Blazer: Return of the Troubles: A Cop Thriller

by G. C. Harmon

  Steve heard through their shattered rear window the screech of tires as the deputy slammed on his brakes and sent the vehicle into a hundred eighty degree skidding turn. The deputy joined the chase.

  Stanson grabbed his cell phone and began working the screen.

  Deputy Justin Teller nearly froze when he saw two vehicles coming at him, taking up the entire road. He braced for impact, and almost didn’t see the two SUVs bump each other away and drift around either side of him. With nothing but empty road suddenly ahead, he slammed on his brakes. Instincts and training kicked in, and he turned his skidding vehicle into rotation. He hit the gas, taking off in pursuit of the two reckless drivers.

  He took one second to breathe and gather himself, then grabbed his radio. “Central, this unit eighteen on Green Valley Road. I’ve got two vehicles playing bumper cars out here.” He took a closer look as he closed the distance. The green SUV once again bumped against the second one, which looked like…an unmarked police vehicle? “I think one of them is a cop.” Movement in his mirror drew him, and he added, “I’ve got another police vehicle coming up behind me, lit up code two.” What the hell is going on here? he didn’t broadcast.

  The dispatcher delayed her response an extra few seconds, indicating she was just as surprised as he was. “Ten-four, eighteen, we’ll start additional units to Green Valley Road.”

  Dave and the others were intent on the chase ahead of them, even as Castillo floored his gas to try and catch up. As best they could on the curvy road, they watched Steve’s every maneuver. He seemed to be staying one step ahead of the driver.

  They lost sight of the other Expedition for a moment on a curve. When Dave rounded that curve, he suddenly slammed on the brakes. Another vehicle was careening toward them, skidding into a U-turn.

  “That’s a Sheriff’s car,” Scot said. The Deputy floored it as Dave came up behind him, and he joined the pursuit.

  “Maybe we’ve got some backup,” Brian said.

  Dave glanced at him in the mirror. “Or another victim.”

  Deputy Teller sped along behind the two vehicles, watching them batter each other for several seconds. He kept glancing in his mirror at the lit up Expedition behind him.

  “Unit eighteen, Central,” the radio blared into is earpiece, “Be advised, we have heard from one of the vehicles involved. They are a special detail out of San Francisco PD. They are involved in a pursuit with a wanted gang of criminals. Your instructions are to remain on station with them, do not engage either vehicle, and be ready to assist Law Enforcement. We do have units en route, but they will be extended.”

  Teller was amazed as he took in the story. “Ten-four, I’ll stay with them.”

  Steve’s mind was racing as fast as their vehicle. He was searching for a way to end this pursuit. They certainly couldn’t have this crew follow them all the way to the castle. But they also needed to somehow take this group into custody for attempted murder of the priest. The Durango was still staying alongside them, ramming them over and over. They hadn’t encountered any other oncoming vehicles for just over a minute now, not since the Deputy arrived on scene.

  They came to another straightaway, a meadow in between two hillsides, and another winery stood at the base of one hill, which was covered with their vineyard.

  Steve spotted something just ahead and made a quick decision. He wrenched the wheel hard left, throwing his whole torso into the move. The Expedition pushed against the Durango. The sides scraped together, but the force of the Expedition sent the Durango careening off the road—

  The Winery had a driveway that met the road. Part of the decoration at the driveway was a wine barrel partially buried. The Durango headed straight for it. They drifted off the road enough that they hit the barrel with the right side wheels.

  The wheels hit with such force that it threw the Durango into a flying corkscrew. The SUV rolled, sending chunks of grass and mud into the air. The crunching and scraping sounds echoed across the meadow, and the Expedition occupants heard them plainly through their shattered windows.

  All three police vehicles skidded to a stop.

  Steve leapt from the driver’s seat, calling back to his Dad and the priest to, “Stay there.” With his gun drawn and at low-ready, he circled around the driveway, eyeing the overturned vehicle. Stanson came up on his right, also covering the Durango. Steve glanced over at the Deputy, who had walked up and stopped at the edge of the road. “Blazer, SFPD. You alright?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  Steve nodded. “Sorry about the stunt show. We’re guarding a VIP, apparently against these guys.” He glanced over as the rest of his team joined them. “Let’s take them. Care to join us, Deputy?”

  “Sure. I’ve got backup on the way, plus fire and ambulance.”

  The winery driveway curved left up a short hillside. A large culvert allowed the driveway to pass over a creek that ran down to the road and emptied into the gutter there. The Durango had come to rest on its roof, partially facing the road. Steve hopped over the gutter and proceeded toward the vehicle, and the team spread out around it.

  “I’ll take the passenger side,” Steve announced, knowing that’s where he’d find the main shooter, the man Fitzhugh had identified as Conner. When he approached, he found the man there belted in upside down, and struggling back to consciousness. Steve dropped to a knee and quickly searched the vehicle interior. Conner’s gun had come to rest just outside the wreck, and Steve confiscated it, sliding it into the back of his pants. “Nice to meet you, Conner,” he muttered.

  Steve tried to wrench the door open, but the roof was too caved in. The window was shattered away, so he knelt next to the vehicle, letting the mud soak into his pants and leaned in to undo the seatbelt. Conner slumped toward the roof. Steve grabbed an arm and dragged him out. He lay the man on the grass and cuffed him, leaving him on his belly.

  “Well, these pants are ruined,” A.J. said as he dragged out the driver, a woman. Two others were dragged from the back seat in a similar fashion. One was bleeding from a minor shoulder wound. The suspects were lined up on the grass.

  Steve glanced up at the driveway beyond the overturned Durango, seeing a group of men running down from the house. The winery itself appeared to be closed for business for the season, so these may be residents and vineyard workers. Brian took it upon himself to go speak with them. Steve heard him say to them, “Police Officer. It’s OK, we got everyone out.”

  Steve went to his vehicle. He debated in his mind whether to bring Fitzhugh right to Conner and elected to keep him there at the vehicle. He opened the passenger side door. “Father, can you step out for me?”

  Fitzhugh climbed shakily out of the vehicle.

  Steve gestured toward the four occupants of the Durango that were lined up in the grass. “Can you identify the man that tried to kill you in the Cathedral?”

  “On the right, in the sunglasses,” the priest said. “That’s Conner Riordan.”

  Steve nodded. “Thank you.”

  From fifty feet away, Conner spotted the priest. “You’re a traitor, Fitzhugh. You’re a dead man!”

  Stanson watched the field ID, and said to Blazer, “We need to go. We still have to get him to the castle.”

  Steve nodded, then gestured toward a second Sheriff’s vehicle just arriving from the west. “We can go now.”

  Blazer approached Deputy Teller. “Listen. We can’t stay, we have a specific mission. All of these guys are in custody. Can you guys transport to your county jail until we decide how we’re going to charge them?”

  Teller appeared a little suspicious of the circumstances. “Yeah, we can hold them. When can we expect to be contacted about custody?”

  “Maybe in a couple hours,” Stanson said, “but certainly by the end of the day.”

  “We’ll get you statements about the crash as well,” Steve added. He motioned to his team to gather. As they got back into their vehicle, Steve backtracked toward his SUV, saying, “Thanks for your help.
We’ll be in touch.”

  The two Expeditions sped off.

  The second Deputy came up behind Teller, who was staring after the mysterious SFPD vehicles. “Teller? What the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Liam crawled out the other side of the culvert. He’d been disoriented when the SUV rolled, but quickly recovered at least some of his senses. Everyone else in the vehicle was either unconscious or moaning and dazed. The window beside him was shattered. He grabbed his gun, which had landed on the roof above him. He undid his seatbelt and slithered out. He knew the cops would be approaching, and he needed to find cover fast. Just yards away, the culvert beckoned, and he crawled there quickly. It was about three feet wide, and it appeared the property owners kept it relatively free of debris to keep it from clogging. He crawled through to the other side, straddling the trickling water and trying not to make too much noise.

  He paused at the other end, trying to listen from his hiding place. The coppers had pounced on the crashed SUV. Conner and the rest were removed from the overturned Durango. Moments later he heard Conner shouting.

  He was surprised when, a minute later, he heard two of the police vehicles speed off. Trying to get the priest to his event, he realized. He heard more voices, which indicated that Conner and the cell were still there.

  For one brief second, he contemplated staying here and letting Connor Riordan’s vendetta against the priest die a quiet death while he went to prison. But Liam was no more a traitor to the cause than Conner was.

  Thomas and the lads were on their way, but he couldn’t wait.

  Liam had taken the minutes since the crash to regain his senses. He then pulled himself from the culvert and climbed up onto the driveway.

  One of the men from the winery saw him and reached out to help, not yet contemplating the discrepancy of his distance from the crash. “Are you OK, buddy?”

  Liam pushed him away. The man saw his gun and backed away quietly. Liam stepped down the embankment to the Durango and peeked around the side.

  The Deputies were standing over the cuffed Irishmen. Liam stepped out, aimed and fired a single shot. One of the Deputies took the bullet in the chest and went down on the wet grass.

  Deputy Teller went for his gun but froze when he saw that Liam had the drop on him. “Don’t do it, boyo,” Liam advised him. “Pull it out slow, toss it and back away. Pull it out fast and I drop you.”

  Teller appeared to think it over, but finally pulled out his automatic and tossed it away.

  “Uncuff them.”

  Teller did as he was told. Conner was the first to be freed, and he jumped up and found Teller’s discarded pistol. The second deputy was writhing in pain, clutching is chest where the bullet had slammed into his vest. Conner relieved him of his weapon as well. He tossed it to Deirdre, who was next to be freed.

  “Grab our stuff from the boot,” Liam said. Conner smiled, and he and Devon went to the back of the SUV. The trunk area was in disarray after the vehicle rolled over, but they found the pile of blankets inside. They’d been used to cover their M-4 rifles. They pulled the rifles out, as well as a gym bag full of loaded magazines.

  “It seems our car is out of commission,” Liam grinned, his teeth smeared with blood where he had bumped his mouth in the crash. “We’ll be needing yours.”

  Steve sped along the highway. The adrenaline that rushed through his body during the chase was starting to wear off. Through years of experience with combat situations, he knew how to keep himself calm in the aftermath of a battle. Beside him, Captain Stanson sat just as calm, himself just as experienced with such situations. Behind him was a different story. His father sat stoically, and he seemed to be just glad that they had come through OK. Steve had often told his parents, especially his father, about the action he faced on the streets as a cop. He had a new perspective seeing it firsthand.

  Fitzhugh might be a different story.

  Speeding down the highway, they passed another Sheriff’s Deputy, rolling code toward the accident scene, soon followed by an ambulance and fire truck. The passing sirens snapped the priest out of his shock.

  “I thought I left this kind of violence behind decades ago.” When Drew looked over at him, he said louder, “I can’t accept it. I can’t accept anyone committing violence on my behalf.”

  “The man wants to kill you,” Drew said.

  “I know. I know that thirty-five years ago, I did something that has invited his wrath. I couldn’t face it then, and I couldn’t face him two nights ago in the church. I should have been willing to face him down, and ready to meet God if he cut me down. That was my weakness, my cross to bear. But having police or anyone committing acts of violence on my behalf for this…event? I can’t accept that.”

  Nice of you to find your courage now that the bastard is in custody, Steve thought. “Are you under the impression that we somehow invited them to attack us?”

  “Well, no.”

  Stanson turned in his seat. “Father, we see this kind of violence all the time, admittedly too often. We also face those in the public who believe that simply because we carry the badge, that we are the cause of this violence. That perception always makes it harder for us to a job that is tough enough to begin with. This is not something we did on your behalf. Someone wanted to commit an act of violence, and our job is to stand up to them and say, “Not this time.” And in doing so, we do what we must to stop them. It’s become an impossible job, and I thank God there are men and women brave enough to stand up and volunteer for it.”

  Whether he accepted Stanson’s viewpoint or not, the priest fell silent.

  Another Sheriff’s vehicle sped past them, rolling code.

  11

  It was mid-afternoon when the two car police convoy rolled up the road leading to Hearst Castle. They came to a parking lot near the base of a hill, where the roadway circled the lot. A large building off to one side had a sign mounted over the entrance identifying it as a “Visitor’s Center.” Typically, this lot was where the tourists would park and catch a shuttle bus up to the castle. Currently, it was populated by a handful of limousines and luxury cars. Vehicles were parked underneath rows of solar panels that made convenient carports. At the opposite end where the buses would usually depart, two Law Enforcement vehicles blocked the road. Both had their red and blue lights flashing. Steve drove up to them. He noted the logo on the side of one car. It was from the US Secret Service’s Uniformed Division.

  As he pulled up to the vehicle, he saw three uniformed men standing off to the side. They approached him, taking in the battered condition of their Expedition. “Sir, the castle is currently closed to tourists.”

  Steve flashed his star. “I’m Sergeant Steve Blazer, San Francisco Police. I’m escorting in one of your involved parties, Father Fitzhugh. If you need to, contact Agent Birdsong with the State Department, he’s expecting us. He should be here already.”

  “One moment while I contact him and verify.” The uniform stepped away, checking the screen on his cell phone, then raising it to make a call. In forty-five seconds, he returned to Steve’s vehicle, as Blazer noticed one of his colleagues climbing into the Secret Service vehicle to back it out of the way. “You’re clear to enter, sir. You have about a fifteen minute drive up to the castle grounds. Agent Birdsong is expecting you and will meet in front.”

  “This second vehicle is with me, they’re my team.”

  “You are all clear to enter, sir.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  Steve drove them forward. Hearing the fifteen minute comment, he leaned down to look out his windshield. The castle was just visible in the distance at the top of a long ridge.

  “This place is fascinating,” Drew said. “I brought the wife down and took the tours many years ago. This bloke William Randolph Hearst owned newspapers, radio and Television stations across the country, was a movie producer, he ran dozens of businesses right here from the mansion. He spent twenty-eight years buil
ding the place, but never got to see it finished. The man had the balls to have his family living on site and move his mistress into the house as well.”

  Father Fitzhugh crossed himself, Steve presumed to guard against lustful thoughts brought on by hearing this.

  “This man entertained movie stars, musicians, athletes, all sorts of celebrities. Everyone was free to explore the grounds, and there was a lot to explore. But everyone was expected to be at dinner every night, and you were expected to somehow help entertain the other guests with a performance from your field. The man built a movie theater inside the bloody castle. They have a collection of old films of some of the guests that have stayed there.”

  A shuttle bus could make the journey in approximately fifteen minutes, but the police convoy made it up the hill in just over ten. Steve pulled to the side of the road where the sign advertised the bus loading area. The grounds of the Castle rose up the hill to their right. A wide sweeping staircase led up to the Esplanade, a walkway surrounding the castle itself. The main house was called “La Casa Grande.” Just ahead, another limousine was dropping off a VIP party, and they started up the steps. Steve noticed Agent Birdsong standing at the base of the stairs, and he pulled up next to him. He saw the State Department Agent’s eyes go wide when he took in the battered condition of their SUV. As everyone stepped out, Birdsong asked, “What the hell happened to you guys?”

  “Our friends in the IRA caught up to us and tried to take us out. They’re now in custody.”

  Birdsong shook his head in amazement, then turned his attention to the priest. “We should get inside. Many of the guests have been assigned to some of the guest cottages, but we have procured one of the bedrooms for you upstairs so you can clean up. The reception will be starting shortly.” Fitzhugh was quickly led off, he and Birdsong mounted the steps and hurried up toward the main building.