Of Infinite Courage and Complete Terror Of Infinite Courage and Complete Terror By: Michelle Sinclair Rated PG. Drama **Note: This is a minor continuation, more or less, of the unending saga I seem to have started. The chaos began with 'It's Probably Me'. The previous installment (which brings the total up to four with this one) was 'The Blossomed Thorn'. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy! Ray Vecchio was about as happy as he'd ever been. He couldn't wait to leave for the warmth of Hawaii. He had three vacation weeks coming to him and this time no one (not even a Mountie) would get in the way of his plans. He'd said goodbye to Benny yesterday. He had to admit begrudgingly that he'd miss that sometimes goofy, often annoying and thoroughly confusing man. Simply put, Ben Fraser was the most decent human being Ray had ever known. Why this fact befuddled and irritated Ray wasn't at all clear to him. Talk about your personifications of the phrase 'above and beyond the call of duty.' Ray smiled. He'd asked his best friend if he could swing some time off from Thatcher to go with him. But Thatcher was wholly unaccommodating. That frigid woman. He didn't care if Ben was involved with her. She gave Ray the creeps. Probably a vampire, Ray mused. He wondered if Benny had ever noticed if he could see her reflection in a mirror. Mental note: buy Benny a garlic necklace. Ray checked his watch. It was almost 4:00 P.M. His plane left in two hours. Ray called a car to pick him up. There was no way he was leaving the Riv in an airport parking lot for three weeks. He heard the telltale honking of the cab. Ray dropped his cellular phone on the bed, grabbed his suitcase and began to leave the room. As if on cue, the phone began to shriek in that ugly little, bizarre way cellular phones had of ringing. "Screw it," Ray said and ignored the phone and continued his way downstairs. Almost out the door Ray could still hear the little phone's petulant rings. He sighed heavily and bounded back up the stairs to answer it. He flipped it open and stated: "Whatever it is, its gonna hafta wait till I get back from my Hawaiian Holiday--"Ray thought for a second and added with a wicked little grin, "Thank you kindly." "Detective Vecchio?" came the angry voice of Lt. Welsh. "Lieutenant. Forgive me for being so abrupt but I have a plane to catch for my well-deserved vacation and if I don't get in the cab right now then I'll miss it." "We have a situation, Vecchio, and I think you might be interested." "Sorry sir, but I really am only interested in making my flight." Ray was rankled. It wasn't that he didn't want to help with the 'situation', but he kept getting cheated out of his vacations. That wasn't happening this time. "Fraser's been shot." That statement certainly got Ray's attention. "What?? Is he all right?" "We don't know. There's a hostage situation at the Canadian consulate. Someone has already been killed. Fraser is hurt and we don't know what these bastards want." "Okay. I'm going down there." "We've got a team down there trying to negotiate with them. I thought since Fraser was involved--" "On my way, sir." "Sorry about Hawaii, Vecchio." "Me too." Ray hung the cellular phone up and headed downstairs. He told the cab to take him to the consulate instead of the airport. ***** Ray was standing next to a couple of members of the bomb squad. There were at least twenty squad cars around the consulate. Swat teams, hostage negotiators. Even a few cops in riot gear. "What are we doin' here? There are people inside there!" Ray said to someone who was obviously in charge. "*Who* *Are* *You*??" "D.t. Ray Vecchio." "Vecchio . . . right, Lt. Welsh told me he was sending you down here. Apparently you know one of the hostages?" "Yes sir. Constable Benton Fraser." "Well keep quiet, Vecchio, and if we need anything we'll let you--" the commanding officer's admonitions to Ray where cut off by the bloodcurdling scream that erupted from within the consulate. All of Chicago probably heard it. The scream was followed by the distinct sound of a semiautomatic weapon being fired. An unearthly silence fell over the battalion of policemen. Suddenly, a shrill sound sliced through the quiet. It was the commander's cellular phone. He flipped it open. Ray watched, in horror. Lord, God, what if they just killed Benny? "Captain McNamara." "Ready to talk yet, captain?" mocked the voice of the man on the other line. "Killing the innocent people in there won't help you any." "Oh, I disagree. What an embarrassment this is for the American government, allowing Canadian officials to be murdered on your own soil." His laugh was sinister. "We don't want to see anyone else killed. We want to help you, but you have to help us. We need to talk to one of the hostages. We have to know they're not all dead." Ray watched nervously. "Captain," he said in a hushed yet pressing tone, "Let me talk to one of the hostages. I know some of the people in there. I think I can get a good assessment of the situation even if the hostage is too frightened to talk." The Captain put up his hand as if to say "Hold that thought." "Okay captain. We'll let ya talk to one of the prisoners." "Tread carefully, detective," the captain warned as he handed Vecchio the phone. Ray nodded curtly. "Hel--Hello." The strangled voice belonged to Meg Thatcher. Dammit! He was hoping they'd put Benny on. "Inspector, are you all right?" Thatcher recognized Vecchio's voice, she gave a little glance in Ben's direction. He was still slumped over on the floor and she could see the blood seeping through his uniform. "I'm uninjured. Others, though, are not." Her voice was trembling, it was all she could do to remain coherent. "Fraser?" "Has not fared very well." "Is he alive?" "Yes." "How many are injured?" "Four." "Dead?" "Two." "Inspector, do you know who these men are?" "Yes, they're--" The sound of Thatcher's shriek came through the phone. "Inspector!!" "Enough chit chat." "What did you do to her?" "Are you ready to hear our demands?" "What are they?" "Simple enough, really. We demand 20 million dollars in unmarked bills and a helicopter be brought here within two hours. If this is not done promptly, we will begin executing the people in here." He hung up the phone. The captain had been listening in on another line. "We gotta get in there," Ray said. "Officer Bryant--get me the commissioner. I'm open to suggestions if you have any, Vecchio." ***** Meg had dislocated her shoulder, she was positive of it. When that barbarian had slammed her into the wall, she had felt it pop. It was almost impossible to move the arm. It hung there limp at her side. The only fortunate thing about having been injured had been they had thrown her at a wall near Fraser and she was now quite close to him on the floor. They weren't paying either of them much attention as Fraser was still inert and she seemed too banged up to do much damage. She inched as close to Ben as she could. "Fraser," she whispered close to his ear. There was no response. She made sure the men weren't looking her way and slid a hand on Fraser's neck to check for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. She breathed in deeply and thanked God he wasn't dead. He had taken that bullet for her after all. They had wanted to shoot a hostage to make a point. They thought killing the highest ranking officer was the best choice. Fraser disagreed. Again she said "Fraser." She saw his eyes begin to flutter open. When they did finally open, the usual clear blue of his eyes was clouded by agony. "Sir," he managed. It was like a gasp for air. "Keep quiet, constable. We are still being held hostage." He managed to lift his head a little. He saw the terrorists and put his head back down. "We . . . have to . . . to do . . . to do something." "We do," she agreed. Now, how two Mounties, one teetering on the edge of unconsciousness and the other with a useless right arm, were going to 'do something' abut 12 armed and highly dangerous terrorists with semiautomatic weapons, was beyond her. She noticed Constable Turnbull was still uninjured but tied up in the opposite corner. She wondered how much help he'd be anyway. "Turn . . . Is . . . Constable Turnbull . . . " He had the same thought apparently. "He's incapacitated. Uninjured but tied up." She looked over at the terrorists. They were self involved for the moment. Everyone was either too hurt or tied up to be a worry to them. They were chattering in French. Dammit, if she had only continued taking French classes in college, she might know what they were saying. "Is . . . that . . . French?" "Yes, our captors are Quebec Separatists. I believe the man in charge is Jacques Loiret." "Leader of the left wing militia group that seized the outpost of the RCMP in North Bay last month." That was a rather focused and coherent statement. Thatcher hoped it meant he would be able to help after all. "Yes. They killed several people there." "But with an explosive device. They didn't actually take hostages." "No, this is new for them." "Who said you could talk?" Came the angry voice of Loiret, pointing the barrel of the gun in Fraser and Thatcher's direction. "This man is severely injured." "Lucky he's not dead . . . at least not yet." "The Americans won't give into your demands. They won't bow down to terrorism. Especially when their own citizens are not the ones in danger," Meg said. She had captured Loiret's interest for the time being. Fraser was attempting to sit up. He fought against the pain and finally was upright. He could see all the blood that had stained his shirt. His red serge jacket was open and the blood was clearly visible on the white undershirt. "Maybe so. But what a political disaster for them. And the Canadian government won't like that their little consulate in Chicago was blown up, now will they? Maybe then they'll listen. Then, they'll have to listen." "I think . . . I think you aren't . . . seeing the forest for the trees," Fraser said. "Oh, enlighten me, Mountie." "Well, sir. You see. You're in here with us. Out there is a veritable legion of Chicago police. They will not let you escape. You will die in here with us. What comes of your plans then?" "Narrow minded thinking, constable. You see, if we die, we become martyrs for our movement. We win either way. That's the key of effective terrorism, constable, you have to be ready to die for your cause." "Are you ready to die?" Ben asked. "Ah, the question is constable, are *you* ready to die?" He leveled the gun at Fraser's head. "We all have to die sometime," was Ben's slow, measured answer. Loiret saw the terror in Meg's eyes. He looked from her to Fraser and then back to her. "I think death would be too easy on you, constable. You obviously were willing to die for your superior officer. I commend that loyalty. Perhaps I should make her suffer. Maybe that would get a reaction from our cool detached constable Fraser." Loiret reached down and grabbed Meg's bad arm and jerked her up to him. He had the gun in her face. "No false moves inspector." Ben watched in dread. He wished he could get up, do something to help her. His legs wouldn't obey though. Besides, someone had come over at Loiret's beckoning and was now holding Ben down. "Pretty little inspector. No one can save you now." He was hurting her. The pain shot through her entire body. She was terrified. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She wouldn't tremble for him. She stood there stock still. "Such a brave woman. Let's see how brave you are." He heaved her to the floor and stuck his boot between her chin and collar bone. He kneeled down over her, now training the gun on her neck. He brought his free hand down as if to hit her. But he didn't. Instead he laid a gentle hand across her cheek. It was an appalling, startling action. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "Aren't you going to beg me not to do it, Inspector? Shed a tear or two?" She remained quiet. If this man was going to rape her, right here, in front of Fraser and Turnbull and all the others, she swore she wouldn't cry out. He smiled at her. He took his hand off of her cheek and ripped her suit jacket open. He placed his marauding hand on her breasts. He was reaching for her skirt, and she saw an opportunity. She quickly, deftly, kneed him in the groin. It happened fast, he reeled back and she sprang to her feet. Another man had her in his arms then, holding her captive. She struggled desperately, but it was no use. Loiret said something about her in French that she understood all too well. Loiret came over to her. "Stupid! You should not have done that!" He took his gun and slammed her across the side of her head with it. She crumpled to the floor. The gash on her head was oozing blood. Ben winced at this. He also winced at his own helplessness. He had to do *something*. He was a Mountie. He couldn't let this go on. ***** Ray was impatient. An hour had passed and they had only one hour left. Capt. McNamara was working on the demands of the terrorists. They had gotten word from the FBI that the left-wing separatist group from Quebec, led by Jacques Loiret, had claimed responsibility for the seizure of the Canadian consulate in Chicago. He had to get inside, just talk to Benny . . . "Captain?" "What, Vecchio?" "I need to speak with one of the hostages." "They're not going to allow that, Vecchio." "Let me just try sir. I know if I can talk to Constable Fraser that we can come up with a way to end this situation without anyone else being killed." McNamara thought this over. It was becoming obvious that although they didn't ever want to risk the lives of innocent people, they couldn't give into the terrorists' demands. The commissioner had given his order: try to get them to surrender, if they won't surrender within the hour, storm the consulate. They had conferred with the Canadian government. The government had agreed that the men inside couldn't be allowed to get away with this. Their citizens were at risk, but so too was national security. "All right Vecchio. Let's give it a try." Ray called the consulate's number. "C-C-C-Can--adian C-Consul--sul-ate." "Turnbull?" "If you are calling for Inspector Thatcher she is . . . indisposed . . . if you'd like to speak to the people in charge--" "Turnbull, why are you answering the phone?" "They . . . told me to . . . " "What's going on Turnbull? Where's Fraser?" "Fraser is unable to come to the phone." Ray realized he was now talking to one of the terrorists. "Is this Loiret?" "Yes, have you met my demands yet?" "We're workin' on it. But I need to speak to Constable Fraser." "Forget it. No more talking to the hostages." "Look, there's no point for us to meet your demands if you're killing off the people in there." "Very well. You can talk to the constable." "Ray?" "Benny . . . thank God you're okay." "Barely, Ray." "Benny, we gotta come up with a plan. In 45 minutes we're coming in with guns blazing." "Understood, Ray." "Have they killed anyone else since I spoke to Thatcher?" "No . . . but she is . . . she was . . . hurt." "Listen to me Benny. We *need* a plan." "The one you suggested is good, Ray." "What? Ben--everyone will die if we raid the joint." "That's the only way to end this, Ray." "Stop it Benny! That's not like you. There is a solution to every problem." Ray's fear was increasing 10-fold. If Benny had lost hope, then what could *he* possibly do? "Ray, listen to me. It's time to give up before the situation *blows* up." "Blows up? Benny, are they planning on blowing up the consulate?" "Mmhmm." "When?" "Soon." "Ben . . . hold tight." Ray flipped the phone shut. "Captain, those terrorists are planning to blow up the consulate very soon, we have to do something, *now*," Ray insisted. "What would you suggest, detective?" "I don't know, sir. I just don't know." ***** Ben's body was aching. The sharp pain caused by the bullet wound was nothing compared to the pain of embarrassment. He never should have allowed those men into the consulate. He should have done a better job stopping them from seizing the place. What he could have done up against twelve armed men, he wasn't sure. He wished the police would just raid the place already. He looked over at Meg. The blood from her head wound had formed a small little puddle near her face. He reminded himself that head wounds bleed more than others and therefore often look worse than they really are. If the police did raid, he decided that he would use all his remaining strength and climb on top of Meg to shield her from the bullets that would be flying. He had been floored by her bravery when Loiret had been about to rape her. It wasn't that it surprised him, only that he wondered how calm he himself could have remained in such a situation. Loiret. That bastard had to pay for this. For killing those people in the RCMP outpost in North Bay. For killing Genie and Elyse from the secretarial pool. For almost raping Inspector Thatcher. Ben decided suddenly that the only way to save everyone else was to take down Loiret. Now. If he could, and then the cops raided, maybe everyone else's life could be spared. Ben mustered up the energy to stand. He was leaning heavily against the wall, but at least he was upright. Four of the 12 men had gone into Thatcher's office to see if they could get any information off the computer. That left eight out here. Three were watching the other prisoners. The last five, including Loiret, where huddled together, discussing strategy in French. Ben caught Turnbull's attention. He made a small gesture, meaning "Can you get loose?" Turnbull slowly moved his hands from behind his back, Ben noticed the ropes where off. Ben nodded. Turnbull, who also had gotten free of the ropes around his ankles suddenly stood and lunged at the five men huddled in conversation. That was all the distraction Ben needed. He went at Loiret. There was a struggle for the gun. No one else could move. Not the prisoners, not the terrorists. Everyone watched Constable Benton Fraser and Jacques Loiret do battle. Ben, due to his injury, was severely outmatched though. Loiret had Ben on the floor, in the same position he had Meg earlier. "I have had enough of you!" He bellowed. He was going to end Ben's life once and for all. He put the barrel of the gun on Ben's forehead. "Pleasant dreams, Constable." Just then, the doors of the consulate flew open and a team of cops rushed in. "Drop your weapons! Everybody drop em! NOW!" one cop ordered. The terrorists where severely outnumbered. Despite Loiret's claims that they were willing to die, it was now excruciatingly obvious that this wasn't the case. No one was ready to die here today. No one, save Mr. Loiret himself. He was the only one who didn't drop his gun. It was still firmly in place against Ben's head. Ray had followed the team in and now saw the dire situation his friend was in. "Put down your weapon!" Ray ordered, aiming at Loiret with his hand gun. "You all abandoned me! But I will succeed! I will, and this," he pointed now at Ben, "will be the symbol of the revolution." Loiret was raving. He was clearly insane and clearly bent on killing Benny. There was going to be no reasoning with him. Ray decided then that he would have to shoot him down. Before Ray could fire though, Loiret was crashing to the floor due to Meg Thatcher's hard kick to his leg. Quickly thereafter, one of the officers had restrained Loiret. Ben was still lying prone on his back. Ray rushed over and carefully helped Ben to his feet. "God, you're still bleeding," Ray said. "It's okay Ray. Obviously I wasn't shot in any major organs. I'll be all right." He suddenly remembered Meg. She was still on the floor, but sitting up a little now. She had somehow managed to crawl over to Ben and Loiret and deliver the kick that brought him down. "Inspector," he said urgently. He moved over to her and offered him her hand. She took it and she was on her feet now, wobbly, but okay. The officers had the situation under control now. "Um, if you don't mind I'm gonna get these two to a hospital," Ray said. He was standing between Benny and Meg, and they both leaned on Ray for support. "We'll take it from here Vecchio. Good work." "Thank you captain." "Ray?" "Yeah Fraser?" "You missed your plane." "I know Fraser. It's all your fault." "I am sorry Ray." "That's okay Benny, I forgive ya, this time." ***** Epilogue Ben Fraser arrived at the Canadian consulate the morning following the terrorist seizure of it. He walked in. As he walked, he could feel the pain that was caused by his bullet wound. He could also feel the tight wrapping of the wound's dressing. It made him uneasy. Not because it hurt, but because it reminded him of how badly everything might have turned out. Inside of the consulate, the cleaning staff worked now to pick up after their uninvited guests. The office was closed today so Ben knew no one else would be there that was there yesterday. He was going to go to his office and see what damage had been done in there when he noticed the door the Inspector Thatcher's office slightly open. He quietly entered. She was there, with her back to him, picking up some fragments of a vase that where on the floor. "Excuse me ma'am." She spun around. "Constable. The office is closed today." "Yes, I know. I wanted to tidy up my office. Can I help you with that?" She looked ragged. Her eyes looked as if she had been crying. Her right arm was in a sling (she had a separated shoulder). She had 13 stitches in the side of her head to close the gash Loiret had left there. She wondered idly if there was anything the doctors could give her to repair the gash in her soul. "No. I'm fine." "I thought you would come over last night." "I couldn't. I wanted to be alone." "I thought--maybe you would like to talk about it." "No. I'd rather not." "Understood." He turned to leave her office. He knew she needed space from him now. "Ben?" "Meg?" "I was terrified." "You were very brave." "I was very lucky." "Did I ever tell you the Inuit story about bravery?" "No." "Would you like to hear it?" "Yes." "Once there was an Inuit girl, her name was . . . " She listened to his words as he relayed the story to her. The story seemed to make little sense, though surely there was a point in there somewhere. She found herself smiling at his words. Smiling at him. Her lover. It was hard to believe that she had finally given into the desire she had for him. "Ben, can we leave here? Finish this story somewhere else?" "The park?" "Yes." "Very well, let's go." He took her hand. They were walking out, past all the debris that lay around. "I don't know that I'll ever feel safe in this place again," she sighed. "You will. You're strong, your courage will carry you through." "With your help." "If you need it. I think you'll do it on your own." "What if I don't want to?" "Then you won't have to." "What was the Inuit girl's name again?" "It was Meg." "It was not." "This is my story, not yours. If I say her name was Meg, then that is what her name was." "Very well, proceed constable." "Meg dwelled among many she thought stronger than she . . . but she was soon to realize, she was more courageous and heroic than she ever knew . . . " THE END