Blue Rubicon (16 page)

Christ. As if she hadn’t been through
enough.

“I was so scared. They told me to tell them
everything that was going on and said that if I told anyone that they’d called,
or if I told you, they’d kill me and Noah.”

I understood now. There was no way I could
fault her for what she did.

“It’s okay, Laura. You did the right thing.
Nothing is more important than your son.”

She sniffled into the phone. “Thank you. I
told them you came by, that you knew Jakob was murdered, and I told them about
the note and the thumbdrive. They kept threatening to kill us if I didn’t tell
them what was on it. I kept telling them I didn’t know, but they didn’t seem to
believe me. After they hung up I woke up Noah and drove to my mother’s in
Barrie.”

“Good,” I said. “Are you still there?”

“No, I just got back. My dad came back with
me. But I just saw the paper, Lincoln. It was your house wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh God, oh God. I’m so sorry. I should
have called you sooner, warned you. I was just so scared. I saw the pictures
and the article said it was an OPP officer that lived there. Oh God. Was
everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine, Laura.”

“I shouldn’t have told them anything. I
almost killed you and your family.”

“If you didn’t tell them, they would have
killed you and Noah. You did what you had to do, I probably would’ve done the
same.”

“I’m sorry, Lincoln.”

“I know. Where are you calling from?”

“My father’s cellphone. We’re in his car
far from the house.”

Good. They wouldn’t know she called.

“Okay. Stay safe, Laura. Hopefully we can
end this fast.” I couldn’t give her any details, she’d already broken once. Not
that I could blame her, but even still, it wasn’t worth the risk. For all I
knew they were putting her up to it, forcing her to make the call to see what I
knew.

All’s fair in love and war.

I hung up and laid back down, my head
spinning. I just wanted this to be over, and it was going to be in just over
twenty-four hours. But it wasn’t fast enough. I needed it done now.

I knew there was no way I was going to get
to sleep so I decided to go for a walk to the nearby LCBO—the government
controlled liquor store. I wanted some scotch, and I didn’t feel like sitting
in the hotel bar to do it. The fresh air would be good for me, I could walk and
think. And with a bulletproof vest and a sidearm, I wasn’t too worried.

It wasn’t a long walk and the weather was
fairly warm for a late October evening. I kept my eyes peeled, paying attention
to every minute detail along the way. I watched the people carefully, looked to
see if anyone was following me and even went into a couple of stores along the
way. If someone had been there when I went in and was still there ten minutes
later when I came out, clearly they were up to something.

It was an uneventful trip and despite the
mild weather the warmth in the liquor store was appreciated. I made my way to
the scotch and picked up a mickey of Glenlivet, not too expensive and not too
big a bottle. Everything was cash for me in case they could track my cards.
With the bottle in a brown paper bag I walked out the door to head back to the
hotel.

I took as much care on the way back as I
did on the way there, watching everyone and taking a cautious path. The hotel
was in sight and I made my way through a large parking lot.

The last thing I remember was walking
between an old pickup truck and a sedan.

IT WAS DARK WHEN I came to, not because of
the time though—because I was in the trunk of a car. My hands and feet were
free, they’d obviously not wanted to take the time to tie me up. I moved my
hand to my right hip—the holster was there, but my gun was gone. I checked my
pockets—they’d taken my cellphone as well. Not much point in tying me up then,
there was nothing I could do but twiddle my thumbs.

My eyes started to adjust to the darkness
and settle from the hit I’d taken to the back of my head. Pinpoints of light
danced in front of me to the tune of a throbbing headache. I ran my fingers
through my hair to find it dry—whatever they’d hit me with hadn’t been enough
to cause bleeding.

A faint glow started to form in front of my
face, it blurred and swayed a short distance from my eyes. I reached out for it
but missed. I gave my head a shake and focused on the glow then reached out for
it again.

The trunk release. Every car has to have
one now, a life-saving measure in case a kid playing around locks themself (or
gets locked in) the trunk. It sat in my hand, clenched tight, as I tried to
decide what to do. Bailing out of the trunk of a moving car could mean serious
injury or death, waiting could mean the same. I focused on the movement of the
car, the sounds beyond my metal and plastic cage. It felt like we were moving
fast, but only by city standards.

We were still in London.

The car started to slow down and I knew it
was time to jump. I waited for a moment then pulled the release and flung the
trunk lid open before rolling out onto the hard pavement. The pain in the back
of my head disappeared as new pain appeared everywhere else. Brakes screeched
through the air but I wasn’t sure if it was the car I just dove from or the one
that almost hit me as I rolled down the street.

There was no looking back. I was on my feet
as fast as I could be and took off at a run, frantically trying to figure out
where I was. My vision was still blurred and it was hard to make out where I
was let alone what was happening around me. Someone rushed in front of me and
took me to the ground. I started fighting, my arms and legs flailing against an
attacker I could barely see. The gun pressed against my temple told me to give
up.

“Don’t fucking move,” a voice said. I felt
handcuffs clicking into place on my right wrist then my left, my arms wrenched
behind my back.

“Told you we should have put them on him.”

“Shut up and get him back in the car, we’ve
got to get out of here.”

They picked me up and took me a short distance
before they tossed me into the trunk once more and slammed the lid shut. Either
I hadn’t run nearly as far as I thought, or they’d backed the car up toward me.
I hoped for the latter. If all that effort had only taken me twenty feet from
the car, it was time to give up completely.

There was no point in struggling. I was
outnumbered and restrained. I’d tried to focus on the men carrying me but I
couldn’t see anything clearly—they looked familiar but as if I was looking
through someone else’s glasses. Now I just had to wait and try to recover my
strength.

There was no doubt it would be needed.

* * *

Time passed strangely in the darkness. The
movement of the car and the hit to my head kept trying to lull me to sleep. I
forced my eyes open and tried to focus on staying awake. It seemed like hours
passed, the feel of the road through the car, the speed, the turns, it was like
we were on a cross-country road trip.

When the car finally came to a lasting stop
I prepared myself for the trunk to open. A two-footed kick to the midsection
would be enough to knock whoever opened the lid off balance, but it would be
more than enough to get me shot as well. I had to go along with whatever they’d
planned and just hope that Kara and Chen found me soon.

Footsteps echoed through the car and rang
heavy in my ears. The sound of a key sliding into the lock replaced the steps
and with a click the lid opened a crack.

“Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t have a
problem with shooting you.”

The trunk was thrown open and I was greeted
by a familiar face and the barrel of a shotgun.

“Hello, Robert Warren,” I said. The
firebomber and rapist/murderer.

For an old guy he punched fast. His fist
flashed in at my face and everything went black again.

* * *

My head pounded anew. I kept my eyes closed
to not tip anyone off that I was awake.

A chair. Seated upright, legs free,
handcuffs linked through the slats in the back. The chair was wooden, like a
dining room chair. I pulled against the slat with the chain of the cuffs. The
chair was solid, it wasn’t going anywhere.

My focus was so strong on everything else I
missed the obvious once I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see a thing. Panic filled
me for a brief moment until I realized I was blindfolded. The throbbing of both
the front and back of my head must have made the thin material not feel like
anything.

Or at least that’s what I’ll always tell
myself.

“Hello?” I said. “Room service?”

Someone kicked me in the shins. They must
have been sitting across from me.

“Take the fucking blindfold off. I already
know who all of you are.”

No response.

“That’s why I’m still alive, you need to
know what I know, who I’ve told.”

Another kick.

“I’ll kick you back.”

“I’ll tie your legs up.”

Finally, a conversation.

“You speak. Wonderful. Now take this
fucking thing off my face or I don’t tell you anything.”

I heard shuffling, then the screech of
chair legs on a smooth floor, and someone moving toward me. A moment later I
had my eyes back.

One thing I knew from books and movies was
I needed to stay in control if I wanted to live. No matter what they did, I
needed the upper hand.

The man in front of me was young, probably
just a few years on assuming he was a cop. I thought back to the photos on
Carter’s thumbdrive, trying to attach a name to the face.

“How long you been on?”

“Four years,” he said then tried
unsuccessfully to backtrack. It was a simple question, always asked among cops
and one that required no thought prior to answering. He’d revealed a card
already. It was a card I already knew, but he didn’t know that.

It was a game.

“Four years to go from serve and protect to
this?”

“Fuck you, you don’t know shit.”

Already on edge. This was too easy.

“Right, I know nothing about you. Gregory
Adams, London Police Service, Constable.”

His jaw hit the floor, then his arm shot
behind his back and within milliseconds I was face to barrel with another gun.

I couldn’t show any fear, not even a
tremble.

“I don’t think your boss would be happy if
you shot me already. Put the gun away.”

It stayed where it was, but there was a
faint tremble in his hand.

“You’ve probably never even used that yet.”
Glock, forty caliber—LPS standard issue.

“Fuck you,” he said. “Like you have.”

“I’ve got two notches in my belt already,
boy. Two kills. Haven’t they told you anything about who you’re watching?”

“Just some nigger cop who doesn’t know when
to quit.”

If my hands were free I would have waggled
a finger at him and given him an “oh, no you didn’t”. But I didn’t have that
luxury.

“Ouch. Mommy shouldn’t have let you listen
to that gangsta rap. You should tilt your gun ninety degrees—if you’re going to
shoot me at least do it right. G-ways, right? Street, yo.”

He put the gun back and stared at me, pure
rage in his eyes. Good. I could use that.

“So, how are things?”

This time he pushed off his chair with his
hands and drove his right foot into my stomach.

If I could have doubled over I would have.
Instead I took the time I needed to catch my breath.

“Angry. How’d you pass the psych test?”

A second kick, harder than the first. I
laughed through the pain, it was forced but he didn’t seem to notice.

“This is fun. After you let me go, we
should do this again sometime.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Think you’re
leaving alive?”

I nodded. “Oh yeah. Get your boss. You bore
me.”

This time I took a boot to the knee. Just
stay away from my ankle, the steel fused to bone probably wouldn’t feel nice if
it got kicked. He stood up and walked out of sight. I hadn’t taken my eyes off
of him since the blindfold was pulled off. Now I had the chance to look around.

Nothing. Just a big empty showroom. I was
right about it having been a furniture gallery before. Now the only furniture
left was two ugly oak dining chairs, one facing the other in the middle of the
room. And a stupid man handcuffed to one.

Adams had gone off to what I guessed was
either the shipping/receiving area or the offices. Either way he was gone and I
had time to think. There was nothing around me I could use, nothing that could
help me escape. I stared at his empty chair, looked at the way it was designed
and put together, and tried to find a weak point.

The floor was the cheap laminate hardwood
with patches of carpet strewn throughout the area. They were the showrooms,
furniture on nice plush carpet. Enough to make you feel at home. The paths
between them, the entrance, anywhere else, were all laminate.

There was nothing for me to do but wait and
try not to think of the pain that stabbed like knives into my stomach and knee.

* * *

The clock on the wall had been stuck at
4:37 for hours. I wondered if it had frozen in the morning or the afternoon,
not that it mattered. It was just a way to stay awake, like singing
‘ninety-nine bottles of single malt scotch on the wall’ to myself. When I
wasn’t wasting time, I was thinking about Kat and the kids. They had no idea
what was going on and it was definitely for the better.

Being taken hostage hadn’t been in our
vows. I doubted she would have handled it well. The thoughts of them gave me
strength.

The way I always looked at it, and the way
I said it to more than one aggressive arrestee, was simple: police officers are
not paid to fight, we’re paid to win. And paid quite well for it, too. My job
was simple—keep the peace for twelve hours then go home.

Go home.

That was the most important part of the job
description. Going home. It was something too many officers had been unable to
do, their lives cut short as they paid the ultimate sacrifice. I knew that I
could face the same fate—it was something that crossed my mind almost every
time I stepped out of the detachment, but I always told myself I would fight
until my dying breath to make it home.

It didn’t matter what stood in my way.

Kat, Kasia and Link, they were what I was
fighting for. No matter what happened, I had to go home.

* * *

A slap on the face woke me up.

Shit. Don’t fall asleep.

“Comfy?”

I looked up to see Warren standing over me
again. Maybe I could turn sleeping around in my favour.

“You know what? It’s not bad actually. A
little firm, I like my dining chairs a little softer, and the neck support isn’t
the best, but I could definitely get used to it.”

“Smartass,” he said then sat down in the
chair facing me.

“Finally I get to talk to the boss.”

“What makes you think I’m the boss?”

“A lot of things. You’re a more effective
manager than most. Not afraid to get your hands dirty. Better than just sitting
there ‘supervising’.” I had to emphasize the last word, air quotes were hard to
with my hands cuffed behind my back.

“Just keep spouting it.”

“Nice car you have.”

He looked at me, confused.

“The Porsche Cayenne. Never understood the
concept of a sports car company making an SUV, but whatever. Not what I would
have spent the money on.”

He didn’t speak. Harder to crack than
Adams.

“How’s your leg?”

Still nothing.

“My wife says thanks, by the way. She’s
been wanting a new house for a while.”

“Shut the fuck up. You think that was me?
Look, just tell me what you know, or what you think you know.”

“Carter got onto you guys, started staking
the place out. Great pictures and video, too bad his warrant went in front of a
dirty judge. Carter gets killed, one of your LPS lackeys, nice Mustang. Too bad
he was too dumb to make it look like a suicide, but I took care of that for
him.”

“So no one else knows?”