THIRTEEN

"You've got to be kidding?" Disher exclaimed over the phone, "Commissioner Brooks did it?"

"No, he didn't plan it, Randy, but it's because of his participation that Julie got caught in the middle of this," Adrian said into the phone Fraser was holding up to his temple as they zipped back toward Midway, "And he and the other co-conspirators are about to get blown up by the real mastermind of this whole affair."

"Blown up? Why?" Disher asked.

"Because they know too much; actually, they're not the prime targets of the explosion; Sharona is," Adrian explained, "She's been targeted for death from the very beginning. You can't let that transaction go on. See if you can talk the feds out of it."

"I can't, they won't listen to either me or the captain," Disher admitted, "It's like our punishment for knowing you."

"Where are you now?"

"At O'Hare's domestic United wing; Ford and Deeter ordered us to stay away from the drop site. I've still been doing some investigating, though, and check this out: they found two dead air traffic controllers in a closet."

"That makes perfect sense," Adrian nodded. Dead air traffic controllers fit perfectly into his theory. "Meet us at out front in ten minutes," he told Disher, "We've got all the evidence we need to convict the guilty parties with us."

"Right, see you there, Monk," Disher hung up. Fraser pulled the Riviera over to the curb where Vecchio and Diefenbaker were still waiting. "What took you guys so long?" their associate demanded, walking up to the passenger window, "I've been standing out here in this freezing wind for almost five and a half hours!"

"It took the judge a little longer than we'd hoped to serve the warrant, Ray," Fraser proclaimed, "He had some difficulty believing that all the people involved in this crime could be operating in the way we outlined to him. Once he realized we were right, though, he granted us full passage to the areas we requested, and as you can see, our search netted us a lot of evidence that should convict all involved, especially the mastermind."

He pointed to the large sack on the back seat filled to the top with evidence. "How much nails Zuko?" Vecchio asked, opening the driver's side door and letting Diefenbaker in.

"A reasonable amount, Ray," Fraser said, "Climb in; we need to stop the ransom drop from going through, and if we're not right on time, there'll be carnage."

"I hope there's not going to be a shootout," Adrian commented, "Then I'd have to clean up the crime scene. That includes separating the blood types, too."

"Separating the blood types?" Vecchio gave him an incredulous look.

"They'd be mixed together, that's not good," Adrian shrugged, "Of course, maybe I'll get lucky, and everyone who'd get shot would be O positive."

"Oh, what's the use?" Vecchio burrowed his way into the driver's seat, "Give me the keys, Fraser; I'm driving." .

"As you wish Ray," Fraser slipped to his right and gave Vecchio the wheel. Vecchio gunned out into traffic. "Uh, do you really need to go so fast?" Adrian asked, his face contorting with discomfort at their high speed.

"You want to stop your assistant from being blown up, we're going to have to rush," the Chicago cop told him, "If you hadn't taken so long with the evidence, we might have more time. So, now that we know everything, enlighten me; how was Dr. DiNardo connected to all this."

"Actually he wasn't really involved at all, you might say…you're in the wrong lane, get over, get over!" Adrian waved wildly. After Vecchio had done so, he went on, "Dr. DiNardo was the fall guy for the kidnappers. Our clever master kidnapper knew DiNardo would be a perfect fall guy, so he arranged for the good doctor would be set up. Zuko and his goons invaded DiNardo's office after the kidnapping and planted the evidence the federal agents found there to make it look like…watch out for that motorcycle!"

Vecchio slapped the steering wheel in frustration. "You want to drive!" he bellowed at the private investigator, "If not, do me a big favor and shut your trap, OK? I'm not really in the mood! Now you were saying about the case?"

"IT'S RED!" Adrian screamed at the top of his lungs as the Riviera blew through a red light, narrowly missing a Chevrolet. "Give me the wheel!" he yelled, seizing a portion of it.

"Get your hands off it!" Vecchio tried to pry his hands loose.

"Gentlemen, please, now is not a conducive time to be arguing," Fraser spoke up, noticing a tractor-trailer coming directly at them in the lane ahead of them. The Mountie told hold of the wheel himself and just managed to pull to the right in time. "Continuing Detective Monk's summary, Ray," he continued while his friend dueled with Adrian for control of the Riviera, "I broke down my visions of Dr. DiNardo driving in the parking garage, and one several different images, I remember that he clearly did not have his hands on the steering wheel. In addition, he looked like his was in an unconscious state. As I related earlier to Detective Monk, the explosion that occurred when his car hit the garbage truck was too big to be natural. They conspired to kill him off at an advantageous moment, and that happened to be it."

"Sounds great, Benny, now could you help get him away from the wheel!" Vecchio yelled, slapping at Adrian's hands.

"You're driving like this is Daytona!" Adrian protested, "There's no need to be this reckless…that's a stop sign!"

"There was a squeal of tires, as they spun into an intersection and did three consecutive 360s. No fewer than five cars missed collisions with them. The Riviera sideswiped a van and peeled off at well over ninety miles an hour. "Uh, gentlemen, we are presently going the wrong way down a one way street," Fraser said.

Both Adrian and Vecchio were too preoccupied with gaining control of the steering wheel to pay much attention…until a loud blaring of horns caught their attention. They looked out the windshield and screamed at the sight before them: a solid wall of traffic, four lanes across and about eight cars deep, was coming straight toward them. Frantically, Vecchio honked the horn and waved his hand out the window. The result was immediate: the wall of cars parted like the Red Sea, with vehicles crashing into parking meters, store fronts, and light posts. But the Riviera made it through safely. "I'll have to come back and clean this up later," Adrian said, glancing out the back window. He noticed Diefenbaker was lying on the floor, covering his eyes with his paws. "It's, it's okay there, buddy, the worst is over," he said, almost tempted to give the wolf a reassuring pat.

"Ray, this is not an entrance to the airport," Fraser spoke up again, noticing the gate they were about to break through. The Riviera ran over a spike strip, blowing out the tires. It sputtered to a stop on the middle of one of O'Hare's runways. "Damn!" Vecchio yelled, pumping the gas in disgust.

"See, when you drive without caution, accidents happen," Adrian pointed out.

"Shut up, just shut…!" Vecchio abruptly stopped as the sound of a shrill revving suddenly filled the air. The three of them turned around to see a 747 accelerating toward them for takeoff. They screamed again and jumped out of the car, Fraser dragging the bag of evidence with him. Vecchio grabbed the Riviera by the bumper and tried to drag it out of harm's way. "Ray, we have to get moving," Fraser told his friend, carrying him away.

"Not another car, please not another car!" Vecchio screamed out loud, groping for his latest Riviera, which was promptly run over by the jumbo jet. The Chicago cop sank to the runway and started bawling like a baby. "Why me, God, why me?" he moaned, caressing his latest car's shattered frame, "Just to have one mint condition '71 Riv stay intact! Is that too much to ask?"

"Captain," Adrian waved over to Stottlemeyer, who was running toward him across the runway. "What've you got Monk?" the captain asked him.

"Well, I've got a wrecked Riviera I've got to clean up," Adrian pointed to it.

"No, I mean, about Sharona!" Stottlemeyer shouted.

"We've got the evidence right here that proves it was…" Fraser started to say, but then he noticed Diefenbaker running across the runway, barking loudly. "I think he's got something," the Mountie said, and with that took off after his pet. Everyone else ran after him. "You were saying?" Stottlemeyer yelled toward the fleeting red serge uniform.

"Captain," Disher was running as fast as he could to keep up with everyone, "I stopped to go the bathroom, and look what I found." He held up a large briefcase, much like the one they'd seen the ransom money put into the other day. "The money?" Vecchio was surprised, "Why'd they leave it in the bathroom?"

"I don't know," Disher shrugged, "It was just lying behind a stall. I don't think anyone knew it was there."

"How could they not know, it had the tracking device in it?"

"Let me see that," Adrian stopped for a minute and laid the briefcase down on the ground. He opened it and tore open the false compartment to reveal the tracking device had been removed. "How?" Disher frowned, "It was in there when they left to bring the ransom to the airport."

"Just as I suspected," Adrian nodded, "And there's only one person that could have done it."

Diefenbaker was now barking louder than ever as he circled around a power shed on the far end of the runway. Fraser knocked on the door. "Anyone in there?" he called in.

"Who is it?" came a voice that was unmistakably Benjy's.

"Police, kid, we're going to get you out of there," Vecchio told him, "Stand back." The detective stepped back, kicked the steel door, and promptly recoiled backwards, clutching his foot in pain. "Allow me, Ray," Fraser said. The Mountie kicked the door in himself without any problems of his own. "Benjy, are you OK?" Stottlemeyer asked, charging into the shed.

"I think so, Captain Stottlemeyer," Benjy said. He looked a little thinner than he'd been when Adrian had last seen him, but otherwise looked unharmed. And in the corner of the shed was…

"Julie," the detective rushed to her, "How long have you been here?"
"About two days," she said, looking terrified, "Is my mom all right; I heard them say they were going to kill her?"

"Oh, she's all right, Julie, apart from being in a coma and on life support and inches from death and…" Adrian said.

"Uh, Adrian, I don't think that's going to make her feel any better," Fraser told him before he could go any further. He leaned down next to the frightened girl. "Julie, I'm Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, I've been working with Detective Monk…"

"Has he driven you to drink yet?" Julie asked him.

"No, I can't say he has," the Mountie said.

"He has for me," Vecchio commented, "All I need is a bar and I'll gladly get wasted right now."

"As I was saying, Julie, can you readily identify the people who abducted you?" Fraser asked her, "I can promise that we can placed you under protective custody until after this whole thing is over."

"Yeah, she can, and that's why she's not saying anything, or why you're not either, Dudley!" came a sour voice from behind them, accompanied by a cocking gun, "Don't any of you jerks move!"

"Commissioner Brooks, what a pleasant surprise," Stottlemeyer grumbled to his boss as he and everyone else in the shed raised their hands, "You know, there was time when I respected you, but attempting to kill one of your own officers has pretty much killed any chance of me keeping that respect!"

"Very nice eulogy, Captain," Brooks said, cocking his gun, "I'll have a good one for you too, once I get back to San Francisco with my share of the money."

"You're not going to get your share, Commissioner," Adrian told him, "The man who hired you plans to kill you and Frank Zuko tonight."

"Well for your information, Monk, I set the explosives with him, so the joke's solely on Zuko," Brooks snorted, "Nobody's going to know I took a fall once we off him. And on top of that, at least I get the chance to do you in, you lousy slug! I swore I'd get back at you for that filthy stunt you pulled with my hair, and now I'm going to do it. I'll even let you decide who dies first. You want to go first, or would you rather me shoot your associates before you?"

"Hmm, that's a tough one," Adrian frowned, "If you shot me, it would be quick and painless, yes, but then I wouldn't be able to…on the other hand, I'd have to clean up the mess and separate the blood types if you shot…I'll go first."

"If you say so, Monk," Commissioner Brooks took aim at him, but suddenly Diefenbaker jumped up his back, causing him to drop his gun. "Get off me, you filthy mutt!" he yelled, swiping at the wolf. Stottlemeyer leaped at his boss and knocked him down. "Commissioner, you're under arrest," he said roughly, locking one cuff around the commissioner's wrist and the other to a support pole, "You have the right to…why should I bother, you know the rights. Too bad you couldn't respect them for others," he nodded toward Julie.

"Burn in hell, Captain!" Brooks snarled at him.

"No, you're going to burn in hell!" Stottlemeyer bellowed, "For kidnapping and attempted murder! I've heard of people carrying grudges, but you've gone way too far in…!"

"I hate to interrupt your warm little roasting, captain, but it's less than five minutes to the drop," Vecchio said, holding up his watch, "It's clear on the other side of the airport if I read the note right. We'll have to hurry if we want to get over before the blast."

"And I know how," Fraser said, eyeing a nearby stairway truck used for formal arrivals. Adrian groaned, realizing what the Mountie meant. "Not again!" he groaned, "This night's turning into a thrill park lover's dream!"

"I know, Adrian, but it's the only way we'll save Sharona," Fraser told him. Adrian nodded. "Okay, then, let's get puffing," the detective said with forced enthusiasm, "Let's puff right along, like we're Thomas the Tank Engine or…excuse me, Detective Vecchio, your shoelace is untied."

"What?" Vecchio glanced down at his undone shoelace, "Well just leave it, it won't…"

"This'll just take a minute," Adrian bent down and retied the shoelace. Then untied and it and retied it again. Then untied both of Vecchio's shoelaces and tried working with both of them. "Monk, they don't have to be perfectly even!" Stottlemeyer groaned.

"To me they do," Adrian said, taking the laces off the shoes, "Maybe if I…"

"You know what, just take the damn shoes!" Vecchio snapped, slipping his feet out of them, "Fiddle with the laces when they're not on my feet! You know, I'm glad you've solved this case, because right now, I'd rather have a gay marriage to Ian McDonald for the rest of my life rather than spend five more minutes with you, you got that?"

"All except for whom Ian McDonald is," Adrian told him.

"I think we can get to that later; right now we've got to stop that ransom drop," Fraser said.

"You think you're really going to do that, chump?" came Commissioner Brooks's voice from inside the shed. He dug into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a radio. "Zuko, Brooks!" he barked into it, "Monk and the Mountie are here. Shoot to kill!"

Stottlemeyer grabbed the radio out of the commissioner's hands just a few seconds too late. "It's too late for you, Captain!" Brooks derided him, "This whole airport is jammed with Zuko's men. They can find you wherever you go!"

"We'll see about that, Commissioner!" Stottlemeyer told him. He ran to the front of the cab. "Scoot over Randy, I'm driving," he told the lieutenant, "You coming Monk?"

Adrian, who'd been still working on Vecchio's shoelaces, rose up at the sound of the truck starting. "Coming," he said, running for the cab. Seeing it was packed near to capacity, he had little choice but to run to the back of the truck and climb up the stairs. "I've got to be crazy coming up here!" he muttered under his breath as Stottlemeyer stepped on the gas, causing the detective to grab on tight to the railing.

"Not used to a situation such as this, are you Detective?" came Fraser Senior's voice. The dead Mountie was leaning against the other railing. "Uh, no, not really," Adrian admitted, "What bring you here?"

"I wasn't going to miss the big reveal," Fraser Senior said, "Benton told me while you were in the bathroom in the judge's office for forty minutes that nobody does a reveal better than you. Plus I've got good news; your current assistant's going to pull through."

"Thank God," Adrian breathed a big sigh of relief. "Hey Julie, your mom's okay!" he called down toward the cab, although his voice was lost in the whipping wind.

"Who're you talking to, Mr. Monk?" Benjy had also been forced to take the stairs.

"Uh, no one, Benjy, or, maybe, no, you wouldn't understand," Adrian said quickly, "When did they bring Julie in with you?"

"About a day and a half ago," Benjy told him, "She told me everything you've done since we left. Did you really hang halfway out a police car to shoot a dump truck?"

"Basically yes," Adrian admitted, "One of my brighter moments, I guess. They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"Not really," Benjy said, "They gave me two meals every day. What's going on, Mr. Monk? Why did all this have to happen?"

Adrian lowered his head. He knew more than he really wanted to let on to the boy. "I'm…I'm not sure I can tell you," he admitted.

"Benjamin, I need your help up here," Fraser called down to him before Benjy could push the conversation any further.

"Sure," Benjy ascended to the top of the stairs, "What do you want, Mr. Mountie?"

"Call me Constable Fraser," he told the boy, "Keep a lookout on the port side; I need an advance notice if evildoers come at us from that side. Dief and I will handle the starboard side." He leaned over the side and called down, "Captain, could you raise the stairs up to their maximum height please? I need ideal observation conditions up here."

"No need, we're high enough as we are, Captain!" Adrian pleaded to no luck, as the stairs started rising up. He clutched the side of the railing and closed his eyes tight.

Until he heard a whistling sound from behind them. He opened them just in time to see the rocket-propelled grenade coming at him and to dive out of the way just as it exploded where he would have been crouching. "Speed it up!" he screamed to Stottlemeyer in the cab.

"Looks like we've got some real excitement, Detective Monk," Fraser Senior commented. The dead man pulled out a telescope similar to his son's and glanced back at their pursuers. "Hmm, eleven of them, heavily armed, on three vehicles like this one," he said, "I think we're in for a serious fight, Detective."

"I can tell," Adrian said.

"Tell what, Mr. Monk?" Benjy called down, slouching down to avoid the machine gun bullets whizzing over his head.

"That these guys won't give up without a serious fight," Adrian said. He glanced at Trudy's watch for a minute before realizing it was still broken. "It's about three more minutes, give or take about ten seconds," Fraser Senior told him.

"Three more minutes," Adrian said to himself, "We've got to shake them, Mr. Fraser, or Sharona's as good as dead."