by Young, Mark
Both dogs stood with their paws planted in the water, listening to something Gerrit could not hear. There was an inquisitive look in Bones’s eyes as he turned and stared at Gerrit for a moment. Then the dog turned and dashed upstream against the ice-cold current, Sam running to keep up.
Chapter 26
Lewiston-Nez Perce County Airport, Idaho
A Cessna Citation XLS taxied off the runway toward their waiting cars at the edge of the tarmac. Frank leaned against the driver’s door, arms crossed, watching the pearl-white business jet draw near. “Holy cow, Joe. You guys know how to travel.”
His uncle extended a hand to Frank.
“Thanks again. Tell Jessie and Travis to stop fooling around and get hitched. You need to have some grandchildren running around before you get too much older.”
Frank grinned, eyed Gerrit and Alena gathering their things. “You know how it is, Joe. Can’t tell these kids anything nowadays.”
Gerrit walked over and shook the man’s hand. “Thank Travis again for taking care of Bones. I don’t know where I’m going to end up. I hope to come get the dog when I’m settled somewhere.”
Frank nodded as they watched the plane draw near. They both knew that time might never come.
The jet’s engines powered down, and a door cracked open to allow passengers to enter. Joe followed Gerrit and Alena up the stairway, waving back at Frank before he disappeared inside. “Okay, let’s get this thing off the ground.”
Gerrit waited for Joe to get into the cabin. “Very ritzy! Who owns this plane?”
“Don’t ask and I won’t have to tell you no lies. Let’s just say I have friends in high places.”
Joe walked forward to the cockpit as Gerrit found a seat near a starboard window and settled in. As he eased back to get comfortable, a giant of a man squeezed from the cockpit and lumbered into the passenger quarters toward him. A teardrop tattoo under the man’s left eye and a neck embroidered with prison tattoos of black and blue ink made Gerrit wonder if he’d stumbled onto a Con Air movie set. The man’s biceps bulged from a short-sleeved T-shirt, and when he stooped to whisper something to Alena, his neck muscles rippled as if they wanted to climb out of his skin.
Alena kissed his cheek, then turned to Gerrit. “Let me introduce our pilot, Hank ‘Redneck’ Schneider.” She turned toward the giant. “And Redneck, you already met Gerrit at his house the other night.”
Redneck gave him a studied nod. “How’s the ol’ noggin, copper? Knock any sense into you yet?”
“You’re the guy who dumped—”
“The dead guy on your bed. That’s me, jarhead.”
Gerrit heard a flush and glanced up to see a lavatory door open. Redneck muttered, “Here’s my gutless copilot, Willy Williams. Wesley Snipes he ain’t.” A young man about the size of one of Redneck’s thighs emerged, his ebony skin looking ashen.
“Lost your lunch again I see.” The white giant smirked. “Get belted up, Willy, we’re about to take off. Joe will help me this time.”
Willy sank into the nearest chair and nodded a greeting to Gerrit. “Can you believe Joe would trust this plane to the likes of him?” Willy and Redneck exchanged glances as Alena leaned forward.
“Okay, boys. Play nice. We have company.”
Redneck was about to respond when Joe yelled back, “Come on back here. Let’s get this thing fired up.” Redneck turned and squeezed back inside the cockpit. Gerrit wondered how the man fit in that small space. A moment later, the engines came to life.
Willy smiled. “Don’t let that giant pea brain get to you, Mr. G. It’s just his way. You ought to see him when he gets down and dirty.”
“Mr. G?” Gerrit frowned.
“Oh, that’s how I’m going to keep you and Joe apart. You know, Mr. G for Gerrit O’Rourke and Mr. J for…well, you can figure it out, right?” Willy looked out the window and saw they were taxiing to the runway. “Oh, boy, here we go again. I’m glad Mr. J has the controls again. Redneck thought he would play a trick on me on our way down here. Rolled the plane over a couple times because he knows I hate flying. I felt like capping his—Sorry, Alena. I try to talk polite when you’re around.” Willy appeared nervous. “I can’t wait to get my feet back on the ground.”
Alena stifled a laugh. “You know, Willy, air travel is safer than car travel. And Mr. J will have us back to the city in no time. Why don’t you try to take a nap?”
“Take a nap with Redneck at the controls? You gotta be kidding.” He reached over and grabbed a laptop from the seat next to him.
“Got to wait until we are in the air, Willy.” Alena smiled again. “Mr. J is at the controls now. He’ll keep our gentle giant from any more tricks. Trust me.”
Willy raised one eyebrow. “I do trust you, Alena. I just hope Mr. J can control that jerk.” He plugged in an iPod, inserted the earplugs, and leaned back, closing his eyes.
She turned to Gerrit. “As you can see, we are one big family. Well, what do you think of the team?”
“The team?” Gerrit leaned closer. “These are the guys you depend on?”
Her eyes softened. “With my life. Do not let looks deceive you. They would die for each other at a moment’s notice—you just cannot tell it by the way they interact.”
“So are you…kind of like their mother?”
She looked at Willy, his head back, eyes closed, keeping time to whatever beat he was listening to. “More like their older sister.”
“And Joe?”
“He’s the glue that keeps us together.”
The aircraft cleared the runway and banked toward the rising sun. “You know, statistically you’re wrong about air travel.”
She looked at him. “What do you mean?”
He glanced out the window and saw where the Clearwater and Snake rivers joined together far below, the Snake creating a blue-green line between the cities of Lewiston and Clarkston.
“Airline companies always spout that traveling by air is three times safer than railroads and five times safer than cars, but their statistics are highly skewed. Did you know that 70 percent of the crashes take place on takeoff and landing, which is only 4 percent of the average trip?”
“That still sounds like it might be safer to travel by car,” she said. “Would it not?”
He looked at her, shaking his head. “A more realistic figure is to compare fatalities in these accidents by the number of journeys made. If you factor deaths per 100 million passenger trips, it’s a much different picture—2.7 death by railroad, 4.5 by vehicles, and 55.0 by aircraft.”
“Really?” She squinted at him. “Are you making this up?”
“Nope. By my stats, you’re twelve times more likely to crash in the air compared to riding in a car; twenty times more likely to die on a plane than taking a train. Makes you think twice, doesn’t it?”
“Well, don’t tell Willy any of this,” she said, studying him. “He’ll never fly again.”
“Speaking of your siblings, tell me about Redneck and Willy. I just can’t see those two working together.”
“They fight like brothers, and no one ever wins.” She leaned back on the headrest and turned her face toward him. “I came across Willy in San Francisco, a place called Hunters Point.”
“I’m familiar with the city. A lot of gang activity when I saw it last.”
“Those living in the Point have always been promised a lot by the politicians over the years, but the promises always turn up empty. Willy was born and raised on those streets, never knowing his father and his mother barely keeping the family together. He was a smart kid, though, and attracted the attention of gang leaders. He was wearing colors and banging when I first saw him.”
“How did that happen?”
“I was mentoring kids through our church, tutoring them on subjects they were struggling with in school. Caught Willy trying to steal one of our computers.”
“You had him arrested?”
Her eyes twinkled. “It took me about two seconds to r
ealize this guy has a razor-sharp mind. I made a deal with him. I’d let him use our computers if he’d help the other kids with their homework and continue with his education. He picked up math and science like a sponge. It was amazing to watch. Got him enrolled in a community college class to learn about information technology—programming languages, computer software and hardware, cyber security. I already knew Joe, and the two of them were a natural fit. He taught Willy IT programs and security systems the college never dreamed of. Willy soaked it up and now runs their company.”
“Runs whose company?” Gerrit glanced over at Willy and saw he was listening to their conversation.
“Ain’t it a trip, Mr. G? I get paid to go into rich folk’s homes, rummage through their hardware, and install security systems so guys like me don’t break in. And they pay me good money to boot.”
“Where do you ‘rummage through their hardware,’ Willy?”
“Oh, Mr. J moved me back to Virginia, just outside D.C., where we operate the company. Gives us a cover to do what we really are about—going after guys like Kane.” He started to put the headphones back on. “Can you imagine a guy like me living in the same hood as all those white crackers?”
“Hey, Willy. Mr. J taught you better than that. And so did I.” Alena’s face took on a stern look.
“Sorry. I know—turn the other cheek. WWJD. I’ve got a ways to go.” He shot her a smile before inserting the earplugs and wrapping himself up in his music.
“WWJD?”
She turned to Gerrit again. “You know…What Would Jesus Do?”
He looked away. “So, you’re a—”
“Follower of Jesus. I confess I am. Does that bother you?”
He shrugged. “I think whatever gets you through the night is okay with me, Alena. Just not my cup of tea.”
“You don’t believe in God?”
“I didn’t say that. I come from a scientific background—my folks raised me that way, and my experience and education is based upon hard, irrefutable facts. God is not a quantified entity I can prove. And if He exists, I don’t think He and I would ever see eye to eye.”
“Why don’t you think you could relate to God?” She seemed genuinely interested in his answer.
“Because the world’s not geared up for turning the other cheek or loving your neighbor. It’s about getting ahead, protecting your own interests, and getting what you can now—because there is no tomorrow.”
“What if God showed you otherwise?”
“If He comes down off His mountain and shows me a better way—I might listen. So far that hasn’t happened, and all I’ve seen in this world is pain and death.”
“You mean like your parents?”
“Yeah, like my folks, your folks, and hundreds of others I’ve seen killed, tortured, or victimized. So short answer: God goes His way; I go mine.” Gerrit paused for a moment. “Now, tell me about Redneck. How does he connect to this…family?”
It seemed to take Alena a moment to focus on his question, seemingly troubled by what he just said. She glanced toward the cockpit where Joe and Redneck sat. “Our gentle giant is not what he appears to be.”
“You mean a white racist with a low IQ? I saw the prison tats.”
Alena frowned. “Looks can be deceiving. Yes, he used to be caught up in all that. But he has changed, and let me tell you—this guy is a walking calculator. He can figure out complicated flight plans in his head or take a look at a set of books and quickly pinpoint any errors. And you never want to have to go up against him—his street-fighting skills would make Muhammed Ali quiver.”
“How did he connect with you and Joe?”
“It was Joe. Back when Joe still lived in Chicago, he came across Redneck in an alley, facing off against three other attackers. Joe grabbed a two-by-four and waded in to protect him. After it was all over, they became friends. First a beer here and a lunch there. Then the more they hung around each other, the more he grew on Joe.
“Redneck was trying to go straight at the time. I will let him tell you about that part of his life if he chooses. Anyway, Joe saw potential in this guy, made a few phone calls, and got him hooked up with an accounting firm.”
“An accounting firm? You gotta be kidding.”
“I told you he has a mind for numbers. After a few years, Redneck started his own accounting service with Joe’s help, and they stayed in touch ever since. After Joe…had to leave Chicago, he reached out to let Redneck know he was okay. Redneck wanted to help pay back what Joe did for him. So here we are—a muscle-bound accountant who can fly planes and toss people around with hardly any effort at all.”
Gerrit looked over at Willy, then at Joe and Redneck in the cockpit. “This is certainly a strange group. Which just leaves you. So, what’s your story, Alena? You a race-car driver? A belly dancer?”
Alena laid her head back and closed her eyes. “Maybe I will tell you sometime. Right now, I need to rest. We are going to be quite busy very soon.”
He looked at the ceiling for a moment and then out the double-paned window. The Pacific Ocean glistened off to his right. The sky was an ocean of blue, allowing him to see far into the distance. Glancing across the aisle, he saw Mt. Hood, capped with snow, off to his left.
He started to ask Alena one more question, but she was already asleep. He watched her breathing for a moment, slow and rhythmic. Her brow furrowed.
What are you hiding, mystery lady? And why were you watching over me all these years?
Gerrit settled back to rest until the end of the flight, determined to find out all he could about this mystery woman. In a few minutes, he felt himself slip into another world, darker and more sinister.
A wicked, twisty path led him down the face of a cliff, rocky shale making each step treacherous. Above, bare trees stood dark against a star-pocked sky, like angels of death pronouncing sentence upon his soul. Their gnarled limbs twisted out in agony as they struggled to pull him back into their grasp for final judgment.
Down below, only darkness and a bottomless pit. A familiar voice seemed to be drawing him down into the bowels of the earth, where more voices called out. He had no choice. Angels of death loomed above. A dark abyss lay below.
As he slipped and slid down the rocky slope, something inside compelled him to continue, as if promising answers to all his questions if he would just submit. Give in. Suddenly, his feet gave way, and he began to fall into the deep cavern, screaming.
“Gerrit, wake up.”
He shot his eyes open to see Alena leaning over, shaking his arm.
“You seemed to be having a bad dream.”
Sheepishly, he sat up and stretched his arms. It was the same recurring dream. And it always ended with him falling, pulling him toward what he feared most—that unknown beyond death. This dream began after he visited his parents’ gravesites and continued ever since.
Sleep always came at a cost.
Chapter 27
Harrogate, England
Richard clutched the phone. “Give me some good news, boy. I’ve got Senator Summers waiting in the lobby.” One of Richard’s contacts just called in about the Seattle murder investigations.
“We got the piece of evidence you wanted hidden at the bomb site before the first units arrived. Just a matter of time before they link the trigger to the Russians. We did everything but stamp Russia on it. I don’t know if the feds will release that information or withhold it to verify a suspect’s confession.”
“What about the body?”
“Still unable to identify it, sir. I knew where the explosives were set, but additional charges had been placed around that bed. The body almost vaporized. They’ll be lucky to gather any of the remains. And even if they do, it’s so charred they may not be able to pick up any usable samples for identification—even DNA. It’s like we had two separate explosions that went off simultaneously.”
“Let me know the second they learn anything about the remains. I want assurances that Gerrit was in that house.”
Richard lowered his head, frustrated. “And that incident in San Francisco? Have them check all the security cameras, boarding information, everything. I want to know what happened to our people on the ground. I mean, C4 in her purse? Two guys wind up in the head because someone slipped them poison? I want to know who did this. I want them interrogated and disposed of—permanently. Am I clear?”
The man on the line paused before responding. “Sir, we’ve already been over that—the security cameras, travel records, everything. I don’t know whether we will be able to come up with anything.”
“Don’t you dare tell me you can’t find any information on one or more people operating in a highly protected international air terminal. We’ve got all kinds of electronics in those buildings. If need be, use our satellite surveillance feeds to isolate this crew. I want to know who they are.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir.”
“There has to be a connection between Gerrit and what we’re trying to do. I know his uncle is still out there somewhere hiding. Did they connect? It’s imperative to know whether Gerrit is dead. Alive…he is serious trouble.”
He slammed the phone down and yelled to his assistant through the closed door. He jerked his head toward the ceiling when his assistant poked his head in. “Senator Summers is upstairs in the lobby. Escort him directly to my office. Don’t let him take any detours.”
The assistant nodded and slipped out of the room.
Richard leaned back in his chair, trying to calm down. So much at stake here, and too many unresolved issues. No matter how hard he exerted control over this operation, people seemed incapable of giving him any resolution to these matters. How hard would it be to determine whether that body was Gerrit’s?
What if his suspicions became a reality? What if Gerrit is still alive?
He jumped up and closed the door to his office, then returned to his desk and snatched up the phone. He redialed the same number he’d called minutes earlier. The same voice came on the line.
“Look, let’s assume that Gerrit is alive.”