Chapter Twenty-Seven
Evil glee rampaged across Ivan’s face.
Caitlin’s tattered pantyhose fed his depraved fantasies, decreased her status, but increased her erotic value in his twisted mind. As deft as a circus juggler, he switched the knife from his left hand to his right, throwing it upward and snatching it from the air in its downward plunge toward her abdomen.
She never flinched.
He snarled like an angered mountain cat and his knife flashed downward. “You redheaded bitch,” he sneered. “I got more than one way to skin an uppity cat.” He squinted his hooded eyes and watched her every move and reaction.
He brushed against her, trying to make her beg. Fighting back a scream, she continued her mantra.
“You ain’t so perfect looking now,” he wheezed through a smoker’s cough and ogled her as he waited for her reaction.
Count! One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, think.
She arched her left eyebrow the way she remembered her ex-husband hated. “As if I care how I look for you.” She curled her upper lip into a sneer matching his.
He snarled but backed away. No much, maybe no more than a quarter inch.
She dredged deep for breath. Oh God. Let this horror end soon. How much longer could she control her revulsion, her need to kick, scream, lash out? A million tons of lead lay on her chest. Every measured breath was pure agony.
Work it. Don’t stop now. She gathered her shoulders into a regal pose. Would her action intimidate him? Infuriate him, put him off his plan?
“Me? Finished? Hell, I ain’t even got going. Scream! Damn you.” Ivan lashed out with the knife. Slashing at her sleeves, the halves of her skirt, her thighs and calves. His rage torpedoed his careful aim. More often than not, he nicked her skin with his quick jabbing strokes.
But she never cried out.
Her oozing blood seemed to please him. His breathing pattern changed. She recognized his increasing excitement, his decreasing control. This slashing act served as an appetizer, foreplay in his fantasy. If only she could control her blood flow like she was her breathing. Anything to aggravate him—keep him off balance—off her!
He licked his lips and bent closer to her. No longer carefully watching his knife, he continued a haphazard jabbing, nicking her in several places. Some hurt more and bled profusely.
“Yer blood ain’t no different’n mine, bitch.” He leaned over her and licked blood oozing from her wounds.
She didn’t budge. Or speak. Or scream. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand.
“No fancy blood, redhead. Not ’nough to satisfy me...not yet.”
“Lost your touch?” With her eyebrow lifted to its highest, most disdainful arch, her response dripped her withering disdain.
Ivan growled like a bear in a trap. Jamming his knife into the back of the couch, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back against the arm of the sofa. One long arm snaked out and grabbed both her hands and wrenched them above her head, almost yanking her arms from their sockets.
Her meager physical weapons no longer useful, she closed her eyes and floated beyond the room—at least in her mind.
Outside—that’s where she wanted to be. Enjoy the birds singing. Perhaps the day was a spring-warm treasure, instead of the dreary damp weather of a usual March. Yes, enough of this fetid room, these uncomfortable conditions. This stinking brute of a man.
One thousand, two thousand, three thousand. Stay calm...
Get up now, go out and find Mike, greet him with her best smile. The one he told her he always waited for; the one she rarely used. Like the movies, they’d kiss in a wildflower-filled meadow and walk off into the blazing sunset to live happily ever after, settling problems at work, and because this was fantasy, in their personal lives as well.
Yes. Mike.
He was waiting outside. She knew it—without a shadow of doubt. She sensed him close at hand. He knew she was in here. He was determined to rescue her.
Her chest was caving in, her head exploding. Now was the time for action and a scream.
“Mm...iiii....ke...”
“Bout time you began screamin’...” Ivan snorted. “But he ain’t comin’.”
Those words produced a burst of adrenalin-propelled energy in her. She turned her head and bit into his forearm. Using all the reserves she had left, she clamped down harder.
He yowled like an angry cat.
****
A piercing scream halted Vince as he lifted the bullhorn to his lips. Bare seconds later, an ear-splitting, anguished bellowing followed. Then nothing but ominous silence. The SWAT team captain gave him the go-ahead signal.
“You’re surrounded Schwartz! Come on out with your hands above your head.” Vince yelled into the bullhorn, his voice amplified.
The house remained quiet. Nothing moved inside or out. Squawking gulls swooped in lazy patterns above the farmhouse. Crows cackled and gossiped as they perched on a sagging fence line.
The SWAT leader inched toward Vince. “From the direction of the woman’s scream, we’re sure they’re located in the front of the house. Our thermal imaging equipment confirms that. We see one large form, but the perp’s bellow came from the same area. I’ve radioed four of the guys in the north gully to move in from the back.”
Vince nodded while scanning the front of the house, looking for the slightest movement. He observed none. Only the birds were active.
He radioed the helicopter to move in closer and watch for any breakouts the SWAT teams might miss. He kicked a stone foolish enough to remain in his path. He hated this waiting game. Within moments of each other, both Vince and the SWAT officer noticed a shifting of the remnants of a curtain. Through their binoculars, they zoomed into the window and saw some furtive movement inside the room.
Whatever moved was metal and polished. The pale, late winter sun glinted off the object.
“Schwartz, you’re completely surrounded. We know you got the woman in there. Come out with your hands up.”
Absolute silence remained the only response. Even the raucous crows turned mute. Black jump-suited men hunkered down to wait. Most times the waiting proved the hardest.
****
Watching the drama unfold from the safety of the squad car, Mike fought feeling useless and frustrated. Middle-aged with bad knees, he was out of his element, but he needed to be here. Conference rooms, factories, dealing with people, winning management wars, and solving its problems were his strengths. Even in childhood he fed his fascination with competition and winning on the athletic playing fields where he excelled, rather than in the woods with guns and hunting as so many of his buddies liked to do. Today was the first time in his life he saw a gun as relevant to his objective. He shivered in recognizing the reason for this change. What scared him more was his own desire to use a weapon to exact revenge. Only a repetition of the “stand and wait” quote calmed him.
Then he heard a high pitched scream, yelling his name. Rage exploded within him. He pushed open the squad car door. No more standing and waiting.
A young officer stepped forward. “Don’t do it, sir.” His restraining hand grabbed the exterior side of the car door, blocking Mike’s exit.
“You babysitting me?” Mike maintained pressure on the door from the inside.
“Observing the area and action, sir.” The officer rested his body against the door. “Keeping civilians out of harm’s way.”
An angry bellow split the tension between the two men. Mike’s eyes met the young officer’s. “Damn! What’s going on?” They watched Vince and the SWAT leader confer. Then Vince called out.
Like a movie action sequence, Mike witnessed hell descend on the scene. The helicopter moved in, its rotors churning up winter debris from the yard. Somewhere, a squad car radio squawked. SWAT men streamed onto the back porch.
“That’s the key maneuver, sir,” the young deputy told him. Mesmerized by the symmetry of movement, Mike stared at the scene unraveling before him.
Vince shouted out another warning for Schwartz to give up and come out. Ivan’s answer was a lone bullet thunking into a thick, old oak tree. Vince dropped his arm as he spoke into his radio.
“That’s the ’go-ahead’ signal, sir,” the young officer told Mike. “It’ll get noisy now.”
Mike didn’t hear the officer’s last words as gunfire rent the air. Bullets sprayed the earth surrounding the shack and chinked the foundation of the deserted house. Dislodged damp earth splattered the ramshackle shingles of the house. Shattered glass glistened on the ground. Still no sound came from inside.
“Are those guys all such bad shots?” Given the chance, he’d have made at least one shot count and he wasn’t a marksman.
“It’s intended that way, sir. Let’s Schwartz know we have the firepower and he’s surrounded. It also makes sure we don’t hurt the hostage with a stray bullet.” The young officer’s eyes never shifted from the site as he spoke.
“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking clearly.” Stupid question. Of course, they didn’t want Cait hurt. “I don’t want that either.”
“That’s our business, sir.”
“Right now this looks like a stalemate.”
“It’s not, sir. Just a brief lull,” the officer answered. Mike gave him credit for maintaining objective scrutiny of the scene while handling a civilian.
A second single shot erupted from the farmhouse and hit the dirt just inches away from Vince. He jumped back quickly and dove for more cover behind the fender of a squad car.
“Guess Schwartz has better aim than we gave him credit for. Must have a high-powered scope and he knows how to use it.”
“You seem surprised at that.”
“Doesn’t fit his M.O. Hunting knife and fists usually, but his type always has something new for us to learn about them.” The young officer continued surveying the unfolding scene. His calm soothed Mike and helped him battle his gnawing frustration. He wasn’t alone in standing and waiting.
Another deafening volley of gunfire rent the air. The shots masked the rumbling motor of a truck with an armor plated front, which had moved into sight near Vince. Mike watched as Bertoli talked into the radio. A few moments later he blasted another bullhorn warning to Schwartz.
A single shot from inside the house pinged off the armored front of the truck. Negotiation and surrender weren’t in Schwartz’s plan.
“Appears like the perp’s not afraid of us or our firepower.” The officer started counting downward from ten. “…two, one, about time…Now!”
The truck’s powerful engine revving up drowned the officer’s last words. As it lumbered forward, gunfire blasted three sides of the house’s foundation. The noise rivaled a July Fourth fireworks finale. Overhead, the helicopter moved in and hovered low over the shack’s rooftop.
The scene unfolded: spewing chunks of frozen earth and dirt; burned metallic smell of gun powder; powerful engine noises; splintering lumber and shingles—all jumbled together. Would these efforts lead to success? Or was Ivan preparing to die along with his prisoner rather than go to prison.
At another movement of Vince’s hands, two camo-suited men broke from cover and ran a zigzagging route toward the side windows of the house, trying to get as close as they could. In seconds, they achieved their objective and stood, confident as a winning baseball pitcher. With perfect aim and precision, they lobbed two objects into the house, breaking the remaining windows as they did so. Mayhem erupted around them.
Mike looked quizzically at the officer.
“Tear gas, sir. The rifle fire was diversionary.”
Nimble as deer, the two men scrambled back to safety. Immediately, weapons stopped firing. Only the motor sounds from the truck and the helicopter broke the quiet. In the distance, Mike heard the faint whine of a siren. A muted greenish haze wafted from the broken window.
The front door of the house banged open as the truck ground to a halt inches from the sagging porch steps. Three black clad figures, dressed in SWAT gear emerged, one waving frantically. Two others held Ivan Schwartz, hands cuffed behind his back, his ankles shackled. Coughing and sputtering from inhaled tear gas fumes, the prisoner stumbled between the two SWAT members.
Like summer ants swarming a cookie, more black garbed men ran toward the building. The helicopter moved a few degrees further south; the truck ground its gears and backed away from the house. Vince was running toward the porch, gaining it quickly.
Mike took a deep breath. He’d held his breath through the whole event, as if that would help. “I’m going in.” As he spoke, he pushed against the door with all his strength and fury.