Counterpoint (38 page)

Everyone was chasing Max now, men with
guns running and men with more guns in the cars. By weaving in
between them firing eased up, they didn’t want to hit each other.
Max made for the remaining unlit petrol at the left side of the
house, his last Molotov was lit and thrown forwards. Woomp! A wall
of flame blocking his way sprang up, but he drove on through it.
The two cars, one each side of him tried to stop, but skidded on
the burning petrol inside the Inferno and hit the wall one side,
the house on the other, totally blocking the way through. Within
seconds, amid screams of terror and pain from the trapped men
inside, the two cars exploded.

The van was also on fire, tyres like
Catherine wheels and the underside and lower bodywork streaming
flame in the slipstream. Max steered towards the parapet wall of
the overhanging terrace, at the back of the house, breaking hard to
avoid hitting it. A tyre burst, the van skidded into the wall and
along it. The impact threw Max bodily sideways against the door,
knocking the wind out of him. The van slowed amid screaming metal
and stopped. He slid over; grabbing a bulky pack from behind his
seat, he opened the door and sprang clear. He burned his face,
singeing off most of his facial hair and set light to his clothing.
As he rolled on the ground, the flames went out.

The house had enormous sheets of flame,
fanned by the mountain updraft on both sides and now at the back.
The van had just exploded.

As Max ran close to the parapet, he
realised the whole of the terrace and back of the house was lit
with an orange light from the intense flame. As he ran, shots rang
out hitting the ground and parapet around him. He struggled to
strap on the bulky pack as he ran.

Occasionally the pack jerked sideways
like someone had kicked it extremely hard. Better the bullets hit
the pack than him, he thought.

“I’m here!” Shouted Carla in the dark,
laid on top of the parapet. Max looked up, saw her and leapt onto
the parapet, to join her. Both lay on their stomachs, face-to-face
on this 450 mm wide curved strip of concrete parapet, the city
sprawled out below on one side, flame, gunfire and pandemonium on
the other. “I’m ready,” said Max as he and Carla stood up, and
leapt off together, into the night.

Carla pulled the ripcord of her
parachute; Max pulled his when he was clear of her. The strong
updraft lifted them, and they soared high above the city. It took a
moment or so for Max to fit his headset and switch on his radio so
they could speak to each other.

They circled like hawks high above the
house and looked down at the carnage they had caused. The roof of
the house had now caught fire, windows had shattered, and flame
penetrated inside.

The flashes of gunfire stabbed brightly
through the orange glow of firelight as shadowy figures continued
to shoot at each other around the house.

The City generally lay quiet and
sleeping, but vehicles with flashing lights and distant sirens
surged through the clear streets heading in the direction of the
mountain road. Four cars were already approaching the house, “I bet
that’s Jacko” laughed Carla, “He’s arriving just as the party has
got interesting.”

"The gate fire has almost died out, so
gate crashing should be no problem," said Max. “I think the drug
gangs would like to leave, but they are pinned down,” replied
Carla. “Probably hanging on for their cocaine, as well. With Jacko
catching them in the middle, it won’t be long before they form a
circle with their cars, like the old wagon trains did with the
Indians, and fight off both sides.”

“Well, I know Yeltsin is going to be
really pissed off with all the damage and to cap it all, when the
police arrive, they will have a job explaining what happened.” Said
Max.

“I know,” agreed Carla, “The first
question the police will ask is what three drug gangs are doing
there, fighting with them. Then they will hear about the drugs
hidden somewhere in the house. Next, when the drugs are found,
complete with his and her fingerprints, and everybody high on
cocaine, I think they will be in deep shit.”

The pain from Max’s burns was
overcoming his adrenaline and the anaesthetising effect of the cold
air rushing past his face. “I don’t want to complain” he said, “but
I got burned in the van, and I am feeling rather odd. I think I
need to land before I black out.”

He said no more and concentrated just
on getting down. They needed to get as close to the lock up as
possible. The state they were in, they couldn’t hitch a ride and a
long walk carrying their chutes was not realistic either. Carla
looked out for landmarks, she had figured what to look for when
they made their preparations for the mission. Even so, everything
looked so different at this altitude, at night. Her super quick
mind pieced the visual clues together, when they all fitted, she
said “OK, I have it, just follow me in.”

“OK” was all Max could reply. At first,
it seemed better to come in low and glide the long distance to the
lock-up. However, lift was poor near the ground so they would have
to come in high and drop at the last half mile.

Max was in a bad way, shock had set in,
and he was blacking out. He had to get down now, or it would be too
late. Carla had the target in sight and looked back to see if Max
was still with her. She realised he was in real trouble when he did
not answer her warning that they were still too far away to land
yet. Max ignored everything except the wide main street clearly lit
by streetlights. He glided in and hit the road hard.

The early morning breeze dragged the
chute and Max, up the road.

Carla circled and saw him release his
chute and stand up. With great effort, he pulled the billowing
folds to the roadside and down an alley. Carla noted what landmarks
she could and returned to her original course.

She made a perfect landing in a wide
street a block away from the lockup, gathered her chute, and
scuttled for cover.

Back at the lockup, she got the hire
car and drove off to find Max. Everything was so different now,
looking up, not down. She headed off in the right direction and
looked out for the large neon signs near where Max fell. She found
the wide road and crawled along slowly in the car, peering up the
side streets and alleys as she went.

Max had fallen unconscious under his
black chute so he could not help her find him.

After two passes of the area, she
parked the car and jogged on foot, checking the alleys carefully.
Finally, she found the chute and then him, underneath it. She ran
back and got the car. Cars were now appearing from everywhere, the
city was awake!

Carla pulled the chute away and checked
Max for injury. In the gloom of the alley, her searching hands
found the hot, sticky patch of blood on his front right side. She
judged correctly from its size, it was an exit wound. Feeling under
him, her blood ran cold, where his blood had drained out of the
entry wound it had solidified like set jelly.

Max moaned as he started to regain
consciousness and said weakly. “Is that you my love? I knew you
would come for me.” She kissed him tenderly and told him, he had
been shot. She had to get him into the car and told him to stay
conscious and help her. He groaned “OK” through gritted teeth.

Unravelling the parachute first, she
bundled it into the car on the back seat. Then she helped him stand
and walked him to the car, avoiding being seen, by the frequent
passing cars.

A few minutes later they were inside
the lock-up away from any prying eyes. Carla re-examined Max in the
electric light and could see he was in an extremely bad way. Apart
from the burns to his face and hands, he had been shot, clipping
his liver.

Carla considered her options. A call to
Sam Leighton was surprisingly unhelpful. They were not on The
Organisation’s business, so they were on their own. Without medical
help, Max would certainly die, if not from blood loss, from
infection. However, she knew the moment a medical team examined
Max’s wound, all manner of government departments would be
involved. The police would be informed as a matter of routine about
the gunshot wound. Max’s false papers would be discovered, and
because of the burns, he could be linked to the gunfight at
Gregor’s home. If she kept Max at the lockup, he would soon die.
She shuddered at the thought of losing him, she certainly did love
the old sod; he was kind and fun to be with, brave and resourceful.
He didn’t deserve to die like this. Then there was the practical
aspect of how she could dispose of the body? If it was ever found,
the authorities would soon be alerted and piece the facts together.
It might even lead them to The Organisation. Somehow she had to
find medical help from the criminal fraternity and mighty
quick!

Within half an hour of the police
arriving at Gregor’s House Mike Teal, at the FBI, was informed of
the situation. The phone call from his office woke him from a
troubled sleep. Gregor was under investigation and progress was
good now they had an inside man, and Teal was in charge of the
case.

Teal was furious when he heard the
report; the police had arrested Gregor, his wife, bodyguards and
staff on drug charges. Teal didn’t give a damn about the drug gangs
they had also captured, just Gregor. A year’s work was now in
jeopardy, he was close to uncovering the long chain of criminals
and terrorists dealing with Russian armaments and nuclear
material.

Teal hurriedly dressed, got into his
car, and drove to police headquarters; he had to find a way of
getting Gregor and his crowd off the hook without raising any
suspicion.

Don Henderson, chief of police was not
pleased when he heard of the arrival of the FBI agent, but
nevertheless, welcomed him in. "Hi Don," said Mike, trying to break
the ice in a friendly way; “I hear you made a big drug bust this
morning.”

“Yes, ” replied Don guardedly, “a big
knob in the Russian Mafia and three drug gangs were fighting over a
large haul of cocaine.”

“Any ideas why so many parties are
involved, it’s a bit unusual to have more than two elements at a
time, and the Russian isn’t known to handle drugs personally”
queried Teal.

"You're well informed Mike," said Don.
“It is a strange case all round. Firstly, all of the Russian
people, including the head man and his wife were high on cocaine.
The gangs claim they don’t know about the Russians, but say they
had a phone call telling them to meet there. When they arrived,
shooting broke out, fires were started by someone in a water
utility truck, and the situation just got out of hand. We found the
truck that checked out, but no forensics were possible, because it
was burnt out. Two Russian girls, bodyguards, claimed two persons
jumped off the parapet wall with parachutes. We have no idea who
they were or even if it’s true.”

Then a knock at the frosted glass,
office door stopped the conversation, and a detective hesitantly
walked in.

“It’s OK Ed; this is Mike Teal FBI,
what have you got to tell me?”

“Well, we found some conclusive
evidence that proves Gregor and his wife handled the cocaine we
discovered. Their fingerprints were found on some of the packets in
their car. Cocaine dust was embedded in the prints found at the
controls of the car, so Gregor and his wife must have handled the
cocaine when they collected it, and transferred the dust when they
drove back.”

Mike Teal’s heart sank, the evidence
was damning, but it did not make sense. Gregor and his wife would
never be involved personally; they had other people to do that.

Ed started to speak again. “We also
found something extremely odd, as well. I’m not sure how to put it;
someone was shot at the parapet. Crime Scene Investigators found a
bullet embedded in the concrete and possibly blood spatter.”

“What do you mean by possibly blood
spatter, either it is blood, or it isn’t” snapped Don.

“No need to snap at me,” retorted Ed,
“I’m only the messenger. CSI said it looked like human blood, but
it was loaded with stem cells. They have never seen anything like
it! They are still working on it. They are sure that the wound is
serious, probably fatal because liver tissue has been identified in
the blood droplets.”

The three men looked at each other
questioningly. Mike spoke first. “Sounds to me like this is a
fit-up I would like my people to check out the evidence, after all,
you don’t want to look a fool in court, when some smart and
expensive lawyer pulls the case apart.”

Don grunted his agreement, he did not
want this bust to fail in court either, and he knew nothing made
any sense, even though all the evidence was there.

Gregor went over the details of his
arrest with his attorney, Ian Swindler. It was obvious that he was
being framed, and he had a pretty good idea who was involved. The
attorney told Gregor that he got the impression Don Henderson was
sure he had all the evidence he needed to convict, but there was an
undercurrent of doubt about the whole story. Gregor instructed his
attorney to track down Jack Hoffer, alias Jack Stone, and Jane
Tyler. He then went on to explain about the security man’s
sightings of them in the woods above the house, the shopping
incident, theft of their car and the trouble at the party.
"Consider it done," said the Attorney and he left.

Mike Teal phoned his inside man, Paul
Jordan, Anna Jordan’s father and brought him up to date on the drug
bust at Gregor’s Place.

“That might tie in with an attack on my
daughter and another guest at Gregor’s dinner party a couple of
nights ago,” Paul explained, “At the end of the evening the girl,
Jane Tyler followed Anna back to her room, tied her up and took her
clothes. Tyler was with a man called Jack Stone, who did a similar
thing. He attacked one of the staff, a Russian girl bodyguard,
dumped her unconscious body in another guest’s room, a Bill
Trumper, attacked him and took his clothes. The man and girl calmly
walked out in disguise when the house lights failed and drove off
casually in Trumper’s car. Gregor smoothed things over and said
they were probably government spooks fishing for information. I
tried to find out more, but as yet I have nothing new.”