Calamity (Captain Grande Angil Mysteries)

by Robert G. Bernstein

  “That’s too bad,” English said. “Me and him go way back. What do you want? Is this about my car?” He laughed.

  “I’m coming in to get Jenny,” I said. “Just wanted you to know.”

  Before he could say anything else, I snapped the phone shut and got out of the car.

  43

  I pocketed the keys to the SUV and grabbed the binoculars, then I locked the doors and ran over to where I’d seen Zeke only a few minutes earlier. He wasn’t there. I looked around. No Zeke. I knew he didn’t go in through the door of the clinic because from the SUV I could see the ramp leading to the entrance. Maybe he was sneaking around to one of the other entrances. I hoped that was the case.

  With few other options available, I shook myself fully awake, unzipped my jacket, allowing easy access to the Warthog, and headed for the entrance to the clinic. For a fairly built-up area, White Sulphur Springs didn’t have much going on. West Main Street was virtually empty.

  I crossed to the ramp and headed up. A left at the top of the embankment brought me to the door. Fortunately for me, it was the back door, the service entrance.

  The sign on the door said to push the button. I did. A minute or so later a security guard came and asked me through an intercom what I wanted. I said I had parked at the Amtrak station to save time and was here to visit with Sarah Washburn. I gave him my name. He spoke briefly into a small, handheld walkie-talkie and buzzed me in. When he turned around to lead me down the hall I reached into my pocket and found a couple of loose Snickers Bar wrappers. Before the door closed behind me I shoved the wrappers between the door edge and the jam. It seemed to work. The door was left somewhat ajar. I didn’t know where Zeke was but I hoped, wherever he was, he had his eyes on me.

  The security guard escorted me to the end of the hall and gave me directions to the front desk. I followed his advice, took a left and a right, and ended-up at a very well-appointed lobby with a reception area behind columns highlighted with pastel colors, crown moulding and a Southern-Belle motif.

  A sweet angel of a receptionist greeted me as a came around the corner. Big eyes, generous portions of black eyeliner. She had her hair in a pony tail and wore a light violet blouse and a grey pinstriped vest. As I approached she asked me if I she could help. I told her I was here to see Sarah Washburn. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed there was a man with a crewcut reading a magazine in the corner of the lobby. He paused to glance in my direction.

  “That would be room three twelve,” the receptionist said. “Elevators are down the hall on your right, or you can take the stairs over there.” She pointed. “Third floor. The room is halfway down the hall on the left.”

  I thanked her and walked to the stair well. I knew three things at this point: I knew the guy in the lobby would follow me. I knew he was more experienced than I was. I knew I had to take him out.

  Soon as I opened the stairwell door and let it close behind me, I slid against the wall by the hinged side of the door and stood still as a statue, A few seconds passed and the door opened. I lunged and grabbed the guy in a two-armed headlock. While he reached for his gun I stepped backwards and pulled him down, pressing his head against my chest and at the same time locking and lifting his chin under the crook of my arm. He struggled hard and I heard a gurgling sound and then something gave and his body went limp. As I dragged him down the stairs to the basement I thought about what my Israeli hand to hand combat instructor had told me all those years ago. “When it must be done, do it. Don’t hesitate.”

  Room three twelve was halfway down the hall from the third floor stairwell door. A man stood outside the room. I walked slowly and calmly toward him and when I got to within thirty feet I quickly drew my firearm and shot him twice in the heart and once in the head as he was falling. He went down and didn’t move.

  The door to the room was locked. I stood to the side of the door and knocked hard with my knuckles, heard two shots and saw two bullet holes appear in the door. I counted three-seconds, squared myself in front of the door and kicked the lock as hard as I could. The door flung open and smashed against the shooter. He was right there, leaning against the entrance to the bathroom. I backhanded him hard as I could with the Warthog and watched him fall to the floor like a bag of laundry. Then I heard a loud crack and felt a heavy, hot pain in my chest.

  I raised my forty-five toward English but he had Jenny by the throat and had his pistol to her head. As he approached I lowered my gun and let it drop to the floor. He aimed at my face and it was at the exact moment when he was about to pull the trigger that Zeke came bounding through the door.

  English tried to adjust and acquire Zeke but he didn’t have the time. It all happened very quickly and in a sleepy sort of haze. I heard two more shots, saw Jenny bite English’s hand and watched as she got free and lunged toward me. At some point I slid to the floor. Zeke had English in a bear hug and was lifting him off the ground and heading for the window. I heard the shatter of glass and wood moulding and looked up. Zeke and English were no longer in the room. It was two stories to the pavement.

  “Grande?” Jenny said. “Can you hear me? Can you walk? We have to get out of here.”

  Her voice sounded like it was coming from inside a very well-insulated box.

  “Yes,” I heard myself say. “Help me up.”

  I picked up the Warthog and held it in my hand. Jenny helped me stand and walked me to the bank of elevators.

  “Zeke,” I said.

  “We can’t help him,” Jenny said.

  We took the elevators to the first floor and walked through the lobby. Nobody bothered us or tried to stop us because I still had the forty-five in my hand, which was now covered and dripping with blood.

  “Car. Railroad station,” I said. “To the right. The right.”

  Jenny walked me out of the clinic and across West Maine Street. We found the car and she took the keys from my pocket and opened the doors. Once she had me settled she got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Sirens wailed in the distance.

  “Blood. Too much blood,” I said. “Phone. Zeke’s phone. In my pocket. List of . . . doctors.”

  I felt Jenny’s hand in my pocket and heard her yelling at me to stay with her.

  “Yes,” I said. “I will. Just going to take . . . a nap.”

  44

  Jenny handed me an opaque plastic sippie cup with a straw sticking out the top. She guided the straw into my mouth and watched me suction the contents until nothing remained but ice. Her eyes seemed to be looking directly at the fluid moving through the straw, like something a mother might do while feeding a small child. I stared up at her and drank and noticed how she moved her mouth, as if she were sipping, too. When I was done, she wet her bottom lip with her top lip. Maybe it was the other way around. Not that it mattered. She had beautiful, luscious lips. And she made the best cocktails of ginger ale, water, cranberry juice and ice. Like a little piece of heaven sliding down my gullet. I watched her turn around and place the sippie cup on the bed stand and took a precious moment to admire the curve of her hips and the perfect shape of her derrière. Then I made a note to myself to tell the doctor it was probably a good time to back off on the pain killers.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked, turning back around to face me, her hand resting on my good shoulder.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Bring him in.”

  Jenny walked to the door and opened it. I heard her call the Senator by his name, Dak, short for Dexter, and I caught a glimpse of two assistants or bodyguards outside in the hall. I also saw George out there with a very attractive blonde on his arm.

  “Jenny,” I called. “Ask George to come in, too.”

  The three of them stepped into my room and I suggested they sit and make themselves comfortable. It didn’t occur to me that there were no chairs except the one being used as a coat hanger. They decided to stand.

  “How you feeling, Cap?” George asked. He had on a fleece mountain jacket an
d jeans and carried a small back pack. I think the Senator made him nervous.

  “Chest is some sore,” I said. “Feels like I got run over.”

  “Kids are on their way down,” he said.

  “The ex’s, too?” I asked.

  “Yep. Them, too,” he said.

  “Great,” I said, not really enthusiastic. I had missed Christmas and forgotten to buy gifts. I had also deliberately kept the new P. I. venture to myself, which would surely not play well with the ex-wives.

  As if reading my thoughts George said, “I took care of it, Cap. I bought I-Pads for your kids and I-Phones for the ex’s. You’re all set. They love ‘em. You owe me about twenty-five hundred dollars, by the way.

  “Merry Christmas,” I said. “Oh, incidentally, when I get out of here please remind me to beat the crap out of you and find a more frugal friend.”

  The Senator smiled. I could tell he wasn’t used to being preempted. Senators usually aren’t. This one looked a little less formal than most. He had on gray slacks, a blue button down shirt, open at the neck, no tie and a Navy blue sport jacket. He was, as one would expect, impeccably clothed and groomed. Not a hair out of place.

  “If you guys want to catch-up, it’s OK,” he said to me. “I understand. I can wait outside. Just so you know, I’m grateful for what you did to help Jenny.” He looked at her and smiled. There was sadness in his eyes. “I haven’t been around as much as I should have. She deserved more from me.”

  “Oh, Dak,” she said, and started to say something more, but then the Senator raised a hand and stopped her.

  “No, Jen. It’s true.” To me he added, “You have my deepest gratitude. So why don’t you meet with your friend and catch-up and call me back in when you’re ready. Don’t worry about me. This is a weekend I had originally planned for myself. I’m here all day if need be. At your disposal, so to speak.”

  He meant it, and I was starting to like him.

  “No, sir,” I said. “Please stay. It’s important for us to talk. Also for George to be part of this.”

  George and the Senator nodded to each other.

  “Well,” the Senator said. “Let me get right to the point. I said I’m grateful and I mean it. That’s first and foremost. Second, Jenny called me immediately from the car on the way here, so I was able to intercede and keep law enforcement in the wings. At the moment, you are not under arrest or being detained. But you are very much a part of an active investigation into what transpired at the Greenbrier. You understand.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Stop calling me, sir,” he said. “The name’s Dak.”

  I nodded.

  “Grande,” I said. “My friends call me Cap, or Cappy. Sometimes Angil. Sometimes Gran. Sometime Gray. Sometimes just G.”

  “OK, I get it,” he said. “We’ll stick with Grande for now. So—Grande—the authorities will want to meet with you, Jen, and that other fellow. For the record, I’ve vouched for you and Jen and explained to local law enforcement your roll in all this, at least as far as Jen explained it to me. Which was basically this: She was taken by her bodyguard to Greenbrier to protect her, but the guys who were looking for her found out and tried to kidnap her. You and her chauffeur interceded and managed to rescue her.”

  I used the remote control to raise my head and at the same time managed to slide myself up all by myself. Hurt like hell but it was progress and I felt good about it. Jenny jumped to help, as did the Senator and George, but I shook my head and motioned for them to let me be.

  “How’s Zeke?” I said.

  “They’re not sure,” Jen said. “He landed on a large patch of heavy shrubbery. He had two bullets in him. Thank God Mr. English broke his fall.”

  Broke his fall. Hah! Had there not been a catheter stuck inside me I might have peed myself thinking about it. Somebody as big as Zeke landing on you after a thirty-foot gainer from a second story window—probably not the best way to leave this world. Probably not a pleasant experience for Zeke, either. Indeed, the path to redemption is a dangerous one.

  I looked at Jenny, George, and the Senator, then I took a deep breath and let it out.

  “Sir, Dak, Senator, um . . . Mr. Hollyoake, you know,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to just call you Senator or Sir for a while, until I get used to it, fair enough?”

  Hollyoake shrugged.

  “Sir, I need to ask you some questions. I need to do this in my own time, in my own way. I know you have questions yourself. I promise I’ll answer them. But . . . for now, please . . . give me a little slack, OK?”

  The Senator nodded. If he had a problem with it he didn’t let on.

  “Thank you Senator,” I said. “George, show the man the bottle?”

  George reached into his backpack and pulled out an old soda bottle heavily encrusted with marine growth. The cap was still on and it was about half full of a milky, Carmel-colored liquid.

  “My goodness,” Hollyoake said. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “We believe it is, Sir,” George said.

  Jenny had a very confused look on her face. “Dak?”

  “Maybe you should explain to Jenny what this is,” I said.

  “Are you saying that bottle there is relevant to what happened at Greenbrier?” Hollyoake was standing ramrod straight, pointing his index finger at the bottle.

  “I’m afraid so,” I said.

  “Dak,” Jenny said again. “Can you explain any of this?”

  The Senator moved to the side of the room and sat next to the bay window, on the heater and air conditioner unit that ran the full length of the wall. Now it was his turn to take a deep breath and let it out.

  “Jenny,” he said. “What do you know about what Aaron and I did during our tours in Vietnam?”

  “Virtually nothing,” Jenny said. “Allen didn’t like to talk about it. He did say you were both pilots and that you flew a few missions together.”

  “We did. And we flew more than just a few missions. We flew together for two years. In some ways it was the best part of my life. In others, the worst. I was twenty-five years old. Full of it. Full of myself. The work was challenging, exciting, adventurous. But sometimes we were told to do things that didn’t make sense. And sometimes we were told to things that were a lot worse than not making sense. That bottle right there…”

  Hollyoake pointed at the bottle and kept pointing at it as if it were a ghost, shaking his head and scowling, consumed by an inner rage. For a good ten-seconds he couldn’t speak. He seemed frozen. Then all of a sudden he let his hand drop to his side and looked tired. When he started-up again, he stared down at his shoes and the tile floor of the hospital.

  “That bottle,” he said, finally. “Is why your husband and I left the service.”

  45

  We were quiet, giving Hollyoake his space. He seemed to need a little time to organize his thoughts. Jenny walked to his side. She took a seat next to him on the HVAC unit and rested a hand on his knee. He looked at her and smiled.

  “I was young,” Hollyoake said. “I believed in my country. Still do. Back then, though, for a member of the service like myself, believing in my country also meant believing in its leaders.” He sighed. “We get older . . . we learn that’s not always a wise thing to do.”

  “You were planning a career in the military.” I said.

  “I was,” Hollyoake said. “So was Allen.” He looked at George. “How did you come by this?”

  George walked over to the bottle on the wheeled table. He picked it up and scratched at the hardened encrustation with his thumbnail. “It was Grande’s idea. We dove the site once and found some wreckage. Grande figured out it was from a plane and narrowed it down to the type of aircraft Air America used. When Mrs. Bowers sent us her husband’s files, we found papers talking about a mission to bring something from Vietnam all the way to Upstate New York. There was another paper telling us the plane that brought the stuff in had crashed. We just put two and two together. T
hree days ago Grande asked me to dig around in the loose bottom between the big boulders out at Hammond Ledge. It’s all crushed shell and fine sand down there. I took an airlift with me and some helpers and we vacuumed up some of Hammond Ledge. What came up was a ton of stuff: sand, gravel, shells, old fishing gear, boat wreckage, broken glass, plane parts. And this bottle.”

  Hollyoake nodded. “It wasn’t a crash. We ditched the plane deliberately. That’s why we kept it a secret. We disobeyed direct orders. We destroyed government property. We lied about it. Frankly, at the time, I was ashamed of what I had done. It’s not like either one of us was one hundred percent sure of what we were doing.”

  “What made you suspicious?” I said.

  Hollyoake laughed. “You’re kidding, right? I mean, we were flying twenty tons of soda pop halfway around the world in the wrong direction, and we were told not to drink any of it. If I remember correctly, we refueled four times. A pilot’s mind can really wander. And we had plenty of time for our minds to wander.”

  He turned to face Jenny and took both her hands in his. “Thank God Allen was with me,” he said. “He was the one, Jen, really. He knew in his heart we were doing something wrong. He persuaded me we had to ditch the plane.”

  I noticed George had scratched and chipped away almost all the scale from the surface of the bottle, building a neat, little pile of decayed organic material, probably fecal matter and petrified sea critter, on my table. This was the wheeled bed stand on which I usually ate my lunch. Hard to believe the man possessed an intellect beyond the scope of most mortal men. I sneered in his direction to let him know how much I appreciated what he’d done. He gave me a big, broad smile and moved closer to Hollyoake and Jenny, where the only natural light in the room came through the window as a crepuscular ray.

  Studying the bottle in the narrow ray of light George said, “Looks like an ‘I’ - space - space - and a ‘Y’. There’s a second line. An ‘F’ and a ‘Z’.”