Guardian Program Ch. 36

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Guardian Program Ch. 36

A novel by R.C.PeterGabriel, all rights reserved.

I spent the remaining few minutes of the flight explaining to Keith how to use the virtual helmet while she stripped off her tactical gear and I changed my clothes. I ignored the climbing gear altogether and chose only a lightweight Kevlar shirt, a ballistic vest, cargo pants, and light boots. Being able to move is far more important to me than armor. I certainly didn't meet the standard for tactical apparel, but even Don understood my fighting style is centered on speed.

For weapons, I carried my Glock G41, a kukri machete, six throwing knives, two punching blades, three straight blades, and three expandable batons. I had no intention of needing most of it. I assumed I'd need to make a show of dumping my weapons, and the large number might allow me to remain armed.

Next, I opened my dresser, dug out forty-five Black Knights, and stuffed them into the legs of my cargo pants. They aren't that big, about the size of a small cell phone, but they weigh eighteen ounces each, so along with all of my weapons, they added almost seventy pounds. I knew I'd have to be very careful on my landing or I'd break my legs.

After ensuring everything was secure, I slipped on my wingsuit and continued my instruction of the virtual helmet to Keith. When we landed at Fort Nelson, I started lowering the stairs as we came to a stop. Keith and I were at the cargo hatch seconds later. We had Jessie's jump gear in hand and were trotting across the tarmac in under a minute. Shepherd and the others were already running in the opposite direction towards the awaiting Mounties.

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"How much longer?" asked Bill.

"Bill shut the bloody Hell up, why don't you? You asked me that five minutes ago," Debra scolded. "They'll wake up when they do. A couple of hours, or ten minutes, it's up to them. What's the big rush anyway, Geoffrey won't be ready to send the ransom note until tomorrow."

"Because the sooner they wake up the sooner I can play with my toys," replied Bill, while running his hands over both of Jessie's breasts and giving them a light squeeze.

"Looks to me like you've already started."

"No, my Dear, not even close. Once they're awake, I can start taunting them by slowly cutting their clothes off. Then I'll fuck both of them in every way possible for the next several days."

"You're forgetting my revenge, Bill. The whole point of this is to get even with Robert and destroy Bridge Security's reputation all at the same time. I want to take everything from him before he dies the same way my father did."

"No reason we can't have a bit of fun first. Besides, I thought you said the more we have on the video to torture Robert with, the better."

"That's true, I guess. As long as it isn't just the sex you're after."

"Not to worry Baby. Nobody will find us here. We can mess with them for months before you kill them if you want. But as soon as we're bored with them, then I'll beat the shit out of Toni, and fuck her up the ass with that monster dildo I bought. Once she's used to it, I'll explain that she could have been doing Robert all along. I'll give her a while to ponder the point before I let her in on the secret ... that she's about to die on camera.

"Jessie of course will be offered a chance to cooperate and not have her fingers, hands, arms, and legs chopped off, once every hour until the money is in our account. She does seem pretty defiant. I'm sure you'll get to chop a few fingers off before she decides to cooperate. Once we have her fucking us as eagerly as a two-dollar whore, we can sell her to the highest bidder. Or not, it's up to you. Either way, Robert will never see them again."

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Constable Connelly of the Gendarmerie royale du Canada was traveling easterly along Highway 97 when she spotted a blue panel van exit a side road about a half mile ahead of her. She immediately thought of her children and husband. How would she feel if they were taken from her? Angry and determined was the response she gave herself, as her car accelerated to close the gap.

As soon as she could read the plate, she radioed her position and flipped on her lights to pull the van over before she thought about what she was doing. She chastised herself for not waiting for backup but decided to pretend to have witnessed a little weaving on the road and check for sobriety. She would stall for a few minutes, then let the van go, simply following it until backup arrived.

A quarter mile later, the van slowed and pulled to the side. She pulled to a stop behind the van, and with adrenalin pumping, exited the car. She was trying to get a look at the driver as she approached, but the mirror had been realigned, and couldn't get a good look.

Pausing at the rear bumper, she risked taking her eyes off the driver long enough to glance in the back window.

It was empty, maybe the description of the vehicle was wrong, after all, how could they already know what van had been used if they hadn't witnessed the kidnapping? She found herself relaxing just a little as she continued toward the front.

As the driver's face finally came into view, she realized she knew who he was. "Chaucer, is that you?" she asked. She knew that wasn't his real name, but bar patrons in a two-hundred-mile radius knew him as 'Chaucer' due to the flamboyant style of storytelling he used to earn free drinks.

"Why yes, Constable," he responded. "What seems to be the trouble?"

Relaxing a bit more she stepped up to stand just forward of the driver's door where she could see him directly. He was sitting calmly with both hands on the wheel but looked a bit confused. "I stopped you because you did a bit of weaving as you came off the side road, have you had anything to drink today?"

"No Ma'am. Everyone knows I don't drink unless I drink for free, and the only way I drink for free is if I have a story to tell."

He knew he hadn't been weaving. She was lying and thought to himself that somehow someone at the airport must have seen them change out the air tank before loading his 'cargo' into the van. They had been so careful. How could this be happening?

"Okay, I'll make this quick and painless," said Constable Connelly. "Step out of the vehicle. Show me you can touch your nose and you can be on your way." She stepped back a few paces to give him room to open the door, but reflexively put her hand on her weapon as she did. She saw his eyes flick to her hand but didn't seem concerned.

Stepping from behind the van's door, Bettany said, "You shouldn't have done that," and produced a sawed-off shotgun from a holster mounted to the door panel. He watched as the constable attempted to draw her weapon, and she did, but not quite fast enough. The shotgun's blast from less than three feet away obliterated her hand and sent the weapon flying a dozen feet behind her.

She screamed and toppled to the ground as a portion of her hip caught quite a few pellets along with her hand. Muscle memory alone had her reaching for the radio mic positioned over her left breast, but for some reason, her hand couldn't depress the key.

A split second later, a second blast destroyed the mic and a good portion of what was left of her lower arm.

Her vest saved her life but left her desperately trying to re-inflate her lungs, from the crushing force that felt like being pinned between a semi-trailer and a loading dock. Overwhelming pain shorted out all thoughts until her lungs had re-inflated. When she could think again, she suddenly understood that she was about to die. Panting through gritted teeth she managed to beg.

"Oh God! ... Please don't ... I have children!"

'Chaucer' smiled a bitter smile, as he calmly reloaded his weapon. Then raising his voice and arms, as if performing for a crowd, he said. "Let me tell you a story. I am not without compassion for your children's plight, as I Geoffrey Bettany, have a daughter of my own."

Suddenly, he dropped to one knee next to the constable and leaned in conspiratorially. "Her name is Laura. She's had a hard life, she lost both her parents rather young. Of course, she never realized that I was her real father. I never told her, because her mother was the daughter of Giocomo Magliozzi, a real live mob boss. A boss that isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty. He killed his daughter's bodyguards, with his own hands, in front of his granddaughter.

"He didn't realize that Jennifer ... Jennifer, that's Laura's mother by the way. That Jennifer and I were lovers. Nor did he know that when Jennifer's shithead of a husband found out about us, he killed her, but was too much of a coward to come after me."

During the story, Constable Connelly managed to pull her handcuffs from her belt and tighten one of the bracelets around the stump of her arm to form a tourniquet. The scream of pain the action elicited, went ignored by the bard.

"Magliozzi never did find out who killed her, but ironically, he killed the shithead not two months later. It would seem her death prompted a new security system, which proved he had been skimming." A slight self-satisfied chuckle escaped Bettany before he continued.

"I, of course, have been very helpful to Laura from time to time, but I can't tell her who I truly am. If I do, she'd transfer blame for the death of the man she thought was her father, away from the security company, to me. I could have simply killed her and ended her suffering, but being my daughter, I just can't seem to bring myself to do it. The poor thing is obsessed and a bit delusional, but no one is perfect. So, you see," he continued while standing with a flourish. "I have a daughter who is loved and so do you. Now whose kid, do you think I give a damn about more?"

As she pondered how to respond, Bettany suddenly spun to face the highway to the west. A few seconds later she heard what had caught his attention. A siren. A moment later, Bettany was telling her to get up. He grabbed the front of her vest and began hoisting her to her feet. Again, through gritted teeth she said. "I'll just ... slow you down ... go. Take my car ... it's faster ... than the van."

"It's too late for that. I'll need a hostage," he said and finished pulling her to her feet. "Move, your car, you drive." He pushed her, forcing her to hop on her left foot, but she stumbled and fell. Instinctively she tried to arrest her fall with her hands, remembering too late to guard her right arm. Her scream of agony continued, while Bettany lifted her to her feet a second time. He half dragged her the remaining distance and forced her into the driver's seat, then ran around to the passenger's side. Still crying and holding her stump, she jumped when he yelled at her to drive, then jammed the barrel of his gun under the side of her chin.

She started to reach for the gear lever but stopped herself. "I can't!" As she desperately yelled her response, the approaching siren forced a glance in the mirror. Help was close, and getting closer every second. She guessed the cruiser to be doing close to one hundred miles per hour, as it crested the hill a mile back. She saw its nose dip sharply, its driver breaking hard as he realized he would blow right past them in moments.

Bettany reached over and grabbed the lever, jamming the car into gear, as he shouted, "Go! Go! Go! Now!"

Connelly hissed, as pain shot through her hip, from stomping the accelerator to the floor. The car's tires protested, screeching and billowing smoke as they tried to gain traction. A moment later the car shot forward, the speedometer climbing rapidly past forty, sixty, and continued past eighty before she eased back a little on the peddle. Her fellow Mounty stayed right on their bumper.

"If you let him catch you, you die!" shouted the no longer calm gunman.

She pressed the accelerator to the floor.

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We had been on the ground for under five minutes, and in the air for just over that when Sam called me directly to say that Hal just picked up a transmission from a Mounty calling in the location of the van.

I told Hal to tap into the car's radio and dash cam and to transmit its location, sounds, and images to the entire team's phones.

By the time I had my phone out, Constable Connelly was moving to stand next to the driver's window, and Shepherd was telling his driver that Bettany was one of the kidnappers. We all watched in horror as Connelly was shot, not once but twice.

The call for 'shots fired, officer down' came from both of the cars that Shepherd and the others were in. Fortunately for Connelly, Bettany didn't hear the radio traffic coming from the car.

"Hal," I asked, "Can you get a reading from the van? Are Toni and Jessie inside it?"

"Negative. It is unknown if they are in the van."

Shortly afterward, Connelly was forced into her cruiser and commanded to drive. We quickly realized the high-speed chase that ensued would kill her as easily as the shotgun pressed against her neck, so the word was passed on to the pursuing constable, to back off and check the van for hostages. We assumed Bettany would head for his plane, which meant he'd have to get past Shepherd and the others. It was decided to set up a roadblock at the junction of Highways 97 and 77.

I spent the next three and a half achingly long minutes waiting for a report telling me the girls were still safely tucked into the 'water tank'. While I waited I told Hal to fly the plane back to Poison and told Scott to get the sarcophagus from my lab at Bridge Biotechnical and send it back to Fort Nelson, ASAP.

Unfortunately, when the news came it wasn't good. My anxiety level notched up several points, because of the uncertainty. When Sam heard the tension in my voice, she reminded me that they should be at the cabin, that the kidnappers had been very careful with their lives so far, and that we'd have them back soon. I tried to delude myself into believing she was right, but my gut didn't want to go along with it, so I went back to pleading for intercession.

End of chapter 36. I hope you enjoyed it and all of my work.

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