'Til Death Us Do Part

by Annie Oortman

  As Lou rambled on, Christiaan looked out the window at Mt. Shasta. Wait. Shouldn’t the mountain be on the other side of the car if Duff had turned around?

  “Croi Dubh fell off the grid about the same time I left the Agency. I figured he’d either blown himself up or one of his lesser commands had taken him out.”

  Christiaan peeked at Duff’s free hand, the one with the heart ring tattoo he’d noticed at the penthouse earlier when they’d toasted to the future. The heart had a crown on top.

  And the heart was black.

  “So,” Lou continued. “I talked to a few of my buddies still with the Agency. Word is that Black Heart is in the US, possibly laundering European funds through American companies, and planning something big. Really big.”

  A paralyzing moment of sudden insight struck Christiaan. He hadn’t read the Ethanol market wrong. Not. At. All.

  Pulling his gaze away from Duff’s tattoo, Christiaan found himself staring into the Irishman’s smiling face. Then Duff drained the Scotch bottle and tossed it into the back. Reaching under the driver’s seat, he pulled out a gun and gestured with it for Christiaan to hang up the phone.

  A spasm of fear gripped him, and Christiaan slowly nodded in acknowledgment. “Lou… I have to go—”

  “Wait, there’s more—”

  “Lou, what’s d-i-o-r-d-f-i-o-n-n?”

  “Diord fionn?”

  “Yes, diord fionn.”

  “I don’t recognize diord, but fionn means fair or blond, Boss, what’s—”

  Christiaan ended the call and suddenly recognized the tune Duff hummed. The same one Vicky sang while trapped by the rock at Mineral Springs. All at once, the back of his neck prickled. Baz had been humming it, too, at the diner.

  “Good, Baron Boy,” Duff cooed, his 190-proof breath wafting through Christiaan’s nose. “Now, roll down thet window an’ toss thet squawk box out.”

  Christiaan complied.

  “For yer information, Diord Fionn was thet war cry of thet Fianna, a mythical group of Celtic warriors. ‘Glaine ar gcroi. Neart ar ngeag. Beart de reir ar mbriathar.’ Truth in our hearts. Strength in our hands. Action to match our speech.”

  “And the name of a file on the computer in the Mineral Springs site trailer.” Mental connections clicked into place for Christiaan.

  “Used to be on thet computer in thet Mineral Springs trailer,” Duff corrected. “Tha’ fecking Dutchie of yours tot he was being clever an’ sentimental naming it tha’. Jaysus, what an idiot.”

  Fecking Dutchie… heart ring… diord fionn… “Baz’s tattoo.”

  “Aye, thet tattoo.” The Irishman laughed. “Yes, allow me to be thet first to inform ye tha’ yer closest an’ dearest friend works fer me an’ me modern-day Fianna.”

  Christiaan struggled to register the significance of those words. Baz had betrayed him? Vicky had told the truth? As Christiaan tried to sort everything out, he spied the yellow sunburst with two upside-down Fs on Duff’s cast. The Irishman noticed Christiaan’s stare.

  “Thet sunburst is an oul’ Irish symbol fer divine strength.”

  “And the two green Fs in the middle?”

  “An ironic play on Fianna Fail, thet Irish Republican Party. They’ve failed to secure thet world’s support fer a free Ireland, so I’m gonna demand it.”

  “Demand it?”

  Duff gave a cold, hard smile. “Aye, demand it.”

  The look on the Irishman’s face chilled Christiaan to the bone and sent his mind into overdrive trying to make sense of everything. His thoughts jumped to things Vicky said she’d seen at the Mineral Springs trailer.

  “An todhchaí,” Christiaan said. “That was another file on the computer. You said ‘an todhchaí’ during your toast at the penthouse. You said it meant ‘the future’. What’s the future doing on my company’s computer?”

  Duff broke into a hardy laugh. “Me future has been thet future fer a very long time, Baron Boy. Fer a very… long… time.”

  Christiaan’s breath caught as more things clicked into place. Baz’s summer in Ireland. His demands to have a bigger role in the company. His push for the Mineral Springs project. His insistence on Christiaan staying hands off.

  The money… or lack thereof.

  “I can see thet wheels turning in yer head. Allow me to connect some of thet dots fer ye.”

  “Please do.” Christiaan tried to stay calm, but the gun pointed at his chest made the effort difficult.

  “Yer boy has been workin’ fer me fer a very long time. I met him in Dublin just after thet snooty bitch tossed his sorry bollocks aside.”

  Damn you, Astrid.

  “Jaysus, he was all full of anger an’ hate about being a nobody. I showed him tha’ he wasn’t a nobody in me world. Tha’ he could be a somebody. A bigger somebody than he could ever dream of.”

  Poor Baz. Christiaan let out a heavy sigh. This sociopath had done something he’d failed to do… recognize how much his friend had been hurting. Just like I missed how much Bri had been hurting.

  “I’d been lookin’ fer a way to gain legitimate access to thet States as well as some easy cash, an’ thet Dutchie an’ yer company was me ticket.”

  Like a punch in the gut, the confirmation of what Christiaan had suspected a few minutes ago stung like hell. Unraveling the conspiracy was easy now that he knew where the weak link was.

  “Let me guess, Baz created fake vendors and authorized payments for non-existent services.” His friend’s reluctance to let Christiaan see costs-to-date and status rundowns explained that. “Millions and millions of dollars for you and your cause.” An ironic laugh slipped out. “I’m guessing I bought you this car.”

  “Yes, ye did.” Duff nodded at Christiaan and laughed. “I an’ me cause thank ye very much.”

  Relief that his financial idiocy wasn’t what caused his company to fail wasn’t enough to overshadow the fact that Christiaan had blindly placed his trust in Baz, and, in turn, this obvious maniac.

  Duff started humming that song again. The gun dipped up and down to the beat. Looking out the passenger window, Christiaan spied the hawk overhead.

  A sensation of utter chaos ripped through him as everything he’d learned in the last ten minutes mixed with the events of the last fifteen years. His mind whirled like a cyclone. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to respond to a mental trick his father had taught him to use when business negotiations were crazy and at a breaking point.

  Focus your thoughts. Untangle the web of intertwining ideas. Evaluate each piece of data. Assemble the information together like a jigsaw puzzle until the entire picture is clear.

  The bird circled as Christiaan slowly put the puzzle together. He just needed a few more pieces.

  “Why kill Bri eight years ago?”

  Duff laughed. “Aye, ye figured tha’ out. Because she was gettin’ in the way, pressuring ye to abandon Mineral Springs an’ spend more time with her. Dutchie tot he had her under control until she stumbled across us meetin’ in a local pub. Tha’ was da final straw for me. She had to go. Baz took care of it, or so we all tot.”

  Christiaan choked down the sour taste rising in his throat. Baz had killed Bri! The man he considered his brother had murdered the woman he loved!

  “Why so much importance to this project here?” Christiaan turned his attention back to Duff, forcing himself to focus on learning every last thing he could about the events of the last decade and half. “But this isn’t just a way to get some big cash. You could have raised money doing what you’ve always done. Bombings made to look like accidents. There’s something more going on at Mineral Springs, isn’t there? The pallets of explosive materials. Drilling reports for a site that’s not drilling. What’s going on there?”

  Again with the cold, hard smile. “Can’t hurt to tell ye.”

  Another piece slid into place. “Because I’ll be dead anyway, right? Here. On this county road. With no witnesses.” Christiaan let out a sharp exhalation. “That’s why you offe
red to drive me to the airport. That’s why you picked this route. That’s why you didn’t turn around to go to Vicky’s like I asked you to.”

  More chilling laughter from the sociopath drew Christiaan’s attention back into the car. “But at least yer demise will be quick an’ easy,” Duff taunted. “Unlike thet rest of thet continent’s, who have been sentenced to death.”

  This guy really is a freak. “And what crime are you charging this continent with?”

  “Doing absolutely nothing while me Irish brothers an’ sisters die needlessly at thet hands of British bourgeois nationalists. English rule is an’ always has been based on force an’ fraud an’ maintained by military occupation against thet declared will of thet people. No more two Irelands! No more violation of Irish national sovereignty! No more ‘normalizing’ of Northern Ireland. Me actions will ensure thet will of thet Irish people prevails. Me actions will serve as true retribution fer dis side of thet world sitting on their arses an’ letting Easter Week an’ Bloody Sunday an’ Thet Troubles happen. Only after North America has been annihilated will thet rest of thet world understand tha’ a united Ireland is inevitable.” Diatribe over, Duff finally took a deep breath and smiled. A thin trickle of saliva dribbled from a corner of his mouth.

  The words and passionate sentiment sent cold fear through Christiaan. The Irishman was nuts. Certifiably.

  “So, your plan is to destroy all of North America and everyone in it?”

  Duff’s grin widened. “In. One. Fatal. Swoop.”

  With a new part of the puzzle to solve, Christiaan began sorting through the pieces running around his mind.

  “The explosives. The drilling depths. The green crosses. Vicky was right. There was more than just testing going on at Mineral Springs.”

  “And tis’ all me…” The Irishman let out a short snort. “…fault.”

  Fault? Fault. “Unmapped fault zones.” What little Christiaan could remember from the fractured phone conversation with the seismologist yesterday suddenly came screaming to his attention. “… rupture of a main strike-slip fault could infer… significant seismic threat for the surrounding continent… cautioned Mr. Yager against the use of explosives…” Potverdomme! He should have paid better attention!

  Wait! Vicky said something about an Internet video she’d watched at the site trailer. Something about tectonic plates and seismic threats and earthquakes that could level entire regions. And her article. Christiaan struggled to remember what little he’d just read on his phone. “Microearthquake… proposed geothermal sites show seismic evidence of potential cataclysmic, tectonic chain reactions affecting fault line throughout North America…”

  “Have you figured it out yet, Baron Boy?” Duff sneered.

  Christiaan ignored the Irishman and the acute danger slowly suffocating him as he continued to sort through the evidence. Pallets… explosives… workers with hand trucks… footprints around cave entrances… people disappearing down passageways… muffled voices… What had Vicky said about the network of caves and tunnels? A wide web that darts in and out of the ridge and up and down from the ground.

  The last piece of the puzzle slid into place. This nut case is using Mineral Springs to cause a “cataclysmic, tectonic chain reaction”!

  Dread must have covered his face because Duff suddenly laughed. “Tha’s right. Thar’s gonna be wan big fecking earthquake.”

  “Vicky.” Christiaan shook his head and forced his gaze away from the lunatic and back out the passenger window at Mt. Shasta far off in the distance. “You were definitely on to something.” The hawk circled overhead. “I should have listened.”

  “Don’t worry about thet precious Victoria Golden. She won’t suffer. She’ll be long gone by thet time this place shakes apart.”

  Christiaan whipped his head around. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “As we speak, stupid Dutchie is taking care of thet snoopy bitch.”

  “Baz is going to kill Vicky?” Christiaan’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.

  “Yes, up at thet stupid rock of hers. Let’s hope he gets it right dis time.”

  Panic threatened to overwhelm him, and Christiaan fought to keep his mind clear. He needed to stop Baz.

  First rule of crisis management… assess your situation. Gun pointed at chest. Moving car. Crazy Irishman at the wheel. Drunk crazy Irishman at the wheel.

  Second rule… gather all the facts. Only one mattered… Vicky will die if I don’t get my ass up to Serenity Rock as soon as possible.

  Third rule… develop a plan of action. I need to get out of the car now. I’ll figure out the rest as I go along.

  Slowing the car for a tight curve, Duff relaxed his focus for a second. Enough time for Christiaan to unfasten the seat belt with his left hand, punch open the passenger door with his right, and roll out onto the road. Quickly jumping to his feet, he spied the Irishman looking at him through the rear window, gun aimed point blank. Suddenly, the Land Rover ran off the side of the road into a deep ditch, and the sound of a single gunshot echoed across the countryside.

  Christiaan waited until he was certain no sign of movement came from the vehicle. Approaching the SUV, now resting on its side against a fence row, he spied a steady flow of blood coming from the back of Duff’s head. Obviously drinking, driving, and handguns don’t mix. Blank eyes stared at him, and Christiaan couldn’t help but offer the Irishman the same cold hard smile he’d focused on “Baron Boy” earlier.

  Vicky. He needed to get to her.

  Christiaan shoved the lightweight vehicle back onto its wheels. Next, he opened the driver’s door, unhooked Duff’s seatbelt, and dragged the body into the ditch. Dropping into the bloody, wet, sticky driver’s seat, Christiaan prayed that Land Rover’s Above and Beyond marketing was true then started the SUV. He hesitated before slamming the car into gear. Reaching over the backseat, he grabbed the Irishman’s lucky jacket, rolled down the window, and tossed it onto the body.

  “Diord Fionn, you crazy bastard. Diord Fionn.”

  Rocking back and forth like a granny on steroids, Vicky tried to calm herself by reciting a Zen walking poem. How ironic! Normally, she was relaxed and at ease when perched on Serenity Rock. But today… today was a whole different ballgame. “Antsy” best described her emotions while sitting here, waiting for her husband to stumble up the trail.

  Thank God for her little-known shortcut. She’d beaten Christiaan here, giving her a chance to think.

  Vicky breathed deep. When he finally arrived, what would he say? Baz told her on the phone that Christiaan wasn’t angry anymore. Maybe he simply wanted to apologize. For their previous life. For the last week. For… everything.

  Drawing her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her knees. Would he want to pick up where they left off eight years ago? This morning?

  Both?

  Would he expect her to go back to being Bri in The Netherlands? Could she hope to retain her life as Vicky here?

  So damn many questions. So little answers. If she thought the emotional chaos she’d dealt with earlier was confusing, this was down right… argh!

  She didn’t want to get her hopes up. Whether they found a compromise or not, as long as he forgave her for giving up on them eight years ago and everything since, she’d be happy.

  Alone, but happy.

  A loud squawk overhead pulled her attention to the sky where a hawk slowly circled. The same one that tormented me earlier? That dove at her on the cliff, right before all those rocks gave way and trapped her? That chased her and Christiaan into the cave, right before everything gave way and trapped them?

  Unexpectedly… Sure a lot of unexpected rock action going on around here. The caption she’d read earlier popped into her head. The mention of MEQ data of proposed geothermal sites affecting fault lines kept sticking in her head.

  MEQ… That was one of the acronyms she saw in the trailer, right next to the clipboard with the drill sites sheet. Hmm… drilling… The Die Frackers
Die video rushed to mind. Could Christiaan’s drilling have caused some unexpected rock action? Otherwise known as microearthquakes? Could there be more? Could they be worse? And, more importantly, is the risk of a cataclysmic chain reaction really as infinitesimal as the “energy proponents” say?

  The bird rode the wind a bit more, then flew off toward the countryside. Just then, a baritone voice rose from the main trail. “Mamma Mia, here I go again. My my, how can I resist you?”

  He remembered! A girlish, tingly feeling rushed from her head to her toes as Vicky joined in. “Mamma Mia, does it show again? My, my just how much I’ve missed you.”

  Now it was a duet. “Yes, I’ve been brokenhearted. Blue since the day we parted. Why, why did I ever let you go?” She cut the last syllable off abruptly as the owner of the baritone voice came into view.

  “Baz? What are you doing here? I thought you said Christiaan was meeting me?”

  “I lied.” Baz smiled with a starched stiffness then shrugged his shoulders. “I lied. I told a dirty rotten little lie. I should be spanked. I should be punished.” He turned around, aimed his butt at her, and smacked it with a open palm. Then he turned back around and started giggling like a little girl with a secret.

  Is he drunk? Her nose searched the air for the smell of alcohol. Nothing.

  “Vicky… Vicky… Vicky.” He trailed a finger down her arm, then began giggling again.

  That’s… weird? Her skin began to crawl. Baz had always been funny and light-hearted, but this… this… bordered on creepy.

  The giggling suddenly stopped. “So. Yeah. I lied.” His expression stilled then darkened. “Then again, so did you. Right, Brianna?”

  Vicky unlocked her arms from around her legs and shifted her seat on the boulder. Christiaan had told him her secret. Not surprising. They were like brothers.