn’t have that ‘you’re a celebrity’ spark in his eye, thank God.’

  “No problem. Hi. I’m Ryan. Can get real cold when you have to walk. Believe me I know. Walked it many times. Excuse me.”

  “Thoughtful of you Amigo,” D was tense, hoping Mavra wouldn’t be stupid.

  Ryan reached between Mavra’s legs and turned up the heater to high. Then he put the truck in reverse.

  Mavra held her breath as he chose to back into a different side road, turned around and drove them back to town.

  Ryan chatted politely on their drive to town.

  They said they were there for the holidays. Dimitri saw the sign to Friday Harbor Airport.

  Ryan dropped them off at Best Western on the edge of town.

  Mavra shoved money in his breast pocket, “Buy your girl a nice present,” Mavra said smiling.

  “Thank you, ma’am. It was only three miles to town. Are you sure?”

  “Very sure Ryan,” Mavra patted his knee.

  “Well, thanks. Times are tight on the island. This will come in handy for Christmas.”

  Ryan reached for her hand. Mavra shook his hand then, kissed him on his cheek, and got out. They waved as he drove off back out of town, and disappeared around the corner.

  As soon as he was gone, they ran across the street and climbed the razor wire, airport fence. A siren coming their way, maybe catching up to Ryan sobered them. They pinned themselves against the hangers.

  Dimitri had to find a full plane to hot wire. He saw the Cherokee Six. Sid’s plane.

  He wondered what Ryan would do when he saw their hidden plane? If he stopped to check it out, meeting the Sheriff there, he might say he’d given them a ride. Then again young guys might not be so free with cops, unless Ryan knew him.

  A heavy snow began to fall.

  Dimitri hoped to have them flying low over the Sound, on their way to Boeing Field, fighting the wings from icing over, while Mavra arranged a new charter from her phone.

  The 2007 Piper PA- 32/Cherokee Six 300 wasn’t a plane he’d flown before. Sid had run down three of his four tanks, one by one. Only an experienced Six owner would know the planes fuel tanks quirks and where the ‘switch by feel’ fuel selector switch was, under the pilot seat.

  D found the keys under the pilot seat. There was the tank switch, too. He sighed. He hadn’t thought of that.

  The key ring with its Saint Christopher’s medal woke something up within him. Shame. It was identical to his own like another he’d given away years ago. He did a quick pre-flight. He had one full tank, enough to get to Boeing Field, 30 air minutes away. Visibility was fast approaching zero/zero.

  Minutes later, they were rolling down the runway, Dimitri was calling Seattle Center on the radio while old memories of a desert war came flooding back as he stared at the St. Christopher medal, dangling from the key ring.

  The thoroughbreds of METAPHOR pulled into Snug Harbor, itching to get out of the gate as they docked. The guys helped Dez and Elise off the boat. They rushed to the car as Eamon tied off the boat.

  “John can watch the dogs and Stanley. I know you need me,” Eamon said.

  “Good. We need all hands,” Dez said as she helped Elise to the car as Eamon ran to catch up. Dez’s phone rang.

  “Sid’s Six is taking off. Has to be them. Going south to Boeing. Will keep advised… any further instructions?” John asked.

  “They took your Six, Sid.”

  “We’ll find it at Boeing. They can’t go far in it. Have him de-ice the jet.”

  “Warm up the jet. Please. Can you de-ice it?”

  “Yes,” John said.

  “ETA twenty minutes, depending on the snow. What’s the weather report?”

  “Low ceilings, snow showers, maybe snow squall. Winds are building. It will be rough flying. Anything else?”

  “We’ll need a resource to tell us when they take off from Boeing Field and the tail number, so we can follow on Flight-aware.”

  “John, the dogs and cat are locked in the shop.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Got it all covered. Kick ass time, Dear. See you at the airport. Out.”

  By the time the METAPHOR team got to the airport, Dimitri and Mavra were near Boeing Field, a rent-a-jet and its crew would be waiting. Mavra paid top dollar for someone to get there in the driving snowstorm that was hitting Seattle.

  Winter weather changed quickly in the Northwest, usually coming from Oregon.

  As the METAPHOR team sat in their small jet warming it, waiting for John to finish plowing the runway, Mavra and Dimitri’s rent a jet was ready to take off from Boeing Field. Sid as pilot and Iain as co-pilot finished their pre-flight checklist. Iain was now looking at the Jeps, as John texted Dez.

  She was locating Shanti by her phone GPS.

  John’s text came through. ‘Resource says, they’ve boarded a BBJ. Tail NZ-1227-Q. Flight plan filed for Reagan. Wheels up. Good flying, M4. John.’

  Dez texted back. ‘Thanks, John you were miraculous. See you on the down side.’ To Sid she added, “He said Reagan. We’d better get to Warm Springs. By the time we get there Shanti and Joseph will be there. She’s in Greensboro right now.”

  Dez texted Shanti and cc’d Trevor, saying ‘we are on our way to you. Could still be hunting Joseph, and coming for you. Kimirov just left Boeing en route to Reagan. Beware. Her Bogies on their way to Reagan.’

  Iain filed for Roosevelt Memorial near Warm Springs, as Sid took a last look at the wings, all flaps ice-free. They were rolling down the cleared runway, wipers at full speed.

  John blinked his flashlight four times. ‘God’s speed, M4.’

  They lifted off. Sid wagged the wings to their old friend. Snow swallowed them. Their war had begun.

  With a proud sigh, John put the tractor away and closed the hangar, and prayed.

  John brought the dogs and Stan to meet his Fifi, fed them all, then went to Herb’s for a hot toddy. He’d keep his mission to himself, as always.

  Dez thought, ‘D.C? Good, I pray the reprogramming worked.’

  Sid patted her hand on his shoulder.

  Dez took her seat so Sid could concentrate. Dez looked at Elise who was asleep in the extra coat she’d brought. Dez texted Trevor, then cc’d Janitor.

  Dave tucked a blanket around Elise’s shoulders, sat down and too
k her pulse. It was slow and steady. Her hand was warm. Dave smiled. He held her hand and watched her sleep. They all were smiling at him.

  “What?” Dave laughed. He closed his eyes, keeping Elise’s hand in his.

  CHAPTER TWELVE -- SHANTI

  Shanti was speeding along I-85 south. Her radio’s emergency signal sounded.

  “There’s an Amber Alert and APB issued for a Professor Shanti Larsen wanted for questioning in connection to the power outage and shoot out at the White House. Dr. Larsen is an African America woman, late twenties, tall, slender, driving a green Prius, Virginia License plates 4TGHJKL. Report sightings to local authorities.”

  “Oh my God,” Shanti was out of options. The alert was announced multiple times.

  She pulled off the highway, and she reviewed her Nav app on her phone. She could get them there on back roads. Shanti’s special text alert from METAPHOR chimed on their special phone Trevor had given her. Her heart pounded. She looked in her rearview mirror, seeing the headlight signature of Trevor’s team, behind her. She tapped her brakes.

  They flashed their high beams.

  Joseph was asleep, again. For the first time in decades, she didn’t feel alone.

  Shanti got out and walked back to them, her hand on her gun.

  Trevor opened his window. “Everything all right, Professor?”

  “No. There’s another Amber Alert and an APB out for me in my car this time. I still have their GPS in my arm. It needs to come out. Can you deactivate it from the White House?”

  “We heard it. We’ve got your back. Kate’s on the alert. Dear’s flying to Warm Springs.”

  “We can take the back roads to Warm Springs. OK with you?”

  Kate IM’d Dez, ‘Amber alert, APB out for asset with car description this time. NEST GPS still active. Can you help deactivate for the Nest, but keep active for us?’

  Dez IM’d back. ‘Yes. Sorry been out of touch. In the air just now. Will keep advised.’

  Dez IM’d the President. ‘Sir. Plz CANCEL APB and Amber alert on Joe’s niece. GPS on asset still active. We need it to stay active for us only. Alert was just broadcasted on the radio. Keep advised. Dear.’

  The President IM’d her back, ‘On it.’ “Nancy? This is the President. You have an APB and an Amber Alert out on Joseph’s niece, Shanti Larsen. Her GPS is still active. Cancel our alerts would you please?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s protocol when the guest doesn’t turn in their security pass.”

  “She and Joseph got out. No one was awake to de-active her. Is it done?”

  “As we speak sir. Sorry.”

  “Never ever be sorry. This is a special one-time circum-stance. Carry on.”

  “Have a good night, sir.”

  The President IM’d Desiree. ‘Done. GPS active 4 u. Broadcast to sound ‘all clear.’

  ‘Well done. Thx, sir. Dear OUT.’

  Shanti, with Joseph sleeping, Trevor, Kate, and team pulled on to the perimeter road to the highway.

  Thirty-seconds later, a hidden North Carolina State Highway Patrol car pulled in behind them.

  “Shit,” Trevor said to Kate. “Too early to have that APB cancelled. Expect a showdown.” He texted Shanti. ‘Cooperate, we got this.’

  Shanti responded. ‘K.’

  Kate and her guys got ready.

  “Margaritaville locked and loaded in thirty-seconds,” Kate said as she poured in the tranquilizer dose for a 220 lb. man twice, and chambered dart one and two and her guys unzipped their ‘special circumstances’ bag and sorted the contents.

  ROOKIE PATROLMAN CHIPS MCQUEEN, whose mother loved movie and TV cops was on his first night of solo patrol on Hwy 85 from South Hill to Henderson, barely three months out of the North Carolina State Highway Patrol Academy. Confidently, Chips used his radar/camera gun and photographed Shanti’s Prius license plate. His computer beeped. The green Prius plate was listed on the Amber Alert crawl.

  His heart rate jumped. He dropped the mic three times trying to call dispatch for backup, “Charlene? I need backup on the perimeter road. Marker 12, north of Henderson.”

  Chips waited. The empty static was maddening. Charlene was not picking up.

  “Charlene?” Chips said in a loud, ridiculous sounding whisper.

  Cousin Charlene McQueen was on Dispatch duty tonight.

  Chips looked at the clock. ‘No wonder.’ It was 0216.

  Charlene was giving “both barrels” to the Desk Sergeant, Herman ‘Hubba-Bubba’ Peabody Jr.

  She needed a pay raise she said, before tonight’s shift.

  “Damn it to shit,” Chips said, remembering.

  ‘You owe me! You return the favor I did you ‘Cuz,’ Charlene stomped her foot.

  ‘Fine,’ he’d said. ‘Make it quick.’

  ‘Usually do,’ she’d said, so damn cocky about her skills.

  ‘The computer said the perp was a young woman. He’d Taser her and be done with it,’ Chip thought as he sped ahead of the van. Chips ignited his lights and siren as he came in behind her Green Bug Prius.

  The van far behind him slowed, as the Green Bug Prius pulled over. Trevor turned out their lights and pulled behind a tree. ‘Outta sight, outta mind.’ Trevor and Kate watched through their scopes.

  Chips now painted her ‘purty’ with all his searchlights. He looked behind him. ‘Where’d that van go? Ambush!’ he thought. That’s when the shaking began. Instantly, Chips was a sweating, shaky mess.

  “Charlene? Dag nab it! CHARLENE?” Chips shouted into the mic.

  He looked at his watch, threw the mic in the passenger’s seat, turned on the dash camera, and grabbed his bullhorn.

  “Step away from your hands and put your vehicle up. Shit! You know what I mean, ma’am! Step away from your vehicle with your hands up… Now. Right now!”

  Shanti had hidden her guns in the secret compartment. She got out.

  “Thank you. Now. Lay face down. Hands behind your back,” Chips shouted.

  Chips stepped out of his patrol car and took aim at her with his shotgun. An idea came to him. He put his shotgun on the roof of his car pointed at her. Then he took out his service revolver. He crept toward her, his gun shaking. He felt just like Barney Fife.

  The first dart hit him high in his right butt cheek, right through the lower edge of his holster. The dart was stuck fast through the leather and into his muscle, making walking damn horribly painful.

  “Yeoooow! Fuck a duck! I’m hit! I’m hit!!” Chips spun, the drug already affecting his balance.

  Kate followed the other butt cheek in her scope, her trigger finger waiting… There. Her tap placed it through the lower left edge of his holster right into the upper left butt muscle.

  “Yes! His ass is officially… grass,” Kate whispered getting high fives.

  Chips had to switch the gun to his left hand, which would render it useless as he had not done well on firing, ambidextrously. With darts one and two professionally placed, close to the big sciatic nerves in his legs, Chips fell on his knees. Slowly, Chips did a classic face plant onto the pavement, gun in his hand.

  The METAPHOR five in the van howled as they drove up behind the cruiser, more high fives for Kate, and a kiss from Trevor.

  Shanti got to her feet, and looked back.

  They pulled Chips to his knees, leaving the darts in place, until the last minute. He was smiling, quite glassy eyed. They carried him to his patrol car. They had to plant a foot on each buttock to extract them, before putting him in the cruiser’s driver seat. They holstered his gun, returned the shotgun to the rack, and backed up the tape. They’d push record after covering camera with duct tape.

  “We’ll give him something to hold.”

  Kate stayed with Shanti. They checked on Joseph who was resting quietly.

  Lots of laughter was coming from the cruiser.

  “Damn fine shooting Kate,” Shanti said patting Kate on the back.

  “Comes in handy now and then. It’s an old trick of ours. He’ll wake up i
n eight hours, unless I gave him too much Margarita.”

  Trevor and boys messed with Chips’s radio, decided to delete the dash tape, punctured tires, threw wiped clean glass bottle shards behind them, then walked away laughing.

  “Load up,” Trevor yelled out.

  Everyone drove away, leaving Chips in an idling cruiser, heater to low, a happy, Mr. Happy in one hand, the latest Hustler open, computer turned to live porn, and his radio broken.

  Seven hours later, Charlene pulled up behind Chips. It was freezing outside. She tiptoed to the driver’s window cracked an inch. The windows inside were fogged over. The squeal of a female in full orgasm made her mad. Charlene pounded on the roof.

  “Chips McQueen? Knock that shit off, right now. The Captain is looking for you! Stop it, I said! Come later, you fool! Your job is on the line!”

  Someone inside was not listening, but enjoying themselves thoroughly.

  “Linda! Linda? Is that you, you slut? Your husband’s looking for you. Chips McQueen? You hearing me? I had to moan extra loud to cover up your whining for ‘backup.’ Deal my ass! That’s the last time I trust your, ‘man of my word,’ bullshit.”

  Someone inside could have been Linda, she was a ‘scare the neighbor’s screamer’ Chips had said was calling down the Lord on the verge, again.

  Headlights were coming their way.

  “Oh shit. Enough of this! Answer me, you two fornicators… headlights!” Charlene’s nerves were beyond fried.

  Inside the patrol car, their party was still in full swing.

  “OK, fine. I’ve seen worse, I guess.” Charlene opened the door, “My God! You’re beating off to porn and sleeping on the job! From now on, I’ll deny I even know you. Wake up!” she yelled in his ear. Charlene slapped Chips but he didn’t arouse. “Have you been drinking?” Charlene smelled his breath.

  Chips burped, and fried okra, fried chicken and grits came at her. There was the empty pack of Viagra. “Oh my God! You’ve OD’d on Viagra?!”

  Chips had been dead asleep, drooling. Mr. Happy blue from the cold was still quite happy as the Porn played on… loudly.