Chapter 16 #2
Ellen knew that Gerald operated two planes, one for executives in his company and one he reserved for his own personal use. A Gulfstream. She knew how much it had cost, second hand, how much it cost to operate, how much of that cost he deducted from his taxes.
This was probably his plane. He could fly out whenever he wanted, without asking anyone’s permission. He could fly anywhere he wanted.
Bearclaw had a small airfield of its own.
Gerald’s pilots could land after dark and no one would ever know she’d been on the plane.
If he did to her what he’d done to Arlen and that Mikowski and Roddy and poor Kerry—whatever that devil’s voice from hell said, Kerry was dead—well, Gerald owned over 7,000 acres of land, much of it swamp.
He could bury her where no one would ever find her. Not all the police officers and all the dogs in the world would find her.
She was lost and had no cards left to play.
Both front car doors opened as the men got out. Ellen squeezed her eyes shut. The only tiny advantage she had was the fact that they couldn’t know she’d regained consciousness. Drugs affected different people in different ways.
If she could just pretend she was still unconscious, she could…she could what?
Live.
Live just a few moments more. Feel her body, wracked with pain though it was. Breathe, even if it was dust and diesel fuel fumes. Think. Think of Harry and what, maybe, they might have had together.
Tears seeped from her eyes, though she didn’t have the use of her hands to wipe them.
Harry.
Would what they’d found be true, lasting?
Oh God. Images, dense, full of the color and the weight of truth, flashed through her mind.
Harry laughing, sipping wine while she cooked.
She wasn’t much of a cook, but he loved her, he’d choke it down.
Sitting with a half smile on his face while she sang for him.
Unearthly joy on his face as he held their newborn child.
Hours, days, weeks, years spent together. Loving each other, loving their family. Their children would grow up together with Sam and Nicole’s children in a tight and loving circle, utterly protected and safe. So unlike her childhood and Harry’s. Mike would be a doting uncle.
Watching them grow up, day by day, year by year. She’d record songs, maybe play a few gigs in the San Diego area. Harry’s company would expand because he and Sam and Mike were so good at what they did. She’d keep their books because she was good at it.
At the end of the working day, a happy family to come home to. Christmases, Easters, birthdays, anniversaries. All celebrated with love.
The mess and fuss of kids. Fights, laughter, triumphs, the dramas of the young. They wouldn’t have to keep the tight rein on themselves she’d had to because there’d be solid earth beneath their feet.
Strong, happy kids. Kids who grew up to follow their dreams. She and Harry would grow older, weaker, happier. Grandkids…
It was all something that would happen to another Ellen and Harry, in an alternate universe. In this one, she’d disappear, and he’d mourn another lost one he couldn’t save.
She’d die, lose all that love and laughter and for what? So Gerald could keep his empire built on larceny and murder and greed. So he could kill with impunity. Just snuff out people’s lives because it suited him.
It was monstrous. He was a monster.
Thank God she’d emailed the FBI and thank God Harry and Mike and Sam had the information Nicole had uncovered. They’d make sure it got into FBI hands.
Maybe Gerald would go down, after all. The FBI was good, thorough, uncorrupted. They wouldn’t be like Gerald’s tame officers back home. They’d dig and dig and dig.
Utter hatred for Gerald pulsed in her. Hatred for all of them—for the man who’d battered Harry’s little sister to death, for the man Kerry had been so afraid of, but above all, hatred of Gerald and all his men—prickled through her veins like some kind of drug.
She was going to die, but by God before she did, she was going to hurt Gerald, somehow.
The back door opened, and the engine noises and sharp diesel fuel fumes assaulted her senses. She stayed completely still, eyes closed and unmoving. She’d be deadweight. Good. Make them work at getting her out of the car.
“You get her.” Gerald’s cold voice. She’d recognize it anywhere.
“Yeah. I’ll take her up into the plane.” The second man had an odd accent. The accent everyone spoke in a Clint Eastwood film, Invictus. South African.
“You do that. I’ll talk with the pilots. They’ll be ready for takeoff. Let’s get in the air.”
Ellen tried to will herself to be unwieldy, but the blond man was really strong.
He didn’t try to carry her across his front.
He pulled her up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, steps loud on the concrete floor, moving swiftly up the plane’s stairs, holding her legs with one arm around her knees.
She felt the South African dip and they passed into the cabin. The quality of the air changed immediately. Fresher, cleaner. The outside noise abated then disappeared when she heard a door thump close.
They were in the airplane.
She was unceremoniously dumped in a leather chair. She lolled, making her whole body limp, arms dangling.
Everything hurt, but she was alive.
Maybe they would stay here for a while, in the airplane. Maybe they were waiting for someone. Maybe the plane needed refuelling.
Would there be a way for the FBI to find Gerald? Would a flight plan have been filed?
When she disappeared, Harry would read her email and contact the FBI immediately. As her head slowly cleared of the drug and she was able to put two thoughts together, hope surged through her.
Harry’d be pushing the FBI to find them, they’d be on the lookout, canvassing all roads, trains, buses, planes.
Maybe all she needed was for Gerald and this South African guy to stay in the plane while the FBI and Harry did their thing.
Stay here, she ordered the plane.
As if in answer, there was an incomprehensible announcement from the pilot’s cabin over the speakers and the engines fired up. A minute later, the plane started slowly moving.
Ellen chanced cracking an eye open and saw that the plane was taxiing from the hangar out into the sunlight.
The place looked utterly deserted. Even if she sprang to her feet and pounded on the windows, there was no one to hear. No one to care.
The notes on the engines changed as the pilot engaged a higher gear. They were moving out.
This was it. She was as good as dead.
“How much further?” Sam asked.
Harry made the calculations in his head, looking at the green dot, still now, looking at the overlying map.
“Two miles. Couple of minutes.” He lifted his head.
“There!” He pointed straight ahead, where the airfield was slowly coming into focus.
Several medium-sized hangars, a couple of small jets parked outside them.
While he watched, a Boeing 707 lifted off.
Somewhere on that airfield was Ellen.
Hold on, honey. I’m coming.
“Where’s the entrance?” Sam asked. He didn’t even dare flick a glance Harry’s way. He was pushing the vehicle to the max.
Harry ran his finger over the map, around, around…
“Shit! It’s on the north side! If she’s already on the plane we don’t have time to circle the perimeter.”
“Hold on.” Sam’s face was grim as he gripped the wheel hard, wrenched it, brought the vehicle around 45° in a swirl of dust until they were facing the fence.
He pressed the accelerator down to the floor and was doing at least 100 miles an hour when they burst through the carbon wire fencing, posts popping out on either side. “Which hangar?”
That was harder and Harry had to get it right. He stared at the small monitor as if Ellen could post a message to him there. Where are you, honey?
There. His finger tightened on the green dot on the screen. She was there.
“Two o’clock. Green hangar. Mike—you got our gear set up?”
“Count on it,” Mike’s deep bass came from behind. And Harry did because Mike was good with gear. “You got your head screwed on straight?”
Harry knew what Mike was asking. Was he going to be a member of the team or was he going to be an uncontrollable wild card, capable of jeopardizing the mission, costing them their lives?
Harry looked ahead at the hangar, the size of a thumb on the horizon but growing fast. When they got there, they would have one shot at saving Ellen. One. Any misstep and he could end up with a dead Ellen and dead brothers and his life in smoking ruins.
He was scared shitless he’d fuck up. He had to get his head out of that space, fast. He pressed his head against the headrest, bracing himself, feeling every nerve and muscle in his body tense, heart pounding, the refrain ellenellenellen beating fast in his head, hands curled, thick and clumsy, on his knees.
His head felt light and for a second, he just watched the hangar getting bigger and bigger on the horizon.
A sharp blow to his shoulder from behind. “Harry!” Mike said sharply. “Come back!”
And his head cleared, his hands felt normal again and the palm-sized building on the horizon had Ellen in it, a hair’s breadth from dying.
He hadn’t been able to save Crissy though God knows he’d tried. That fuckhead Rod had just picked her up and smashed her against a wall as if she’d been a doll instead of a delightful little girl.
They won. They always won, the fuckers. Always.
This stopped right here, right now. Ellen was the love of his life, light in darkness.
She’d saved his life over those long painful months of rehab, that lovely voice in the darkness singing just for him.
Understanding pain and turning it into magic.
Magic. The woman was magic, the woman of a lifetime and he was not going to lose her to Gerald Montez or to Piet van der Boeke.
His whole life came down to this, to this one moment. If he lost this, if he lost Ellen, and if his brothers got hurt or killed, his entire life was gone.
Wasn’t going to happen.