“Okay,” said Brandeis. Is the body ready for transport?” There was a muffled yes from someone outside.
“Good. Let’s get the body to the ME. Can we get him out of bed?
“Her,” said Kennedy. “And yes.”
Sullivan’s phone buzzed in Brandeis’ hand. He tried to open it, but it was password protected. He walked the phone over to Sullivan.
“What’s the password?”
Sullivan lapsed into sullen silence and kept his eyes down.
“Look at me, asshole. We can do this the hard way.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Cooperation is always appreciated, particularly if it’s fruitful.” Brandeis tapped the phone with his finger impatiently. Sullivan’s eyes went to the porch, where a pool of blood had congealed in the cold.
“Does that appreciation extend to keeping me alive?”
“You’re talking about Batlan.”
“Your protection for him didn’t amount to much.”
“Someone on your side wanted him dead. I can promise you protective custody for the duration. I will personally guarantee your safety.”
“Forgive me if that doesn’t ease my mind.”
“Your options are limited, Mr. Sullivan. You will be doing time, one way or the other. Might as well hedge your bets.” Sullivan shifted on the couch. The ERT had slapped the plastic bracelets on tight and he was obviously uncomfortable.
“Do you think you could take the cuffs off? I’m not going anywhere.”
“No,” said Brandeis. He waited.
“007lives,” he said quietly.
Brandeis plugged in the code and pulled up the latest messages. There were two unread; both were from an individual named geniy. The first one read:
I haven’t heard from the drivers. Why the fuck not?
The second one, recently sent:
Have you found the fucking cop?
Why the fuck are you not answering?
“We’re ready to go Inspector.”
“Give me a minute.” Brandeis turned to Sullivan.
“Geniy is Kirigin?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Is Eric Severall with him?”
Sullivan looked at him in surprise. “I assume so.”
“He wants to know why he hasn’t heard from the drivers.”
“He’s a control freak. He knows they’ll text him when they arrive. He made the fucking arrangements! Two guys that drove for MacLeish. I heard him tell Eric that MacLeish always brought them to town well before they were needed, so they should be arriving sometime Saturday,” said Sullivan.
“What do I answer?”
“They won’t contact him till they’re in the area.” Brandeis typed that in.
“What kind of vehicles?”
“Flatbed trucks.”
“Empty?” Sullivan eyed Brandeis speculatively.
“They usually carry a few empty containers.”
“To transport people?”
Sullivan nodded. “Sometimes. Sometimes they load the containers right off the ship.”
“He’s asking where the fucking cop is. That would be Sergeant Desocarras?” Sullivan nodded. Brandeis quickly typed in a short message. “And he wants to know why it took you so long getting back to him,” said Brandeis with a smile.
Sullivan looked at him sullenly. “Tell him I was in the can,” he mumbled.
“That works.” Brandeis finished the message and sent it. He was pocketing the phone when Kumari called out to him.
“Sir. There’s a program monitoring this computer! I’ll have to set up something to spoof its location before we move it. And I need to check Sullivan’s phone for a tracker!”
“There’s no tracker on my phone,” said Sullivan dismissively. “Or my computer.”
Brandeis ignored him and walked the phone to her. She examined it.
“It’s being tracked but I can redirect the signal.”
“No way it’s being tracked!” said Sullivan, genuinely surprised. “The fucking bastard!”
“Can you do that from here?” said Brandeis.
“Yes. I’ll need a few minutes.”
Brandeis nodded. “Travel with Desocarras when you’re done.” She got to work.
Brandeis called Kwan over. We’ll transport Sullivan in your van. I’m coming with you.”
“Don’t I get a jacket? It’s freaking cold out there and I’m just about freezing, sitting here with the door wide open.”
“Get the man’s jacket. We don’t want him to die of exposure before we question him.”
Back at the lodge, Kennedy and several others sorted through the papers in Sullivan’s briefcase. Alex and Kumari arrived with one of the ERT teams about twenty minutes later. They found Brandeis in the kitchen. She handed him Sullivan’s phone.
“All good now, sir.”
“Thank you, Kumari.” He turned to Alex. “We’ve got Sullivan in a den off the main entrance. I read him his rights in the van. I’ve been waiting until you got here to interview him.” Brandeis headed for the den. Everyone grabbed coffee and followed him. He was waiting at the door, SAT phone in hand.
“Another message, Alex. Kirigin wants you dead, with pictures.”
“I’m starting to get the idea he doesn’t like me much.” Alex followed Brandeis into the den and shut the door.
There was a desk of sorts. Sullivan sat on the side furthest from the door. Alex set his coffee down and took off the plastic cuffs. Sullivan made a big show of rubbing his sore wrists. Brandeis had Sullivan’s phone open and was thumbing through the contacts.
Ray had set up, off to one side. There was the sound of clicking keys, then he nodded to Brandeis to begin.
“Today is Saturday, January 6, the time is 1:10 am.” He added the names of those present. “Please state your full name for the record.”
“What about my deal? Shouldn’t we be talking about that first?”
“Mr. Sullivan, you don’t have any bargaining power,” said Brandeis. “You’re a possible accessory to the murder of Ange Batlan.”
“I had nothing to do with that!” yelled Sullivan.
Brandeis ignored him and continued. “As well as two charges of attempted murder, planting an explosive device. And you’re an accessory to human trafficking.”
“I didn’t want to be involved with any of it. Kirigin made me participate. He threatened to kill me!”
Brandeis nodded. “State your full name and date of birth for the record.”
“Brian Harold Sullivan, August 15, 1974.”
“You reside at Rural Road #6, Ralston Lake Road, Lone Butte, BC.”
“Yes,” he mumbled.
“How long have you been at that address?”
“I purchased the property six years ago.”
“Who is your employer?”
“I’m the general manager of the Winston Creek Mining Company.”
“How did you meet Ange Batlan?”
“Ange and I are… were, business associates; we met about three years ago. His company, Northfor Tech, and mine have partnered in a number of mining operations.”
“Where?”
“Here in Canada, and in Brazil, and a few African countries.”
“When did you first meet Kirigin?”
“Ange introduced him to me about two years ago.”
“When were you first aware that Kirigin and Batlan’s crew were trafficking people?”
“Batlan made me aware, shortly after we were introduced.”
Brandeis was doing the questioning, but Sullivan’s gaze kept shifting to Alex.
“You were brought into the operation?”
“Yes. But I didn’t sign on for murder!” Sullivan erupted. “He killed Ange himself. A message to the rest of them to keep their mouths shut.”
“Who killed the police guardi
ng Batlan?”
“The guy you killed on my porch.” Sullivan turned fearful eyes on Alex, whose face had darkened with rage. Sullivan looked helplessly to Brandeis for support.
Brandeis ignored him. He was watching Alex.
“Sergeant, do you need to take a moment?”
Alex ignored him. He planted his hands on the table and leaned in.
“Who wired my house?”
Kirigin planted the DVD drive and the bugs. It was all him.” Brandeis jumped in; Alex forgotten momentarily. “When did he plant them?”
“When the sergeant and his wife were on holiday.”
Alex was on his feet now, leaning across the table. Fists clenched. Knuckles white. Sullivan, glued to the back of his seat, cowered in fear.
“You got too close!”
“What was the plan?”
“The hire was supposed to kill you both – in bed – your wife first, so you’d have to watch. Then Kirigin would detonate the bomb.”
“Desocarras,” said Brandeis, but Alex didn’t hear him. A deafening roar filled his ears and his face was crimson with anger.
“Sergeant! Sergeant Desocarras! Alex!” Brandeis finally shouted.
Sullivan looked like he was going to pee himself. Instinctively, one hand went to his crotch.
Brandeis watched closely as Alex pulled back slowly, struggled for control, and finally sat down. He leaned back and brought his clenched fists down onto his lap.
“Alex, you need to leave the room.”
Alex looked at Brandeis. His eyes moved to Sullivan as he slowly flexed his fingers, rested his hands briefly on his knees, then rose and left the room without a word. Brandeis turned back to Sullivan.
“That Indian was ready to kill me! You should have got him out of here right away.”
Brandeis shook his head, disgusted. “We’ll be returning to your part in the attempted murder of Sergeant Desocarras and his wife in much greater detail. “Let’s get back to the trafficking operation. What was your involvement?”
“Even after I agreed, my involvement has always been limited.”
“Limited. We’ll discuss your level of involvement later. Right now, tell me everything you know about Golden Harvest: where it will be docking next; what arrangements have been made with buyers and their names; where the people are to be moved and the names of the drivers involved in transporting the people.”
Sullivan looked at Brandeis in shock. “You know about the ship!”
“Allow me the pleasure of enlightening you. We know about the ships: Golden Harvest, Shanghai Sunset, and Red Dragon.”
“But that’s impossible!” he all but shouted. “I’m not taking the fall for this! Trafficking is one thing but selling people for… uh…”
“For what?” said Brandeis.
Sullivan didn’t answer. He hung his head.
“For what?” Brandeis repeated.
“I’m not answering any more questions,” he mumbled, barely audible.
Brandeis stood up and leaned over, placing both hands on Sullivan’s side of the table. Sullivan shrank in his chair. “Mr. Sullivan. Are some of those people slated to be organ donors?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“But you do know, don’t you? And this is your opportunity to do the right thing. Why was the Shanghai Sunset moored in English Bay for two days before she entered the port at Vancouver?”
“They never hurt anyone,” Sullivan whimpered. “They only got involved in organ harvesting this cycle.”
“How many people were transferred from the ship while it was moored in English Bay?”
“I heard there were eleven.”
“And those people are scheduled for organ removal?”
Sullivan nodded.
“Answer the question,” said Brandeis.
“Yes. They wouldn’t know ahead of time that they’re going to be operated on. All the ships carried some organ donors. They were transferred to the Shanghai Sunset outside Seattle.”
“What about the people who weren’t left behind in Vancouver?”
“They were taking the women to work camps; one, somewhere in Northern BC. The other camp is in Northern Alberta.”
“Back to the people who were taken off the ship in English Bay, where were they taken?”
“All I know is that there are two clinics. One is in Vancouver. I don’t know where the other one is. Back east, I think. I know they hire real doctors to do the operations.”
“That’s very reassuring,” said Brandeis. “Who was hired to transport the victims from the ship to the clinics?”
“Kirigin had trouble finding someone. Those people were supposed to come ashore in Seattle, but there was a problem with the Seattle arrangement, and Kirigin had to scramble. Vancouver was the second choice. He had the name of a doctor Batlan had used for something else. The driver’s first name is Henry.”
“A contact of Batlan’s,” said Brandeis, making a note. “We need the name and location of both clinics.”
“I don’t know, I told you! I really don’t know! Kirigin makes all the arrangements. I know he keeps an online record of everything. He’s quite obsessive. Fancies himself to be quite the computer whiz.”
That, thought Brandeis, may be why we found nothing on MacLeish’s computer. “Is Harvest making another port call before it heads to Rupert?”
“I’m not sure, but there was some talk about Alaska.”
“What was supposed to happen in Alaska?”
“Something unrelated. I’m not really sure.”
“Unrelated to dropping the women off in Rupert?
“I think so.”
“I take it you’re not one of the decision-makers,” said Brandeis.
“There’s only one decision-maker and that’s Severall. Although even Severall takes a back seat to Kirigin, at least as far as human cargo arrangements go.”
Brandeis got up and opened the door.
“I need an officer in here now,” he called out. One of the Vancouver ERT joined him in the den.
“Stay with Sullivan. Ray come with me. Bring the laptop.”
Ray followed Brandeis to the main room.
“I just got information that eleven of the trafficked victims were taken ashore at English Bay for organ harvesting. Someone named Henry was the organized transport to two clinics, one in Vancouver, one in the east, location unknown. We have no idea who is being brought where or for what operation. Ray, get what information we do have to Surrey and to the VPD. I hope we’re not too late. We don’t have a last name but the driver, name’s Henry, was a contact of Batlan’s and there could be a lead on his computer. Do we have the forensics report on his computer?”
“Not the final one,” said Kumari. “But we do have a list of email contacts. There are only a few last names. I’ve got the list here.” She pulled up Batlan’s email contacts and found a Henry. She opened another screen to contact the Surrey team.
“VPD might have some idea of where the clinic is,” said Alex. “Word on the street.”
“They might,” said Brandeis. “We can’t ignore the possibility that Sullivan might be wrong about the location. The clinic could be in North Vancouver or West Vancouver.”
“I’ve got some bad news,” said Stuart. “A storm is moving in up north. It is slated to hit the south coast of Alaska sometime tomorrow in the late morning. Prince Rupert won’t be far behind. The captain of Harvest won’t want to be out on the Hecate Strait during a bad winter storm. There’s a few areas that are downright dangerous.”
“Where’s the ship now?”
“It’s cleared Haida Gwaii and is a little north and west of,” said Stuart. “And the weather is on their side, at least for the moment. But they don’t have time to make a trip to Alaska and back to Rupert and not avoid the storm.”
“Rupert was supposed to be a drop-off point, according to the first coded message. It could still be where the t
rafficked victims are brought ashore,” said Brandeis. “Maybe that’s still the intention.”
“They might have added a pick-up in Alaska,” said Alex. “And now, with the storm, it’s a no go.”
“Sullivan wasn’t sure. The change in plan could refer to anything goddammit!” Brandeis was tired and irritable. “We have no friggin’ idea what!”
“Maybe the destination for some of the victims is the big LNG Plant going in near Dawson Creek. A lot of men there,” said Kumari quietly. “She looked up and met Stuart’s gaze. “Is there anyone at the Rupert detachment we can trust? Anyone at all?”
“I hear you Kumari. But there’s a risk if we pull them in ahead of time. We will have to wait till the last minute to do that; till we’re on the ground there,” said Brandeis. “In the meantime, I’ll head back in and squeeze Sullivan. See what else we can get.”
“Just a minute sir,” said Kumari, peering intently at her screen. “Surrey just sent me the email correspondence between Batlan and the driver, Henry. The last ten months worth. I’m printing it for you. Could you pass that print job back,” she called out to the guy nearest the printer. He waited for the print job and walked it back to Brandeis. He scanned the sheets quickly.
“That was copied to the VPD as well,” said Kumari. And they’re in communication with the officers working our end in Surrey.”
“They need to find the driver. Ray let’s go back in.”
Alex watched them leave, then headed for a washroom near the main entrance. It wasn’t in use. He entered and locked the door, pulled up Tor and checked the protonmail account. A new message had been posted.
p. g. george is logged into Killam’s email account from his home computer
Alex returned to the main room and sat down beside Kumari.
“Have you checked the Killam account lately? Stuart didn’t mention earlier if either of you had.”
“Not for a while.”
“It probably wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on it,” said Alex.
In the den, Sullivan was sullen. “Why is he here?” he said, indicating the ERT officer who continued to lounge against the wall. “I’m not a criminal.”
Brandeis remained silent for a full minute. Sullivan started to squirm.
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