Due North

by Jackson, Melanie

  I hoped that it would be okay. I didn’t think I could stand it if I was wrong.

  Chuck stared at me, though it was dark and he couldn’t see my face. Suddenly he chuckled. The sound was soft but distinct.

  “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, but I think you’re right. Certainly the two out there aren’t putting themselves out to get back and help their comrade.”

  “And we don’t have a choice. Or I don’t. No one is coming to save us. We are on our own.”

  He digested this.

  “And so?”

  “So, they go to sleep, we gear up and maybe try to use my radio. It’s kind of like a CB only fairly short range. I don’t know if we’ll get anyone even in town with the storm, but we can try. I think maybe the wind is dying some. Maybe it will blow itself out. Sometimes these storms are vicious but brief, and the weird magnetic anomalies don’t last that long. If we can get the Braids, she’ll be able to contact your people.”

  This was probably unwarranted optimism, but a positive attitude can carry the day.

  “And then we go to the pub?” the Mountie asked.

  “Yes. We arm ourselves and take Max, who can guide us through the storm. There is a kind of cargo door into the basement. We can go in that way.”

  “And then we take out the crazy Russian and rescue everyone?”

  “Yes. It’s simple really.” And for the first time in hours, I felt like smiling. It was loony but I was ready to run with it. “So, are you a good shot?” I asked.

  “Fair. And you?”

  “Great with cans. Haven’t shot at a man before, but it can’t be that different.”

  “It’s different,” Chuck said, and then we both fell silent, listening to the gentle lullaby of drug-induced snores.

  * * *

  The clouds had begun to lighten with morning by the time we made it back to the pub. The return journey was unpleasant for everyone except Max, but the wind had died enough that we were at least able to travel upright, and having Max along diminished much of my fear of the weather. I began to believe that we might win the grudge match after all.

  I was further encouraged to stagger around to the back of the pub where there was shelter from the worst of the storm and to discover the Flowers and the two young soldiers trying to help the behemoth-sized Russian out of the women’s bathroom window. Proportion seemed to be winning over determination, but they hadn’t given up yet.

  “Hello,” I said, and all of them jumped. The Flowers gasped and then reached over to hug me.

  “You’re alive! I was afraid that Anatoli and Misha would catch you.”

  “They did, but things are fine. They’re sleeping back at the cabin. The storm almost killed them.” I didn’t mention the drugs.

  “Oh. And you found the—Chuck.” She stooped to pat Max but sent a smile at the Mountie.

  “Yes, a tree fell on him but he’s okay. Where are the others?” I asked, watching with interest as the two boys continued to tug on the red-faced giant wedged in the window.

  “They all got out—except Dad and Whisky Jack. Grigori got angry and Jack is… hurt. The guys are all supposed to be searching the pub, looking for hiding places since Grigori thinks the money can’t have been moved very far.”

  So Grigori was crazy but not rock stupid.

  “And you all have had enough with ‘searching’?” I asked of the one who had tried flirting with me. If the Russians had turned on their leader this was a game-changer.

  “Da. The colonel, he is insane. I do not believe there is any money here in this town of lovely red-haired people.” He saw Max then and his eyes got wide.

  “Oh, where are my manners?” the Flowers interrupted. “This is Ivan and Alexei, and the man in the window is Sasha. You know Butterscotch, and this is Chuck and her dog, Max.”

  I happened to look Chuck’s way and his gaze was fascinated. I suspect that he was also speechless. I guess the police training manual hadn’t covered this aspect of hostage-captor etiquette.

  “Hello,” I said politely. “Perhaps we’d best push Sasha back through and maybe try an escape through the basement delivery doors,” I suggested then shook my head vigorously, dislodging the accumulating snow. The wind had let up but the snow was still falling fast.

  “I don’t know if he can sneak past Grigori. And what are we going to do about Dad and Whisky Jack?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about that.” I felt Chuck’s gaze turn my way. “I believe that it might be best to give him what he wants. What would we do with a bunch of bonds and jewels anyway?” I omitted any mention of the cash. “Let’s just give it to him and let him leave.”

  Now everyone was staring at me, even the puffing Sasha.

  “But what makes you so sure he’ll just go away if we give them to him?” the Flowers asked.

  “He won’t have many hostages to threaten.”

  “Just Dad and Whisky Jack.” She said this bravely.

  “Yes, and whoever brings the duffel bags. But leaving without killing anyone would be the easiest thing to do since he can’t track down all the witnesses anyway.”

  “But he’s crazy,” the Flowers said and shuddered. “Crazy.”

  If there is one thing we know in McIntyre’s Gulch, it’s crazy.

  “I will not let him kill you,” Alexei said bravely. “I will defend you, beautiful ladies.”

  “I would not mind shooting Grigori,” Sasha volunteered as he pulled himself back into the bathroom and straightened his coat. “If we must. I have plan to resign anyway. I will remain here and open a butcher shop.”

  I blinked but said nothing.

  “What of Anatoli and Misha?” Ivan asked. “Anatoli is the pilot. How will the colonel leave if he has no pilot?”

  “Grigori is pilot,” Sasha said. “He can fly plane himself.”

  Chuck cleared his throat. He had apparently rediscovered the ability to speak.

  “This is all well and good, as far as it goes, but if I may make a suggestion….”

  * * *

  What the Flowers and I were doing was insane on so many levels that I stopped reviewing them so I could concentrate on what needed doing.

  First of all, we were trusting that Sasha and the boys were really on our side and would remain on our side once back in their leader’s presence. Secondly, we were putting ourselves in danger by bringing the treasure to Grigori ourselves. We could have sent it back with one of the guys, letting them claim to have found it somewhere in the pub, but the Flowers was unwilling to leave her father alone with Grigori once he had the loot and insisted on coming so she could throw herself in front of bullets, I guess.

  Lastly, we were making the leap of faith that the Mountie had calculated correctly and anticipated everybody’s actions when we appeared with the duffel bags full of bonds and jewels. Grigori would probably believe that I had panicked earlier and gone out into the whiteout to retrieve the treasure from another location. He would probably also believe that Misha and Anatoli were lost to the storm and not coming back. That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t shoot me anyway. In spite of my words to the Flowers, I was not confident that good sense would keep the crazy man from violence. His type love violence for its own sake. Chuck wanted me to give it a pass, but I needed to “arrive” with a snowmobile that Grigori could steal to take the loot back to the plane. For the story to make sense, I had to bring back the loot from somewhere else while also providing the Russian with a means of escape.

  It sounded possible in theory. In reality? Who knew? When you have no choice, the odds aren’t worth considering.

  What the Mountie had not talked about as we were making plans was what would happen after the Russian left, with the officials that would get involved in the case asking particulars about the whys and wherefores. How could he say anything when he was still undercover? Not that he was a chatterbox anyway. I thought that he would do his best to protect the people in the Gulch—after all, I had saved his life—but what a
bout the Russians? They were known criminals. I thought it better than even odds that he would turn them in.

  Had it not been for Chuck, we could have absorbed the men, taking in a few more Joneses. But I didn’t know if Mr. Law and Order could turn a blind eye to their continuing presence in our town, even when they had turned out to not be such bad guys after all.

  But, suffice it unto the day the evil therein. First we had to live long enough to have worries and regrets. If I died, it wouldn’t be my problem.

  “You know, I wish I had taken the time to try the jewels on,” the Flowers said as she helped strap the second duffel bag on the snowmobile. It was parked in a shed behind the inn. I was going to drive up to the back of the inn where the Flowers and Sasha would “see” me. This was probably a bit of needless embellishment, driving a few yards with the duffels on the snowmobile, but if Grigori happened to be looking out of a window, he would at least see me arriving with the loot. And it would make the duffels nice and snowy and cold, which they would be if I had driven across town with them rather than pulled them out of a hidden room used to store illegal booze.

  “I never really looked,” I said. “Was there anything really great?”

  “There’s a tiara. And this broach of a bee. It has a yellow diamond as big as my thumb.”

  We sighed with regret.

  “I’ll give you and Sasha two minutes to get back to the inn. Stay close to him. The wind is still strong. And be sure and get all the snow off your hat and clothes so Grigori won’t know that you’ve been outside.”

  “Yes, Mother,” the Flowers said and gave me a quick hug. Sasha didn’t hug me, but I think he might have wanted to. Chuck didn’t hug me because he was off working on his own part of the plan.

  Then they were gone. I waited in the shed, motor idling—verisimilitude required a hot engine and we wanted it running smoothly when the Russian fled—and listened to the moaning wind as I stared into the dark gray that was morning. The storm was blowing itself out. Or maybe resting while it gathered strength for a second round. In any event, I would be able to see the pub before I drove into it. Barely. Perhaps the gods were on our side.

  I looked at my all-weather watch. It was time.

  “Max, stay here. I mean it.”

  Driving even those few yards in the relative protection of the rear of the pub was difficult, and I would have been nuts to have actually attempted snowmobile travel from some other part of town. We could only hope that Grigori didn’t notice this, or assumed that the natives were equipped with some kind of internal radar that allowed us to navigate in blizzards.

  The sacks felt heavier than ever as I dragged them to the back door and then pounded on it with a gloved hand.

  Ivan was there to let me in instead of Sasha. The boys had worried me. They were too open and guileless. They seemed to have found their game faces though and he did a good job of looking surprised at my presence.

  “I have something for you guys,” I said, and started shaking the snow out of my hair.

  The mudroom got very small as Grigori crowded in. Beyond him I could see the others, all except Whisky Jack. Big John and the Flowers looked grim, so I surmised that Grigori had not been sitting around sipping vodka and playing poker to while away the stormy hours. I hoped Jack was alive and that Grigori hadn’t done too much damage to the pub.

  “You are looking for this, I think,” I said, having to force the words out. I was cold with terror. The wind whistling in the open door behind me didn’t help, but I left the door ajar long enough for the Russian to see the snowmobile outside.

  “Where was it?” His gaze was fixed.

  “Across town. There is another safe at the grocery store. I figured it had to be there.”

  “Who moved it?”

  I shrugged. Like I was going to give him a target.

  “Anyone. We all know the combinations to the safes. Probably someone who was here earlier and decided to play it safe.”

  “Like the man with you?” So he had noticed Chuck.

  I spread my hands and shrugged.

  “Where are my men?” Did the man never blink? I was beginning to think of cobras.

  “Men?” I asked.

  “They did not find you?”

  I shook my head.

  “They left when I did? And haven’t returned? That’s very bad. We need to organize a rescue party.”

  “No.”

  I didn’t argue.

  Come on, Chuck. We needed some help here. I was out of small talk for a psychopath.

  Chapter 17: Intervention

  Chuck resolved two things, supposing he lived to see the end of the day. One, he would send fewer interdepartmental memos, thereby reducing his chances of being sent to icy hells in the winter. Secondly, he was going to invest in some high-tech snow gear. He wasn’t completely certain that he would end up spending time in McIntyre’s Gulch, but the advent seemed more possible than it had twelve hours ago.

  A lot of things seemed more possible than they had twelve hours ago, when he had passed through some looking glass and tumbled down the rabbit hole. Maybe he had eaten of some local forbidden fruit, drunk too much of the resident Kool-Aid, but things that would have seemed fantastical to him only the day before now felt reasonable.

  That didn’t mean that he wasn’t cold and also very nervous. After all, what they were attempting wasn’t in any playbook. This was pure Hollywood movie or thriller novel territory. Even with the best professionals, in the most optimal of conditions, things could and did go wrong. But, as Butterscotch had pointed out, what choice was there? He couldn’t arrest six armed Russians on his own, especially when one of them would certainly start shooting hostages. No matter what happened, what was done or not done, there were potential unfortunate consequences.

  Butterscotch was right about another thing too. Letting the crazy one escape with the loot was for the best, if they could make it happen. It seemed that the FBI was involved. Let those living in the lower half of the continent deal with the monster who resided there. Chuck did not place property—or even the law—ahead of human life. Even the peculiar, lawless but valiant strain of humans they grew in the Gulch.

  A porch light flicked on and off. This was the agreed-upon signal. Chuck looked right and then left, nodded once, and then he raised the bullhorn to his mouth.

  * * *

  It was all I could do not to sag with relief when a loud voice announced, This is Inspector Goodhead of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. All persons in this establishment need to show themselves at once. Exit the front of the building with your hands raised and in plain sight at all times.

  My first impulse was to move out of the way, giving Grigori an open path to the snowmobile, but that would have been a big fat giveaway, so I followed everyone else’s example and looked to the front of the pub.

  I have sometimes doubted the power of prayer, but inside was doing one long pleaseohpleaseohplease and was dizzy with relief when Grigori ordered Sasha and the boys to guard the front of the pub.

  My flesh did that crawling thing as I also walked toward the front of the pub because I fully expected Grigori to pull out his gun and shoot me. It was all I could do not to pull out the handgun in my pocket that my right hand was clasping with all its might. Though the boys and Sasha had assured me that they would be happy to shoot Grigori for me, I had doubts about both their will and their ability to react quickly enough.

  Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw that all the Russians had drawn their weapons, a reasonable response if they were actually about to get involved in a police shootout.

  Outside, Chuck repeated his demand that we show ourselves or risk being invaded. I didn’t turn my head to watch, but my ears heard Grigori unzip the duffels and look inside. Then I ducked around the door frame and squatted down, hopefully putting my head and body below bullet level in case Grigori decided to make a last stand rather than steal the loot and the snowmobile.

  The Russians were makin
g a pretense of guarding the front of the building, but the Flowers and Big John had dragged Whisky Jack behind the bar. I was pretty sure that Big John was arming himself with any one of his numerous guns secreted throughout the bar. Someday, I really would like to hear his story of life away from McIntyre’s Gulch.

  We didn’t speak until we heard a door slam and then oh so carefully I peered around the corner, seeking reassurance that Grigori was actually gone. It was probably my imagination, but I thought I could hear the snowmobile as it pulled away. With any luck he would make it safely to the plane, which had to be on the lake, or would suffer a decapitation when he ran into a guide wire.

  “He’s gone?” Big John called to me.

  “Yes.” It took some effort, but I forced myself to my feet. I could see my knees were still there, so I insisted they function.

  Sasha was already flicking the porch light switch up and down, telling Chuck that we were in the clear, and the magnified voice stopped demanding we come out into the snow. A few moments later, Chuck came into the pub. He pulled off the ski mask, which he had borrowed from Ivan, revealing both a smile and a face that was red with cold.

  “I think we just got very lucky,” the Flowers said and then knelt back down to check on Whisky Jack, who was making gurgling noises.

  “Is he very hurt?” I asked, though I found myself beaming at Chuck. It had worked! We were alive!

  “He’s very drunk. Dad gave him a bottle.”

  “Oh, good.” Well, not good. But better than badly beaten.

  “It’s too early to start celebrating,” Chuck warned. “We have to be sure that he actually leaves. If he can’t manage the plane he will probably come back.”

  “He comes back and I will shoot him,” Sasha said flatly. “The man has given me ulcer.”