Viking Vengeance

by Maggie Foster

  It would have been better if the intruder hadn’t been confessing, of course. It increased their chances of being killed to shut their mouths, but establishing rapport was always the first step in any hostage situation and Charlie had managed to find common ground.

  Jim applied himself to figuring out how to end the siege. Knoxville was less than two hours southwest of the Virginia border. If they stayed on this highway, he would be back in home territory by early afternoon. Who could he call on? What resources did he have access to?

  Approaching the situation logically, the first goal was to get the gun away from the hijacker. If—when—they disarmed him (three to one, after all) they could use the duct tape to restrain him. So, how to manage that, without getting shot?

  Jim’s eyes drifted over to Ginny. She was moving restlessly, shifting her position, and glancing out the window. She looked up and their eyes met.

  “I need a rest stop,” she said.

  Jim nodded. “How much farther to Knoxville?” he asked.

  “Twenty minutes,” Charlie answered. “Shall I find a place to pull off?”

  Jim looked at the intruder, who nodded.

  “Okay, but we do it my way.”

  Jim nodded. When Ginny left the car, she could run. That would leave the other two at the mercy of an angry felon, who might shoot them, but at least she would be safe.

  Charlie could drive off and leave her behind. If Jim lunged at the intruder at the same moment, would that be enough to surprise him?

  If the intruder left the vehicle, they could drive off without him. Well, not if the reason was to escort Ginny to the restroom and back. They couldn’t leave while she was being held hostage.

  Jim shifted slightly in his seat and saw the hijacker's eyes turn in his direction. No movement had gone unnoticed. Not so far. Jim rolled his shoulders, carefully, wishing he didn’t have to keep his neck craned over his left shoulder. His muscles were protesting. He blinked. The hijacker must be in the same condition.

  It took effort to hold a gun trained on anything for two hours straight. If asked, Jim would have said it couldn’t be done. At the very least, the hijacker’s control over the weapon must be impaired. What’s more, he probably knew it.

  Jim let his eyes roam, trying to see the problem from the hijacker’s point of view. Most likely he planned to shoot them and take the car. Charlie was trapped behind the wheel, which made it impossible for him to move quickly. Jim was the greater menace, restrained only by the threat to Ginny and his seat belt, so with Ginny out of the car, the gun would be aimed at Jim. What else?

  How big was this hijacker’s bladder? Healthy human kidneys produced an average of two ounces of fluid every hour, more in the hour after drinking coffee since caffeine was a diuretic.

  It was just barely possible that the hijacker would let Ginny take her purse with her to the bathroom. Women sometimes need things they keep in their purses and he would know that. Was there anything in the purse that could be used as a weapon? Fingernail file? Cuticle scissors? Spray perfume?

  Jim’s eyes lingered on Ginny, fighting down the image of a bullet ripping through her flesh. Assuming it didn’t kill her instantly, he didn’t have much in the way of first aid for an injury of that sort, just pressure dressings and morphine.

  Morphine.

  If he could figure out some way to get morphine into the hijacker, he could incapacitate him. He didn’t have to give him enough to kill him, just make him so groggy he couldn’t hold the gun anymore. Then they could overpower him without fear of being shot.

  Maybe Ginny could sneak up on the hijacker and slap him on the back, injecting the morphine into a muscle as she did so. Except, she would have to open the vial and a syringe package and draw up the dose (maybe in the bathroom?), then get the needle into him, then get him to hold still while she pushed the plunger down. Too many steps. If only there were a faster way to deliver the medication. Like an auto injector. A lightning fast auto injector.

  Jim had two. One had epinephrine in it. All that would do is make a wide awake crazy man out of the currently calm escaped criminal. The other would knock him out.

  Jim did some rapid calculations in his head. The second auto injector held a ten milligram dose of midazolam, twice the recommended amount for a healthy, adult male. Onset was typically fifteen minutes, with a half-life on average of three hours. The double dose could easily put the hijacker into respiratory arrest. The duration meant they would have to hold onto him for several hours, to make sure he didn’t suffocate.

  Ginny could get the auto injector out of the medical kit and hit the hijacker with it. That was do-able, assuming the hijacker thought she was no threat to him. The real problem was the fifteen minute onset time. How were they to keep him from shooting them while they waited for the drug to kick in?

  Divide and conquer? Give him three moving targets and hope he couldn’t shoot straight? Charlie could go out the driver’s side door and drop to the ground. Ginny could be in the baggage compartment, ready to leap out the back. Jim?

  Well, on the assumption that the hijacker would keep Jim in his sights while Ginny was in the back, Jim was the most likely of the three to take a bullet. The car seat would not stop it. The intruder would be firing from a seated position, which was awkward, but he was very close and it would be hard to miss a mass the size of Jim at that range.

  What would happen if Jim leaned forward, as if he was trying to get something off the floor of the car? What about the seatbelt? If he loosened it, would the alarm kick in? Once the car was stopped at the pump, of course, it probably wouldn’t care.

  So, if he and Charlie could both dive for the floor at the same moment, release the seatbelts, open the doors, and jump out, all in smooth, coordinated effort, there would just be the fact that Jim might not be faster than a speeding bullet.

  Jim frowned. What else? They were rapidly approaching the city limits. Charlie was watching for a place to pull off the highway.

  The first thing to do was get Ginny out of the car. She might be able to get help, but even if she didn’t risk it, the hijacker couldn’t, realistically, follow her into the ladies room. Not in public. His best bet was to use the gun trained on Jim to control her. So she would behave and come right back.

  At that point, Jim could direct her to the back of the car, to get the auto injector out of the medical kit. Assuming she understood what he was getting at.

  Jim crossed his fingers. They could communicate in medical-ese and probably not be understood by either Charlie or the intruder. She would have to find a way to get close enough to the hijacker to inject the medication, though, and Jim could not help with that. What he could supply was a distraction.

  What kind of distraction? Could he spill something? Or throw something? There was a thought! If he could empty his bladder into something, he could throw the urine onto the hijacker. His (now empty) coffee cup was sitting in the holder. He could fill it up and toss it at the hijacker.

  Then what? The gun might go off at the shock of being doused with urine. Jim needed something to throw the hijacker’s aim off. If he couldn’t see, he couldn’t aim, not as well, anyway. What about knocking the gun away? Was there anything he could use for that and if he did so, where would the bullet go?

  Jim was suddenly aware that the car was slowing down. Charlie had found a gas station he liked the looks of.

  Jim glanced at the items in the front of the car with him. His coffee cup and Charlie’s. Maps. His overnight bag. The jacket he’d shed about halfway between Memphis and here.

  “Is it okay if I pick my jacket up off the floor?” He waited for the hijacker to nod. “Thanks.” Jim bent down and retrieved the garment, draping it across his lap.

  He watched the gas station appear on the side of the highway and waited as Charlie pulled up to the tank. Charlie looked over at him as he shut off the engine.

  “We’re here.” Jim turned around in his seat and looked at the hijacker. “Okay. Tell us what
to do.”

  The hijacker motioned to Ginny with the gun.

  “You go take care of business, but come right back. No shopping and don’t speak to anyone. If I see anything suspicious, anything that looks the slightest like you told someone what was going on, he gets a bullet through the brain. Understand?” He raised the gun and pointed it at Jim.

  She nodded, then let herself out, shutting the door behind her.

  Jim swallowed, then put his plan into action.

  “I need to pee, too.”

  “You stay here.”

  “What about me?” Charlie asked.

  “You, too.”

  “It’s kind of urgent,” Jim said.

  The hijacker’s eyes narrowed. “You stay right where you are.”

  Jim squirmed, in a good imitation of physical discomfort. “Okay. How about I pee in the cup?”

  “What cup?”

  Jim held up the large coffee cup he’d been given at the Cumberland Homestead.

  The hijacker nodded slowly. “Okay, but no funny business.”

  Jim nodded, released his seatbelt, then carefully undid his zipper and positioned the cup. In truth, it was a big relief to empty his bladder and the cup was almost full before the stream started to taper off.

  “Lord! Me, too.” Charlie said.

  “All right, you wimps.”

  Charlie followed suit, filling his own coffee cup. He looked over at Jim, who had put the cup back in the holder while he closed his pants. “Where are we going to dump these?”

  “Wherever the man says,” Jim replied.

  The sound of bladders being emptied had produced an effect on the hijacker. He was looking distinctly uncomfortable. He looked around the car, locating the coffee cup that had been Ginny’s and placed it near at hand, but did not undo his fly.

  Ginny was back almost before the men had finished their business. Jim was grimly amused. Is that what it took to get a woman to hurry? The threat of a bullet through the brain? She opened the side door and started to climb in.

  Jim gasped, his eyes opening wide.

  She looked up at him. “What?”

  “I completely forgot to remind you. Did you take your midazolam today?”

  She blinked, but that was all. “Oh, Christ! I forgot all about it!” She looked over at the intruder then back at Jim, her brow furrowing. “Where did you put it last night?”

  “In my medical bag. In the back.”

  The hijacker was looking at her, his eyes narrowed, his expression suspicious. “What is that?”

  Ginny looked at him, frowning heavily. “I have to give myself injections every day, in the morning.”

  “What are you? A diabetic?”

  “She needs it for her autoimmune disorder,” Jim volunteered.

  “And I’m late. Is it okay if I do it now?” she asked.

  He looked at her for a very long moment and Jim held his breath. This was one of the weak links in his plan. Would the hijacker believe her?

  At length he nodded. “Get the bag and bring it up here so I can watch you. Don’t forget. I’ve got my finger on the trigger so –”

  She nodded. “No funny business. I know.”

  She climbed back out onto the pavement, leaving the side door open behind her, and moved around to the back of the car, opening the rear doors. She made a convincing show of trying to get hold of the bag, being unable to reach it, then climbing into the van, pushing obstacles aside, making noises and talking to herself. Jim watched the hijacker, waiting for an opening, one hand on the coffee cup, the other on his jacket. He could feel Charlie’s eyes on him.

  Ginny swore loudly and the hijacker glanced in her direction, just for a second, but it was enough.

  Jim threw the urine at him, hitting him in the face, followed in almost the same motion by the jacket, which landed on his outstretched gun hand. The jacket was leather, and heavy. It knocked the gun to the steel floor and the gun went off.

  Jim heard another splash. By that time he had gotten his feet under him and launched himself into the back of the van, knocking the hijacker over and landing on top of him. He pinned the gun arm to the floor.

  “NOW, Ginny!”

  She climbed over the cargo, then over Jim, and jammed the auto injector into the hijacker’s thigh.

  There was a steady stream of cursing coming from their captive, but Charlie had added his weight to the other two holding him down and there was nothing he could do to dislodge them. Charlie had also taken the trouble to stamp on the hijacker’s hand, forcing him to release the weapon.

  “We’ve got this,” Jim told Ginny. “Go fill the tank so we can move the van.”

  She slid off the still bucking hijacker and climbed out, closing the doors as she went.

  To Jim, worried someone would notice they were in trouble and come to help, the next few minutes were excruciating. In reality, Ginny had the tank filled and was back behind the wheel, moving the car away from the pump and parking it around the side of the station in less than ten minutes.

  Jim and Charlie sat on the hijacker until he stopped struggling.

  “Twelve minutes.” Jim had been keeping an eye on his watch. He examined his patient. “Still breathing.”

  Jim was kneeling on the intruder’s abdomen, Charlie on his arms. Jim smiled at him.

  “Thanks for the help.”

  “Any time.”

  Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Do I smell what I think I smell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he wet himself?”

  “No. We did that for him, though, considering the circumstances—” Jim glanced down and was not surprised to see a large wet spot on the hijacker’s pants.

  The hijacker was now flaccid. Jim showed Charlie how to hold his chin up so the airway stayed open. “I’ll be right back.” He retrieved his ambu bag and fitted it over the hijacker’s nose and mouth, squeezing air into his lungs.

  Ginny watched for a minute, then took off in the direction of the restrooms.

  “Where’s she going?” Charlie asked.

  “Probably to get soap and water. This car suddenly got a lot less environmentally friendly.”

  He was right. She was back in a few minutes with gloves, paper towels, and a spray cleaner. She set to work wiping out the puddles and trying to disinfect the surfaces.

  “What can I do?” Charlie asked.

  “Find that bullet.”

  It took Charlie ten minutes to decide the slug must have exited through the side door. “I found the casing, but that’s all.”

  Jim glanced out the window. He didn’t see the frantic activity he would expect if someone had been shot or even heard a shot. Perhaps the sound had been mistaken for a backfire.

  “Okay. I guess we got lucky.” Without his coat and with the adrenaline beginning to wear off Jim was getting cold.

  “Ginny, can you take over here?”

  She slipped into Jim’s place, making sure air was still getting into the hijacker’s lungs. Jim picked up his jacket and looked at it, then decided it needed to be cleaned before he would be willing to put it on again.

  “Look!” He put his finger through a hole in the heavy leather.

  “Better your jacket than you,” Ginny said, and Jim had to agree.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  Wednesday Noon

  Knoxville, TN

  It was twenty minutes before their patient began breathing on his own again. They turned him on his side and bound his elbows, wrists, knees, and ankles with duct tape.

  While they waited, they ate lunch, threw out the trash, and re-arranged the gear. At one point, Jim glanced over to see Charlie pick up the discarded pistol, clear the chamber and remove the magazine, then stow the parts in his overnight bag. Jim approved the safe handling of the weapon and made a mental note to retrieve the gun the first chance he got.

  “We have to dump him somewhere he can be found,” Jim said.

  “Today?” Charlie asked.

&
nbsp; Jim looked out the window. “Well, if not today, then somewhere the weather won’t kill him overnight.” He looked back down at their charge. “No sooner than four hours from now. That stuff has to wear off before it’s safe to leave him anywhere.”

  “Which means we might as well be driving as sitting here.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Which way do we go?”

  They could not make it to Pittsburgh tonight. The storm was rotating over that area and the roads had already started to close. What’s more, without a properly equipped car, they were quite likely to get into trouble if they headed north.

  Jim hauled out his phone. The map indicated that I-40 turned into I-81 just beyond Knoxville. I-81 would take them through Virginia and Maryland, then into Pennsylvania. From there they could take I-84 east to I-87 north, which would take them into upstate New York, which would get them back on route. So the detour wasn’t disastrous, just inconvenient.

  He outlined his plan and the other two nodded.

  “Sounds good,” Charlie said.

  “Ginny, why don’t you drive for a bit. I’ll stay in the back with our patient.”

  She nodded, then climbed into the driver’s seat. Charlie took Jim’s place on the passenger side and they started off.

  Jim reached into his overnight bag and pulled out his .45, checking the magazine and sliding it into the weapon, but not chambering a round. He looked up and found Charlie watching him.

  “Just in case.”

  Charlie nodded. “Better if we don’t have to.”

  Jim agreed. “Much better.” He tucked the gun into his holster, glanced at his watch then picked up the phone and dialed his grandfather.

  “Jim! ‘Tis good tae hear yer voice lad.”

  “Grandfather, we’ve had a bit of a problem come up.” Jim explained about the change of route without explaining the cause. He didn’t want to worry his grandfather or Ginny’s mother. “Is there a way you can cancel the Pittsburgh arrangements and get us something else? We’re going to be on I-81 for the rest of today.”