The Spirit Survives

by Gary Williams Ramsey

  “Certainly,” she responded, “why don’t you have a seat in my office, and I’ll handle it for you personally.”

  I walked to her office and sat down. She came back quickly with a withdrawal slip for me to sign and asked me if I had a preference of bill denominations. I told her hundreds would be fine, and she left. After less than five minutes she returned with banded stacks of one hundred dollar bills. “Please count it, Mr. Harris,” she said.

  “No need,” I said, “Could you provide me with a bag to carry it?”

  She proceeded to the teller counter, got a zippered bank bag and returned to the office. “Is everything okay?” she asked, placing the money in the bag.

  “Everything is excellent and I sincerely appreciate your assistance and efficiency.”

  She handed me the bag filled with $20,000 dollars. I took the bag, smiled at her and walked out of the bank. I took a deep breath, got into the car and left for the convenience store at the entrance of Lookout Mountain. Even though I was told by the kidnapper to be there at 5:00 a.m., I wanted to check out the place and set my own trap for the bastard.

  Chapter 52

  Petrov was sitting in his car, facing the hospital front exit and had just consumed a large cup of black coffee and a sausage biscuit, which he had purchased at the hospital cafeteria, when he saw the man exit the hospital and walk toward the Burger King on the corner. The man looked a little disoriented, but Petrov got out of his car and followed him on foot. The man entered the restaurant and Petrov watched as he ordered and then sat down to eat his food. Following him into the Burger King, Petrov ordered another cup of black coffee and sat at the opposite end of the restaurant facing the man’s table. He took out his cell phone, checked the picture that Sergey had sent him. Even though the man has a few days growth of beard, he was easily recognizable. It was Harris, no doubt. After eating some of his food, the man went outside and just stood there. Petrov figured that he was waiting on someone, so he hurried to his car, pulled it into the corner of the parking lot, kept his motor running, and watched Harris.

  After a short wait, a light blue Toyota pulled into the parking lot and Harris got in. The car had an Enterprise car rental sign on it. Petrov pursued the car to the Enterprise office. After departing the car rental office, he followed Harris to the bank and waited while the man went inside. He walked out a few minutes later carrying a bank bag. Petrov grinned, thinking he might get lucky and get some extra cash after he got the information about Lopez from the man and killed him. Petrov didn’t have a gun, but he was very comfortable with the butcher knife and a tire iron. He knew that he had to choose his time and place to get to Harris.

  After a few minutes of driving, Petrov realized that Harris was headed for Lookout Mountain. He recognized the same highway he had used when he went there to check it out and saw Lopez kill the cop. He was surprised when Harris turned into the parking lot of the convenience store at the entrance to the mountain. As darkness fell, the man sat in the car for a minute then got out, walking around the area. He appeared to be looking for something in the parking lot. After Harris strolled around the parking lot, he went into the convenience store. Petrov thought, I won’t get a better chance than this to nab him.

  Petrov got out of his car and walked to Harris’s rental. He checked the door and it was unlocked. He got into the back seat, pulled the butcher knife from his belt and waited for Ben to return. In a few minutes Harris came out of the store carrying a soft drink and a bag. Petrov hunched down in the back seat. Ben came straight to the car, got in, put his drink in the cup holder and opened the bag and took out a can of Vienna sausages. As he was opening the can, Petrov grabbed a handful of hair, pulled his head back and put the butcher knife to his throat. Blood trickled from the place where the knife penetrated the skin.

  “Don’t move shithead,” Petrov growled, “Let me tell you what’s going to happen. I’m going to put the point of this knife on the back of your neck against your spinal cord. I want you to start the car and drive up this mountain to the first observation point. Pull in the parking area. If you do anything except exactly what I command, I will shove the knife into your spinal cord and either kill you or make you a cripple for life. Do you understand me?”

  Ben gasped, “Yes.”

  Petrov leisurely took the knife from his throat and moved it to the back of Ben’s neck. He thrust it in just deep enough for the knife’s point to puncture the skin.

  Ben flinched as blood ran down his back. He cranked the car and left the parking lot. As he was glancing in the rear view mirror, he noticed a white compact car pull out behind him. Ben drove up the mountain and pulled into the first observation point parking area. He recognized it as the same place he had parked his car on the day of the murder and the Tornado. Petrov thrust the knife in a little deeper and ripped it out. Ben’s hand went to his neck and the pain almost caused him to black out. In an instant, Petrov was out of the car, opened the driver’s door and had the knife on the side of Ben’s neck again.

  “Get out of the car.” He ordered. Ben braced himself against the car until he steadied. Petrov grasped a handful of Ben’s shirt with his left hand while holding the knife to his throat with his right hand. “We’re going down this path to that clearing. I need some privacy to ask you some questions. If you’re honest, I’ll let you live.”

  Ben stumbled along until they reached the end of the path at the little clearing. The moon was full with a crisp night breeze blowing as the captor and his hostage stopped.

  Ben took a deep breath and spoke, “Are you the man who has Leah? I’ve got your $20,000 dollars in the car.”

  “I don’t know who the hell Leah is,” Petrov retorted, “But I sure as hell can use the money.” Petrol remembered that the girl who Lopez had tied up in his hotel suite said her name was Leah. Bo must be using her as bait to murder this man who saw him kill Veronica.

  “What do you want with me?” Ben said.

  “Listen shithead, you saw a man kill a girl and I want to know what he looks like and exactly what happened.”

  “Why do you ask me about that?” Ben murmured.

  Petrov made another cut on Ben’s neck and more blood trickled down to his shirt.

  “I ask the questions and you just answer, unless you’re tired of living.”

  “Okay!” Ben said, “I saw two men raping a girl. The man doing the raping was a man named Cherokee Alvarez and he died in the cave where I was trapped. The other man restrained her as Alvarez raped her. He was a very tall guy, probably in his fifties with short grey hair. He’s the one who shot the girl in the head. They tried to kill me, but when the twister hit, I was able to get away. That’s all I know.”

  With the description, Petrov knew that Bo Lopez was the killer. When he told Sergey about the rape and the brutality of the killing, Sergey would put Lopez through mortal hell before he ended his life, the Russian thought. Petrov had all he required from this Harris guy. Now all that was left to do was to slit his throat, return to the car, get the money and leave. He knew exactly where to find Bo Lopez.

  Chapter 53

  The Fixer kept a safe distance as he followed Petrov. Bastone had given him the information that the man was staying at the Residence Inn. Following his fling with Macy, and a short nap, he drove to the Residence Inn and went to work. It wasn’t long after he staked out room 98 that Petrov came out. He followed him to the hospital, wondering what the Russian was up to. The Fixer was the consummate professional and subsequent to getting his assignment to shadow Petrov, he performed his own investigation of the man. His contacts told him that this Russian was very dangerous and would kill at the drop of a hat. He was cunning and had eluded death from the best professionals inside and outside the law.

  The Fixer observed as Petrov followed the man into the Burger King. He stayed near the Russian’s car, knowing that he had to come back for it. He quickly deduced that Petrov was following the guy from the hospital. When the man got out of the car to go int
o the Enterprise rental office, the Fixer retrieved his binoculars, so he could get a close look at the man’s face. The stranger looked oddly familiar to him. He just couldn’t figure out where he had seen him before.

  He followed them to the convenience store and viewed Petrov through his night vision binoculars as the Russian abducted the guy. He got another close look at the man’s face as he was coming out of the convenience store. He slapped his head, desperately trying to recall where he had seen him before. Even in his sixties, the Fixer had an extraordinary memory of faces and names. There was a deep stirring inside him telling him that this guy was a prominent player in his life.

  He trailed them as they left the parking lot with Petrov holding the knife to the back of the man’s neck. The Fixer killed his headlights as they entered Lookout Mountain. The road was barren and he slowly drove his car watching them through his binoculars. After only a mile, they turned into the first parking area. The Fixer quietly pulled to the side of the road. He watched as Petrov led the man down a sloping path. As soon as they were out of sight, he pulled his car as far to the right as possible on the side of the road. He took his pistol from the glove compartment, checked to be sure there was a bullet in the chamber and exited his car to follow them.

  As he steadily walked toward the path where the men had descended, it hit him like a ton of bricks. The image of the stranger’s face exploded in his mind. He had to stop and gather his wits as he momentarily wavered. The image of the man looked just like him when he was that age. He couldn’t comprehend how anyone could look so much like him, and that he could also perceive characteristics of his first wife in the man’s features.

  He recognized what he had to do. Regardless of his assignment and the possible wrath of the Benefactor, he had to know this man’s identity. He took each step cautiously and quietly as he walked down the path. He overheard voices as he approached the bottom. Petrov still had the big knife to the man’s throat, and he heard the stranger relating the details of a murder he had witnessed. Petrov’s response indicated that he had what he needed. The Fixer knew that the Russian had brought the man to this deserted spot for only one reason. As soon as he got want he wanted, he would kill him. Petrov left no witnesses and this man had seen his face. The Fixer would have handled the situation in exactly the same manner.

  One quick slash and the man would be dead, so the Fixer had no time to spare.

  He fired a shot in the air and yelled, “Drop the knife Petrov, or the next one will be in your fucken head.”

  Petrov dropped the knife and turned to face him. “Step away from the man, you bastard, and keep your hands up.” The Fixer ordered. He turned his pistol toward the man, “What’s your name?” he asked in a calmer voice.

  “Ben Harris,” was the reply.

  The Fixer froze after hearing the name. That gave Petrov the time he needed. In one fluid motion he stooped, picked up the butcher knife and expertly, with violent force, threw it forward. The knife plunged deeply into the Fixer’s chest as he dropped the pistol and crumpled to the ground.

  Petrov, “The Invincible”, had averted another encounter with certain death. He turned back to Ben Harris to finish the job. This time he planned to do it with his bare hands. Petrov loved crushing the life out of people with his bare hands.

  The Fixer lay dying near the spot where Veronika had drawn her last breath.

  Chapter 54

  After determining that I could spot any car entering the parking lot, I went into the convenience store to get a drink and something to eat. My appetite was returning and I had nothing to eat but the hamburger bun. I purchased a can of Vienna sausages, a pack of cheese crackers and a Diet Coke. Just as I was opening the can, I felt the knife at my throat. Initially, I thought it was the kidnapper, but the man with the heavy Russian accent indicated that he didn’t know Leah. I was mystified at what he wanted from me as we drove to Lookout Mountain and he led me to the small clearing. When he asked me about the young girl’s rape and murder, I realized that I was a pawn in a very complicated chess game. My only option was to tell him the truth and wait for an opening to disarm him. He was expert in keeping me in a position of helplessness. I was still weak and I wasn’t sure if I could deliver a blow with enough force to stop him.

  I eventually figured out that I had nothing to lose, and that I had to try something. He might cut my throat, but I couldn’t go down without a fight. Just as I was about to make a move, I heard the gunshot and a man commanding the Russian to drop the knife. When he dropped the knife, we both turned to face the voice. The man holding the gun was in his sixties with grey hair. His face looked gentle, but his eyes showed a fierceness to be reckoned with. I instantly recognized something familiar about his features. If the grey hair was transformed to black and the face had shed thirty-five years it could be the man who left my mother and me when I was a child.

  When I responded to his question, telling him my name, he looked temporarily stunned. He hesitated and in that instant the Russian dropped him with the butcher knife. As the Russian turned to face me, I delivered a side pivot kick to his groin. Normally, if I were healthy and at full strength, this blow would have kept a normal man down for a long time.

  I wasn’t at full strength and this was not an ordinary man. He went to his knee but was up quickly. I swerved to the left and sent a straight right hand to his nose. I felt the bones crack as my knuckles connected solidly. With blood flowing from his broken nose, he kept coming. I tried another side pivot kick to the groin, but he grabbed my leg and hurled me to the ground. His raw strength astonished me. I rolled to my right, evading his foot as he attempted to crush my head with his heel. I was able to get to my feet, but he was instantly on me. As he grabbed me, I pointed my index and middle fingers and speared him in his left eye. I knew I had blinded that eye, but he kept the bear hug and threw me to the ground. His face looked grotesque with blood spilling out of his broken nose and his left eye bleeding and almost out of its socket. He pounced on me and I felt his huge hands closed around my throat. His anger had his adrenaline flowing at maximum levels as he attempted to squeeze the life out of me. I had nothing left in me to fight him. Things were going black and my life began to drain out of my body.

  Then a gunshot brought me back to consciousness. I felt the Russian’s brains’ splatter on my face as he slumped forward. I gathered all the strength I had left in me and shoved him to the side and off my body. I pushed with my right hand and sat up. The man, with the knife still poking out of his chest, sat there with the smoking gun in his hand. I thought for a moment that he was going to kill me too. However, he dropped the gun and fell backward.

  I got up and rushed to his side. I kicked the gun away sat down beside him. He eyes were open and he was breathing heavily He was trying to speak to me, but he had trouble shaping the words. He grunted and pointed to his back pocket. I think he wanted me to take his wallet from the pants. I carefully lifted him and pulled his wallet out and opened it. On the left side of the wallet was a picture holder revealing his driver’s license. I looked at it with astonishment. The name read, Francis Stephen Harris. He was my father. The man who had abandoned me and my mother and who had caused me nightmares over the years had just saved my life. I looked down into his eyes. “Oh Dad.”

  He was still trying to talk, but the words came out as a whisper, I bent down and put my ear to his lips.

  “I know I’ve let you down”, he said in a halting, whispering breath. “I’ve thought of you often but didn’t want to confuse your life by coming to see you. Please, forgive me, please.”

  “I forgive you, Dad,” I whispered in his ear. He smiled and reached for my hand. He squeezed it.

  “I’ve got to go get help for you,” I said.

  “No need,” he whispered, “I’m done. I love you, son.”

  I wept as I heard the last breath leave his body. I said, “I love you too, Dad,” but he didn’t hear me. I sat there holding his limp hand thinking of the relationshi
p that a boy always wished to have with his father—that I never had.

  He had forever redeemed himself by saving my life and sharing that one moment of love with me. As strange as it sounds, I will miss him.

  Chapter 55

  The Federal Bureau of Investigation contains a division that is responsible for the investigation of organized crime in the USA. Drug cartels and the various Mafia groups are the principal focus. Ahalya Verma Singh joined the FBI two years after obtaining her American Citizenship and had been a trusted agent for five years. Her Indian heritage and her uncommon beauty were extraordinary assets in her current assignment as an undercover agent inside La Cosa Nostra. She successfully penetrated the group and was used extensively by Mario Bastone, who was a principal in the largest Chicago Mafia family. The FBI was very familiar with Bastone, but the primary target was a man known only as the Benefactor. They were hoping that the relationship between Ahalya and Bastone would lead to the discovery of the identity of this kingpin. The Benefactor appeared to have a web of controls over the drug cartels and a strong connection with La Cosa Nostra. He had connections in law enforcement and a network of associates. However, no one knew his name.

  Ahalya was a loyal agent and a loving daughter. All of her family, except an uncle, still lived in India. Her family was of modest means, and she sent money to them monthly. Even though her father was in the lower middle class, he was still heavily involved in regional politics. Mr. Singh fought tirelessly against corruption in his government. His opposition was so intense that soon he was considered an enemy of the state and arrested. Since he had very little money, he had no means to fight this unjust arrest. He required a team of the finest lawyers in India to assist him but that would cost thousands. His family was devastated and penniless when they turned to Ahalya for help.