by L. T. Ryan
2
Bear sat in the front passenger seat of Detective Larsen’s unmarked police cruiser. The detective had said he’d only be a few minutes. That was ten minutes ago. They were wasting time as far as Bear was concerned. Every minute they weren’t looking for Mandy, she could be another mile further away. Larsen still hadn’t told him anything. Said that he needed to make a stop first.
Bear looked over the small one story house. He opened his door and placed a foot on the ground. Tired of waiting, he was going to walk in. He started across the lawn and then Larsen stepped out of the house. He waved, gesturing for Bear to come inside.
Bear walked up the cracked concrete walkway that split the brown excuse for a front lawn. He stopped on the porch, in front of Larsen.
Bear said, “What’s this? What’s going on? You need to tell me something.”
Larsen lit a cigarette. Offered one to Bear. He declined.
“OK, the guy that lives here, he saw your little girl today. Described her exactly.”
“Where is she?”
“I’m getting to that. I want to brief you on some things first.”
Bear opened his mouth to speak. Changed his mind.
“The man that lives here is one of my informants. He works for a man named Boris Melikov. That name ring any bells?”
Bear searched his memory. Came up with nothing. He shook his head.
“He’s a Russian terrorist.”
“That a fact?”
“Opinion. At the very least he’s a thug. He’s the one I mentioned in the hospital. Has half my department on his payroll. I suspected him from the get go. There’s no way that anyone gets away with what they pulled off at the bank. They were in there far too long. Hell, we’re only a two minute drive to the bank from the precinct.”
Bear nodded and said nothing while gesturing for Larsen to continue.
“So anyways, this guy, he confirmed it. Saw the men return to the house with dark duffel bags.” Larsen stopped and wiped his brow. “And a little blond-haired girl.”
“Let me talk to him.”
Larsen held up his hands, extending his index fingers into the air. He said, “I’ll let you talk, but don’t screw with this guy. OK? He’s one of my best sources. The best source I have for anything related to Melikov. Nobody, and I mean nobody, knows I’ve got this guy talking. I’m close to bringing Boris down. You got that?”
“Yeah,” Bear said. “I got it. Now, let me talk to him.”
Larsen nodded. He pushed the brown front door open and walked into the house.
Bear stepped through the doorway. The warm air coated his face and a thin layer of sweat formed. The residual smell of a burnt dinner invaded his nose. Two antique lamps lit the room, giving it a yellowish glow.
The man sat on the couch. His right leg crossed over his left. His left leg bouncing up and down. He had light brown hair and a slender pale face. Pale except for the red spot on his cheek where Larsen must have punched him.
“This is my associate,” Larsen said. “His name is Logan.”
The man nodded at Bear. Crossed his arms. Said nothing.
“Tell me what you saw,” Bear said.
The man sat up. He leaned forward and dropped his arms over his bent knee. He spoke in a deep voice, deeper than Bear expected from a man so small in stature.
“Like I told the detective, I was working at Melikov’s place today—”
“You work for him?” Bear asked.
“Yes.”
“Part of his organization?”
“No,” the man said. “It’s not like that. I don’t go out and commit crimes or any of that stuff. I work in the house. Cooking and stuff.”
“A servant.”
The man pursed his lips and dropped his head an inch.
“Go on,” Bear said.
“There really isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid. The door opened and five men stepped through. Four carried duffel bags, from the bank robbery, I guess. One carried a little girl.”
“Describe the men,” Bear said.
“They were a blur. I tuned them out. Probably because I had seen them in the house before. The girl stood out, though.”
“Describe her to me.”
“Blond hair. Looked to be about ten. She had on a red t-shirt and jeans. I started toward them and one of Boris’s men told me to go to the kitchen. I really don’t know what happened after that. I went off shift an hour later and didn’t see the girl or the men again.”
Bear studied the man for a few minutes. Locked eyes with him. The guy didn’t waver. Didn’t look away. Didn’t blink but once or twice. Bear believed him.
“I think he’s legit,” Larsen said. “He’s provided me with solid intel before.”
Bear walked around to the back of the sofa where the man sat. Each step he took was slow and deliberate. He asked, “What’s your name?”
The man started to speak but Larsen cut him off.
“That’s unnecessary, Bear. You don’t need his name.”
Bear stopped and glanced at Larsen. He felt his cheeks burn hot. He took a deep breath decided to concede the name. For now.
“OK, no names then. This is what you are going to do. Tomorrow, you are going to find out wherever they are hiding her, and you are going to tell her not to worry because Bear is coming for her soon.”
“I—I can’t do that. They could kill me.”
“I can kill you,” Bear said. “And I can make it a hell of a lot more painful than anything they will do.”
“Bear,” Larsen said. “C’mon, he’s not in a position to be able to do that.”
“You think I friggin’ care?” Bear said. “As far as I’m concerned he’s a notch below those bastards. He saw them bring in a child and did nothing to stop it.”
“What do you think I could have done? These men are killers.”
Bear paused. He circled the couch and stopped in front of the man. Knelt down so that he was eye level.
“This is my little girl. You got that? I will stop at nothing to rescue her. Don’t care how many people I have to kill to rescue her. I don’t care if I have to die for her to be free. You mean nothing to me. Boris means nothing to me. Larsen means nothing to me. Only her. You understand?”
The man bobbed his head up and down in a short, jerky motion.
“OK. There’s one more thing. Either you do as I ask, or the first person I kill is you.”
“Bear,” Larsen said. “That is uncalled—”
“And the next person will be you, Detective. I’m not screwing around here.”
Bear stood and turned to face Larsen. He took a breath in an effort to compose himself.
Larsen’s face was bright red. His thick jaw muscles worked overtime. His eyes were narrow and dark and burned with anger.
The informant stood. He reached out his hand toward Bear.
“I’ll do it, Mr., uh, Bear.”
Bear grabbed the man’s hand.
“On one condition,” the man said.
“What’s that?”
“You do me a favor when this is all over with.”
Larsen said, “Wait a minute. I don’t know that this—”
“What’s the favor?” Bear asked.
“I’ll tell you after you’ve rescued the girl.”
Bear said, “I’ll do anything.” And he meant it.
3
All Clarissa wanted to do was walk away from the wreckage. Slip into the darkness and disappear. No one had to know that she survived the crash. Not Sinclair, not anyone.
She held the little girl in her arms. The child’s adrenaline had worn off and the pain of her broken ankle had hit her full force. Tears streamed down her face. She clenched her eyes. Soft whimpers had given way to sobs. She cried for her mother.
“Over here,” a voice called from near the ambulance.
Clarissa picked up her pace. She was careful not to go too fast, for fear of dropping the child. She still didn’t know the girl’s name
and didn’t think this was the appropriate time to ask, although she was sure the medic would want to know.
“Is she unconscious?”
“No,” Clarissa said. “She did good. Walked out of the plane and all the way over here. But, it’s her ankle. Looks broken.”
The medic motioned toward a spot on the ground and Clarissa set the girl down. She took a few steps back and watched the medic go to work. He examined the little girl from head to toe. It seemed he spent an exorbitant amount of time checking her head and neck. Clarissa figured that was standard and probably an extra concern considering they appeared to be the sole survivors of a major crash. The only survivors she had seen so far.
The medic stood and turned to face Clarissa.
“Your little girl is going to be OK,” he said. Before Clarissa could correct him, he continued. “She has a broken ankle. I’m betting her tibia is broken as well. Lots of sensitivity to touch. We’ll get her to a hospital soon. Need to assess the rest of the injured and see how many walking wounded we have, and how many serious injuries there are. Once we know that, we can get her moved. She’s in no danger of further injury.”
Clarissa nodded. She decided not to tell him that she wasn’t the girl’s mother. A free ride away from the crash site sounded nice.
He asked, “Did you see many survivors?”
She shook her head.
“Only us. There were…” her voice trailed off and she paused a few moments. “There were voices from the back of the plane. But the fire, it was too big. There were flames everywhere and I couldn’t get to them.” Her eyes watered over.
The medic reached out and grabbed her arm. Squeezed it reassuringly. “There’s nothing you could do. That’s why we’re here. If anyone on that plane survived, we’ll get them out alive.”
Clarissa smiled despite the pain associated with the loss of the lives of people she never knew. The lives of the survivors she could not save.
The medic put a splint on the girl’s leg to stabilize it, and then left them alone by the ambulance to check on the rescue operations.
“Hey,” Clarissa said. “What’s your name?”
“Sarah,” the girl said.
“I’m Clarissa.” She knelt down and took a seat next to the girl on the ground. “Is it OK if I ride with you to the hospital?”
Sarah nodded.
Clarissa felt around her bag and found her cell phone. She pulled the phone out. Turned it on.
“Do you want to call your parents?”
Sarah reached for the phone and dialed her parents’ number. Clarissa heard the sound of a frantic mother on the other end of the line. Panic turned to sobs and tears of joy when the little girl said, “Hi, Mommy,” and then everything, at least in one person’s world, was OK.
Twenty minutes passed and the medic returned. The glimmer of hope his eyes once held was gone. In its place were sorrow and emptiness.
He grimly said, “We’re going to transport you to the hospital now.”
* * *
Clarissa tried to leave when they reached the hospital, but an army of nurses and medics and doctors escorted her along with Sarah to an empty bay in the emergency room.
It wasn’t until the doctor started asking about Sarah’s medical history that Clarissa spoke up.
“I’m not her mother.”
“What?” a thin, dark nurse said.
“I saw her sitting alone and moved seats while the plane was going down. Didn’t want her to be alone.”
“Courageous of you,” the doctor said. “Now, do you know a way of reaching her mother?”
Clarissa reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. She held it out to the doctor, who redirected Clarissa to the nurse.
“Yes,” Clarissa said. “She called her from my phone.”
They dialed the last number and got the mother on the line. She provided the staff with the information they needed.
Clarissa moved to the head of the bed and leaned in toward Sarah. She whispered in her ear.
“I’m going to leave now, OK. Your mommy will be here before you know it. Everything is going to be OK.” Clarissa paused and thought back to the wreckage. She recalled that the seat she had been sitting in had been crushed, the back folded over the front, mashed to the floor. If she had remained there, she’d be dead. “Thank you for saving me.”
The girl smiled at Clarissa. She turned her head and kissed Clarissa’s cheek.
Clarissa put her hands to her face and walked out of the room.
“Miss,” a nurse called from behind. “Where are you going? You need to be checked out, too. You could have a concussion or an internal injury.”
Clarissa ignored the nurse’s warning. She followed in reverse the path they took when they arrived. Turned toward the emergency room waiting area instead of continuing down the hall to the door the medics used as an entrance and an exit. She passed through the waiting room. All eyes darted to her. She tried not to pay attention to them. The fact that everyone stared at her took her aback a bit, though. When she reached the glass double doors she saw why. The dark sky behind the doors turned them into an eight by eight mirror. Her clothes were torn and singed and colored dark from ash. Soot covered her face. How had anyone been able to take her seriously up to this point?
She looked over her shoulder. Located the bathroom. Made her way in and washed up. She couldn’t do much about her clothes, but at least she was able to make her face a little more presentable.
People continued to stare after she exited the bathroom. She didn’t care. She stepped in front of the glass doors and waited for them to open. The cold night air stung her face and arms like thousands of tiny pin pricks. She had no coat. It had been lost during the crash. She crossed her arms and hugged herself tight.
Where to go? She scanned the parking lot for a taxi or a shuttle. Saw neither.
The question lingered. Where to go? More importantly, what to do? The thought she’d had after the crash crept up again. She could be free. She could disappear. No one would ever know. She hadn’t given her name to anyone except the little girl. For all anyone knew, Clarissa Abbot had died in the plane crash.
Maybe she could find Bear and Mandy. Start a new life. With her training and new skills she could go into business with Bear.
She felt torn. A decision about what to do once she’d disappeared didn’t have to be made at that moment. But she did have to make a decision on whether or not to leave. She had a job to do for Sinclair. Should she reach out to him? Or should she let him, and the rest of the world, believe that she was dead. What about her remains? Her belongings? She traveled light, and had no checked-in baggage. Only carry-on. And she had it all with her. There would be no body, no computer, no clothes. And no phone.
She looked down at her hand and the buzzing cell phone. She turned the phone over in her palm to see who was calling her. Sinclair. She didn’t answer.
Clarissa stuffed the phone into her pocket. She looked across the parking lot at a sea of empty cars and vans and SUVs. She stepped off the curb and began crossing the road. Her first steps toward freedom. A freedom that was a city bus stop and Greyhound station away.
She heard the sound of a car. A car that traveled far too fast for a hospital parking lot. Clarissa turned her head to the left and saw a pair of headlights racing toward her. Close. Too close. She leapt out of the way, landing on a narrow strip of soft grass.
Brakes squealed. A door opened and closed. Footsteps approached.
She rolled over on her back and propped herself up on her elbows. Recognition filled her mind at the sight of the approaching man. He was on the team. Clarissa knew little of him, though. They had never worked together. She had asked Sinclair about him one time and he told her that Randy was there to clean up the messes they made.
One of his arms dangled further than the other. A weapon. A gun. And it was equipped with a canister at the end. She knew the canister was a suppressor.
“Randy,” she said. “Do
n’t shoot.”
Randy said, “Get up.”
She took her time getting to her feet, making sure to keep him in her line of sight. She was unarmed. Had to be to get on the plane.
“What’s with the gun?”
Randy raised his arm and looked sideways at the weapon. “In case you decide not to come.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t come?”
“You didn’t answer Sinclair’s call.”
Clarissa said nothing. She squeezed her cell phone. So many split second decisions had to be made to get off the plane alive. The thought of leaving her phone behind had never crossed her mind. Of course, the phone. They kept track of all of them via their cell phones.
“I mean, we thought it was odd that your phone traveled thirty miles from the site of the crash, all the way to this hospital, and you never bothered to call. Then when your phone rings, you just look at it and stuff it in your pants.” His eyes traveled down her body and stopped on her midsection.
Clarissa asked, “What are you doing in Omaha? Why were you here to begin with?”
“I wasn’t. I was in Des Moines, Iowa.”
Clarissa narrowed her eyes and recalled any and all knowledge she had of Des Moines and Iowa, which turned out to be not much at all.
“That’s where you were going to end up,” he said.
Randy was there to clean up the messes they made.
“I—I, but…”
He smiled and took a step forward. He reached up and brushed strands of blowing hair behind her ear.
Her body wanted to convulse at his touch. She fought the urge.
“Don’t worry, Clarissa,” he said. “As long as you are on board, I’m not going to do anything to you. Unless the boss instructs me otherwise.”
“Then what were you doing in Des Moines if that’s where I was going?”
Randy was there to clean up the messes they made.
“I’ve been taking care of something in Minneapolis related to what you’re getting into. Sinclair asked me to come down and brief you. After that I was gonna bail.”
She watched his dark eyes as they darted left to right. His heavy brow and face appeared relaxed.
Randy took a step back. Tucked his gun away. Said, “So what’s it going to be, kid?”
