Torque (32 page)

“Something better.” He rattled a pack of
matches, lit one, and dropped it into the tin. A moment later a
blue flame began to grow. Kim sat up.

“A tin of fire. How cool.”

“It’s called gel fuel. You can burn it
anywhere. This tin is three quarters full so it should burn for at
least couple of hours. If we use it for twenty minutes at a time,
though, it will last a lot longer.”

The little fuel source gave off decent heat
and the flame did wonders for their morale. Kim settled in and Fenn
made the decision to get water.

“I’m going to fill up our bottles. Will you
be alright, here with the fire, while I take the flashlight to the
river?”

Kim didn’t answer right away. “If you’re not
back in ten minutes … just don’t make me come looking for you.”

“I won’t. You stay put.”

With the river in sight of the hut it only
made sense that there would be a path to the water’s edge. Fenn
located the start of one a few metres away. It was fairly steep and
the shale crumbled underfoot as he descended. The path ended on a
narrow rocky beach. Fenn turned right and walked upstream but soon
had to stop for a cliff face. Here the gorge narrowed and the flow
was swift and silent. He went downriver and the rushing sound they
had heard earlier became more distinct. The banks were farther
apart and the water shimmered and roiled as it passed over boulders
and rocks.

Fenn filled the bottles and tasted it. Cold.
And a bit gritty. Kim had a boot off and was massaging her ankle
when he returned.

“How’s the water?”

“Full of minerals. Good for you.” The warmth
inside the hut was perceptible. “I’m going to secure the door
latch. Do you need a quick trip outside before I do?”

“I think I should.” While Kim put her boot
back on, Fenn revved up the flashlight.

“Watch out for bears.”

“Oh, please. I’m probably safer with them
than I am with you.” But her trip outside was indeed quick.

== == ==

With a crackling blaze in the fireplace and
tumblers of whisky in hand, The Retreat Four brought their first
meeting to order. Chico was perched on a leather ottoman by the
hearth while Jenner and Rowan occupied the easy chairs and Tad lay
across the leather sofa. He wheezed when he breathed and there was
a sickly pallor to his complexion. It was a concern. Bone chips
from broken ribs could damage the lung tissue, or an infection
might lead to pneumonia.

“The nearest hospital is in Orillia. A three
hour round trip,” said Jenner. “That’s not counting the time you’ll
have to wait to see a doctor, get x-rays, and talk to the doctor
again. You could be gone all night.”

“I could drop him off and come right back,”
said Rowan.

“We need you here. There has obviously been a
change of plans, and we don’t know what it is. The cell phone
coverage sucks and all I get on the land line is a busy
signal.”

“Can’t depend on country service,” said
Chico, poking at the fire.

“Let’s look at the worse case scenario,” said
Rowan. “Suppose the whole operation is a bust, and that the law
will be breaking down the door any minute.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” said
Jenner.

“Lock up and leave. Find somewhere to lay low
until things cool down.”

“And take the injured guy to see a doctor,”
managed Tad.

“The way it looks to me,” said Jenner, “is
that we’re already laying low. This is Harrowport’s place and he
isn’t going to say anything to incriminate himself. The only
uninvited person to this party is that jerk-off, Fenn.”

“But Fenn knows we’re here,” Rowan said.

“I don’t think that matters,” countered
Jenner. “We’ve been doing the tango with that guy for a couple of
weeks now—all kinds of shit—and he’s never once gone to the police.
I don’t blame him for coming after his girlfriend but it seems like
he has another agenda. I say we give it another day. We’ll head
down the trail at first light, flush him out, and then that problem
will be solved.”

Rowan stood and went to the sideboard where
the whisky tumbler sat. “I’ll give it twenty-four hours and then
I’m out of here. We should take turns keeping watch.”

“Fine,” Jenner said, holding out his glass
for a refill. “If you and Chico can take the first shift, say until
one a.m., I’ll help Tad up to a room and then get some shuteye for
a few hours.”

“Fine,” said Rowan.

Chico just shrugged and poked at the burning
wood.

CHAPTER
46

Bailey and Shryer picked their way
cautiously through the trees. No amount of training could make
night vision goggles a substitute for daylight. The darks were
darker, the lights were lighter, and everything had a ghostly hue.
In close quarters like dense woods they were particularly
cumbersome. Vision span was reduced from 120 down to 45 degrees,
and a quick turn of the head would often bang the unit against a
nearby obstruction. The house and immediate grounds were well lit
so the snipers reverted to natural sight as they approached the
perimeter.

Not as secure as one might think, the bright
lights made for deep shadows and excellent concealment for
insurgents with black garb and non-reflective equipment. Since the
blueprints had indicated there were no windows or doors on the left
side of the house, Bailey stayed within the woods and centered
himself at the rear of the building. Shryer motioned he would swing
right, around the garage, and set up where he could cover the
front. Bailey acknowledged and peered through his telescopic rifle
sight at the sliding glass doors that led out to the back deck.

Beyond the doors was a living area where two
men in armchairs and one on a footstool were conversing. There was
no sign of the hostage. A man rose from his chair and moved out of
Bailey’s field of view. Although he returned with a tumbler and
refilled the glass of the man in the other chair; the facade of
friends enjoying a cozy evening was belied by the underlying
tension in their body language. Tumbler man came to the sliding
doors and seemed to stare right at Bailey. The sniper, confident he
couldn’t be seen, held still until the man reached across and
closed the blinds.

Bailey moved the rifle and scanned the
windows. The one adjacent to the glass doors was of frosted glass—a
bathroom. Next to that was a kitchen with oak cupboards on the back
wall and the curved neck of a tall faucet above the sill. There
were four sets of panes on the next level. One room had a light on
but all he could see was the ceiling fan. No moving shadows or
reflections. Unless Shryer had something to report, the team leader
would have to send in the audio and imaging team. The number of bad
guys was inconsequential but without a hostage there would be no
rescue.

== == ==

Jenner got Tad off the couch and assisted
him up the stairs. He’d teamed Chico with Rowan so that when their
watch ended he’d have some solitude. He also didn’t trust Rowan.
The boss had hired the guy but there was something about him that
Jenner couldn’t put his finger on.

“Got any more painkillers, R. J.?” Tad lay on
the bed still dressed. He’d removed his shoes but couldn’t face the
agony of going further.

“I’ll see what I can find.”

The second floor was well-appointed in rustic
chic. Antique nightstands sat on the hardwood floors, and the
four-poster beds all had hand-made quilts. The main bathroom was
outfitted with a spa tub, tiled shower, heat lamps, and a stack of
thick white towels. No painkillers.

The master bedroom had a fireplace,
king-sized bed, and two freestanding closets. Each side of the bed
had its own night table. A fishing magazine and a mortician's trade
paper were on the left one. A glossy tattle rag with a scowling
starlet on the cover was on the other. Harrowport’s closet held a
suit, a couple pairs of slacks, and a few shirts. His wife’s was a
little more interesting.

Between the dressing gown and ladies casual
wear hung a leather corset. On the same hanger were a feather mask
and a length of chain. Not just a chain, a dog leash with a
fur-lined collar. A pair of over the knee black vinyl boots with
wicked heels lay on the closet floor. It was not a stretch to
visualize Marjorie Dynes-Harrowport wearing this stuff. The woman
was adept at defying her age.

The ensuite bathroom was beyond the bed and
Jenner found a bottle of generic ibuprofen for Tad. On the way out
he couldn’t resist opening Marjorie’s night table drawer.

Hello.

A pair of handcuffs—the real deal with a
key—lay on top of several Polaroid pictures of Mrs.
Dynes-Harrowport wearing the boots and the dog collar, and not much
else.

She was on hands and knees in front of the
downstairs fireplace. The guy holding the leash wasn’t Harrowport.
Neither was the guy behind her. There were a few action shots but
most were posed, including the one with another woman in dominatrix
garb. Jenner put that one under Marjorie’s pillow then withdrew a
couple of his favourites and put the rest back in the drawer. He
gave the pills to Tad but kept the cuffs and photographs in his
jacket pocket.

== == ==

The gel flame danced hypnotically around the
rim of the tin and became the sole focus of attention. It took the
place of what little conversation there had been since Fenn had
fetched the water. Kim wouldn’t speak unless spoken to and Fenn,
afraid to say the wrong thing, had lapsed into silence. With the
fire between them they sat against the wall, Kim in the blanket and
Fenn with the Mylar sheet wrapped around his legs. He placed the
lid on the tin and the darkness was complete.

“I’ll light it again when it gets cold in
here.”

No response.

Rain began to patter on the roof and Fenn
closed his eyes. With nothing to distract him he had to acknowledge
the damage to his body. The fractured ribs and torn ligaments in
his shoulder hadn’t appreciated the exertion of neutralizing the
biker, nor had his knees, bruised from the crash, taken kindly to
the long trek through the damp woods. Fatigue turned it all into a
general achiness. He hadn’t really been able to assess Kim’s
condition though he could imagine she felt just as bad, if not
worse. It had been a hell of a day yet at the end of it they were
still in one piece, and ahead of those who would do them harm,
albeit in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Kim sniffed. Was that a runny-nose sniff or a
tearful sniff? She sniffed again then blew her nose.

“This reminds me of when the power would go
out on the reservation, where my grandmother lives,” he began. “It
happened quite often but she had a wood stove so it was no big
deal. Anyway, Elsie would tell the best stories as we sat with mugs
of coffee, or cocoa, watching the logs burn. Her favourite was the
Lenape legend about the Rainbow Crow. Have you heard it?”

Sniff. “No.”

“Well, long before there were people, all the
animals lived together in a village. One year there was a
particularly hard winter. The snow kept falling and the cold turned
even running water to ice. Eventually, the animals had nowhere to
drink or anything to eat so they held a council to decide who would
ask the Great Sky Spirit for help. Wolf could travel a great
distance but could not fly to where the Great Sky Spirit lived. Owl
could fly but could not see well in daylight and the journey could
not be done in one night. So the Rainbow Crow volunteered to
go.

“With his multi-coloured iridescent feathers
and sweet singing voice Rainbow Crow was the most loved of all the
birds. The animals were sure the Great Sky Spirit would be
impressed with their ambassador and consent to help them. Rainbow
Crow left immediately and flew above the trees and above the
clouds. He passed the Moon and the Sun, and even went higher than
the stars.

“Finally, he came to the home of the Great
Sky Spirit but the Great Sky Spirit was too busy to notice even
such a beautiful bird. So Rainbow Crow began to sing his sweetest
song and this drew the Great Sky Spirit from his important
thoughts. So pleasing was the entertainment that he asked Rainbow
Crow what he would like for payment.

“The Rainbow Crow asked for the ice and snow
to be banished from his land, but ice and snow also have spirits so
that could not be done. Instead, the Great Sky Spirit thrust a
stick into the blazing Sun and created fire. He gave the flaming
wood to Rainbow Crow and told him to fly home quickly and use the
stick to start other fires before it all burned up.

“Rainbow Crow flew back with all his speed.
As he passed the stars the fire burned the stick almost to his
beak. He passed the Sun and the long flame singed his tail and
wings. By the time he reached the Moon the soot had turned his
multi-coloured feathers a dull black, and when he plunged through
the clouds the smoke got into his throat and destroyed forever the
beautiful singing voice.

“But the animals could now survive the
winter. They all rejoiced except for the Crow. He was saddened by
his dull feathers and rasping song until the Great Sky Spirit
appeared and announced that Crow would always be free. Your flesh
tastes like smoke so humans will not hunt you, he said, and your
voice will hurt their ears so they will not cage you. Then the
Great Sky Spirit cleaned Crow’s feathers. They were still black but
they shone once again with their old iridescence. Even now, when
they catch the sunlight, every colour of the rainbow can still be
seen.”

Fenn’s voice gave way to the sound of the
rain. Its patter the only indication they weren’t floating through
a void in a wooden box. A hard on the ass wooden box. The warming
hut kept the dampness at bay yet, without the flame, the
temperature quickly dropped.

“Perhaps Mr. Crow could light our fire,” Kim
said, softly.