Torque (30 page)

“No charge for the top-up, Gentlemen.”

She returned the bucket to the workbench and
grabbed a hammer from a hook on the wall. A sudden
whump
made her spin around. No one there. Another
whump
. She
exhaled. Someone was chopping wood behind the garage. She’d heard
the chainsaw, earlier. As long as her captors were occupied with
getting ready for their meeting she might have a chance to slip
away. Kim went to the door and turned off the light. She stood
quietly with her hand on the knob.
Whump
. The woodchopper
was still behind the garage. There was no conversation or sound of
activity out front.

She eased the door open a finger’s width,
enough to see two cars and a van. It would be a simple matter to
jump in one and drive away but the odds of someone having left a
key in the ignition weren’t high enough to justify the time it
would take her to check them all. Especially since the woods across
the way offered plenty of concealment. Around the outside edge of
the parking area great blocks of granite had been placed to form a
low wall. A gap had been left as an opening where two large trees
made a natural entrance to an obvious trail.

Five seconds. All she would need was five
seconds to open the door and sprint across to those trees. Five
seconds for Jenner, Tad, the sentry guy, Chico, and whoever else,
to be somewhere else. Not looking through a window, not taking a
walk, not coming to the garage to feel her up.

When did the five seconds start? At the
moment there was no one in sight, and each second she waited was a
second wasted. Kim opened the door and began to run.

One thousand.

Two thousand.

Three …

“Hey!”

Damn.

She glanced back. It was Chico coming around
the garage with an armload of kindling. He dropped it and started
after her. She was to the trees, wood chips underfoot. Her socks
began to shred but she had to keep going.

“Kim!”

That wasn’t Chico. There was a guy behind the
tree. She put her head down and pumped harder.

== == ==

Fenn recovered from his surprise and stepped
out from the tree just as the Asian got there. He swung out his
right arm with force and caught the man across the neck. Rugby
players call it a clothesline tackle. Rugby players also have thick
necks and take it as part of the game. The Asian had no such
training. His feet went forward and up, his head went backward and
down, and he landed flat on his back gasping for air.

A car door slammed. Jenner was beside the
limo looking over its roof. Fenn took off after Kim. She had just
disappeared around the bend and would soon be at the junction.

He yelled after her.

“Kim! Go to the left.” He managed to get her
in sight again but she was well ahead.

“Left. Go left!”

Kim, who either couldn’t hear him or was
panicked, took the trail to the right. Knowing Jenner could also
hear him he yelled, “That’s it. Go left.” Jenner was a big guy but
he was no athlete and hadn’t yet reached the first bend.

Fenn slowed up at the junction and retrieved
his pack. Still no sign of Jenner. Kim was also out of sight again
though she, too, would have to slow down soon. He cinched up the
pack and set off at a jog. Within minutes Kim came into view,
walking quickly with a hammer in her hand. She looked over her
shoulder and started running again.

“Kim. Stop for a minute. It’s Chas.”

Clearly winded, she slowed from a run to a
walk.

“Get away from me.”

“I’ve brought you some boots.”

She stopped and turned to face him with one
hand across her gut as she sucked in air.

“Why are you here?”

“Why? I’ve come to rescue you.”

She didn’t seem to comprehend at first then
began to retrace her steps. She didn’t look happy.

“Rescue me? You must be kidding. Every time
you get near me I end up in worse trouble than I was to start with.
Being around you has got me shot, firebombed, kidnapped—twice,
stuffed in a trunk, and almost raped.” The hand not holding the
hammer went to the bruise on her forehead. “What else? Oh yeah, I
got put in a car that exploded before it rolled over and nearly
killed me.”

She stopped within striking distance but her
head and shoulders slumped as if the outburst had drained the last
of her reserves. She turned her back to him and began to sob.

“Tony went through the window. I think he’s
dead.”

Fenn put his hands on her shoulders.

“He’s not dead. He’s in the hospital.”

Kim sniffed and shook him off. “No thanks to
you.”

Fenn offered her a napkin from his pocket.
She took it and blew her nose, then said, “Give me my boots.”

“I brought you some wool socks, too,” Fenn
said, fishing them out of his pack. Kim sat on a tree stump and
pulled them over the socks she was wearing.

“I don’t suppose you brought me any pants.
I’m not exactly dressed for this eco-tour.”

Fenn checked her out. She had a raincoat,
thin yet long. Her cashmere sweater would be warm even if it got
wet. So would her wool kilt, though it left her legs bare and in
her worn-out state hypothermia could be a problem if they had to
spend the night outdoors.

Fenn dropped his pack and began to unbuckle
his belt. “Switch.”

“What?”

“Let’s switch. That kilt thing’s adjustable,
isn’t it?”

She saw him unzip his fly then loosen his
boots.

“You’re going to give me your pants?”

“Yes. You need the heat. I often climb in
shorts this time of year so I’m used to this weather. Besides, the
tartan will help me get in touch with my Irish heritage.”

He had a point. She was starting to feel the
dampness in the settling dusk.

“This was expensive. You look after it.” She
unfastened the kilt and handed it to him. “Now hurry up and get
those jeans off. It’s freezing out here.”

They were lacing their boots when they heard
a motocross bike ripping through the woods.

“What are the chances that’s a friendly
stranger?” said Fenn.

“Pretty slim. There was a motorbike in the
garage where they kept me.”

Now that Fenn wanted it to be dark, dusk was
lingering just a little too long. He dug to the bottom of his pack
and pulled out a length of nylon rope.

“It sounds like he took the wrong path,
though it won’t be long before he comes this way. However, there
may be a chance we can turn this in our favour.”

He headed down the trail for fifty metres to
where two trees flanked the path. He secured the rope to the trunk
of one, about chest high, and then draped it across the path and
over the lowermost branch of the opposite tree. From the echoes
they could tell that the motorbike rider had abandoned the initial
trail and was now coming their way.

“Right. Give me the hammer and stand beyond
the rope. Wait until he spots you then start running down the
trail.”

Kim took her place. Fenn wrapped the cord
around his good arm and crouched behind the adjacent rock.

“Steady. Here he comes.”

Kim stood as if ready to receive the baton
from a relay runner. A light flashed through the trees then the
bike came into view. She held her position until the rider gunned
the engine, then took off in a sprint. The bike accelerated quickly
and shifted gear. Fenn tensed then took three rearward steps and
braced himself.

The trees absorbed most of the shock but this
was a real clothesline and a lot more effective than the other had
been. The rider flew back and the bike raced on. Kim dove off the
path to avoid the runaway machine, yet it still clipped her ankle
before crashing into a gulley. Although the rider had been winded
his helmet had saved him from serious head injury. He began to sit
up but fell back when he saw a kilted terror descend with a
hammer.

Fenn would take no prisoners and his blow
broke two of the man’s ribs. For good measure he also whacked him
across the knee. He lifted the visor, the man’s face was contorted
in pain.

“Listen to me, Dipshit,” Fenn told him. “You
guys are not going to win this.” He frisked the rider and was
surprised to see he wasn’t armed.

“And you can tell Jenner that he’s next,” he
added, and went to retrieve his rope.

Kim was coming toward him, limping.

“What happened to you?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Just something
else for the list.”

Fenn grabbed his pack. “Well, if you can
hobble a few more steps, we just might have our ticket out of
here.”

CHAPTER
43

Jenner helped the Asian to his feet. The man
sounded like he’d swallowed a rug.

“C’mon, Chico. If we don’t get that little
bitch back there’ll be hell to pay.”

By hell, he meant Reis who probably wanted
the Klaasen kid for herself. Wouldn’t surprise him at all after the
way she’d bitten his head off over the phone. What did surprise him
was the way Fenn kept showing up. That wouldn’t be so bad if he’d
stop running off with the hostage. It was tough to coerce a guy who
wouldn’t stay in one place.

Back at the house, Chico went to the kitchen
for water and Jenner crossed the foyer to the main living area
where he found the sentry by the phone.

“Who are you calling, Rowan?”

Rowan put down the receiver. “My wife. I
didn’t exactly expect to be here.”

“You can talk to her later. Find Tad and tell
him to take the dirt bike up the trail. Blondie just flew the coop
with Fenn—again.”

Rowan took out his handgun and checked the
magazine. Jenner gave a disparaging shake of his head.

“Make sure you plug him, and not her,
Clint
. Necrophilia is not my thing.”

Rowan holstered the gun. “Some backup would
be good. When is the boss supposed to get here?”

“Anytime, soon. You and Chico take the ATV
and follow Tad. I’m going to check along the road. Fenn certainly
didn’t fly here so he must have a vehicle nearby.”

In a small room off the foyer was the
security centre. On a desk two computer monitors displayed a live
feed from the driveway gate cameras. Next to the desk was a locker
for firearms from which Jenner selected a Remington
double-barrelled shotgun. He broke it open and filled the chambers
with a pair of shells. Handguns were fine for posers like Rowan but
nothing meant business like the twin tubes of a 12-gauge.

He punched a code on the computer keyboard to
open the gates and went outside. He felt a spit of rain and hoped
it was going to pour. Fenn might have a knack for showing up where
he wasn’t wanted but Jenner was ready to bet he hadn’t brought a
tent.

The garage doors were open and Tad had the
dirt bike warming up while he adjusted his helmet. Chico was in the
ATV rubbing his neck and watching Rowan fumble with a set of keys.
Jenner took the limo and drove through the gate. He turned right.
Fenn would have come from the left, where the highway was, and had
likely continued down the road and parked. Sure enough, the limo’s
high beams soon reflected off a set of taillights on the
shoulder.

He pulled into the lay-by and stopped behind
the car; a Dodge Challenger R/T. It was in need of a paint job but
the body and chrome were in good shape. With the shotgun crooked in
his arm he circled the vehicle and admired the Hemi cowling
protruding through the Shaker hood. Once he’d disposed of Fenn he
would have to take this puppy for a spin.

The wind rustled through the trees and Jenner
peered into the woods. The limo's headlights made the darkness
opaque beyond the edge of the road. He turned his attention back to
the car and tried the driver’s door. Locked. He shattered the small
side window behind the driver’s seat with the rifle butt and snaked
a long arm through to the lock release on the driver’s armrest.

On the passenger seat a cell phone with a
dead battery lay on top of a page of handwritten directions to The
Retreat. The glove box contained only a tire pressure gauge and a
dog-eared map of Ontario and Quebec. Fenn kept a tidy car. Jenner
popped the trunk with the interior release and went to the rear. He
raised the lid.

“What have we here?”

Of the few items in the trunk the black
leather attaché case got Jenner’s immediate attention. He propped
the shotgun against the bumper and undid the snaps that held the
top of the bag closed. Inside was a small box containing a column
of vinyl patches. He knew what those were. As for the rest of it,
he had to tilt the bag toward the light to be sure of what he was
seeing.

== == ==

A thousand metres above the highway the
helicopter pilot was making quicker time than the evening rush
below. The sun had fallen from the horizon and the instruments were
beginning to glow in the cockpit. Lareault sat beside him.
Bloomfield was in the back. The pilot had been listening to a
police dispatcher. He turned a dial and his voice came into the
headphones of his passengers.

“I’m going to put you down at a truck stop
outside of Port Severn. A cruiser will take you to where local
units have set up roadblocks on Little Chute Road. The ETF truck
has been delayed by an accident on the highway. They expect to
arrive at the assembly point about 7 p.m.”

Lareault turned to look at Bloomfield.
“Probably just as well. I’d like time to assess the situation
before adding that element to the mix.”

The Emergency Task Force were very good at
their brand of law enforcement, and Lareault was glad of their
support, but whenever they were called out the media was never far
behind. The big sergeant gave him the thumbs up. He hadn’t said
much at all while they’d been airborne.

“Bet you can’t wait to tell Arlene about
this. Eh, Frank?”

Another thumbs up.

“Sir.” It was the pilot again. “Dispatch
wants you to know that a Lucien Harrowport has just been stopped at
the roadblock.”