Climate Killers: Book 3. Bernadette Callahan Detective Series

by Lyle Nicholson

  The door opened. Two cleaners stared at them with their vacuums and mops in hand and a stare of disbelief on their faces.

  “Excusez-moi,” Bernadette said in French, “Mais amis ont trop bu.”

  The cleaners smiled, rolled their eyes in sympathy and stood aside. “What did you tell the cleaners?” Sebastian asked.

  “I told them our friends drank too much,” Bernadette said.

  “That’s not a stretch for Russians,” McAllen commented.

  They dragged the men outside and into the parking lot where only a few cars remained. McAllen hit the button on the key lock and a van flashed its lights at the far end of the lot.

  “Great! These guys had to park far away. What kind of hit men are they? They never read about the getaway part after the hit?” Bernadette asked.

  McAllen opened the back doors of the van—they pushed the two men in. Sebastian climbed in after them and began looking around the van. He tore open two backpacks and rummaged through them.

  “Whoa, we got a whole bunch of cool spyware in here,” Sebastian said. “There’s night vision goggles, a GPS finder and oh my…” He looked back at the other three, “We got a whole medicine chest of Lorazepam, Ambien and Restoril. These are the classic sleep drugs. Take a few of these and it’s nighty night.”

  “Anything else?” McAllen asked.

  “Some scalpels and pliers to pull your teeth or finger nails out one by one. These guys came prepared, crude stuff but it works,” Sebastian said.

  “Let’s get in the van and out of sight of anyone in the building and decide what we’re going to do with these two,” Bernadette said.

  “So, the killing thing is off the table?” Sebastian asked.

  “Yes,” Winston and Bernadette said in unison.

  “Okay, just asking,” Sebastian waved his hand in resignation.

  “I think I got an idea,” McAllen said. “First, you told me you think Winston is carrying a tracker.”

  “Yep, that’s my take on how they found us,” Sebastian said.

  McAllen took the GPS from Sebastian and approached Winston. He held up his hand. “Don’t be offended, I’ll be checking Bernadette as well.”

  He ran the tracker over Bernadette and got nothing. Turning to Winston the device made loud beeping noises as soon as it was near her. It was loudest over her chest.

  “Okay, it is me with the tracker,” Winston said, “but I’ve no idea when they put it in me. I never authorized it.”

  “Were you put under for any dental work?” Bernadette asked.

  “No.”

  “How about any surgery?”

  “Nope, not a thing. I’ve been totally conscious except when sleeping,” Winston said.

  “Have you ever woken up one morning, feeling a little groggy and felt you had something bite you in the night, like a small bug bite maybe?” Sebastian asked.

  Winston started to scratch under her breast. “Yeah, I felt something like that about two weeks ago. I thought maybe a spider or some kind of mosquito bit me overnight.”

  “There you go. Someone got into your bedroom at night, put you under with a mild dose of chloroform and injected you under the skin with the tracker,” Sebastian said.

  “In my own house. Holy shit. I can’t believe it.”

  Sebastian took out the scalpel. “Only one way to find out.”

  “I don’t think so. You are not going to be feeling my breasts for a microchip,” Winston said.

  “I’m a bit hurt,” Sebastian said. “You were somewhat more amiable in the shower yesterday.”

  “I’ll check,” Bernadette said quickly.

  They went into the front of the van, turned on the overhead lights and Winston lifted her shirt and pulled up her bra. Bernadette felt under her left breast and found a small bump. She squeezed it, then ran the scalpel on the side of the bump. A small piece of glass popped out. She wiped Winston’s small wound with an antiseptic wipe and gave her a band aide.

  “Okay, we’ve got it. What are we going to do with it?” Sebastian asked.

  “We got any water?” McAllen asked.

  Sebastian found two water bottles in the van and handed them to McAllen. He took the water, the tracker from Bernadette and a handful of the sleeping pills and opened the mouth of the man with the leather jacket.

  The man choked a little as the pills and tracker went down. His eyes eased open a bit, but it was not certain if he realized what had happened to him; at least his swallowing reflexes worked. He tried to turn his head away.

  Sebastian leaned over him with the muzzle of the silencer, pushing it into his mouth. “You will swallow hard my friend, or I will make an extra-large hole in your mouth to make it easier for you. You understand me?”

  The Russian nodded and swallowed hard. McAllen forced more water down his mouth. Sebastian black jacked the Russian on the head with the butt of the gun to send him into unconsciousness again. They did the same with the second man.

  “Okay, great, we’ve got two Russian’s in la la land, who are going to sleep for at least two days. Now what?” Bernadette asked.

  “We need to find a truck stop,” McAllen said.

  Sebastian took the driver’s seat, while Bernadette did a Google search of truck stops nearby. There were several close but none that suited McAllen. He wanted one that serviced big rigs, long distance haulers. The one they found was twenty kilometres away. They drove in silence, the light snow brushing the windshield and the street lamps making pools of light on the darkened asphalt.

  A few highway cruisers of the Quebec Police floated by, one even kept pace with their van for a while. The officer looked briefly at Sebastian behind the wheel until he moved on, perhaps to a coffee somewhere warm or to something that looked more suspicious. They crossed a long bridge and came into a large truck stop with a crowd of big rig trucks all softly purring with their diesel engines running, while their drivers were inside eating or taking showers.

  McAllen cruised the ranks of trucks until he found what he was looking for. He parked behind it and told Sebastian to get out the Russians’ tool bag. The truck they found had a long trailer with an advertisement for a hardware store on it. The license plates were from British Columbia, a mere 3,500 kilometres away. They picked the lock and heaved the men in the back. Sebastian closed the lock again. It looked like it had never been touched.

  “I’d say our two Russians are off on a journey,” McAllen said as he got back into the van.

  “You think that will buy us enough time to find Sigurdsson?” Winston said.

  Bernadette turned in the passenger seat. “Yes, but it’s time we go on the attack.”

  “What do you mean?” Winston asked.

  “Time we take it to Morgan,” Bernadette said. “McAllen, I think you and I should continue north and Winston and Sebastian take a trip to Washington, see some sites, and get that bastard Morgan. Maybe he’ll tell you who he’s working for.”

  “I like that,” Sebastian said. “I always wanted to meet my Congressman, you know talk about the declining salmon population off Seattle.”

  “Hey, I’m glad to be going home. Maybe I can check with some of my people and get an update,” Winston said.

  McAllen turned to her. “Not a chance. You need to stay off the grid. When you and Sebastian get there, you make no contact with anyone. You got that?”

  “What the hell. I have people I can trust in the FBI, not all of them are shitheads like Morgan,” Winston said.

  “Okay, sorry. There’s a lot on the line, especially your lives if Morgan finds out your closing in on him.” McAllen looked at Sebastian. “Use her contacts, but make sure she follows your lead.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Winston asked.

  “I improvise a little more than most people,” Sebastian said.

  McAllen shook his head. “Sure improvise, but don’t be killing Morgan when you do it.”

  They went silent for a time until they picked out a motel ne
ar the airport. They checked in then Sebastian drove the van to a hotel next door and left it there.

  Bernadette looked at her watch, it was 4 am, and her flight was at 10 am. A luxury of three hours of sleep, if she could make it happen—chances are she couldn’t. She rolled everything over in her brain. What was Morgan’s angle on this? How deeply was he involved with the Russians? None of it made sense. But then most crimes never made sense. They were about money, about greed and about some score someone wanted to settle to feed their egos.

  Bernadette had often thought she should have used her brain to pursue a career in science. She’d excelled in high school in math and science. She could have developed something for the brain that would have made it turn towards good instead of stupidity. She closed her eyes tight and let that thought leave her head. Tomorrow’s journey came into her head. McAllen hadn’t been able to find a private plane. They’d be taking commercial airline.

  A First Air flight would fly them straight north to the little town of Iqaluit, and then they would be on small charter flight on a twin engine De Havilland Otter. The little workhorse planes were configured from nine to nineteen seats. Bernadette knew tomorrow’s plane would be short on seats and long on cargo space. Airplanes were the only means of transport in the high Arctic. Roads ended on the outskirts of the little towns.

  Her main concern was how they were going to get through the airport. Would there be RCMP out looking for them there? Would a facial recognition scanner be activated somewhere that would give off their location?

  She turned over and tried to sleep. Thoughts of the two Russians in the back of that truck tugged at her. She’d have to fix that in the morning. Finally, to the sounds of Winston’s snores, she drifted off to sleep.

  28

  Morning came with the shrill sound of Bernadette’s phone alarm at 7 am. She needed to be showered and down in the lobby in thirty minutes. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she headed for the shower. Winston was still sound asleep.

  Bernadette looked at the GPS tracker as she was toweling off. It was active. The truck with the Russians must have left soon after they’d dumped them in the back.

  All night, visions of the Russians waking up, untying themselves and jumping the unsuspecting truck driver when he opened the cargo door had crept into her dreams. She couldn’t let anything happen to the driver. Her mind raced with the possibilities of who to reach out to. Anton was already under watch at CSIS, she dared not get him involved. She needed some local help.

  She stared at the GPS tracker. The truck had made its way past Ottawa and was now on Highway 17 heading for Thunder Bay that would connect back to the TransCanada Highway. She almost pounded her head for the answer—then it came to her. She’d gone to RCMP cadet school with Andrea McKinnon. Her Facebook page said she was living in North Bay and attached to the Thunder Bay RCMP Detachment.

  Bernadette accessed the Hotel’s Wi-Fi on her phone and pulled up the detachment’s phone number. She asked for Andrea, telling reception it was urgent and personal.

  Andrea answered the phone.

  “Andrea, it’s me, Bernadette Callahan.”

  “Holy crap, Bernie, I just read an arrest warrant for you on the BOLO this morning. What the hell are you up to, girl?” Andrea asked.

  “Really complicated. First, the warrant is bogus, you know that, right?”

  “Okay, good to hear it coming from you. Do you want to come in? I can make sure you’re taken in safely.”

  “Hell, no.” Bernadette realized she’d raised her voice causing Winston to stir under the covers. “This warrant is to throw us off the track. Look, I can’t give you all the details, but I’m on the hunt for someone who can turn the world’s temperature down.”

  “Whoa, Bernie, you always did get the big stuff. Here I am in Thunder Bay looking after traffic accidents and domestic disputes. Obviously, you’re reaching out to me for help. What’s up?”

  Bernadette let out a sigh of relief at Andrea’s tone. “Okay, there’s a transport truck coming your way. It’s a Pro-Hardware Truck with BC license plates Delta Echo Foxtrot One, Seven, Niner, you got that?”

  “Yep, I got it. What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “There are two individuals in the back. They’re kind of drugged and tied up—you need to take them out of the truck, let the driver go as he knows nothing about them being there and hold the two individuals,” Bernadette said.

  “Did you happen to put these individuals in the truck?”

  “That’s affirmative.”

  “And, what am I supposed to do with these two? Am I to charge them with anything?”

  “Attempted murder, but I can’t be there to testify—not yet anyway.”

  “And when would you be able to testify?”

  “Might be a few days, maybe a week.”

  “You know I can’t hold them—with that whole Canadian Legal System and all…”

  “Can you put them somewhere?”

  “Ah, where would you want me to put them? The moment I take them into custody I have to write a report. They have to go through processing. My god Bernie, you passed your exams as an RCMP officer. You know that.”

  “Here’s the deal. It’s life or death, my death if those two are let free. I need some time. And I need those two held. You get me?”

  Andrea paused for a moment. She could hear the tension rising in Bernadette’s voice. “Yeah, I get you…”

  “They need to be out of the system, can you do that?”

  Andrea nodded her head as she listened to Bernadette. “Yeah, I got a place for them. This is so illegal, and against everything I stand for. You sure you’re going to save the world, Bernie?”

  “Yep, stop the forest fires, lower the oceans and drop the temperature by four degrees—How’s that?” Bernadette asked.

  “Okay, works for me. I have to get my partner, Constable Roy Danchuck involved to make it work, but I don’t’ think it’s a problem. He’s so off the grid himself, he’ll love this.”

  “Thanks, Andrea, oh and one more thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Ah, yeah the guy wearing the leather jacket, we made him swallow a GPS tracker. You need him to throw it up. Leave it by the side of the road or drop it off somewhere. It’s how those bastards found us in the first place.” Bernadette said.

  Andrea shook her head. “Yes, Bernie, you were always a treasure, even in cadet school. Can I text you on this number when we’ve made the collar and put your goons on ice?”

  “That’d be great. Thanks so much for this, Andrea. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Bernadette put down her phone and headed for the lobby.

  Andrea put her phone back in her pocket. Constable Danchuck was coming out of the coffee shop. “Roy, we’re about to do something to help save the planet, but it’s totally illegal and will put our jobs in jeopardy.”

  “Do I have to write a long report later?” Danchuck said.

  “I’ll write the report,” Andrea promised.

  “Okay, I’m in. I was hoping to get out of traffic duty today.”

  Andrea turned to Danchuck as they got into their police cruiser. “Do you know how to make someone throw up?”

  “Eat my mother in laws cooking. A sure bet every time.” Danchuck said with a grin.

  29

  Bernadette met McAllen in the lobby. He had two small blue duffle bags by his side. He handed one to Bernadette.

  “Here’s your Arctic kit.” McAllen said. “I hope it’s your size.”

  Bernadette pulled a short down jacket out of the duffle. There was a larger full length one stuffed inside that had been bought for Winston. She wouldn’t need it where she was going. There was a pair of boots with felt lining and a pair of down gloves and scarf. At the bottom was an Aviator hat, in shearling wool with flaps. She smiled when she saw it, pulling it out and putting it on her head.

  “Oh my, I’ll be styling in the Arctic in this.”

  “Yes, you will,” McAlle
n said handing her a pair of dark sunglasses. “We’ll need these to get us through the airport cameras. I’m just a bit worried about some facial recognition scanner sending our image to FBI Headquarters in Langley.”

  “I’m more worried that Morgan sees it before Langley does.” Bernadette said pulling on the jacket and adjusting the hat on her head. “But with this hat and these glasses, I hardly recognize me.”

  The airport shuttle arrived outside. They climbed inside and sat in silence as the shuttle hit the freeway on the way to the airport. The van’s heater blasted overhead and made Bernadette sweat in her new wool hat.

  Outside the weather was a mix of rain, snow and sleet—the eastern Canadian message that winter would soon be arriving. Here, the weather was oscillating from sweltering hot one day, then an Arctic cold front dropping in the next.

  The people of Montreal took all of this in their stride, so far. Bernadette once spent a summer here. She’d felt like she was going to die in the heat and humidity that summer. The French had shrugged it off, went to the outlying lakes, then partied into the night on the weekends with a meal of poutine, French fries smothered in gravy and melted cheese curds to ward off a hangover the next day. Bernadette had tried that—it didn’t help.

  The van bumped and groaned over the uneven roadway. The ones that the politicians were supposed to fix with Montreal’s tax money, but somehow had ended up in graft payments to numerous contractors and heads of Quebec Mafia. The Russian Mafia could learn a thing or two about doing business in Montreal. Here, the money exchanged hands and few people died. It was far more civilized.

  Finally, the shuttle van dropped them in front of the First Air departure gate. They took out their duffels, and McAllen tipped the driver a twenty-dollar bill. The driver, an East Indian with an Orange Turban and long beard clasped his hands together and said, “Merci Beaucoup,” in French mixed with a Hindi accent.

  “You’re a generous man,” Bernadette said.

  “It’s the smallest I had,” McAllen said. “But, if we’re not successful in cooling the planet, that twenty bucks won’t help him much.”