CHAPTER 6
At the Border
"This is great!" Alex exploded, once they were out of earshot. "This is just freaking great!"
"Alex, calm down!" Jake said. They were running along eastern boulevard now, and as far as they could tell, none of the police cars had seen them.
"Calm down!? I'll calm down when you find a way to get us out of this crap!"
"They'll hear us! Haven't you ever heard somebody tell you to not panic when you're in a dangerous situation?"
"Get over to the fences!" Alex commanded, dragging Jake with him. "And keep your head down."
"If you panic, you die. You can't think straight—" Jake went on, running to keep up.
"Alright! Alright!" Alex said, giving in. "I'll keep calm until we get somewhere safe. Then you're getting hell."
"I still don't see how it's my fault…" Jake sighed. They stopped to catch their breath behind a large wooden fence. Alex checked the police locations, while Jake reached for the backpack—the revolver might come in handy.
"God damn it! God damn it!" Alex herd Jake yell.
"What?"
"The backpack! We—we left it in the restaurant!"
When the police cars pulled up beside her, Sarah saw no point in resistance. She was no action hero—she was a young girl, who, for some mysterious reason, took two patrol cars to arrest.
"Sarah Jones, you have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law," called one of them. He switched off his bullhorn.
Sarah walked into the back seat without fighting—she knew it would just bring a resisting arrest charge.
The cop with the bullhorn got into the driver's seat. "We have to stop at the Niagara Grill for a few minutes, and get some other suspects."
Alex and Jake, she thought. It's a shame. I like Jake, and even though I didn't like Alex…I never wanted him arrested.
The officer spoke into his radio. "Officer Franklin, this is Officer Gerhardt. I'm heading to the Grill. Over."
The Niagara Grill was only a minute or two away from the spot of her arrest. They were there, soon enough, to join two other cars. Officer Gerhardt left the car when he saw another cop heading down the front steps.
"Franklin! What's the story in there?"
"They both left a few minutes ago. But I think I saw Orson running back towards it a few minutes ago."
"Really? Is he turning himself in?" Gerhardt asked, surprised.
"Not likely. Probably he's looking for this," Franklin said, holding up a backpack with a slight smile.
"Where'd you find that?"
"Under table nine. The waiter told me that's where they were sitting."
"Nice job. What's in it?"
"Food and a gun."
"Busted!" Gerhardt shouted, and they high-fived. "Why no money, though?"
"Because I stole it."
Both of the officers looked around. "What?"
"I stole it," Sarah said, louder. "I forced him to take money, food and a gun from his father. Then I forced them to leave their parents and get me across the border."
"Really?"
"Yes! They're guilty of nothing. Let them go."
"Whoa." She could tell they were both surprised.
Alex jumped the fence, ran across someone's lawn and kicked open the gate onto main street. The cops were three blocks away from him, at the Grill. Under the cover of fences and parked cars, he worked his way back toward them.
Two blocks away, he saw that one of the patrol cars had someone in the back seat. Moving closer, he realized he could recognize her from the back.
Sarah!
He ran closer. One block separated him and the Grill now.
I have a choice here. I could rush them, get the backpack, and leave Sarah to rot for revenge. Or, I could let her out of the car, grab the backpack and leave her to escape herself.
He was hiding behind a fence, sizing up the situation, when he suddenly smelled foul smoke. He turned quickly. A boy around his age was standing next to him, smoking a cigarette, wearing a loaded backpack, and looking considerably calmer than Alex was.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Pardon me, I forgot to introduce myself. Anthony Andrews."
"Colin Walker," Alex said, grinning. I thought I'd never get a chance to use my fake name.
"So are you gonna help her or not, Walker?"
"I'm thinking! What do you care?"
"Because," Anthony said, indicating the backpack. "I just sold her this."
"What's in your backpack?" Franklin said, clearly a little irritated at this revelation.
"Food. We all carried our own."
"Check it, Gerhardt."
"Roger," Gerhardt said, leaning over to pick up the backpack. Quickly, Sarah seized her chance. Rolling across the backseat, she kicked past Gerhardt and ran out across the parking lot, dodging past another officer from the second car.
"Packing peanuts!" she heard Gerhardt shout. "She's screwing us over!" He raised his gun. "I'm gonna go for the knees!"
"Don't!" Franklin stopped him. "You're way out of aiming range. A guy who can't hit a car at ten feet won't hit the knees of a fleeing kid at fifty!"
"Shut your mouth, Franklin!" Gerhardt growled.
"I'm only here for that backpack, Andrews. You can save Sarah if you want to."
"Whatever you say. Wait a minute! Isn't that her?"
Sure enough, Sarah was running across the parking lot, in full view of the policemen, who seemed too busy bickering to go after her, or even shoot her.
"Last chance to help, Andrews. Want to?"
"Well—"
"Great! Let's go!" With that, Alex blew his cover.
"This is crazy!" Anthony called, running after him. Before he could say anything more, Alex was behind the policemen, tearing the first one's gun from his pocket.
"Damn it!" Anthony shouted.
"What the—" the man turned around. "Orson!"
"Now—do not move."
"Franklin!"
Alex struck the first cop across his face with the butt of the gun, and hurled himself out of the way as the second one fired. "It's too bad!" Franklin said. "We were gonna give you a full pardon!"
Alex climbed up onto the police car's hood, holding out the gun. "What?"
"Your friend Jones confessed to everything. Gerhardt and I ate it up, too."
Alex was genuinely surprised—he had not expected Sarah to do something like this.
"Seems, though," Franklin smiled, "she was just lying to save you and Harwell's asses—aargh!"
Anthony twisted Franklin's arm and kicked him in the leg. For a cop, he went down more easily than he expected.
"Two more fights today and I'll have broken my record!" Anthony laughed.
It's been five minutes, thought Jake. Alex is either dead or running. He told me to go if he took this long.
Seeing no more point in sitting, Jake started moving again. The docks seemed the most logical place to go—Alex had said they would stow away on a ferry.
Eastern Boulevard ended at Dock Street, which lead to the ferry boarding area. Jake slowed to a walk, keeping his head low. From a sign on the fence, he could see that the last ferry of the day was leaving in one minute. Crud! That's nowhere near enough time!
Right after thinking this, he was surprised to see Sarah heading towards him.
"Jake!" she shouted. "Am I glad to see you!"
"How did you get out?"
"It's a long story. How did you? And where's Alex?"
"He went to get the backpack. We left it in the restaurant."
As if on cue, Alex and Anthony appeared on Main Street, set against the whirling lights on the police cars. Alex was clutching the backpack in his right hand.
"Alex! What happened?" Jake asked, and then looked at Anthony. "Who are you?"
"That doesn't matter." Anthony said, rather forcefully. "That boat leaves in 30 seconds. They're already p
utting up the chain. I'm going to be on that ferry, and I hope you are too."
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Jake said.
"Throw this!" Anthony said, handing Alex the backpack.
"Heave!" Alex shouted, and he and Anthony hurled their supplies onto the deck.
The police cars were running now, and heading up Main. "Not a moment too soon," Alex grinned. The guards had nearly finished stringing the safety chain, and the boat was already moving. "Everyone on who's coming on!" Alex shouted, and ran across the boardwalk, kicking away the chain.
"Don't do it!" Jake called. "You'll never make it!"
It was too late for persuasion. Alex leapt, sailing over the gap, flailing wildly and grabbing at everything he could reach. Eventually he found a handle on the iron fence surrounding the boat. Anthony was next to jump, landing on top of the barrier and falling over. Alex, meanwhile, was heaving himself to the top. The fence had two rungs, and he stretched his arm out to grab the top one. Struggling, he found his footing.
The boat, having just started, was moving slowly, three yards from the shore now. The guards were shouting incoherently. Sarah was looking around, searching desperately for something to help them. Her eyes rested on the chain.
"Jake!"
"What?"
"Help me throw this!"
Alex was over the fence now, joining Anthony on the deck. Jake looked around, and terror struck him as he saw the police cars, sirens illuminating the dark sky.
"Anthony! Catch it!" The chain flew, a steel snake winding through the air. Anthony leaned over the rail, holding his hands out, coordinating the catch.
The chain fell, evading him.
He reached out quickly, grabbing it.
"Tie it to something!" Sarah shouted. Anthony obliged, fastening the rope to the rail. Unfortunately, as they all knew, a chain would not do much to impede the movement of a boat that probably weighed tons. Sarah quickly did the only thing she could do. She jumped, grabbing the chain.
"Ouch!" she winced as the metal cut into her hands. Bravely, she dropped her left hand from the chain.
"What is she doing?" Anthony wondered.
"She's trying to climb here!" Alex exclaimed.
Sarah had almost worked her way to the end of the chain now. Leaping, she did what Alex had done, climbing the fence.
"Jake!" Alex yelled. "Hurry up!"
Officer Gerhardt's bullhorn blared. "Jacob Daniel Harwell! Do not move! We are authorized to use arms!"
The wooden post that the chain was attached to was beginning to weaken.
"Jump!" Sarah pleaded.
Only when the first shot rang out and missed him by inches did Jake's resolve harden. Racing to the water, he flew—
—and fell short—
"No!" There was a splintering crack as the post broke, sending fragments everywhere. Jake hit the river with a mighty crash, showering the boat with spray. He grabbed the end of the chain, hanging on as the boat began to move faster.
"I'm going to radio him. Hold your fire," Franklin ordered, switching on his walkie-talkie. "Captain! Ferry number four! Do you read me? Come back! You are carrying criminals!"
He got static for his efforts. He shouted again. "Ferry number four! Come back!"
"Franklin, you idiot. You didn't hear? And you've worked here how long?"
"What? Am I missing something?"
Gephardt looked genuinely surprised, but at the same time, obvious laughter was evident in his face. "The boats are piloted by computer."
"Since when?"
"Since a year ago! It's a lot more economical if the park doesn't have to pay anyone," Gerhardt said, loading his gun. "Of course, the union bitched about it, but when was the last time that meant anything?"
"Geez," Franklin said. "Well, I guess there's only one way to reach them now."
Gerhardt winked. "And now, begins the fun part of the job." He switched on his radio. "Chief? It's Gerhardt. This is high-caliber. Tell the whole force to stop whatever they're doing and get their lazy asses to the dock."
"Hang on!" Alex vaulted the fence and clung to a post with one hand. "I'll pull you!" Shots were ringing out now, shattering the ferry's windows. They could hear screams from the lounge as passengers dove for cover. Alex's feet hit the spray, and Jake reached toward him. A bullet slammed against the hull next to him.
Desperately, Jake relinquished the chain and lunged toward Alex, grabbing his hand. Alex pulled as hard as he could, heaving, taxing himself every last ounce of strength—
Suddenly, Jake was hanging against the hull, not exactly safe but out of the worst danger. Another bullet zipped past and buried itself in the wooden deck. Anthony helped them to the platform. All they had to do was get out of firing range and they'd be safe.
The moment they were on deck, a hail of bullets sprayed above them. Alex jumped through the window, which had been mostly emptied of glass, followed closely by the others.
"Who are you?" a man asked angrily.
"We demand to know what is going on here!" said a woman crouched behind an armchair.
"We have no more idea than you do," Sarah said.
Anthony was leaning on the bar, more and more unsteadily. Several more shots flew through the lounge. Alex waited for the barrage to end before crossing the room.
"Are you alright?"
Anthony didn't answer. Instead, he lifted up the corner of his shirt, exposing the wound.
"Crud. Where did you get this?"
"None…of your business."
"Tell me the story later. Did this just reopen?"
Anthony nodded. Alex signaled to duck as four more bullets flew over their heads. "Their aim is getting worse," he observed. "We must be almost out of the way."
"It was that…stupid handrail. I had this bandaged, but…I tore it when I jumped."
"Makes sense. Hey!" he called to the terrified passengers. "There is no longer a chance in hell that they could hit you. Get this kid some first aid."
"I don't understand," Jake said, talking to nobody in particular.
"What?" Sarah asked.
"Nothing really. It's just how the police reacted."
"Come on, Jake. These are small-town cops, they never have anything to do—they probably get excited."
"True, but we're just kids. I mean, don't they have a code of ethics or something?"
"So what? Lots of policeman are unethical."
"But not to the point of murdering children! There must be something here we're missing."
"Don't worry yourself, Jake. We've got bigger problems than insane police right now."
It was true. As the ferry churned the waters of the Niagara River, all four of them truly wondered where they were going.
CHAPTER 7
Ottawa
The day before Alex and his motley group of allies sailed the Niagara River, Ordoñez was in Ottawa.
It was not his custom to wear anything more than one layer, unless career-related circumstances made it absolutely necessary. As usual, temperature dropped rapidly toward zero in the winter. Water covered the streets, and slush filled the gutters.
Ordoñez considered this to be necessity. Still, his teeth chattered as the cold penetrated his heavy overcoat. He wished his informant had asked to meet indoors, possibly in a warm restaurant…
He shook his head to purge the thought. The man he was waiting for had specified this location, this exact street corner, and he wasn't one to disappoint. It's an unfair stereotype, he thought, that simply because you work on the wrong side of the law, you don't take pride in your job. This is harder than most people think.
Fifteen minutes later, he gave up. He dodged into an alley and took a cell phone from his pocket. Clamped inside the folded phone was a small sheet of paper on which was written:
Harold Quinn
555-7024
Ordoñez moved further into the alley, making sure that nobody on the street would hear his call. Even so, he had to be careful during business calling. He never kne
w when someone was listening.
Cold Snow: A Legal Thriller Page 7