Grissom and Brass were trying to coordinate where their search was heading next, after finding the barn empty. Grissom’s money was on the grove of Sagebrush not far away. If Sara had been in the barn, which he suspected was true; she would want cover from the moonlight. Brass had to agree. With no weapon and an unknown number of kidnappers he’d seek cover first and then formulate the best escape route.
“Yea, she’d want to stay as far away from the cabin as possible,” Brass concluded, pointing to the barely visible lights coming from the cabin.
The sound of distant gunfire echoing across the landscape had both men’s eyes searching the eerie landscape with its surreal shadows for the source of the sound.
“THAT WAY!” Grissom spat out in a hiss of apprehension as he ran in the direction he had indicated.
Brass turned to Catherine and Warrick. “Stay out of the trees,” he threw over his shoulder as he quickly followed Grissom. The last thing he needed was someone to get shot by friendly fire.
Catherine and Warrick exchanged shocked, questioning looks before following Brass. They’d stay out of the trees but they sure as hell were not staying out of the action.
Light and dark shadows competed under the many canopies that littered the grove of trees. The crunching ground underfoot seemed excessively loud to Brass’ ears as he searched for danger and Grissom.
“Jim, over here,” Grissom’s gruff whisper caught Brass’ attention, his eyes catching sight of the man a dozen paces in front of him and to the right.
Making his way over to Grissom, Brass kept his gaze steadily scanning his surroundings for the danger he knew was somewhere near.
“See anything?” Brass asked his voice low.
Grissom shook his head in the dark. “No,” he answered out loud. “I thought I heard something in that direction but…”
Brass looked and listened, trying to make out anything in the dark. “Where’s the lake from here?” Brass asked cautiously moving forward, Grissom following. It wouldn’t do them any good if someone fell off a cliff
“Off to our right.”
The two men caught the sounds of a struggle up ahead in the darkness right before a single shot crashed into the tree above Brass’ head. Brass caught sight of the shooter instantly and returned fire, the shadow of the compact man dashing for cover before returning fire.
Grissom hesitated before Brass hissed at him. “GO, GO!” he told Grissom before shooting a couple rounds at their assailant, creating momentary cover for Grissom.
Grissom slipped through the underbrush and trees quickly, his eyes and ears taking in everything as he tried to discover where, what and whom the disturbance had been.
A scream quickly answered the whom part of his unspoken question.
“SARA!” he hissed as he quickened his pace unheeding of the possible dangers nearby.
****************************************************************
Warrick shoved Catherine back and down at the first shot, his weapon hand scanning the terrain in front of them. Grissom and Brass were somewhere in front of them and so were the shots that were being fired, last thing he wanted was to accidentally shoot his friends, closely followed by not getting killed.
“Can you see where it’s coming from?” Warrick asked, his voice coming out somewhere between a hiss and a growl.
Catherine’s eyes were furiously searching the area.
“Grissom and Brass went into the trees but…” Catherine’s attention was drawn to sound of approaching footsteps from behind them. Recognizing Nick, Catherine held up her hand. “Guys over here,” she whispered loudly, waving them over to where she and Warrick had hunkered down.
“We heard shots,” Greg explained breathlessly. The minute the first shot was fire he, Nick and one of the troopers had bolted in the general direction of the commotion. Sofia and Trooper Petrie had gone to investigate a small pump house a short distance from the cabin.
“Yea,” Warrick turned briefly to look at the new arrivals, “it came from over there somewhere.”
“Gil and Jim are in there too,” Catherine warned, “so be sure of what you’re shooting at.”
“Look!” Nick whispered inching forward as he spotted the silhouette of a man. “Is that Brass?”
At Nick’s question Catherine grabbed for her radio. Glancing quickly to see that it was set to channel 2, she pressed the button. If it was Brass he would hear the squelch of his radio and respond.
Nothing!
“I don’t think its Jim,” Catherine said.
Trooper Douglas motioned for them to stay, running low he tried to get up close enough to the man in question to determine whether he was friend or foe. He had covered more than half the distance when they got their answer. In two loud cracks, the trooper crumpled to the ground.
“SHIT!” Nick hissed firing in the direction of the shooter, Warrick and Catherine following suit.
The shooter returned fire quickly before ducking and running along the tree line, obviously not prepared or willing to take them all on. In an unvoiced charge the four friends rushed to the fallen trooper’s side. He appeared to be alive but bleeding profusely.
“He’s still breathing,” Warrick noted trying to divide his attention between the trooper and the danger lurking somewhere nearby.
“Oh no, oh no,” Trooper Petrie chanted worriedly as he and Sofia ran up to them. Kneeling he took in his partner’s injuries before pulling the radio mic clipped to his breast pocket.
As the trooper called in for paramedics and backup, the CSIs explained to Sofia what had happened and where their shooter had run off to.
“I thought I saw Jim chasing him,” Catherine informed them all, “But who knows in all of this.” She waved her hand in the air indicating the darkness.
“Okay, listen,” Sofia said taking charge of the situation, “Greg, stay here with Petrie until help arrives. The rest of you follow me.”
Greg was about to protest to the quickly departing detective but his attention was swiftly captured by the gasping of the wounded trooper.
“SHIT, SHIT!” Petrie began, “Do you know CPR?”
Greg nodded quickly; intertwining his fingers he placed the heel of his hands on the man’s chest and began pumping his arms and sounding out his cadence.
******************************************************************
Sara had been sucked into a nightmare. No matter how hard she pumped her legs and swung her arms she couldn’t get away from Bathory. His heavy breaths echoing in her overly acute hearing as she ran blindly away from him. Here eyes wide as if by forcing them open farther she would be able to see better in the dark.
The gun shots punctured the roar of her blood in her ears, causing her to let out a soft little squeak as she jerked away from the sound. The shots didn’t sound especially close but they weren’t far enough away either. Then Sara thought she heard more voices. Could help have arrived? She wished desperately.
Sara tripped and stumbled in the underbrush, going down hard on her hands and knees. Grunting and gasping she fought to get to her feet quickly and in a moment of realization and panic Sara felt the first agonizing stings of her sprained ankle. Tears of fear and frustration ran unchecked down her face. She needed to find a place to hide since she wasn’t going to get the chance to out run Bathory.
“Pssst!”
Sara spun around just before catching a vicious backhand to her right cheek. Bright white lights zig-zagged across her vision, her face went numb. Stumbling to the ground again, Sara tried crawling away because that was all her mind could think of, to get as far away from her attacker as possible.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Bathory spat at her. “I have plans for you, you little whore!”
Bathory reached down and yanked Sara painfully to her feet by her hair. Her hands gripped his as she thrashed against his much stronger grip. Grabbing her by her upper arm with one hand while maintaining a death grip in her hair, Bathory lunged forward while pulling Sara to him and kneed the woman in her stomach.
The air rushed out of Sara in a painful whoosh. Dropping to one knee, Sara gagged and coughed and tried to capture a breath all the while being pulled about by her hair.
“No one told you you could leave,” Bathory growled before viciously smacking Sara across her other cheek.
Sara was knocked sideways from the blow but maintained her footing. Her face throbbed, her ankle throbbed, her feet had gone numb sometime back and her hands and knees were shredded. But Sara Sidle had never quit before and wasn’t about to then either. With an unexpected uppercut erupting from her slumped body, she caught Bathory just under his jaw where it sloped downward it to his neck.
Bathory doubled over and grasped at his neck gasping. Sara didn’t falter once she was free of Bathory’s painful hold. Running with a pronounced limp she tried to put as much distance between her and the murderer.
“You…bitch!” he croaked, his hand stealing into his pants pocket to produce a military style switchblade.
“I’m going to make you scream,” He loudly threatened her, twisting the blade in the air to catch what little light there was, “but I’m not going to kill you. Well, not right away.”
Her body was feeding off adrenaline but she could already feel the effects of the night’s excitement beginning to take its toll. Her left ankle could barely support her weight, yet she was left with little option. It was use the wounded ankle or end up dead at the hands of Markus Bathory.
Sara slowed to a lopsided skip as she tried to ascertain which direction she was heading. From the large rock formations to her left, she feared she had traveled to close to the lake’s edge. The last thing she wanted was to get close enough to fall to her death or nearly as bad- be pushed.
A hand reached out and gripped Sara by her arm, hauling her roughly behind a tall outcropping of rock. Sara raised her right hand and hammered it into the man who had captured her before she realized who it was.
“Sara!” Grissom whispered, spinning her so she was sheltered between him and the rock. “Shh, sweetheart, shhhh,” he soothed. His free hand running the length of her hair before capturing her lips in a quick kiss of desperation built on fear. She was alive!
“Bathory,” Sara gulped and gasped. She was shaking uncontrollably and had the overwhelming feeling of both relief and terror. Relief that she was not alone, that help had arrived and terror knowing that Grissom was now in danger alongside her.
“Shhh,” he warned placing his fingers across her lips, sinking lower in the darkness. Weeks of captivity had heightened his sense of danger and he felt danger nearby.
Grissom switched his gun from his left to his right hand; a benefit to being ambidextrous was that he was a good shot with either hand. He had heard a faint shuffle and with every hair that stood up on the back of his neck he knew Markus Bathory was not far. Somewhere within the darkness was the specter of his nightmares.
Feeling Sara twitch, her nerves shot from everything that had happened to her in the last few hours, Grissom glanced down into her frightened eyes and knew his first priority was to get Sara as far away from danger as possible. He could capture Markus Bathory later, Sara needed him now.
“Listen to me,” Grissom whispered a plan formulating quickly in his mind, “we need to get out of here.”
Sara wasn’t about to protest.
“Jim and the others are somewhere between us and the cabin,” he told her, dividing his attention between the woman in his arms and the shifting shadows beyond. “There’s safety in numbers, so I say lets double up and then some.”
Sara nodded her head. She wanted away and any plan that had that as a key component was good enough for her.
“Can you walk?” Grissom asked, pulling her up to her feet.
Sara was prepared to crawl. “Yes,” she informed him, glancing around the rock she was pressed lightly against.
Grissom smiled his gaze vigilant. “Good girl. Come on, let’s go,” Grissom whispered, slipping his right arm underneath Sara’s left arm.
Grissom checked the area to their right, where he had heard the soft scuffing sound but could not see anything other than light shadows on top of dark shadows. He estimated that sunrise would take place in the next hour and he both hoped for it and dreaded it at the same time.
He hoped for it because it would make it easier for him to protect Sara. He wouldn’t have to worry about their reinforcements missing them in the dark or worse, shooting them accidentally. It would also be more difficult for Markus to escape into the shadows.
He dreaded the rising sun like he did any bright light anymore; afraid it would show the monster that he had become. In the dark he felt camouflaged, a ghost of his former self among the shadows of the night.
Whether it was the shuffle of dirt and sand, a broken twig or just the plain sense of evil nearby, Grissom would never be able to say but in a flash his body was in reaction mode, his mind struggling to keep up. Bathory had some how managed to maneuver around him and Sara and had approached them with deadly intent.
Grissom slipped his arm from underneath Sara’s and spun to his left, his left hand coming around and blocking the knife wielding hand that was plunging towards Sara. The impact knocked the ominous blade from Bathory’s hand but also had the same effect on Grissom, his gun tumbling out of his hand in a wide, high arc. Snatching their attacker by his forearms Grissom roared as he charged the man backwards, heedless of the dangerous terrain.
Sara dropped to the ground and searched for Grissom’s gun among the underbrush. Smacking it with her wildly searching hands, Sara snatched it up and hobbled after the two men grappling in the graying light of predawn.
Sara tried to get a bead on Bathory but the chance of hitting Grissom by accident was too great. She weighed the option of running for help but the running part was out of the question and she wasn’t entirely sure where help could be found. Sara concluded it was best to stay close and take her shot if… Gil would just get out of the way!
The two men grappled, trading vicious blows with neither gaining the upper hand. Sara worried that Bathory may have found his gun but since the man never pulled it and had lost his knife the fight appeared to be even. Sara almost allowed herself a minute moment of relief when the two men vanished from her line of sight.
“GRISSSS!” Sara screamed limping quickly in the direction the two men had been, her arms pumping oddly like she was paddling her broken body through water.
The predawn sky was giving way to a washed out cerulean blue with splashes of coral-pink wispy clouds. Soon the sunrise would mark the sky with its yellow orange glow and chase the night sky from the heavens, leaving a new day and the unknown.
“GRISSSS!” Sara screamed again as she came to the rock overhang hidden partially by underbrush and slowly fading shadows.
The two men had slid or fallen down a steep rock face to a thin strip of rocky beach. The white rock almost glowed in the gathering light adding to the luminous effect of the lake at early morning. The water appeared gray but was slowly shifting to a sparkling blue green with each degree the sun climbed on the horizon.
Bathory had gotten to his feet quicker than Grissom but was quickly caught under the solar plexus by a smashing left shoulder that sent both men crashing back down into the shallow water. Grissom clamored on top of his opponent, pinning him to the rocky lake bed, his right fist hammering into Bathory’s face while his left held the man’s shirt front.
The two men had fallen into an alcove and although the water was not very deep, there was the definite possibility that someone could get drowned. Sara frantically searched the length of the short cliff she stood on. It was only a twelve to fifteen foot drop but with her bad ankle it might as well have been twice as large. Still, she wanted to get down to Grissom.
Bathory’s hand had found a softball sized rock and swinging his fisted arm like a club, he was able to connect with the back of Grissom’s skull knocking the man off of him. Grissom stumbled to his feet, sloshing in the shallow water while trying to re-center his vision. Bathory hesitated, indecisive before deciding he didn’t want a straight up fight with Grissom. Spinning away from Grissom, Bathory splashed through the water following the shoreline and its parallel cliff.
Grissom’s hand reached up to his wounded head and he cursed silently at the blood that flowed from his scalp. Bastard reopened my stitches!
“GIL!” Sara screamed as he made to follow Bathory, her head shaking no.
Grissom threw up his hand. “STAY THERE!” he ordered his voice excited but concerned. If she was on the ridge above she was out of the reach of Markus Bathory.
“NO!”
Grissom pumped his open palm in the air at Sara as he started off after Bathory. He didn’t have time to argue with her. If Bathory got to far away he might be able to slip away undetected in the wilderness. And it needed to end NOW! Grissom’s mind demanded.
Sara started limping in the direction Grissom had gone. The logical part of her harried mind told her she would never be able to keep up, as wounded as she was, but Sara had abandoned logic sometime ago and only knew she needed to protect Gil. She had Grissom’s gun and if nothing else that gave her a certain amount of leverage against the rock wielding murderer.
“SARA!”
Sara almost cried in relief at the familiar chorus of Warrick and Nick. Turning, she spotted the two men running at full speed towards her. Their faces twin masks of worry and relief.
“NICK, WARRICK HURRY!” Sara yelled to them her free arm spinning in frantic circles as she waved them over.
“Griss,” Sara said pointing into the alcove as Nick and Warrick came to a skidding halt, the rock and dirt underneath their feet grinding.
Understanding Sara’s frantic gestures the two men without consultation or thought went down the steep, rocky slope. Nick bounced precariously almost toppling head first near the bottom before catching his footing and running into the water.
“THERE!” Sara yelled still trying to run but doing more of a lopsided skip while pointing ahead of her.
Warrick followed the beach in the direction Sara was pointing, Nick following off his left side and slightly behind. The rock face went straight as it headed out of the alcove with a subtle right hand arc as it widened at the mouth of the watery recess. The uneven, rocky ground made it difficult for the two men to run at a full pace but it didn’t stop them from trying.
Rounding the blind corner, Warrick almost ran into a dried out, half dead tree that had the misfortune to grow out of the rocky faced cliff at a forty-five degree angle. Calling out a warning to Nick, Warrick ducked before slowing his pace. A head of them was the proverbial two road dilemma.
The beach continued on, its gentle outward curve but there was also a natural ramp that Grissom could have taken that led up the side of the cliff. It would require a bit of climbing but would not be overly difficult if that had been the direction he chose.
“What do you think?” Warrick asked Nick pointing down along the rugged beach, “Path of least resistance?”
For an answer Nick took point and hoped he was right.
******************************************************************
The horizon just above the tree line to the east was beginning to give way to the colors of the day but it was the horizon to the west that worried Donny Kempler. The flashing lights of red, blue and white in the distance warned him that he and Markus were about to be over run by cops.
“Damn it,” he muttered running his free hand across his stubbled head. He needed to find Markus, he needed to know what to do. I don’t know what to do, he thought, panic rising.
“KEMPLER!”
Donny turned at his name to see that he hadn’t shaken the police detective as he hoped. The man’s persistence seemed to annoy Kempler who just sneered in reply, his pistol rocking back and forth in his left hand.
Kempler gazed behind Brass searching for the man’s backup and assessing his chances. And like a young wild man he overestimated himself while underestimating Brass. To Donny Kempler, James Brass was old and slow and barely a challenge.
It would be the last of a long list of bad choices. Snapping his arm up to fire haphazardly at Brass, Kempler took off at a dead run, running perpendicular to Brass. As surely as the sun was about to come up, Brass knew that Donny Kempler would pull some chickenheaded bullshit and sure enough he had.
Squatting quickly on his heels, Brass leveled his pistol at Kempler. Taking his time, two hands on the handle, Brass aimed and fired spinning Kempler in an ungraceful running twirl.
“JIM!”
Brass didn’t look to see who had called his name as he ran after his wounded suspect; the female lilt gave the speaker away
“Watch it Sofia,” Brass warned, training his gun into the trees Kempler had hopped into.
Brass was certain he had caught Donny Kempler in the left arm or shoulder and just like a wounded animal it would make Kempler twice as dangerous.
Sofia Curtis was accompanied by Catherine and a very pale and somber Greg Sanders. His hands were covered in drying blood and the front of Greg’s thighs was smeared with blood where he had tried to get the sticky liquid off his hands. Brass looked at the younger man. It was a look that asked a question that Brass did not want to ask. The solemn shake of Greg’s head told Brass what he needed to know, Douglas didn’t make it. Brass’ frown went from anger at the trooper’s death to annoyed; he seemed to be two CSIs short.
“Where’s Warrick and Nick?” he asked an anxious edge entering his voice as his eyes searched the area behind the ashen faced Greg Sanders.
Greg pointed off to their right. The sun had already cleared to horizon but was still partly obscured by trees and the occasional jutting rock formation.
Brass groaned. He had two madmen running around lose, a kidnapped CSI, a lose cannon CSI and two CSIs that he only had a vague notion as to their location. The whole situation could go south on him in the blink of an eye and be one giant F.U.B.A.R. mess.
“Alright,” he said looking towards the others as he hunkered down along the tree line, “two teams, Sofia and Greg and Catherine and me. Try and keep about ten feet between you two,” he pointed towards Sofia and Greg, “and us.”
Three sets of tense nods let Brass know his directions were clear. They would use the old police tactic of a dragnet. He’d prefer to pick up friendlies first before combatants but if they came across Bathory or Kempler first he wanted to have an established fireline to avoid any friendly fire casualties.
Sofia and Greg were off Brass’ right so he concentrated his attention forward and to the left. No sooner had they entered the treeline then a series of gunshots echoed across the landscape. The sound bouncing without rhythm off the various cliffs, rock walls and trees, making it near impossible to ascertain where the sound came from.
Catherine stabbed excitedly to the area in front of her and Brass. “JIM!” Catherine hissed, adrenaline coursing like a freight train through her veins. Brass squinted through the halos of yellow gold light slowly showering through the tree tops but could see nothing. Unwilling to discount Catherine, he motioned for Sofia and Greg to follow him and Catherine inward. They needed to be methodical, quick and above all cautious if they were to get out unscathed with their quarry in hand.
******************************************************************
The early morning sun cast golden auras into the shrinking shadows of the grove that meandered along the white and yellow stone cliffs. Save for the center of the light, the amber colored halos were almost as difficult to see in as the dwindling shadows. The days new light catching the dust in the air, swirled with the slight breeze adding a mystical quality to the moment.
Markus paid no heed to the atmosphere surrounding him, the beauty of the dawn’s spectacle lost on him as he frantically searched for any sign of his enemies. He knew that Grissom could not be far behind and that time was slowly working against him. He had hoped to lose his former captive on the rocky beach below the cliffs but he knew he had only bought himself a small lead with his quick scramble up the rocky path cut by decades of rain water runoff.
He didn’t know what had become of Donny but Markus decided it was time to cut his loses and try to make good his escape. Live to fight another day, he thought sarcastically as he skirted the ethereal light, trying to keep to the light gray shadows.
Markus had no intentions of going back to the cabin, the police would be crawling all over it and the workshop and the roads leading away from the area would be blocked. No, his only chance lay in the bowrider anchored to his secluded dock. If he was lucky the police would be to busy launching a search and rescue for the missing CSIs to worry about locking down the lake.
The sound of someone running had Markus kneeling down and searching the light and shadows. The runner was scuffing his feet and panting loudly as he made his way closer. Markus hated the fact that he had lost both his gun and knife. He thrived on control but had none at the moment, making him feel even more exposed and weak.
“DONNY!” Markus exclaimed on an expelled breath upon seeing his young cohort.
Kempler stopped dead in his tracks, momentarily startled before seeing Bathory emerge from the misty shadows. Relief washed over the younger man’s entire body, from the small smile on his face to the relaxed slump of his heavily muscled shoulders.
“Markus,” he said, his voice almost reverent as he made his way to his boss.
Markus returned Donny’s smile and threw his arms out to embrace the other man. His eyes scanned the vicinity in which Donny had come, looking for danger and knowing eyes. Patting Donny on the back, Markus pulled away.
“Are you being followed?” he asked a show of concern crossing his face.
Kempler glanced back and nodded. He knew it wouldn’t be long before that cop caught up with him.
“Alright,” Markus frowned in the direction Donny had glanced, “I want you to give me your gun.” At Donny’s slight frown Markus explained, “I need you to guide us to the dock. I keep getting switched around.”
Donny handed his gun to Bathory. It was obvious he was not overjoyed to do so but had obediently done as he was told.
“I’ll cover out backs,” Bathory said lifting the gun in front of his face and giving the younger man a playful smirk. With that, Donny relaxed.
“The dock is this way,” he told Bathory turning away from the other man.
Donny walked quickly but cautiously in the direction of the secluded dock never knowing he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Markus was still of the opinion he needed to cut all his ties. Raising the gun, Markus briefly allowed himself a moment to grieve for the soon-to-be departed Donny Kempler. He would miss his young assistant but he had been more Richard’s than Markus’. You should go with Richard, Markus thought, pulling the trigger.
Donny crumpled like a marionette with cut strings as the bullet crashed through the base of his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground and for once Markus did not find the need to examine his victim.
“Goodbye Donny,” Markus whispered as he checked his surroundings before scurrying off like some diabolical rodent.
************************************************************
Nick had cursed a blue streak when he and Warrick had run into a dead end. If Warrick hadn’t been sprinting frantically back to the element scored slope that led to the top of the short cliff wall, he might have chided Nick on his foul mouth. Normally Nick was a good son of Texas and kept his cussing to a minimum but his emotions were getting the better of him and in the wrong way.
“God, I hope someone puts… a bullet in this sick bastard soon,” Nick panted as he scrambled up the rocky incline.
Warrick couldn’t agree more as the two men crested the cliff wall. As far as Warrick was concerned the man needed to be put down like a rabid animal. “I hear ya,” Warrick said quietly eyeing the exoanse of ground before them. “There ain’t enough straight in the world to fix that man’s twisted.” Jabbing his finger off to their left, Warrick softly exclaimed, “LOOK!”
Running through the golden pools of ethereal sunlight was Grissom.
“Griss!” Nick called out, his voice a cross between a hiss and a loud whisper.
At the sound of his voice Grissom crouched down, his head wildly whipping in all directions much like a wild animal that perceives danger.
Grissom spotted Nick and Warrick and made his way towards them, running quick and low.
“Have you seen Sara?” Grissom asked in a rush, his voice raspy. “I couldn’t find her,” he added looking back in the general direction of Sara.
“No,” both men said in unison, their faces showing their apprehension at Grissom’s news.
“We need to find her,” Grissom did a bounce-spin on the balls off his feet, remaining crouched as he tried to see into the slowly disappearing morning haze. His heart was hammering painfully in his chest and he felt lightheaded. “I need to find her,” he muttered; his fear for her so thick it clouded his mind and made it hard to breathe.
Grissom momentarily squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clamp down on his fear and forcibly clear his mind. The minute that he had realized Bathory had reached the ground above the lake, Grissom’s mind had catapulted from revenge to trepidation knowing that Sara could be in danger.
“Griss! Griss!” Nick hissed trying to get the man’s attention.
Grissom spun to look at Nick, his eyes strobing through the many emotions shooting through his cerebral cortex.
“We’ll find her,” Nick said reaching out to put a reassuring hand on Grissom’s shoulder, “We’ll find her, okay.”
Grissom stared at the younger man, indecisive, unsure. “Okay, alright,” he began trying to get past the insistent thrum of panic coursing through him, “She couldn’t have gone far on that wounded ankle.”
“Okay, then,” Nick looked between Grissom and Warrick, “I’ll back track a ways then work my way inland and then head south back towards the cabin. Ya’ll follow the lake and hopefully will hook up shortly, alright?”
Grissom nodded. It was a good plan. Bathory would have one of two things on his mind- escape and revenge. The question foremost on Grissom’s mind was which one would be driving his arch-rival. Grissom prayed it was escape.
“Be careful, Nicky,” Warrick said following Grissom in the opposite direction of Nick.
With a raised hand, Nick acknowledged his friend’s concern before cautiously following the cliff.
*************************************************************
Jim Brass heaved a sigh of relief when he spotted Sara hobbling through the copse of Sagebrush trees. She looked banged up but Brass would take banged up over dead any day.
“SARA!” A chorus of voices called out.
Sara turned at the sound of familiar voices calling her name and nearly collapsed with relief. Running towards her were Greg, Sofia, Catherine and Brass. Greg was the first to get to her and was so overjoyed at finding her alive he nearly knocked her to the ground when he scooped her up into a huge bear hug. Sara laughed at her friend’s enthusiasm, a contradiction to the tears that escaped her eyes.
“Are you okay?” Catherine asked looking the battered woman up and down, her concern evident in the worried frown upon her face.
Sara sucked in a calming breath while nodding. “I got away but Bathory, he…Grissom, me…Bathory, arrgghhhh,” Sara took another deep breath trying to collect her thoughts.
Greg put his right arm up under Sara’s left, letting her place most of her weight against his frame. Hopping against Greg Sara started again. “I was able to escape Bathory but he almost got me again when Grissom showed up,” at the mention of his name a flash of panic coursed through her, fear for his safety, “Bathory tried to kill Grissom and they fell down this short cliff to the lake. I…” Sara felt a heavy pressure building in her chest, “I don’t know where he’s at. I tried, I tried to follow.”
Brass reached out and placed a firm, reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ll find him and everybody else,” the police captain promised.
“Nick and Warrick went after them,” Sara blurted out, realizing that it was pertinent information.
Brass rolled his head back in frustration. He’d had enough. “Alright! Sofia, you escort these three back towards the cabin,” Brass ordered, his voice allowed for no argument. It’s time to get control of this disorganized dragnet and the best way to do that is to get chief wildcard, a.k.a. Gil Grissom, Brass thought.
“They were heading south,” Sara offered, pointing in the direction the men had gone.
Brass nodded. “Sofia, State Patrol is bound to be on scene by now,” Brass began walking away from his colleagues and friends, “tell them to set up a cordon running north-south and sweep inward towards the lake. If Lake Patrol hasn’t been called in, do it, and make sure everyone knows there are friendlies within the area of operation.”
Brass began jogging towards the treeline that circumvented the lake. He hoped to be the pied piper of CSIs and gather them up as he went along. The only way they were going to catch Bathory and his buddies were to get organized. He’d seen plenty of operations go south because the right hand didn’t know what the left was up to and the only way I’m going south is on vacation, Brass vowed silently.
************************************************************
Warrick kept a close eye on Grissom, worried the man would give him the slip once again. They had one gun between them and although he didn’t like the idea, he had offered it to Grissom knowing that the older man was a better shot but Grissom had refused. Warrick had once marveled at Grissom’s range scores. The fact that Grissom was the only one to ever beat Bobby Dawson from ballistics said a lot about the man’s firearms ability
“Griss… where are we headed?” Warrick asked scanning the terrain.
The foliage was becoming spotty, with large open areas in between trees and shrubs. The morning sun had washed away the shadows, making an ambush less likely. Still, Warrick had no intentions of letting his guard down until the badguys were dead or disarmed.
“Bathory is after revenge. I know this guy,” Grissom explained hastily, his head scanning back and forth for danger as he hurried along, “he wants revenge if he can get it but either way he wants away from here as soon as possible he-“
Grissom squatted quickly, spotting something in a cluster of four trees. His eyes searched the area suspiciously.
Seeing what had Grissom spooked, Warrick asked, “What do you think?”
The area wasn’t completely without hiding spots but the likelihood of Bathory setting up a successful ambush was limited. There were too many large, open areas and handheld weapons were not known for their long distance and accuracy. Still, it wasn’t without risk.
“Cover me,” Grissom told Warrick, cautiously heading towards the body before Warrick could argue with him.
Taking a knee, Warrick raised his gun at the ready, prepared to defend Grissom to the last bullet.
For a fifty year old man with bum knees, Grissom could make good time when need be. Kneeling down, Grissom cautiously reached out for the fallen man’s carotid artery. Finding no pulse, Grissom could not help the sneer that crept unto his face.
“Burn in Hell, Donny,” Grissom whispered as he waved Warrick over.
Warrick ran without hesitation, his booted feet kicking up the dust around Grissom and the dead man as he slid to a stop and kneeled.
“Is that Donny Kempler?” Warrick asked with a frown. The buzzed red head and general physique made up for the missing jaw that had been obliterated by the bullets exit.
“The one and only scumbag,” Grissom answered his voice somewhere between sarcastic and ecstatic.
“I guess this means that Bathory is working alone,” Warrick thought out loud, rising to his feet to stand next to Grissom. “So what do you think?”
“I think he’s going to make a run for it,” Grissom said frowning, “and if I was him I’d try the path of least resistance.” The last Grissom said looking in the direction of the lake.
Warrick followed Grissom’s gaze, the man’s line of thought becoming apparent to Warrick. With raised brows Warrick asked, “Does Bathory have a boat?”
Grissom started moving again, leaving the dead man where he had fallen. “I don’t know about a boat but I know there is a dock just east of the house,” Grissom increased the pace, “It’s not easily seen from the rest of the property.”
Warrick matched Grissom’s pace, his eyes always alert for the possibility of danger. “Well, he’d be a damn fool trying to get away towards the cabin. It’s bound to be crawling with cops by now.”
Grissom agreed and he knew that Markus Bathory was not a fool. What he didn’t know was if Sara was safe and it was starting to eat away at his thin layer of control. He tried to reassure himself with the fact that Sara had a gun and Bathory had been attempting to flee and was probably not going to risk getting caught trying to recapture Sara.
Grissom tried to recall the location of the secluded dock as he ran. The dirt and pebbles causing a scratching sound with each footfall, masked the heavy breaths he brought in and out of his lungs. His body was running on nothing but adrenaline with a healthy topping of hate and fear thrown in. Grissom wouldn’t stop until he knew Sara was safe, then if his tired, abused body could still handle going after Bathory he would but Sara was first.
Scuffing his feet to a halt, Grissom studied a rock formation bordered by trees on either side. Two white stone peaks jutted into the sky on either side of wide, rounded rock formation.
“I remember that,” Grissom pointed to the large rocks, his eyes looking for other familiar signs.
“Looks like a half buried goblin head,” Warrick mused.
Grissom nodded walking past the “goblin head”. He had thought something similar the last time he had been there. “There were two heavy, round beams…” he absentmindedly spoke, picking up his pace. They were near he was certain of it.
Warrick kept pace with Grissom, looking for anything that would signal a dock. “Aren’t we higher than the lake?” He asked feeling as if the terrain was off.
“Yes…there’s a path that leads…THERE!” Grissom shouted pointing in the direction of a clump of trees.
Warrick didn’t question his friend he just tilted forward, running full speed to keep up with Grissom. As they neared the edge he could see what it was that had caught Grissom’s attention. Two thick wooden beams the size of pier footings stuck out of the ground near the cliffs edge. Heavy rope circled the weathered wood, disappearing over the rim.
The rope banister descended down a steep narrow path; part mother-nature, part man made. Trees lining the lip of the precipice obscured much of the path below and the cliff wall cast heavy shadows within the v-shaped alcove.
The shadows and the smell of the lake below had Grissom hesitating with his hand on the rope. Bathory’s “Tank” came screaming into Grissom’s mind like some harpy from hell, leaving the residual taste of terror in his mouth. A sense of vertigo had him swaying as he clamped his eyes shut tightly to fight the nausea rising up into his throat.
“Griss?” Warrick reached out and grasped the other man’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Grissom nodded his face screwed tightly into a frown as he fought and overcame the momentary fear. “Yes,” he answered, “let’s go.”
The descent was steep and uneven and at times they had to rely completely on the rope not to fall the thirty odd feet below. Various vegetations sporadically grew out of crevices in the white and tan striated rock, sometimes obscuring the path ahead. Ten feet from the rocky ground Grissom and Warrick found a weathered, wooden platform with steps leading another six feet down. At sometime in the lakes history the water had been high enough to reach the bottom of the stairs.
Warrick hesitated on the wooden platform, carefully surveying the alcove for any sign of Bathory. The alcove was crescent shaped obscuring the lake from their vantage point. Several large boulders jutted out of the rock face. Warrick squinted against the rays of sunshine diving into the crevice. There were a half dozen possible ambush spots that he could see that only added to his unease. The tall stone walls and partial tree canopy above made Warrick wary and claustrophobic, feeling as if they had descended into a viper pit.
“Griss?” Warrick hissed not able to shake the feeling they were walking into danger.
Grissom felt it too, the feeling of impending doom. Bathory was near. He could sense it as surely as he could feel the gentle breeze that kissed his clammy skin dry. Grissom’s weary mind swayed with his hectic emotions. He feared for Sara, he was desperate to know if she was safe. He was angry, he was numb and he was tired. Grissom wanted peace and knew the only way he would get it was to fight his own personal devil, Markus Bathory.
A memory tickled Grissom mind the moment he heard the echoing explosion of a gun shot going off in the cavernous alcove. Ducking and spinning, Grissom caught Warrick sailing off the wooden platform above him, his arms flung wide before crashing painfully upon the wet rocks below.
“WARRICK!”
Grissom ran to the fallen man, kneeling down to check the scorched bullet holes in his shirt. Warrick gasped, his face contorted in pain as his right hand held tight to his chest. There wasn’t any blood! Grissom frowned in confusion his hands pulling the man’s shirt open, snapping buttons lose in the process.
“You’re wearing your vest,” Grissom expelled in relief.
“Griss!” Warrick croaked in warning, seeing Bathory emerge seemingly from the stone walls.
Grissom spun to watch Bathory slowly stalk forward, before snapping his head back towards Warrick, his eyes searching for Warrick’s gun.
“I lost it,” Warrick answered his unspoken question. “I think it is on the other side,” he gestured to the platform he had fallen off with a slight flick of his head.
Grissom surreptitiously glanced in the direction Warrick had. “Can you walk?” he asked quickly as he began to rise.
“Yea,” Warrick scooted up to a half sitting position with a groan, “but I think I broke my arm.”
Grissom gave Warrick’s left arm a cursory glance and was certain that the swollen, oddly angled appendage was indeed broke. They needed Warrick’s gun and he needed to keep Bathory from coming any closer to Warrick. Spinning on his heel he walked with serious purpose towards the chief architect to every nightmare that haunted him.
Markus Bathory stopped the moment he saw Grissom marching towards him. The intense gaze and forward tilt of Grissom’s head gave Bathory the impression that he would charge him in a berserker rage.
A certain amount of distance seemed the safest course to Bathory. Raising his gun he aimed it directly at Grissom. “I WILL shoot you, Grissom,” he warned with a cynical smile.
Grissom gave to a slow halt. The rage that always seemed to be just below the surface, pounded in his veins but he had Warrick to worry about and he still wasn’t sure if Bathory had Sara.
“Good man,” Bathory sneered, reading the hesitation in Grissom’s eyes.