“And why didn’t you drown the first time you fell through the ice, Eric?” the Canadian pried.
“Because I got lucky. And, I had them to pull me out,” his chin pointed at his brothers.
“And what if your brothers hadn’t been there? Do you think you would have found the strength to pull yourself out? You knew your brothers were there—you knew they would save you, didn’t you?”
Eric bowed his head for a moment as if to contemplate the Canadian’s words. Did he give up the fight? Did he let the river win the battle? How could he have saved himself if the powerful deer couldn’t escape the river?
“When a man’s scared—really scared—he needs to reach way down deep inside himself. That’s where we find strength and determination to succeed—where we find the strength to push ourselves beyond our limits.”
The Canadian was looking at the ice, and Paul wasn’t sure if he was speaking to them, or to himself.
“Like blowing up planes and stealing money?” Paul retorted.
“Yes! Like blowing up planes, shooting smugglers, and stealing money.”
“So, you shot someone else?” Eric inquired. “In the leg, like Jack?”
“No. Not in the leg and not like Jack.” He seemed to be truly remorseful, and the Marten brothers were confused by his words.
“That doesn’t sound like finding strength to me,” Paul retorted. “Sounds like you’re a coward. A coward feeding off the strength of others because you don’t have the strength to carry your weight.”
The Canadian thought about this for a second. “That’s one way of looking at it. But, I’ve carried my own weight all my life. I’ve worked since I was a teenager to earn everything I have. I trained my ass off to become an operative with the Special Forces. I’ve studied my brains out to be the best aircraft mechanic in Canada. Every challenge we accept head-on gives us an opportunity to grow and become stronger. The harder the challenge, the deeper you dig until you find what it takes to succeed.”
Eric was listening as the fire warmed his body. His hands were stiffening, the first sign of hypothermia. He turned to feel the heat on his back for a moment and then he said to Andy, “I’m ready. I’m ready to go back down.”
Andy shot the Canadian a disappointing look. Andy knew his partner had gone too far and that this whole mess was getting out of control. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to be over. He just wanted to go back to fishing. “Okay, buddy. If you think you’re ready.”
****
Eric walked over to the edge of the ice but went to the opposite side he’d entered on his first attempt. “I’ve got to enter from this side,” he said to Andy. “I’ve got to be on the upside of the current, and then I can grab the plane and pull myself down. When I give the rope two tugs,” he demonstrated by pulling the rope twice just to be sure Andy understood, “start pulling. But this time, pull a little faster.”
Andy nodded that he understood the directions and checked the line for knots. Then he stood behind Eric and waited for him to plunge. Eric gave Paul and Jack a quick look as if to say, “No problem, I’ve got this.”
Paul watched his little brother while he was applying pressure to Jack’s leg. A sense of pride came over him as he watched Eric shed his soaked hoodie. As scared as he was, Eric was risking his life for them. He realized Eric was right—they should have just left and reported the money, no matter how much was in the case. They should have abandoned the ice as soon as the plane crashed. They should have been satisfied with the four fish they had for their freezers. But now, the day had gone to hell, all because of Paul and Jack’s greed. Because they had let themselves get into financial trouble, Eric was paying for it dearly; perhaps with his life. Paul knew if anything happened to Eric, he’d never be able to live with the guilt.
Eric’s splash disrupted his thoughts.
Below the surface, Eric kept his body as straight as a nail, letting his momentum take him almost to the river’s bottom. The current tried to push him away when he reached mid-depth, but he was moving fast this time. Eric’s feet hit the top of the plane above the single engine. He jumped into a squat position and grabbed the plane. There was little to hang on to since the plane’s aerodynamics forbid anything protruding from its profile. Eric’s hands and feet slipped against the slick metallic surface, and he hustled to find something to hold. The broken window on the copilot side offered a handhold. Broken glass tore at the flesh of his palm, but his grip stayed true.
The silver case was lying on the floor of the plane, but the window had too many shards of glass to reach through. The window looked like the mouth of a giant shark with dagger-like teeth ready to tear him open and swallow him from the world. Then Eric realized that the window was part of a door; a door into the cockpit. He twisted the handle and pulled to gain access, but the door would barely budge. The impact of the crash had bent and twisted the plane’s frame, jamming the door shut permanently.
There was no time to think about his next move. He needed to get inside the plane as soon as possible. He pointed his hands toward the open cargo doors and pushed off the wing with his legs. The effort sent him gliding through the doors and into the body of the wreckage.
The interior of the plane sheltered him from the everlasting current. His heart was racing, but, closer to his goal, he relaxed a little. He pulled, rather than swam, his way down to the cockpit of the Beechcraft. His lungs started to tighten a little, wanting to exhale the carbon dioxide building inside. He fought the urge. Ozzy Sullivan’s dead body lay horizontally across the controls of the cockpit, and the only way for Eric to access the case on the floor was to move him.
Time and oxygen were running out.
Eric finally positioned Ozzy’s body out of his path and dove down to the case which was open and losing some of the loose bills inside. Most of the money was bundled, but a few of the bundles had broken open during the crash or perhaps the explosion. Eric closed the case to avoid losing the rest of the money on the way up and rolled the tumblers on the combination lock. He wondered if the Canadian knew the combination—then again, that wasn’t his problem.
The case was light underwater, and as Eric swam back through the plane, he stopped at the cargo doors. He grabbed the rope around his chest and gave it two tugs. Then he kicked off from the planes wooden floor, out through the cargo doors, and into the current. The force of the current pressed against his clothes but then he felt a greater force pull. Andy’s silhouette, standing on the ice, was pulling the young Marten brother to safety. The current attempted to prevent Eric’s escape from the river, but Andy would not be denied his prize catch. Eric floated upward and his head popped above the surface. He let out an audible gasp and then breathed a great sigh of relief and fresh Adirondack air. He clung to the ice with his left arm; elbow bent with his chin on his forearm. He then brought his right arm into view and handed the coveted case to Andy. Andy ignored the case and went straight to Eric’s left hand. The big man dragged Eric onto the ice for the second time today.
Paul ran to his brother’s side. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Eric conceded. He was standing, but bent over with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. “I’m in a lot better shape than the pilot.”
The Canadian’s head sunk for a moment at the thought of Ozzy being down there. He’d been so focused on the money that he’d forgotten about the fate of the Irishman. He was glad his eyes did not have to be tortured by the sight of a man, once so full of life, rotting away at the bottom of the river. Ozzy’s life was thrown away, but the Canadian convinced himself that it was a necessary sacrifice that would be worth it in the end.
“See?” the Canadian boomed. “You dug deep, son. I knew you had it in you to get the job done.” He was smiling for the first time since arriving on the ice. The Canadian lifted the case from the ice and went back to the seat he had taken from Andy.
“It’s locked,” Eric said. “I had to shut it and lock it to get it
up here, or the money would be on its way to the St. Lawrence River.”
“That’s okay, kid. Skiff’s not the sharpest hook in the water. He uses the same combination for all his locks.” He rolled the tumblers a few times, and with a click, the case popped open. “See? 1966—that’s the year of his classic Ford Mustang.”
The Canadian seemed satisfied with what he saw inside. He reached in and grabbed four bundles of cash and threw them on the ice. “Here, fellas—you earned it.”
Each bundle was almost a half-inch thick. Each bill was worth $100 , and Paul estimated there were 100 bills per bundle—10 thousand dollars in each bundle. The temptation to pick up one of the bundles knawed at his wallet. He didn’t know if they could trust the Canadian and his promise that they would just walk away, but this gesture was encouraging.
“So now what?” Paul dared. “We all just go our separate ways and pretend this never happened?”
“That’s right. You didn’t see me, and I never saw you. I know you’re all local boys, so if I have to, I’ll come to find you.”
Paul remembered the fake D.E.C. officer asking for their fishing licenses and identifications. He knew their names and addresses, so he probably wasn’t bluffing.
“Where’d the money come from?” Eric asked. “At least let us know who we helped you rip off.”
The Canadian considered the question. He pulled Andy’s chair a little closer to the fire and sat back down. His knees supported his forearms, and he talked as if he were speaking to his SIG 226. “The money came from my arms dealing, drug smuggling, scum of the Earth boss. I’m not stealing from the church or a school, and nobody’s going to be missing their inheritance. A few mafia bosses and some gang-bangers are going to be pissed, but not at me. By the time they figure out it was me, I’ll be in Mexico. I’ve got connections, too, and can disappear there. You guys…,” he waved the gun back and forth, “…will never see me again.” Then he stepped up to the fire to absorb a little more of the addictive heat.
Paul helped Jack stand and walked him to the fire. He needed to give Eric a chance to heat up before they made the trek to Andy’s cabin. With a four-feet long stick, he poked the fire to give the hot coals fresh oxygen. The flames danced with energy now, and the coals glowed back to life. Paul and Andy piled sticks and logs of spruce, maple, and hemlock to satisfy the hungry fire. The Canadian picked up the folding chair he’d been using and set it on the ice behind Jack and then gestured for him to have a seat. “Better stay off the leg for a while, eh?”
“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” Jack snarled. He was pale and weaker than usual, but his spirit wouldn’t break. He hesitantly took the seat and groaned a little on the way down. Jack sat with his wounded leg straight out in front of him and lit another cigarette.
While they warmed by the fire, the 40 thousand dollars the Canadian had dropped for them lay on the ice. No one looked at it. No one picked it up. No one talked about it.
Chapter 15 / Haystack Rock
Stacie and Ernie heard the distant gunshot, which split the air like thunder. The Canadian had fired the pistol by Paul’s feet, threatening the Martens to go after his money. The snow on the trees muffled the sound as it echoed off the ridges, making it difficult to discern where it originated. Ernie held his breath to listen intently for a second shot, but it never came.
“Do you think that came from the river?” Stacie asked her uncle.
“Hmm. Hard to say. Could be someone rabbit hunting up this way, but that sounded like a pistol to me.” The old man had a keen sense of hearing because he always wore ear protection when working with machinery on the farm. He even wore hearing protection when he vacuumed in the woodworking shop. Stacie used to tease him that he only wore earplugs so he couldn’t hear Aunt Marie yelling at him. It was partially true. “Com’on, we’ve got about a mile to go.”
“How’s your hip doing?”
“Great. I’ll be sore tomorrow, but it feels pretty good right now. Hey, look. There’s Paul’s truck.”
Paul’s truck was parked off the road in a little clearing some hunters created to unload ATV’s and meet for a weekend outing. The clearing was about the size of a house and surrounded by thick evergreens. To the right of the clearing, a short wall built from railroad ties held an embankment of dirt to form a loading ramp. Hunters and outdoorsmen could back their trucks up to the ramp and unload their all-terrain vehicles. Ernie walked around the truck, just to inspect for any vandalism.
The footprints around the truck were snowed in now and barely visible. It was apparent, though, that three men had exited the truck, retrieved gear from the bed, and then dragged their sleds up Garrison Road for 100 yards.
The sight of Paul’s truck brought a smile to Stacie’s lips because she felt like he was just around the corner from her.
Stacie and Ernie marched the length of a football field down the road and then turned right at Haystack Rock—a famous landmark for hunters, campers, and berry pickers, that stood 15 feet high. The rock, composed of solid granite with a ribbon of quartz, had been deposited here eons ago by a glacier. It was hard to say where it came from, but now it was an anomaly making its home in the Adirondack forest. The pinkish-brown boulder was surrounded by thick evergreens with its hardened surface contrasting against the softness of the pine needles. White snow covered one side of Haystack Rock and the dark green pine limbs with their share of snow made for a beautiful scene.
Stacie stopped to capture the placid scene on her phone camera, hoping it would look as good on screen as it did in real life.
“Why don’t you rest for a minute,” Stacie offered.
“Maybe a minute. I don’t want to take too long to get to the river.”
Ernie took a seat on a tree stump, conscious to stay out of Stacie’s pictures. He watched her hold the phone out, push the shutter button several times and smile at the results. He adored Stacie and her love of nature. She used to photograph all the beauty of the area when she was younger but ended up selling her camera to help pay her parents debts. Ernie didn’t know she sold her camera, or that she’d taken over her parents debt, but he always knew there was something she wasn’t telling him. He thought about the six framed pictures that adorned the walls of his home. Beautiful shots of waterfalls, flowers, and old barns that every guest admired when they visited. Ernie was fond of the pictures because they were memories of their hikes together. Almost all of those photographs were taken with Ernie standing somewhere behind Stacie. He cherished those memories when Stacie spent summers with him and Aunt Marie, and his hip allowed him to be more active.
“Why don’t you take pictures anymore?” Ernie asked. He laid his walking stick across his lap and set the little cooler of beer on the ground.
“Sold my camera,” her face saddened a little. She forgot how much she loved photography. “We just haven’t had the money to replace it. Now that Paul and I have a baby on the way, I may have to wait a few more years to buy one.”
“Having a baby is the perfect time to buy a camera. There’s going to be a lot of ‘Kodak moments’ over the next few years you’ll want to capture—first baths, first sitting up, crawling, walking. Before you know it, you’ll be taking pictures of her first car, prom, and graduation.”
“I know, but until Paul goes back to work, we’re living on a shoestring budget.”
Ernie saw it was a sore subject and chose not to pry. He made a mental note about the camera and what he’d get her as a baby-shower gift. Aunt Marie would know where to buy the best camera.
Ernie pulled a flask out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He unscrewed the top and sipped the liquid contents. Smooth brandy coated his throat and warmed him from the inside out.
“Uncle Ernie, where did you get that?” Stacie asked when she saw the shiny flask.
He took another sip, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and tucked the flask back into the pocket from where it came. “Little something to keep me warm on a day like this.�
��
“It’s 30 degrees out. It’s not that cold.”
“Cold enough,” Ernie smiled. Then his eyes focused past Stacie and through the branches of the snow-covered pines. He rose to his feet and walked off the trail without his walking stick or cooler. Twenty yards into the woods, he studied the ground. There was some debris scattered around the floor of the woods—white and red pieces of metal mixed in with freshly broken tree limbs. “Would you look at that?”
Stacie thought he stepped off the trail to relieve himself and didn’t dare to turn around. “What is it?”
“Looks like pieces of that plane, I’d say. It must’ve gone through these treetops before crashing into the river.”
Stacie walked over and stood by his side.
“Hmm,” he said looking at the ground. “These footprints are fresh. Someone’s been walking around these pines. Looks like a big fella by the boot.”
“Who do you think it could’ve been? That D.E.C. officer in Paul’s photo?”
“Those are my tracks,” a strange voice said from the woods.
Stacie jumped and grabbed Ernie’s arm. A shadowy figure emerged through some evergreen boughs and stood just 20 yards away. Mason Blankenship had survived the crash, although he was never really in it. Once the wounded Beechcraft airplane started skimming the treetops and slowing down, he jumped through the plane’s cargo doors into the thick canopy of green needles. Blood covered half of his head. His left eye was swollen black, and his left ear had a large tear in it. The kevlar vest he was wearing prevented his vital organs from being impaled by tree limbs, but not from cracking a few ribs. The fall from the trees caused a lot of bruising and scratches, and he lost consciousness for 45 minutes, nearly freezing to death before he finally awoke and built a fire.
The explosion from Cordelia’s blast had little effect on the big man. Most of the ball-bearings projected at the plane had missed him. One ball-bearing went through his right calf muscle, and two hit him in the right forearm. Of the two that hit his arm, one lodged into his ulna, and the second just grazed some skin and fat.
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