Squall (12 page)

Pulling his task into focus again, Sanj unloaded the rest of the clip into the chopper’s control panel, sending sparks and shrapnel flying everywhere, filling the cockpit with smoke. Then he replaced the spent clip with a fresh one and got out of the helicopter.

The wind had scoured the bulk of the snow from the lake, making it easier to walk. Ten minutes tops, he’d be there.

––––––––

“Honestly, Mrs. Stokes,” Captain Tremblay said, his voice strained-sounding in the receiver, “I can’t tell you if it’s our bird or not. The last report we got from our team came in about forty minutes ago. At that time they had just brought your husband on board—”

“They’d just what?” Mandy said. “They found him? Is he all right?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, yes, he’s fine. I—”

Mandy said, “Forty minutes you’ve known this?” her relief shading to irritation with this man who should have known better. “Forty minutes and it didn’t occur to you to let me know? Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through, Captain Tremblay?”

“You’re right. Of course you’re right, Mrs. Stokes, and I do apologize. But to be frank, I didn’t want to worry you any more than you already are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re still not sure what’s going on, but a few minutes after the Griffon  reported in, it went dark. Since then we’ve been working under the assumption they went down in the storm. The strange thing is, we can’t even pick up their ELT. It’s as if they vanished.”

Mandy rubbed absently at her tummy below the navel, the muscles there achy and tense. The incessant nausea was having its way with her again.

She said, “Well, I’m no expert, Captain, but the helicopter that flew past here just a few minutes ago sure looked military. And why else would there be a chopper out here at night in this kind of weather, buzzing our lake?”

“I honestly don’t know what to tell you, Mrs. Stokes. All I can suggest is that you sit tight and see what happens. If it’s our aircraft and your husband is on it, you should know soon enough. Dropping him off at home would be highly irregular, however. We do have protocols.”

Mandy heard the front door open, then a jingle of keys. Smiling, she said, “Oh, he just came in. Can you hold?” But there was only silence over the receiver now, not even the faint hum of live wires. She said, “Captain Tremblay? Hello?”

Assuming the storm had taken out the lines, Mandy hung up and rushed toward the office door. An East Indian man in an expensive overcoat was waiting for her there, the gun in his hand aimed casually at her chest, and Mandy let out a terrified squeal.

“You must be Mandy,” the man said. “You may call me Sanj.” His eyes, dark and remote, scanned the room behind her with that same casual air, then settled on her belly. “Oh, my,” he said. “When are you due?”

Heart racing, Mandy sagged against the door jam, clutching the bulge of her abdomen. Breathless, she said, “Who are you? What do you want?”

“My name is Sanj, as I just said. You really must pay attention, Mrs. Stokes. Are we clear on that much, at least?”

Mandy nodded, bile rising in her throat.

“Your husband and his new friend have something that belongs to an associate of mine. I’m here to get it back.”

“What are you talking about? My husband is missing.”

“That’s the last thing he is, Mrs. Stokes,” Sanj said. “Now sit.”

On the verge of a faint, Mandy retraced her steps to the desk, feeling his flat gaze on her back as she pulled out the chair and eased herself into it. She had no idea what was going on. She watched in silence as he drew the curtains on all the windows, praying that Steve wouldn’t make a peep in his bed upstairs. His room was directly overhead.

Now the man sat on the edge of the desk, right next to her, the gun resting on his thigh, its muzzle aimed at her belly.

In her terror she thought,
Sharp dressed man
, and brought a hand up to muzzle a scream or maybe a bray of deranged laughter. She had to get her bearings here. Keep it together. Find out what this guy wanted and give it to him so he’d leave before—

He said, “Do you have a cell phone?”

“Yes.”

“May I have it, please?”

Mandy grabbed her purse off the desk and started to open it.

“Just...hand me the purse,” Sanj said, making a move toward her with the gun.

Mandy handed him the purse and Sanj took her cell phone out of it. He rummaged around in the purse for a moment, making sure there was nothing else of interest, then handed it back to her. Mandy took it and bunched it into her lap, clutching it as she might a buoy in a churning sea.

Sanj pocketed the cell phone, then placed the photograph he’d taken from the Cessna on the desk in front of her. Mandy remembered signing it and giving it to Tom for good luck.

“Now,” Sanj said, “where’s the kid?”

––––––––

An hour and a half from the city now and they were marooned behind a lumbering snow plow, the twisting glare of its caution lights and the ceaseless, shifting snow plumes from the blade making any chance of passing the thing an impossibility.

As Tom had expected, the smoother ride on the highway had lulled Dale into a nod, and for the past half hour the guy had been twitching and mumbling and drooling on his jacket collar.

Tom was hungry now, uncomfortably so, and the ache in his head had taken up the beat of his heart, each throb cranking his anxiety to a tighter setting. He kept thinking of Mandy, helpless and alone at home—surely she’d gotten Steve off to bed by now—the poor girl worried sick about him. He should have waited for the rescue chopper and to hell with this junkie dipshit, whatever weight of sympathy he’d felt for the guy earlier long since shed. In all likelihood he’d be airborne on a rescue chopper by now, talking to his wife on the radio, telling her he’d be home in a few hours to collect on that special birthday gift she’d hinted at...

“Some fucking birthday,” Tom said.

Stirring, Dale said, “It’s your birthday?”

“Yeah. My son and I both.”

“Hey, how cool is that?” Dale said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I wish to hell I could call home, let them know I’m all right. We should’ve checked those guys for cell phones.”

“Might be one in the vehicle someplace,” Dale said, popping open the glove box.

Tom glanced over at the lighted compartment, but saw only a thin sheath of maps and what looked like a vehicle owner’s manual.

“I’ll have a look back here,” Dale said, taking off his seat belt and leaning into the back seat. Tom heard him say, “Holy fuck,” then watched him settle back into the passenger seat with a gym bag and briefcase in tow.

“What’s that?”

Dale said, “Holy
fuck
,” and set the briefcase on his lap. “Those crazy fuckers must have caught up with Ronnie...poor bitch.”

“What is it?”

Dale opened the briefcase and turned it to face Tom, giving him a full view of the neat stacks of fifties and hundreds, new bills gleaming in the wash of the snow plow’s psychedelic light show.

Wide-eyed, Tom said, “God damn.”

“Yeah. Two hundred and fifty K worth of God damn.”

Dale closed the briefcase and hauled the gym bag up on top of it, giving it an affectionate pat. “And another two-fifty in product.”

“Product?”

“Uncut heroin.”

Tom hit the brakes, swerved to a stop at the side of the road and powered open Dale’s window. “Toss that shit out,” he said, “
right now
, or take it and get the hell out.”

Dale gave him a puzzled look. “Whoa, Tom, hold on a minute. Don’t you see? This is my ticket
out
of this mess. All I’ve gotta do now is hand this shit back to Ed and with any luck he can square it with Copeland. He already knows it was Ronnie, but the way things stood, he had no choice. He
had
to send his goons after me. It was his ass or mine.”

“Meanwhile I’m driving around with enough heroin and drug money to land me in prison for the rest of my life.”

“Just get me as far as the city,” Dale said, “wherever you stop to call your wife. After that, you never have to see me again. Please, man.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Ignoring every rational instinct in his body, Tom angled the Mercedes back onto the highway. A few minutes later they were stuck in the snow plow’s wake again, its snailing pace stretching Tom’s patience to its fraying limits. He knew there was a gas station/convenience store along here somewhere, an old Mom & Pop outfit that would have a phone he could use, but he feared the owners might have closed up early due to the weather.

That fear was allayed when they rounded a bend and Tom saw the brightly lit store and a half dozen vehicles idling in the lot, the neon OPEN sign sizzling red in the window.

Dale said, “Payphone.”

“I see it,” Tom said and pulled into the lot, parking alongside the open-air booth at the corner of the building. He switched off the engine and got out with the keys in his hand. Dale got out, too, bringing the briefcase and gym bag with him, stamping his feet against the cold while Tom dug in his pocket for change.

“Why’d you bring that shit out here?” Tom said, finding some coins.

“It’s my life.”

Tom considered saying,
‘Do you have any idea how pathetic that sounds?’
but thought better of it. He was seconds away from hearing Mandy’s voice and could already feel himself grinning.

* * *

Trailing by fifty yards, Ronnie saw the Mercedes hang a left at a convenience store and she slowed, welcoming the adrenalin surge as she rolled up on the entrance to the parking lot, vivid scenarios playing out in her mind now, how she’d settle the score with those Indian fucks, ambush them as they came out of the store, maybe, or pull Sumit’s trick and wait for them in the Mercedes, put a bullet in each of their swelled heads, take her shit back and hit the road before anyone knew the difference.

The place was surprisingly busy, given the weather and the late hour, but she knew that could work in her favor. Gunfire meant panic and confusion, witnesses coming up with conflicting accounts in the aftermath, throwing the cops off the scent. She’d have to keep an eye out for security cameras, but doubted that a place like this even bothered.

The Mercedes was parked parallel to the right hand corner of the building, the headlights off, no exhaust coming from the tailpipe, but there was no sign of Sumit or Sanj. There was no way they could have gotten into the store in the few seconds it had taken her to catch up, so they must still be in the vehicle. Probably waiting for the two white guys at the payphone to—

“What the fuck?”

It was Dale. Dale with the dope and the money, stamping his feet like the pussy he was. How in the fuck did
he
get here? And who was the guy he was with, dropping coins into the phone over there and grinning like an idiot? One of Copeland’s men?

And why weren’t Ed’s monkeys getting out of the SUV?
Could
they have made it into the store that quickly? It didn’t seem likely; the entrance was at least thirty feet from the vehicle.

Ronnie parked the Chevy at the other end of the long building, between a van and another pickup the owner had backed in, its low bed giving her an unobstructed view of the phone booth and the entrance to the store. None of these guys knew what she was driving, so the element of surprise still belonged to her.

But she couldn’t figure out what was going on and the confusion was killing her will to act. Were Sumit and Sanj actually taking Dale back to his brother in one piece? That didn’t sound like Ed. And even if they were, why were they letting him anywhere near Copeland’s property?

Where
were
those two bastards?

She decided to sit tight and see what happened.

* * *

The phone looked pretty beat up, but when Tom dropped in a few coins he got a dial tone. He punched in their home number and got a recorded message telling him the number he had dialed was no longer in service, the message followed by a repetitive beeping sound.

He said to Dale, “Storm must have taken out the lines,” hung up and scooped his change out of the coin return. “I’ll try her cell.” This time it rang and Tom flashed Dale a big smile; he couldn’t help himself.

But the smile collapsed when he heard a man’s voice on the other end of the line: “Tom? Is that you?”

Tom said, “Who is this?” But he knew; the accent was unmistakable. As if in a wind tunnel he heard Dale say, “Tom, what is it?” but he had to brace himself against the booth to prevent his legs from dropping out from under him, and when he tried to answer all that came out was a dry croak.

The voice on the phone said, “You don’t remember me, Tom? I certainly remember you. That is one hell of a swing you got there, Mr. Mantle.”

Feeling the fury rising in him now, Tom said, “It’s Sanj, am I right? Listen,
Sanj
, or whoever the
fuck
you are, if you hurt my family...” but the bluster in him shrank as the reality of the situation rushed in on him. He was miles from home, utterly helpless.

He heard Sanj say, “My business is not with you, Mr. Stokes,” and in the beat of silence that followed Tom clung to a thin reed of hope.

He glanced at Dale and realized what that brief silence was for: Sanj was giving his scrambled brain time to arrive at the obvious.

Now Sanj was speaking again, saying, “Do I need to explain the rules?” and Tom said, “No.”

Tom looked squarely at Dale now, a cold understanding arcing the distance between them. For a heartbeat it looked as if Dale was ready to drop his cargo and bolt, but Tom’s coiled posture told him there would be little point; Tom would run him down and stomp him into submission.

He snugged the receiver to his ear and waited.

* * *

Sanj was sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed with Mandy’s cell phone pressed to his ear, his chill gaze fixed on the boy’s sleeping face.

Mandy stood hunched next to the bed, her own gaze locked on this deranged intruder still in his overcoat, Mandy ready to pounce on him and gouge those black eyes out of his skull should he betray even the slightest intention of harming her boy.