He frantically waved to the helicopter to bring him down closer. There was still a good five yards between the end of the rope and the ground. As more winch rope was fed out, its swing became even wider. Michel had to be careful where he landed in case he hit the broken ice and fell in as well.
And in the last few feet, just before he finally made contact with a jolt, he was sure he saw the brief bob of a head and part of an arm appear above the water.
He quickly unhooked, ran breathlessly towards it. But by the time he got to the edge of the broken ice, Georges had gone again. He scanned frantically for movement, bubbles. Anything. But there was nothing but still black water.
‘No. No!’ he screamed, falling to his knees. Knowing in that moment that if Georges died, he’d never be able to forgive himself for what he’d done. He started hurriedly brushing away the snow to see through the ice. Still only blackness: too dark to see through! He waved to the helicopter to bring the search-light in closer.
Colleagues would pat him on the back, console him that he’d done his best. But all the time he’d know the dark truth; know that if it wasn’t for his obsession, this would never have happened. He might as well have pushed Georges under with his own hands!
He clawed desperately at the snow, his hands red-raw and numb. ‘Can’t end like this… can’t — ’ And suddenly he thought he saw something, a couple of feet to his right. He clawed away more snow, shrinking back slightly in shock as it finally became clear: Georges’ face only inches beneath the ice, ghostly in the search-light beam.
Michel let out a gasp of relief. Though he wondered whether he was already too late: Georges had probably been under almost two minutes. He banged on the ice, but it didn’t break. He tried again, but still it didn’t budge.
‘Oh, Jesus, no… No!’ Salt tears stung his eyes as he realized he couldn’t get to Georges. Getting so close but still not able to save him! Having to watch from only inches away as Georges drowned before his eyes: maybe that was his punishment!
And he noticed something else then: Georges’ body was shifting beneath the ice with a slight current. He tried another smash with his fist with no luck, then he had to clear more snow to see Georges clearly again.
Three more strikes in rapid succession, Michel grunting and screaming with each, putting all his strength into it. And with the last with still no ice-break, Michel felt the last of his strength go with it, was about to roll over onto his back and give up, give one last cry of frustration and — then suddenly he remembered the sniper’s bullets.
Michel took out his gun, measuring. He’d have to be careful with Georges’ body shifting with the current. A few inches out and he’d hit him. But no time to clear away more snow!
He fired once, twice, just ahead of where he thought Georges would be. A crack appeared, and he fired a third shot to break the block free.
He scrambled down, reaching into the icy water. Nothing, nothing! He was frantic. Try another shot or clear some snow to see where Georges was? He started to clear with his other hand — a glimpse of something, though not very clear, and a second later Georges’ body connected. He grappled on and yanked up hard, pulling Georges’ head and shoulders above the water. A quick breath, and then he yanked again, putting all his weight into it until he had most of Georges’ body solidly on the ice.
His breath vapour billowed hard in the freezing air as he leant over to resuscitate Georges — but at that moment he could see the ice-block they were on cracking with the weight. He had to desperately grapple and slide the body again, this time almost a full two yards — before collapsing in a heap at Georges’ side, exhausted, as only a foot away the ice-block gave way.
He was almost too out of breath to give mouth-to-mouth, he had to furiously pull in every breath he gave out, muttering repeatedly ‘Don’t die on me now… Don’t die on me!’ as he intermittently lifted off and pressed against Georges’ stomach.
And as the first coughs and splutters finally came from Georges’ mouth, Michel rolled onto his back and let out a great whooping victory cry towards the night sky and the swaying beam of the helicopter above.
EPILOGUE
July 8 th, Montreal, Canada.
Jean-Paul slowly surveyed the large reception room from the head table. The only one standing among the almost two hundred wedding guests.
‘It’s good to see the whole family together. Old friends, some that I haven’t seen for a while.’ His gaze fell on Art Giacomelli, who puffed on his cigar and nodded in recognition. ‘And new found friends.’ Jean-Paul briefly acknowledged Michel Chenouda at the far table, then looked more pointedly towards Elena Waldren only a few places away at the head table.
The reception was in the Hotel de Ville, a spreading colonial style 5-star dating from the 1860s overlooking Place Jaques Cartier. The six-course dinner was finished, the telegrams read, and the only background sounds to Jean-Paul’s speech were the unwrapping of truffles and petit-fours, the hovering waiters replenishing brandy and liqueur glasses, and the gentle puff of cigar smoke sent twirling around rococo columns towards the high ceiling.
Jean-Paul spoke about his joy at Simone’s birth, his eyes cast down for a second in memory of her mother, Clair, and Stephanie, whom she’d treated as a mother. Then he quickly lightened again with a few anecdotes from Simone’s childhood and early teens before getting to the subject of Georges.
‘…I’ve trusted him with my business affairs these past few years, and now my daughter. I’m not sure which I should be more worried about.’
Murmur of laughter from the guests. Jean-Paul held one hand up slightly, changing the mood again. ‘But not to make light of Georges’ help. What we’ve tried to achieve these past few years hasn’t been easy — some said all along that it was impossible. And during that transition, there’s been some changes and transitions too in the family, some of them painful. There was the loss of my brother…’ Jean-Paul left a significant pause. ‘Pascal. My father. And there’s been some other close calls too…’
As he looked towards Georges and Simone, Simone’s eyes watered. He could have meant Georges’ near death, or the fear of losing her that he’d told her about soon after. The ambiguity wasn’t lost on her either of the way he’d mentioned his brother, Pascal. He’d vowed that he’d never mention Roman’s name again, but to those not in the know he might have meant his brother Roman with Pascal mentioned separately.
‘…No, my friends. That transition has at times not been easy.’ Jean-Paul pursed his lips tight and looked down for a second before looking up again to pick out Giacomelli and Chenouda. ‘But hopefully we got there in the end.’
Michel solemnly nodded his accord. Not been easy. The understatement no doubt to pay homage without too heavily shadowing the day.
Their entire RCMP game-plan had changed in the aftermath of Roman’s death, Michel reflected. Frank Massenat had turned Crown’s evidence and spilt everything he knew about Roman’s side game with Gianni Cacchione, and they’d also found out who was their internal leak: Guy Campion, now facing three to five for corruption. Michel was relieved that it wasn’t anyone in his own department.
Massenat would get a lighter sentence, even though what he’d passed on probably wouldn’t be enough to successfully prosecute Cacchione. But apparently, Art Giacomelli had spoken at length with Carlos Medeiros. Now that Medeiros knew that Cacchione had been duping him the past three years, bets were being made that Cacchione wouldn’t last the year.
Strange, after all these years of pursuit of the Lacailles, Michel had felt a sense of gratification when he’d finally closed the investigation against Jean-Paul Lacaille. In a last meeting, Pelletier and Maitland had piped up about a few minor infractions that Jean-Paul could probably still be nailed over, but Michel was quick to remind them that if it wasn’t for that last-minute call from Jean-Paul, they’d have lost their main witness anyway. And with the final rub of salt in Maitland’s wounds about the damage caused by his boy Campion, the issue was closed.