Depth Finder

by Terry Paul Fisher

  The large bodyguard had been walking the woods looking for his prized HK-416. Once he located the weapon, he scoured the woods trying to determine which direction the plane had traveled. It was difficult for him to discern after becoming disoriented from his tumble through the tree boughs. Blankenship was a stranger here, and the trees kept the secret of the plane’s location to themselves. The plane had shred some of the treetops, causing pine needles and splinters of wood to litter the snow on the ground. The winter sky was overcast, so discerning north from the south was difficult for a man who’d just been dropped from the sky. He intended to find the wreckage and recover the money Skiff hired him to protect, but after everything he’d been through, he had no intentions of returning the money. Now, he wanted possesion of the case and the three million dollars locked inside.

  Lucky to be alive, he felt he had a chance to disappear with the money—if the case survived the crash. He’d hitch-hike his way west and meet up with an old friend in Minnesota. That would keep him close to the Canadian border, in case he ever needed to flee the U.S. Blankenship was tired of being Skiff’s pawn, taking risks and breaking laws was getting tiresome. He barely survived this time, and it was just a matter of time before his luck ran out. Maybe he’d meet a nice girl in Minnesota and settle down.

  He laughed at the thought. Screw that! Skiff would think he was dead so he was a free man now. There was no way he’d let someone else tie him down. He was going to take that money and build his own empire. Drugs, guns, stolen cars, and women—that was more his style.

  “Who the heck are you?” Stacie asked in a voice as soft as a chickadee’s. She did not want to spook the battered stranger.

  Blankenship skirted the question. “I was on that plane you’re talking about. We were sabotaged in-flight by a bomb. The pilot was killed instantly and the left wing was almost blown clean off. I knew it was going to be a hard landing so I bailed. I saw the pines under us and figured that would be a softer landing.”

  “Looks like you were right, or maybe just lucky,” Ernie observed. “Where’d you guys come from? The plane, I mean. Where the heck did you fly out?”

  “Burlington,” Blankenship answered. He approached the D.E.C. officer and his niece.

  “Vermont?” Ernie asked.

  “Yeah, we were headed to Syracuse. Business trip, you know.”

  Stacie knew the big man was lying. She knew that the plane came out of Canada and had stopped at her airport just hours ago for mandatory international inspection. That was when she saw Greene take the bribe money. This man standing before her must have been inside the plane during the inspection. Stacie saw the assault rifle on the sling that was over his shoulder and didn’t dare challenge Blankenship’s story. She and Uncle Ernie needed to move on—now.

  “Who the hell would want to take down your plane?” Ernie asked in confusion.

  “Hard to say, sir, but I think it must have been a disgruntled mechanic. He’s the only one who had access to the plane in the last 48 hours.”

  Blankenship had never seen the cause of Ozzy’s horror. He never saw Cordelia flying straight at them with her malevolent intentions. He assumed the blast came from the inside of the Beechcraft. The only thing he knew for sure was who was to blame.

  “Well, it looks like you need to get some medical attention, fella,” Ernie said.

  “I’m fine. I need to find that plane first. There are some important…documents… that I need to retrieve. Then I’ll get medical attention, eh?”

  “What’s with the HK, son? Looks like it was a pretty serious business trip,” Ernie said.

  “You know your guns. Law Enforcement?”

  Ernie pulled back his jacket carefully, trying not to spook the crash survivor. He revealed the badge on his belt. “Environmental Conservation Officer. I’m not trying to be nosey, but it’s my job to ask you about that rifle. It’s not legal in this state.”

  “Well, I’m the bodyguard for a senator, so I have a special permit. We were on our way to pick him up.”

  More lies.

  “Sure, sure,” Ernie said. “May I see your ‘permit?’”

  “That’s one of the documents I need from that plane. Hopefully, my briefcase survived the wreck.”

  Stacie took a step back and thought to herself, “Oh no, Uncle Ernie. Stop talking. Stop talking. This man looks crazy.” She didn’t dare speak the words. She could see Ernie’s demeanor change from fun-loving uncle to keen-eyed cop.

  “I’m going to ask you for some identification. I’m also going to ask that you remove the magazine from that HK and hand it to me. You see, we have a law in New York that no firearm can hold more than seven rounds. I’m guessing that’s a 20 round magazine, right?”

  “You want my gun?” Blankenship asked.

  “No, No. You can carry the gun empty. I just want the magazine and the round in the chamber.”

  “Sorry, old man, you’re not taking my magazine or my gun.” Blankenship’s voice went gruff.

  Ernie took offense to the term ‘old man,’ and could feel the heat building under his collar. He didn’t feel old, other than an athritic hip, and he sure the hell wasn’t going to let some hot-head with a gun insult him.

  “Well if you don’t comply, you’ll be charged with disobeying an officer,” Ernie admonished. “You don’t want that. All you need to do is hand me the magazine. We’ll go find this plane you’re looking for, and get everything straightened out.”

  “I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with, gramps,” Blankenship guffed. “I think you and your lady friend should turn around and go back the other way.”

  “This is the last time I’m going to ask.”

  Stacie’s heart was pounding. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her stomach felt like a Rubik’s Cube twisting and spinning inside her. She suppressed the contents of her stomach from reappearing, but it took all her concentration. The situation was getting out of control. This man had been through enough, but Stacie and Ernie both knew his story was full of holes.

  “Listen,” Ernie said, “I don’t want any trouble here. My pregnant niece is with me, and I’m not taking any chances of anything harming her.”

  Blankenship turned in the direction the plane had flown, ignoring Ernie. He reached down and grabbed fresh snow and placed it into his mouth. He was thirsty, and the lack of blood muddled his reasoning. Blankenship had never been in a situation like this—a tiny woman and an old man threatening him. He was supposed to be the intimidating one. He was the tough guy. He was the professional killer. It was time to take over the situation.

  Ernie took one step closer. He wanted to be close enough to react if Blankenship got stupid. Then, Blankenship got stupid.

  Blankenship racked the bolt on the HK with his right hand and spun toward Ernie. Ernie did not see it eject a bullet, which meant he was racking a bullet into the chamber. The gun was pointed 45 degrees toward the ground as he spun around. Ernie’s powerful grip snatched the 16-inch gun barrel and held it like a vice. Five flashes of light appeared from the muzzle of the gun as Blankenship pulled the trigger on the fully automatic HK-417. Every bullet that exited the gun barrel hit the snowy ground behind Ernie, who was watching Stacie and keeping the gun pointed away from her.

  Stacie stepped backward, tripped on a log and fell to her ass. The fresh snow cushioned her fall, and she was unharmed. She propped herself up on her elbows and watched the scuffle in horror.

  Ernie maintained his grip on the gun barrel with his left hand. His right hand grabbed Blankenship by the collar and pushed him backwards until he pinned him against a large pine tree. Blankenship brought his left elbow around, striking Ernie in the right cheek. The blow should have dropped Ernie to his knees, but the seasoned farmer had spent a lifetime kicked by horses, rammed by goats, and hit by bulls—Blankenship’s elbow seemed weak in comparison and did not affect the white-haired officer. Blankenship kept the barrage of elbows coming. Ernie kept slamming Blankenship against the tree. The
trade of blows caused the tree to shake from the bottom to the top. The branches released a white cascade of fresh snow. For a few moments, the altercation was invisible to Stacie. She wanted to scream, but the sound was stuck in her lungs.

  Blankenship realized he underestimated the older man. He’d fought bikers, professional boxers, and other bodyguards before. He thought this would be one more man he’d send to the ground bleeding, but Ernie had been hardened by years on a farm from carrying water pails, throwing hay bales, and chopping wood. His power was impressive for a man of any age. Blankenship’s elbows were getting slower and weaker, while Ernie’s strength endured. Ernie finally released Blankenship’s collar and threw a few roundhouses himself. His police training had taken over, and he went from defense to offense. His left-hand never relinquished its grip on the HK—he had to keep it pointed in a safe direction—but the right arm was free to fight.

  The pine tree shook loose the last of its blinding snow and Stacie could see the melee fully. She’d never seen Uncle Ernie in any situation like this. The sweet man she knew was full of fire and fury and in the fight for his life. She made her way to her knees and looked for a stick or rock, anything to help her uncle—there was nothing.

  Ernie yanked the big bodyguard away from the tree. Fresh blood began to flow over the dried blood on Blankenship’s face. Ernie lifted the HK-416 above Blankenship’s head which gave him the opportunity to step through with his right leg and plant his right foot behind Blankenship’s right leg. He then thrust his palm into Blankenship’s chest, sweeping the bodyguard off his feet and onto his back. The HK let loose from Blankenship’s shoulder, and Ernie tossed it into the snow. Now, the weapon was out of the equation, and Ernie had the upper hand.

  Blankenship still had some fight left in him. He rolled to his left away from Ernie, but the D.E.C. officer kept coming. This time, Ernie grabbed the sides of Blankenship’s kevlar vest at the shoulders. Blankenship tried swinging in desperation with left, right, left, combination punches, but Ernie’s elbows blocked each attempt. Blankenship’s last resort was to utilize his knees. He brought the right knee up into Ernie’s ribs, and for the first time during the brawl, Ernie felt some pain.

  Blankenship could sense that Ernie kept his weight on his right leg, obviously favoring a weak left knee or hip. He kept the knees coming at Ernie’s left side trying to take advantage of the weakness. Finally, on the forth blow, Ernie timed the knee-strike perfectly and caught Blankenship’s right knee under his arm. Now on one leg, Blankenship was vulnerable to Ernie’s leg sweep again. Ernie stepped through and placed his right leg behind Blankenship’s left leg and gave him another blow to the heart. The impact could have knocked down a tree, but the bullet proof vest absorbed the force. The powerful blow sent Blankenship backward, but not before he could retrieve the semi-automatic .22 caliber pistol from the ankle holster strapped to the trapped leg. As he fell, Blankenship flipped the safety and squeezed off three shots.

  Stacie’s scream finally broke loose, which was louder than the pop, pop, pop, of the small pistol.

  Ernie felt the impact of the lightweight bullet slam his chest. The second bullet grazed the base of his neck and shoulder. As he fell back and to the left, the third bullet caught him in the skull, just above and behind his right ear. When he landed, his head struck the log that had tripped Stacie. He lay motionless half buried in the snow. Stacie jumped to his side and gave him a little shake. Tear’s flooded her eyes and dripped from her cheeks into the snow.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” she pleaded. “Uncle Ernie, please wake up! Don’t leave me here, please.”

  She grabbed his hand to comfort them both. She felt a little squeeze from her uncle’s hand and then the pressure faded. She was ready to stay there all day to be with her beloved uncle in his last moments on Earth, but a sinister shadow lingered over her ominously. She felt a powerful grip snag her by the collar and Blankenship was pulling her to her feet.

  “Get your sweet ass up, honey,” Blankenship ordered. “He’s dead. If you don’t want to be next, then show me how to get to the plane wreck. I know you know these woods, so get moving.” He gestured with the pistol for her to move and then reacquired his assault rifle. Stacie couldn’t take her eyes off Uncle Ernie. Blankenship pulled her by the arm in one direction while she kept her eyes on Ernie looking for one more glimpse of life. One more chance to make eye contact. One more little smile from a man who’d given her so much in life.

  All she saw instead, was the red stain in the snow growing larger with each passing second.

  Blankenship turned Stacie around and stared straight into her eyes. “Find that plane, and you and your baby get to go home tonight.” He was pointing the gun at her abdomen. Stacie was horrified by the thought of what this sick killer would do if she didn’t comply. She took a deep breath to compose herself, to regain her dignity, and to do what was necessary to survive. One way or another, this baby was going to be raised by her mother.

  Blankenship followed Stacie through the woods, matching her steps in perfect rhythm. They weaved through the tall pines with the sun behind them. It must have been lunch time because her stomach growled with dissatisfaction. Even though her pregnant body craved nourishment, food was the last thing on her mind. Her steps were slow, and her boots and heart were heavy. She deliberately set a slow pace and meandered through the trees to lengthen their journey.

  The twosome stepped over a small creek which exited into the Raquette River, and Stacie remembered her and Paul camping there years ago. They had kayaked to the area, pitched a tent, and spent three wonderful days under the stars with no distractions; no TV, no phones, and almost no clothes. They skinny dipped where the creek melded into the river, very much like their bodies had during that same swim. Paul caught fish while Stacie peeled potatoes and they made simple dinners over an open campfire that would put most restaurant food to shame. When they kayaked away from their campsite, Paul promised they’d come back every year. That was three years ago.

  What happened? Why had life gotten so crazy-complicated? How did they lose control of their schedules? Three years ago, all they had was a tent, a couple of kayaks, and some fishing poles. It was the happiest they had ever been. Not that they weren’t happy now, but there were so many distractions in their lives that it watered down the very experience of life itself. They were distracted by their phones, computers, and chores. They were distracted by their volunteer work, their friend's events, and family issues. They were distracted by work, side jobs, hobbies, and online courses.

  She missed those days of simplicity and quietness. Now they were bringing a baby into the world—their world. How were they going to make time for a baby when they barely made time for each other? She was scared. Would this baby come between them or bring them back to those days when all they had was each other?

  The hiking had caused her to break a sweat. She unzipped her down vest. A gentle wind came across the river and cooled her face. The pines around her seemed to whisper, but she couldn’t make out the words. After a quarter-mile, she stopped abruptly.

  “We’re here,” she said to Blankenship. Her voice cracked as she spoke the words. She pointed through an opening in the evergreens to five men standing around the tail of the wrecked plane that protruded from the frozen river. In that group, she recognized the stance of her husband. She’d hoped he would be gone by the time they arrived—on his way home with his fresh catch and a satisfying smile.

  “Good girl,” Blankenship said. Stacie wanted to knock the smug smile off his face.

  “No one else needs to get hurt. Just get your stupid documents and leave. These guys are locals that mean you no harm. You’ve already killed my uncle; please don’t kill my…” she trailed off.

  “Your husband?” Blankenship grinned. “I heard your whole conversation with your uncle. I know one of these guys is your husband.”

  Stacie could see Blankenship’s grip tighten around the assault rifle as he watched the five men stand
ing around the fire. “What are you going to do?”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “Whatever I have to.”

  “Let me talk to them first. I can get them all to leave if you give me a chance. You won’t have any confrontation if they leave.”

  “No, you keep your mouth shut. Besides, you’re going to have a gun pointed at your head.”

  Stacie’s heart was racing. Thoughts began to jumble in her mind like popcorn popping. She saw images of the men lying in the snow bleeding. She envisioned Paul taking his last breath as he held her hand. She worried he would end up like Ernie. She couldn’t let that happen.

  A tree branch lay on the ground next to her—an opportunity. She grabbed the dead branch as Blankenship stared beyond the pines to the icy scenario. She swung the branch at his head with every ounce of power she could muster. The limb was more corroded than she expected; it smashed on impact and Blankenship merely stumbled a little. Without thinking, he instinctively spun around with the butt of the rifle and cracked Stacie in the head. She had turned her skull just before impact, causing her head to whip to the left violently. She felt her body dropping but only saw flashes of light and then darkness.

  Stacie lay in the snow unconscious. Blankenship knew he couldn’t use her as a hostage and he didn’t have time to wait until she woke. Now, he’d have to do this the hard way.

  Chapter 16 / Come and Get It

  Again, Eric’s keen eyes caught the movement in the woods. “Someone’s over there.”

  The Canadian didn’t turn around. He checked his pistol to be sure the safety was off and watched for a reaction from the brothers and Andy to determine if the new arrival was a threat.

  The fire was beginning to die down, and Eric’s hypothermia was causing him to tremble. Jack’s adrenaline and endorphins had worn off, and the pain from the gunshot was getting worse. Paul wasn’t sure which brother he was more worried about, but it was imperative that they both get to Andy’s cabin within the next 20 minutes. Andy left a fire going before he set out for the day and ensured Paul that he had some medical supplies for Jack’s leg—plus the Jim Beam.