Devil's Run (38 page)

Two of Kohl’s men were
on the helipad, furiously clearing the platform with snow shovels.

“They’re not taking a
chance on the cable car,” I said. “The helicopter’s coming.”

Kohl was at the bottom
of the steps clutching a brief case. Near him was a small pile of luggage.
Another figure appeared out the patio door of one of the suites. It was
Canfield’s aide, Randolph, struggling with two suitcases.

“If they get to the
airfield, they can get out of the country,” said Catherine

“I don’t see
Imperatrice.”

She grabbed my arm.
“Nick, we need to deal with what we can. Imperatrice can wait.”

“I know.”

Kohl looked over as we
approached. He raised something to his mouth. Then he began yelling and
gesticulating at the men on the platform. They began shoveling faster. Kohl
looked back at the residence wing and said something to Randolph.

“What’s the plan?” said
Cat.

“I think he made us,” I
said.

Before she could reply,
I heard the sound of rotors. Bullets thudded into the Sno-Cat, two of them
starring the windshield. The cab darkened momentarily as the helicopter, a red
and white Bell Huey, passed overhead and banked over the building to make
another run at us. I turned the Cat towards the safety of the trees. We were
twenty yards out when more bullets tore into the body. The engine stuttered and
died. Smoke began seeping into the cabin.

“Head for the trees,” I
said.

I grabbed the two
submachine guns and jumped down to the snow. Catherine followed me out the same
door, keeping the Sno-Cat between us and The Retreat. While the helicopter
banked around again, we loped through the deep snow into the forest. I expected
more bullets, but none came. From the cover of the trees I saw the Huey
settling onto the helipad. Kohl and Randolph started up the stairs. The two men
who had been shoveling were already climbing aboard. A man stood in the open
cargo door, aiming a Squad Automatic Weapon that was secured to the fuselage
with bungee cords. He fired a short burst of rounds our way, pausing to let
Kohl and Randolph scramble aboard.

“What do we do now?”
said Catherine.

“Try and take him down,”
I said, hefting the MP5.

“You should have brought
an RPG.”

“Wait,” I said. “Maybe I
did. Take these and give me the pistol.” I handed her the submachine guns. “Put
some fire on the helicopter.”

“What are you going to
do?”

“Get a missile
launcher.”

I broke cover and headed
back to the Sno-Cat. The gunner on the Huey started firing, but Catherine
opened up on him. He shifted his fire to her. She ducked behind a tree just as
the spray of bullets thudded into it.

In the smoky cabin of
the Sno-Cat I plucked the avalanche gun from its mount and used the pistol to
blow the padlock off the metal ammo box. The rounds were colored red and
orange. I figured red was the more powerful and grabbed two of them and two fin
assemblies. I stuck the rounds into the fins, ending up with something the size
and shape of a Nerf football.

Catherine was still
firing bursts at the helicopter, but the pitch of the rotors had changed. The
Huey lifted off the pad and drifted towards her. The door gunner began firing a
steady stream of bullets. Through the window of the Sno-Cat I saw Imperatrice,
Canfield, and Cory come out of the same patio door Randolph had. Canfield had
Cory by the upper arm. The three of them stopped, surprised to see the chopper
airborne. Imperatrice spoke briefly to Canfield, and ran back into the
building.

The Huey was doing a
slow dance, the pilot making adjustments to keep Catherine in the machine
gunner’s sights as she moved from tree to tree. She wouldn’t stay lucky much
longer.

I opened the breech plug
of the avalanche gun, inserted a round, and turned the valve on the CO2 tank.
Gas hissed into the firing chamber. I jumped out of the Cat and struggled
towards the helicopter, some thirty yards away, but I was looking at the tail,
a profile too narrow for a clean shot. I held the avalanche gun behind me with
my left hand and emptied the pistol at the helicopter. One or two rounds must
have caught their attention, because the Huey pivoted and I was facing the open
cargo door. The gunner bought the SAW to bear on me, Kohl beside him, pointing.

I stuck the empty pistol
in my belt and brought the avalanche gun up. Aiming at the center of the open
cargo door, I pulled the trigger. The gun shuddered, a white burst of CO2 momentarily
blocking my vision. The red missile arced lazily towards the helicopter, but
the chopper drifted sideways and the little warhead missed, striking the ground
near the helipad. The harmless explosion of snow was quickly dispersed by the
downdraft from the rotors.

I opened the breech and
inserted the second charge. The Huey swung broadside again and the gunner
opened up. I threw myself to the side, the line of bullets just missing me. I
rolled in the snow, back towards the burning Sno-Cat, but the helicopter was
side slipping towards me, keeping up a steady fire.

Then the Huey suddenly
gained altitude and spun towards the building. I popped my head up and saw Tim
standing on the restaurant patio, firing a handgun at the chopper. Canfield
produced a pistol from beneath his coat and took careful aim. I saw the gun
buck twice. Tim spun around and fell.

Canfield turned towards
me, and began firing, but I ignored him. The Huey was settling back down,
broadside again. I snapped the gun to my shoulder and fired. The charge flew
through the cargo bay and exploded in the cockpit. The helicopter lurched
sideways, throwing the door gunner out. Then it spun madly for several
revolutions, finally smashing into the roof of The Retreat, just thirty feet
from where Canfield and Cory stood transfixed. A large piece of rotor blade
came directly at me. I fell into the snow and it scythed over my head, slicing
the Sno-Cat’s cabin in half.

I looked up to see
Canfield dragging Cory back into the building. The roof beneath the Huey gave
way. It slid off and fell nose first. When it struck the ground it sat in
absolute silence for a moment, tail pointed at the sky. Then it fell sideways
and exploded. A flaming figure staggered from the wreckage, arms waving feebly,
only to collapse after two steps.

I looked around for
Catherine. She came out of the woods, one of the submachine guns still clutched
in her hands. She ran over to me.

“I ran out of
ammunition. Who was that shooting up there?”

“Tim.”

“The bartender?”

“Yeah. He moonlights as
a fed. Come on, I think Canfield got him.”

We skirted the burning
helicopter and ran to the patio. Tim sat on the flagstones, his back against an
empty planter. His face was ashen.

 “How bad?” I said.

“I don’t know.
Shoulder.”

“Let me see.” There was
hole in the left front of his jacket and a corresponding one in the back. I
peeled back the jacket to examine the wound. “All things considered you should
have stayed in Jamaica.”

“That’s funny,” he said,
wearily.

“Looks like a through
and through from the hole.” I looked at Catherine. “Let’s get him down to the
ski shop, away from the fire.”

Tim grabbed my arm.

“Get those bastards,” he
said.

“I’m not going to-”

“We’ll manage,” said
Catherine. “Get them.”

I looked at Tim. “Give
me your pistol.”

“Only three rounds
left.” He said, wincing with pain.

“I’ll be right back,” I
said.

I approached the suite
where I’d seen Canfield and Cory return to the building. The sliding glass door
was still open about an inch. I stood to the side and pushed slowly until it
was open wide enough for me to slip inside. I leaned over to see what I could
see.

The floor plan was
identical to the one I’d stayed in a lifetime ago, just slightly different furnishings.
Cory was sitting on a white sofa next to the circular fireplace, pressing a
bloody towel to her forehead. There was no sign of Canfield. Then I heard his
voice. It sounded as if he was by the bar. I slipped in the door and started
walking in that direction.

“We were outside when
the helicopter went down,” I heard him say. “She was injured. Something hit her
head.” There was silence for several seconds, and I realized he was on the
house phone. “Not serious.” Again, the pause. “I can manage her by myself.”

Canfield walked into the
living room and went to Cory. He had a small blue and white first aid kit.

“It’s at the bottom,” he
said, kneeling before her. “He’s bringing it back up.”

Cory started to speak,
but then saw me standing there. Canfield must have noticed. He dropped the
first aid kit and whirled to face me, simultaneously pulling his gun.

“Don’t, Senator,” I
said, but he kept going. I put a bullet into his chest, but he continued to
raise his pistol. I shot him again, but he was a big man and in good shape. I
had only one bullet left, so I aimed carefully at his head and shot him between
the eyes. He spun and fell face first onto the edge of the fireplace. The
pistol fell from his hand and slid down against the artificial logs. He rolled off
the fireplace onto his back.

Cory looked from me to
him and back again before bursting into tears. She ran to me, throwing her arms
around my neck. “Oh, Nick, thank God!”

“It’s okay,” I said,
laying the empty pistol on the bar. I hugged her and patted her on the back.
“Everything is okay now.”

“Oh, God,” she said,
sobbing into my chest, “it’s all been so horrible. They were so mean to me. And
then the helicopter!”

“Try not to think about
it now,” I said. “We’re still in danger. Where is Imperatrice?”

“What? Why?” She seemed
to focus. “The cable car, he’s getting the cable car.”

“How many others are
left?”

“Others?”

“Bad guys.”

“I don’t know.” She
hugged me tighter. “Nick, I’m so scared.”

“Try not to be.
Everything will be alright.”

“I know.” She stepped back
quickly snatching the other pistol from my belt and pointing it at me in a two
handed grip that looked very professional.

“Cory, what are you
doing?”

“Shut up. Don’t move a
muscle or I’ll put a bullet right in your stomach.” The pistol was rock steady
in her hands.

She reached behind with
her left hand, searching for something on the bar, but never taking her eyes
off me. Her hand found the remote control and picked it up. When she saw what
it was, she gave it a disgusted look and put it back. After a moment her hand
touched the cordless phone. She thumbed the pad and placed it against her ear.

“It’s me,” she said.
“Jack’s dead… How do you think?...Uh-huh… Very much so. Standing in front of me
right now. I figured you might want the pleasure. Complete the set, so to
speak… Okay, but be quick.” She put the phone down and resumed a two handed
grip.

“So the ditzy senator’s
wife is actually an aspiring drug lord.”

“Senator’s widow, thanks
to you. And after poor Jack over there kills you, I will be an object of great
sympathy; bewildered, betrayed, my saintly husband assassinated by an
ex-federal agent with a very murky past.”

“Poor Jack is right. He
must have thought he hit the jackpot when he met you. A wife with unlimited
funds, access to an important demographic, and too stupid, he figured, to
realize she was only a beard for him and Randolph.”

“I thought you noticed
something in the bar that night. Jack and Bryce were usually very discreet, but
they felt safer up here.”

“Turns out Jack was the
beard, for your plans anyway. You strung him along, nursed his dreams of being
President, but you never intended it to go that far. You got him where it
suited you and then let the word leak to the right people about who he really
was.”

“I’d have made sure he
never entered the primaries, but as long as people thought he might run for
President, his secret was safe and he could stay a Senator.” She looked at the
gun, as if something had suddenly occurred to her. “When did you figure it
out?”

“At the cocktail party you
told your husband I’d worked for Imperatrice. It occurred to me this afternoon,
when Imperatrice was wandering down memory lane, that there was no way you
could know that unless he told you. That meant you were involved somehow. I
take it you and Rich are lovers.”

“I don’t limit myself to
one man.”

“So I’ve seen. And if
one can judge by the offspring, it wasn’t Daddy who ran the family business,
was it? He was just a front. It was your mother, Rojas’ daughter. Rojas knew no
one would take orders from a woman, so he made Manuel her mouthpiece. And I’ll
bet she filled you with stories about grandpa.”

“My grandfather was a
great man, and my mother was a great woman. She wanted to avenge him, but the
cancer took her strength. Once she died, it was up to me.”

Something in her eyes
was frightening, and I suddenly knew who had sabotaged her father’s airplane.

“My God,” I said, “you
killed your own father.”

“He was weak. He refused
to help me. He’d grown fat and lazy living the American dream.” She looked at
the gun again. “Too bad you figured it out too late.”

 “Don’t kid
yourself, Sweetheart. Both Imperatrice and Kohl said someone else was in
charge. Boyd said he heard a man’s voice, but your mother trained you well, so
I’m guessing all communications with everyone but Rich were by phone, so you
could disguise your voice with software. Then there’s the Warrington School of
Business. That’s part of the University of Florida; the same place Fisher was
doing his research. Research funded by one of the late Mr. Boyd’s charities,
which means you. But the capper was learning Ms. Ricasso was your button man.
That’s something only a woman would do, and it occurred to me that what
everyone thinks is the childish enthusiasm of an arrested adolescent is really
the barely controlled hysteria of a complete lunatic.”

Her eyes blazed and her
finger tightened on the trigger. “Who have you told?”

“Does that matter? I’ve
shut you down. Party’s over.”

“Not my party. Once
you’re dead, I’m just a grieving widow. Richard and I will have time to go
anywhere in the world before they figure it out, if they ever do.”

“You really think you’ll
get away with this?”

Tears suddenly flowed.
“When they see this face and hear my terrifying tale of a hair’s breadth escape
from a group of sinister criminals?” The smile snapped back. “You have no idea
how good I am at that.” She gestured slightly with the gun. “I don’t think I’ll
wait for Richard. I’ll kill you myself.”

“Considering what I just
said, do you really think I’d let you have a loaded gun?”

“What?”

“The – gun – is –empty,”
I said, enunciating each word carefully.

I walked quickly towards
her. She pulled the trigger several times, the gun clicking uselessly. As I
reached for it, she swung it at my face. When I turned away she leaped onto my
back with a savage shriek that did not seem to come from a human being. One arm
was around my throat while she beat the pistol against my head with the other.
I slammed back against the bar. The air whooshed from her body, and the arm
around my neck loosened. I got one hand on that arm and the other beneath her
breasts. I lifted her off and hurled her over the bar. She smashed lengthwise
into the racks, shattering some of the bottles and collapsing the shelves. She
bounced once on the counter before falling to the floor, taking liquor and
pieces of shelving with her.

I had barely begun to
move when she was over the bar, the jagged remains of a bottle clutched in her
fist. I managed to parry her thrust, but she crashed into me and I stumbled
over the bar stools, falling backwards to the floor. Cory was on top of me, her
face a bloody snarl, liquor dripping from her hair, the jagged glass aimed at
my face. I grabbed her wrist and twisted it violently. She howled in pain and
dropped the bottle. I punched her, but without much force from my awkward
position. She sank her nails into the hand I had on her wrist and I released
her. She sprang to her feet and dove head first into the fireplace, reaching
for Canfield’s pistol.

I stood to go after her,
but my foot tangled in the legs of a stool and I grabbed the edge of the bar to
keep from falling again. When I looked over, Cory was on her stomach, next to
the faux logs, the gun already in her grasp. She rolled on her back to point it
at me. I looked around for something to throw and saw the remote lying on the
bar. I pressed my thumb against the fireplace button.

Orange and yellow flame
sprang through the logs, igniting Cory’s liquor soaked clothing. She shrieked
in horror and rolled over the edge of the fireplace, her parka and hair on
fire. She got to her feet and ran madly towards the door, wailing in agony, the
melting nylon parka trailing oily black smoke.

The door opened, and
Imperatrice was standing there, a pistol in his hand. I dove behind the
fireplace. There were two shots as I hit the carpet. The screaming stopped. I
snatched up Canfield’s pistol and continued rolling, ending up on my knees and
immediately firing two rounds at the door, but it was closed. Imperatrice was
gone.

His bullets had been for
Cory, not me. Her still burning body lay on its back in a growing pool of
blood. Merciful, but I doubted that was his intent. With everyone dead he could
spin this any way he wanted. The only person who could discredit him was a
disgruntled former subordinate with a checkered past and an axe to grind. The
truth might eventually come out, but by then he’d have disappeared, along with
the money he’d stashed away.

He was headed for the
cable car. I ran out the door and down the hall towards the center of the
building. Over the crackle of flames I heard a steadily ringing bell. When I
reached the lobby, the cable car station elevator doors were closed. The
indicator showed the car was at the bottom. Imperatrice must have pulled the
alarm, locking it below. I went to the emergency stairwell and started down.
Halfway to the bottom I heard scraping metal followed by a loud bang. Just as I
reached the bottom, two heavy bolts were thrown on the other side of the huge
fire door. I tugged in vain on the handle.

“That you, Nick?” said
Imperatrice. When I didn’t answer, he said, “You always were a step behind me.
See you in hell someday.”

I banged my fist against
the door in frustration. Then an idea came to me. I went back up the stairs,
two at a time. I ran into the bar and towards the far end, emptying the pistol
into the window. The bullets punched a rough circle in the thick glass, but the
pane held. Tossing the pistol aside, I seized a bar stool and flung it at the
damage. It punched partway through, sticking in the hole it created. I picked
up one of the heavy chairs and threw it. Chair and stool disappeared into the
darkness, taking most of the window with them. A blast of cold wind sent a
blizzard of cocktail napkins flying across the bar.

I climbed through the
hole onto the narrow ledge. The wind assaulted me, constantly redirected by the
narrow, irregular confines of the canyon. The roof of the cable car station was
directly below, but with the sun setting behind the mountains, the details of
the rock face beneath me were hard to see.

The brightly lit car was
just passing the last tower, so I didn’t have a choice. I began climbing down
to the roof of the station, feeling for dimly seen handholds and footholds. I
was a quarter of the way down when the car slowed and began its final approach
to the station. I started moving faster, but that had immediate consequences
when an outcropping of rock simply crumbled beneath me. I fell about ten feet
before my fingers grabbed a thin projection. Hanging only by my fingertips, my
feet searched for purchase. I found a crack in the rock and jammed my toes into
it, stopping for a moment to catch my breath.

I was counting on
Imperatrice having difficulty operating the cable car by himself, enough to
give me time to climb onto the cabin and get into the station, but a minute
later I felt a tremor in the rock and heard the distant whine of machinery. I
glanced over my shoulder to see the cables, bathed in light from the station,
begin to vibrate. Then the transport cable began to move.

I let go and dropped the
last ten feet to the station roof, bending my knees like a parachutist to
cushion the landing. The pitch was steeper than I thought and I fell forward,
sliding face first towards the edge. I lifted both legs and slammed my toes
down hard. The soft Uggs had little bite, and I continued towards the chasm,
digging with my hands in the snow to slow myself down. I finally stopped with
my head and shoulders already over the edge.

At that moment the cable
car emerged from the station. Extending my hands towards the carriage, I
released my feet and fell.