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

by Lyle Nicholson

  She doubted herself for a moment, and then shook her head. There was no time to second guess or reevaluate the avenue she had chosen. That was her way. If she were wrong about something, she would do it differently next time. But the thought entered her head, “Would there be a next time after this?”

  She shook herself violently, toweled herself off, put on fresh underwear and a t-shirt and went over to the window. Large clouds floated overhead. They piled high into the sky, full of moisture that they would be dropping on the city in the morning. The moon made a fleeting appearance; it peeked from behind the clouds, and then disappeared.

  Bernadette got back into bed, pulled up her covers and watched a lone gecko inch its way across the ceiling. She smiled. “Hey, a least I got some company.” She turned over, and tried to sleep. Sleep never came.

  31

  At 5:45 a.m. Bernadette made her way to the hotel lobby. Anton met her and handed her a coffee he had found in the hotel kitchen. Her eyes stung from lack of sleep. The coffee with double sugar, double cream, peeled her eyes back. “Thanks Anton. Let’s get going before this place gets too busy.”

  “Copy that,” Anton said as he led the way to their car outside. “I told my roommate, Valdes, that we were running down some addresses in the suburbs.”

  “He bought that?” Bernadette asked getting into the car.

  Anton threw his jacket into the car’s back seat. “Hey, Valdes seems to have got some bug, you know that Montezuma revenge thing, and he was up all night. He didn’t look like he wanted much conversation this morning.”

  “Great, that’ll keep him occupied and out of our hair,” Bernadette said, settling back into her seat. The air outside was warm and humid. The heat in the car was making her drowsy. She shook her head, rolled down the window, and forced herself to focus. “I think it’s going to be a long day, Anton,” she said as they pulled away from the curb. “Who knew we’d be on a case to find a chemistry professor before he’s found by some Chechen Terrorists?”

  “You think they’re after McAllen and the formula, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely. This situation is getting stranger by the minute.”

  Anton swerved the car around a taxi. “You know I read this thing about Mark Twain saying that truth is stranger than fiction because fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities and truth isn’t. I wonder what Mark Twain would have to say about a bunch of Bio Bugs roaming the sea and eating ships?”

  Bernadette laughed, “Yeah, I think Gene Rodenberry may have even put this into one of his Star Trek episodes. Or at least had Captain Kirk do battle with some Chechens, which he may have called Klingons.”

  Anton looked over in amazement, “Since when have you become a Trekkie?”

  “Hey, this case has been so crazy that I figured anything to get me up to speed on what we were dealing with would be helpful. I’m up to Star Trek the Next Generation in my reading. I’m amazed at how much of what is in Star Trek is now part of everyday life.”

  “Like the nanites in the Bio Bugs we’re dealing with in the Mediterranean Sea?”

  “Yeah, exactly like that. Look, last year I was fighting McAllen as he tried to place some kind of a plastic expanding thing called polywater into the oilfields. This year, I’m trying to track him down for a Bio Bug that is wreaking havoc in pipelines and anything containing iron, plus attacking people,” Bernadette said.

  “So, what are you saying, you want to go back to chasing old-fashioned criminals, like crack heads and car thieves?”

  Bernadette winced as she said. “Hell, no! This is way too much fun.”

  They beat the heavy morning traffic, and made their way to the countryside by 7 a.m. The concrete of the city turned to sparse jungle, flat fields and rows of ramshackle houses, some painted in bright hues of color that dotted the landscape like someone had dropped Lego blocks from the sky.

  By 8 a.m., with only a few wrong turns and a few questions to locals, they entered the small fishing village of San Crisanto.

  Bernadette said, “My God, this place is small, even by the standards of small.”

  Anton stopped the car at an intersection with three shops that looked like they might constitute the town center. “Yeah, there’s not much here. You wonder why McAllen chose this place to hide out.”

  “I think we start by asking that guy who just opened his shop,” Bernadette pointed to a green metal awning that swung open. Two chairs and four tables sat beside the dusty road. A Corona Cerveza sign, bleached by the sun, promised this place might have food.

  “You think they might have seen McAllen?”

  Bernadette smiled, “Sure, that and I can see a pot of coffee brewing in the window.”

  “Always looking for your next coffee fix,” Anton said, climbing out of the car.

  “Hey, the army travels on its stomach, the police force travels on caffeine—didn’t you ever hear that?”

  Anton bought two coffees from the man in the shop. He produced a picture of McAllen and asked him in Spanish if he’d ever seen him. The man looked at the picture, looked at Anton, then out at the car with Bernadette in it. “No,” was his sharp answer. He disappeared into the back of the small shop.

  “I see that went over well,” Bernadette said, taking a coffee from Anton. She sniffed the coffee, took an exploratory taste, added another packet of sugar, and tried it again. She made a face on the second sip. “Man, they make some harsh coffee here.”

  “Hey, it’s caffeine. Now our little guy in there, I think he’s seen McAllen, and made us for cops.”

  “Which means, you think he’s in the back room calling everyone he knows in the village to tell them some strange Gringo cops are in town?” Bernadette asked.

  “That’s about right.” Anton put his sunglasses back on, took a sip of his coffee, and poured the rest into the street. A door opened a crack on the other side of the street. A face peered out, and went back in. The door slammed shut.

  “We’re getting nowhere here. McAllen is smart. I’d say he has a villa somewhere outside of town and sends his housekeeper in to pick up supplies,” Bernadette said.

  “I agree, let’s get started,” Anton said. He drove the car down the narrow street. In the rearview mirror, doors opened and shop owners stood to watch them drive away.

  “You know if you weren’t such a tall, dark and handsome . . .” Bernadette stopped as she said the last words. They sent a chill down the back of her neck.

  “A tall dark and handsome what?”

  “Ah, just that they made you for a cop right away . . .” Bernadette finished her coffee, and threw the empty cup into the back seat. Her Grandmother’s dream was there below the surface of her consciousness. “A tall, dark man will not be able to defend you in bright sunshine.” Bernadette put her sunglasses on and tried to shake the thoughts out of her head.

  “Any idea where I’m heading?” Anton asked as they left the small village and drove down the narrow highway beside the sea.

  Bernadette said, “Yeah, I’ve been looking at Google Earth and scanning several of the villas beside the ocean.” Her finger slid down the phone. “I’ve been looking for places that are somewhat removed from other villas with access to the sea. I’ve found fifteen that would be a good match for a hiding place.”

  Anton looked over at Bernadette and sighed, “Just fifteen?”

  “Hey, if this job was easy, everybody would want to do it.” Bernadette slid down her phone again. “Now, I do have another way of doing this.”

  “And that is?”

  “Call a friend.” Bernadette hit dial on her phone. “There is a real estate agent named on a bunch of these villas, a guy called O’Connell. I’m thinking a little local knowledge might help.”

  “Is this Mr. O’Connell?” Bernadette asked into the phone with a wink at Anton. “Yes, Mr. O’Connell, this is Bernadette Callahan, um yes, sorry for calling so early, but I’m driving out here in San Crisanto, Yucatan, and we’re looking for something rather large to ren
t on the ocean. You know, four to five bedrooms, with pool, that sort of thing. I don’t see anything that large listed from the signs I’m seeing out here.”

  Bernadette took a piece of paper and pen from the glove compartment, “I see, you only have the two and three-bedrooms available. Was there anything in that size that rented recently? We just wanted to perhaps view it from the road.” She threw in a giggle, “You know just to see what we missed, and perhaps book it for next year.”

  Bernadette started to write as the realtor spoke to her, “Uh-huh, that’s great. Now you’ll have to take my number down, and if something this size comes up, you make sure to call us, because we love this place and want to rent for six months next year.” Bernadette ended the call. “I just narrowed it down to three places.”

  “Why do you think McAllen would want such a big place?” Anton said.

  “Because he has his friends coming back from South America, just like the post card said. And he’s a creature of habit. The last time I tried to capture him, he was with his friends. I think he’s got some patterns we can follow, and this is one of them.”

  Anton shrugged. “Okay, I’ll go with anything right now, pattern, hunch, and a bit of blind luck thrown in.”

  The first place on the list took a half-hour to get to. The large villa could be seen through the white wrought iron gate from the road. A Mercedes SUV and three sports cars were parked in the driveway. A group of Mexican children played on the lawn.

  “I’d say a no to this one,” Bernadette said scratching it off the list.

  The next location was a half-hour in the other direction. They crossed back through the little village, and made their way past sparkling white villas and condos looking out to sea. The road narrowed until dense foliage began to brush both sides of the car.

  The road came to an end. White adobe walls hid the villa. A large blue gate, paint peeling in the sun was open on one side. Dusty tire tracks showed recent entry. They got out, and peered into the grounds. A blue Chevrolet Malibu was parked beside a red Jeep.

  “That’s the same car I saw the people who looked like Zara Mashhadov and Adlan Kataev in yesterday,” Bernadette said.

  “How can you be sure? There are a lot of blue rentals like that one in Mexico,” Anton said, trying to remain as inconspicuous as his tall frame would allow.

  “I remember the license plate.”

  “You remember the license plate from yesterday?”

  “Uh-huh, I used to memorize license plates while on highway patrol in northern Canada; it’s how I beat the boredom. That is the exact same plate as the car I saw them driving yesterday. I’m positive.”

  “Okay, if you’re right, we’re going into a very dangerous situation,” Anton pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling for backup, and we sit on this entrance until it arrives.”

  Bernadette pushed Anton back behind the gate, and placed her hand on his phone. “Look, Anton, if you call for backup, it will be at least an hour before they get here. Even if they scramble a helicopter—you know the drill. They have to go through all kinds of hoops with the Mexican military . . . and by then . . .” Bernadette pointed in the direction of the villa, “McAllen could be dead and only chance of finding the formula or a way to stop the Bio Bugs could be gone.” Bernadette took a breath, “You heard what the scientist said, it could be months before they find any kind of antidote to these things and McAllen was the next best thing to Goodman when it comes to knowing what Goodman was thinking when he made these things.”

  Anton put his cell phone back in his jeans, “Damn it, Bernadette, I hate it when you make sense.” He hit the trunk release and pulled out two side arms. He handed Bernadette a Glock .40 pistol, and put a Ruger ultra compact pistol in his pocket.

  Bernadette took the side arm Anton handed her. “Now how did you get hold of these? I was informed we Canadians were strictly observers, and not allowed firearms.”

  “Hey, I talked nice to the FBI liaison, and just like that we got some weapons on loan,” Anton said.

  “Okay, that doesn’t sound right . . . how did you really come by these?”

  Anton shrugged, “Well, I told you Valdes was sick all night, and he looked really bad this morning. I asked him if he wouldn’t mind if I used these today, and he mumbled something like . . . sure okay . . . and I took them.”

  “You mean you stole these from Valdes, my God, when he finds out he’ll kill you?”

  Anton looked almost hurt. “Stole is a harsh word, Bernadette. Let’s say borrowed for an indefinite period . . . and it’s not like I didn’t ask” He winked at Bernadette. “Looks like my Sicilian ancestry is showing—just a little.”

  Bernadette chuckled. “Yes, obviously the Sicilian blood is beating strong in your veins.” She checked the safety, and looked down the sight. “I thought guns scared the hell out of you.”

  “They still do. I was hoping we could wave these around, and get these Chechen terrorists to put their hands up. And I did give you the big one.”

  Bernadette shook her head. “God help us! Okay, stay close to me, and watch my hand signals. I think we can get close to the house without being seen.”

  Anton stayed behind Bernadette. They walked up the driveway and past the two cars. Bernadette did a quick check of the cars, and they moved on. One window looked down on the driveway. A curtain blew in the breeze.

  The main entrance was on the side. Four low windows rose above the sidewalk. They crouched and came up to the first window. Bernadette scanned the interior. “There’s no one there,” she whispered to Anton.

  Bernadette moved to the next window, scanned the interior and moved forward. Anton followed. The main entrance door was a large double wide with heavy metal hinges. Bernadette pulled her gun, motioned for Anton to watch her back and opened the door.

  The door swung open. The heavy hinges groaned in protest. Bernadette froze. They had just announced their presence to anyone in the house. She waited to hear footsteps. There were none.

  A wide stairway led to the upper floor. She motioned for Anton to follow her. She made her way up the stairs. Her heart sounded like a drum in her ears. Her breathing sounded like a bellows. She was sure anyone within two city blocks could hear it.

  The upper floor led to a series of hallways. They took the left and headed down it. Bernadette, her gun in front of her scanning for targets, expected to see someone jump out of a room and begin firing at any moment. There was nothing. Maybe they’d gone . . . escaped by boat. The thought crossed her mind.

  The hallway led to an outside balcony. The balcony led to a larger one. A two-story guesthouse was joined by a walkway. A series of windows looked onto the ocean. Bernadette motioned for Anton to stay, and give her cover. She made her way across the bridge and to the first window.

  Bernadette peered into the first window. A man was in a chair. Feet and hands tied. His head hung down. A small stream of blood dripped from his head, and pooled on the white tile floor.

  Bernadette felt pressure at her back. She turned to see Anton. She turned back to the window. She knew it must be McAllen in there. She whispered to Anton over her shoulder, “Look, I told you to stay back across the bridge to cover me.”

  The next sound Bernadette heard was a thud. She whirled around to see Adlan standing over Anton with a knife in his hand. Anton’s eyes rolled back in his head as he fell to the ground. A red stain appeared on his shirt.

  Bernadette’s hand came up with her gun. It never made it. Zara was at her side. A blunt object came down on her head. She dropped to the ground.

  Viktor paced back and forth outside the Suburban. Branislav leaned against the truck, blowing smoke rings into the humid air. Elena was in the back seat staring at her laptop.

  Viktor stopped at the window. “How long now?”

  Elena rolled her eyes, “It’s still two minutes to upload, just like I told you 10 seconds before, and just before that . . .”

  Viktor stomped away and threw a glance at Brani
slav, who shrugged and blew another smoke ring. There was nothing they could do until the GPS tracking device gave them an upload. It was at 1000 hours every day, and they were at 0958 and counting.

  Elena shouted out the window, “I have them.”

  Viktor ran back to the Suburban, pounding his hands on the hood, “Let’s go—let’s go—let’s go.”

  Branislav jumped into the driver’s seat, started the Suburban and they tore down the dusty highway. Elena shouted directions to him.

  Viktor pounded the dashboard, “We’ve got you—you bastard, Adlan, and I’ll have your whore Zara as well. Ha, this bullshit will be over, and I’ll have both these shitheads in Moscow by tomorrow. Ha.”

  “How far are we Elena?” Viktor said, looking back at her.

  “We are 20 kilometers.”

  “Good, good . . . Lev, get your weapons checked and ready . . . stay sharp.” Viktor yelled to Lev in the third row seat.

  Lev sat up straight and gave a thumbs up sign and a toothy grin to Viktor. No one had seen him pick up the bottle of Villa Lobos Platinum Vodka at the last store they were in. He’d stolen it. As he reached down to check his weapon, he took another gulp. Lev was getting himself ready in his own way.

  Sebastian glanced at his watch. They’d cast off at 0730, and he knew it should have been sooner. Getting the boat without the Mexican captain was the problem. He had to pay extra, a lot extra.

  He’d finally negotiated a 37-foot boat with a 5.7 liter inboard. He should have been cruising at 50 miles per hour. The engine was giving poor compression, and he was averaging 37. Sebastian was pissed. There was nothing he could do. They’d been cruising for 2 hours, and another 2 to go. It would have to do.

  Percy and Theo sat in the chairs on the deck. They’d slung some fishing rods to make them look like a bunch of gringos out for tarpon. They were cleaning the weapons they’d purchased in a tavern. Sebastian had given strict orders; don’t shoot any American FBI or Mexican police. They had enough of a price on their head for supposed sabotage of oilfields. He would not have murder added to it. Nothing was worth that.