Deadly Expectations (82 page)

I laughed again.
 
My farewell tour.

Approaching one of the larger pieces of wreckage at the site something other than smoke tickled my nose.
 
It was illusive; both everywhere and nowhere.
 
I knew what I would find on the ground next to the piece of fuselage.
 
Six seats, four bodies: two in the front three and two in the back.
 
I approached them and noted three others on the ground as the tickle got stronger.
 
When I concentrated it disappeared but when I ignored the feeling it crept back in.

I stopped when I got to the seats.
 
I always had the impression that the two still buckled in front were traveling together.
 
Their odd intimate embrace always made me feel that way.
 
She was seated twisted around to face backward then she had fallen on him.
 
He had just slumped toward her, between her and the seat, his face shoved deep into the front of her torn open blouse so all I could see was his ears, his arm casually around her.
 
Both her shoes were missing and her painted toenails flickered with the nearby flames.
 
His legs had always been covered by what was left of a woman’s trench coat.
 
I watched them for a minute trying to ignore whatever it was I was picking up.

BUTTON!

I flinched for a moment, overwhelmed by the volume, the deaths and the smell.
 
Underneath the burning jet fuel there was the stench of burned flesh.
 
It was all around me but here it was so familiar, so strong.
 
A push of hot wind moved the charred coat and got my attention.

Oh dear, I thought.
 
I knew this man, what I would find under the coat.
 
Gently I took it in my hands and pulled it out of the way, instantly recognizing his injuries.
 
Both legs gone, what was left of the right was longer than the left, blackened and torn.
 
A bit of browned bone stuck out of the shorter left thigh.

BUTTON!

I looked at the longer leg and there was a button.
 
He was wearing army pants, the thigh pocket buttoned shut.
 
Judging by the bulge there was something in it.

“Sorry Rice,” I said as I undid the button and pulled out a little leather notebook.
 
It was maybe half the size of a paperback and about an inch thick.
 
An elasticized string attached at the back was stretched around it keeping it shut.
 
The initials embossed on the front told me what to do with it.
 
S. I.

Sig Iverson.

I didn’t think that Rice’s family would know what to do with it when they got his effects so I put it in my bag for the Colonel.
 
Then I put the coat back over his legs.
 
It was burnt and had come apart in places but I was at least able to hide his injuries.

Chapter 60

I completed another half circle around the fire approaching the pair of bodies that always troubled me more than any of the others.
 
The mother and her baby.
 
He would be cradled in the only limb she had left but she would be looking at me, not at him.
 
The torn end of her arm pointed accusingly at me like I’d brought death here.
 
I would move him closer to her and tighten her other arm around him.
 
Then I would turn her head to face him so she wouldn’t worry where he was.
 
There would be no resistance … the bones in her neck were broken.

They waited for me, concealed for now on the other side of a large piece of the plane.
 
I couldn’t tell what part it was.
 
There would be no windows in the outer skin of the piece of wreckage.
 
I knew that before I walked around to see them.
 
For now all I could see were wires and insulation.

I took out a bottle of water.
 
The first mouthful rinsed the dryness before I spat it out, the next I swallowed.
 
I was still holding the bottle in my hand when I stepped around to face them but I froze as I processed what I saw.

Something was out of place.
 
I started walking back, keeping them in sight.
 
I tried to remember the man who was with them but I couldn’t guess where he should be.
 
I hadn’t missed any of the dead and I couldn’t picture him anywhere else.
 
I tried to recall him from all the times I dreamed about being here and came up empty.

He was … undamaged.
 
Unburned.
 
He was on his back, head resting on the dead woman’s stomach, his hands resting on his.
 
His suit was nearly black in the orange light.
 
I circled him slowly to see his face and as it came into view I recognized it.
 
His narrow nose and thin lips.
 
Eyes just a little too close together.
 
He needed to get his head off her.
 
It was so wrong.
 
I had no idea why his men were obvious to me but he was transparent.

I quickly made sure that the handle of my knife was easily accessible through the opening in my bag then I put it on my shoulder, half on backwards so I could get at it quickly.
 
He was maybe fifteen feet away.
 
Too close for my comfort but too far away for Andre’s liking.

“Welcome to my nightmare Damian,” I said, Andre’s eagerness for the knife trembling gently in my left arm.

“Anna …,” he said as the corners of his lips came up.
 
“Nice place you have here.”

“Indeed.
 
I was worried I would go to all this trouble and nobody would show up,” I laughed as I reached into my bag.
 
“Did you come to dance or can I buy you a drink?”

He sat up and looked at me.
 
Then he laughed.
 
“It always makes me feel good to see my ex looking like shit.”

It was true.
 
My shirt was dirty and bloodstained, my leg bound with Bee’s sheets.
 
The cut on it had bled through down to my foot.
 
My bare feet slid in my untied shoes.
 
I didn’t even have pants on.

“A drink it is,” I said as I tossed the other bottle.
 
He caught it and stood up.
 
As he opened it I waved my hand at him to step away from the woman he’d been using as a pillow.
 
He did and drank as he watched me rearrange her body.

“This is going to be too easy,” he said.

“Yes,” Andre agreed.
 
“It is.”

“Let’s walk a bit … I want to watch you weaken before I kill you.”

I smiled over the back pain that ground my tailbone now with every step.
 
“Yes … we don’t want to rush things.”
 
Andre and I agreed on that at least.
 
“I always feel like she’s blaming me for this.
 
None of the others do … but she does.”

Damian lit two cigarettes and offered me one, holding it at arms length.
 
I approached and took it before backing away.
 
He waited to see which way I was going and followed me at a distance.

“So I heard a few days ago you made your way home,” he said.
 
He held his cigarette in his mouth letting it waggle when he spoke, keeping his hands free.
 
His lips sealed around it and the tip brightened, then two lines of smoke lightly streamed from his nose.

“Those four shouldn’t have had any trouble from that big idiot Martin and the old fossil you keep upstairs … but then her phone lit up,” he sighed.
 
“If you need something done right …”

I thought a moment then laughed as I exhaled.

“I’m always impressed how easily your men are swayed from duty,” I told him.
 
“Five grand a piece: barely a dent in my pocketbook.”

His eyes narrowed as he laughed at me.

“But then your man you lost in
Calgary
was way off course when I found him.
 
So easily distracted when they’re not hanging off your apron.”

“Bitch,” Damian muttered as he lit himself another smoke.
 
Didn’t offer me one.

I kept to my route through the debris.
 
Nothing else was out of place.
 
Damian kept his distance, flanking me when there was room, falling behind when there wasn’t.
 
Arrogant ass.
 
I could keep him talking until the baby fell out and we both missed our chance.
 
The contractions kept coming.
 
He discretely checked his watch with each one.

“So how is Alina?”
 
I asked him.
 
I knew already but I needed a fresh topic to keep his mouth running.

“I decided we needed some time apart,” he said.
 
“She wouldn’t shut up about feelings and marriage.
 
She needs some time alone … to think about her place in the big picture.
 
Like you did Catherine.”

“You missed a few spots when you said good-bye,” I told him but he ignored me.

I added revenge for putting his fists on my sister to the list of reasons he would die.
 
Put it right at the top.
 
He smiled, confident in his plan to tire me out.

“Marriage,” he laughed.
 
“Not how I roll.
 
Catering to a woman.
 
She needs even more discipline than a soldier.
 
Your Richards will never lead.
 
You’ve made him as weak as you are.”

“If you were half the man my Richards is I would have died in the compound months ago,” I told him.

“We disagree,” he shrugged.
 
He laughed as anger flashed on his face.

Yes, Andre thought.
 
Andre was getting stronger in me.
 
Demanding his shot.
 
I would have to give in to him soon.
 
Very soon.

Damian checked his watch again as I stopped.
 
Coward, Andre and I thought.
 
Waiting until labour had gone so far that I had maybe half a minute between contractions.
 
I couldn’t let it go that long.
 
I was only managing thirty or so slow steps between the contractions now anyway.
 
Time was getting short.

“Rex … I think it’s time for that dance I promised you,” I told him.
 
He could keep walking but if he walked away now he wouldn’t get his chance if he left me behind.
 
I was calling the ball here.
 
Now.

He stopped and turned to me.
 
I carefully took the knife out and dropped the bag on the ground.
 
Andre was confident but I was scared I had let Damian drag this on too long.
 
I breathed through another contraction.
 
Small moans escaped past my lips every time I exhaled.
 
My knees trembled as my resolve started to fail.

“Yes,” Damian said, crushing yet another cigarette out under his foot.
 
“There is no more pleasure in watching you pant your weak ass around in the dirt.”
 
He took off his side arm and tossed it aside.
 
Then he drew his knife.

“Remember this Damian?” I said as I held mine up.
 
Its delicate guard sparkled in the flames just as Catherine remembered.