Episode 11: The Good Samaritan

"There is nothing you can do for him now." Declan O'Connor's voice was barely a whisper.

"NO! I have to help him." Michela Forsythe tried to pull away and lunge toward the balcony, but a series of shots tattooed above their head.

Declan moved by instinct. Both were on the floor before a second rain of bullets made impact with the back wall.

"We have to get out of here," Declan said, without emotion. "If we stay, we'll be dead as well."

Michela hesitated. She didn't want to leave. She had to make Julian understand why she had pretended to be dead for so long.

"Forget it!" Declan said as if reading her mind. "Whatever you're thinking, forget it!"

"I can't. It's my fault."

Women! Declan took in a deep breath of air. Why did they always think everything was their fault? Michela didn't make the sniper choose to kill Julian.

"Unless you're having an out-of-body experience, that sniper is not you. You do not control him or his actions." Declan guided her to a position away from the window. She was obviously in shock from Julian's death. "Before I arrived on scene, I overheard a couple of Black Council operatives talking about a hit on Julian Black. When Jeffrey told me where your thermal signature was headed – I had to stop you. Warn you."

She couldn't think enough to thank him. The courtesy she usually showed people had temporarily fled from her body. But she did know one thing for sure, no one, not even Ethan had ever put themselves in physical danger before. Her mind stalled. No, that wasn't true. Kevin had. He had put himself in danger to save her in Bulgaria.

A canister of tear gas sailed through the open balcony door. Declan rushed toward it and punted it back out into the dark night. That one act centered her thoughts on the action at hand. She couldn't lose her mind over this. She had to be strong. If not for Julian, then for herself.

"That is our cue to exit."

Declan didn't wait for an answer. He merely grabbed Michela and hefted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Gun shots echoed again and spattered the back wall with black holes. Two slugs hit Declan but he didn't flinch as the bullets impacted the flesh of his shoulder.

In his ear he could hear Jeffrey Sogard's insistent order, "Extract yourself, now!" The young controller's voice was strangely silent, yet urgent. "Intel shows they are prepping the building to blow. So now would definitely be a good time to get the hell out of there!"

Bree Jackson could not believe her luck. The worst blizzard in ages and she was trapped in London far away from her son, Toby. She silently wished she had never helped Ethan Fairchild. At least, that is what she thought his name was. It was the name on the registration papers of the vehicle Old Hank had pulled out of the snow drift up at Jackson Pass.

It had taken a better part of an hour to get the red and white truck out of the snow drift, and back onto solid ground. But it wasn't the vehicle she was concerned about. Bree was worried for the man trapped inside.

"He's still out of it. Out like a light," old Hank said as he dusted snowflakes from his muddy-colored winter jumpsuit.

"Yeah, that's what is worrying me," Bree could always be counted on to take the distressed point of view.

"Maybe he has a head injury," Sully MacDonald suggested forking a large hand through his dark hair.

"If that's true, we need to forget this talking and get this feller off the mountain. You know we have trouble enough getting an ambulance up here in good weather. It'll be near impossible now what with all this nasty snow."

"He's right," Bree said turning to Sully. She looked up to the tall, handsome man who had become her friend in the past few years.

"I'll be happy to drive him to the hospital down in London. It won't be much out of my way." Sully smiled at Bree. "Anyway, we need to exchange insurance information. My dispatcher isn't going to be happy that I've ruined another truck and this one is an expensive Kenworth."

"Son," old Hank put a hand on Sully's shoulder. "That truck of yours doesn't look damaged to me. That old truck of Fairchild's took most of the damage. Heck, I don't think the two of you even hit each other."

"If that is true, then Fairchild must be a pretty slick driver. I had no control of my own vehicle after the turn near Dead Man's Drop."

"Okay, okay. Stop all this talking and you two get this feller down and off the mountain."

Bree and Sully looked at old Hank with shock registered on their faces.

"I'm perfectly capable of getting Fairchild to..." Sully was interrupted by old Hank almost immediately.

"I know you're capable, son. But Bree here she's more reliable. She hasn't just been in a car accident. I'm sure that blood of yours is pumping enough." Old Hank winked at Sully who gave a small smile and turned away from Bree.

"All right," Sully said, giving into the older man.

Bree's eyes grew large. "Hank, while that's a nice thought. I can't leave Toby up here alone in the middle of the night. And why did I suddenly get good Samaritan duty? Sully says he's perfectly willing...."

"Nope!" Hank rose a hand and stopped her. "You both need to do it... together."

Half an hour later, Bree was seething.

Hank had done it again. He had conned her – conned her into taking Fairchild to the hospital.

And anyway, the poor schmuck didn't look that injured to her. Just a cut above his eye, but he was still unconscious. That was a problem, and it was making Sully, the one who had run Fairchild off the road, nervous. Sully had agreed to drive all three of them down the mountain and into London, reluctantly, of course. Hank was always trying to set them up. Finding perfect ways for her and Sully to be alone. It wasn't going to work this time.

Part way through the drive Fairchild had awakened, a little discombobulated but at least alive and thinking clearly. At least as clearly as possible after being run off the road by a hulking Kenworth 2000 semi.

"How's he doing?" Sully asked curiously.

"I'm fine," came the gruff answer from the sleeping cabin behind them. "What happened?"

"You were in a car accident," Bree said simply. No need to get into the whole notion that his truck was stuck up in Jackson Pass. And Sully was looking close to as guilty as she had ever seen him.

"Was any body hurt?" Ian winced as he examined his own head.

"No. You got a pretty nice gash on your head though. I've never seen any one take the turn at Dead Man's Drop that fast before. Guess you're not from around here?" Sully nodded to the man who was lying in his sleeping compartment. "I'm Sully MacDonald and this is Bree Jackson."

"We're the rescue committee. We didn't know how injured you were so we were taking you to the hospital."

"I'm fine. No hospital."

Those were the last words she heard Fairchild utter. Bree shrugged toward Sully and gazed out into the dark night beyond the rig's passenger side window. For a second she thought she was seeing things. Then the sound of gunfire became sharp in her ears.

"Oh, my God!" Bree couldn't believe what she was seeing. "Sully, stop the truck!! Stop the truck! I think I just saw a man fall off that balcony."

Simon Falconer smiled. Mission accomplished.

Julian Black was as good as dead. If the rifle wound didn't kill him, the fall would.

Any normal rookie assassin would leave it at that, but Simon wasn't a rookie. He was pure professional and he had a reputation to protect. Julian Black had to die, and Simon had to make sure he was truly dead to the world.

Not many understood the code of Falconer. The more far reaching their organization, the larger their family became. And Stavros Falconer did think of all his employees as family. He would give them all anything he could, within reason. But they must return his trust with loyalty and a job well done.

Simon didn't think that was too much to ask considering how well his father provided for his "extended family."

He always had a yearning to make his father proud. That was why he had targeted Julian Black. Who else but those in the Falconer family were in a position to take over the Black Council once Black was out of the picture? Cameron Cash didn't have a chance of holding onto such immense power. And folding the Council into the Falconer Crime Family would make them more powerful than God himself.

The custom made rifle gleamed in the moonlight. Simon regarded it with loving kindness. It was a firearm that had served him well over the years. Its gray steel winked at him as it reflected the moon's rays before he stashed it into his unassuming blue workout bag between his shoes and gym shorts.

A perfectly executed hit. He would check Black's remains on the way out, just to make certain the man was gone.

Simon exited the building which mirrored everything around it. He could see himself in the wall's reflection. He didn't look much like an assassin. For some reason he hadn't inherited his father's Greek blood and instead looked strangely American with his light brown hair and blue eyes. The stone washed jeans and plaid flannel shirt only enhanced the look. He projected pure American southern charm down to the wink in his eye and his beat up old truck.

As he slowly walked around the building, he gazed upward. Pretty far fall for someone so hulking in appearance. Simon chuckled to himself. His laughter stopped cold when he noticed a figure looming over Julian's body.

Damn. He hadn't expected that.

He plastered on a shit eating grin and walked toward the woman.

Sully glanced back to Fairchild who appeared to be asleep. He sighed with relief. One more accident averted. Thank God he was okay, but he was still going to take the man to the hospital. It seemed only right. He glanced at Bree from afar. He had been a goner from the first time he laid eyes on her. But she only saw him as a friend. A good ole boy from Jackson Pass. More and more often he had dreams of settling down and having a family. Him and Toby and Bree and any other children who just happened to come along.

He sighed again and pulled open the door to the Kenworth. He wasn't going to let Bree handle this alone. Fairchild was fine where he was for now.

Sully jogged over to where Bree was standing.

"Oh, God," he said as he approached. "It is a man."

"I'm afraid to touch him. I mean, what if he's dead."

Sully pulled Bree away and into the comfort of his arms. "Want me to do it?"

She nodded into his chest.

He put his two fingers to the man's throat. There was a pulse but it was weak.

"He's alive."

Bree let out the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"You still have that cell phone in your truck?" Bree turned toward the massive black big rig.

"Yeah, and hurry. I don't think he has much time.

From the shadows Simon Falconer cursed. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. He could hear the woman screaming at a cell phone whose battery apparently had gone dead.

"It's not working," she shouted at Sully.

"I don't want to move him. Who knows what sort of injuries he has." Sully shrugged off his coat and put it over the broken figure.

Simon came toward them swinging his gym bag in plain sight. "Something I can help you two with?"

Bree rushed toward the man. "Please tell me you have a cell phone."

"Yep, new fangled one too." Simon easily slid into the practiced southern twang he had learned from one of the organization's lesser known thugs. He unzipped the gym bag, unconcerned that Bree could merely glance down and see the disassembled rifle. He reached past it and grabbed onto the phone.

"Thank God. Could you call an ambulance? My hands are shaking so badly I don't think I'll be able to manage it." Bree walked toward Sully who was still with the fallen man's body. "How is he?"

"Still alive so far."

Bree leaned down this time looking at the man's face. All breath left her body as she stared into the man's handsome face.

"Oh, my God. Julian!"

"Declan, we have a problem. A tractor trailer just stopped near the area where Julian fell. If this building does explode, then we are going to have a major problem. They've called an ambulance but I have rerouted the call to one of our teams." Jeffrey spoke matter of factly.

"I'm not leaving Michela."

"Would you rather risk innocent lives in an explosion of this magnitude?" Why did Jeffrey always have to be the innocent voice of reason?

Declan cursed.

"No, of course not."

Declan started toward the group near Julian's body but Jeffrey's voice stopped him.

"The reroute didn't work. The ambulance isn't ours."

"How in the hell did they get here so fast?"

"Looks like Julian has some big time mob enemies. Call went through to someone at Falconer Enterprises."

While Bree watched the ambulance team work on Julian, she glanced to a shadowy figure not far from the edge of the building. The man was too far into the shadows to recognize but the woman. She was perfectly lit from a street light above her.

Janette? It couldn't be. Janette was dead, wasn't she?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Sully came running toward her. "We have all sorts of problems tonight. Remember Fairchild?" Sully thumbed a gesture back to his rig. "He's gone."

As the ambulance pulled away, Bree stared at where the two unassuming shadowy figures had been. They were gone. Maybe it had been her over active imagination working over time.