Pipeline Killers: Bernadette Callahan. A female detective mystery with international suspense. (Book 2)

by Lyle Nicholson

  “We’re on it.” Winston said and hung up.

  Ten minutes later Winston and Valdes pulled up in their car. A black suburban and green pickup truck was behind them. Three more cars appeared from the other direction, and two Blackhawk helicopters appeared out of the low horizon.

  Sarah turned to Hensley. “Is this the attention you wanted, because you got it.”

  Hensley grabbed Sarah, and spun her around. “Tell your boss to approach, and slow, no gun in her hand.”

  Sarah gave the instruction into the phone, and Winston walked slowly toward them, her gun was left with Valdes, her hands raised in the air. “Now, this situation can end very quickly, Mr. Hensley, with you in our custody, and those little Bio Bugs in your trunk safely put away, or with a whole bunch of gunfire, and you leaving here in a body bag.”

  “Hey, I got your agent, and a gun pointed at her head. You’re going to tell one of those helicopters to take me, my little vials and this bitch out of here—you got that?”

  Winston stopped some five feet from Sarah and Hensley. “No, that’s not going to happen. The FBI doesn’t do travel arrangements for terrorist and felons. We have only one flight plan filed for you today, and that is to a jail cell. Now, what exactly would you like to do?”

  Hensley grabbed Sarah’s hair tighter, and placed his own face closer to her. “First tell your helicopters to back off, I don’t want those snipers up there with a clear shot.”

  “Okay, I can do that, now we’re making a little progress.” Winston spoke into her phone and both choppers veered and fell back. One went left and landed in the field, the other right and hovered over the highway two miles away. Winston could hear in her earpiece that the sniper had set up in the field as soon as the helicopter set down. His spotter was beside him. Hensley head was right beside Sarah’s. Winston cursed under her breath as the spotter called out, “No shot.”

  Hensley reached his hand with the cell phone toward Winston. “My people want to talk to you.”

  Sarah could feel Hensley shaking as Winston came forward to take the cell phone. The phone rang. The screen went to video. Winston held the phone out in front of her. “Whom am I talking with?”

  Three men in ski masks appeared on the screen on the phone. “You’re speaking with Commander Numero Uno, and his minions, Dos and Tres. We are here to inform you that you have been the victims of our carefully planned subterfuge for the past three months.”

  “Uh-huh,” Winston said. “Well, I’m always up for some good stories, so tell me what you boys have been up to.”

  Numero Uno could hardly contain himself. His smile evident under the ski mask, “You’ve been chasing Talbert Hensley all over the lower 48 with what you think is a cache of Bio Bugs, when in fact . . .” He paused for effect, and looked back at his compatriots . . . in fact we stole those bugs from Hensley at the ferry. Hensley is a decoy.”

  “That’s right, you shithead FBI agents, I been leading your dumb asses all over the USA, and my guys have been heading for the real target,” Hensley said. He was holding onto Sarah even tighter. “And, guess what? I got me some good FBI ass the whole time . . . isn’t that right, agent Collins?”

  Sarah’s face turned red. An angry red. There was no humiliation, only a sense that she would deal with this piece of shit holding the gun to her head.

  Winston shook her head. Her earphone would be feeding this information from the terrorists directly back to command central. All of the FBI brass would be finding out in seconds how screwed up this mission had become.

  “And, now, since you guys are the masterminds of all times, where exactly are you?” Winston asked the question just for the hell of it, she didn’t expect an answer.

  “Alaska.” Numero Uno panned the camera back, showing a long pipeline snaking down the mountains. The pipeline showed a large hole, where they’d made an opening at the top. The two other men were taking the vials out of their bags and pouring their contents into the pipe.

  He panned the camera back to himself. “In mere seconds Alaska’s lifeline to Prince William Sound will be gone. These bugs will eat their way right to the terminal, and maybe even take out an oil tanker. And my compatriots and I will disappear into the Alaska wilderness.”

  Winston could hear the earpiece crackling, “Good, we have the coordinates, we have birds in the air. ETA in two minutes.”

  Winston played for time, “Now, how can we be sure you’ve the right Bio Bugs, and something we didn’t just plant for Hensley to buy up in Canada. You know we’ve got our eyes and ears everywhere. We’ve been watching those kids up in Canada for some time. We had them infiltrated by the RCMP some time ago.” Winston was stalling, needed them to stay on the phone as the Air Force was screaming in from Elmendorf Air Force Base near Anchorage. The jets were honing in their phone’s GPS signal.

  “Ha, we know that’s bullshit . . . and matter of fact . . . right now, look at that the pipeline, it’s starting to disappear right before our eyes. We’re streaming this live to YouTube to show the world what our organization can do.” The camera phone panned down the valley, as the pipeline was rapidly coming apart, oil gushing out as its conduit was disappearing.

  Winston heard the jets over the phone even before the terrorist did, she only heard a, “What the fuck?” followed by large caliber machine gun fire and explosions. The Air Force had learned from the Russian experience. They had been told to blow up any pipeline infected with the bugs far enough down the line to stop them. The terrorists were fair game. Dead was fine, they didn’t have to worry about tracking them in the wilderness.

  Winston handed the phone back to Hensley, “Well, your friends have just been terminated compliments of the US Air Force. I think they found out to late how fast we could track the coordinates on a phone call. Now; you have the choice of meeting their fate, or coming quietly to live a long life as a guest of the Federal Government.”

  Sarah felt Hensley shake even harder. He started swearing at Winston when Sarah took her chance. He had relaxed his grip on her to take back the phone, and it was all she needed. She grabbed his gun arm with one hand and pointed it upwards. The gun went off.

  Before Hensley could pull the trigger again, she pounded his ribs with her elbow. The sound of a large volume of air expelled forcefully from his lungs was satisfying. She whipped around and threw a knee into his groin. Hensley was down, but he held onto the gun.

  He was about to raise it when a shot rang out. His head bounced back into the earth. Standing beside Sarah with his gun smoking was Valdes. He raised his gun, and put another round through Hensley’s heart.

  Winston placed her hand on Valdes’ gun hand. “Okay, he’s dead enough already. I got to file reports for all the ammo you put in that guy.”

  Valdes looked at Sarah. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess he’s dead enough.”

  Sarah watched as Hensley’s body was zipped into a body bag. No county Medical Examiner was called. This was federal business. His body would be transported by helicopter to the Air Force Base, and the FBI would take care of the paper work.

  Winston came over and stood beside her, “You alright?”

  “I’m trying to register a feeling . . . nothing’s coming to me,” Sarah said. She turned toward Winston. “I’ve been on this case with this guy for three months, sleeping with him, making like I was in love with him, to get to find out about his friends . . . and I find out this was a decoy.”

  “Hey, Sarah . . .” Winston placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “This undercover stuff is not cut and dried. Look, we did get them, but not in the way we thought we would.” Winston moved a little closer to Sarah. “Take some time off, maybe even take a vacation, and once we find another den of bad guys, I’ll get you back out here.”

  Sarah pushed herself away from the car, and faced Winston, “No, there won’t be a next time. Some people are cut out for this undercover stuff, but not me. I’m going back to Baltimore, there’s a job waiting for me with the Baltimore Police For
ce.”

  “ A uniform, you want to be back in uniform after being with the FBI?

  “Yeah, damn right I do.” Sarah took a square stance in front of Winston. “You know, in a police uniform, I know who I am, and who the bad guys are, at least I think I do.” Sarah took her car keys out, and started walking to her car.

  “What do I tell Section Chief Briscoe at Headquarters?” Winston yelled after her.

  Sarah stopped, put on her sunglasses and smiled. “Tell him, he can sleep with the enemy for his country, because this girl is done.”

  Sarah got in the car, and headed down the highway. The GPS in the car told her she had 31 hours of driving to get back home; she planned to have many telephone conversations with her boyfriend, Jonas, on the way. Perhaps he’d accept her marriage proposal by the time she hit the outskirts of Baltimore.

  20

  “You were right,” Anton said looking up from his laptop in his office.

  “I never get tired of hearing that—but right about what?” Bernadette asked. She was sitting across from Anton savoring her cup of gourmet coffee from the CSIS coffee room. Her latest coffee was a Peruvian. She had tried Costa Rican and Columbian, and once she tasted all of South America, she was thinking of trying the Ethiopian.

  “About the diversion at the ferry terminal with Talbert Hensley and the FBI Agent,” Anton scrolled down the report on his laptop. “Looks like the Ghost Shirt Eco Warriors took the real vials from Hensley’s car, and attacked a pipeline in Alaska.”

  Bernadette put her coffee down and sat up in her chair, “How much damage did they do?”

  “Not too much. The USA has been on high alert because no one knew where the other Ghost Shirt Warriors were. Their F-16’s made a large enough gap in the pipeline with one of their missiles that the Bio Bugs were stopped.”

  “And the Eco Warrior guys that planted the Bugs, where are they? Did they get them?” Bernadette asked leaning forward to look at his screen.

  Anton looked at the report. “Oh, they got them, heavy machine gun rounds from an F-16 can end anyone’s day. They decided they were a threat, took them out and that was that.”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that it’s over . . .”

  “Why not?”

  Bernadette sat back in her chair, took a sip of her coffee. “Because, the formula is out there, and until we find out how to turn it off or reduce the effects of the Bio Bugs, this thing could return to North America, only with someone more skilled at delivering the threat.”

  “You mean not broadcasting the attack on YouTube?” Anton said.

  “Yeah, that would be a start, but we don’t want the terrorists to know that,” Bernadette chuckled. “Thank God some of the people we deal with are not that bright.”

  “So, where to now?”

  “I’d say we head back to Victoria,” Bernadette said holding up her hand, “Now, I know you’re going to say that the Victoria police force and your CSIS agents went through everything that Goodman had and didn’t find anything.”

  “No, I wasn’t going to say they didn’t find anything—I was going to say they found nothing as in meno di niente which is less than nothing, or assolutamente niente, which is . . .”

  “Okay, I think I get the gist of that,” Bernadette said with a frown. “Enough already with the Italian lessons.”

  Anton smiled. “So, what are your thoughts?”

  “Simple, you and I are flying back to Victoria, and giving Goodman’s place another once-over, and this time we do a little creative thinking.”

  Anton turned from his computer. “You think my people don’t think creatively?

  “Oops . . .” Bernadette said. “Looks like I just stepped on some pretty big concepts of investigation from the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service.” She sat straight up in her chair, and looked at Anton. “What I’m saying is every investigator looks for something that someone may be hiding. What if that person knew that one-day we, or someone like us, would come looking for his connections to McAllen? What do you think he would do?”

  “Hide them deeper?” Anton shrugged.

  “Nope, hide them in plain sight. What you and I need to do is go to Victoria and look for what is obvious. And somewhere there, we’ll find Goodman’s link with Professor Alistair McAllen.”

  Anton got up and stretched, and grabbed his jacket off the chair. “Well, why not? There’s nothing here but a bunch of bosses who would like us to be at meetings, or fill out reports—let’s make tracks.”

  Bernadette and Anton made the 5 p.m. direct flight to Victoria with only minutes to spare. Anton always kept a travel bag in his car, and they picked up Bernadette’s on the way. They settled back in their seats for the one-hour flight.

  Bernadette noticed that Anton was getting extra attention from the good-looking airline attendant. “Is there any lady who is not susceptible to that charming smile of yours?”

  “Yes, indeed there is,” Anton said, his black eyebrows knitted into a serious frown. “My mother.”

  “Ah, the Italian mother, the careful guide and eternal observer of the Italian son,” Bernadette said with an equally serious look.

  Anton couldn’t hide his smirk, “What? You, Detective Bernadette Callahan, have some experience with Italian men and their mothers?”

  Bernadette shook her head, “No, mine is worse—a Greek man and his mother.”

  Anton patted Bernadette’s arm. “Oh my God, my heart goes out to you. An Italian mother wants her son to marry a virgin that will be a good cook, but not as good as her of course, and who will be a good mother, not as good as her of course, and will look after her son, but . . .”

  “But not as good as the mother of course,” Bernadette interjected.

  Anton smiled, “No, a daughter-in-law will never look after the son like the mother—it’s Italian tradition. Now as far a Greeks go, my understanding is you’re a Xenos, or stranger from the start and it doesn’t matter if you were a princess, you’d never be accepted.”

  “Ah, you’ve met my boyfriend’s mother.”

  Anton laughed. “No, a lot of mothers like her. I grew up in an Italian neighborhood in Toronto, and hung out with a bunch of Greek kids going to university.” Anton turned and looked at Bernadette. “I don’t mean to pry, but how is this going, this Greek guy and you. Is it serious?

  Bernadette nudged Anton’s shoulder. “Let’s just say, it’s one of those on again off again relationships, that’s cooled by the steely glare of the mother.”

  Anton smiled, and picked up his computer to look at recent reports he had downloaded before takeoff. The pretty airline attendant came by again to ask Anton if he needed anything—for the third time.

  Bernadette sat back in her seat, and pondered what she wanted to do about the good-looking Constable Chris on Galiano Island. There was no use in telling Anton the details. They were weekend lovers. A weekend at Banff Springs, a weekend in Victoria, and then there was the weekend in Toronto.

  The mother had smiled, served all manner of foods, and sprinkled the conversation with how many of the pretty young women (she meant much younger than Bernadette) were coming around to see if Christos, his mother would never call him Chris, was coming home soon.

  Bernadette had been cold before. She had nearly frozen on a lake one time chasing an escaping suspect on a snow machine. Her toes, fingers and face nearly frostbitten. But that episode with Chris’s Greek mother in the kitchen in Toronto was the coldest she’d ever been. She felt intense cold just thinking about it.

  They arrived in Victoria to an airport awash in tourists. Tourist buses were either boarding or disembarking passengers. Suitcases were piled high on the pavement, with tour guides holding signs aloft announcing their charter or tour. Anton and Bernadette threaded their way past the confusion and picked up a rental car.

  It took a full hour in late day traffic to get to Paul Goodman’s apartment. Matt Letourneau, the detective they’d met a few days before, was at the apartment to greet them. Ber
nadette saw as he walked up that the blue jeans were the same. So were the faded sports coat and the striped shirt. The tie was different; it had less mustard sauce on it than the last one.

  Anton shook Letourneau’s hand. “Hey detective, thanks for meeting us here, we know it’s late . . .”

  “By my standards it’s early. Remember, we detectives have no lives—we leave that for our ex-wives. We live our lives vicariously through them—on Facebook,” Letourneau said while smiling and shaking Anton’s hand. “Now, how can I help you?”

  Bernadette shook Letourneau’s hand; she instantly liked him. “We need to take another look at Goodman’s apartment, and we think he may have left an address or a clue to some other persons of interest in this case.”

  Letourneau took out a key for the door. “Well, you can look all over the place, but most everything was taken to the crime lab, books, notebooks, and then your lady CSIS agent—ah, I think her name was Samantha—she signed off on everything.” He shook his head as he turned the key in the door. “Sorry you had to come all this way—had I known in advance, I would have told you to save the trip.”

  The detective swung open the door to the small apartment, and switched on the light. A barren space with a kitchen table, two chairs, and a pullout sofa greeted them. The glow from a streetlight outside made the room look even more desolate. Three tall bookshelves were empty. A shelf where the television once stood had a lone TV cable outlet dangling as if looking for a connection.

  “See, I told you. We stripped this down to the bare walls. They went through the garbage, the recycle, even checked the unused toilet paper, and they came up a big zero,” Letourneau said.

  They stood back in the hallway. Bernadette stared at the peeling wallpaper and smelled the mustiness of the place for the first time. Then a door opened from the apartment across the hall. A little lady stepped out with her dog. Bernadette didn’t know who looked smaller, the lady or the dog.