by Dinah McCall
With one smooth motion, he pulled the knife across Calderone’s throat, then shoved him forward. He was already in the act of throwing the knife when Elena turned. She saw Calderone’s body slumping to the floor and raised her gun, screaming out her grief as she aimed.
She didn’t see the knife until it was imbedded in her chest. Even as she was trying to pull the trigger, her fingers were going numb. The gun fell from her hand to the floor. She looked down at the knife protruding from her chest and grabbed it with both hands.
One of the guards bolted; the other stood, caught in the trap of Jonah’s stare.
“Now, Evan! Now!” Jonah said. “Run and don’t look back.”
“But the other choppers…”
“They’re ours,” Jonah yelled, and jumped the last guard. They wrestled each other to the floor as Evan bolted.
He ran past death on shaky legs, looking toward the open end of the hangar, only to find himself blinded by the morning light. Staggered by the brightness, he almost fell. Before he could regain his momentum, someone was calling his name. He saw the silhouettes of men running toward him, yelling at him—calling his name, telling him to get down—and they were speaking in English.
Someone grabbed him by the arm.
“It’s okay, son. You’re safe now. Come with me.”
Relief hit him hard as he dropped to his knees. They were saved.
“My dad,” he said, and pointed behind him.
“We’ll get him, too,” the man said. “Can you stand?”
“My hands,” Evan said. “Don’t touch my hands.”
The agent looked down, his stomach turning as he saw their condition.
“Don’t worry, son. We’ve got a medic standing by.”
The guard was desperate. The moment he’d found himself on the floor beneath Jonah Slade, he knew he’d made the wrong choice. He should have left with Julio. At least then he would have had a chance. This man was like a madman—destroying everyone who’d had a hand in what had happened to his son.
“Mercy! Mercy!” he yelled, and suddenly threw his hands up over his head.
Jonah doubled up his fist and coldcocked the man, then took off the man’s belt and bound his hands behind his back. It would last long enough for Ruger’s men to handcuff him.
Finally he straightened, then turned and looked at Calderone. To his surprise, Calderone was still alive and watching him with hate in his eyes. Jonah walked toward him, then stopped just outside the pooling blood.
Calderone made a fist and shook it at Jonah.
Jonah’s lips curled. “Did you think that I would stand by and let you destroy my son?”
Calderone clutched his own shirt above his heart, trying to indicate his own grief.
“Yeah, I know your son is dead,” Jonah said. “If you hadn’t raised the back-shooting little son of a bitch the way you had, he’d still be alive. Go to hell with that thought in your head.”
Calderone’s eyes bulged. Blood frothed at his lips as he clutched at the slit in his throat while helplessly drowning in his own blood.
Jonah stood for a moment, watching, almost reading Calderone’s mind.
“I didn’t kill you, you know. You already died in Lompoc. In the eyes of my country, you’re already dead.”
With that, he walked out of the room, past the guard whose neck he’d snapped, then past the woman who’d tried twice to kill Evan. As he moved toward the front of the hangar, he threw back his head and inhaled deeply, breathing in the fresh air, leaving the death and the stench of that room behind him.
Men in army fatigues were swarming through the buildings. Jonah walked past them, his gaze on the big Huey and the soldiers spilling out of its belly.
“Way to go, Ruger,” Jonah muttered, and then he saw someone climbing out of a smaller chopper and froze in his tracks.
“Macie?”
Suddenly he was moving toward her, first lengthening his stride, then jogging until he was in an all-out run. He caught her in midair, inhaling the sweetness of her and the joy of feeling her body against him.
Alive. He was still alive.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she said, and then buried her face against his neck.
His arms tightened. Tears swelled at the back of his throat.
“Never,” he said hoarsely; then he put he down. “Evan? Where’s Evan?”
“In the chopper,” she said. Then she started to cry. “Oh, Jonah…you did it. You saved him. Thank you, thank you.”
“He’s a hell of a kid,” Jonah said. “I’m thinking as the story comes out, we’re going to find out he went a long way toward saving himself.”
“Like father, like son,” Macie said.
Jonah grinned. “And don’t you forget it.”
“Hey, good buddy, long time no see.”
Jonah put Macie down as he turned around. When he saw Carl, his grin widened.
“Carl, you sorry so and so, where in blazes have you been?”
Macie grabbed Jonah’s arm. “You wouldn’t believe what hell we’ve been through. McAllister’s chopper went down before he could tell us where you were and—”
The smile died on Jonah’s face. “Oh, no. Please tell me he’s all right.”
Carl grinned. “Well, yes. You can’t keep a good Company man down. They rescued him about an hour ago. He was pretty much out of his head, but he kept repeating the coordinates where we could find you.”
“Thank God,” Jonah said. “I owe him big time.”
“You owe Carl, too,” Macie said. “He flew back to CIA headquarters and got the only other computer system that could track you. We were already in the air when we learned Collum had been rescued.”
A long look passed between Jonah and Carl, and then Carl shrugged and grinned.
“Yes, I am a hero, and I expect a letter of recommendation in my file.”
Jonah clapped him on the back as he put his arm around Macie.
“Shut up, you fool, and come with us. I want to introduce you to my son.”
Carl fell into step beside them as they hurried to the chopper. Immediately, Jonah crawled in, then knelt at Evan’s side. The medics already had him hooked up to an IV and were pumping electrolytes and antibiotics into his system as fast as they dared.
“How is he?” Jonah asked.
The medic turned. “Pretty good, sir, considering. He’s a bit dehydrated, and I don’t like the look of his hands, but we’re taking care of both.”
“Don’t leave without me,” Jonah said.
“Right. We won’t be airborne until we get the go ahead from Agent Ruger.”
“Where are you taking him?” Jonah asked.
“I asked them to take him to Cedars-Sinai,” Macie said.
Jonah nodded, then glanced down at Evan.
“You did good, son. I told you it was going to be okay.”
Evan tried to smile, but they had given him something that was making him very sleepy. All he could manage was a nod.
“Evan…I want you to meet Carl French. He’s not only my best friend, but he’s a pretty good agent, as well.”
Carl leaned into the chopper and tugged gently on Evan’s foot.
“Hey, kid…glad to meet you. We’ll talk later when you’re feeling better, okay?”
Evan looked at him a minute, then tried to sit up.
“Easy boy,” Carl said. “I think you’ve had enough excitement to last you a lifetime. You let these people take care of you now, and we’ll get better acquainted later, okay?”
Evan continued to struggle as Carl backed out of the cockpit.
“Take care, kid, and don’t take any wooden nickels, okay?”
Jonah almost missed what Carl said until Evan grabbed his wrist. It was then that he remembered. He looked down, staring at the grip Evan had on his wrist. The boy’s knuckles were white, and as Jonah watched, they started to bleed from beneath the nails, yet he didn’t make a sound. There was only one thing Jonah could think of that would promp
t his son to withstand so much pain. He didn’t want to accept it, and even as he was looking at his son and seeing him mouth the word “Laura” he already knew.
“Okay, son, okay. I got the message. You’re sure?”
Evan nodded as his eyes filled with tears.
Jonah laid his other hand on Evan’s chest. As he did, the boy began to relax and let go.
“I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
Then he backed out of the chopper. When he turned to Macie, he was smiling.
“Honey, there are some things I need to finish up here with Ruger. Why don’t you go with Evan to the hospital now? He’s in too much pain to have to wait another minute on me. As soon as we’re through here, I’ll catch a ride in one of the other birds and meet you.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Jonah wanted to throw his arms around her and weep upon her breast. There was so much pain inside him that it felt like he would burst. But this was something he had to finish on his own.
“Yes, I’m sure. Evan needs immediate care, so climb in and buckle up. I’ll wave you off as soon as I clear it with Ruger.”
Macie climbed inside, still smiling as Jonah shut the doors to the cockpit.
Ruger was only a short distance away. She watched as Carl and Jonah walked toward him, then breathed a sigh of relief as Jonah turned to the pilot and waved him on with a thumbs-up. Seconds later, they were in the air.
Jonah stood until the chopper was gone; then he looked at Carl.
“Walk with me, will you?”
Carl slid an arm around Jonah’s shoulder as they walked back toward the shade of the hangar. Soldiers were still swarming the area, carrying out bodies and confiscating everything that looked to have been part of Calderone’s drug trade.
Once inside the mouth of the hangar, Jonah turned.
“How long have you been on the take?”
Carl looked as if he’d been sucker-punched.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Jonah was so angry his whole body was shaking. “Don’t fuck with me, Carl. I need to understand how you could betray me before I break your damned neck.”
All the color washed from Carl’s face, and then he took a step backward. Suddenly he reached in his jacket and pulled out a handgun.
“Don’t be foolish,” Jonah said. The feds are everywhere. You pull that trigger and you’re a dead man.”
“I’m already dead, so what does it matter?” Carl said.
The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but Jonah said them just the same. “Damn you, Frenchy…damn you to hell. Tell me why you did this. Make me understand.”
Carl stared for a moment, then shrugged. “I like the finer things in life.”
Jonah stared at him, hearing the words but unable to believe what he’d heard. Had he ever known Carl French? Suddenly he didn’t think so. Finally he spat out the words.
“I don’t believe you.”
Carl shoved his glasses to a more comfortable spot on his nose and then pursed his mouth.
“Really? Ever hear of the Snowman?”
“You know I have, but what’s a hit man got to do with—”
Jonah stopped, not bothering to finish his own question. “Jesus Christ!”
Carl grinned. The smile was so familiar that it hurt Jonah’s heart.
“You! You’re the Snowman?”
Carl’s grin widened. “Ain’t that a kick in the pants?”
“How did it happen? What was it that made you turn?”
“Money.” Then he laughed aloud. “It was so damned easy. We were already trained to kill. All I did was point the gun and collect the money.”
“How did you find out about Evan?”
“Oh, that was easy,” Carl said. “Remember a couple of years ago when we were in Thailand and you got that fever?”
Jonah nodded.
“You were out of your head for three days, and we were alone in the jungle. I listened, that’s all. And when we got back to the States, I did a little digging. I found out about the kid then and started to tell you, but I changed my mind. In my line of work, I never knew when I’d need a little insurance.”
“You son of a bitch,” Jonah said softly.
Carl shrugged. “Well, yes, but I’m a rich son of a bitch.”
“You’re never going to live to spend it.”
“I’ve been in tight spots before and escaped,” Carl said. “In fact, that’s why I told Calderone about Evan. He was pretty pissed that I hadn’t warned him earlier about the raid. It brought great shame on his name that he’d let two of the most important Yakuza and two big shots from the Russian Mafia get caught. But when you killed Alejandro, you gave me no choice. It was you or me, and frankly, my friend, I’m just selfish enough to choose my butt over yours.”
Jonah was sick to his stomach. It hurt to say it, but he’d been a man who could always face the truth. Now was no exception.
“I’m not your friend,” Jonah said. “I don’t even know who the hell you are.”
“I’m the Snowman,” Carl said, and twirled the gun on his finger like an old-time gunslinger.
“And I’m leaving,” Jonah said, then turned and strode out into the sunlight, well aware that Carl’s gun was aimed at his back.
Carl was stunned. He hadn’t expected that. Then he started to chuckle. He should have. Jonah Slade never did what was expected of him.
He put the gun back in his jacket and headed for Calderone’s chopper only a short distance away. Jonah might be mad, but he wouldn’t stop him from getting away. Of that he was certain.
As he neared the chopper, he lengthened his stride. The rotors were still turning. It wouldn’t take but a few seconds to rev the engine and lift off. He would be up and gone before Ruger knew what was happening. Then all he had to do was head south and get lost in the South American jungles long enough to get some new papers. From there, he could begin a new life. Maybe in Tahiti, maybe New Delhi. He liked Indian food. He liked the Indian women with their jewel-colored saris and their dark, secretive eyes. Living was cheap there. He could spend the rest of his life there and live like a king. He kept on walking and didn’t look back.
Jonah’s mind was blank except for the knowledge that he couldn’t let Carl go. He stopped the first soldier he came to and ripped the rifle from his hands.
The soldier recognized Jonah and didn’t argue. Then he saw Jonah turn and aim the gun toward Carl French. That was when he reacted.
“Sir! You can’t—
Jonah shoved him aside and took aim. The moment he had Carl in his sights, he yelled out, “Carl French! Stop and drop your weapon! Now!”
Carl’s heart lurched in his chest. God! Less than fifteen feet from the chopper, and he wasn’t going to make it after all.
He thought about giving himself up, then realized he wouldn’t last a week in the pen. Once the inmates realized they had a dirty spook on their hands, his life would be over. His only hope was that Jonah might miss. He started to run.
“Damn you, Carl, don’t make me do this,” Jonah muttered, then yelled out again, “Don’t be a fool, Carl! You won’t get away!”
Carl vaulted toward the cockpit, then spun around and fired two rapid shots in Jonah’s direction, hoping that would make everyone take cover and give him time to lift off.
He was wrong.
Jonah never moved from where he was standing. Instead he took aim and, reluctantly, pulled the trigger.
Carl’s foot was on the runner as the first bullet caught him square in the back. It didn’t really hurt. It was more like he’d just lost his breath. Then the second one caught him in the shoulder and spun him around. Scrambling, he managed to make it into the cockpit, but when he tried to inhale, he felt something bubbling inside his chest.
He turned then, staring blankly at Jonah from across the distance. Like Calderone, he’d underestimated this man, a man he’d thought was his friend. He thought of the boy who’d gotten caught up in t
he midst of a madman’s revenge. There was a lesson he’d just learned, although it was probably going to be too late to apply it to the rest of his life. Blood really was thicker than—
Then the words left his mind. His back was starting to hurt, and Jonah’s image was wavering, as if he were standing on the back side of a mirage. Suddenly Carl lifted his hand and waved at Jonah, then slid into the pilot’s seat, unaware that the entire front of his shirt was rapidly staining with blood.
At the sound of the first two shots, Ruger spun abruptly. Everyone was running for cover. Except Slade.
“What the hell?” he muttered, then saw Slade taking aim at French.
The first shot hit French in the back, the second in his shoulder.
“Don’t let him get off the ground!” Ruger yelled, but Jonah waved them all away.
“Let him go!” Jonah shouted. “Let him go!” Then he said, more to himself than the others, “He can’t go far.”
Unaware of the drama beyond the cockpit, French had hit the juice to the engine. The rotors began picking up speed, sending a huge cloud of sand and gravel into the air.
“I can do this…I can do this,” Carl said, even as his feet were going numb.
Jonah handed the gun back to the soldier just as Ruger grabbed him by the arm.
“What in the name of God just happened?” he yelled.
“Killed the traitor,” Jonah said.
“What traitor? I thought that man was your friend.”
Jonah watched as the chopper began to ascend in a wobbly motion.
“Yes, so did I.”
It wasn’t until the helicopter began to blur that Jonah realized he was crying.
“He’s getting away,” Ruger said, and started to send up another chopper, but Jonah grabbed his arm.
“No, he’s not going far. He can’t.”
Ruger looked at Jonah, then back toward the ocean. No one moved. No one spoke. Silence enveloped the area as everyone watched the inevitable horror unfold.
A few seconds passed, and then suddenly the chopper lurched. When it began to spiral downward toward the ocean, Jonah flinched; then he turned his back, unwilling to watch the impact. When it hit, it burst into flames before sinking to the bottom of the Pacific in a ball of fire and steam.
