FOURTEEN

"All units, get in position," Ford told his fellow agents over the radio from his station just outside the tarmac at the international gates, "We are going in three minutes. Shoot down the first guy that touches the money."

"Uh, sir, we've got a bit of a situation here at Concourse 2," one of them told him.

"Oh great," Ford growled, "What?"

"There seems to be a firefight of sorts going on between several airport vehicles," the agent said, "I think Detective Monk and the Mountie are on one of them. They appeared to be heading toward your way, sir."

"Monk? What the hell's he still doing here?" Ford bellowed.

"I have no idea, sir."

"Oh all right, just see if you can stop them and the shooters from getting over here; I want no interference in this transaction," Ford told him. He tossed the radio into the wall in frustration.

"Is something—ACHOO!--wrong?" a concerned (and still somewhat sick) Trevor had been brought up by Deeter and Welsh, with another briefcase they apparently thought contained the ransom money.

"Oh nothing, everything, everything's fine," Ford lied, "You might as well put the money out there, Fleming, it's zero hour."

"Right," Trevor took several deep breaths and walked out onto the tarmac with the briefcase. "Gentlemen," Welsh told the federal agents, "Let me just remind you that firing away indiscriminately at the kidnappers may be dangerous, so try not to do it."

"Lieutenant, for the last time let me reassure you, we know what we're doing," Deeter told him, "Everything's under control."

"We're totally losing control here!" Adrian shrieked, clinging on tight to the stairway railing as if his life depended on it—which in some way it did. Their attackers were quickly gaining ground on them, and had a ton of weapons at their disposal to use: machine guns, bazookas, grenades, and a lot more. Stottlemeyer had started zigzagging his truck back and forth in an effort to throw off the attackers' aim, and while this had been successful so far, the detective was feeling quite nauseated. And all of his vomit bags were stuck in the cargo hold of the plane back at Midway. "Is it really necessary to do this?" he cried out to his boss in the cab. Stottlemeyer either didn't hear him or ignored him.

Up on top of the stairs, Fraser was a decided different story. The Mountie stood tall, apparently oblivious to the shot being fired at him, scanning the distance with his telescope for signs of the drop site. "Captain, turn left here," he called down, this time getting a reaction from Stottlemeyer. "Have you done this before, Constable Fraser?" an awed Benjy asked him.

"In what sense? That I've stood atop a moving airline stairway during a shootout with deviants?" Fraser responded, "No, I can't say I have, although I have done similar unusual things during hostage rescues. For instance, there was this one time where a defense contractor's daughter had been taken prisoner by a disgruntled ex-employee, and in the course of rescuing her I happened…."

He was cut off as a mortar shot from a mobster on the terminal roof zipped dangerously close to his head. "May I suggest perhaps stepping down to a less conspicuous area, son?" his late father advised him, "I realize the need for reconnaissance at this juncture, but in your current location you're placing yourself in serious risk of injury or worse."

"I'll be all right, Dad," Fraser said, "As long as I have my Stetson on, I'll…"

"Huh?" Benjy gave him a quizzical look.

"Um, I was talking to someone else, Benjamin," Fraser said quickly, shooting his father a "Please don't make me look insane to the kid, Dad" glance.

Down below, the mobster trucks had gained enough ground that they were within firing range of the cab. Gunmen on the two flanking trucks opened fire on it, shattering both windows and the windshield. Everyone inside ducked down as bullets whizzed over their heads. "Can't you give it any more?" Vecchio shouted at Stottlemeyer.

"I'm giving her all I can!" Stottlemeyer yelled back. Vecchio cocked his gun and fired at the starboard truck. "Eat this, slugs!" he shouted at them. On the port side, Disher leaned over Stottlemeyer to fire at the mobster threatening them there. "Randy, you're squashing me here!" his boss protested. His face was now being pressed into the steering wheel, blowing the horn in the process.

"Just a minute, sir, I'll have them off our backs in no time," Disher emptied his entire clip at the offending truck, to no apparent effect. "OK, maybe a little more than no time," he conceded.

"Ha ha, gotcha sucker!" Vecchio shouted in delight. His latest shot had blown out the tires of the truck on his side, which now drifted crazily to the right and crashed into the side of the terminal. "One down, two to go," he said, slapping hands with Disher, who was reloading for another crack at his target. He leaned out the window and called up to his colleague, "See anything yet, Fraser?"

"Not yet, Ray, I'll let you know if I do," Fraser called down. He ducked low as they drove under a pedestrian bridge…

And noticed just a bit too late the four mobsters jumping off it. One missed his mark and hit the pavement hard, but the remaining three were on him with knives. He fought back against them as best he could. "Uh, Adrian, could I have a little help up here?" he called down to the detective.

Adrian glanced up at the Mountie's predicament. Ever so slowly, he forced his way up the stairs. Before he could get there, however, Fraser had punched out two of his adversaries. Adrian jumped as one of them rolled down the stairs and off the back of the stairway, where the trailing mobster truck had to swerve wide to avoid running him over. The second mobster rose to his feet and blocked Adrian's path. "Going somewhere?" he asked darkly, thrusting the snake he had on his shoulders at the detective, "Say hello to MY little friend!"

'Uh, no thanks, I'll send him an e-mail!" Adrian gulped nervously, backing down the stairs away from the snake.

"Detective Monk, that is a non-poisonous species," Fraser Senior pointed out, "It's not even a constrictor."

"That's easy for you to say; he can't bite you to death…again!" Adrian yelled at him.

"Who're you talking to?" the mobster asked.

"Nobody," Adrian said. Laughing cruelly, the mobster tossed the snake at the detective's feet. Screeching like a child, Adrian dove partially over the stair railing. "Kill it!" he screamed to everyone who could here, "Somebody kill it, Kill, kill it!"

"How about if I kill you instead?" the mobster whacked Adrian right hand with a tire iron, leaving him dangling dangerously about ten feet in the air. Before he could strike his other hand and knock him off, though, Fraser landed a haymaker on his final adversary, who tumbled down the stairs and bowled over his comrade. The tire iron flew out of his hand and fell on the runway. The Mountie was down the stairs in a flash. "Give me your hand, Adrian," he said, extending his.

"Out here's fine," Adrian tried to rationalize the situation at hand for himself.

"You sure?"

'The snake, all right? I can't go up there with the snake!"

There was a strangled hissing coupled with growls from Diefenbaker. "Oh, I think Dief's got the situation with the serpent well in hand ," Fraser said. Adrian peeked over the railing to see the wolf biting hard on the thrashing snake's throat. It squirmed and hissed wildly in an attempt to escape, but Diefenbaker refused to let go, and it was only a matter of seconds before the snake died with a low rattle. "Dump the corpse, Dief," Fraser informed his pet, "It's the only way Detective Monk can effectively assist us."

Diefenbaker dumped the snake's body over the other side of the stairs. Adrian climbed back up onto the stairs. "They were prepared for me," he commented, "They know I hate snakes. That's why he brought it. I know Zuko's accomplice told them that. The only question is, why are there so many of them here at the airport?"

"My guess is Zuko has realized he was going to be double-crossed this evening," Fraser realized, "Thus he seems to have brought his whole army to make sure he gets his cut of the…here they come again."

The two remaining mobsters had picked themselves back up and were running up the stairs, brandishing their knives. Fraser kicked the one on the left in the face, sending him back down the stairs and off onto the runway. The one on the right tackled Adrian before he could repeat the Mountie's move and raised the knife high. Adrian grabbed his wrist in mid-descent and strained with all his energy to keep the blade up in the air. "When was the last time you brushed your teeth?" he complained, noticing his foe's less than ideal dental work.

"Excuse me," Fraser tapped the mobster on the shoulder and slugged him hard when he turned around, knocking him out. The Mountie walked down the stairs and gently dropped him on the runway. The trailing mobster truck had to swerve out of the way again, and this time went too far and tipped over, spilling its passengers out. "Shame they weren't wearing their seatbelts," Fraser Senior commented at the scene, "Now by not wearing them, they're probably seriously injured."

"Are you all right, Adrian?" Fraser asked him, helping him to his feet.

"Fine, fine, but I think I'll need another five hour shower after this one," Adrian groaned, digging out his last wipe and cleaning off his suit.

"I'd get back up and keep looking again, son; that blast is going off in less than a minute now," Fraser Senior said, glancing at his watch.

"Right; Adrian, stay here in the middle of the stairs; I'm going to need you for something in a minute," Fraser said. He raced back up to the top of the stairs and glanced across the dusky runways. "That was incredible what you did, Constable Fraser," Benjy lauded him, "I ought to write about that some day."

"Maybe you will, Benjamin, maybe you will," Fraser said. He glanced to the left and abruptly exclaimed, "Aha." He leaned over the side again. "Captain Stottlemeyer, subject is five-eighths of a kilometer away at eleven o'clock," he called down.

"What?" Stottlemeyer stuck his head out the driver's window.

"I see Mrs. Fleming coming out just now," Fraser pointed in the to the northwest toward the international gates, "We're almost out of time."

"You're down to thirty-two seconds right about now," his father cut in, holding the watch in his face. Fraser paid no attention. "Drive just to the left of her as fast as you can," he instructed, "I've got an idea on how to get her out of there before the blast."

"Gotcha," Stottlemeyer floored it. "OK, now we're definitely going too fast!" Adrian groaned, gripping the starboard railing.

Fraser ran down to him. "Hold me out, Adrian," he told the detective, "I'll grab her as we go by."

"That's incredibly dangerous," Adrian protested, "What if I drop you? I'm not that strong, you know."

"You won't drop me, I know in my heart," Fraser told him, "I know that when the lives of people close to you matter, you'll find whatever strength you need."

Adrian looked the Mountie in the face. Then he glanced up at Benjy, who was giving him the most hopeful and pleading glance he'd ever seen. Then up the tarmac at the rapidly approaching drop zone. "Twenty seconds, Detective Monk," Fraser Senior said, showing him the watch. A wave of new determination swept Adrian. "Let's do it," he said,doing some overblown muscle flexing. He took hold of the seat of Fraser's pants and steadied him as the Mountie extended his body off the side of the stairway. "I've got to be crazy," he told himself quietly, "Touching another man's rear end."

"A little bit further, Adrian!" Fraser shouted over the roar of the truck's engine and the continuing gunfire from the lone trailing mobster truck, "I'm going to have to reach all the way for this!"

"Then I'll fall!" Adrian started to protest, "I can't lean over any farther!"

"Twelve, eleven, ten, nine,…" Fraser Senior was still counting down. Adrian looked over the side and saw a figure getting bigger and bigger. She would be out of range if he didn't do what he didn't want to do. Summoning all his strength, he pushed Fraser as far out as he could. With the count at five seconds, Fraser reached out with his arm and grabbed Sharona around the waist. "Hang on Mrs. Fleming, and brace yourself!" he told her. She apparently hadn't realized what had just happened, for she simply hung still, expressionless.

Inside the terminal, the federal agents barreled out as the truck whisked their hostage away. "What the hell are they doing?" an outraged Deeter demanded out loud.

"Fraser you Canadian parasite, get back here with…!" Ford began to run after the truck, but it was then that the entire tarmac exploded in a massive fireball. Ford dove back to safety just in time. "What happened?" a heavily concerned Trevor charged out of the building where he'd been waiting for his wife's release, "Where's Sharona?"

"The Mountie took her," Ford explained. He grabbed Deeter's radio out of his partner's hands. "Attention all units, hostage in transit, being held by Constable Fraser in blue airport truck!" he barked into it, "Get all aerial units up and running; I want them found and detained immediately!"

"You do realize of course that Constable Fraser and Detective Monk did just save Mrs. Fleming's life right now?" Welsh posed as they ran back into the terminal, "And probably yours as well?"

"Yeah right, Lieutenant," Deeter chided him, "Doesn't it seem just a little suspicious to you they resort to something like this? Ten bucks says they were in on it all the time."

"You're on," Welsh told him. He could smell a quick ten dollars coming his way.

Back on the truck, Adrian struggled with all his might to pull Fraser and Sharona back onto the stairs. Their combined weight, however, was proving a bit problematic for him. "Hey Constable, could you suck in your breath a bit?" he asked, I'm losing my grip here, and I think my back's about to go!"

He felt a clamping on his coat. "Oh no, no, not that, please not you, not here!" he begged Diefenbaker. The wolf had grabbed hold of his tuxedo and was yanking it backwards. Adrian couldn't even bare to think of the consequences for his wardrobe this would cause, but Diefenbaker's tugging was slowly bringing his master and Sharona to safety. Sighing, he relented to working in conjunction with the wolf, and after another minute of pulling yanked Fraser and Sharona to safety. The three of them tumbled into a heap on the stairs—a heap that quickly increased to four as Benjy threw himself into his mother's arms. "Are you all right, Mom?" he asked, breathlessly.

"Oh baby, oh baby!" Sharona hugged him tight. In contrast to her son, she looked like she'd gone through hell and then some: her clothes were torn, and she'd been struck in several places. Her gaze turned up toward her former employer. "Adrian," she breathed.

"Sharona," he smiled, ever so happy to see her again.

"What the hell took you so long?" she snapped as she climbed to her feet, "You should have figured this out days ago!"

"Yep, same old Sharona," Adrian told Fraser with a smile, "She hasn't changed a bit."

"Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. Fleming, I'm Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police," Fraser tipped his Stetson to her, "I've been working with your former employer Detective Monk in recovering you from your captivity, and we have now figured out the solution to your abduction and holding."

"Well please, enlighten me," Sharona said, "because I'm going to personally kill the guy who's put me through almost ninety hours of being locked in cold closets with no food or water and an elephant pacing around outside—and don't you say a word!" she pointed an accusing finger at Adrian.

"I wasn't going to," Adrian raised his arms in protest—then promptly grabbed onto the railing again as the truck hit a pothole.

"Have you got her, Monk?" Stottlemeyer yelled up, "Is she OK?"

"Mission accomplished, Captain!" Adrian flashed him a thumbs-up with his free hand.

"And here come the feds now," Disher pointed to the squad of police cars driving toward them, sirens blazing, "All we need to do is tell them…"

It was then that gunfire erupted from the cop cars at them. "Hey, what're you shooting at us for?" Vecchio demanded, waving his arms wildly in protest, "We've on your side, you morons!"

"It's dark out, do you think they can tell it's us?" Stottlemeyer yelled, shoving Julie to the floor so she'd be out of harm's way.

"And they're not the least of our problems; here come the rest of Zuko's legions," Vecchio pointed out the window. A small armada of vehicles was now on their tail. "Hey Fraser, heads up; we got a load of company back there!" he shouted up to the Mountie.

There was a loud rush as a bazooka blast demolished the top of the stairs, sending everyone diving to the floor. "Thank you, Ray," Fraser thanked him for the belated heads up. An increased firefight was now underway, with federal agents and mobsters firing indiscriminately at each other, apparently not sure who were on whose side. Stottlemeyer swerved to try and avoid the melee. "Don't, please!" he told Disher, who was poised to fire away at the cars shooting at them, "The last thing we want is to draw their fire with a cause!"

It was at that moment that a missile slammed into the ground inches to their left, causing the truck to jump several feet in the air. Adrian screamed in terror as they landed hard, almost tipping over. "We're trying to escape here!" he cried up at the four FBI helicopters circling overhead. The helicopters abruptly zoomed out of the way as a jumbo jet abruptly descended out of the sky, just missing landing on the truck. "This just keeps getting better and better!" the detective groaned as they swerved wildly to the left to avoid getting run over.

"I see you haven't changed much either," Sharona grumbled.

"Thank you," Adrian nodded.

There was a crash as the remaining hijacked airport truck pulled up alongside. Two mobsters jumped onto the back of the cops' truck. "Give us the money, Constable!" one threatened Fraser, waving a gun at him.

"I can't do that," Fraser told him, "I'm honor bound by the law not to return illicit money to criminal factions."

"You tell him, son," his father told him with pride in his voice.

"Then it's your funeral," the mobster pointed the gun at him…

And was hit on the hit with the briefcase. "You want it?" Sharona shouted, pummeling him with it, "I'll give it to you!" She whacked him clean off the stairs with it. "I see you've still got the fighting spirit," Adrian told her.

"If you'd been locked up for four days, you'd be ticked off too, Adrian," she said. She swung the briefcase at the other mobster and knocked his gun out of his hands.

"More ticked off than I made you?" Adrian had to know.

"I wouldn't go that far," she said while kicking the mobster in his private parts. He shrieked loud enough to shatter every pane of glass around O'Hare. Fraser gently pushed him over the side. "Thank you kindly, Sharona," the Mountie said, shaking her hand.

More machine gun fire came from a low-flying plane overhead. The helicopters started shooting at it. "I must say, this battle is getting genuinely out of control," Fraser commented, staring up at the overhead battle and the intense firefight between mob and federal vehicles in their wake.

"It's almost like the Clone Wars," Benjy added.

"And I've pretty much had enough of it; Captain, do you think we could pull over now?" Adrian asked his boss.

"If I can get away from this madness, Monk, I will," Stottlemeyer called back.

"Baggage train, three o'clock, Stott!" Vecchio yelled, "They're trying the al-Qaida approach now!"

Stottlemeyer glanced around just in time to see the baggage train—with a large bomb attached to the front bumper—speeding at them. He sped up at the last minute so that the train missed them and hit the mobsters' stairway truck instead, blowing it up violently. "That was close," he breathed.

"I think Detective Monk's got a point," Julie commented from the floor, "We can stop now."

"Okay, might as well," Stottlemeyer pressed the brake…and got nothing. "Damn it, no!" he begged, pumping it again and again. "Is something wrong sir?" a concerned Disher asked.

"That blast we took from the chopper must have cut the brake line," Stottlemeyer realized. He saw that a large tanker truck loaded with aviation fuel was directly ahead of them, and there was no way they could stop. "Monk, Constable, abandon ship!" he yelled up, sweeping Julie up in his arms as he dove out of the cab. Vecchio and Disher quickly followed suit.

"What was that, Captain, the man's a lisp?" Adrian called down, "I don't get it."

"It looks like you will get it if you don't get off," Fraser Senior pointed to the gas truck ahead of them. Adrian's eyes went wide. "As if it couldn't get worse!" he groaned.

"Dief, go, Sharona, go!" Fraser ordered them. Sharona scooped her son up and jumped off the back of the truck, followed by a leaping Diefenbaker. Fraser took Adrian's arm. "Let's go, Adrian," he said.

"You go through this a lot, don't you?" Adrian asked, "All this exciting shoot 'em up stuff with narrow escapes."

"Since I've come to Chicago, yes," Fraser admitted, "There was this one time Ray and I were locked in a freezer, and we survived by…"

"Better go now unless you want to join me, son." Fraser Senior told him.

"Right," his son said, "Ready Adrian?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Adrian's eyes were tightly shut.

"Jump!" the two of them leapt off the stairs and rolled down the tarmac a mere six seconds before the stairway truck hit the gas truck. The massive explosion that followed sent flames leaping at least a mile into the air. Adrian rubbed his side. There was a slight pain from landing hard on the concrete, but otherwise he was okay. As was everyone else from what he could see. "Remind me never to do this again," he said out loud.

"I take it you don't like thrills when solving cases very much?" Fraser asked him.

"No, I like my nice smooth summations with the cops around to make sure things don't get out of hand," Adrian admitted.

"Well it looks like that moment is at hand," Fraser pointed back up the tarmac, where wailing sirens announced the arrival of the FBI. They poured out of their cars, guns raised. "Freeze, all of you!" Ford yelled at the top of his lungs at the people before him, "You're all under arrest for interfering with a federal operation! And you, Detective Monk, you're also under arrest for…!"

"You can stop with any charges against Detective Monk right now, Agent Ford," Stottlemeyer spoke up, "Unless you and Agent Deeter want to lose your jobs and get arrested yourselves!"

"What are you talking about?" Deeter demanded.

"Apparently you guys didn't realize Lieutenant Welsh has closed circuit cameras in his office," Stottlemeyer pulled a videocassette out of his coat pocket, "I knew you two had done something unethical with Detective Monk when the two of you were alone with him, so I pulled the tape once you two left. Even among the FBI, beating up a fellow law enforcement official without cause is a felony, so unless you want me to send this back to Washington and land you both in hot water, you'll just shut up and listen to exactly what we have to say."

"That's blackmail, Captain!" Ford yelled at him.

"And it's absolutely right," Welsh crossed over toward Stottlemeyer. "Detective Monk," the lieutenant told the detective, "Why don't you show these clowns how a real detective solves crimes?"

There was a loud clamor at the back of the crowd. "Is everyone all right?" Trevor asked out loud, sneezing all the way, "What happened here?"

"That's a very good question, Trevor," Adrian walked forward, being sure to still stay a reasonable enough distance away from him, "And perhaps you'd like to answer it for all of us."