6/6/66

by JN Lenz

  Having last heard Sid’s crackling voice days ago, I needed to make it home in time for the call, after all this there was no way I could miss it. Along with the satellite capable Blackberry’s the pair carried emergency transponders which if activated sent their GPS location to emergency services. There had been no call from the two of them since they crested the summit, I had expected as much. During previous climbs together, Sid would usually try to call me whenever when the pair reached the summit, then not again until the climb was complete.

  On the second last call I would have from my son some six days ago, just before they were set to depart from the base camp along with the four foreign climbers and two guides who would climb to the summit. During that call Sid warned me a call from the summit may not be possible, thankfully he was wrong and the call from the summit was made. Both Lilly and I had done our best to keep from worrying about Sid since he left for South America. We reassured ourselves that he was after all a twenty year old adult, a risk taker his entire life, so we both had years of conditioning. During that call from base camp, Sid had explained how their guides had estimated it would take three to four days to reach the summit; the return back to the base camp would be one day less. How I needed to be home by midnight to receive that call from Sid, I was having trouble ignoring that pit in the bottom of my gut.

  There would be no way for me to know while I had been reading Clyde’s murder files the pair of them were hours away from death, clinging to life on a small mountain ledge. The climb to the summit had went well as the six climbers arrived close to the summit on the third day after leaving the base camp, the six would make camp on the very spot that Clyde and Sidney had hunkered down for the past three days. Arriving at the ledge too late on that third day to attempt the final climb to the summit the guides would decide for an early morning push to the summit where after an hour at the top the team would begin to scale back down towards the base camp.

  At this altitude even in the summer time the Andes Mountains of this area were famous for extreme snow storms that had been known to blow up out of nowhere. The morning of the fourth day after leaving the base camp started out with clear skies and no wind, the pair of guides would lead the four foreign climbers to the peak in only two hours. The expedition would cut the planned sixty minutes at the peak due to the sky which had turned from blue to grey and a light snow had begun to fall.

  The pair of Mountain guides, who had seen all too many times how quickly a light snow could turn into a blizzard in a matter of minutes, informed the four men they would need to begin their decent earlier. By the time the six had reached the location of the previous night’s camp the snow had turned steadily heavier, the air had remained close to zero degrees Celsius causing the wet snow to hang heavily on the climber’s clothes and ropes as they continued to make their way down the face of the mountain. The lead guide was having difficulty finding the rock face anchors and guide lines which all six would use to repel back down to the base camp.

  Once on the ledge both guides would go to the front of the group, in search of the lead lines which had been covered by the fresh heavy snow. Clyde had positioned himself at the back of the group with Sid directly in front of him; this after the guide who had been at the rear went to the head of the pack in search of the guide lines. The pair of guides led the first pair of climbers off the ledge and along the anchored line as the four began traversing down the sheer wall of the mountain. The pair of guides had begun to secure themselves between the line and the next transfer point down the mountain when a thunderous noise filled the air. The ledge where Sid and Clyde remained began to shake in unison with the roar that had filled the air. Pushing Sid back hard against the mountain, Clyde pushed them both into a small crevice where the mountain face met the small outcrop of the ledge.

  The moment Clyde and Sid hit the ground on the ledge, the blast of snow from the approaching avalanche streamed past them, the two would keep their faces buried down against the rock as the deafening sound of the rushing snow blasted from above. The intense noise was replaced within seconds by an abrupt calm as the sound of the rushing snow could be heard as it echoed up the mountain face from hundreds of feet below. Pushing himself clear from in front of Sid Clyde would swivel to look out from against the rock, the guide lines and all the anchors and rope that had been securely anchored into the side of the mountains only moments earlier would now all be gone.

  Carefully crawling to the edge of the small ledge Clyde would peer down from the cliffs edge in search for any survivors from the four who had been strung along those same lines seconds earlier. Nothing but a sea of white could be seen from his perch, all the lines that stretched down to the lower crevasse and shallow cliffs where the guides had secured several transfer anchors would now all be gone.

  Crawling back to Sid who was still lying in the crevice which had saved the pair from being swept off the side of the mountain face, pulling on Sid’s shoulder in order to turn him around Sid yelled out in pain. It appeared when Clyde had tackled Sid to the ground and into the side of the mountain face he had broken his collar bone in the process. Even with the limited rope and anchors each had in their back packs Sid’s injury would make it impossible for the pair to scale the mountain alone, an air lift by helicopter would be the only way for Sid to make it off the mountain alive.

  By shoveling the snow out from under Sid, Clyde was able to fashion a flat surface for Sid to stretch out on while placing the least amount of pressure on his right side shoulder and arm which had also been fractured against the rock face. Removing the pocket knife from his pack Clyde would cut Sid’s straps from his back pack and pull it free from under Sid, he would try the satellite phone from the back of Sid’s pack several times but the way the mountain had an out crop of rock directly above them the phone was not operating and could not establish a signal with any telecommunications satellites.

  The transponders would be turned on in both jackets, the snow continued to falls for the next six hours as Clyde attempted to cover the crevice against the mountain with him and the two back packs to offer Sid some form of protection from the elements. Late that night as the snow continued to fall and the temperatures began to plummet another avalanche would thunder over the tiny ledge where Clyde laid side by side with Sid pushed into the mountain as tightly as possible. The second blast of rushing snow would strip the pair of the backpacks that Clyde had attempted to wedge against the rock for use as a lean to shelter over the small crevice in the rock; the snow would sweep the two backpacks and the tent Clyde had secured over the opening.

  By the morning of the next day the snow had almost all but stopped but had been replaced with stinging high winds and a plummet in temperature, although the LED light indicated that both Clyde and Sid’ transponders were operating properly Clyde knew there would be no way any Helicopter could make an attempt to rescue them with these high winds. The pair would have to wait on the mountain face until the wins died down in order to be rescued; the back packs had contained all food cooking supplies for the pair. With the increasingly cold temperatures both Clyde and Sid would need to be careful on eating too much snow for hydration in fear they might lower their core body temperatures and freeze to death. Clyde would remain pushed up against Sid sheltering him against the elements of the open mountain face with his own body in an attempt to keep some source of warmth for Sid.

  Staring once again at the wall clock I realized a number of the files would have to remain closed and unread on this night, it would likely take another twelve hours to read through the rest of these detailed murder files. Closing the lid on the thick box which contained the last half dozen files I returned it to the book shelf located directly to the right of the large Oak desk and placed it at the end of the series of eleven binders.

  Pushing myself up against the desk I could not help but to stand there for a moment and take one more long look at the room that surrounded me. Would this have been how Dr. Jeckels laboratory of terror appeared
I wondered to myself as I peered around the spotless and clinical room centered by the Stainless cadaver table surrounded by the shelves and cabinets which lined the balance of the room. Stopping at the small adjacent room as I made my way to the exit, reaching into the darkness I flipped the light switch bathing the small room with light jumping back from the doorway, it had been the only room that I had not checked yet.

  With my heart pumping through my chest I almost screamed out in panic at the figure staring back through the doorway for that millisecond before I realized the individual was in fact me, reflecting back from a giant mirror affixed to the far wall of the room. The mirror sat directly above a long make up table which was covered in various bottles, tubes ad brushes. Several rows of wigs in a variety of colors and styles many having matching beards and mustaches affixed to the Styrofoam heads.

  Similar to the room we had set up in the Shackles Funeral Home so many years earlier it would be here that Clyde had transformed himself with the same clinical detail to match the precision as his murders. Not only filled with makeup and wigs the room housed a series of uniforms and costumes along with printers and a card press to manufacture false identifications.

  My head was starting to spin it was getting late and this whole day’s flood on information was starting to make my brain tingle from the days sensory overload. I don’ t think there was room for a single thought at that moment as I turned the light off and climbed the concrete stairs from the hidden chamber back up to the above garage and my waiting Porsche Three Fifty Six.

  There was something about that car that always put a smile even in the direst of moments and this was certainly one of those moments. Like a handful of motorbikes that I owned there was just something about that great old British car that allowed me to wash my thoughts clean, the burble of its engine as it sprang to life sucked the stress from my body. After pushing the round green button on the pad close to the overhead door I would return to the Porsche and fire the engine to life and exit the now open doorway.

  I stopped the diminutive convertible just outside the door, jogging back into the garage to depress the yellow button. This was located directly below the green button, activating the electrical motor as the overhead door began to inch its way closed. Jogging back out to the Porsche Three Fifty Six, I would make my way to the wooden gate and the card lock. After following the same process as almost twelve hours earlier to activate the gates open.

  The time on the wall clock down in Clyde’s basement would read six teen minutes to eleven as I passed it by on my way up to the garage, the drive back to Largo should take no more than an hour at this time of night I thought as I pulled the Porsche back out onto the city street from the well hidden laneway. The old Three Fifty Six had no interior clock and I had neither my watch, nor the Blackberry to check on my progress in making it back to Largo.

  The expected phone call from Sid was to be at midnight, I would give the old Porsche more of a work out on the way back home, there was no way I could be late for that call tonight. I had to hear my son’s voice; I needed to know he was safe and that I would see him again soon. Exiting from the dusty hidden laneway I easily slid the back end of the Healy as I pushed the gas petal against the floor boards as the skinny thirteen inch wheels squealed the rear tires sideways as the sixty year old car entered the city street sideways.

  The main city streets remained moderately busy so I decided on a series of parallel residential side roads to get me to the edge of the city and towards Largo in less time by avoiding more than a few busy traffic lights. I would row up and down the gear box of the old Porsche as I sped from one stop sign and through the twists and turns of several residential streets, coasting through the majority of stop signs in an attempt to not over heat the inadequate stock nineteen sixties brakes on the old sports car. The air was thick with humidity yet somehow still smelled crisp as the gusts blasted my face from behind the wheel of the wide open roadster as I raced it as quickly as I dared through the nearly empty side streets of Toronto in search of the open country roads to the north and beyond to Largo.

  As I departed the hidden garage at the back of our Jane Street Funeral Home, Clyde and Sid would have a rescue helicopter hovering sixty feet above the small out cropping of rock, where the pair had taken refuge three days earlier. It had been three days since they had been stranded near the summit of one of the Andes tallest mountains. Clyde remained wedged into the opening of the crevice, containing Sid tightly against the mountain.

  The immense sound and wind of the rotors would not be enough to wake Sid from his unconscious state, as the stretcher, along with a rescue worker made their way down to the ledge. The team of rescuers was exceptional, as the winch placed the basket with precision, gingerly on of the ledge.

  The high winds in the mountains had finally abated, allowing for the rescue teams to respond in the helicopter. Guided to the location by the GPS transponders Clyde had activated three days earlier. Although the high winds had calmed, the bitter cold temperatures had remained. This high up in the mountains, the temperature had not gone above minus twenty six degrees Celsius since the storm hit.

  The rescuing Sergeant from the Bolivian Military carefully removed himself from the lowered stretcher and onto the small ledge of stone. First he pulled Clyde free from the entrance to the crevice; his body was rigid and stiff.

  Instantly realizing this first climber was dead, the Sergeant pushed Clyde aside to clear the way to the second climber inside the crevice. Grabbing the unconscious Sid by the material of his jacket, the muscular soldier pulled him easily out of the shallow cave. Laying Sid on his back, the soldier removed his gloves to check Sid’s throat, feeling for a pulse.

  Holding his bare hand steady against the ice cold neck of Sid, the Sergeant felt the faintest of pulses and immediately moved him across the thin ledge and into the basket. Strapping Sid onto the stretcher while he communicated with his team over head, in an instant Sid was making his way back up into the helicopter.

  The wind had begun to pick up causing the stretcher to sway as it made its way to safety. As Sid was making his way to the flight deck, the sergeant had moved the stiff body of Clyde, face first tight into the crevice. This in hope for a possible later retrieval, with the winds picking up again he would not risk the time on a cadaver.

  With Clyde’s cold stiff dead body wedged into the crevice the man who would save my son’s life placed himself in the returned stretcher and signaled his team to raise him from the mountain.

  Once the sergeant was safely on board, the chopper pulled back from the rock face and headed west to the nearest military hospital on the coast of the Pacific Ocean. As I raced through the streets of Toronto in an attempt not to miss Sid’s phone call, he was being rushed by the Bolivian military in a Sikorsky 996 to the hospital barely alive.

  These South American comrades would be successful in getting Sid there on time, the doctors managed to bring Sid’s core temperature back from his near death levels. After gaining consciousness the following day, Sid would make a complete recovery. His only loss other than the loss of Clyde, both his pinky toes had frozen completely and had to be removed.

  As the helicopter hovered and flew at the bottom of the world, I was racing down the side streets of Toronto in the old open roof speedster. Wanting to ensure my arrival back at home in Largo, well in advance of Sid’s phone call. the low slung German coupe’s exhaust scrapped the pavement several times as I accelerated the car through more than a few intersections at full throttle. The resulting contact between the metal and asphalt sending a wave of sparks into the dark streets as the old boxer motor’s burble resonated off the surrounding buildings.

  I was racing for a call I would never receive.

  It was a call I refused to miss.

  How I needed to hear his voice, verification that everything was all right.

  My gut sure didn’t feel that way. The more I thought the more my mind raced.

  I rowed up and down the gea
r box, my right foot firmly planted flat to the floor. The three fifty six was giving me everything it had left in its sixty year old soul.

  I needed for that room to be destroyed, I had decided on that.

  I would see to it.

  There was no chance that Sid could ever become part of all this, know what I know, never.

  There was not a chance I am willing to let these details, Clyde had meticulously documented, fall into the wrong hands.

  What if the two of us were to die and Lilly or Sid discovers its existence at some point?

  The knowledge of all the illegal activities and murders would be enough to kill her, here was a woman who had devoted her entire life to giving and supporting so many, only to discover it all had been a lie.

  For every good deed she had ever accomplished, Clyde and I had carried out six evil and greedy ones. Lilly’s love for me and life, would end in that instant, I know it.

  The shame would prevent me from ever being able to look her in her eyes again.

  Then there was my one and only son, who for twenty years was the child of a picture perfect upbringing. Money, a kind and loving family, he is such a great kid.

  His father on the other hand, was nothing more than a criminal, and an accomplice to numerous murders.

  How could my son ever respect me if he knew who I really was, not to mention his relationship with Clyde?

  The files, my past, Lilly, Sid, and Clyde all of it just swirled in my head, my mind racing as quickly as the 356, from one block to the next. The wind in my face, the screaming exhaust garbles the only thing that was keeping me sane.

  Somehow that little old German car was providing relief to the pressure beneath my skull, that and the combination of adrenaline and sick surging through my body.