The Buffalo Pilot: A Ford Stevens Military-Aviation Thriller (Book 3) Page 25

  “I believed you the whole time. Just… didn’t say anything. I knew you didn’t… have anything to do with bringing… down our jets,” Ford said, forcing the words to come out.

  Ford’s breathing was irregular already, suffering from low oxygen, as Charlie could hear the wet sound he made each time he breathed in and out. Ford’s lung was collapsing due to the hole in his chest wall as the outside air was coming in. The air flowing through the hole wasn’t supposed to be there and was gathering around the lung, preventing it from expanding. The hemothorax lung collapse, combined with his blood pressure dropping, was the beginning of Ford’s shock.

  “The baby is going to be beautiful,” Ford said as he gurgled, blood now coming out the side of his mouth as a result of his lung filling up with the red liquid. “You and Em tell him about me, okay? About my life, about how much I wanted to raise him. And how I wanted to see him grow up. Be my special boy.”

  Charlie had tears in his eyes and knew he couldn’t hold Ford’s 200-pound-plus stocky body for much longer. “Ford, I’ve always looked up to you. No, no. Wanted to be like you my entire life. I love you.”

  Charlie could tell Ford’s strength was much weaker now, hanging like deadweight high above the generators. He swung and twisted against the gigantic cement-faced wall.

  “Charlie,” Ford said, swallowing as best he could, “tell Mom and Dad I love them. And,” he paused, “most of all… Emily.”

  Charlie grunted in an effort to pull him up, and screamed as loud as he could with his effort.

  “Arrrrhhhh! Help! Someone help us!”

  Charlie couldn’t hold onto the railing and at the same time pull Ford up with one arm. Charlie was being pulled over the railing himself ever so slowly. He looked out at the helicopter in a hover, giving them a dirty look, wondering where the local police were to help. They had to see what was going on with them hanging above the river.

  The combined sweaty hands made it worse, as Ford began to slip down even more. Charlie could hear his wheezing, with the whir of the rotor blades off in the distance.

  With that, a sudden quietness came over them, pushing away all other sounds. Charlie’s life with Ford flashed before him, and in a split second, had a vision of them as children, holding hands as they ran through a grassy field near some mountains.

  Ford was smiling now, telling Charlie in his own way that this wouldn’t end well. In a raspy whisper, Ford spoke. “You don’t have a clue, do you, kid?” He had used the same line to harass him for 30 years. “I love you, Charlie. Jojo Rising… it’s… it’s time for me to go see… Pinky and...”

  Ford slipped from Charlie’s sweaty grip and fell for about 100 feet in complete free-fall before slamming into the solid concrete penstock pipes, which jetted out from the wall toward the river. Ford fell without saying anything on the way down, falling in silence, his body making a thumping sound upon the first impact.

  Charlie watched in horror as his brother rolled and rolled until he hit the lowest point of the Power Project near the generators, gravity pulling him down to the lowest point in the infrastructure. His body, limp and lifeless from wounds and blunt force trauma to sensitive organs, was just too much for him. It was just too much for any human to survive the impact.

  Ford Stevens was dead.

  Chapter 50

  Niagara Scenic Parkway Service Road, Lewiston, New York

  “Ford!”

  Charlie stood alone on the road, no police. No helicopters landed close by. No one from the squadron, the guys that they both flew with, arrived yet. Time and distance separated him from reality, feeling alone, desperate to hug Ford just one more time. Charlie stared over the railing and saw Ford lying down at the bottom of the massive structure, unaccompanied by family or friends.

  “Ford! God no, Ford. What-”

  Charlie squeezed his eyes shut in pain, the tears rolling through the stubble on his face, and was in the shock of his life. What just happened? Is he… is he really gone?

  Charlie struggled to breath, and held onto the railing while resting his head on his hand. He stood up and glanced over again to see if Ford was moving, as he continued to lay motionless. Charlie could not believe what just happened, and turned to slide his back down the small retaining wall to a seated position.

  In the few short minutes of quiet time he had, he was grateful that he could be with his brother during his last moments but felt horrible at the atrocious situation. Charlie was already thinking of how to tell Emily and his parents, his mind jumping around like wildfire.

  He felt as if someone had shot him in his own lungs, a bullet lodged in his own intestines, still finding it hard to breathe as Ford’s death settled into his consciousness for a moment.

  Charlie stared off at the trees across the river in Canada, not knowing how he could go on without him. Ok, ok… need to pull myself together. Catch him. He swallowed, wiped his face with his sleeve and dialed 911. Charlie arranged for an ambulance to come, but knew the outcome was for a recovery of Ford’s body, not a rescue.

  With the call to emergency services complete, Charlie began his run to follow Richard and was angrier than ever. Overhead, County One went past him low, signaling to him they had his back. Charlie turned his emotion into speed, wanting more than anything to capture Richard and hold him accountable for what he had done to Ford.

  Richard was running at top speed for at least a solid five minutes, figuring at that pace he would be more than a half-mile ahead of Charlie. That’s if he was even coming after him. His last drink of water was the student center, and Richard felt dehydrated, but his adrenaline and mental condition kept him going. He was looking forward to getting across the bridge and into Canada.

  Richard saw the car and truck entrance signs ahead to cross the Lewiston-Queenston Bridge, and since he wasn’t in a vehicle yet, he’d have to make plans to get across. Continuing his run, he scrambled up the on-ramp’s grassy embankment so he could get onto the entrance to the bridge.

  Little did Richard know that he had woefully underestimated Charlie, and had no idea what kind of person was coming after him. Thirsty for revenge that Richard had never seen or felt before, he had no idea of what he just unearthed… not knowing what Charlie was capable of doing to him.

  Chapter 51

  Over Niagara River, Orbiting at 800 Feet Above Ground Level

  “We need more help, Zeke. Stand by,” Bick said over the cockpit intercom. He put his hand forward to switch frequencies for a moment.

  Circling over Charlie, making much wider circles, was Zeke and Bick, searching for activities down below. Alert and frantic, both men hunted for Richard from the cockpit. Zeke scanned the area using the FLIR, while Bick looked outside the cockpit.

  “Dispatch, County One with a report and request, over.”

  “Go ahead, County One.”

  “We’re airborne over the river just north of the Power Project. Reporting a 10-54 that went over the Robert Moses guardrail, landing down the Power Project’s dam face. He’ll be at the bottom near the generators, over.”

  “Copy your 10-54, County One. We’ll roll Upper Mountain Fire response and contact the state.”

  “Roger. Ah, dispatch, also have a 10-32 in progress, related to the Niagara University and airbase shootings. Suspect is Richard Lansing. L-A-N-S-I-N-G. Lansing. Military. Same physical description as earlier relayed. Last known pos was on foot, heading northbound from Niagara Scenic Highway. Unknown location. How copy?”

  There was a pause while keyboard typing was heard. “Copy all. State your request, over.”

  “Okay, dispatch. This is gonna take some coord. Need you to work it… send out an all-points bulletin for coord between Canada Border Services Agency and Customs at Bridge Plaza. Let them both know perp is armed and dangerous. Could be looking to enter a vehicle and cross over the border.”

  The Canadian Border S
ervices Agency was a federal agency responsible for their border protection and surveillance, immigration enforcement, and customs services. They allowed entry into Canada at the Lewiston-Queenston Bridge and were full-law enforcement officers.

  “Second, tell CPSA we may land at their heliport, depends on what happens down below, over.”

  Entrance to Lewiston-Queenston Bridge, Lewiston, New York

  “Alex. Alex. Alex. Alex. Alex. Got to walk, ay?” Richard said, laughing. “You get it, Alex, giving you the ‘ay’ sound, like a real Canadian?” Richard was losing it, talking out loud to himself more often while running.

  As he glanced around the area, looking for transportation options, he realized he was the only person around the entrance to the bridge on foot. Getting over the bridge as a pedestrian seemed to be the best way from what he could tell. Looking crosswise down the bridge, then back at U.S. Customs and Border Protection inspection booths, he figured since the cars and trucks were in full motion, he’d continue. “No sirens or law enforcement, I’m coming, baby… Canada, I’m coming.”

  Alex, I know, I know. No way they will get me! They have been trying to get me for years.

  Optionless, Richard’s plan was to cross the Lewiston-Queenston Bridge as soon as he could, as he figured law enforcement would never be able to get his name into the computers fast enough. His goal now was to walk across the highest road bridge in Canada, one of North America’s main arch span bridges, an imposing length of 1,000 feet. He could see ahead the midpoint of the bridge dividing the two countries, the U.S. and Canadian flags flapping in the wind some 370 feet above the Niagara River.

  In the mayhem of Richard’s tormenting, he had overlooked one key point. Of the four bridges that crossed into Canada, this one was closed to all pedestrians.

  Richard squinted, but recognized Charlie on foot from afar. He came bounding up to the roadway like a thoroughbred horse, and could tell he was focused on finding him. He must have figured he was up in this area of the bridge entrance, attempting to sneak into Canada ever since he caught Ford watching him manhandling his passport.

  Looking at the U.S. inspection booths, then at the brake lights of cars passing across the bridge, Richard started running with traffic toward the mid-point of the bridge.

  Richard kept his jog up, darting looks ahead, down below, and behind him. He started to see that the vehicle traffic had lightened up in both directions, giving way that the bridge may be shutting down. Or already was.

  On the U.S. side of the bridge, squinting due to the full sunlight, Richard looked across the span and locked eyes with him. It was definitely Charlie.

  Canadian Border Services Agency Operations Center

  Jackson Gagnon, a short, mustached law enforcement operations watch officer, was monitoring the security cameras surrounding the bridge entrance to Canada. He was on the communications headset, pointing to two television screens in front of the room.

  “Okay, thanks for the alert. We got him now on camera coming toward us. He’s on foot. Let me see,” Jackson said as he moved multiple cameras around the center. Zooming in for a moment, he couldn’t tell from afar. “Yeah, may have it hidden. Concealed carry holster, maybe? Either way, he shouldn’t be out there on foot. Send your guys out, and we’ll do the same.”

  Jackson leaned over and hit a red button under a Plexiglass covering, activating red alarm lights and a claxon horn that informed the entire law-enforcement team. It advised the team at CBSA that an intruder was penetrating their perimeter, triggering the Quick Reaction Force of armed law-enforcement personnel.

  From a building off of Niagara Road, 12 officers moved with purpose into four armed tactical trucks. Wearing full-up body armor and an array of weapons, the Canadian law-enforcement officers headed opposite traffic direction on General Brock Parkway and out to the middle of the bridge. With the bridge shut down, it was a clear path to Richard.

  Lewiston Queenstown Bridge, Lewiston, New York

  Charlie saw that Richard was slowing down in his run, realizing he was solo in the middle of the bridge span. Looking into Canada, a mere 500 feet in front of him, Richard had to have seen the four large green vehicles sprinting toward him. Unnerving with no cars or trucks, the bridge was peaceful until he saw the OH-58 helicopter coming straight at Richard. The aircraft entered a rapid climb upon spotting Richard and entered an observation orbit above his head.

  “Richard! Riccchhhaarrrd!” Charlie yelled with bursting fury.

  Richard turned around to see Charlie had caught up to him. Richard also saw behind Charlie was a small armada of Customs and Border Patrol vehicles getting onto the bridge, the full Dodge Charger and Ford Explorer package. Lights rolling, the U.S. meant business.

  “Richard! We’re gonna lock you up, motherfucker!” Charlie yelled, getting closer to him.

  Richard stopped running and went over to the edge of the bridge, looking down. Appearing out of breath, he looked at the Canadian side once more and saw their law-enforcement teams racing to him, then to the U.S. side to see theirs continuing their short trek. Richard then tilted his head back to see the helicopter hovering off to the side, facing him.

  Charlie was close enough now to hear him.

  “You think you got me? The ax smashed the crop-duster. I told you that, Felix!” he yelled loudly. “Alex, Holly, and her rose are waiting for me. The rain falls on the piano as the grandfather clock hit the trampoline. She isn’t painting the house, is she?” His gibberish and talking in circles were accelerated, not making any sense, as Charlie knew he was completely out of it.

  Richard took a few paces in one direction on the bridge, then turned in the other. Charlie felt good, like they had him, and wanted to beat his ass to a pulp.

  It was the fastest pacing Richard could do, considering the dwindling timeline he had. The vehicles slowed down as they got closer, like a snake that crept up on its prey. With no misunderstanding on anyone’s part, including Richard’s, they were coming for him.

  Richard reached over the edge of the bridge one last time to see the Niagara River down below and leaned back while taking out his P226.

  Inside the operations center, Jackson spotted the weapon’s movement and relayed to both agencies over the radios.

  Laughing out loud now like a madman, he waved his weapon around.

  “You’re dead meat, you son of a bitch!” Charlie said loud enough so Richard could hear him.

  Richard put one foot up in an awkward method on the cement retaining wall, about the same height as a bathroom counter. He held on to the metal guard rail with his free hand. Richard pulled his other foot up, so he was upright on the bridge’s edge, and balanced in the warm breeze.

  “How do you like me now, Alex?” he asked out loud to no one, waving the gun at Canada, then at the U.S. “Purchase the printer paper? That’s what I thought. I’ll take Coins for three hundred.”

  Richard saw Charlie turn to see how far back the U.S. armada was, as both men saw the Canadians were no more than 10 or 15 seconds away from his location. At the rate the Canadians were zooming, they would definitely get to him first.

  Richard yelled as loud as he could, then looked at Charlie.

  “Thanks, Alex. So long everyone.” On his face was the look of a possessed man, his mouth rising upward without showing any of his teeth. His eyes looked demon-like, controlled by some outside force, almost in a glaze without a focus.

  Richard dropped the near-empty magazine on the pavement and slapped in a fresh one. Then, with a devious grin, he placed the P226 in his mouth, leaned forward, and leapt over the edge.

  Over Niagara River, Orbiting at 800 Feet Above Ground Level

  “Attention all units. Suspect has gone over the guard rail. Repeat, suspect has gone over the guard rail.”

  Bick maneuvered the helicopter so they could get a better look on the south side of the bridge, scanning th
e area.

  “You see him fall, Zeke?” Bick asked.

  “Nah, I did see him go over that edge, but I was looking at Charlie. Must have missed him fall and the impact. Bring us down to the water so we can see his body.”

  Lewiston Queenstown Bridge, Lewiston, New York

  Charlie ran as fast as he could to the spot Richard jumped off of the bridge and placed both of his hands on the rusted metal guard rail. He shoved his face over the side to peek, hoping to search for Richard’s body down below.

  Giving Charlie a near heart attack, he was shocked to find Richard about 10 feet below and pointing his gun at him.

  “Steee-veeens!” Richard yelled at the top of his lungs.

  Laying in the suicide barrier net below the top of the bridge was Richard, no longer grinning. Positioned flat and on the edge of the net that extended outward from the structure to preserve driver views, Richard began firing his weapon at Charlie.

  Pop. Pop-pop-pop-pop! was heard as it echoed in the river gorge. Pop-pop-pop.

  Richard unloaded his ammunition at Charlie, with full intentions to kill him. With the winds and wide-open space on the bridge, the crack sound of the rounds hit the speed of sound, whizzing past Charlie’s head and scaring the crap out of him.

  “Steee-veeens!” he repeated.

  Charlie fell backward, slipping on the road gravel under his boots as he back-pedaled to protect himself behind the cement retainer wall. Despite being brave in the cockpit, he was scared that Richard was alive and shooting.

  What also caught Charlie by surprise even more was the heavy rifle fire coming from his right side.

  The Canadian Quick Reaction Force had arrived and unloaded their weapons on the threat, riddling Richard’s body with bullets. They weren’t taking any chances with his handgun being discharged, as they perceived him as armed and dangerous. All bets were off for the Canadians. Richard’s body jerked in the net as each bullet penetrated his flesh.