Before Sunrise Page 7

  One of the others turned away, smiling covertly.

  Yacine stared at the gum-snapper, his chains tinkling softly as over and over he rotated Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil in his hands without speaking.

  Without blinking.

  Chapter 22

  Prince Albert, Saskatchewan

  The Mountie, Will Fortin, the one Yacine had named Dark Eyes was not part of the taunt.

  Fortin didn’t go for that kind of crap.

  He looked out the van’s window as the small convoy left through the gate. Work had taken Fortin to this prison and many others many times over the years since he got this job. Ironic, he thought, while he was free to leave each prison, he’d never escape the one he’d built for himself.

  “Billy, wake up! Daisy, wake up!”

  Saskatchewan Penitentiary was a century old and sat on a twenty-eight-acre expanse of land at the western edge of Prince Albert, a city of some fifty thousand people, in the near middle of Saskatchewan, a province big enough to swallow several Midwestern states. It marked the passage between the vast prairie and the northern boreal forest leading to the Northwest Territories and the Arctic. Or, Fortin thought, what some called “the end of the world.”

  Twenty minutes after exiting the pen, the convoy came to Glass Field, the small airport that borders the North Saskatchewan River northeast of town. The three vehicles activated their emergency lights and moved toward a far hangar and a waiting plane.

  Yacine’s escorts had radioed ahead, so by the time the cars and van came to a halt, the two-man crew, pilot, RCMP Corporal Eric Banner, and co-pilot, RCMP Corporal Ken Leclair, had completed most of their pre-flight checks.

  But one of the passengers, the Mountie, Terry Cox, was not happy with the small, twin-engine aircraft.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Cox asked. “What’s this? Where’s our big turbo prop?”

  “There was a mechanical issue, so we’re using this one,” Banner said.

  “You expect us all to cram into that little toy?”

  “Relax, there’s a seat for everybody. We could have a weather issue along the way and the ride might get bumpy, but we’ll get there. There’s no lavatory though, so we’ll make a pee stop for you, Terry,” Banner grinned.

  “Do you believe this?” Cox shook his head, turning to the two Americans, who shrugged off Cox’s concerns as they helped Yacine climb the stairs into the aircraft.

  Once all the men had boarded, they started the engines and secured clearance. The plane roared down the runway and lifted off on its secret flight.

  Destination: Seattle, Washington.

  Chapter 23

  Somewhere Over Saskatchewan

  The ground dropped and vast stretches of land flowed below like an eternal patchwork quilt.

  Yacine remained shackled, chained to his seat and peering out the window. One of the men sat directly behind him, one beside him, while Fortin and the gum-snapper faced him. None of Yacine’s escorts carried firearms.

  Each was armed with a stun gun.

  It didn’t take long to reach cruising altitude, where Yacine passed much of his time reading.

  Fortin continued studying Yacine’s file, even though he’d read it the previous night in his motel room because he had trouble sleeping. Too much was at stake with Yacine’s case. The stress brought on nightmares and the past had tormented Fortin.

  So he got up and went over the file again.

  And now, on the plane, Fortin read it one more time.

  Robert Lazarus Yacine, FPS Number 050300D. NCIC Number: M-51428683J. A U.S. citizen of Algerian descent, born in Ashland, Kentucky; ex-military, Special-Ops in Iraq, ex-mercenary in Africa, was serving time in Saskatchewan after shooting two armored car guards about a year ago in a botched multi-million dollar heist in Montreal at what is now known as Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport.

  The guards survived.

  Yacine had good lawyers. He’d gotten ten years.

  But six months before the armored car hit in Canada, fourteen people were shot, six of them killed, during a $1.5 million dollar bank robbery in Seattle. The masked suspects used AKs and tear gas in the commando-style attack.

  A shoe impression from a suspect, who’d stepped on a freshly mopped section of floor in the Seattle case, was consistent with an impression collected five months earlier in a robbery-homicide of a restaurant in Washington, D.C.

  In that case seven people were wounded, three died, one of them a CIA operative who oversaw the capture of key terror suspects around the world. But that fact was never released; the operative was identified in the press as a low-level analyst in the agency.

  Behind the scenes, the CIA and FBI suspected the D.C. homicides were a cover for the CIA agent’s assassination; and that the Seattle heist was a fundraising operation for Algerian terrorist groups with ties within the U.S.

  No arrests had been made and it looked like the Seattle and D.C. incidents were on their way to becoming cold cases.

  But in the Seattle homicides, a thread of evidence emerged from an eye-witness who’d glimpsed a unique spider tattoo, peeking from the gloved hand of the principal shooter. Seattle detectives obtained a detailed sketch and working with the FBI, checked it with tattoo artists and tattoo databases that could be mined from those collected in jails and prisons across the U.S.

  All efforts dead-ended, along with several leads in other areas. As time passed, the tattoo aspect was also pursued by police in Canada and Europe. Last month, it yielded a match in Saskatchewan.

  The witness’s sketch detailing a spider in flames on a web of lightning was identical to the spider Fortin now saw writhing on the back of Yacine’s right hand, as he turned the pages of his book.

  Fortin went back to the file.

  Upon discovering Yacine in a Canadian prison, the investigation secretly kicked into overdrive. Under the ruse of a flu outbreak, Yacine was isolated from the rest of the prison population, while in the U.S., federal and state attorneys prepared charges in the Seattle case.

  Of paramount importance, they needed the witness to physically and positively identify Yacine as the owner of the unique tattoo, to put him in the bank pulling the trigger.

  It was the foundation of their case.

  It took weeks of secret, high-level legal wrangling between justice officials in Canada and the U.S. before an agreement was reached for both countries to share intelligence files and secretly fly Yacine to Seattle where the witness could identify him, charges would be filed, and he would face prosecution, once he’d finished serving his time in Canada.

  They were on the cusp of ensuring Yacine would never be free again.

  But there was a problem.

  The witness in Seattle might not survive long enough to ID Yacine. His health was deteriorating. The latest status report had indicated he was near death.

  Without the witness, the case would collapse.

  Moreover, Yacine had a strong appeal going on his Canadian conviction. He’d been succeeding at every stage and could win his freedom within months.

  Then he’d vanish.

  Fortin finished the file and closed the folder.

  Time swept by and the drone of the plane’s engines lulled Yacine to sleep.

  Fortin could not rest. Too much was riding on this assignment. He turned to the window, struggling to understand why in recent weeks, his sins loomed as large as the clouds out there.

  He could never bury the images of the night his life had changed but somehow an internal force he could never understand had given him an undefined reason to keep living, as if there was still some mysterious purpose to his life.

  Chapter 24

  Ice Lake, Washington

  In her house on Little Timber Road, Ren Carter collected her pies and tarts, carefully placed them in white cardboard boxes, then secured the boxes with string.

  Before loading them into her Jeep, she put fresh water and some treats into Tipper’s bowls, rubbed his neck, and
kissed his snout.

  “You behave while I’m gone, buster, I won’t be long.”

  Driving off to make her deliveries and breathing in the beauty of the forests and mountains, Ren knew that keeping busy was good but she couldn’t stop worrying about Lee. With time running out and the odds against him climbing as high as the snow-crested peaks, she revisited the idea of moving in with him, Eileen, and the kids.

  I should do more to help them.

  She came to Three Rock River and her first stop, Dawna-Ray’s Road House, only now it was the Blue Bonnet Café. She blinked at the memories of working here, the place where she’d met Chet, where he’d proposed. New people owned it now, good, kind people, who’d come up from Salem, Oregon. Old hippies who were regular customers, taking six pies every week: two apple, two blueberry, a lemon, and a pecan.

  After finishing at the Blue Bonnet, Ren drove for several miles and returned to her thoughts about Lee, chastising herself for not realizing the obvious.

  Dear Lord, I’m being selfish staying here in Ice Lake. No mother would’ve missed this. What have I been thinking?

  Gravel crunched under her truck’s wheels as she came to Cougar Creek and Angie’s Country Kitchen, where she dropped off six more pies. When she’d climbed back into her Jeep she could feel a sense of duty forming in her gut.

  I should be with them.

  A few miles more and she came to the hamlet of Split Cloud Point and pulled up to Sonny’s Gas. Truckers and the people who drove for the county and state liked her tarts and she dropped off four dozen, a mix of pecan, apple, cherry, butter, and lemon.

  “Keep ’em coming, Ren, we always sell out,” Sonny Faraday told her, handing her a twenty and a ten from the till. He sold them for a dollar a tart.

  Coming to the end of her delivery run, Ren returned to Jade Falls and headed to the Glorious Grand Redeemer Church, where volunteers were preparing for another potluck fundraiser. She was donating pies and tarts. Most of her friends from her card club would be there. It would be good to see them. Maybe she’d tell them that she was thinking of moving to Seattle to help her son and his family.

  Ren pulled into the church parking lot and turned off the engine. As the motor ticked, a tiny alarm began sounding in the back of her mind. She was overcome with a sense of foreboding and gripped the wheel hard with both hands.

  Hang on! Just hang on!

  She had no clue what had come over her, just a sense that something was wrong. Several seconds passed and she regained enough control to get out, pick up her pies and tarts, and make her way to the church.

  I’m going to call Lee as soon as I get home.

  Ren had reached the door when her friend and fellow card club member, Stella Marchant, was leaving. Stella was known for her delicious egg and potato salads.

  “Ren! I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

  “That’s right, we missed you at the club. You and Herb were away.”

  “Got back from Key West Wednesday, how are you?”

  “Well …I’m …”

  Ren was at a loss. She couldn’t lie to her friend. She put her boxes down and massaged her temples. Stella grabbed her shoulders.

  “Is it Lee?”

  Ren nodded, her son’s memory.

  I’m afraid for Eileen and the kids. They deserve to have a good life, if I don’t make it.

  “I thought of you while I was away,” Stella said. “How’s he doing?”

  “They’re still waiting for a donor. All we can do is hope.”

  Ren fought her tears because she knew the truth, her hope was slipping away, and her heart was breaking.

  “And pray,” Stella hugged Ren. “We’ll pray with everything we’ve got.”

  Chapter 25

  Great Falls, Montana

  A few hours after leaving Prince Albert, the plane carrying Robert Lazarus Yacine landed at Great Falls International Airport in Montana.

  Fortin and the Marshals talked to U.S. Customs and Border Protection, handing them documents for signing to clear entry.

  The Mounties and Marshals kept Yacine in restraints as they escorted him to a small terminal where he was permitted to use the restroom, with the door open and one of the men watching him.

  Afterward, they returned Yacine to the plane and he was again secured to his seat. The others returned to the plane with ham and cheese sandwiches wrapped in plastic, chips, and canned drinks.

  The pilots started the engines and the plane climbed from the Great Plains to ascend the Bitteroot Range of the Rocky Mountains for the final leg of the trip.

  The snow-crowned peaks reached before them to the horizon.

  Before departure, Banner, the pilot, and Leclair, the co-pilot, had checked the aviation forecast for any watches, warnings, or advisories for Idaho, eastern and western Washington. They knew that weather over the mountains can change without warning.

  Conditions were good, until they were over eastern Washington, where the sky clouded and darkened.

  Rain streaked the windshield.

  It was not a concern until they received an updated advisory. A new disturbance was riding up and over the Yakima Ridge toward the Wenatchee Mountains with a band of rapidly moving showers or thunderstorms. Severe wind gusts and possible lightning were predicted.

  “What do you think?” Leclair asked Banner.

  “Let’s take things a bit north over Lake Chelan. We can climb over it. Advise the centers that we’re adjusting our course to steer clear of the mess.”

  Leclair made the call, the rain came down harder. As the plane banked, the pilots looked through the cloud breaks over the North Cascades, reaching up majestically nearly ten thousand feet.

  They saw a colossal range of broiling storm clouds pierced by lightning over Sawtooth Ridge. Leclair looked back over the starboard side, not believing what he was seeing.

  It was the same thing.

  “What the hell’s happening? I’ve never seen anything move so fast.”

  Leclair cursed under his breath as the plane began to bounce along pockets of rough air.

  Banner scanned the port side, realizing that massive walls of churning black clouds were closing in on them from all points.

  They were being swallowed.

  Chapter 26

  Somewhere Over the North Cascade Mountains

  The rain intensified as if a wave had been unleashed and the plane yawed.

  “I think we should put her down,” Leclair said.

  Banner agreed and switched on the cabin intercom to advise his passengers.

  “We've got weather with an attitude so we’re going to land and sit things out. Be sure you’re buckled up back there. It could get a little rocky.”

  Banner switched off the intercom.

  “Ken, check Lake Chelan for an unscheduled land -- ”

  The plane heaved as if a gigantic fist gave it an uppercut, throwing Leclair’s head against the console. Blood webbed down his temple.

  “You okay, Ken?”

  He touched his head then looked at the blood on his finger.

  “I’m okay, but I can’t believe this.”

  Banner commenced requesting Seattle Air Center get them to the nearest strip as the plane swayed, bucked, then jolted with a deafening bang.

  Then it dropped.

  “Fire in the starboard engine!” Leclair said.

  The plane began yawing. The stricken engine flamed out. Cockpit alarms sounded. Instrument needles freewheeled as Banner fought to steady the aircraft.

  “Something’s wrong with the ailerons,” Banner said. “Call in a mayday! We’ve got to put down now!”

  The pilots struggled with the controls taking the plane into a rapid descent as the starboard wing ignited.

  “We’re losing it!”

  The plane was vibrating and increasing speed as it plummeted. The men in the cabin began shouting. One had reached for his cell phone and was attempting to call his family.

  The man behind Yacine recited the Lor
d’s Prayer. The gum-snapper’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrests of his seat and choked back tears. Through the downpour, Yacine glimpsed alpine slopes and forests rushing toward them and embraced death.

  Fortin’s heart filled with regret.

  Is this the way I am going to die? Falling from the sky without making things right?

  Fortin’s stomach lifted and his ears popped.

  Blinding, wind-driven rain pounded the plane.

  It nosed downward, increasing in speed.

  Cockpit alarms bleated.

  Banner strained to pull the plane out of its dive as the surviving engine screamed. The nose was lifting, ever so slightly, it was lifting.

  Leclair shouted a cheer.

  Relief was emerging on Banner’s face in the instant before they lost control and slammed into a mountainside.

  Chapter 27

  Jade Falls, Washington

  The first 911 call went to the IceCom Dispatch Center in Jade Falls, Washington. It came on a satellite phone from a local mountain guide, who was up lake with a group of tourists on horseback.

  “It was a small plane, maybe a twin-prop!”

  “Can you give me an approximate location?”

  “Across the lake from us, near Ghost Ridge, but we can’t get to it!”

  The dispatcher’s keyboard clicked as she burned through her agency alert list to activate the region’s search and rescue operation.

  It was going to take some time to get everybody rolling.

  Chapter 28

  Jade Falls, Washington

  Miles away, at the crash site, Robert Lazarus Yacine was cold and wet.