Ogrodnik Interior 2.0c (31 page)

Rayce nodded, helped Elliot up and pushed him toward the open sliding door and then ran low across the room to Rivka, keeping his head below the swirling plasma. Rayce had no intention of trying to negotiate with a red hot metal door handle. He lowered his shoulder and sprinted directly at the door. The door was industrial steel, two inches thick with carbon hardened hinges. Rayce’s shoulder, backed by 220 pounds of desperate man, met the door just inside the locking mechanism. The door, as advertised, proved to be sturdy and rugged. The locking mechanism groaned under the stress, but neither lock nor door gave in. The surrounding wall structure was another matter. The sturdy steel door frame was ripped out of the wooden wall frame and exploded into the room beyond.

Underneath the layer of churning smoke, Rayce saw the shape of a woman over to the left behind an alcove lying at the foot of a door in the back corner of the room. He wasted no time. He flung her up over his shoulder and sprinted back the way he had come. The swirling vortex overhead was now howling as it roared out the same open door that Rayce sped toward. Rayce felt the explosion of heat as he passed through the door when the vortex ignited and engulfed the workshop.

The three staggered back to a safe distance, and Rayce lowered Rivka to the ground and broke her ties. Without saying anything, she reached up and hugged Elliot and Rayce.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

“Are you hurt?” Rayce asked.

“Just my pride,” Rivka replied as she rubbed the circulation pack into her wrists.

“Ogrodnik, did you... is he...?”

“He’s done,” said Rayce as he wiped the blood from his face. “If he wasn’t dead when we left him, the fire would have finished him.”

Rivka let out a deep breath as if a weight had been lifted from her. “Elliot, you’re bleeding!”

“Just a scratch,” he said, trying to downplay it.

“Like hell it’s a scratch. It’s a goddamn bullet hole!”

“No, it’s not a bullet hole. I’ll be fine.”

“There doesn’t seem to be anything broken. The bolt passed through the trapezius muscle above the collar bone,” said Rayce while inspecting Elliot’s shoulder and took off his overalls to use as a make shift dressing and compress.

“Who’s Muscles Nightingale?” Rivka asked Elliot, nodding her head in Rayce’s direction.

“Rivka, meet your rescuer, Rayce Nolan. Rayce, my partner, Rivka Goldstein.”

“I owe you one, big guy.”

Rayce nodded and continued working on Elliot’s shoulder.

“This’ll hold until we can get to the hospital.”

“The hospital will have to wait. We need to intercept Banik at the airport.”

“Why don’t you let the police handle that?” asked Rayce.

“I’ll call Renaud and meet him there, but I don’t trust anyone else to do this. We’ve gone this far, Rayce. I want to be there to take down Banik. He’s the guy who started this shit. He hired the man who killed my wife and my father.”

“I get it, but this is where I have to step back. I can’t be a part of this if the police are going to be involved. It’ll lead to too many questions.”

Elliot stood up, nodded at Rayce and looked like he was about to say, “
I understand”
but said nothing for a moment while he searched for words. “Rayce, I–”

Rayce held up his hand to stop what he knew was coming and held out his other hand to shake. “Forsman. They opened a door, and we closed it. We did what we needed to do. That’s all.”

Elliot looked at Rayce understanding that acknowledgement and gratitude were not an element of his needs.

“Did you manage to find Yilmaz?”

“Yeah, I found him. He came back to the bunker with his two sidekicks. Their debt has been paid in full.”

“I guess that’s the end of Eastern Security.”

“Banik might have a personal guard with him, but I think you’re right. Eastern Security no longer exists.”

“My car is next door. Riv, are you okay to drive?”

“You’re asking me to drive. You must be hurt if you’re asking me to drive.”

They said their quick goodbyes as Rayce departed in his truck, and Elliot and Rivka walked to the next business and headed for the airport in Elliot’s car.

“I guess I need to fill in some blanks,” he said as he tossed his keys to Rivka.

“I guess you do.”

“Where to start?” mused Elliot as they pulled out of the unpaved parking lot.

“Bunker? Basement filled with bodies? Elliot, did I hear you say that Banik ordered Sarah killed? I’ve only been out of the game for a couple of days, and now your wife is part of all this?”

“A lot has happened since we last talked. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

“This Rayce guy? When did he enter the picture? And who is he?”

“Let me start at the beginning.” He told Rivka about finding the pictures of Sarah in the case file, about calling Rayce and his subsequent conversation with him, about Eastern sending an assassin to Rayce’s, about Rayce burning down the Eastern compound, about attacking the bunker and about how he made the connection between Ogrodnik and Hochelaga Landscaping.

Elliot dialed Yves Renault’s cell phone and put him on speaker.

“Oui, Allo” answered a quiet voice on the other end of the line.

“Yves, Elliot here.”

“Yes, who else would call me at 4:00 a.m.?”

“I’ve found my partner. She’s okay, and I have a lead on Banik.“

“I’m glad to hear she’s okay. I’ll let my guys know. Tell me about Banik.”

“The intel I have says that Banik will be flying out of a private terminal at Dorval this morning around 6:00 a.m. He’s making a run for it, Yves. We need to stop him.”

“Do you know which private terminal?”

“Shellco.”

“I’m on my way, and I’ll call in some officers who I know are clean.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Stay away, and let me take this one, Elliot.”

“Not a chance, Yves. I’ll see you there.”

Renault knew that Elliot would not be dissuaded, so he didn’t even try.

“Elliot, I got a call about an hour ago. Detective Durocher had an accident on his motorcycle earlier this evening and was found dead at the scene. It looks like he was run off the road.”

Elliot acknowledged with a low whistle.

“There’s more. Standard protocol when an active officer is killed is to let the chief know. When he didn’t answer his phone, a squad car was sent to his house, and he was found in his closed garage with the car motor running. He was dead. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions,” said the detective.

“It sounds like they’re cleaning house. What about Detective Duval?”

“There’s no word from him. He’s not at home and not answering his phone. He could be lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“Let’s get this guy before he flies the coop. See you at the airport.” Elliot killed the conversation and looked over at Rivka. He felt no remorse for the fallen police. They made their choices.

No sooner had Elliot put his phone back in his pocket than it chirped indicating a message had just come in.

“What is it?” Rivka asked looking over at Elliot, who was now engrossed in the email.

“It’s a message from Jennifer at McGill. I’ll fill you in later.”

Rivka slowed the truck when they reached the private terminal section. The streets were still empty with no signs yet of the coming business day.

“There it is,” said Elliot pointing at an upcoming terminal building.

Rivka turned off the headlights and glided into the open gate of the terminal. There were a couple of vehicles already in the parking lot, but it was impossible to say if any belonged to Banik.

Elliot reached into the back and passed Rivka the bag of weapons they brought from Rayce’s. While she checked the contents and ensured the guns were locked and loaded, Elliot checked his own gun. There were eleven bullets still in the clip. He hoped he wouldn’t need any. If Banik was alone, he didn’t anticipate there would be trouble. Banik was not the type to get engaged in a gunfight; in fact, Elliot was certain he wouldn’t even be carrying a weapon.

Elliot and Rivka nodded to each other, exited the truck and advanced to the terminal. The large glass windows clearly showed that the reception area was empty and lit only by the ambient glow of overnight lighting. As expected, the door was locked. Rivka nodded her head toward the back of the building where the planes would be parked. There was only one plane in the back; it was parked outside the hangar. The lights were on in the cockpit, but the stairs were drawn up, and there was no indication of human activity within. Guns now drawn, they peeked into the hangar area through the large open hangar door; again, no sign of activity.

Elliot looked at Rivka and said quietly, “Maybe they’re not here yet.”

Rivka nodded and replied, “Let’s check out the front offices, and if they’re not here, we’ll wait for them.”

The hangar was a large Quonset building with a hangar bay about 100 feet long and 80 feet wide. Easily enough to house four or five planes similar to the one outside, but tonight it was empty. Not wanting to cross through the center of the wide, open area, Elliot led them over to the left-hand wall where a shelving unit ran the full length of the hangar. The shelving unit created a corridor down the left-hand side that offered cover in case someone walked into the hangar unexpectedly.

About halfway down the 80 foot corridor, a door hidden behind the shelves at the far end opened, and two guards armed with automatics walked into the hangar. Elliot and Rivka froze for a second trying to evaluate their situation. It didn’t take more than that second for them to realize they were in a bad situation. Trapped halfway down an 80 foot corridor with two hostiles at one end and nowhere to run or hide.

The two guards were only a fraction behind Elliot and Rivka in assessing the situation. Their weapons, already hanging around their shoulders, were in the process of swinging around when Rivka’s gun roared. One shot caught a guard in the upper arm and spun him back behind the safety of the end of the shelving units causing him to drop his weapon onto the corridor floor. The other took up position on the other side of the corridor behind the end of the shelving.

Rivka slid into a recess between two shelving units that partially shielded her while her gun blazed. There was no such alcove for Elliot. In desperation, he reached down into the bottom shelf and pulled a metal storage box out into the corridor and flopped himself down behind it. In his haste, he landed heavily on his bad shoulder, which sent a spike of pain through his body. He lost his grip on the Glock, and the gun skittered across the floor ending up 10 feet in front of him. The box was sturdy and would certainly offer him protection from incoming bullets, but it was only six inches high. Rivka saw this and knew that if the guards at the end of the corridor had time to aim, the box would do little to protect Elliot.

Rivka’s gun hand extended out into the corridor, and she kept the guards from getting an aimed shot at her exposed partner. The uninjured guard had his weapon on auto and intermittently stuck the gun into the corridor to spray short bursts of bullets down the makeshift hallway.

Years of practice had made Rivka a model of efficiency. She kept the guards in a defensive position by firing quickly and accurately. The spent cartridges flew from her gun like Pez out of a fat kid’s dispenser. Even the replacement of an empty clip took only seconds and did not allow time for the guards to make their target.

“Run back; I’ll cover you,” she yelled.

Elliot tried to make his move, but every time he started to get up, a burst of auto fire would flatten him again.

Rivka’s gun answered another burst from the auto with the clicking of an empty chamber. Rivka’s last clip was now spent; she was out of ammunition. The guard with the auto grasped the significance of what happened and stepped into the corridor, gun leveled and advanced toward the defenseless investigators. Rivka sized up the situation. She was out of ammo, and her partner was in a vulnerable position without his handgun. The gun was lying in the corridor 10 feet in front of him, but his wounded shoulder prevented him from reaching it. With certain death walking their way, circumstances dictated her next move. It would take her two steps to get Elliot’s gun and, with the guard now fully exposed, she could grab the gun, take out the first guard and then deal with the wounded guard behind him later.

She went for the gun. It was a gamble but a gamble that she had to take. Her second step toward the gun was never completed. The guard was ready for her play and opened fire. The first bullets missed their mark to the left, but as the automatic fanned across the corridor, they found their target. Rivka went down.

Elliot heard the clicking of Rivka’s empty chamber. He was already anticipating it would happen and had gathered himself to lunge forward to get his gun. His lunge failed when his wounded arm would not cooperate. He slipped back down and slammed his face into the concrete floor. The chattering dakka sound of the automatic weapon and tzinging of bullets overhead brought his head up in time to see Rivka’s attempt to get to the dropped handgun.

Everything slowed down for Elliot as if the world were in slow motion. His body, frozen in time, unable to move, able only to watch as the scene unfolded before him. Rivka had already taken a stride past Elliot and was starting her reach down toward the dropped weapon. He saw the guard fanning his auto across the width of the corridor and heard the tzinging of the bullets as they passed overhead. The first hit struck Rivka in the fleshy part of the thigh, and Elliot saw an eruption of red mist exit from a ragged hole in the back of her jeans. The next bullet took her in the calf, breaking the shin bone and creating a joint in her lower calf where no joint should be. The gruesome scene, playing in slow motion before him, reminded Elliot of an old Sam Peckinpah movie. Rivka collapsed onto the floor in front of Elliot, still too far to reach the dropped handgun. She looked back at him, defeat on her face.