Final Turn: A story of adventure, intrigue and suspense. (16 page)

It was the first time Roger had ever gone to Lindquist's home. The streets were crowded with houses far too large for their lots. Triple garage doors stood like a fence towards the street. It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday and there was no one in sight. There were no kids playing ball in the street, no people working their lawns, not even dogs watching for cars or cats. The place was clinically deserted except for one car parked a couple of doors down. It was as old red Mercury, well chromed and with white wall tires. It looked out of place on the street. There wasn't even the wind to lay blame on for keeping people inside.

It was the day after Jack's funeral and the first day that Roger had any time to do anything. He rang the doorbell and waited with a folder in his hand. He had spent much of the last few days trying to reconcile things with Trudy. Finally she had come to understand why Jack had been flying Roger's sailplane. Roger had explained in a dozen different ways how surprised he had been himself when Jack came up asking to borrow his plane. He had felt so overjoyed that Jack had not been the cause of his own accident. It had never occurred to him that there might be someone else. It had not occurred to him that the airplane might still have a problem. Trudy had begun to understand all that. She had also come to understand the Roger and Sam had not been ambitiously trying to defame Jack. She understood why it had been necessary for Sam to do what she did. Still, Roger heart stung whenever he recalled that Sam had not let him know the things she had found out about Lindquist. He thought they communicated better than that. It could have saved Jack's life. He would never have let Jack use his sailplane. He knew now that it must have been Lindquist sneaking around the glider trailers during the night before Jack's accident. He had gone to Roger's trailer and altered the load bearing pins on one of the wings. One of those pins was in the folder under Roger's arm. Lindquist had to be psychotic. He had a perverted view of self, the kind that Nixon might have had before Watergate. Roger knew there were many people like that and it had never been easy for him to relate to such people. He knew there could be no remorse in that man's heart; anything that served himself was justifiable. He was one of those people who believed he never lied; that allowed him to look people straight in the eye and lie to them.

A woman answered the door. She was a tall woman in her mid-fifties whom Roger instantly saw as someone who could form a relationship with Lindquist. She had distinguished graying hair with expensive jewelry and clothing. She carried herself as impeccably as a butler might have but had an air that forbade anyone to address her subserviently. Roger wondered how Lindquist treated her.

"Hello. My name is Roger Blackstone. I would like to see Mr. Lindquist."

"Is he expecting you?" she asked with a secretarial tone.

"No. Please give him my name. He will see me. Roger Blackstone." Roger was quite sure of that. The woman seemed to make no judgments and went down a hallway after asking Roger to step inside. She said she would see if Lindquist was 'still busy'. Presently she returned and beckoned Roger to follow her. They went towards a door that likely held a study
.

Lindquist did not rise when Roger came in. He sat behind a majestic walnut desk turning a silver pencil in his hands. Behind him was a complete wall of books except for one corner where there was a door. Roger heard the other door shut behind him.

"Roger. Come in. Sit down. I'm glad you came by.” Lindquist said with no hint of irregularity in his voice. “I am very sorry to have received your resignation. I am also very sorry about Jack's unfortunate accident.”

Lindquist settled back into his chair as if he were greeting a common business client.

“You must have had a difficult time of it these last few days." Roger knew Lindquist would begin an act mired with pseudo polite pleasantries. He was determined to lay it on Lindquist without mercy.

"I came to tell you that I know about your activities over the last while, in fact, over the last years. I know about your involvement in Jack Fischer's court martial and how you served as a witness. How you used your influence and knowledge to end the investigation into Jack's activities because things were starting to point towards yourself. I know about Mr. Stubbier's suspicions about your involvement in the sale of secret military information and how he mysteriously died in an aircraft accident. An accident that bears a striking resemblance to my own crash in the club tow plane. I also know about how you have been able to manipulate Jack Fischer under threat of exposing his involvement in your own military espionage games. You forced him into a bizarre armored car robbery to raise money for you. Money that you have been laundering through Ming Sing Estates. You were not satisfied with my crash in the tow plane so you rigged my glider for a crash. You didn't expect that someone else might be flying it. Now Jack is dead. You killed him and I can prove it. I can prove all of it." Roger stood behind the chair in front of the desk and indicated the folder he was carrying. Lindquist sat stoically. Roger watched his face and wanted him to know that he was cornered. Lindquist sat wide-eyed without focusing on anything. His hands were in his lap, near the drawer of the desk. Suddenly it occurred to Roger that there might be a gun inside the drawer. He thought it might be wise to play his safe card. He had to say something that would guarantee he would be able to leave safely.

"I have all of this documented. A copy of these documents has been left in a safe place with someone who will take them to the authorities if anything happens to me."

"Documents?" Lindquist was beginning to challenge.

"There is enough here. Trust me." Roger said confidently.

"I don't believe you can prove anything. And if you even try, I'll destroy you Blackstone." Roger took that statement as an admission. Lindquist's voice had taken on an ominous, hollow quality with a chambered echo. Roger knew he had already told Lindquist enough to convince him. He didn't need an admission. He had something else. Lindquist's eyes were set on the folder in Roger's hand. He still had a look of inexorable contempt. Roger meant to break that down. He would not give him the opportunity to exonerate his ambition and greed

"I'll leave the proving to those trained in the field. I'll turn over what information I have to them. They should have an easy time of it. You’ll soon come to see that you’re not above the law. You’re not above the rest of us." Roger was beginning to develop a desire to rebuke Lindquist for years of impertinence.

"No one is above the law. Fischer was more than pleased to work in my service. It is a tragedy that you did not maintain your airplane to a safe standard. You may expect someone to take that up with you. Jack was a good employee and a good comrade. He was happy to serve me." Lindquist was beginning to acquire smugness about him again.

"I don't care much for your bluffing bullshit. I have enough to put you away for good. I don't need any of your pompous, arrogant verbal diarrhea. If you don't believe me, take a chance on it. Call my bluff. See where it gets you." Roger knew there was nothing to loose by talking this way to this man. Lindquist was destined for damnation and Roger didn't care what he thought any more. The true debauchery of this man was becoming clearer with every word he spoke. Lindquist came to his feet and walked over to a bookcase behind his desk. He spoke with his back to Roger.

"You don't understand Roger," he said. "I did not want Jack dead. We were partners. He and I. We did something together. We worked well together. I shared with him what I could. It was for him too. He was part of it. I asked him to be part of it and he did very well. You can see that." Lindquist was beginning to sound animated. Even from the back, Roger could see a nervousness engulf the man. He began to worry about his stability.

"You weren't partners, you son-of-a-bitch. You blackmailed him. You forced him to serve you. You...." Lindquist whirled about. Somehow, he had come up with gun. It was steady in his hand and pointed directly at Roger. That was the first time anyone had ever pointed a gun at him. He looked at the end of the barrel. The black hole was perfectly round. He though Lindquist would know how to handle a gun. Not good. Oddly he began to wonder if he would live long enough hear the sound of the gun after the bullet struck him. Lindquist clearly had little regard for Roger's statement that he had documented proof in a safe place. With the gun steadily aimed towards Roger, Lindquist came around the desk and stopped about five feet from him.

"You are a damned fool Blackstone. You had to meddle in something that was harmless. Now you've killed your own friend through your obsession. There are only two ways to settle this. You come in with me. Or I kill you." Lindquist looked like a cornered animal. His eyes were enlarged and his nostrils flared. His mouth became a tight, straight line and his jaw muscles flexed. There was little point in arguing with him. His gun hand was still rock steady. Roger didn't like either of the alternatives suggested by Lindquist, especially the second one. Roger knew well enough that 'coming in' with Lindquist would mean somehow being committed so Lindquist could be sure of his silence. Lindquist would have to be able to blackmail him into cooperation. Still, that was the only way of leaving the room alive. Behind Lindquist was the corner door and Roger saw it open a crack, slowly, silently.

"What do you have in mind?" Roger asked hoping more for time than for an answer.

"So." Lindquist said. "You are not above all this. You were just looking for a way in. Can't tolerate seeing everyone around you making money and being left out. Is that it? Or do you just think you can fool me for a while and get out of here unscathed?" Lindquist took a step backwards and turned slightly towards his desk. Roger risked a glance towards the door in the corner. It stood still and open about an inch.

"I have a plan ready for you. Your arrival did not come entirely unexpected to me." Lindquist motioned towards the desk. "Before you leave here we will be certain of where your loyalties are. I don't need Jack anymore. I can work with you."

The corner door opened wide in one silent, smooth motion. A short, wide old man came through the entrance with a look of ghostly horror on his face. There were lines in his face, around his mouth and eyes, which were instantly familiar to Roger but he couldn't think of where he had seen them. The man walked directly towards Lindquist with one hand raised, pointing towards him. It was like a macabre scene from a Shakespearean play. Lindquist noticed where Roger's gaze was directed and turned his head. When he saw the man, Lindquist jolted like a boxer had hit him. He swung the gun around to point at him. The man step backward and disappeared through the doorway. In that instant Roger catapulted himself against Lindquist and grabbed the hand that held gun. They flew heavily against the solid desk and Lindquist collapsed to the floor. Roger smashed Lindquist's gun hand against the edge of the desk; the gun ricocheted across the floor and through the corner doorway. Roger placed the heel of his hand on Lindquist's forehead and drove his head heavily onto the floor. It struck with a sickening thud. Lindquist's eyes rolled up instantly and his body went limp immediately. Roger pushed himself onto his knees, he breathed deeply to calm himself. Lindquist lay before him like a huge mass without dignity; he appeared dead. All his vanity and arrogance had vanished. Roger came to his feet and turned towards the desk. He was about to sit in the chair to use the telephone when he heard a metallic 'click' behind him. He whirled about and looked at Lindquist still prone on the floor. He had not moved. Then he saw the old man standing in the doorway with the gun in both hands pointing towards the floor. There was a determined, recalcitrant look about him. Roger looked at the man's face and then he knew where he had seen it before. Jack. The man raised the gun with both arms in animated slow motion and pointed it at Lindquist's chest. Roger stepped forward intending to stop the man. He saw his fingers tighten around the trigger. Roger stopped.

"Don't. He's not worth it. He's not going anywhere." Roger urged. The man's hand began to tremble dangerously. Roger risked another step forward and held out his hand.

"Give me the gun. I know who you are. You're Jack Fischer's father. Aren't you? I was Jack's friend. I'm Roger Blackstone." That got the man's attention and put some life back into his vacant stare as he turned his gaze towards Roger. The gun was still fixed on Lindquist's chest. Roger knew that Jack's father had overheard the discussion he had with Lindquist. He would be frantic if he had just learned that his son had died at the hands of the man whom he had credited for saving him during that court martial so many years ago. Roger wondered why Mr. Fischer was in Lindquist's house. He must have trusted him and been indebted to him right up to this moment. Roger asked for the gun again.

Suddenly the main door into the study flew open wildly and struck the wall with a bang. Roger spun around. Sam and Trudy were standing in the doorway, the woman of the house behind them. They looked out of breath and frantic. Their eyes went to Jack's father and the gun. Sam gasped when she saw the gun. Trudy had that fire flashing in her eyes as started across the floor towards Lindquist’s prone form. Then Roger heard the gun go off. It resounded with a deafening clap in the small room. He spun around towards Jack's father and saw gunpowder swirl in the dim light. The smell cut into his nostrils. His ears were ringing so badly he wasn't sure if someone was shouting. Jack's father was slumped against the door jam with his arms limp at his sides. The gun hung precariously from his fingers. He looked ashen and wasted. Roger stepped over and removed the gun from his hand. He suddenly felt safer. With apprehension he looked over to Lindquist. There was no blood and no obvious place where he had been shot. He lay deathly still. Then Roger saw it. An inch beside Lindquist's head there was a hole in the hardwood floor.