Blue Rubicon (8 page)

THE NIGHT PASSED SLOWLY. IT would have been nice if Chen and
I had pulled an all-nighter, at least then I would’ve had someone to talk to. I
kept watch out the front window, waiting for anything suspicious to happen and
at times, hoping something would. Such was the boredom of a stakeout. Hours and
hours of nothing followed by seconds of something and an instant adrenaline
boost. Instead, I fueled myself with artificial adrenaline in the form of the
energy drinks Kat thought were worse than rat poison.

Eleven to three was my shift, then Chen, the early-riser
anyway, got up and took over. No sooner had I hit the pillow than the kids were
on top of the bed, a knee in my stomach and another on my shin, begging Kat and
I to wake up and get breakfast. It was a quick morning. Breakfast, some
relaxation while the kids played, then Julie, Aidan and Anya were packed up and
on the road for the six hour drive home. Chen left shortly thereafter for the
police college in nearby Aylmer, wanting to get some advance reading done for
his course.

What a wonderful use of our tax dollars. Send officers on an
expensive course but make them read most of the material online prior to
showing up the first day. Hopefully there would still be a lot to learn. I
thought back to my days at college, Chen usually sitting beside me bored out of
his mind as the teacher rehashed things Chen had been independently studying
for months.

We had the house back to normal by mid-afternoon and I left
briefly to run a couple of errands—primarily restocking the groceries after
Chen and Aidan ate their way through half the house. It wasn’t far from the
grocery store to the address on Carter’s warrant, and I decided to check it
out. I drove into the south end of the city, to an empty warehouse of off
Wharncliffe Road. I vaguely remembered having been there before, many years
ago, but I couldn’t remember what for. Buildings in the city had a habit of
changing and doing it quickly, from one company to another with a different
purpose each time.

I stayed a distance back, looking at the building and
running through my memory. A furniture store? It was the only thing that came
to mind. If that was the case, it would be two large open areas, the showroom
and the storage/receiving area, as well as a number of empty offices. Plenty of
room for whatever it was being used for.

And secure as well, a fence had been put up many years ago
surrounding the entire property. It wasn’t a perfect line of defense, folded
down peaks on the chain link where people had been going over the fence, holes
cut through for those too lazy to climb and a rusted chain wrapped through the
sole gate to the building.

There was nothing left on the outside of the building, no
faded signs or painted logos, just rusted metal and paint cracking away from
the concrete. The few windows were boarded up, a weathered collection of
mismatched wood nailed up in a pattern-less mosaic. From where I sat, I could
only see the front doors of the building, a tall double door, the glass long
gone and replaced by sheets of plywood.

The neighbourhood had been kind. Despite its age and state
of disrepair, the building was severely lacking in graffiti. Was there
something to this? On a vacation to Palm Beach, Florida many years ago Kat and
I wound up driving into the wrong part of West Palm. We had no idea at the time
that it was the wrong part, not until a friend who lived in the area told us
the next day. The paper confirmed it, two shootings not far from where we had
been driving.

It was the person next to us at a red light that stuck with
me though. A man driving a brand new Jaguar convertible, top down, after
midnight. Now I knew he was someone not to be messed with, a major player in
the city’s underground. No one else could survive driving a car like that
through a part of town so crime-ridden.

Perhaps the local artistic talent knew well enough to leave
the building alone. Or maybe it was the camera I noticed peeking over the edge
of the roof. My eyes scanned the roof line, counting four cameras on only one
side of the building. They were hidden, somewhat, but visible enough to make
their point.

One gate. I looked back at the thin fencing, rusted chain
and small padlock. It wasn’t a well-designed safe house. It would be too easy
for someone to block the gate and keep everyone inside stuck within the
perimeter. A truck in front of the gate would keep all vehicles inside. There
must have been another way out.

I put the car in drive and made my way back onto the street
turning into the parking lot of the car dealership adjacent to the warehouse.

Sunday. Of course, it had to be a Sunday. The dealership was
closed and fortified, the cheapest minivans had been parked to block the
entrances to the storage lots. It kept the amateurs from stealing the expensive
vehicles hidden in the back of the lot. The pros just stole the blocker
vehicles as well.

I backed out and turned back the way I had come, making my
way into the parking lot on the other side. It was a small office space, car
graphics and auto insurance were the only businesses advertised on the sign out
front. I pulled into the back of the lot and found a small alleyway that ran
behind the building, ending at the fence of my target.

The engine died as I turned the car off and stepped out into
the crisp air. I stood close to the wall of the office building, staying out of
sight of the cameras on my target. Cautious and quiet steps brought me to the
fence line and to the hidden gate I’d expected to find.

It was an ingenious design. If only they put as much energy
into their actual jobs, maybe they wouldn’t have switched sides. The steel
cross bar at the top of the fence was on a hinge, designed to swing against the
wall of the office building and back again once it was free of obstructions.
The chain link was secured tightly to the post at the wall and to the cross bar
but not at all to the other post, ten feet away from where I stood.

Drive at the fence and it would give way once it was hit,
swinging against the wall then closing again once you were gone. A quick shot
through the parking lot and onto the main roads and they could be gone before
anyone even knew what had happened. I hated to admit it, but I was impressed.

My luck didn’t need further pressing for today. If there was
to be further reconnaissance, Chen was my guy. I got back in the car, listened
to the engine purr as I started it, then backed up and pulled forward, a light
double tap on the steering wheel my thanks to the engineers and their
impossibly tight turn radius. It was the original
Italian Job
that made
me want a Mini, back when I was a kid. The new version brought that desire
back, at a time when I could actually afford one.

I stopped on the way home for some greasy fried chicken with
all the sides and strode in the door triumphantly. The kids cheered and were
sitting at the dinner table within seconds while Kat shot glares at me that
could say only one thing: “you should’ve got pizza”.

The benefits of democracy. Three against one.

The arm that had been behind my back came out of hiding and
brought with it a personal size pizza, made just the way she liked it. And my
standing went up, a few more brownie points added to my depleted total.

We ate dinner, sat with a belly full of grease and watched
TV then made our way upstairs. Link, the big man of the house now, had a shower
in our ensuite while Kat gave Kasia a bath. Once everyone was dry and dressed
for the night it was time for a few more chapters.

Tonight, I laid awake for only a few minutes before drifting
off to sleep.

* * *

A few hours later I woke to a loud smash from downstairs. It
sounded like a window breaking. I sat bolt upright in bed, scanning the area
for intruders or other signs of danger. Kat was awake now as well.

Our house alarm was wailing, a deafening dirge echoing
through the neighbourhood.

“What wa—”

I put my hand over her mouth to silence her, then rolled out
of bed. My cellphone was on my nightstand, the charger plugged into the end.
The cord snapped back when I pulled on the phone and threw it to Kat, telling
her to call 911. Then I reached my hand under the bed until it met a hard
plastic case.

Another smash, another window gone, glass raining on the
ground. This one came from upstairs.

“Kat, get the kids out of their rooms and into ours.”

An acrid smell filled my nose for just a moment before the
wail of smoke alarms pounded in my ears. I shot my hand out, forcing it between
the mattress and the boxspring until I found a small set of keys.

“Lincoln! There’s fire!”

Kat was panicking now and so was I. Fire inside and an
unknown arsonist outside. Where were they safer?

I unlocked the case and pulled out my gun then unlocked the
trigger lock. Next I pulled open the bedside drawer and unlocked a small steel
box. Once it opened I removed the three magazines, loaded one into the gun and
put the others in the pocket of my sweatpants. And then I grabbed my wallet off
of the nightstand. Even in a situation like this, habit is inescapable.

I ran out of the room toward Kat’s voice. She was yelling
louder now. Kasia’s room was starting to catch fire, her drapes were burning
and it was spreading to her bed.

Her bed.

I sprinted into her room only to push past her on my way in.
She was holding onto Kat’s legs in the hallway. I hadn’t looked low enough.
Link was right beside them now.

“What do we do?”

Kat was crying and coughing, the smoke was beginning to fill
the house.

“We need to get out of here,” I yelled over the piercing
noise of the smoke alarms.

With gun in hand I ran down the stairs and came face to face
with a wall of fire. Kat and the kids were right behind me and ran into my back
when I stopped, almost forcing me down the stairs. I pushed back and turned
around ushering them back up. We’d have to go out my window. It was the only
room that was safe. Link’s was too close to Kasia’s.

As I ran toward the window I passed by my office, the small
fourth bedroom with a desk, computer and bookshelves.

“Get into our room,” I said to Kat. I ran into the office
and lifted the floor vent then reached my arm down until I felt the small plastic
bag. I pulled it out, shoved it into my pocket and sprinted to my bedroom.

Kat tried frantically to get the window open but the lock
was jammed. She pulled as hard as she could, but her panicked hands wouldn’t
work. I pushed her out of the way and was just about to hand her the gun,
needing both hands for the lock, when I saw a figure in front of the house, a
bottle held in his right hand, flame burning bright. He raised his arm, and
stared straight at the window I stood behind.

I brought the gun up, barely taking time to aim, and fired
two shots through the window. The bottle of fire fell to the ground before he
had a chance to throw it. It shattered and flames danced across the driveway.

The gun was now the perfect tool, it’s barrel breaking the
remaining glass out of the window frame as I watched the figure start to run
away.

He was limping.

Once the glass was gone and the window clear I helped Kat
through then pushed as she pulled Kasia and Link to safety. I was last through
the window as the flames slowly crept down the hall toward me, the heat heavy
on my back.

I jumped to the ground and rolled on the landing, a shot of
pain tore through the bone and steel in my left ankle. Kasia was first to jump
and leapt without a pause. I caught her as best I could, enough to break her
fall.

Link was next. He took a moment, looked at the height of the
jump, sized me up, then jumped toward my arms. With thirty pounds on Kasia it
was a hell of a catch to make but I managed. He landed hard on me and soft on
the ground as we both tumbled to the grass.

Kat stood at the edge of the roof now, several feet above
me, a look of sheer panic in her eyes.

“Kat, you’ve got to jump!”

Now was not the time to be afraid of heights.

“Jump!”

She did the opposite. I watched her eyes roll back slightly
and her body go limp. She fell forward, her body parallel to the ground and
dropping like a rock. I moved forward and turned but couldn’t get all the way
to her. I caught her shoulders as she fell and kept her from landing face first
on the hard ground. Her legs hit hard, the sound loud enough to hear over the
crackle of the fire and the sirens in the distance.

Kasia and Link were already across the street on the
neighbour’s lawn. They’d followed the plan we’d set up in case of a fire—a that
plan hadn’t included a homicidal arsonist. I hoisted Kat up and over my
shoulder, her limp body draping down on either side, then carried her across
the street and laid her down where the kids were standing.

“Take care of your mom,” I said before turning and sprinting
back to the house. The neighbours were already out of their house—at least
someone conscious would be with the kids. I picked my gun up off the ground and
ran in the direction I’d seen the figure go.

Please be a blood trail, please be a blood trail.

I made my way onto the road and followed his path. I’d only
seen about thirty metres of his escape but it was enough for me to find a few
blood droplets on the roadway. Praise the streetlights and the full moon.

The next drop was a good fifteen feet away. He was either
moving very fast or bleeding very slowly. A sharp pain in the sole of my foot
made me realize I was barefoot. I hoped for it to have been a rock, glass would
cause blood and blood would confuse the evidence.

The gun felt cold in my hand and images flashed before my
eyes. Saunders looking back at me, the shot I didn’t take. Then Saunders as he
tried to call my bluff, and the shots I fired into his back.