Cinch Knot

by Ron Walden

Dan and Roger then returned to the hall where their friend was lying on the slate patio just outside the glass door. The left side of John’s head was covered with blood and the clear liquid from inside his skull cavity was oozing out onto the slate. He had been struck twice in the chest, but his armored vest had absorbed the power of those shots. Two of the shots, both fatal strikes, one in the neck, and the other above the ear. The entry wound was not visible, but the exit wound on the left side of the head was a gruesome hole.

  Dan knelt beside his fallen friend. Only moments ago they were attacking a common foe and now he lay here, lifeless.

  Roger spoke softly to the officer standing near John’s body. “Go inside and call an ambulance. Don’t put this on the radio. I don’t want any mention of this to get out until Dan and I can talk with John’s wife.”

  The young officer nodded and moved into the house. Dan took a tablecloth from a table on the patio and covered their friend. He was fighting back tears when he finally spoke.

  “I guess we had better finish what we came here to do.”

  “Yeah. Let’s go. Be careful; I don’t want to lose any more friends today.” The lump in Roger’s throat seemed the size of a basketball.

  The search of the rest of the house turned up only two more guards, who gave up without a fight. There was a cook and a gardener. The cook said the other servants had been given the day off. She also said that Mr. Bergstrom and Mr. Talbert had left in the jet late last night.

  Roger assigned several officers to get all the files and computer discs from the offices. A specialist would have to be summoned to open the three safes on the premises.

  When the ambulance arrived, Dan and Roger stood silently on the front porch as John’s body was taken away. Each remembered the good times with their friend. Years of friendship and association would be treasured memories. The task of breaking the news to Sonja and the children would be horrendous They were a close family and this was going to be exceptionally hard on them.

  Roger contacted Felson on the radio. He asked the DEA man to meet them at the hangar. They also called Smokey Stover and asked him to land for a conference at the hangar.

  The little Cessna landed and the engine came to a stop where the other three men were waiting. Felson suggested they talk inside the air-conditioned office. The temperature being more tolerable.

  “John’s dead,” Roger hesitated. “ He was shot by one of the guards in the house. Bergstrom skipped last night. His right-hand man went with him. We don’t know where they went, but they took most of the records. We haven’t had a chance to look at anything in detail, but I don’t think there is very much left. The fat bastard beat us again.” He turned away.

  There was a long silence in the room. Dan was again feeling the heat in his eyes and the tears trying to escape. “Did you guys find anything?” he asked.

  “We’re still looking,” Felson said softly. “We’ve arrested eight people so far. Two of them are harmless caretakers. We got four from the hangar here: they were destroying records and had the safe open. We found four Kilo bags of cocaine and a brick of marijuana and will tag the helicopter for seizure. The other two were armed guards but gave up without a fight. It’s going to take some time to inventory all this.”

  “I don’t like leaving all this work for you, Larry, but can you handle all the investigation here if Dan and I go into town? We’ll check in with Dave to see if everything went okay on his end; then go to see Sonja Sutter. I don’t want her to hear about this from a stranger. She is really going to take it hard.” His voice cracked with emotion. He turned and stepped away from the group, in an attempt to regain his composure.

  “Sure, I can handle it. I know you two were really close to John. I worked with him a few times in the past and liked him. I could count on him. Just one of those people you always like to have on your side. I’ll wrap up here and see you tomorrow.”

  “If you don’t need me here anymore, Larry, I can fly them back to town. I’ll drive them from the airport back to the office,” Smokey said, breaking his long silence.

  “Good idea. See you all tomorrow.”

  The three men stopped at the Bergstrom Building on the way from the airport. They checked in with Dave Vrobec. Most of the real hard evidence they expected to find had been removed. The regular employees were unaware of most of Bergstrom’s activity and no arrests were made in the offices. There was however, a mountain of data from files and computers which must be read and evaluated, a job that would take several days to complete. Roger told Dave about John’s death and asked that he keep it quiet until they had a chance to talk with Sonja. After satisfying himself the job was being done properly and thoroughly, Roger returned to the office to break the news to Gwen.

  Once inside the DEA office, Smokey went on his own way. Roger and Dan went immediately to the communications center to notify the head office in Washington of the death of one of their officers. It would be a sad afternoon in Phoenix and in Washington, D.C.. John was a respected bureau chief. A DEA officer was asked to take over for Gwen at the radio and Roger took her into John’s office and told her what happened. Gwen let the tears come. “Poor Sonja” she repeated again and again. She held tightly to Roger and sobbed into his chest. He held her gently. They held each other for a long, long while.

  Dan knocked softly on the office door and poked his head into the room. “I think we should go now,” he said.

  Roger helped Gwen to the waiting car and drove across town to the Desert Sands Motel. Each wondering what to say, how to soften the news. There was no easy way. They were still pondering the question when they stopped in front of the motel. As they approached the door, the agent on duty stepped out.

  “Stick around; we may need you,” Roger instructed.

  Dan opened the door with his key and the trio stepped inside. Beth and Sonja were on the patio, drinking iced tea. They stood when they heard Dan call. Beth slid the patio door open and stepped inside. Sonja was only a couple of steps behind. The two women were smiling and greeted the three newcomers. First Beth “Hi, are you through already?”

  Then Sonja, “Well, that didn’t take long.”

  “This must be Gwen,” Beth said stepping further into the room. That’s when she saw their grim faces. The realization hit her suddenly.

  “Where is John? Oh, Dan! Has something happened to John?”

  Sonja pushed her way past Beth to look Dan and Roger in the eyes.

  “Where is John? Is he okay?” She saw the pain on the faces of the officers. She knew something terrible had happened but didn’t want to admit it. Nothing could happen to her John.

  “Sonja, John is…John is…gone.”

  “Gone? Gone?…You mean dead? That can’t be. Is he in the hospital? Where is he, Dan?”

  “I’m sorry, Sonja.” Roger didn’t know what to say but felt compelled to explain. “He was shot when we went into Bergstrom’s house. He never had a chance; he just didn’t know what hit him.”

  For an instant she stood transfixed. then hysteria set in. “Take me to see him. Where is he? Is he alone? “ She screamed through her tears.

  Roger held her tight. “Sonja.” He continued to hold her while she cried. No one spoke for a long time.

  Beth, too, was crying. She walked into the kitchenette with Dan close behind. In the kitchenette, she put her arms around Dan and sobbed.

  “Oh Dan. Let’s go home. I can’t take it any more. I don’t want to be involved anymore. Please, Dan.”

  “Okay Beth. It’s over. Bergstrom got away. Right now we have to take care of Sonja and the kids. Come on, dry your face. Sonja needs a strong friend right now.” Dan was trying to be strong, but it was all he could do to choke back tears of his own.

  They stepped out of the kitchenette, Beth put an arm around Sonja’s shoulders, and the two women sat on the couch. Gwen had been silent all this time. She stepped into the small kitchen, looked into the refrigerator and found a pitcher of iced tea. She found glasses in the c
upboard. She poured a glass of tea for each of the sad group and stepped back into the living room, handing the first glass to Roger.

  Roger gave her a weak smile. “I’m sorry. You ladies haven’t met Gwen. Sonja, Beth, this is Gwen Stevens.”

  “Hello. I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. Please let me know if there is any way I can help.”

  “Maybe there is. Beth asked. “Could you and Roger get Sonja’s children and bring them here? They’ll want to be with their mother right now,”

  Later, when the children were there, and more tears flowed, Dan felt a need for solitude. He stepped out into the heat, found a chair on the patio and collapsed. He felt sad, angry, weary, and most of all frustrated. What had gone wrong. It was supposed to be simple. He pounded on the arm of the chair, “Dammit, dammit, dammit.” Tears coursed down his burning cheeks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  The previous day had been a long and busy one for Nels Bergstrom and his associate, Russ Talbert. After his talk with General Kisishkin, Bergstrom attempted to contact several elected officials on his payroll. Senators Frost, Tillman, and Wayman were “not available” or were out of town and would get back with him. Senator Frost was on an armed services junket. Undersecretary of Commerce, Jason Belafont, was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. “Couldn’t be disturbed…Couldn’t be disturbed!” Nels Bergstrom bellowed. “He’ll be disturbed when I get through with him.”

  Nels Bergstrom was not a person to be double-crossed. When he was in the fourth grade, he organized a group of classmates to cause a disturbance in a coat room. When the teacher left the room to investigate the noise, another student copied the answers to the math test she was about to give. Bergstrom and his classmates all got As. When one student was accused of cheating because the teacher doubted he could get a perfect score, he said he had bought the answers from Nels. Bergstrom talked his way out of the accusation, but after school had two boys hold the snitch while Nels beat him severely.

  Nels had also always been a good con man. He’d been heavy all his life, but his ability to obtain almost anything made him very popular with his fellow students, especially those needing his talents to pass a test in school.

  Young Nels Bergstrom found it easy to manipulate people around him. He searched out their deepest desires and made a trade for whatever he needed from them. As he grew older and went off to college in his home state of Minnesota, he honed his skills even sharper.

  By his second year in college he had accumulated a small amount of cash. He used the cash to finance a lucrative marijuana business. He ran the business, but never used the stuff. He was intelligent enough to never have any of the contraband on or near him. He saw to it that the supply was steady; and there were always people willing to distribute the product for a price.

  By the time he graduated from college, he had a sizable nest-egg. A good student, he graduated near the top of his class. His major was Political Science. He was hired, right out of college, as a legislative aide in Sacramento, California. There he attended school after work until earning his Masters Degree.

  In California he earned that adults can be manipulated as easily as fourth graders and usually for the same stimulus as his college friends. At age 24, he had built a strong political base and entered California legislature. At the end of his second term, he met Dan Webster. The man’s honesty and dedication to duty cost Nels a great deal of money and a profitable marijuana growing business. Bergstrom hated Webster, but admired and respected, more than he respected any other man, Dan’s strong character.

  Nels served one more term in the legislature, but found it increasingly difficult to satisfy questions about his involvement in the drug business. His business holdings gave him great wealth. He made the decision to quit politics in favor of pure financial gain. He surrounded himself with highly capable, loyal employees. The large man succumbed to few distractions. This, with his lack of standard moral values, had made him one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in America.

  Nels was tired. His body ached. He slumped into the leather chair behind his desk, turned the TV to CNN News, and reached for a cookie.

  “In the news at this hour, a report from Tokyo. Respected Japanese industrialist, Gaishi Yamamata, was arrested today by Tokyo police. The Japanese tycoon is charged with conspiracy to murder in connection with the deaths of six technicians working for TMC Corporation.

  “CNN News has learned that Mr. Yamamata’s Norita Nuclear Kinetics Corporation built the bomb that exploded just outside Valdez, Alaska. Details are sketchy at this time, but it appears the motive behind this terrorism was to control the world wide flow of oil.

  “Mr. Yamamata also owns Maruma Transportation Corporation, whose main business is shipping oil, worldwide

  “The U.S. Government has yet to make any statement in regard to this new development in the economic crisis.

  “Our reporters are at the Ministry of Justice in Tokyo and will have more news as it develops. And now a word from our sponsor.”

  Nels turned the television off. It was very late and Russell Talbert was in bed when Bergstrom called. “Talbert, get down here.”

  Less than 10 minutes later, dressed and awake, he reported to his boss. He had become accustomed to these calls. The irregular hours were justified by the size of his salary.

  “You look tired, Nels. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m okay. My neck and shoulder ache something fierce. I must have slept on it wrong last night.”

  “What can I do for you, Sir?”

  “Things are falling apart. Kisishkin failed to knock out the pump station. Those wimps in Washington are losing their backbone, and I just heard on the news that Yamamata was arrested in Tokyo. The Feds are putting the pressure on us here in Phoenix. This whole deal is falling apart. I think we’d better move our offices to a less hostile environment for a while. Did you recover everything from downtown?”

  “Yes, Sir. I have four Banker Boxes full of files. The rest have been shredded. Fortunately, most of the files are on computer disc and don’t take up much room.”

  “Good. Call Rigby and Wells and have them load the jet. We will headquarter in Venezuela for a while. I want to leave as soon as possible. Clean out the safe in your office and pack a bag. Have the cook prepare some food for the trip.”

  It was just 3 AM when the Citation lifted into the sky and turned south along the Mexican shoreline. Talbert noticed Bergstrom was massaging his left arm when he brought Nels’ turkey sandwich and hot cocoa.

  Bergstrom’s size and weight, 395 pounds, demanded a specially constructed seat. The seat was double width and faced across the fuselage instead of ahead. This allowed the use of existing seat rails for strength and safety. The seat was placed over the wing for better balance of the craft’s center of gravity.

  Bergstrom asked Talbert for a pillow and blanket. Although the ache in his left shoulder and arm seemed worse, he slept all the way to Panama, where the Cessna landed for fuel.

  In Panama City, Bergstrom was able to establish a telephone link from the airplane. He placed a call to Piersol in Venezuela to let him know of his arrival there, on the Caracas Oil Company air field, in about 3 1/2 hours.

  The Citation had been airborne again about 1 hour when Bergstrom became nauseous. He told Talbert it must have been the turkey sandwich and tried to return to sleep. Sleep was intermittent, disturbed by the pain in his arm and now his upper chest. He dozed for a while—then awakened, nauseated again.

  They were less than a half hour from landing when it happened. Bergstrom awakened with a cry of pain. He was clutching his chest and gasping for breath. When Talbert saw his bosses face contorted into an expression of terror, he rushed to the ailing man and loosened his shirt and tie. It was apparent something was seriously wrong. Talbert suspected a heart attack but couldn’t be sure. He opened the cockpit door and shouted to Rigby the pilot, “I need help.”

  Wells, the copil
ot said, “I’ll do it,” and unstrapped his seat belt and harness. As he emerged from the cockpit into the cabin, he could see Bergstrom gasping for breath. He reached back into the cockpit, behind his seat, and extracted a small portable oxygen bottle. He brought it to Bergstrom’s side and placed the small green plastic mask over the nose and mouth of the stricken man.

  The oxygen seemed to ease his distress a little, but it was obvious they were going to need professional medical assistance. Wells returned to the cockpit and asked the pilot to radio ahead for an ambulance.

  Talbert was still beside Bergstrom when Wells returned. They could feel the aircraft beginning its descent when Nels gave out a cry and bent forward as if hit in the stomach. He remained that way for several seconds, moaning, then leaned back in his seat and relaxed. He had stopped breathing. There was nothing the two men could do but watch as their boss, Nels Bergstrom, expired.

  Russ Talbert was smiling to himself. He had known that, eventually, the overeating and stress would get the best of his obese mentor. This was the perfect time for him to take over as CEO of Bergstrom Enterprises. In fact it couldn’t have been better had he planned it.

  Talbert saw the bright blue flashing lights of the Brazilian built ambulance following alongside the Citation as it taxied to the paved parking ramp in front of the company hangar. He just sat there, looking at the lifeless mass strapped into the seat ahead of him, until the whine of the engines died away and someone outside the aircraft was attempting to open the door.

  He loosened the buckle of his seatbelt and stepped to the front of the aircraft. He saw Piersol standing at the bottom of the steps, the ambulance crew directly behind him.

  “What’s wrong?” Piersol asked.

  “It’s Mr. Bergstrom. I think he had a heart attack. We did everything we could, but he didn’t make it.”

  Talbert walked down the steps to allow the medical attendants inside. Piersol stepped up to the plane, alongside the stairs, and peered inside. He saw the pasty pallor and slack jaw associated with death. The aura of life was gone, the fierceness, the intensity, all the things that had been Nels Bergstrom were gone.