The Spy I Loved

by Dusty Miller

  Borz’ jaw dropped and so did Liam’s, as he went into a crouch, hand hovering over his weapon.

  Borz’s hand went to his armpit as the sound of a fight came from a ground-level room just inside the big door, off to the right of the opening.

  Emil Borz turned and looked at Liam, a look of pure awe on his face.

  His face split wide in a grin.

  At that moment the men heard the unmistakable smack of a really good punch. There was a slack moment in time and then the upper half of Beryl Bernstein fell limp in the door opening. Her mouth was slack although she was still moving and her eyes were open. Her raised arm dropped with a thud.

  “Perhaps you’d better get the young lady, Mister Kimball.” Borz slapped his thigh and laughed. “That one is quite a handful.”

  There were shrill voices and more struggle. The thin wooden partitions boomed and it seemed as if the foreman’s office walls rippled with a heavy impact.

  “Lindsey!” Liam stepped forwards, trying to keep an eye on Borz.

  The man just stood there with a big grin on his face.

  Liam wondered what the hell was going on with him. The whole set-up stank. Lindsey came out of the doorway with the reedy Mister Bernstein still grappling with her. When he saw Liam and Borz standing there, he let go abruptly.

  “Liam! Liam, oh, Liam…” She broke into a run, slamming into him so hard she almost bowled him over.

  “Lindsey.” He turned, expecting to see a semi-circle of jerks with Uzis or Mac-10s but it was just Borz, standing there beside the vehicle.

  It was impossible to move with her clinging to him, crying and still babbling incoherently. And they still didn’t shoot him.

  It was an odd moment.

  “Get in the truck and leave now, Mister Kimball.”

  “Come on, Lindsey. Get in the truck.”

  “Shoot them! Shoot them! Shoot all of them fuckers!” Lindsey was grabbing at him now.

  She desperately tried to pull his weapon as he awkwardly fended her off.

  “Fuck you! You pricks! I’ll get you, I swear!”

  Borz looked on, as if to say, tsk, tsk. What a naughty little girl.

  She was raging. Liam forcibly dragged her to the passenger side, stuffing her in even as she cursed, clawed and spat at him. She spat out the door at them. Liam belted her in, where she sat there, head down, bawling her eyes out. Lindsey was oblivious, having escaped to another world momentarily.

  “What? Just like that?”

  Borz grinned. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change, quarters, loonies and toonies.

  “Here, get yourself a car-wash.” He threw his head back and laughed maniacally, although the echoes were dampened by a million layers of sawdust and the sheer moldering age of the building. “And promise you won’t bore me to death, Mister Kimball. You’ll be okay, young lady. Now get going, you stupid people, before I change my mind.”

  Liam hopped in, throwing the change on the passenger side floor. He started the vehicle, backing straight out, keeping an eye on them as best he could. He still needed to hit the door at the relatively high speed he was doing. As soon as the glare of daylight washed over them, he spun the wheel, slammed the gearbox into forward and jammed the throttle to the floor. The lugged tires spurted dirt, gravel and green grass. The last thing he saw was a third party, a red-bearded man (Lom?) bent over Beryl Bernstein, who appeared to be coming to. The gentleman was helping her to sit up. She would have a black eye and a fat lip come morning for sure—if she wasn’t coughing up blood.

  For whatever reason, something very strange had just happened and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what.

  The only thing he knew for sure, was that a man like Borz would have an escape plan.

  Whatever that plan was, it would have to be very, very good.

  Liam Kimball had the terrible feeling that he might have missed something.

  Turning to the still sniffling girl beside him, he spoke.

  “Nice work, incidentally.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Their enemy had timed it well.

  Liam and the girl had barely gotten three kilometres down the track when the sky opened up and the rain came down in torrents. Forced to slow by sheer lack of visibility, Kimball pulled out a cheap phone provided for the purpose, which was better than having one of their own units captured in the event of a double-cross.

  Touching number one on the speed dial feature, someone he didn’t recognize picked up immediately.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Kimball. I’ve got Lindsey. We’re coming out.”

  The message was relayed in excitement.

  Ian’s voice came on the line. In the background Liam heard a ragged buzz of talk coming from multiple mouths.

  “Liam.”

  “Yeah. Lindsey’s all right. No tricks, no double-cross. Unless the road is mined or something. We’re still a few kilometres out.”

  “We have police and ambulance standing by.” Lindsey’s abduction would be treated as an ordinary criminal offence for the time being.

  This mobilized all forces within Canada, spread the nets as widely as possible and got everyone with a badge involved in the manhunt.

  “What about the road?” Ian was worried about ambush.

  “I—I don’t know, but I don’t think so. They could have had me, us I should say, right on the spot.”

  With no knowledge of what was going on inside, there would be an inevitable delay while they figured out whether or not to go in…

  The wipers were making a lot of noise, set on their highest speed and still unable to keep up. Confronted by a raging white-water stream coming off the higher ground to his right and then following the road-bed, he slowed up to examine it.

  Liam cautiously kept the wheels on where the higher parts of the rutted track should be. If that got any deeper, it would push them right off the road. The little river turned abruptly right again at the base of the next hill and disappeared down a rocky gorge, choked with streaming trees, hanging on every angle due to erosion and land-slipping.

  “What about the Predators?”

  “We have two in position and another ready to launch.”

  “Thank you.” Leaving the phone turned on, Liam reached for Lindsey’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  She looked up for the first time, face stained with dirt, blood, sweat and tears.

  “Liam?”

  “You’re safe now.”

  “Thank you.” She clung onto his hand and he had to forcibly peel it away.

  “Those people will never bother you again.” He put the phone back up to his ear. “What are the conditions?”

  Ian consulted with somebody elsewhere by the sounds of it.

  “Still flyable, but the rain is really cutting down on the visibility. They’re bringing them in as close as they dare.”

  Liam nodded.

  The road crested, and then the downslope was greasy mud with another small stream tearing up the surface and foaming up in a series of standing waves below the bigger boulders.

  “Okay, Ian, we should be out of here in a half an hour or so.”

  “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “Something’s just taken out one of the drones.”

  Tension mounted as Liam waited.

  “It had to be some kind of surface-to-air missile. They’re saying it wasn’t a malfunction. They’re launching the backup.”

  Liam’s jaw dropped with the surprise of it. There was only one real possibility, and only one more drone on scene. The enemy had to move. They had no choice, and now neither did he.

  “All units. All units. Move in, I repeat. Move in.”

  The bad guys were making their break. This was confirmed when the signal from the second drone cut out and Ian was too busy to talk to him anymore.

  Drone Three was still winging its way across from Mackinac Island and it was probably going to be too late to do anything about
it.

  ***

  The old sawmill swarmed with investigators after a cautious search by bomb-detection and bomb-disposal people. No booby-traps or explosive devices had been found. So far they had located three of the miniature remote cameras. Two were in the building itself, and one was a hundred metres up the road.

  When more personnel became available, they would look for more.

  Jenkins uttered a deep sigh.

  Liam and the other investigators had set up a command post in the centre of the large factory space. The other rooms were sealed while forensics specialists went through looking for fingerprints, hairs, any material evidence that might identify their suspects. Always building a case, they were nothing if not thorough.

  Cases were good—even if never brought in court. If a suspect was killed, shot in self defense for example, a case against them often brought a lot of comfort to the enforcement officers involved.

  It was better than blowing away the innocent. It was better than always having a doubt. It was better than trying to live with it for the rest of your fucking life.

  “Liam.”

  He looked up from their conference, a large-scale terrain map of the area spread on the damp hood of an Ontario Provincial Police cruiser.

  “Yes?”

  “We’re getting reports of a seaplane—the witness calls it a ski-plane, but by the description I’m thinking it’s more like a flying boat.”

  “When?”

  “They’re saying maybe forty-five minutes, half an hour maybe.”

  “Shit.”

  Predator Three orbited overhead, using its camera pickups in pure reconnaissance and search mode. If only they could narrow it down, the aircraft might become useful again. For the time being, it was checking out fishing boats and looking for people going overland. This was an almost impossible task given the terrain and the season. They were getting hits all over the place.

  There weren’t any hiking trails in the immediate vicinity.

  “Where?”

  “Right here.”

  All heads turned to the far end. The door at the end of the mill, closed when Liam was there, had been open wide upon the arrival of the authorities.

  The theory was that a boat had been used in the escape, the weather possibly giving it more chance of success than perhaps it deserved. With that end of the building in darkness, Liam hadn’t seen any aircraft. That proved nothing.

  “Are we sure?”

  Jenkins made a face and shrugged.

  “Quite a few people saw it. They’re saying it came from here—the old McKerlie Sawmill.” According to witnesses, a dull grey plane had taxied out, taken off into the southwestern wind at about six or six-thirty a.m. As usual, witnesses weren’t exactly looking at their watches and writing things down.

  They said it circled to the right and then turned to the northeast, keeping just below the cloud-base, which Environment Canada was listing at six hundred metres, or just clearing the tops of the tallest hills in the area.

  Ian was already on the phone to the military. Hopefully the message would travel quickly.

  The look on his face was not a happy one. In his assessment, it was already too late.

  “In the meantime?” It was a very good question.

  “They might not all be in the plane.” The land and water searches must continue. “That could have been anyone—anyone at all.”

  Junior operative were looking for a flight plan, but of course there wouldn’t be one.

  ***

  After being bundled passively into an ambulance, attended by a sobered Uncle Dale, Lindsey was taken to Espanola Regional Hospital.

  By the time a tired, soaking wet and exasperated Liam Kimball turned up to see how she was doing, she had discharged herself and presumably, they had gone home to The Pines.

  Liam was becoming pretty familiar to the police and military roaming the streets and back roads of the area. He drove at seventy miles an hour, being waved through checkpoints in his borrowed olive green pickup truck.

  There was plenty to think about besides Lindsey. The plane might have been a blind—no EMERALD aboard, so they had to continue with the site search, continue with the foot searches, following up every muddy track and footprint in the surrounding area. The enemy might have conceivably used small, four-wheel-drive off-road vehicles in their escape. The damned tracks were everywhere when they started to look. EMERALD didn’t weigh that much, and an overland escape might just be feasible as long as all eyes were busy elsewhere.

  It was just after full dark when he pulled into the parking lot and drove past in front of the store.

  There were lights on in his place. A pair of junior agents held down the fort and kept an eye on the Bernstein’s place across the road. The likelihood of them returning seemed very remote, but nothing could ever be ruled out.

  He parked the truck amidst an annoying jumble of vehicles in what was a very small front drive and yard. There was a cop car parked across the way, in the boat launch parking lot and one out in front of the store. Otherwise the resort looked surprisingly natural. The guests were of course intent on their fishing. There wasn’t much to look at and hence fuel further curiosity. No one was talking and the civilians must have just given up.

  Someone inside Cabin Seven opened the door for him which saved a very tired Liam Kimball from trying to hit the keyhole. After dropping his laptop and weapon on the end of the kitchen table, Liam got himself a beer and headed for the shower.

  ***

  Liam changed into fresh jeans and clean shirt. Stuffing bare feet into some soft old loafers, he strolled across in the warm evening air to see if Lindsey was around.

  It was getting onto closing time and there were a few folks, mostly young people stocking up on snacks and soft drinks. The girl behind the counter wasn’t busy but it wasn’t Lindsey either. She was fresh, freckle-faced and with a shock of orange-red hair.

  “Excuse me. Have you seen Lindsey?”

  The girl looked away from the screen of the TV on one end of the store counter.

  “Not recently. She was around earlier.” The girl gave him a look. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Liam shook his head. Leaving the store, he went around the north side of the building and around to the patio door on the back of the rambling old building.

  He knocked and watched as Dale took a while to catch on and then lumber up out of his recliner.

  With the air conditioning on, Dale had to slide the big glass panel back.

  “Yes?”

  Liam spoke through the screen.

  “Is Lindsey around?”

  Dale, sensitivity personified, turned and bellowed into the depths of the living quarters.

  “Lindsey.”

  Off to Liam’s left, a small window glowed orange. The light went out. He caught the faint sound of a toilet flushing and water running briefly.

  “She’ll be right here.”

  Apparently Liam wasn’t being invited in. He felt like the young gallant picking a girl up at her parent’s place on the first date. Only worse.

  She came around the corner from the back hall. Turning to look, she saw it was him. Her face was very calm, very composed, and very pale.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lindsey slid back the screen door and stepped out onto the dimly lit patio. She closed it and then took his hand.

  She led him off into the darkness. Knowing her way around as she did, Liam could only follow along.

  “We need to talk. I’m very sorry, Lindsey.” She’d clearly been in shock when they put her and her uncle in the ambulance. “It was a terrible thing that they did to you—”

  He had been about to say happened, it happened to you but that was wrong. The wrong words might do more harm than good.

  She stopped. They were behind the store, in an open area under scattered tall trees. There was a jumble of old packing cases, pallets, and a couple of sheds big enough for the lawn tractor he’d seen
Dale on during the week.

  It was the wrong thing to do, but when she turned, face pale and ghostly in the dim starlight, he put his arms around her and pulled her in close.

  Her arms came up around his neck and then there was nothing else for it but to gaze into her eyes and wonder.

  “Liam.”

  “Yes.”

  “Please don’t leave.”

  She pulled down on his head and neck so hard, her feet went up on tiptoes. Her eyes were closed but her mouth clamped down on his and her tongue was thrusting and wriggling insistently inside of his mouth.

  The smell of freshly showered sweet young woman was all over him.

  Quite frankly, he was shocked.

  What in the hell am I going to say to that.

  ***

  There were one or two old trailers parked at the very back of the yard. Taking his hand again, Lindsey dragged Liam Kimball and his thumping heart to the door of the farthest one, looking impossibly long as it gleamed pale and close before them. There was the sound of crickets, spring peepers and stealthy rustles in the long grass beside the doorway.

  It wasn’t locked, and she went up the two metal steps, turning on a dim kitchen light as she did.

  She locked the door once they were in.

  It wasn’t much. There were heavy curtains on the windows. There was a couch on the far wall of the living room, which was on his right. The kitchen was straight ahead, and Lindsey went to the fridge. Opening it, she pulled out a bottle of vodka.

  Taking two tall glasses from a cupboard that didn’t seem to have very much in it, she opened the freezer compartment and found a handful of ice-cubes. Small as they were, they might have been in there a while. She poured and the ice snapped in the glass.

  She came to him and handed him a drink.

  “This is where Dale lived when he first came here.”

  “Ah.”

  Liam wondered when she was going to start talking. Really talking. She had a load to get off of her chest.