Climate Killers: Book 3. Bernadette Callahan Detective Series

by Lyle Nicholson

  “Because we’re losers?”

  “No, Tina, it’s because we see the cause to be so much deeper than ourselves,” Mellissa told her.

  “I’ll give you a deeper cause. You, getting laid by your dreamboat, and you wouldn’t give a damn if the water was rising around your ankles,” Tina said.

  Mellissa heard Tina loud and clear, sighed silently and said nothing. She was totally right in her assessment.

  “Okay, I think we’ve got the plan here Mellissa,” Tina said. “We’ll get right on this and report everything we get. I’m sure between myself at Homeland, and Lisa at FBI Forensics, we can come up with something. These people always think they can hide their money trails but we always find them.”

  “Thanks, girls,” Mellissa said. “I’ll talk to you both soon.” She ended her call, finished her donut and walked out of the coffee shop. She smiled, not one of the young men arguing over the latest hockey game had heard a thing.

  Captain Rusanov did not like the message he’d received from Moscow. The sender was Anatoly Polzin who was the most sniveling money-grabbing bastard in the ministry of defense. Rusanov and every other sailor knew what the Russian Navy had been before the Soviet Union fell to those bastards in the Mafia. They were once a great super power, feared and respected by the Americans and the British. Now, they were always playing catch-up.

  They had too few ships in too few places. Rusanov’s submarine prowled around the Arctic Ocean. Yes, he could defeat any ships of the Canadians, Greenlanders or Danes, but he avoided the Americans at all cost. His Borei class Submarine was formidable, however, it was one of only three. There should have been many more on the way. The corruption in Russia meant every ship was over budget and built at a snail’s pace as tradesmen made sure they got their share of bribes before they did anything.

  Rusanov looked at his message again and called his second in command. “Yuri, look at this bullshit they want us to carry out.”

  Yuri scratched his day-old whiskers and adjusted his cap. “Is it the usual bullshit or something new?”

  “This is new, alright. They want us to go ashore at Ellesmere Island, steal any documents related to some river under the ocean and kidnap some Icelandic Professor named Sigurdsson.”

  “Really, how about a partridge in a pear tree? Did they ask for that as well?”

  “I don’t understand. What the hell does a partridge and a pear tree have to do—”

  “Never mind, it’s a silly English Christmas song. And how exactly are we to hide the fact that a Russian Submarine has landed on Canadian soil and done this?” Yuri asked.

  “We’re supposed to kill everyone and blame it on an Arab Terrorists.”

  “Ah… there you go… perfect Russian logic,” Yuri said. “Now, when are we supposed to do this silly and terrible thing?”

  “Right away. We need to sail there immediately. We can be there in ten hours,” Rusanov said.

  “And if we disobey? What can they do?”

  “This comes from Polzin, you know he’s connected to the Mafia. He’d have all our families killed then have us killed when we come back to Russia.”

  Yuri lowered his head. “You make one hell of a compelling argument for us turning into Arab Terrorists.”

  25

  Bernadette sat in the lobby of the luxury charter terminal in Montreal in a large leather chair staring out the window, sipping on a latte from the lounge. It was past midnight. The terminal would close soon. They needed to leave, find a hotel for the night and resume their travels in the morning. But there was a problem. The airplane they’d flown in on was not going to take them any further. The charter company did not want their luxury jet flying into the far north of Canada. The pilot had cold feet as well, which Bernadette thought was a good expression for where they were going. He’d never been that far north, and the thought of a severe winter storm leaving him stranded there was not appealing. The pilot, co-pilot and the flight attendant had left for a nearby Hilton Hotel two hours ago.

  McAllen had taken a taxi to pick up their arctic gear for their trip north. He seemed to take their situation in his stride. He’d said he’d find them a hotel on his return and Sebastian would find them another plane.

  Sebastian was in the corner on a phone in a high back executive chair in front of a mahogany desk trying to find another flight. A large black sculpture of a Walrus was behind him. Bernadette could see the back of Sebastian’s head in the Walrus’s belly in the darkness of the window in front of her. He was balding just above his man-bun.

  She wondered if they’d ever get to Ellesmere Island. But, did it matter anymore? From what she was seeing on the news, the oceans were pouring into New York, and London.

  Winston sat down beside her. “My god, you look sad. What the hell is on your mind?”

  “Sorry, I’ve been looking at the newscasts on my phone. It looks like people are running for high ground all over the world. There were more deaths from the heat in the American Midwest. I’m wondering if all of this is too late.”

  “You mean, we should all go home, put our heads in the sand and wait to see who survives?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. I’ve got this little cabin in Northern Canada. Maybe I could patch things up with my guy, and take him and my dog up there. We could hunt and fish and wait for the world to get its shit together.”

  “Then what?”

  Bernadette put her coffee cup down and stretched out her legs. “Yeah, then what…? That’s the problem.”

  “Look, you know you’re a do-gooder like me. It’s in our blood. We are lumped into all the great breed of first responders. Whether it’s the World Trade Centre attack or someone harassing an elderly couple. We jump in. Just can’t help ourselves.”

  “You mean that’s why we’re destined to go to the top of the world to try to find some crazy scientist for a way to cool the Earth?”

  “Yeah.” Winston winked at Bernadette. “It’s in your DNA, girl. You can’t stop once you’re on the hunt. You have to follow through and you know it.”

  “Aw, shit, and here I thought I had something called free will,” Bernadette said.

  “Never going to happen.” Winston said. “I think I’m going to find me one of those fancy coffees.” She got up, stretched and headed for the executive terminal kitchen.

  Bernadette checked her phone. There was a message from Chris. He was leaving Kandahar in a convoy. She tried to call him but there was no answer. His phone went to voice mail.

  She thought of a message she could leave. Something that would encapsulate the loneliness she felt without him. The turmoil she was in trying to make it work with him. She almost dialed again and stopped herself.

  Her phone rang, it was Anton, and with a sigh of relief she answered the phone. “What’s up, Anton? You have anything new for us?”

  “Yeah, Bernadette, two things, neither are great, but here they are,”

  “Let me have it. I never expect good things these days.”

  “Okay, first, I found the report from Bermuda. There are two dead males and two dead females found in the engine room.”

  “Any IDs yet?”

  “No, whoever killed them, started a fire. The bodies were unrecognizable. They’ll be doing dental records for ID and that takes time,” Anton said.

  “Great, I’ll have to tell McAllen that his friends might be dead, but we’re not sure. Always a comforting message,” Bernadette said. She rubbed her left temple. The thought of passing this message along was giving her a headache.

  “Sorry, that’s all I got for now. But there’s something you need to know that’s much worse.”

  Bernadette chuckled. “Great, I always love to know what’s worse than the situation we’re presently in.”

  “The FBI has declared Carla Winston a rogue agent. This Adam Morgan has been lighting up the phone channels here in Canada trying to have you listed as a rogue as well. You know what that means.”

  “Yep, other than bad for our pension p
lan, it means we are to be approached with extreme caution and apprehended,” Bernadette said.

  “I wish it was that simple. Morgan wants a shoot on sight order put out.”

  “What! No one in the FBI or the RCMP would agree to it,” Bernadette said.

  “Morgan claims he has emails from Winston saying she wants to destroy US targets, and she names you in the emails as her accomplice.”

  “Wow, Morgan can really make up some good shit. That’s kind of a classic, to have us branded as dangerous terrorists. I have to hand it to him, getting the FBI and RCMP as his hit squad is creative.”

  “There’s an alert in Canada that anyone who makes contact with you must report it immediately,” Anton said. He looked around him as he said it. He was in a shopping mall using a burner phone.

  “I think we must be onto something if Morgan wants us dead, don’t you think?” Bernadette asked.

  “Yes, I’d say so. Look I have to go. I’ve been getting some major heat from my boss asking me to give you up.”

  “Thanks, Anton. I know this is hard to keep getting us information. Anything on the connections of Sokolov?”

  “No, nothing yet, I’ve put some of my best people on it. I’ll call you when I get it.”

  “Great. Look, as we head into the far north, cell coverage can go from sketchy to non-existent. I’ll contact you when I can.”

  “Great, be careful, Bernadette.”

  “Sure, with all the FBI and the RCMP trying to take us out that should be a breeze.”

  Bernadette put her phone down and let out a breath, realizing how hard this mission was getting. As she got up to look for Winston she saw two men come in the front door.

  They walked in and made hand motions to each other. One wearing a blue suit nodded and headed towards the executive lounge, the other wearing a leather jacket wheeled and headed towards the reservation desk. The way they clutched their jackets, Bernadette could tell they had weapons.

  26

  Bernadette watched the men walk by. They hadn’t seen her. She scanned the terminal. Sebastian was still in the corner at the desk on the phone locked in conversations to get another plane. McAllen hadn’t returned yet. Would the men open fire the minute they saw Winston, or would they try to take her into custody? Were they FBI or RCMP undercover? Her mind raced. She slowed her breathing to think.

  The first man walked to the charter desk. The person behind the desk had walked into the back office. The other man was approaching the executive lounge. Winston had just headed there to get a coffee.

  Bernadette jumped out of her chair and headed towards the lounge. She didn’t run. Running would make too much noise with her boots. She made it to the lounge at the same time the man in the leather jacket did.

  He stood there surveying the room. Winston turned and walked towards him with her coffee. He opened his jacket. He didn’t say a word as he drew his weapon. Bernadette hit him from behind with a blow to his ear that knocked him unconscious. He crumpled to the ground, his weapon falling on the rug.

  Winston dropped her coffee. “What the fu—”

  “Quiet,” Bernadette hissed. “There’s another one outside.”

  Winston ran forward, picked up the gun and stood beside Bernadette. “Where is he?”

  “In front of the charter desk. You see him?”

  “Yes, I see him. What now?”

  “We go and take him out.” Bernadette said.

  “It’s over a hundred metres to that desk. The moment we start walking towards him he’ll see us and open fire. This guy pulled his weapon the moment he saw me—he didn’t ask me to surrender. You want a shoot-out in this building?” Winston asked.

  “Okay, we get him to come to us.” Bernadette said.

  “Good plan. How’re we going to do that?”

  Bernadette stepped out of the door and yelled to the man at the desk, “Hey, shithead, over here.”

  The man turned in Bernadette’s direction, pulled his gun and ran towards the lounge.

  “Nice work. Now what?” Winston asked.

  Bernadette ducked back in the lounge and picked up a chair. “He’s going to put his head down to look at his partner when he enters. Then, I hit him with the chair, you cover him with the gun.”

  Winston nodded her head and checked the weapon. It was equipped with a silencer. She hoped she didn’t have to fire it.

  The man pulled the door open and saw his partner on the floor. He swept his weapon to the right. Bernadette was there with the chair. He fired.

  The silenced weapon made a sound of air with the click of the chamber. The bullet ricocheted off a chair leg as Bernadette launched it at him. It hit him in the chest. He dropped his gun and reached down for it.

  Winston tackled him, dropping her weight on his body and pushing his head into the floor. Bernadette landed an elbow on his head. The cracking sound of his head told her he was lights out.

  Winston fell back off the man breathing heavily. “Well, that went as planned.”

  Sebastian walked into the room, stared at Bernadette and Winston on the floor with the two unconscious men. “Wow, did I miss a party?”

  Bernadette looked up at Sebastian. “You know, your timing is amazing.”

  “What happened?” Sebastian asked.

  “I just heard there were some FBI and RCMP out looking for us. It looks like they found us,” Bernadette said. She rolled over and checked the pockets of the man in the leather jacket.

  “Any ID?” Winston asked.

  “No, he’s clean. Check your guy,” Bernadette said.

  Winston went through his pockets. “Same here. Not a thing.”

  “These aren’t regular card-carrying law enforcement types.” Sebastian pulled up the sleeve of the man in the leather jacket. “Yep, a lot of tattoos.” He pointed at one. “You see this, that’s the Russian Orthodox Cross.”

  “We just took out two Russian Mafia hit men,” Winston said.

  “Yeah, sent by Morgan of the FBI. But how did they find us?” Bernadette asked.

  “That’s the million-dollar question. One of you ladies has got to be wearing a tracking device. And, my money is on you,” Sebastian said nodding his head in Winston’s direction.

  “Me? Why the hell you think it’s me?” Winston asked jumping to her feet.

  “Because it’s a common practice of the FBI for field agents. They put a GPS tracker under their skin so they can track them if they are taken hostage,” Sebastian told her.

  “Well, I’ve never been important enough to be implanted with one of those,” Winston said.

  Bernadette looked at Sebastian and Winston. “Look, we can figure that out once we decide what to do with these two.”

  Sebastian picked up the handgun with the silencer. “That’s easy, I pop a shot into each of their skulls and we leave them here. The cleaners are in the building. They can deal with it.”

  “Sorry, that’s murder,” Bernadette said.

  “You think these guys were kidding around. They intended to kill you,” Sebastian pointed out.

  “Shooting an unconscious man is against everything in the law enforcement code. And about sixteen different religions,” Bernadette said.

  “Okay, how about if I wake one of them up, give them a gun, and you can have an old-fashioned shoot-out?” Sebastian asked. His eyebrows knitted in concentration as he waited for Bernadette’s answer.

  “No, you know I don’t mean that either. We don’t shoot criminals we’ve apprehended,” Bernadette said.

  “You want to leave them here, so when they wake up they get to have another crack at finding us?” Sebastian asked.

  “That’s not an option,” Bernadette said. “But we do know one thing. Morgan in the FBI sent this hit team.”

  “How do you figure?” Winston asked.

  “I got a call from my guy in CSIS, who said Morgan had put out a search and destroy on us. He told me we’d been labeled terrorists. If we were found dead, it wouldn’t matter by whom, it
would be condoned by the FBI.”

  “Very nice, and he sent Russian Mafia to make sure they didn’t capture us to tell our story. The dead are silent,” Bernadette said.

  “Yes, and the living fill in the details,” Sebastian added.

  Bernadette looked at the two Russian goons; both were starting to moan a bit, the beginnings of rousing to consciousness. She turned to Sebastian. “Give me that silencer.” With a puzzled look he handed it over. She grabbed a facecloth from the washroom and wrapped it around the butt of the gun, lifted one of the goons by his hair and whacked him hard at the base of his skull. It was a dull thud; the guy slumped to the floor. She did the same with the other goon. “That should do the trick, they’ll be out for a long time.”

  Winston looked stunned. “What’s that all about?”

  “An old Chicago mob trick, the ‘black jack’. No flesh wounds and no broken skull, but a hefty shock to the brain stem puts you out for several hours, sometimes up to two days.”

  The door to the lounge opened and McAllen stepped into the room with a large duffel bag. “Wow, what the hell did I miss?”

  27

  Bernadette looked at McAllen. “You missed a Russian Mafia hit team. We figure they were sent by Adam Morgan, we now know who in the FBI is after us.”

  “But we still don’t know why,” McAllen said.

  “Hmm, the more we search for Sigurdsson, the more we run into Russians. I think we can see a theme shaping up here,” Winston said.

  “Are they alive?” McAllen asked.

  “Yep, we knocked them out,” Bernadette said.

  “Check their pockets for car keys,” McAllen said.

  Bernadette and Winston checked each of the men. “Bingo,” Winston said, “this guy rents from Avis.”

  “Let’s haul these guys out of here. We’ll take them to their vehicle and figure it out from there,” McAllen said.

  Bernadette and Winston took one man and McAllen and Sebastian grabbed the other one; they dragged them towards the door.