Helius Legacy

by S Alexander O'keefe

  In 1981, Joseph Vlasky had been the proud captain of the wrestling team at the University of Gdansk. His dream had been to earn a spot on the Polish national team and wrestle in the Olympics. All of that changed when a drunk in a local bar had decided to beat up another college student when she rejected his unwanted attentions. Vlasky had intervened.

  In the ensuing fight, the man who assaulted the girl had been badly injured. Although Vlasky had done nothing wrong, when the horrified bartender told him the unconscious man was a captain in the KGB, Vlasky knew his guilt or innocence wouldn’t matter. If he stayed in Poland, he would end up either dead or in prison. The following day, a friend of his coach had secured him a berth on a freighter bound for France.

  When the freighter docked at Marseille, Vlasky had swum ashore and tried to defect. Although the gendarme captain who listened to his story was personally sympathetic, he had his orders. The French government was not inclined to irritate both the Russians and the communist regime that ran Poland by granting asylum to a no-name Polish defector. The captain had advised Vlasky that he would be turned over to an official from the Polish embassy later that day.

  Before leaving him alone in an unguarded office to await his handover, the sympathetic gendarme handed Vlasky a card and told him that the people listed on that card were less concerned about French government policy. They were also located less than one block away. The gendarme had been right. The Légion Étrangère had welcomed the services of the well-educated and physically fit Pole.

  As the two men waited for takeoff, Vlasky smiled to himself. Ricard noticed the expression and lifted an eyebrow.

  “It will be good to see everyone again. It’s been too long,” Vlasky said.

  “Yes. It will be, and I’m sure that you won’t mind a little excitement as well, non?”

  Vlasky’s smile widened further. Ricard remembered all too well that Vlasky was one of the few soldiers who enjoyed combat, and he smiled as well.

  CHAPTER

  FORTY

  Austin, Texas

  December 6, 1999 / Monday / 7:30 p.m.

  When they walked out of the alley to the street, Caine and Andrea merged into a flowing crowd of holiday shoppers. Christmas was only two and a half weeks away, and the boutiques, coffee shops, bookstores, and other retail outlets along the broad thoroughfare were full of shoppers. The loud holiday music playing on the outdoor speakers and the chatter from the crowd drowned out the noise from the police emergency taking place in the square one city block over.

  Andrea and Caine walked down the sidewalk and joined the tail end of a crowd crossing the street. About halfway down the block, Caine looked behind him and saw an Austin Police car, with its lights flashing, trying to make its way down the crowded street. Two more police cars were parking at the other end of the block. They had to get out of there.

  Thirty yards ahead of them, the street was bisected by a pedestrian mall with a wide, brick-covered walkway down the middle. Retail shops were located on both sides of the walkway. Caine steered Andrea around the corner, intending to escape the police cordon being formed by exiting at the far end of the walkway. As soon as he turned the corner, Caine saw two foot patrolmen standing in the middle of the walkway, about thirty yards away. The men were listening intently to their handheld radios.

  Caine looked to his left and saw a small, festively decorated shop called “The Christmas Store.” He guided Andrea into the store, without breaking stride, and spoke quietly, “We have to find a way past those two. In three minutes, this whole area is going to be swarming with angry men in blue.”

  As they entered the shop, Andrea noticed a display of large Santa Claus coats and hats in the rear of the store. She walked over to the display, and Caine followed.

  “These might help,” Andrea said.

  She pulled one of the red coats off the rack and placed it against Caine’s chest to check the sizing. A row of floppy red hats was arrayed on the shelf above the coats. Andrea picked out a hat and handed it to Caine.

  “Try that on.”

  Then she turned to the woman’s rack and selected a coat and hat for herself. To the left, she saw several large red baskets on another shelf. She pulled Caine after her and pointed to the baskets.

  “We need two of them—the big ones.”

  As they approached the checkout counter, which thankfully was empty, Andrea grabbed four boxes of holiday cookies and turned back to Caine.

  “We need three more. Make that four.”

  Caine followed her instructions, after glancing toward the store entrance. The elderly man behind the counter smiled at them.

  “Going to have a party, are we?” the man asked.

  Andrea forced herself to smile. Then she glanced at her watch in feigned apprehension and turned to Caine.

  “John, we’re late!”

  The man at the checkout counter took the hint. He quickly rang up the purchases and started to pull out a large bag. Andrea smiled and waved away the bag.

  “Oh, you can skip that. The office party is one block over. We were supposed to be there with the cookies ten minutes ago. So if you don’t mind, we’ll just dress up here and run right over.”

  “That’ll be fine with me, ma’am. Cash or charge?”

  “Charge,” Andrea answered, handing the man her MasterCard. Andrea pulled on her coat and hat, while the man was ringing up the sale. Then she turned to Caine.

  “Suit up, Santa Claus,” she said with smile that Caine could tell was forced.

  Caine pulled on the coat and hat, impressed with Andrea’s quick thinking. Thirty seconds later, they walked back onto the mall wearing the Santa Claus outfits. As they walked down the walkway toward the exit at the far end of the mall, they offered the cookies to the people walking by with the greeting “Happy holidays from The Christmas Store.”

  Caine could see the two policemen ahead of them. They were standing in the open space between the two walkways in and out of the mall. He stiffened involuntarily as he heard the sound of steps rapidly approaching him from behind. Two more officers passed him on the left and joined the other two men. As they approached the four policemen, Andrea whispered, “I’ll take the path closest to the police. You serve people on the other side.”

  When she approached the four officers, it took all of Andrea’s willpower to put a smile on her face.

  “Happy holidays from The Christmas Store, officers,” Andrea said.

  One of the officers, who was on the radio, smiled distractedly, but politely waved her off.

  “No, thank you.”

  Andrea continued past them. She could hear the voice crackling through the radio.

  “We’re looking for a white male about six feet tall, with brown hair, and a woman about five eight.”

  The voice in the background was interrupted by a voice by her side.

  “Can I try one?”

  Andrea looked down. The speaker was a four- or five-year-old boy, whose mom was trying to pull him into a nearby store.

  “Yes,” Andrea said. “Go right ahead. Take your pick, and happy holidays from The Christmas Store.”

  Every muscle in Andrea’s body was screaming run, but she ignored the feeling and knelt to offer the cookies to the boy. The incoming chatter from the police radio behind her was difficult to understand, but it was clearly describing the progress of the ever-expanding police dragnet.

  “Now, don’t be shy. Just go ahead take what you want,” Andrea said, trying to politely rush the boy’s decision.

  From the corner of her eye, she could tell that she had a partial audience in the closest police officer. As the little boy looked over the cookies in the basket, she saw Caine working his way down the other side of the mall, toward the exit at the far end. When the little boy finally made his selection, Andrea stood and said, “Merry Christmas to y’all,” coupled with a big smile for the benefit of the one officer who was still looking in her direction.

  Ahead, Andrea could just see Caine
walking down the broad steps that led to a landing and the doors to the next street. She walked in that direction, continuing to offer cookies to the shoppers. Most of the people near the exit were in a rush and politely declined. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Caine was standing behind a column. On the other side of the column was a panel of glass doors leading out of the mall.

  As she approached, Caine directed Andrea’s attention to a traffic control officer, who was standing on the curb just outside the door. His motorcycle was parked on the street in front of him. The officer was watching the crowd coming out of the mall, while talking into a radio.

  “We have to split up. They’re looking for a couple. We can meet at another location,” Caine said.

  Andrea was instinctively against the idea, but she knew Caine was right.

  “Where do you want to meet?” he asked.

  Her mind raced for a second.

  “Branion’s Pub. It’s on the corner of San Jacinto and Second. About ten blocks from here. Any cabbie can find it.”

  “Good,” Caine said. “Dump the cookies and the basket in the trash over there. You can take one of the cabs in front of that Neiman Marcus down the street. Remember, you just got off work after playing Santa’s elf and want to go home. Play the part and the police will ignore you.”

  Andrea hesitated. Her concern must have shown on her face.

  “Relax, I’ll be fine. See you in twenty. Now go,” Caine said, glancing at the officer without turning his head.

  Caine nodded to Andrea and walked toward the men’s room at the far end of the landing. Andrea hesitated for a moment and then turned, dropped the basket of cookies in the trash receptacle, and walked to the doors. She could feel the officer’s eyes on her. Halfway down the stairs outside the door, Andrea took off the red hat and rearranged her hair. When she finished, she walked down the rest of the stairs to the sidewalk. Andrea expected to hear the cop order her to stop with each step, but it didn’t happen. When she reached the end of the block, she crossed with the crowd waiting for the light and walked over to the concierge in front of the Neiman Marcus. Two cabs were parked out front. She waved to the nearest cab.

  “Where to, ma’am?”

  “Branion’s Pub.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-ONE

  Austin, Texas

  December 6, 1999 / Monday / 7:40 p.m.

  Caine left the Santa Claus outfit in the men’s restroom near the exit to the mall. Without Andrea by his side and the basket of cookies, the disguise was a magnet for attention. He considered going back into the mall and trying to find a way out in the other direction, but one look convinced him otherwise. Three uniformed officers were standing at the front of the mall, and two plainclothes men were methodically working their way through each shop.

  Caine looked around the landing. Someone had left a copy of the Wall Street Journal on the top of the trash receptacle against the wall. He grabbed the paper, placed it under his arm, and started toward the door. Behind him, he heard a tide of female giggles. He looked over his shoulder and saw a group of teenage girls coming out of the music store at the end of the mall. Caine slowed his walk to allow the girls to pass him. He held the door open for the entire group and followed them out, as though they were together. Caine looked over at the cop who was staring at him, cupped a hand over his mouth, as if hiding what he was saying from the oblivious teens in front of him, and said,

  “We bought everything, as usual.” The cop returned his wry grin and looked back at the door of the mall.

  Caine walked past the group of girls once he was a safe distance from the mall entrance, but there was another problem further down the street. The police had set up another checkpoint. Caine slowed his pace. Two uniformed officers were standing on each side of the street watching every person that walked by. One of the officers was talking to a man fitting Caine’s general description. The man was pulling out his wallet.

  Caine looked around the area for another way out. In the middle of the block, he saw a men’s shop with a brightly lit window display. Caine walked down the street and entered the shop. A well-tailored salesman in his sixties walked over to Caine and gave him a friendly nod.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Yes, you can. I would like to look at a raincoat.”

  Caine was guided over to a three-way mirror, and the salesman brought over three trenchcoats. Caine was pulling on a dark blue coat when two figures appeared in the left panel of the mirror. It was the two detectives. The two men looked in the door of the shop and stared at Caine and the salesman for a moment. Caine shrugged into the coat and turned to the salesman with a smile and asked his opinion.

  “What do you think?” Caine said.

  “I think it fits you quite well, sir,” the salesman answered, nodding his approval.

  “I think so, too. I’ll take it. Now, how about a scarf and a hat as well? Do you have any recommendations?”

  Caine looked in the mirror at his reflection as he spoke. The two detectives were gone.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” the salesman said.

  Twenty minutes later, Caine left the store, twelve hundred dollars poorer, outfitted in a dark blue raincoat, a white scarf, and a stylish tweed hat. In his left hand, he carried a leather briefcase. The newspaper was in his right hand. As he passed the two policemen stationed at the end of the street, they didn’t give him a second glance. One block over, he waved down a cab.

  Austin, Texas

  December 6, 1999 / Monday / 8:00 p.m.

  Branion’s Pub was a popular lunch spot and after-work bar. Since it was a weeknight, the crowd had started to thin out. Andrea sat down at an empty table in the rear of the bar area. She ordered a Chardonnay from the waitress and tried to read the paper someone had left on the next table, but found it impossible to focus. After twenty long minutes and a second glass of wine, the wait was becoming unendurable. The terrible image of Michael being shot minutes earlier, dueled with the fear that Caine had been captured, or worse, killed.

  When the thirty-minute mark passed, Andrea’s mind began to run through a series of options that ranged from waiting another five minutes to going back to the mall to calling the police and asking for help. Each time she went through the list, she would set a deadline for a final decision and then allow it to pass. Forty minutes after they’d separated, Caine walked through the door. She didn’t recognize him in the new topcoat, hat, and scarf, until he took off the hat. Andrea was about to raise her hand to get his attention, when he looked over and started in her direction.

  There was a tired but relieved smile on his face. Her pent-up frustration and fear were suddenly released and she stood up and gave him a hug without thinking. Caine returned the embrace, holding her for a long minute.

  “I’m sorry. I had to change my look to get out of there. I also picked up two prepaid cell phones at a place down the street. Here’s yours,” Caine said apologetically.

  “You’re here. That’s all that matters, although I think I almost lost my mind at least ten times in the past hour,” Andrea answered.

  Caine apologized again and said, “I need you to memorize this new cell number,” handing her a piece of paper. Andrea looked at the number on the paper. It was an easy sequence to remember.

  Caine took back the paper and tore it up. “Now tell me the number three times in a row.”

  Andrea complied. “Any more tests?”

  “No. You passed,” Caine said, a small smile coming to his face at the hint of irritation in Andrea’s voice.

  The waitress, whose clientele was ebbing away, interrupted them and asked Caine what he wanted to drink. Caine glanced at Andrea’s drink and ordered a glass of the same.

  As soon as the waitress left, Andrea leaned over the table slightly and said, “So?”

  “So?” Caine repeated in confusion.

  “So what happened!” Andrea said with exasperation.

  Caine gave her an abbreviated version of wh
at happened after they separated. Andrea was about to ask Caine another question, when she noticed he was watching a man who was approaching the table from the bar. Andrea looked over and saw a tall, portly man in his late thirties walking in their direction. She recognized the arrogant smile on the man’s face and put her hand on Caine’s arm.

  “I know him,” Andrea said. “He’s a real jerk, but harmless. I’ll try to get rid of him quickly.”

  Paul Yates was a partner in the Austin office of an elite New York law firm. Six months ago, Andrea had sat at the same table with him at a state bar function. Whenever there was a break in the program, Yates had a made a point of enlightening her about his athletic accomplishments on the Harvard gridiron, his intellectual and cultural acumen, and most importantly, his status as the most eligible bachelor in Austin. She remembered another lawyer at the table describing him as “the soul of arrogance” on the way out. The description fit Yates almost as well as the outrageously expensive made-to-order suit he was wearing. Andrea could tell from Yates’s smile and manner that he expected her to be delighted to see him again.

  “Andrea! How good to see you again. Are you taking advantage of the intermission to grab a quick drink as well?” Yates said, pointedly ignoring Caine.

  “Hello, Paul, and no, John and I missed the show tonight,” Andrea answered.

  “What a pity. Sir Neville and the Academy of St. Martin were magnificent.”

  Caine was actually relieved that Yates had made a point of excluding him from the conversation, but Yates’s reference to the orchestra brought back memories. Without thinking, he said quietly, “They always are.”

  Caine’s comment, which was intended only for his own hearing, irritated Yates, who considered himself to be at the very pinnacle of the city’s cultural elite. He turned to face Caine, as if suddenly realizing he was there.