HARMED - Book 2: Seconds From Revenge Read online

  Harmed

  Book 2

  © 2015 Dr. L Jan Eira

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1519767242

  ISBN 13: 9781519767240

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015921017

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, South Carolina

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Epilogue

  Introduction

  Heart disease is the number-one killer of Americans, taking, on average, one of us each minute. Death often comes rapidly in the form of sudden cardiac arrest. The afflicted individual is unexpectedly robbed of life due to the abrupt emergence of an exceedingly rapid heartbeat that causes the pumping chambers to quiver uncontrollably. This often occurs during the night, leaving loved ones to discover the lifeless body in the morning.

  Once sudden cardiac arrest occurs, the game is practically over. Within ten minutes, the brain, devoid of blood circulation, will become irreparably and permanently damaged. The secret to winning this game is to be proactive.

  Many drugs increase the risk of heartbeat disorders, including sudden cardiac arrest. The propensity certain medications possess to cause catastrophic racing heartbeats is termed proarrhythmia. Before research brought this to light, only ten to fifteen years ago, many of these potentially harmful medications were prescribed routinely. Although this iatrogenic problem is becoming less common, every few months at busy medical centers, electrophysiologists, doctors trained in and devoted to the study of heartbeat disorders, are asked to evaluate such patients, who typically present with fainting spells. These are the lucky ones, as others simply unexpectedly depart this life while performing routine activities of daily living or, more commonly, while they sleep.

  CHAPTER 1

  Three Months Ago

  Right outside the house, a dark sedan drove by slowly. Calculating. Scheming. The car stopped for a few seconds in front of the mailbox bearing the words “The Norris Family” and then continued. The car and its driver remained unnoticed under the cover of nightfall and disappeared into darkness. This was one of several surveying trips.

  Inside the home, the dinner table was cleared, the dishwasher still churning away. The beautiful sunny day had been replaced by a calm dark evening, and the time to relax was quickly approaching. All was tranquil. All seemed right. Jack and Claire were putting their son, Nick, to bed.

  Dr. Jack Norris was a handsome, tall man in his midthirties with mysterious dark eyes but a bright, friendly smile. Despite his age, Jack refused to give up on his youth, alternating three-mile runs with trips to the gym for muscle toning. On Sunday evenings, he captained and organized the Heartbeats, a coed indoor soccer team, where he starred as the right midfielder. His other passion was flying. He owned a Beechcraft Bonanza, which he piloted not only when he needed to get somewhere far and fast but also when he required a bit of peace and solitude to collect his thoughts. Flying was as relaxing for Jack as a blankie is to a toddler. He tried to fly at least an hour a week. This wasn’t always possible, since Jack was the head of the cardiology department at Newton Memorial Hospital in Evansville, Indiana.

  Dr. Claire Norris was a cardiac psychologist. Now that she was a mommy, she worked on a part-time basis, seeing patients two, sometimes three mornings a week while Nick frequented preschool. She was a beautiful woman in her midthirties with blond hair and blue eyes. It had been these characteristics that attracted Jack to her the instant they met years ago. At that time, she was a psychology student and Jack a doctor in training. The rest, as they say, is history.

  They now had a spirited three-year-old boy, Nick, who was being groomed by Dad to become a soccer star with the US Men’s National Team. As such, Jack would often point out the need to eat all one’s carrots and green beans. Jack explained to Nick that at this very moment, there were many three-year-old boys in Brazil, Spain, Argentina, England, and Italy eating all their veggies, hoping to one day join the national team of their respective soccer-powerhouse countries. It would be with these boys that Nick would have to clash during their international matches some twenty years from now. And so little Nick would eat his vegetables, convinced of some vital higher purpose, one he did not yet quite comprehend.

  At bedtime, the habitual tooth brushing followed the customary, inevitable whines of protest. After Nick’s pajamas were on, it was time to read a bedtime story or two and say good night. At Jack’s side throughout the nightfall drill was Trinity, the family dog. She was a purebred Viszla, a Hungarian hunting dog.

  “If ever Hungarians move into the neighborhood, we’re going hunting!” Jack would joke as he introduced the light-brown canine companion to welcomed visitors.

  Earlier, when the evening was younger, Trinity suddenly and seemingly without reason growled. Motionless, she stared at the wooden front door, as if to survey the dark beyond with her extra senses. Jack petted the dog and looked out a front-facing window. All appeared calm.

  “What is it, girl? Do you hear something?” asked Jack, intrigued with the dog’s uncharacteristic behavior. Trinity stood still and then wagged her tail, giving the all-clear sign. Maybe it was the indication of a false alarm. The Norris family would carry on, unaware of the mysterious occupant of the dark sedan and his repeated trips in the shadows.

  CHAPTER 2

  Present Time

  Jack was buckled in the Beechcraft Bonanza. Moments earlier, soon after landing at Spirit of St. Louis Airport, Claire and Nick had deplaned. Now, they stood beside Claire’s cousin Jill, and her daughter Lauren, as they waved, watching
the airplane preparing for departure. Good-byes had been punctuated by embraces and adorned with I love yous and I’ll miss yous.

  Now alone, Jack made final arrangements for his flight back home. He read over the pretaxi checklist and noted that all items had been addressed. Outside the airplane, the day was gloomy; a significant chance of rain had been forecasted for St. Louis. With the headphones tight around his ears, he jotted down the important weather facts as he listened: “Spirit of Saint Louis Airport, automated weather observation twenty-two zero five, Zulu; wind, three hundred and fifty at zero-five; visibility, ten; sky condition, overcast three thousand; temperature, twenty-eight Celsius; dew point, seventeen Celsius; altimeter, three-zero-zero-niner.”

  Before leaving home, Jack had filed his flight plan via the Internet with the FAA. That essential information was now accessible by the clearance controller’s computer.

  “Spirit of Saint Louis Clearance, Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, requesting clearance to Kilo-Echo-Victor-Victor,” said Jack, his microphone nearly touching his lips.

  Jack waited with pen and paper in hand. He knew he was about to be provided with several important data points necessary for his flight.

  “Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, cleared to Evansville as filed. Fly to altitude of four thousand feet, expect nine thousand in ten minutes, departure frequency one-two-six point four, squawk six-four-four-one.” Jack repeated the information, acknowledging it. In no time, the Bonanza taxied to Runway 26 Left and took off.

  This was the first time he had flown to this small airport. As his aircraft gained altitude on autopilot, Jack took in the moment, admiring the picturesque monuments that were the magnificent city of St. Louis. In awe, he observed the breathtaking Gateway Arch, the winding Mississippi River, the Busch Stadium, and the vast sea of tall buildings as they progressively diminished in size, now viewed from two thousand feet in the air and climbing. Moments later, the aircraft punched a hole through the cloud layer at three thousand feet as the Beechcraft sped heavenward. Once Jack reached four thousand feet, the sky was clear and sunny, with beautiful light blue visible as far as the eye could see. Wisps of clouds here and there decorated Jack’s picture-perfect view.

  “Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, climb to nine thousand, direct to Evansville,” commanded the departure controller.

  The trip would be about fifty minutes of bliss. For now at least, at nine thousand feet, the air was still, allowing for a perfectly smooth ride. Looking ahead on his weather radar, Jack realized the trip would get a bit bumpy in another twenty minutes, with large green areas and a few yellow areas in his path. I’ll be flying in the clouds awhile, thought Jack. But not for a bit. He had a lot to think about, and the journey would give him an opportunity to clear his mind and reflect. The events of the last few months, particularly the last few weeks, were very much on Jack’s mind. One thing was for sure: his nemesis was back.

  Three years earlier, the small Midwest city of Evansville and surrounding counties were assaulted, suddenly acquiring national notoriety. Notoriety for all the wrong reasons—the kind of reasons no one wants. Several heinous murders had been committed at Newton Memorial Hospital. The carnage was the outcome of a moneymaking scheme involving three executioners. Of the three terrorists, one was killed, another was incarcerated for life, but the third villain was still at large. The fugitive went by many pseudonyms, but his real name, Jack eventually learned, was Simon Lagrange. Lagrange, now prominently displayed on the FBI’s Most Wanted List, had been the mastermind behind the dreadful bloodbath that so profoundly devastated the community. The country. The world.

  Jack Norris had helped the police disrupt the murderous plot and bring the homicidal activities to a halt. Having escaped the law, Simon Lagrange was now back, looking for revenge, or so Jack truly believed. There was no clear-cut evidence, but Jack had sensed something was wrong for months. A growing sensation of doom loitered within his every fiber as if his body was a massive raw nerve. This feeling was now erupting, causing a volcano of emotions. The mere thought of the dreadful events of three years ago stirred a soup of feelings in him, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His heart would race, his muscles would tense, and his palms would become clammy. Jack felt uncharacteristically anxious and helpless, topped with a hefty measure of despair and rage. Trying to compose himself, he took a deep breath, endeavoring to halt his musing, and took in the beautiful, vast light blueness accentuated by fluffy white islands here and there as the airplane effortlessly raced to its destination.

  The first step was to protect the most important people in his life and get them out of harm’s way. This trip had accomplished that goal. Claire and Nick had deplaned in St. Louis a few minutes earlier. The second step was to face the problem. To face the problem, Jack had to understand it first. More relaxed, he continued to gaze out of the cockpit. Surrounding the airplane was peaceful serenity. Six thousand feet below his flight path, at three thousand feet, a layer of thick clouds prevented visualization of the ground, no doubt giving those living in the area the sense of a murky day. From Jack’s vantage point, nothing could be farther from the truth.

  “Niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, contact Evansville Approach on one-two-seven point five.” The words emanating from the headphones broke Jack’s thoughts.

  “Evansville Approach, one-two-seven point five,” he said as he inputted the new frequency into the transmitter. “Evansville Approach, niner-eight-Golf-Kilo with you at nine thousand.” Jack spoke calmly into the microphone a moment later.

  “Niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, Evansville Approach, good morning. Altimeter in Evansville three-zero-zero-two.”

  Jack changed the settings on the altimeter to reflect the updated figures. In the near distance, Jack saw the quickly approaching huge banks of clouds, which he would be entering in another two minutes of flight. The clouds would prevent visual flying, but Jack was proficient with instrument flying, so this was no trouble at all. Jack performed a quick evaluation of the autopilot and sat back, realizing all was proceeding perfectly. His mind went back to deep reflection.

  It was likely Simon Lagrange had changed his physical appearance. Many eyes were looking for him. Lagrange had escaped with a lot of money, and he was cunning, intelligent, cruel, and, no doubt, dreadfully bitter. Three years was a long time to plot revenge. With Lagrange’s time and cash aplenty, Jack could well imagine what Lagrange’s vengeance plan would be. Jack had to be prepared and match—no, exceed—Simon Lagrange’s ingenuity and smarts. Jack knew he himself could not even come close to the killer’s malevolence. Or could he?

  • • •

  The shift had been unusually quiet at the Evansville Air Traffic Control Tower. One of Jason Fuller’s jobs as air traffic controller was to watch over the corridor of airspace currently utilized by Jack Norris’s aircraft. All synchronous blips on his radar were accounted for and widely separated, allowing Jason to take a relaxed posture, feet up on the desk and a cup of coffee in his hand, and engage in pleasant conversation with the new controller sitting nearby. Tiffany was young and pretty, definitely eye-candy material.

  “Hey, Tiffany, wanna hear a good one?” asked Jason, breaking the monotony and securing the woman’s attention.

  “Sure.” She nodded.

  “Did you hear the one about the woman who met a man in a bar? Having already downed a few power drinks, she turned around, faced him, looked him straight in the eye, and said, ‘I screw anybody, anytime, anywhere: his place, my place, in the car, front door, back door, on the ground, standing up, sitting down…it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve been doing it ever since I got out of college, and I just love it.’ Eyes now wide with interest, he said, ‘No kidding. I’m a lawyer, too. What firm are you with?’”

  Tiffany smirked. “That’s a good—” Her words were interrupted by something she spied on Jason’s screen. “You got bogey.” Her right index finger pointed at a dot blinking rapidly in bright
yellow. Both sat up straight.

  Jason quickly assessed the situation and mentally prepared for what he was about to declare. “Evansville Tower to unidentified traffic twenty-four miles west of the airport, please respond.” An uncomfortably long moment of radio silence followed. No answer was returned.

  “Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, unidentified traffic at your twelve o’clock, twelve and a half miles out, moving fast toward you,” he said, his voice tinged with a smidgen of apprehension. The air traffic controller’s main role was to provide for adequate aircraft separation. Having a new unidentified blip on his radar in the path of and so close to the Bonanza made Jason exceptionally uncomfortable. He put the mug of coffee down on the counter and shoved it aside, his eyes fixated on the blinking dot.

  “Looking for traffic,” said Jack, as was customary. Almost reflexively, he turned his attention to his radar screen where a yellow blinking light corroborated the information. “Evansville, Bonanza niner-eight-Golf-Kilo, I have traffic on my screen. Unfortunately, I’m in the clouds, so I have no visual on traffic.”

  “Roger,” said the controller. A few seconds later, Jack heard the repeated message once again.

  “Evansville Tower to unidentified traffic thirty miles west of the airport, please respond.” Nothing. Radio silence. The longer a radio response failed to return and the closer the dots on the screen became, the higher the apprehension, which by now was palpable.

  “Have you been able to contact that traffic on any frequency, Evansville?” asked Jack, waves of dread escalating.

  “Negative on contact, niner-eight-Golf-Kilo,” said the controller. “Turn ninety degrees to the right and descend a thousand feet. No delay.” Save for computer-learning drills during training, never in his six years of service had Jason come across anything even closely resembling what he was facing now.

  “Roger, turning ninety degrees to my right and descending a thousand, niner-eight-Golf-Kilo,” said Jack, a hint of worry in his speech.

  Another moment of silence ensued as all eyes focused on the dot blinking rapidly on the screen. The other plane mirrored Jack’s moves and soon was again flying toward the Bonanza, descending to his flight level.