“Yes, ma’am.” He got to his feet and turned back. The diminutive gray-haired woman had passed the weapon to her stately husband. Fox lay on the floor, bound and gagged again, restrained by two passengers. The elderly couple exchanged a look that didn’t just speak volumes but entire libraries. And suddenly Nick found himself both thinking of his own parents and wondering if he’d ever have that kind of connection with someone. He paused for a moment, waiting for the couple to introduce themselves and not sure how to ask them who they were. Then he went for the simplest solution.
“I’m Corporal Nick Henry, 4th Canadian Division Support Base, Petawawa.”
“Warrant Officer Dorothy Collins,” she replied. “Retired, of the Loyal Edmonton Regiment, 4th Battalion, Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry.” So she’d seen serious combat, he imagined, in both Korea and Afghanistan. She glanced at her husband.
“Colonel William Collins,” he said. “Retired, of the King’s Own Calgary Regiment.”
The elderly man’s voice was softer and frailer than his wife’s, but his bearing showed every bit the rank he’d earned. Talk about a power couple. William outranked Dorothy, but she’d probably seen more first-line combat. Nick fought the urge to whistle and saluted instead.
“Sorry for leaving you hanging as long as we did, Corporal,” William added. “But Dorothy felt it important to check the weapon thoroughly, to make sure it was loaded, before engaging.” So that’s what she’d been doing under the seat. Something twinkled in William’s eyes. “She’s always been the better shot.”
“What are we looking at?” Dorothy asked. “Are there more hostiles on the train?”
“Four more hostiles that I know of,” Nick said. “At least two, maybe three, hostages in the front of the train, including a child. One fatality—a passenger. Again, that I know of. It’s an apparent theft situation. They pressed a train attendant into helping them steal a case from the baggage compartment and ordered the rest of the crew off when we stopped briefly. I don’t know who’s driving the train or why it’s not stopped.
“I know these two men only as Orson and Fox. Until a few moments ago, my understanding was that this was a simple, small-scale theft—specifically for a laptop that belonged to the North Jewels Diamond Mine—and they weren’t planning on initiating a large-scale hostage situation.” Now things were quickly becoming anything but simple. “Internet and outside phone lines are down. I think our priorities should be securing the hostiles in the baggage compartment, making sure the passengers are safe and separated from the hostiles, and establishing contact with the outside world. Also, the fatality is Member of Provincial Parliament Clark Lemain.”
A gasp of recognition moved through the car. Again, the couple exchanged a look.
Nick took a deep breath. “My main concern right now is locating my...” His voice trailed off. Former best friend? Ex-girlfriend? Biggest regret? “The train attendant I was with... She ran to the front of the train when it stopped. Her son was taken hostage.”
Did the desperation and fear he felt show in the tone of his voice? William and Dorothy now exchanged a longer, more pointed look, and for a moment he was afraid the two retired officers, who clearly outranked him, were going to insist that he stay to help secure the train.
“Please,” he said. “She knows the train better than anyone. She knows the front engineer, who we suspect might also be a hostage and is being forced or coerced into driving the train. If we have any hope of restoring power to the affected systems and communication with the outside world, and securing the train, we need her.”
He heard the strain in his voice. I need her. In a way I can’t even explain.
“Go.” Dorothy nodded. “We’ll secure the passengers. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Hopefully with Erica by his side, Zander in his arms and the irrefutable knowledge that the crisis had ended and help was on its way. It’s what I’m hoping for, praying for and going to do whatever it takes to make happen.
He turned and sprinted out of the car, through the gangway and into the dining car. It was deserted. He kept running. Silence filled the train ahead. No, more than silence. A darkness and emptiness that seemed to loom larger with every step. Were the lights off? Had something happened to the front of the train? No. No, it couldn’t be. He reached the door, yanked it open and stood there, heartache wringing pain from his lungs with every breath. Empty tracks spread ahead of his eyes. Wind and rain lashed against his body. He peered into the darkness, hoping to see even the faintest flicker of light emanating from the tracks ahead of him. But it was useless.
The cars had detached. The front of the train was gone. The rear of the train had been left behind. He’d been left behind. Without Erica.
No, Lord! No! He stumbled back from the doorway, his legs feeling so weak he almost fell to his knees. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be gone. Erica couldn’t be gone.
Suddenly his knees locked straight as he felt the unmistakable jab of a revolver in the small of his back.
“Hey, buddy, stand up.” The male voice in his ear was rough, deep and somehow perfectly matched the strength of the grip of the hand now grabbing his shoulder. “I got somebody on the phone who wants to talk to you.”
SEVEN
Nick suddenly tensed to spin and fight while his eyes stared out ahead at the empty tracks where Erica had gone. The gun pressed deeper into his back.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The man chuckled. It was a sound that somehow made him think of a body of water that was so deep it was hard to reach the bottom.
“Liam Bearsmith,” he said slowly, as if he expected his name would mean something to Nick for some reason. It didn’t. “I’m an economic real estate consultant who procures hard-to-obtain properties for elite clientele.” Not a word of which Nick believed. “This conversation never happened.”
Okay, that he believed. “You got it, buddy.”
“Have you heard of me?” he asked. “Do you know who I am?”
“Nope,” Nick said. “Not a clue. Should I?”
Liam Bearsmith sighed and didn’t answer Nick’s question. He eased his grip. “I suggest you turn around and close the door behind you, Corporal Nick Henry, before you fall out the train onto the tracks.”
Nick turned around slowly and slid the door shut behind him.
The man in the dark blazer, whom he’d pegged as private security, had a meticulous Smith & Wesson semiautomatic in his left hand. Something that would’ve been handy for Nick to have had earlier in this adventure.
Liam Bearsmith glanced past him. One eyebrow rose. “Huh, well that’s something I did not expect. Do you happen to have any idea where the front of the train went?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Nick said. Despite the gun pointed at him, Nick felt the urge to cross his arms. “I’m guessing your boss, Mr. Grand, decided to leave us here and take it somewhere.”
Now both eyebrows rose.
“First off, I have no idea who Mr. Grand is,” Liam said. The grit deepened in his voice and Nick had the distinct impression of fire burning under the rocks. “I am not working for him. And whatever amateur-hour heist this is that we’ve somehow stumbled into, it’s definitely not something I wanted to see happen today. I’m just a kindly real estate consultant who unfortunately chose the wrong train.”
Nick snorted.
Liam ignored it. “I’m sorry for the gun, but in my experience people tend to be a bit unpredictable when they’re having a bad day. And yours appears to be a doozy.” His left hand reached into his pocket and Nick instinctively stepped back to strike.
“Whoa, buddy,” Liam said. “I’m just the middle man. Somebody wants to talk to you.”
His other hand rose and Nick suddenly realized what he was h
olding. It was a satellite phone.
“So, you had a gun and a satellite phone, and did nothing while a woman was kidnapped and a soldier was threatened at gunpoint?” Nick forced the words through clenched teeth.
Yeah, it probably was a good idea that Mr. Liam Bearsmith—whoever he was—had decided to show up armed. Otherwise, Nick might not have overcome the impulse to clock him.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Liam snapped. “I noticed your friend being held at gunpoint and intervened the best I could under the particular circumstances I was in.”
Nick blinked.
“You tripped her.”
“I verbally intervened,” Liam said with a tone that left no doubt which one of them was still holding a weapon. “And I physically separated her from the man holding her. Then you stepped in and apparently had it covered, so I switched my attention to evacuating as many people as I could from the vicinity. You have no idea what I’m jeopardizing and risking by even talking to you. Now, tell me who you are again.”
“Corporal Nick Henry. But you already knew that. Now, who are you and what are you playing at?”
The man’s steely glare told him nothing. “From?”
“Fourth Canadian Division Support Base—”
“Before that?”
“Huntsville, Ontario. What does this—”
“Trust me, buddy, I like this even less than you do. But I owe somebody my life and this is the best way I know to repay it. Last question—what’s your sister’s name?”
“My sister?” The words stopped Nick’s breath. A sudden, inexplicable cold swept over him, choking his lungs. He felt an old, reflexive smile turn on his face. It was the forced smile of the joker he’d once been. It was the smile of a man who didn’t talk about things he didn’t want to talk about and skated circles over the thin ice of conversations he didn’t want to have without ever looking down at just how thin the ice was he was skating on. “I don’t have a sister. I have three older brothers. Max is a paramedic. Trent and Jacob are cops—”
“This isn’t a game,” Liam snapped. “And you’re wasting time. You care about that Erica chick and her kid? Tell me you sister’s name!”
“Faith.” The single word caught in his throat like someone was yanking it out from somewhere deep inside him. “She was murdered, at the age of twelve, by a man who’d been trying to abduct her, probably a serial killer, before I was born.”
It was the reason his family had been broken. It was the reason he was damaged. It was the reason he’d self-destructed and hurt the only woman he’d ever loved.
Liam sighed. Humanity, pain and something almost like compassion washed over the man’s face. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, and there was a depth to the words that was almost like Nick was hearing them for the first time.
Liam pushed a button on the phone. “Yeah, it’s him,” he told whoever was on the other end. “You could’ve warned me what a stubborn pain he was. This never happened. Tell your lovely fiancée we’re now even.”
He stretched his arm out. “It’s for you.”
So Nick had gathered. He took the phone. “Hello?”
“Yo, bro!” Trent’s voice floated down the line, filled the phone, as comforting and strong as if his older brother was there, in person, standing beside him. “How’s it going?”
“Trent?” Gratitude washed over Nick. He glanced at Liam Bearsmith, who was suddenly very preoccupied with checking out a random spot on the ceiling. “I... It’s... Hi... I have literally never been this happy to hear your voice before.”
Trent chuckled. For years he had been undercover with the RCMP Vice Unit, working to take down some of the worst gangs in Canada, until one life-threatening assignment, with his now fiancée, Detective Chloe Brant, had changed everything. Did that mean Liam Bearsmith was also an undercover detective on a long-term assignment? That would explain why he’d been cautious about blowing his cover and leaping into action. And why he’d wondered if Nick had heard of him. Was he in Vice like Trent? Or...? No. Something about the pity and sympathy, and even the empathy that had flooded his eyes when he’d mentioned Nick’s sister made him suspect Liam was with a Special Victims Unit like Chloe. He shuddered to think of what kind of operation the man was working on.
A thousand questions leaped into Nick’s mind like popcorn overflowing the pot. He didn’t know which to ask first. An unexpected one slipped out. “How does an undercover cop know about Faith? Does this mean people are still investigating her death? That the case hasn’t been dropped? That there’s still hope of catching whoever killed her?”
“Nick.” Trent’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Liam Bearsmith is a real estate consultant for elite clients. He’s a good and very reliable man who’s known Chloe for many years and takes on very long-term projects that other real estate agents won’t go anywhere near. You need to pretend you’ve never met him and promptly forget everything you know about him. This is a secure line. This conversation never happened, and you know better than to ask me questions about things I can’t answer.”
But if it involves our sister...
“Now,” Trent said, “tell me what’s going on.”
Nick swallowed hard, rolled his shoulders back and quickly gave Trent a situation report, leaving out everything personal and just highlighting the facts. He could almost hear his brother nodding, focusing on the current situation and not the situation that had got them there. He suspected Liam had already briefed him on as much as he knew.
“The lack of roads is definitely going to be an evacuation challenge,” Trent said. “And the storm isn’t great for air rescue. No pilot in their right mind would fly in weather like this. But we’ll get one team to find and rescue the stranded crew, another to meet the rear portion of the train and a third to intersect the front part of the train before it reaches Moosonee.”
Nick glanced at his watch. It was nearing one in the morning. It had been almost two hours since the crisis had started and law enforcement was only hearing about it now. Who knew how long it would take for a rescue crew to start arriving?
“There are only two known hostiles in the rear part of the train and they’ve been subdued,” Nick added. “We’ve got electricity, power and water. We should be fine to wait for rescue. But it’s the front part of the train I’m worried about. I need to get to them somehow. The stolen laptop was from North Jewels Diamond Mine. The woman who checked it in the baggage cart was ordered off the train at gunpoint and then stranded with the crew. Your RCMP division investigated North Jewels for funneling diamonds to organized crime. Is there anything you can tell me?”
“Not without breaking a few laws,” Trent said. “Although we can’t discount the possibility somebody linked to organized crime set up the heist or that this is somehow an attempt to interfere with the investigation. Also, maybe coincidentally, Clark Lemain was one of a handful of politicians claiming the RCMP overstretched its reach and that the charges are baseless.”
“And now Clark is dead.” Nick huffed out a long breath. “I can’t imagine how that’s going to impact the country. Even people who didn’t like him knew who he was. It’s probably because I grew up around you and Jacob, but I wondered if his murder could’ve been a targeted hit. He was the only person besides the criminals to book a first-class sleeper cabin. But I’m sure there are easier ways to assassinate a politician than hijacking a train.”
“There was also talk that some of his former campaign staffers were going to go to the police about him, over something,” Trent said. “I don’t know the details. Rumor was harassment.”
A long pause filled the phone. Nick knew he needed to tell Trent about Erica. But he didn’t know how.
“Bearsmith said you were in a near panic about a woman and child,” Trent said. “That’s why he broke protocol and contacted me. Is she someone you know?”
“We know,” Nick sa
id. “It’s Erica Knight. She has a son, a little boy named Zander. Her brother Tommy’s with them, too.”
He heard his brother whisper a prayer under his breath.
“Okay,” Trent said. “We’ve already got a rescue team scrambling. It’s a joint RCMP, OPP and military operation. Help is on its way, bro. It’s going to be okay.”
Help was on its way to three separate, hard-to-reach locations, in the northern Ontario wilderness, in the dark and in a rainstorm.
“I need to find a way to get to the front of the train,” Nick said. “I can’t leave Erica and Zander there alone.”
“I know how you feel,” Trent said. Nick closed his eyes and could almost feel his brother’s hand on his shoulder. “But you’ve got to stay put. Okay? There’s nothing you can do.”
“How can I stay put?”
“Because you have to,” Trent said. “Because there’s nothing you can do. I have unlimited faith in you. You know I do. But you’re not about to single-handedly stop a train hijacking. So, please, promise me you’ll stay put. I’ve got to hang up now. But it’s going to be okay. I promise. I love ya, bro.”
“You, too.” Nick sighed. “Tell Jacob and Max I might be a bit late meeting them for breakfast in Moosonee tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
Nick ended the call and turned around. Liam Bearsmith was looking at him. Nick wondered how much he’d heard.
“I’ve got to go after them,” Nick said. “I can’t just leave them alone in the train.”
The man, who was most certainly a detective and probably not named Liam, nodded.
“I got a really sweet motorcycle in the baggage car,” he said. “I expect I’m going to have to report it stolen.”
* * *
Erica sat cross-legged on the floor of the first-class car lounge, with her son playing soldier beside her in a tent she’d helped him rig by suspending a small lounge blanket between two sleeper chairs. Mr. Grand had let her son keep his plastic toys, which Zander was now quietly marching around inside. She thanked God for whatever it was inside little children that pushed their minds to play and distract themselves even in the worst situations. The phrase “Thank God for small mercies” had never felt truer.
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