Squall

by Sean Costello

  “Tom Stokes?” Carter said, looking skeptical.

  Sanj said, “That’s me,” and it occurred to him then that he mustn’t look like much of a bush pilot standing out here in his suit and thousand dollar overcoat; but if we was going to hitch a ride out of here, he needed to convince these two, at least until he was on the aircraft.

  Carter said, “Are you hurt? There’s blood on your neck.”

  “Just a little ding on the back of the head,” Sanj said. “I got lucky.”

  Both men were looking up at the wreckage now, the little guy saying, “Are there any others?”

  “All alone,” Sanj said. “Glad to see you boys.”

  Carter gave Jones a nod and the man started moving toward the cottage. Sanj stumbled into him and Jones grabbed his arm, Carter closing in on the opposite side to do the same.

  “Actually,” Sanj said, “I’m feeling quite dizzy all of a sudden.”

  “You might be going into shock,” Carter said. “Let’s get you aboard.”

  Arms slung over the shoulders of his rescuers, Sanj let them lead him to the waiting chopper. The rotors were still spinning and Sanj was temporarily blinded by a tempest of ice pellets and snow.

  Then he was on board, cuffing meltwater from his eyes while performing a quick assessment of his new environment: two pilots, a flight engineer in the rear of the aircraft and the two SAR guys. Crowd control might be an issue. He’d have to choose his moment.

  But things were already beginning to unravel, Carter telling the Jones kid to run back up to the cottage and evaluate the scene, explaining to the rookie as he led Sanj to the treatment area that in spite of a victim’s assurances, it was important for the team to verify for themselves the presence or absence of further casualties, Carter saying that, particularly where head injuries were concerned, the on-site testimony of the victim might be erroneous or distorted by trauma or shock.

  To further complicate matters, the pilot was talking on the radio now, mumbling shit Sanj couldn’t hear and eyeballing him like he had two heads.

  The Jones kid was already halfway up the incline to the cottage.

  Carter said, “Let’s get your coat off and get you up on the stretcher here,” and Sanj shot him in the knee. Carter went down hard and the flight engineer got to his feet. Sanj aimed the gun at him, saw that Jones had failed to hear the small caliber report over the chop of the rotors and shot the engineer in the left shoulder, shifting his aim to the cockpit as the engineer hit the deck.

  “Hands, gentlemen,” Sanj said, stepping over Carter—on his back now, clutching his ruined knee—and the men raised their hands.

  “What’s this about?” the pilot said.

  “It’s about a new flight plan,” Sanj said and handed him the documents he’d retrieved from the Cessna. “Now let’s get this fucker airborne, shall we?”

  The copilot said, “What about Jones?” and Sanj said, “I’d rate his chances higher out there.

  “Now I need your wallets, boys. All of them.”

  * * *

  Once they were in the air, Sanj secured Carter to his seat with stout plastic cable-ties he kept in his coat for the purpose; the man’s kneecap was shattered but the bleeding wasn’t brisk enough to worry about him dying any time soon. He hadn’t decided yet what he was going to do with these guys, but wanted to keep them functional for the time being, in case he needed them.

  Next he marched the engineer at gunpoint to the cockpit and held the gun to his temple, saying to the pilot, “Disable the radio or this man dies.”

  The pilot switched the radio off.

  Sanj said, “I said disable it,” and fired a round into the radio.

  The pilot said, “Hey. Be careful with that thing or you’ll kill us all.”

  “Consider that the next time I tell you to do something,” Sanj said. “Does this aircraft have a GPS tracking system?”

  “ELT,” the pilot said. “Same principle.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In the back.”

  To the copilot Sanj said, “You can fly this bird on your own, am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  Sanj gripped the flight engineer’s wounded shoulder and turned the man to face him. “Go get the ELT and make it quick,” he said. “Fuck around and I’ll put a bullet in your Captain’s skull.”

  He turned next to Carter. “Now, let’s see about getting this head wound closed. Do a good job and I might let you and your buddies live.”

  32

  Stirring as if from a trance, Mandy shifted in her chair, her hand going to the small of her back where a nasty kink had taken up residence. She leaned away from the pain, stretching to the limit her massive belly would allow, and gradually the discomfort subsided.

  The snow was still coming down out there, but that fierce wind had tapered off, only the occasional gust now, twisting the dry flakes into ghostly eddies in the deck light.

  She picked up her untouched coffee and, ignoring the oily little slick that had formed on its surface, took a tentative sip. Cold. She shivered and set the cup back in its saucer.

  The radio emitted only static, as it had without interruption in the nearly four hours since her conversation with Captain Tremblay at Search and Rescue. The Captain had done his best to reassure her, smoothly reciting the expected platitudes, but Mandy could hear the resignation in his voice, in the carefully modulated tone intended to brace her in spite of his words. She was an experienced pilot herself; she understood the odds. But Tremblay didn’t know her husband. He’d come through much worse than this with a smile on his face and a great story to tell. Every fiber of her being told her that Tom was fine, probably sharing a beer right now with an ice fisherman in a cozy hut somewhere, sitting it out like she’d told him to. If she had any sense she’d go to bed, let him wake her in the morning with a bristly kiss—

  Mandy stiffened in her chair, her ears perking up.

  A helicopter...?

  She rose stiffly and rounded the desk to the big window, gathering her robe around her in the night-time chill of the office. Once in a blue moon a domestic air ambulance flew over the lake on its way to the hospital in Sudbury, twenty miles away, but usually at altitude and rarely in this kind of weather. This chopper was heavier, almost military looking. And it was getting ready to land.

  The aircraft hovered briefly at the edge of her line of site, five hundred meters away at the mouth of the bay, then angled off behind a line of conifers, moving farther up the lake.

  Mandy settled back in her chair and used the landline to dial the direct number Captain Tremblay had given her.

  33

  Sanj stood behind the pilot with his gun pressed to the man’s neck as the chopper touched down on the ice. They’d overflown Stokes Aviation on the way in, giving him a few seconds to get the lay of the land, then chosen a more remote spot further up the lake to set down.

  He’d already gagged and cable-tied Carter and the engineer to a metal handrail in the rear of the aircraft, and as the chopper powered down he did the same to the pilots, giving them one of the speeches he reserved for this final act in the proceedings, the kind that used to amuse the shit out of Sumit, because no matter what he told any of the poor bastards unfortunate enough to be hearing it, the outcome was always the same.

  But this time he wasn’t so sure. Without his brother here, it just didn’t feel right. And as much as he’d been doing his best to block out the horror of what had happened to the kid, he could feel some vital part of himself withering inside.

  “If I was going to do this right,” he told them, “I’d waste every last one of you and set this noisy fucker on fire. But to be honest, I admire the work you do. Back home in India my father was a chest surgeon, and he would rise furious from the ashes if he knew of the savage path his sons had chosen. So you have him to thank for your lives. Remember that. My only hope is that he will forgive my brother Sumit when they meet before Ganesh.” He could see the men had no idea what he was
talking about, but he was beyond caring; it just needed to be said. “I am the one who seduced him into this life. I am the one who should be dead.”

  He stared into the eyes of each of the crew members in turn now, holding their gaze without blinking until each of them looked away. Then he said: “But if even one of you causes me grief of any kind, now or in the future...” He drew the men’s wallets from an inside coat pocket. “I know where you live. And even from prison, I can reach you.”

  Pulling his task into focus again, Sanj unloaded the rest of the clip into the chopper’s control panel, sending sparks and shrapnel flying everywhere, filling the cockpit with smoke. Then he replaced the spent clip with a fresh one and got out of the helicopter.

  The wind had scoured the bulk of the snow from the lake, making it easier to walk. Ten minutes tops, he’d be there.

  34

  “Honestly, Mrs. Stokes,” Captain Tremblay said, his voice strained-sounding in the receiver, “I can’t tell you if it’s our bird or not. The last report we got from our team came in about forty minutes ago. At that time they had just brought your husband on board—”

  “They’d just what?” Mandy said. “They found him? Is he all right?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, yes, he’s fine. I—”

  Mandy said, “Forty minutes you’ve known this?” her relief shading to irritation with this man who should have known better. “Forty minutes and it didn’t occur to you to let me know? Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through, Captain Tremblay?”

  “You’re right. Of course you’re right, Mrs. Stokes, and I do apologize. But to be frank, I didn’t want to worry you any more than you already are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we’re still not sure what’s going on, but a few minutes after the Griffon reported in, it went dark. Since then we’ve been working under the assumption they went down in the storm. The strange thing is, we can’t even pick up their ELT. It’s as if they vanished.”

  Mandy rubbed absently at her tummy below the navel, the muscles there achy and tense. The incessant nausea was having its way with her again.

  She said, “Well, I’m no expert, Captain, but the helicopter that flew past here just a few minutes ago sure looked military. And why else would there be a chopper out here at night in this kind of weather, buzzing our lake?”

  “I honestly don’t know what to tell you, Mrs. Stokes. All I can suggest is that you sit tight and see what happens. If it’s our aircraft and your husband is on it, you should know soon enough. Dropping him off at home would be highly irregular, however. We do have protocols.”

  Mandy heard the front door open, then a jingle of keys. Smiling, she said, “Oh, he just came in. Can you hold?” But there was only silence over the receiver now, not even the faint hum of live wires. She said, “Captain Tremblay? Hello?”

  Assuming the storm had taken out the lines, Mandy hung up and rushed toward the office door. An East Indian man in an expensive overcoat was waiting for her there, the gun in his hand aimed casually at her chest, and Mandy let out a terrified squeal.

  “You must be Mandy,” the man said. “You may call me Sanj.” His eyes, dark and remote, scanned the room behind her with that same casual air, then settled on her belly. “Oh, my,” he said. “When are you due?”

  Heart racing, Mandy sagged against the door jam, clutching the bulge of her abdomen. Breathless, she said, “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “My name is Sanj, as I just said. You really must pay attention, Mrs. Stokes. Are we clear on that much, at least?”

  Mandy nodded, bile rising in her throat.

  “Your husband and his new friend have something that belongs to an associate of mine. I’m here to get it back.”

  “What are you talking about? My husband is missing.”

  “That’s the last thing he is, Mrs. Stokes,” Sanj said. “Now sit.”

  On the verge of a faint, Mandy retraced her steps to the desk, feeling his flat gaze on her back as she pulled out the chair and eased herself into it. She had no idea what was going on. She watched in silence as he drew the curtains on all the windows, praying that Steve wouldn’t make a peep in his bed upstairs. His room was directly overhead.

  Now the man sat on the edge of the desk, right next to her, the gun resting on his thigh, its muzzle aimed at her belly.

  In her terror she thought, Sharp dressed man, and brought a hand up to muzzle a scream or maybe a bray of deranged laughter. She had to get her bearings here. Keep it together. Find out what this guy wanted and give it to him so he’d leave before—

  He said, “Do you have a cell phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I have it, please?”

  Mandy grabbed her purse off the desk and started to open it.

  “Just...hand me the purse,” Sanj said, making a move toward her with the gun.

  Mandy handed him the purse and Sanj took her cell phone out of it. He rummaged around in the purse for a moment, making sure there was nothing else of interest, then handed it back to her. Mandy took it and bunched it into her lap, clutching it as she might a buoy in a churning sea.

  Sanj pocketed the cell phone, then placed the photograph he’d taken from the Cessna on the desk in front of her. Mandy remembered signing it and giving it to Tom for good luck.

  “Now,” Sanj said, “where’s the kid?”

  35

  An hour and a half from the city now and they were marooned behind a lumbering snow plow, the twisting glare of its caution lights and the ceaseless, shifting snow plumes from the blade making any chance of passing the thing an impossibility.

  As Tom had expected, the smoother ride on the highway had lulled Dale into a nod, and for the past half hour the guy had been twitching and mumbling and drooling on his jacket collar.

  Tom was hungry now, uncomfortably so, and the ache in his head had taken up the beat of his heart, each throb cranking his anxiety to a tighter setting. He kept thinking of Mandy, helpless and alone at home—surely she’d gotten Steve off to bed by now—the poor girl worried sick about him. He should have waited for the rescue chopper and to hell with this junkie dipshit, whatever weight of sympathy he’d felt for the guy earlier long since shed. In all likelihood he’d be airborne on a rescue chopper by now, talking to his wife on the radio, telling her he’d be home in a few hours to collect on that special birthday gift she’d hinted at...

  “Some fucking birthday,” Tom said.

  Stirring, Dale said, “It’s your birthday?”

  “Yeah. My son and I both.”

  “Hey, how cool is that?” Dale said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “I wish to hell I could call home, let them know I’m all right. We should’ve checked those guys for cell phones.”

  “Might be one in the vehicle someplace,” Dale said, popping open the glove box.

  Tom glanced over at the lighted compartment, but saw only a thin sheath of maps and what looked like a vehicle owner’s manual.

  “I’ll have a look back here,” Dale said, taking off his seat belt and leaning into the back seat. Tom heard him say, “Holy fuck,” then watched him settle back into the passenger seat with a gym bag and briefcase in tow.

  “What’s that?”

  Dale said, “Holy fuck,” and set the briefcase on his lap. “Those crazy fuckers must have caught up with Ronnie...poor bitch.”

  “What is it?”

  Dale opened the briefcase and turned it to face Tom, giving him a full view of the neat stacks of fifties and hundreds, new bills gleaming in the wash of the snow plow’s psychedelic light show.

  Wide-eyed, Tom said, “God damn.”

  “Yeah. Two hundred and fifty K worth of God damn.”

  Dale closed the briefcase and hauled the gym bag up on top of it, giving it an affectionate pat. “And another two-fifty in product.”

  “Product?”

  “Uncut heroin.”

  Tom hit the brakes, swerved to a stop at th
e side of the road and powered open Dale’s window. “Toss that shit out,” he said, “right now, or take it and get the hell out.”

  Dale gave him a puzzled look. “Whoa, Tom, hold on a minute. Don’t you see? This is my ticket out of this mess. All I’ve gotta do now is hand this shit back to Ed and with any luck he can square it with Copeland. He already knows it was Ronnie, but the way things stood, he had no choice. He had to send his goons after me. It was his ass or mine.”

  “Meanwhile I’m driving around with enough heroin and drug money to land me in prison for the rest of my life.”

  “Just get me as far as the city,” Dale said, “wherever you stop to call your wife. After that, you never have to see me again. Please, man.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Ignoring every rational instinct in his body, Tom angled the Mercedes back onto the highway. A few minutes later they were stuck in the snow plow’s wake again, its snailing pace stretching Tom’s patience to its fraying limits. He knew there was a gas station/convenience store along here somewhere, an old Mom & Pop outfit that would have a phone he could use, but he feared the owners might have closed up early due to the weather.

  That fear was allayed when they rounded a bend and Tom saw the brightly lit store and a half dozen vehicles idling in the lot, the neon OPEN sign sizzling red in the window.

  Dale said, “Payphone.”

  “I see it,” Tom said and pulled into the lot, parking alongside the open-air booth at the corner of the building. He switched off the engine and got out with the keys in his hand. Dale got out, too, bringing the briefcase and gym bag with him, stamping his feet against the cold while Tom dug in his pocket for change.

  “Why’d you bring that shit out here?” Tom said, finding some coins.

  “It’s my life.”

  Tom considered saying, ‘Do you have any idea how pathetic that sounds?’ but thought better of it. He was seconds away from hearing Mandy’s voice and could already feel himself grinning.

  * * *

  Trailing by fifty yards, Ronnie saw the Mercedes hang a left at a convenience store and she slowed, welcoming the adrenalin surge as she rolled up on the entrance to the parking lot, vivid scenarios playing out in her mind now, how she’d settle the score with those Indian fucks, ambush them as they came out of the store, maybe, or pull Sumit’s trick and wait for them in the Mercedes, put a bullet in each of their swelled heads, take her shit back and hit the road before anyone knew the difference.