by P W Ross
“Yeah?”
“Keep your powder dry.”
When Parker descended, Norval took a moment and contemplated the merit of his actions.
Pride? None.
Guilt? No.
Regrets? Nil.
Remorse? Maybe.
Sadness? Total.
He opened the ELF Manifesto to the first page and read aloud.
“We are the burning rage of this dying planet.”
“Not bad,” he mused,
“Just needed a little fine-tuning.”
“Sorry I won’t be around to see it.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
Jack wilted into a chair at the station while Parker immediately addressed her laptop. All eyes were on the pair.
“Anything to share?”
“Mission accomplished. Don’t miss tomorrow’s breaking news.”
Ross wanted to know. “Is he coming down?”
“Nope. Tossed his cell out of the tower.”
“Gene, you call the SWAT Team back in?”
“Yep, but Braxton here wants them to go at first light.”
“Lotta folks could get hurt.”
“More like dead. Jeez, just wish I had a way to blow him off there, no shots fired. I need a bomb.”
Jack pivoted to Eugene, eyes gobsmacked.
“What?” What?
“Hell no!... not a bomb... a bomber!”
Eugene raised his eyebrows.
“Rene, Jack, Will, Braxton, my office.”
They huddled for fifteen minutes, animated.
“Sam, Rene, get on the phone to the base and the air show people. Make sure the Mars is still there. Whatever it takes, and I mean whatever. Will, on your horse to The Bay, pronto.”
He roared south, flashers blazing, siren at top pitch.
“Parker, you might want to hold that story till morning. Last chapter’s comin’ up and it’s gonna be a humdinger, a knockout. Nothing more to do now so let’s all try and get some shut-eye. Tomorrow’s gonna be... well... how ‘bout awesome.”
Needless to say, nobody slept it. It was a long, excruciating night.
The Martin Mars. One of seven US troop and cargo carriers that plied the WWII Pacific Theatre. Later retrofitted for two million bucks apiece on the west coast of Canada as forest fire water- bombers. Only the Martin Mars Hawaiian remained air-worthy. Crisp white with brilliant red trim. Length, 120-feet. Wingspan, 200-feet (bigger than a 747). Height 38-feet. Draft 5.5-feet. Weight, a hundred thousand pounds. Powered by four Wright Cyclone, 2500 horsepower piston engines that allowed for ‘low and slow’ bombing.
The crew numbered four. Captain, First Officer and two flight engineers. Just dials, gauges and levers. No computers, no autopilot. No landing gear.
A small launch took Will and the crew onto Lake Nipissing two hundred and fifty feet offshore where the Mars was moored to buoy with a 22,000-pound anchor.
Looking around her, Will queried, “Where’s the auxiliary landing gear?”
The captain just smiled. “Welcome aboard.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
After choking down breakfast of bagels, donuts and coffee, compliments of Pony, the crew ascended the stairs up through the trap door of the flat roof encased by a white picket railing. Rummell, Rene, Braxton and Jack were equipped high with powered Nikon binoculars hanging from their necks. Jill accompanied Pony, Ross (the redundant negotiator) and Parker. Bob had also been invited for the show.
At daybreak, the ninety-year-old flying boat, an aerial anomaly, lifted off Lake Nipissing heading due north. Six miles out the captain skimmed the surface of an early morning, calm Northeast Arm and lowered two six inch diameter scoops. The Mars pitched forward slightly. Twenty-seven seconds later she had loaded thirty tons of water and lumbered laboriously a loft. At three miles, Rummell could pick her out. He lowered the binocs to scan the tower and the main drag.
Now, just a mile out he watched the Mars lumbering in and again took a wayward glance toward the tower. He knew what was in the cards but sugar-plum fairies danced in his head. Somehow bring him down. The big arrest. The trial. The book. The movie. That what you want Eugene?
“Fuck it, let him go out the way he wants,” he said to no one in particular.
Word had gotten out and townies began to fill the blockaded highway. None had umbrellas. Coming in at five hundred feet like an immense gliding goose, the Mars’ cyclones howled as she skirted above the tower, reconnoitring. One mile past she looped back, scouted the tower once more and then exquisitely arched back north to begin the lethal approach. Jack swung his gaze from the bird to the tower. Norval stood atop the south railing of the cupola, feet planted wide and arms spread out and upward clutching the eaves. X marking the spot.
Jack couldn’t hear Norval from that distance, but if he could, he’d have heard him whisper “Come for me.”
Jack cautioned, “That baby can extinguish a four-acre fire with one drop. Gonna get wet. Hold tight.”
Coming north at three hundred feet and a hundred and thirty-eight miles-per-hour, the Mars was Goliath to Norval’s David, but this denouement was not in question. She unleashed seven thousand gallons of pristine water dead-centre, the impact hellacious. The cupola exploded into an expanding globe of splinters and the tower below, relieved of its crown, shuddered and reeled.
With that one aqueous blast, Jack was spellbound.
He watched as it struck Norval directly in the chest and momentarily he vanished into the debris. Then, almost instantly he re-appeared, catapulted and gyrating one hundred yards out from the epicentre, plunging six hundred feet as he disappeared into the old growth forest of giants.
Lake water rained down from one end of town to the other, saturating all. The rooftop was silent. The gang stunned, blankly gazing one to the other. All quiet on the northern front.
Jack grasped Pony’s hand. She set her eyes on Jacks’ pensive gaze. No matter, it was all over now, or was it?
“What are you thinking about, Jack?”
“The pow wows, gunwale-jumping.”
“With Norval?”
“Ami was a strong man. Great paddler. Tougher than rawhide.”
“What are you saying?”
Jack turned to face her.
“He was a roughcast character with a broken heart gone astray.”
He turned back to the destroyed summit of the tower. “Tougher than rawhide,” he repeated softly.
Jack cast Pony a sideways glance, the hint of a grin curving his lips. He inhaled, then exhaled slowly.
Parker slid over, wiping her face, and passed Jack Norval’s leather pouch.
He fondled the medal warmly between his thumb and forefinger, looking to the old growth forest.
“Like father, like son. See you ‘round the corner, Ami.”
Epilogue
The headlines read:
“Ami Norval, The Ted Kaczynski of Canada.”
Nancy Parker, cub reporter, was nominated for a Pulitzer for her story, “The Green Martyr.”
She now works for The New York Times.
The End
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Acknowledgnments
This book is dedicated to Steven Moore, a friend and mentor who encouraged me to finish this work. Steven is a bestselling author in his own right. Gracias Hermano.
Special Thanks to:
Cecilia Patricia Ross
David Donald Ross
David Alexander Ross
Katherine Patricia Ross
Christopher Ross
Nandita Jayanthy
William Stidham
Pamela Dawn Braden
Glenn Griffin
Kenny Peters
Yannis Dettingmeijer
Biography
A Canadian, Peter Ross has spent much of his life on the lakes and in the bush of Northern Ontario. He is a father, sportsman, traveler and former business executive who at one time ended up in the book business. At one prescient moment in his career, crafting for business and marketing endeavours, he finally turned to the novel as the outlet for his imagination, historical approach, insightful research and creativity. He currently spends his time between San Miguel de Allende in the heart of Mexico, and in Canada at his retreats in Collingwood and his beloved cabin in Temagami. Travelling is always in the cards.
You can reach Peter at Tall Pines Publishing, via email: [email protected]
Copyright
First published by Tall Pines Publishing in 2021
Copyright © P W Ross, 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
Walleye
Lake Temagami Map
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Epilogue
Your Review Can Make a Huge Difference
Acknowledgnments
Biography
Copyright
Disclaimer
