They punched through the double doors and into the line with the rest of the passengers. Bernadette sized up the people in line. Northerners. You could tell them from their dress, their looks, and their quiet demeanor.
The dress of the High Arctic is never fancy, no fashion show. It’s jeans mostly, sweaters and sweatshirts. Maybe they wore one from a favorite southern hockey team, or the cherished University of the North, TUK U, the University of Tuktoyaktuk. That’s a running joke with the northerners. There is no such university; they just like wearing TUK U.
The look of northerners is one of determination. The barren lands as some people call them are not for everyone. You either fall in love with it, or you’re running screaming from it the moment you can. The quiet way of the northerners was mostly from the Indigenous people. They were Inuit; once named Eskimo, which was a derogatory term given to them by the Indians in the south. Eskimo, means “eater of raw flesh”. The name Inuit means, “the people”.
Bernadette had seen a rig worker in the north once call an Inuit an Eskimo. That young Inuit man had landed a punch so squarely on that man’s face that he was lights out before he hit the floor. They shuffled forward in line. There was quiet conversation amongst the line, most of it unrecognizable to Bernadette.
McAllen stood beside her. “You understand this Northern Native tongue?”
“Nope, not a word of it.” She adjusted her hat. “I don’t really speak much of my native Cree either, I understand some, but this is Inuktitut.”
“So, I take the Cree and Inuit didn’t get along if they never figured out each other’s language,” McAllen said.
“Ah, good point.” Bernadette lowered her voice and moved closer to McAllen, “My people, the Cree and the Inuit fought for over one hundred years. I remember learning in school that they made peace in 1770.” She turned to McAllen, I was told that the Inuit name for the Cree was ‘Adla,’ which means enemy.”
“Wow, that’s harsh,” McAllen said.
“Yeah, you’d think with the high Arctic being so sparsely populated we could have gotten along.”
“What’d you fight over?”
“Probably fish and seals.”
“Wow, imagine if you’d fought over oil and minerals. That fight would have lasted a lot longer than one hundred years,” McAllen said with a slight grin.
They checked in and went through security. The security guards were looking for illegal drugs and didn’t scan their identities.
Once they got into the waiting room, Bernadette opened her duffel bag. “You know, we don’t need these extra parkas we bought for Winston and Sebastian.”
“Well, I didn’t want to leave it in the hotel room, might have seemed suspicious,” McAllen replied.
“Here, give me the one you had for Sebastian.” Bernadette said.
She took the two parkas and the extra gear and went to an elderly Inuit couple. After a muted conversation and many smiles, she left the gear with them.
“That was smooth,” McAllen said. “What did you say to them?”
“I told them I was half Cree, and I’d heard a story that the Inuit had given a Cree hunting party a seal skin rope to make peace. I wanted to make a gift to them from my people of western Canada.”
“Very nice,” McAllen said. “I hope they enjoy those one-thousand-dollar goose down parkas.”
“Up in the north, it’s not the price of things, it’s the meaning of a gift and the giver. And, you never know what will come in return,” Bernadette pointed out.
30
Constable McKinnon and Danchuck spotted the transport truck just outside of Deep River. They put their siren on and pulled it over. Both constables approached the driver and asked him to get out of his cab. They told him they needed to check his cargo.
The truck driver got down from his big rig. He was a young guy, big chested with large biceps. He looked like he’s most of his free time in the gym. He wore a skintight muscle shirt that had McKinnon trying to find her focus.
He adjusted his baseball cap as he walked with them to the back of the truck. “What’s up officers?” His sauntering walk showed attitude, and defiance.
“We had a report that you may have two people stowed away in the back of your truck. We just have to check, sorry for the inconvenience, sir,” McKinnon said in her calmest voice possible.
In all traffic stops, she always stayed calm and even. Drivers could escalate things in a hurry. This one looked like a candidate for that.
“Not, f ‘ing possible. This truck has a padlock on it, and I got the only key. I checked the back doors before I left Montreal and it hadn’t been tampered with. You got the wrong truck,” the driver said.
“Well, sorry to inform you, but we have information that two men were seen getting into this truck at your last stop in Montreal. We need you to open the back,” McKinnon told him.
“I got to call my company before I open the back,” the driver said.
McKinnon raised her hand. “Well, you can do that. Then we’ll have to file a report that you aided some fugitives if I find someone there. Do you want that?”
“Whoa, what the hell! I ain’t done nothing. I didn’t let anyone in the back of my truck.”
“Didn’t say you did. Someone is using you to transport these people. Now, you can open the back, or this constable and I take you into custody and have your rig towed into our compound. You decide.”
The driver seemed to deflate. His big biceps seemed to grow smaller with his shrinking options. He went back to his cab, pulled out his keys, jumped on the back to open the back doors.
McKinnon and Danchuck drew their side arms, just in case the two men were fully awake.
“This is bullshit, you ain’t gonna find nobody—holy shit—”
McKinnon and Danchuck smiled as they viewed the sleeping bodies of two men on the floor of the truck.
“Look. I didn’t let these guys in here. You gotta believe me. If the company finds out, I lose my job.” The driver became flustered.
McKinnon holstered her weapon. “Not a problem. We’ll take these two into custody, you get on your way—this never happened, okay?”
“Sure, sure thing officer, look you RCMP, you’re the best…I’m so impressed by your dedication and all—”
“Thanks for your comments, now please, on your way.”
“You got it, I’m out of here.”
They’d placed the two men on the side of the highway in the culvert. Danchuck pulled out a bottle of Ipecac syrup and mixed it with some water.
“It says here to put in a larger dose for immediate results.”
“Well, more is always better, don’t you think?” McKinnon asked.
“Sure thing,” Danchuck said as he placed the bottle near the lips of the man in the leather jacket.
The effect was immediate, the man gagged and then with the help of Danchuck he bent over retching on the side of the road.
Danchuck peered on the ground at the contents of the man’s stomach. “What are we looking for? I see this guy likes sausages… eweh, that’s gross.”
“Callahan said it was a tracking bug. Might be shiny—I think I see it. I need my gloves,” McKinnon said.
Danchuck followed her to the police cruiser, then stopped and turned to watch the two men. “We might need those tweezers I got in the trunk, the ones I use to sort through evidence.”
“You mean the ones you use to check suspects for drugs?” McKinnon asked.
“You think I’m going to stick my hand in some suspect’s pockets and get poked with a needle full of Fentanyl? Hell no, I’ll use those tweezers every time,” Danchuck said.
Cawing sounds made them look up. A flock of crows landed near the culvert.
“Ah shit, you think they got the tracker?” McKinnon asked knowing what the answer was.
“Oh yeah, they probably saw that shiny tracker glisten in the sun,” Danchuck said.
They ran back to the culvert as the crows took off in a flurry
of black. “Yep, they got the sausage and the tracker. Did we need that for evidence?” Danchuck asked.
McKinnon shrugged. “I don’t think so. Callahan said to drop it off somewhere. I guess it’s now on a path to somewhere.”
“Straight as the crow flies,” Danchuck said dryly.
“Okay, let’s get these two in the back of the squad car.”
“Where are we taking them?”
“My friends cabin up in the woods. I figure we keep these two drugged up with some of these pills I found in their pockets.”
“What if something happens to your friend, detective Bernadette Callahan?”
“You know it’s her we’re looking out for?”
“You said her name twice.”
“Oh, I guess I did. Well, if something happens to her, then we’re screwed.” McKinnon said as she sent a text to Bernadette.
31
FBI Agent Adam Morgan watched his monitor with curiosity. The tracker they’d placed on Agent Winston had done strange things in the past few hours. Now it was bizarre. The hit men Sokolov had sent to the private charter terminal hadn’t reported in, but the tracker showed that Agent Winston must have been put into their van. The tracker was moving through a desolate part of Canada. Where were they taking her? The tracker stopped for a moment, then it seemed like it had become airborne and travelled off the road over the forest. How could this be possible, he asked himself?
Morgan wanted to call Sokolov to get some answers. He picked up his phone then put it down again. Every time he’d talked to the Russian he felt like he was the one in the wrong. He sweated when they talked. His fist tightened around the phone, his throat constricting. What had he gotten himself into? Was it worth the money and the position of power he’d have once the Russians controlled the government?
Morgan turned off his computer and left the office. He’d done enough for the day. He put a few files in his briefcase to make it look like he was taking work home and smiled at several agents as he left the building and headed for his car.
He decided he’d go to his health club for a swim, then a sauna and a massage. Tension was growing in his neck, begging to have the masseur, Vincent take it out with his large hands. Afterwards he’d order food from his favorite Italian restaurant that he’d pair with one of the fine wines in his well-stocked wine fridge. He put his BMW 5 Series sedan in drive and headed for the club. When everything had settled, and he was the director, he’d be driving a much more expensive car, maybe a Maserati or an Aston Martin. He smiled at the thought and pulled into traffic. He didn’t see the white van pull out from the curb to follow him.
Sebastian rode in the back seat of the van, with Winston sitting beside Agent Luis Valdes, the only FBI Agent she could trust.
“Don’t lose him,” Winston said.
“I’ve got a tracker on his car,” Valdes said. “I attached it this morning in the parking garage after you called me.”
“Good thinking,” Winston said.
“Whoa, an atta boy from you. Those cool clothes you’re wearing must have changed your disposition,” Valdes said.
Winston rolled her eyes. Sebastian had told her the only way they’d get through the recognition scanners at Dulles airport in Washington was if they drastically changed their appearance. Sebastian had picked out some clothes in Montreal that made him look like a rock-and-roll promoter.
He was dressed in tight jeans, a black t-shirt leather vest with silver studs. His hat was a black leather baseball cap worn backwards. He’d added the right amount of chains around his neck to finish off the look.
He’d convinced Winston she needed to look like Mary J. Blige. She’d worn a blonde wig, large hoop earrings, oversize glasses and a black push up bustier, with shiny black tights and a white denim jacket.
Valdes had picked them up at the airport and almost lost it the moment he saw her. It was only by Winston threatening to shoot him if she got her hands on a gun that he calmed down.
They followed the BMW down Pennsylvania Avenue. The car took a left past the White House on 15th street and another left on H Street. It was when Morgan took a right on 16th street that Valdes knew where they were heading.
“He’s going to The University Club.”
“I didn’t know he was a member. Isn’t the Club invitation only and costs a small fortune to be a member?” Winston asked.
“Uh huh, you got that right. You wonder how he’s driving a fifty-thousand-dollar BMW and going to an exclusive club.” Valdes looked sideways at Winston and suppressed a grin. He still couldn’t get over not seeing her in FBI blue jacket and slacks.
“I think this confirms his connection to the Russian Mafia. Now, all we need to do is pick him up, have no one see us do it and convince him to talk,” Sebastian said.
“That’s going to be difficult. I know it’s getting dark, but finding somewhere to grab him between his club and his home will be tough. It’s too well-lit and populated,” Valdes said.
“You know where he lives?” Sebastian asked.
“I sure do,’ Valdes said. “He has a Brownstone over in Arlington, just across the bridge from here.”
“You have any B&E tools in this van?” Sebastian said.
Valdes smiled. “Hey, you’re with the FBI, we don’t call it break and enter, it’s more enter and reconnaissance.”
“Whatever you call it, let’s get over there. We have work to do.” Sebastian said.
Morgan felt wonderful after his swim, sauna and relaxing massage. The club was a great place to unwind. He’d let his mind wander over the things he was going to do in the new order of America—it felt good.
He had a list of people in the FBI he wanted thrown in jail. He knew that in many cases the Russians would ensure they weren’t in jail long. Many would die soon after they got there or on the way. That didn’t matter to him. He thought of adding his ex-wife to the list. Would men have to pay alimony from a divorce in the new order? He wasn’t sure, but if alimony was kept in force, he’d ask Sokolov to take care of her, and her mother. Actually he’d like to watch that when they brought them in. He smiled at the thought.
He pulled his BMW into the driveway of his brownstone and hit the garage door opener. He parked the car and shut it off. He left his briefcase in the car. He wouldn’t be doing any work tonight. The work was being done for him. The security system made a comforting beep as it went from red to green.
He walked into his hallway. A gun was thrust into his back. Four hands grabbed him, took his gun and threw him to the floor.
He yelled, “Look, if you want money, my wallet is in my inside suit pocket. Please take it and go. Just leave me alone.”
A hand grabbed his hair and pulled his face to the side. Agent Winston smiled down at him.
“You looking for me, Morgan? Here I am.”
32
Bernadette smelled smoke. She awoke in her airplane seat and looked around. No one in the cabin seemed to be in a panic. They read books and watched their electronic devices.
McAllen stirred in the seat beside her. “You get some sleep?”
“Yeah, but I smell smoke. Has the captain said anything?”
“He sure did. Half of Northern Canada’s forest is on fire. The crews can’t do anything with it. The smoke you smell is from those fires. He said there’s some half million acres burning right now.”
Bernadette took a water bottle out of the seat pocket and took a long drink. “I guess the only good thing about where we’re going is there are no forests.”
“I’ve never been there,” McAllen said. He pulled an airplane magazine out the seat pocket and turned to the information piece on Nunavut. “Says here this territory is two million square kilometres. And look here, you could drop both Texas and England in there and lose them both. How about that?”
“Yeah, and the place has about 35,000 people. There are more seals than people up there,” Bernadette told him.
“You know, if we don’t stop whoever is trying t
o mess with the planet, I think a lot of people are going to have to develop a taste for seal meat.”
“You think the Earth’s population is going to move towards the north and south poles?” Bernadette asked.
McAllen paused for a second. “It seems to me, that if we’ve heated the planet to a temperature that’s no longer livable, then the only recourse is the movement of populations.”
“It’s happened many times before,” McAllen continued. “One of the strangest was the settlement of Greenland and Iceland by the Vikings. The historians and climatologists claim they settled there because of a four hundred year warming period that was widespread in Europe. It must have extended to the North Pole as well.”
“Wasn’t there a little ice age that made the Vikings leave?” Bernadette asked.
“That’s the accepted story. Around 1360 to 1460 AD the weather changed. There’s archeological evidence of the Vikings eating their seed grain and even teeth marks on human bones which means extreme starvation as the weather turned colder and they couldn’t tend their animals.”
Bernadette said with the hint of a smile, “And all that time the Inuit were out hunting seals on the ever-forming ice and living large.”
“That’s pretty much the size of it. The Vikings that were strong enough, got into boats and fought the sea ice to get back to Denmark, and the Inuit thrived in the cold temperature.”
“So, perhaps we’re about to see a reverse. People from the south fleeing north to get away from the fires, drought and starvation,” Bernadette said.
“You’re right, this could be one of the greatest reversals of global population in Earth’s history.”
They sat in silence for a while, taking in the conversation they’d just had. A short time later the pilot announced they’d be landing.
The airport was a small two-story building in bright yellow with one gate for arrivals of large jets. The smaller planes picked up passengers and cargo from the tarmac. Bernadette and McAllen followed the passengers into the terminal. The signs were in English and Inuktitut. The latter looked like a combination of Hebrew and Arabic with no known letters that Bernadette could make out in English.
Climate Killers: Book 3. Bernadette Callahan Detective Series Page 16
