Turning right along Robie Street, he quickly came to an accident, the cause of the stopped traffic. He veered left through the Dalhousie campus to Vernon, then right up to Quinpool. The station was only a right turn and a few minutes’ drive away.
An orange sign blocked the way. More construction! A mobile crane hogged both directions, the workers oblivious to the suffering drivers around them.
He spun the car around, forced to go west and away from the police station.
Past Oxford Street, traffic thinned out enough that he finally noticed a pair of headlights in his rear-view mirror. They were darting in and out of the traffic line, getting a bit closer each time, until the vehicle — it was a black SUV — was only a few cars behind him. He thought it was a bit odd. Even in a hurry, there was really no point in zigzagging in and out of the line. Everybody was stuck. Might as well just listen to the radio. Everyone would eventually get back home to the safe suburbs.
Then the SUV did it again. It swerved out and back in, making it only two cars behind Daniel.
He looked ahead and wondered what was going on.
Who is this guy? How could he find me? How did he know I was in this particular car at this location right now? It seemed highly suspicious.
But his training told him to test any hypothesis. Let’s see what he does when I do this …
Daniel waited until an oncoming car had just passed, and then he lurched hard to the left into the all-but-empty city-bound lane. If the car were following him, the driver would have to swerve into the next oncoming car, a very dangerous move.
He accelerated as he glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the SUV do exactly as he had predicted. It narrowly missed the oncoming car, only by the car steering right to avoid a collision and instead slamming into a telephone pole.
Daniel’s driving skills were a bit rusty. He sized up the SUV looming in the rear-view mirror and matching his hundred kilometres per hour in a sixty zone. Daniel had his beat-up Hyundai. The assassin’s SUV was a much more powerful vehicle. Probably a Cadillac of some sort. Likely a V8.
He pulled out his cellphone, pushed redial, and pressed the speaker. He tossed it onto the passenger seat.
He thought about the weaknesses of his little car and those of the massive SUV. The most obvious weakness of the SUV was its high centre of gravity. It would topple much more easily in a tight turn. Although Daniel couldn’t outrun it, maybe he could outdrive it — if he could combine high speed with tight turns. SUVs were notorious for being wobbly at high speed; they were often the vehicles flipped over in the centre median during snowstorms. Staying in the city wouldn’t help. He wouldn’t be able to drive fast enough to pull enough Gs to tip the SUV over in a sudden turn. He needed to get to a highway out of town then to the police station.
A voice crackled from his phone sliding around on the passenger seat. “MacKinnon.”
Daniel yelled over the engine whine. “It’s me, Ritter. I need help.”
He blasted through the Armdale Rotary then right along North West Arm Drive. The exit to the 102 north soon beckoned and he veered onto the exit ramp.
“Where are you?” asked the voice.
Daniel said, “I’m about to get on the 102. Exit 1. Going north.”
“What happened?”
“Where’s Perry?”
“He should be with you.”
“He’s not, and he wasn’t in his car. The guy who killed Forrestal just tried to shoot me in my own apartment. Now he’s chasing me.”
He kept it at a hundred, only braking at the last second before almost tilting over to the left as he followed the curve onto the main highway. He glanced at the mirror, and to his dismay, the SUV had made it, too.
“Can you describe the other car?”
“It’s a big black SUV. New. Cadillac, I think.”
“Licence plate?”
“Didn’t have time to see.”
“I’m on it. MacKinnon out.”
How did this guy know where I was? How is he able to follow me? How does he know I’m in this particular car? Maybe the car’s LoJacked with a transponder? No way, he’d have to have placed it on the car while Daniel was at work. How would he have known my address, the make and model and licence plate number?
He’d have to try again to lose the tail. He floored the accelerator and downshifted to fourth gear for extra oomph. The car shook spasmodically with the strain. The speedometer hit 150, the fastest the car could physically go, but the growing headlights from behind reminded Daniel that it just wasn’t fast enough to outrun the Cadillac.
On the open straight highway, the Cadillac closed the distance in seconds.
Where are the cops? MacKinnon, Perry, where are you?
Daniel kept the accelerator on the floor as he zipped past the Lacewood exit and saw a stream of cars bunching up the lanes ahead, most likely shoppers returning home from Bayers Road. He flashed his headlights in warning and a few cars in the left lane pulled to the right. He sped past the mass of traffic, at least 60 km/h faster than the other vehicles. The engine redlined, screaming in protest, knowing that perhaps this was its final journey. The Cadillac remained close, only a couple of car lengths behind.
The next exit was four kilometres away, according to the sign that had just blurred past. Only ninety seconds to go. He remembered there was a tight exit turn there, too. Maybe that might flip the SUV. He’d have to try.
He slammed on the brakes as one of the commuters swerved into the left lane to pass an even slower car. His car whined. He smelled smoke from the melting brake pads.
A single white flash in the mirror and then his rear window shattered. He heard the zip of a bullet lodging into the passenger seat. The Cadillac was right behind him now.
In the mirror, Daniel saw flashes of blue and red appear behind the SUV.
Finally, Perry!
A police interceptor appeared beside the SUV. On a normal day, he would have worried about being stopped for stunt driving, getting slapped with a two-thousand-dollar fine and an automatic impound of his car. It seemed a rather quaint concern, since he now had bullets searching for his head.
He kept the accelerator on the floor, the engine howling in protest. It would be the SUV versus the police first. He switched from glancing in the mirror to looking straight ahead, swerving between slower-moving cars in both lanes. The SUV suddenly got smaller. It must have braked.
This target is still full of surprises, thought Larch as he slowed the SUV from the not-so-feeble yellow bee of a Hyundai a few car lengths ahead.
Larch swerved left, trying to squeeze the police car that had appeared beside him into the concrete barrier that divided the highway. He used his Cadillac’s superior weight to jam the car into the wall, but the driver held fast in the left lane. The concrete quickly gave way to a snow-covered median. He tried again but the car stayed nose to nose. He whipped out his pistol and fired twice at the darkened passenger window. He saw glass shatter, and the police cruiser twisted left onto the snowbank. A tire caught, something underneath sparked like flint on the pavement, and the car flipped, spinning high and left.
In his rear-view mirror, Daniel saw sparks fly, and the police headlights disappeared. The SUV grew bigger, and there was no sign of the police until he saw the interceptor high in the air, spinning until it landed on its roof in the median strip. The exit beckoned. He cut into the right lane just in front of two tractor-trailers and lost sight of the SUV.
But it soon pulled in immediately behind him, forcing itself in front of the first tractor-trailer. The lights bore down on him; the high beams were blinding him and throwing jittery black shadows ahead. He flipped his mirror down. The exit came up fast at 150, more than forty metres a second. He couldn’t escape the Cadillac, especially now that they were virtually bumper to bumper.
There were only seconds before more gunshots. And he wouldn’t miss this time. He was too close.
Advantage for the hit man. He needed to make it a disadvantag
e. The Cadillac was so close that the driver wouldn’t be able to react fast enough if Daniel did something erratic.
The exit came up fast. He had to make it look like he could go either way. He drove directly on the line that separated the exit lane from the lane that would continue north on the highway.
As the pavement arced to the right, he maintained a straight-line trajectory that would lead in seconds to the cement block that split the road. He held it until the last fraction of a second, twisting the wheel hard to the right, his car squealing in protest.
The Cadillac swerved erratically to the left and then straight along the highway. It would take some time to stop, turn around, and continue the pursuit. Daniel knew he had maybe a minute to lose the tail.
The Hyundai screamed and lurched as he dropped down two gears to gain some control along a sharp turn designed for no more than sixty. But Daniel was topping a hundred, and he could feel the right wheels begin to lose contact with the ground. He struggled with the wheel at the maximum g-force point and then regained control as he straightened out toward the intersection and its stoplight ahead.
He didn’t wait for the light to turn green, just ploughed to the right along Kearney Lake Road. Once tucked in between two cars, he slowed to match their speed and checked the mirrors to see if he could spot the pursuing vehicle. He saw nothing of the SUV.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw no one in the left lane or in the opposite direction. Without signalling, he spun the car around in a smoky trail and drove back toward the intersection, where a brown-and-red Tim Hortons sat like a plump cat. He parked the car at the rear, hidden from view from the road and the access ramp.
He switched off the smoking engine, swung the door open, grabbed his bag, slammed the door, then ran into the Tim Hortons, where a dozen or so patrons lounged at the scattered tables. He pulled out his cellphone and ordered a taxi. It arrived in a few minutes.
Daniel climbed in and ordered the driver to take him to the police station. He called MacKinnon.
MacKinnon answered gruffly, “Where are you?”
“I’m on my way. He was following me. I think I lost him. Where’s Perry?”
“He’s not responding to our calls.”
“I think he crashed on the 102 a few kilometres back from here. He tried to stop the hit man.”
“Shit. So it was him, then?”
“What do you mean?”
“I just overheard a call for fire and ambulance dispatch to an accident on the 102.”
“It must be for Perry.”
“Jesus. Get yourself over here, now.”
“Already in a taxi. Be there in twenty minutes or less.” He switched off the phone and took a breath. The radio was turned down, the driver curious about the conversation, aware that he was privy to something important.
Daniel sprawled across the back seat and thought about what had just happened. Someone had successfully predicted his movements, followed his car in traffic, defeated a police pursuit, and nearly killed him. The hit man was skilled and professional. The same one who had killed Forrestal and the hotel manager. And he was coming for Daniel now, the last witness. Two questions nagged. How did he know that he was coming home at that particular time? The killer could have easily found his address on Google or in the phone listing. No surprise there. But his habits? He must have studied his habits. He must have been following Daniel for some time. And how was he able to track Daniel’s car? Was it equipped with a hidden GPS transmitter? If so, he must have known which car was his. How could he have known?
His cellphone chirped. Area code 514. “Vanessa?” Her timing sucked, as usual.
“What’s happened this time, Daniel? You’re weaseling out of taking care of Emily again, aren’t you?”
“I can explain. I’ve got a ticket for tonight. But I can’t make it.”
“I’ve got plans of my own. I need you to come and take Emily for a few days.”
“I’m really sorry, but something’s come up.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Her voice sounded squeaky with tension.
“I can explain. I can’t leave Halifax right now.”
“What is it this time? Another ‘business trip’ you can’t talk about?” He could hear the quotation marks as she said “business trip.”
“I retired from all of that, remember.”
“So why can’t you come?”
“I’m under police protection. Someone is trying to kill me. It’s not my fault.”
There was no response from the other end.
“Did you hear me?”
“Jesus, police protection? What did you do? I knew it. You’re back to your spook shit, aren’t you?”
“No. I promised you that I would never go back. But someone is trying to kill me.”
“I’m stuck holding the fuckin’ bag again. You’re so heartless. Well, this is the last time. I swear.”
The line went dead.
Daniel held the phone as if it were a lifeless object. Vanessa sounded more frustrated than usual. He cursed under his breath. The taxi driver stared ahead and said nothing.
Daniel stared out the taxi window, wondering. Meanwhile, kilometres away, the man in a dark Cadillac cursed under his breath. Slowing to the speed limit, travelling north to the next exit on the 102, Larch vowed not to underestimate this target again.
THIRTY-ONE
MACKINNON CALLED to say that Perry was in the hospital with life-threatening injuries. Daniel replayed the crash that he had seen in his rear-view mirror. It was a miracle that Perry had survived the spinning, the sparking, the crashing, and the inferno afterward. MacKinnon didn’t dwell on the news. They had a BOLO out on the Cadillac. Daniel’s car had been towed and would spend the evening in the forensics lab.
As soon as Daniel arrived at the station and saw MacKinnon standing, waiting, he shot him a look of concern. “How’s the pizza guy?”
“He suffered from shock and some bruising. He’s being treated at the hospital. He already gave us a description of his assailant.”
Daniel nodded. “The same one I saw at the Westin? The one who tried to run me off the road.”
“It would seem so. We need some help, then.” He pointed to another officer who approached, one Daniel didn’t recognize. “This is Detective David Touesnard, who will be taking Perry’s place while he recovers.” Touesnard was about the same age as MacKinnon, but taller and fitter, sporting a thick cover of black hair and a trimmed beard. He appeared strong. His arms barely fit into his shirt. Daniel thought he seemed like a good choice for a personal protection officer.
MacKinnon turned to Touesnard. “I’ll let you know if I get a call back.”
“Understood.” Touesnard looked at Daniel. “He’s got another assignment.”
Touesnard fiddled with his cellphone before stuffing it into his jacket pocket. “Smugglers.”
MacKinnon changed the subject. “We have an ID on the man from the demonstration.”
That caught Daniel’s attention. Who was that mountain of a man who attacked me?
“We got help from the RCMP. His name is Max Pitt. He’s a member of the Alberta Independence Movement, a small-time fringe political group in Alberta.”
Daniel didn’t register the answer at first. “How fringe? Like a neo-Nazi?”
“Sort of.”
“What was he doing in Halifax? At that rally? Was he after me?”
“Don’t know yet. He’s not saying much.”
Touesnard accompanied Daniel back to his apartment to collect his essentials. He wouldn’t be allowed to stay there while the hit man was free. They put him in what they called a safe house, a room at a moderate downtown hotel facing the harbour, with Touesnard nearby. MacKinnon told him to stay put.
Daniel didn’t sleep much that night. The unfamiliar hotel room felt like a prison. He was trapped between two worries that his mind swatted back and forth like a tennis ball. Vanessa — what was she up t
o? — and Forrestal’s murder. He needed to do something proactive, but he was stuck in this hotel.
He needed to see for himself what was going on with Vanessa and Emily. Flying back to Montreal would be the best thing to do. But the police wouldn’t give the all-clear until they could track down the hit man.
Daniel tried to rewind the last few days of his life. His problems began with Forrestal’s call. Why did he want to talk with me when he could have talked with anyone else? How did he even know who I was?
And Lloyd, that egotistical big fish in a small pond, knows him. But he won’t help me. I’m on my own. He calmed his mind for a moment to still the rushing questions and emotions linked with Emily, the worry about Forrestal, and the stress that arose thinking about Lloyd. When in doubt, one of his undergrad teachers had told him, return to first principles.
His troubles started after the call from Forrestal. So his first question was clear. Who was Patrick Forrestal, really?
He returned to Forrestal’s investment company website that he had found before his failed meeting Tuesday morning. He clicked on the “About Us” link and moved to a new page with a professional photo of the founder, chairman, and CEO, Patrick Forrestal. There was a short bio. Forrestal founded the company twelve years ago and had increased sales and profits every year. Daniel’s curiosity piqued. The page didn’t quantify the profits or anything else about the company’s performance. The CFO and VP of marketing were listed, but Daniel didn’t recognize their names.
Daniel searched SEDAR next. Canadian securities law compels every publicly traded company to publish key financial and personnel information. To manage this information, the securities industry created a simple system with a complicated 1970s-style name: System for Electronic Document Analysis and Retrieval. Although Fireweed wasn’t publicly traded, Daniel assumed that Forrestal, being such a prominent business personality, would sit on the boards of other companies. As a director, he would be asked to review and approve the company’s strategy, key investments, and top executive appointments. Daniel didn’t find a single document with Forrestal’s name.
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