Killing the Giants

by Jeff Bennington

  After unsuccessfully firing at the van, the security guard turned toward the woods on the other side of the road. He shot several rounds into the forest where the escapees ran into the darkness.

  Turning their heads forward and backward, Sarah and Blake managed to spy the location of their assailant while maintaining an efficient forward projection. The sound of spinning bullets flew past their ears, causing them to duck instinctively milliseconds after the bullets shot through the air. At that point, it seemed as if they would escape.

  Mark and Heather fishtailed away from the sniper and were on their way out of the maintenance service road when a large black SUV came barreling in front of the merging main road. The SUV locked its brakes. Its tires screeched and smoked as the vehicle came to a sliding stop, blocking the road ahead. The large vehicle’s dark tinted windows lowered as two more men and two more HK53s came into view.

  Heather instinctively pointed her Glock at the gunmen and pulled the trigger. The gun discharged and the bullet hit the glass near the front passenger, narrowly missing. Heather shot again, adjusting her aim according to her previous shot. The shooter in the passenger seat was not so fortunate that time. Heather’s nine millimeter hit him square in the chest, breaking through the lower portion of the tinted window, shattering the remaining glass and knocking her victim back into the driver’s right shoulder. The driver shoved him off and put the SUV in park.

  “Shoot, Mark!” screamed Heather, as she desperately continued shooting at the gunmen.

  “I don’t have my gun. It’s in the back!” he yelled in a panic.

  “Go get it! I can’t hold them much longer by myself!”

  Mark ducked his head down in an attempt to retrieve his Glock, but he was shot in his upper right shoulder, throwing him to the van floor. He rolled onto the cold steel floor and grunted in pain.

  Heather screamed in fear. She had been trained in linguistics, not frontline battle. She did what she believed to be her only hope for survival. She stuck both of her hands out of the window, dropped her weapon and lifted her hands up in a show of submission.

  Heather surrendered.

  Gun smoke floated across the moonlit road and the sound of explosions echoed off into the far reaches of the forest.

  Heather lowered her left hand to open the door, while her right hand remained exposed through the window frame. The door squeaked and she stepped out of the van. The gunmen remained still. When she stepped out and away from the vehicle, she put both hands on her head.

  Heather was beautiful. In that moment, she had hoped to use her good looks to sway their deadly intentions. She stood there shaking in fear in the cold of the night. Her formfitting red V-neck, long blond hair and tight jeans made her appear as innocent as a dove. She silently prayed that they would have mercy.

  Heather pleaded, “Don’t shoot. I’m with the FBI…” She breathed hard, afraid and tense. “They’ll be here soon,” she said pleadingly.

  Unfortunately, her beauty and prayers did not convince the backseat rifleman to disregard his orders. He aimed his crosshairs at her head and pulled the trigger. Heather’s knees buckled and her body thrust backward by the force of the bullet. She died upon impact. Her lifeless body lay there on the damp, cold gravel road. Her remaining lifeblood oozed out of the back of her head until she had fully depressurized, creating a wet pool of dirt and sand and fluid.

  The men dragged Mark out of the van and executed him. They later incinerated their victims’ bodies as they had done many times before. They searched the van and gathered any remaining evidence they could find. After questioning the original spotter, they realized that at least one of the passengers from the van had escaped. Fortunately for Blake and Sarah, the hour was late and it was a big forest. They chose to say nothing of the escapee, for fear of Joseph’s wrath. As far as Joseph knew, the trespassers were taken care of.

  Chapter 32

  Lean-to

  Blake and Sarah continued to run late into the night. They ran until they were exhausted. Sarah stopped, breathing deeply and said, “I can’t…I can’t keep going. I…I have to stop.”

  Her heart pounded so hard she could feel the blood pulsating through her neck. She bent over and put her hands on her knees and looked up at the dark silhouette of Blake standing in the moonlight. “We’ve got to rest…or I’m not going to make it. I think…I’m going to pass out.”

  Blake rested against a tree. “Well…we’ve got to set up…a shelter. If nothing else we…have to keep the wind off of us.” He paused to take a few deep breaths. “I can start making a lean-to, if you want to look around for plastic, trash bags, pine branches, anything that we can cover ourselves with.”

  “That’s fine.” Sarah lifted her right arm up, silently acknowledging his request.

  She walked through the woods, careful to keep Blake in sight, searching for building supplies, while Blake used his knife to cut down small pine and maple branches to form a lean-to. He used fallen timber to build the basic frame of the structure, and strands from vine bark to tie the large branches to the trees of his choice. He kept the shelter low with a twenty-degree pitch to allow for less visibility and less airspace for their body heat to escape. His goal was to make the shelter as water-resistant and insulated as possible. The nighttime temperatures were in the mid to upper thirties, so it was critical that they stay warm. In this case, making a fire was out of the question.

  Sarah called out excitedly, “I’ve got something here!”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a couple of trash bags, I think.”

  “Great. Dump ’em out and bring ’em over here.”

  Sarah obeyed. Blake layered the plastic and branches after opening the bags to full capacity. Soon the structure was solidly assembled and ready to occupy. It stood about two and a half feet tall at its highest point and tapered down to zero. The roof was approximately six foot by six foot. It stood very low to the ground, keeping the wind at bay. In addition, Blake covered the sides and front of the lean-to with pine branches.

  Sarah looked perplexed. She crossed her arms and stared at the pile of plastic and branches.

  “What are we supposed to do with that?” she asked.

  “We’re going to sleep in there.”

  “What? How?”

  Blake grabbed Sarah by the arm and looked right into her eyes.

  “Listen; if you want to live through this, we have to spoon and wrap ourselves together as close as possible. It isn’t personal and I won’t try anything. It is what it is.”

  Although reluctant, Sarah had no choice in the matter. She chose to follow Blake because of his experience in the Canadian backcountry. She knew the Giants, but he knew how to survive.

  It took a while before Sarah felt comfortable with Blake wrapping his arms around her with full-body contact. But once she felt the warmth of his body throughout her torso and limbs, she knew it was the right thing to do. They talked about superficial topics to break the ice, until Sarah finally fell asleep. Blake followed soon after.

  Chapter 33

  1340 AM

  Early the next morning Dennis and Dr. Liggin drove east on 495, making their way out of Queens, when Dennis turned on the radio. The radio only received an AM signal and Dennis acted frustrated that he couldn’t find a channel with music. He squeaked out, “I’m sorry about this damned old radio, Mr. Liggin. I told Blake I’d fix it for him, but I never got around to it. He’s a good ol’ boy. I think you’re gonna like him.”

  “I’m sure I will, Dennis,” proclaimed Dr. Liggin as he looked at his watch. “Why don’t you try 1340 AM. They’ve got a good news program in the morning.”

  Dennis squinted curiously. “Really? No country music ’round here, huh?”

  “Maybe we’ll find some after the news.”

  “Pfft. I hope so.”

  Dennis needed twang in his early morning drive. He dialed in 1340 AM and the old truck came to life. Still dark outside, the dashboard lit up with green l
ights from the radio and controls. Two small speakers balanced on the top of the dash amidst piles of cups and empty fast-food bags. The speaker on the driver’s side was overly bassy, while the speaker on the passenger’s side was all treble. Dennis had the volume up fairly loud. Dr. Liggin didn’t have any problems hearing the news program.

  “Goooood morning, New York! So glad you could join us. Hope you’re up an’ at ’em and ready for another chilly morning!” said the fast-talking morning-program host. “Coming up next, just before the top of the hour, we’ve got your traffic report, weather and our top story. So stay tuned, we’ll be riiight back!”

  Dr. Liggin opened Blake’s glove compartment.

  “Does Blake keep a gun in here?”

  “Uh, he usually does. But I think he has it right now. I think. I’m not sure. But I’m pretty sure he does. Oh, I don’t know.”

  “That’s all right, Dennis. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Welcome back, Neeeww Yorkers! We’re so glad to see you this morning! We’re live here at Rockefeller Plaza, watching the world go by. In fact, I’ve seen at least twenty people walk by the big WNDI window already wearing coats, hats and mittens, so you know it’s getting colder out there. But before my sweet little friend Jill Miller gives us the weather report, I’ve got a chilling lead story this morning.” An orchestrated musical theme song with sounds of a typewriter tapping filled the airtime for two seconds before the DJ continued.

  “Our top story this morning is brought to you by the Street Journal. The Street Journal: Where do you get your news?”

  A short pause cleared the airwaves and the DJ continued. “Aaand the late-breaking news this morning… A bizarre homicide occurred sometime early this morning just north of the Bronx at Dover’s Cliff. The New York State Police have reported the murder of a male and female, found at the bottom of the ravine. State police spokesman Randy Johnson states that an early morning jogger spotted the smoking sedan at the bottom of the cliff as he ran through the area. He further stated that the female victim, Sarah Perkins, a thirty-nine-year-old ATF agent out of Washington, was subsequently burned in the fatal crash. The other victim, Blake Driscole, a forty-two-year-old Canadian oilman was also fatally shot. Ms. Perkins’ Lexus tumbled approximately 150 feet down the cliff into Buffalo Creek. State police have declined to dispense any more information until a more detailed investigation is filed.” The music continued for a brief moment. “Just when you think New York’s a safer place, the bad guys start killing our federal agents. What a shame. But on the brighter side, Jill Miller has the skinny on your subfreezing weather report after a word from our sponsor. I’m Chip Guacamoli, and you’re listening to Windy Radio, WNDI 1340 AM!”

  Dr. Liggin sat stunned. His body became lifeless as he pictured Sarah’s apparent demise. With his right hand resting on the passenger-door armrest, he covered his face with his left hand and politely asked Dennis to pull over.

  “Why? What’s going on?” asked Dennis.

  Frustrated by Dennis’s ignorance, Dave scoffed, “Didn’t you hear the story on the news? Weren’t you listening?”

  “No, I was singing a country song in my head and thinking about my new bride, Candy. I was thinking ’bout how nice it’ll be when I get back to Canada and settle down. Yeah, that’ll really be somethin’.”

  Dennis was staring out the windshield, imagining Candy.

  “Dennis!” shouted Dr. Liggin. “Snap out of it! You need to pull over and listen to me!”

  Shocked by Dr. Liggin’s fit of rage, Dennis pulled over, put the truck in park and turned to look at Dr. Liggin, eyes bright and attentive. “What’s going on?” he asked, completely oblivious to what Dr. Liggin had just heard on the radio.

  “They’re dead.”

  “Who’s dead?” asked Dennis.

  “Sarah and Blake!”

  Dennis gasped. “What? How?”

  “The news reporter just said that they were found dead at the bottom of Dover’s Cliff this morning. He said both of them were…” Dr. Liggin tried to hold back his tears. “Severely burned after their car plunged to the bottom of a cliff.”

  Dennis stuttered, “But…wh…what happened? How? Where’s Dover’s Cliff?”

  “I don’t know exactly what happened, Dennis, but they’re not far from here. The accident is just down the road from the forestry reserve. If we hurry, there might be a chance that we can enter the scene before they clear everything out.”

  Practically in tears, Dennis wasted no time. He started up the old truck and raced down the highway.

  Dennis drove with one hand, wiping the tears from his face with the other. After losing everything he held dear, he knew he couldn’t bear to lose his friend. Thoughts of Blake’s impending funeral, and his own lonely existence without him, swirled through his head. On occasion, Dr. Liggin nearly reached toward the steering wheel to keep the truck on the road. Then just as the truck started to veer, Dennis would jolt back into reality and straighten up the wheels.

  “We’re getting close, Dennis.”

  “Okay,” Dennis responded, wiping one of the remaining tears from his eyes.

  “When we arrive at the scene, they’ll have the road blocked off. So whatever you do, obey their commands. You’ll have to stay in the truck because they’ve branded Blake a terrorist. If you act as if you’re a friend, they’ll arrest you. Do you understand?”

  Dennis answered despondently, “Yes, but I want to see him. He’s all I got, Dr. Liggin.”

  “I understand, but let me do the talking. I have a feeling that I’m going to recognize some of the agents if they’re still at the scene. There’s a slim chance I can get us behind the caution tape if we play our cards right. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. I do.”

  As the truck approached the scene, Dennis slowed down and fell in line with the other drivers stuck in the traffic jam. Some drivers were impatient and turned around. Red-and-blue flickering lights from the police cars radiated throughout the fog and flashed into the vehicles nearby, including Blake’s truck.

  Early morning ribbons of pink-and-blue clouds chased the thinning billow parting to let the sun shine through. Rays of light slowly began to glisten through the surrounding trees and cars that lined the road. As the traffic continued to back up, the fog escaped down the canyon to avoid the sunlight. The officer standing at the car ahead of them lifted his head to look at Blake’s truck. He thanked the driver for her cooperation and began to walk toward Dennis and Dr. Liggin.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. Just passing through?” asked the neatly dressed officer.

  Dr. Liggin leaned toward the driver’s side to answer. “Well, no, not really, Officer. I heard about the accident and had to come up here to see what happened.”

  Looking into the truck, the officer asked, “And who are you?”

  “My name’s David Liggin. I’m a very dear friend of Sarah Perkins. Also, I’m a good friend of her supervisor, Dale Roslow. If I know him, he’s already here. Can I speak with him?”

  The officer looked at Dave with suspicion. He bent his knees and looked deeper into the truck to get a better look at Dr. Liggin and said, “What’s your name again?”

  “Dr. David Liggin.”

  “All right. Stay put.” He scribbled onto a pad of paper and nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  Dr. Liggin watched the police officer walk under the yellow caution tape that outlined the crime scene, and into a group of about five men. They wore navy-blue Windbreakers and caps labeled with bright yellow letters embroidered above the visors. Dave wanted to talk to one of the men in suits. Soon after the officer engaged the crowd of men, a tall, balding man in his late fifties turned his head to the side to spot Dr. Liggin. When he saw Dave, he rushed over to talk to him. Dave stepped out of the truck and began to walk toward him. The two men embraced.

  “How are you doing, Dave?”

  “I’m not sure. I suppose that depends on what you have to tell me. Is it true?”

>   Dale sighed, dropped his head, with one hand on his hip and the other scratching his head. He answered in a melancholy tone, “Dave, every one of these folks is investigating Sarah’s death. They have her DNA, hair samples and her identification. But I can’t tell them what’s real.” Dale put his arm around Dave as the two friends began walking. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and whispered with his face down and angled toward Dr. Liggin. “The truth is this is all staged. The truth is she’s with a special team from the Bureau. They’re investigating a powerful secret society.”

  “Caesar?” asked Dr. Liggin.

  Surprised, Dale said, “Yes. How’d you know?”

  Relieved, Dave laughed out loud. “I know a few of them from back in the day. They’re old schoolmates of mine. But I want to know about Sarah. How is she?”

  “I’m sure she’s fine. After last night, she was safe with the team. Jack, the undercover FBI agent heading the operation, was allowed through the roadblock not too long ago. We’ll get a full report from them in the morning. For now, everything seems to be going as planned.”

  The two men continued talking and catching up on lost time. Dennis waited patiently for further instructions while he unsuccessfully attempted to tune the radio to a country station. He watched as the two men circled around the truck for several minutes. Finally, Dr. Liggin got back in the truck. He looked less troubled than when he stepped out minutes before. Dennis looked at the doctor and waited for good news.

  “It’s okay, Dennis. They’re not dead. This was a staged death, brought to you compliments of the federal government.”

  Dennis exhaled, relieved that his friend was still alive.

  “It happens all the time. Apparently, they’re trying to protect Sarah and Blake. But they haven’t heard from the team yet this morning. No one knows where they are.”