Carla Neggers: Cut and Run

“Stop,” she yelled over the whirring roar of the propeller, and fired the Colt in Bloch’s general direction. The kickback hurt like hell, but she was prepared this time. She missed, of course. Hitting a moving target wasn’t as easy as it appeared. But she did succeed in slowing Bloch and diverting his attention from the chopper, Matthew, and Ryder. He paused and fired blindly into the brush, preventing Juliana from getting off another shot as she dove to the ground. Then Matthew was there, coming at Bloch from an angle, surprising him. He fired once, hitting Bloch high in the chest. Bloch jerked, dropping his weapon as he fell. He clutched his right collar bone with both hands. Matthew walked closer and kicked the rifle out of reach, just to be safe.

There was a sudden silence as the helicopter propeller went still. “Good going, Matt,” the pilot said, climbing out. “I radioed for help, pronto.”

Matthew was breathing hard as he stared down at the writhing Bloch. “I should kill you, Bloch. You killed Weasel and you killed Rachel Stein and you made sure a lot of guys died in Vietnam who didn’t need to die. You let Ryder get in over his head and you let him stay there.”

“Ryder was my commanding officer-”

“Ryder was a jackass and you knew it. But you let him keep fucking up-you kept him alive when anyone else that green and that stupid would either have learned or been killed. You encouraged him to believe his father would be impressed by seeing his unit in action. You knew he was giving me bad information, that the area was still hot, but you didn’t stop him, you didn’t report him, you didn’t tell me what the fuck was going on. So we came in unprepared, and his father got killed, and Jake and Chuck got killed.”

“Sam figured everything’d work out.” Bloch’s voice was raspy; he was wincing with pain but not yelling. He’d never been shot before.

“It didn’t.”

“I was following orders.”

“You were already looking toward today.”

Bloch snorted. “So what’re you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Matthew said. “Not a damn thing but stand here and wait for the police to haul your ass out of here.”

Juliana had made her way to the prone figure of Hendrik de Geer. He was lying on his back, bleeding heavily. She knelt in the sand beside him and touched his shoulder. Warm blood had seeped everywhere. “Don’t try to move,” she said needlessly, taking off her sweater. “I’ll see what I can do about the blood.” He lifted his hand and covered hers, his skin clammy and purplish. “Don’t bother,” he whispered, weak. “I’ve seen many wounds, Juliana. This one…” He smiled a little, shook his head slightly. “Catharina and Willie?”

“They got away.”

“Good, that’s good. You must tell them…” He winced, shuddering with pain, and swallowed. His mouth and eyes looked sunken. Juliana tried staunching the blood anyway with her sweater. He went on, his voice even weaker, “You must tell them I’m sorry for Amsterdam. Tell them I was afraid, and I thought too much of myself. I know…I know it makes up for nothing. Being sorry doesn’t help.”

Juliana nodded, shaking all over. “I’ll tell them.”

“And tell them, too…” He smiled, clutching her hand with more vigor, and for a moment the piercingly blue eyes focused. “Tell them I did love them both.”

Alice Feldon was standing at her desk Monday morning when Matthew Stark strolled in with a cup of coffee in one hand and the Post under his arm. She slammed down her phone and stalked over to him. “I’ll warn you right now, Stark, I am one furious editor. I’ve got the big guns all over me because they okayed trips to New York and Antwerp, hotel fees, a concert ticket-all because I promised them a page-one story. And what happens? I read the whole goddamn thing on the fucking wires! Senator’s fishing camp used to stockpile weapons, two men dead, retired army sergeant arrested, senator denying he knew anything about what was going on, world-famous piano player hugging her mother knee-deep in some godforsaken place called the Dead Lakes-Jesus Christ! There’s even a photo of you, you sonofabitch, punching out Sam Ryder.”

Matthew drank some of his coffee. “Yeah. Felt good, too. Should have done it years ago.” He grinned. “Relax, Feldie.”

“Relax!” She was indignant. “I’ll relax, you lazy shit, when your butt’s out of here!”

“Get yourself a cup of coffee, a pencil, and a pad of paper and pull up a chair.”

She dropped her glasses on the end of her nose and narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve got something.”

He laughed. “Facts, Feldie, just facts.” He yelled across the newsroom. “Ziegler-get your butt over here!” He looked back to Feldie and grinned. “I think it’s time he made some points around here. He can help you write the story.”

“Help me? ”

“Yeah. You remember how, don’t you?”

“Stark-”

“Quit dawdling, Feldie.”

“Damn you, I’m your editor-”

“Fact one,” he said, starting across the newsroom to his desk, “Senator Samuel Ryder, Jr., not only knew about Sergeant Phillip Bloch’s activities but approved them and helped him buy some of the arms and set up his new base in the Caribbean. Fact two: he did so because Bloch was blackmailing him because he knew Ryder had directed the helicopter carrying U.S. Senator Samuel Ryder, Sr.-his own father-into an area he knew still to be hot. The chopper was shot down, and three people, including his father, died. How much Sam, Jr., was actually responsible for may be debatable, but Bloch exploited Ryder’s unadmitted guilt over the incident. Fact three: Otis Raymond was the door gunner in the helicopter in which Ryder, Sr., was killed, and he saved Ryder, Jr.’s life. Bloch found out Otis was snitching to me in order to get Ryder’s butt out of trouble one more time. Bloch will be indicted for his murder.”

“Jesus Christ, Stark, I get the picture.”

Matthew grinned. “And I haven’t even gotten to the part about the world’s largest uncut diamond.”

“Let me get coffee. Why don’t you just start writing?”

“I can’t, Feldie. I’m part of the story.”

She looked at him. “Okay. Give me a minute.”

She and Aaron Ziegler pulled up chairs and took notes as Matthew gave them everything he had-except one tiny fact.

“You never saw this diamond?” Feldie asked.

A paperweight for jam recipes; only Juliana. “No.”

“Then there’s still no proof it exists?”

“That’s right.”

“What about the Peperkamps?”

“Call them. They’ll tell you what they told me: it’s a myth.”

“So Ryder was wrong?” Alice shook her head. “So all that scrambling for nothing.”

“For a chance, Feldie. For a chance.”

“I guess. Ziegler, get going and type up these notes.”

Aaron looked at Matthew. “Are you sure you want it this way?”

“I’m sure,” Matthew said. Zeigler nodded and headed for his desk, moving fast; he knew what he had. Matthew handed his editor a neatly typed sheet of paper.

“What’s this?”

“My resignation.”

“Matthew, don’t be a jerk. You know I was-”

He held up a hand, stopping her. “I know you were.”

She sighed. “What are you going to do?”

Rising, he put on his leather jacket. “Become a music critic.”

“That’s not funny. Stark, stay,” she added. “Do this story.”

“Thanks for arguing, Feldie, I was hoping you wouldn’t let me go without a little bit of a fight. But it’s okay. Time to move on. Hell, I’ve even got a glimmer of an idea for a book.”