“Good eye. You always were a sharp one, Nick.”
I start typing again. Do we know anything about them yet?
“I dunno. They’re both being treated for the gunshot wounds I gave ’em. I guess no one’s been able to interrogate them yet. Anyways, I came to say goodbye. I’ve gotta go and start all the paperwork that goes with the discharge of a weapon.” He shrugs. “Paperwork, eh?”
I type, Thanks again Carl. I owe you my life.
He grins, pats me on the shoulder and trudges off.
As I relax back onto my pillow, I remember that just before the orderly came to take me to a new ward, I got a text. I open the Messages app and read it.
I look at the time of the message and the time on my phone.
Holy—
A real uneasy feeling sweeps over me. I don’t care what the doctor said about not talking. I dial the once-familiar number and pray that he’ll be there.
48
Cal
Again I do the math. Jen picked me up at the Holiday Inn at around ten. It took us about fifteen minutes to get here. Ten minutes for the Special Ops guys to tie us up. We waited about fifteen minutes for the nurse to show up with Tina and the guy with the grey, wavy hair showed up about fifteen minutes after that. He was here for ten minutes then it took them about an hour to set up the bomb. That means they left here at about five past twelve.
The bomb is set for twelve-thirty.
How much of the twenty-five minutes are gone?
At first, I thought it was too melodramatic that he left us here to die in the bomb blast. Why not just put three silenced rounds into our heads? Then, I remembered Harvey Clegg. Bullets survive a fire and so they would probably survive a bomb blast too. They might raise too many questions; they might even be traceable. This close to the bomb, there will be no trace of us, the ropes, the duct tape, not even the chairs. The man with the grey, wavy hair has got to be a certifiable psychopath, he’s probably savouring the torment he’s putting us through.
I suppose I should, I don’t know… compose myself for death. My final case did not turn out so well did it? I think of Ellie. I wonder if her plans to be a cop will change as she gets older. In a way I would like—
Beep-beep-beep. It came from the box that is set to trigger the explosion. Maybe an alarm. A five minute warning?
I roll my head to the right. Tina is looking straight at me. Tina, I am so sorry. I try to say it with my eyes.
BANG-BANG-BANG. “Police! Open up!”
“Mmmmmmmgh!” We all three try to shout behind our gags. I hear a noise to my left. Jen is writhing up and down and feebly banging her chair on the ground, I follow suit and I hear Tina do the same.
“Open up right now!”
We bang and moan in unison.
Five long seconds and the door comes crashing off its hinges. Two armed officers in ERT gear step inside and sweeps the room with their weapons. They take in the scene. “Clear,” one shouts. A third officer enters. He has the air of command. He takes one look at the boxes. “Dyson!” he shouts to someone outside. “Call the bomb squad. Fast.”
The first two officers make their way past the boxes and enter the office behind us. I hear shouts of, “Clear!”
The senior member calls in some more men. “Untie those people,” he says. “Gags first.” They come over and the first one pulls my chair upright. He picks at the edge of the duct tape then pulls it off. The last layer pulls out a whole bunch of hair at the back of my head. He pulls the cloth gag out of my mouth. The senior officer is picking his way through the boxes to the trigger device.
“It’s set to go off at twelve-thirty,” I shout.
He looks down at the side of the box that I can’t see. Then he crouches down. “Four minutes, seven seconds,” he says.
Four minutes! There’s no way we can clear the building in four minutes. But we can’t just run and leave everyone to be blown up. “Untie my colleagues so at least they can get out!” I say to him. He ignores me, just reaches forward. I hear a click.
He looks at me and smiles grimly. “Unlike on TV,” he says. “they always have an on-off switch.”
We are in the street outside the Victoria Building, waiting for the bomb squad to show up. People are streaming out, many of them visibly and audibly annoyed at being evacuated during their lunch hour. Tina and I each have an arm around the other, listening to Jen talking with the Inspector.
“What I don’t understand,” he says, “is why you called the Ottawa Police Service and not the Mounties.”
“I didn’t. When you guys showed up, I was as surprised as I was relieved.”
“That was me,” I say, “indirectly, anyway.”
They turn towards me.
“When you told me, Jen, that your boss wanted—”
“Cal! Don’t say any more.” She turns to the Inspector. “I’m sorry about that, but this is a national-security issue.” He nods. “Just report it up your chain of command.” He nods again. “I have to go to discuss it with my superiors.”
“OK. Will do.” He nods at Tina and me and heads towards his police cruiser.
“Let’s go,” Jen says and we head down the street to her car. “Sorry to have to cut you off there Cal, I’ll tell you why in a minute. But I’ve got to know why the police showed up.”
“When we were in your car coming here, I kept chewing over in my mind that your boss told you to get me involved in helping you. It made no sense. No police department asks for civilian help in operations and I couldn’t believe that CSIS would either. I just couldn’t leave it alone. I thought you were leading me into a trap. So when we were walking from your car, I texted Tina and told her to get out of the hotel a.s.a.p. and then I texted Stammo. I told him that if I didn’t text back in twenty minutes he had to get our former colleague in the VPD to contact the Ottawa police and get them to have an Emergency Response Team storm the place. It all took a little longer than I was expecting. When that box started beeping, I worried that maybe Stammo thought I was being melodramatic and had ignored the text.”
We get to her car and climb inside. “Why the Ottawa police?” Jen asks.
“Well your boss had said that there was a senior RCMP officer in this cabal, so I didn’t want Stammo to get the Mounties in on it, in case he did something to delay the ERT.”
She pulls away from the curb. “The man who interrogated you Cal,” she says.
I finish her sentence. “…was your boss at CSIS.”
“How did you know that?” Tina asks.
“At first, I suspected Jen was leading me into a trap, but when they tied her up with us, that kind of exonerated her. So I knew when she told me that she hadn’t revealed our hotel to anyone, she was telling the truth. When that nurse brought you in, I worked out that Jen’s boss must have had her followed, discovered the hotel and sent someone to take you. Therefore, he was the one in the cabal.”
“You’re right on all counts,” Jen says.
“So what do we do now?” I ask.
“Markus told me that a senior RCMP officer was part of the cabal. If that were true, he would never have told me. I have to assume that no one in the Mounties is involved and it’s safe to take this to the Commissioner of the RCMP. If he’ll see me.”
It’s a good plan. “I can probably get you an appointment with the RCMP Commissioner,” I say. I can hear the sound of sirens. More emergency response teams going to the scene, I guess.
“How the hell are you going to do that?” Jen asks.
“Larry Corliss is the Minister of Border Security and Organized Crime Reduction. I know him well; I’ve known him since he was Mayor of Vancouver. I helped with some problem he had in his election campaign. He must work with the RCMP on a daily basis and he probably feels he owes me one. He could get us an appointment with the Commissioner.”
I pull out my phone. I have Larry’s personal cell number. I press dial.
I check my watch. “It’s nearly one. Time’s running out.
Markus and the rest of the cabal will know the bombing didn’t happen. We have to move fast.” Larry’s phone is ringing.
The sirens are behind us and Jen pulls over to the curb to let the police cruisers pass. Except that they don’t. They screech to a halt beside us and in seconds, RCMP members, with firearms drawn, are surrounding us.
“Keep your hands in full view,” I say, putting mine against the window so that the armed officers can see them. Still training their weapons on us, three officers step forward and open the doors. Keeping our hands in view we get out of Jen’s car. The sergeant who opened my door, takes the phone from my hand.
As they start to cuff us, Jen asks, “What the hell’s going on here. I’m a CSIS intelligence officer. On whose authority are you arresting us?”
“Your boss, the Director of CSIS.”
Time just ran out.
I have been alone in a windowless room for ninety minutes. I know the routine: separate the suspects, let them sweat for a while, and then interrogate. They’ll probably go with Jen first but who knows. I hope Tina’s OK. She’s probably never been arrested before.
Why did Marcus have the RCMP pick us up? Why isn’t he worried that we’ll tell all? Is he so arrogant that he thinks we won’t be believed? Our stories will be identical; surely they must carry some weight. Is it a delaying tactic? Hold us long enough until he, General Matherson and any others can get out of the country. No. He’s an egomaniac; there’s no way he’s going to run for it. It just doesn’t make sense. Maybe it’s—
The door opens. Two RCMP members enter. The one in uniform has an unmistakeable air of authority. Reflexively, I stand. Old habits die hard. I look at his epaulettes: crossed swords and a crown. He’s a deputy commissioner. He reports to the Commissioner; there are only six deputies in the force; why is one of them here to see me?
“Please sit down,” he says. It sounds like a polite request not an order.
We all three sit.
“On instructions from the Director of CSIS, we have been told that, as a matter of national security, we are not to interrogate you.” His voice tells me that he is not happy with these orders. “He has asked that we hold you in complete isolation until such time as you are transferred to a different facility.” The word facility conjures up images of a 'black site’. I can feel an unpleasant reaction in my gut. “Accordingly, you are not to discuss with anyone here anything about what you may believe to be the reasons for your arrest.”
I see a tiny sliver of light. “Might I ask why you’re here then sir?” I ask.
“When you were arrested, one of our sergeants confiscated your phone.” The sliver of light becomes a thin beam. “As is normal procedure, we ascertained that it was connected. The sergeant saw that the party being called was Minister Corliss. He spoke with the Minister and subsequently the Minister contacted the Commissioner. Although we are unable to speak with you about anything relating to your arrest, the Minister insisted that he talk with you.”
His colleague hands me a phone.
“You can make just one call with this phone. My colleague here will be watching you on camera, although he won’t be able to hear what you’re saying. When the call is over, he’ll come in and retrieve the phone.”
They stand and leave. I tap the phone. No password. It is open in the 'Contacts’ app. There is just one name on the list.
I tap it.
The plain-clothes officer enters, takes the phone and puts it in his pocket. “Come with me please sir,” he says. This is not a request. I follow him down a corridor into a larger, equally-windowless room. Jen and Tina are both handcuffed. I look at Tina and smile. She doesn’t look in the least worried, just defiant, but Jen looks less than happy. The Deputy Commissioner is also there and he is not happy one bit.
One of the five military policemen in the room, a Sergeant, approaches me with handcuffs. I hold out my wrists. “Behind the back please.” I do as he says. I feel the cuffs click closed. This is too quick. Larry Corliss won’t have time to do anything for us. Even if he believes everything I told him, it will still take him time to react and set any wheels in motion.
The MP Captain, Laurent according to his name badge, salutes the Deputy. “Thank you, sir.” His voice carries a slight québécois accent. The salute is returned in silence.
We are walked out into another corridor then into an elevator which takes us to a carpark. There are two Suburbans, in camo colours, engines idling. We are bundled into the backseat of one of them, with me in the middle. I smile reassuringly at Tina. She smiles back but now I can see worry in her face.
We leave the RCMP building and already the cuffs behind my back are cutting into my wrists. In minutes we’re on a highway. One that I used last night. This is the way to General Matherson’s house. Good. If all goes well, we will be at his house when they come to arrest him. If they come to arrest him.
But within fifteen minutes, we are driving through the gates, not of the General’s house, but of CFB Uplands and we’re heading towards a sleek, black Challenger jet sitting on the runway, engines whining idly; the number 616 is painted in white on it’s nose. It’s the one in the poster on Captain McCaffery’s wall. Beside it is a sleek, black Jaguar, Lieutenant-General Matherson’s. He is standing beside it in uniform. We are going to be taken somewhere. We are the pawns that the cabal needs to take off the board. If we get into that jet we’re dead meat.
We pull up beside the Jag and the MP Captain jumps out and snaps a smart salute at the General. The General talks to him for a moment. He turns and signals his colleague, who gets out of the front seat and opens the rear passenger door on Tina’s side. “Please get out of the vehicle,” he says.
Tina starts to wriggle around in the seat. “No!” I say. “Stay where you are, Tina. Don’t do anything they tell you.” She wriggles back.
“Get out of the vehicle,” the Sergeant repeats.
“No,” Tina and I say in unison.
The sergeant turns to his captain, who waves to his men in the other Suburban.
They get out. “Take those people out and load them on the plane,” he tells them.
“Just resist,” I say to Tina and Jen.
“Resistance is futile,” says Jen.
“No way. Every minute of freedom is worth it,” I say. “They’re not the Borg, for God’s sake.”
The sergeant and a corporal grab Tina but she brings her knees up and pushes her feet against the back of the seat in front of her, jamming herself in place. “Good idea,” I say. I lift up my legs and push them between the front seats. I look at Jen; she too has followed Tina’s lead. It takes two minutes of swearing and struggle but they manage to get Jen and Tina out. One MP holds their arms and three come to get me.
Despite the pain it causes to my wrists, I slide my bottom forward until I’m on my back, with my feet on the front console. I make my body as stiff as a board. It takes them a long time, and a crippling punch to my solar plexus, before they get me out of the vehicle. I’m praying that resistance isn’t futile. I struggle furiously, hoping to keep my captors busy, and yell, “Tina, Jen, RUN.”
They both pull away from the corporal who is holding them and Tina breaks free. Despite having her hands handcuffed behind her, she is running like the wind towards the gates through which we entered. One of the men holding me lets go and runs after her. It’s no competition; he reaches her and with a push sends her sprawling. None too gently, he pulls her to her feet and drags her back.
Now for the next step.
“Captain!” I say, putting as much authority into my voice as I can muster. “It’s Lieutenant-General Matherson whom you need to arrest. He is a traitor who has profited from illegal arms sales—ˮ
“SILENCE HIM,” Matherson roars.
“—and he’s responsible for the terr— Oooof.” The second punch to my solar plexus doubles me over and makes me fight for breath. Through the pain raging in my gut, I hear Tina’s voice.
“General Matherson and
Markus Heath, the Director of CSIS are also responsible for the terrorist bombing two weeks ago.”
“This is preposterous,” Matherson laughs. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a ridiculous conspiracy theory.” I realize how ludicrous our accusations must sound to the MPs holding us captive. “It’s these three who are the traitors. I’m here to see that they are transported to CFB…” His voice trails off and over the sound of my laboured breathing, I hear sirens.
I force my body upright and look toward the sound. At the gate, another MP vehicle and an RCMP cruiser, with lights flashing, are pulling up to the barrier.
“Captain,” Matherson shouts. “Take the prisoners and bring them on board this plane, right now.”
“Captain,” Jen says calmly. “I’m a CSIS intelligence officer. I think you know that. Wait until those vehicles get here.”
“CAPTAIN! This is a direct order. Take your prisoners on board NOW!”
The MPs start to push us towards the steps leading up to the Challenger’s cabin.
The captain looks from Jen to Matherson and back, indecision writ large on his face.
“I think you know the right thing to do here, Captain Laurent,” Jen says.
He looks at her and gives an almost imperceptible nod. “Stand down,” he orders his men.
“I’ll have you court marshalled for this,” Matherson spits out. He turns and marches up the steps into the waiting jet.
I look back towards the gate. Both vehicles are speeding along the tarmac towards us but before they can get here, the Challenger’s steps fold up and the door closes. The engine whine grows to an unbearable scream, drowning out the noise of the sirens. The aircraft inches forward then rapidly gains speed, when it is a hundred metres from us the cruiser and the MP Suburban flash past us. They just pull up level with the jet and I see gold-beribboned, uniformed arms appear out of the windows and wave at the pilot, but the pilot ignores them and the aircraft outstrips them.
Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 4, 5 & 6 (Box Set) Page 48
