by J M Dolan
“Right,” said Jamee. “The two women come to Canada. Veronika Kaminski, moonlighting as a mule for the human trafficking ring, delivers Odessa for payment. The women get in through the Montreal port of entry as exotic dancers on temporary work permits. Kaminski then moves Odessa onto Calgary, intending to abandon her, while she cuts out. Kaminski’s objective was to step into Odessa Koval’s identity and recreate her role of live-in caregiver. Her real purpose was to spy?” Jamee ended the sentence on a question.
“It sounds far-fetched when you say it that way, but it’s my supposition, it was time for another assignment for Veronika. The Russian spy agency used the same scenario as before, but this time, planned to get rid of the loose end they had in Odessa by trading her off as a sex slave.
Do you think she was supposed to murder Odessa?” Jamee frowned.
“That would seem unlikely, she would be considered valuable property. Dispose of her, maybe into the sex trade, but not murder. That would put Kaminski’s cover even more at risk. Obviously something happened, but I don’t think it was supposed to end in death for either of them,” said Sam.
Jamee digested the information. It made a few things clearer in her mind.
“Oh, one last thing,” said Sam, “we’re meeting with Thomas this afternoon. Apparently he has the skinny on a possible new player.”
“I guess that’s it for the R and R.”
“Sorry honey, hot tub’s gonna have to wait,” offered Sam. “Murder tends to trump most everything else. Thomas first, but the R and R’s only a postponement.”
“It’s a deal. When the time is right, and this is behind us that hot tub would be just the thing.
“How about a little romance to go along with that?”
“Moon and starlight,” said Jamee with a quick laugh.
Sam sealed the deal with a light kiss. “Moon and starlight, it is.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jamee sat with her back to the wall. Funny, how once the subject of espionage had been broached, the meeting with Thomas now seemed clandestine. They were meeting formally in the Harry Hays Federal building in Calgary. Thomas was all business this afternoon wearing his Deputy Minister of Public Safety hat. Sam brought Nancy to record the meeting.
“Before we begin,” said Jamee, “and off the record – why the formality Deputy Minister Avery?”
“You can still call me Thomas, Jamee but Nancy here will be inserting the official titles for this synopsis. Proper forum and business etiquette for this meeting is required to move our investigation, up the ranks to the Prime Minister. All Ts crossed and Is dotted,” he said.
“And the purpose?” Jamee pressed him.
“We’ll need higher authorization to take this to the next level, now we’re positive Kaminski is GRU,” answered Thomas.
“Authorization for what,” persisted Jamee.
“Why, to catch the bad guys,” said Sam casually.
He was wearing a formal suit for the meeting and looked wickedly handsome. She, on the other hand, was stretching business casual and feeling the odd man out.
“How the hell are we going to do that?” She eyeballed Sam.
“With Tommy Boy’s help here, we’re going to put together an operation that will involve several police and security services.”
“But first,” said Thomas, “a lesson in Russian Espionage 101.”
“Go for it,” urged Jamee.
Thomas booted up his power point and cleared his throat.
“History first. The Russians have two major bodies dealing with intelligence services. The Main Intelligence Directorate, which we’ve linked to Kaminski, is Russia’s largest foreign intelligence agency. Commonly known as the GRU, it was given the task of handling all external military intelligence. It gathers human intelligence and maintains significant satellite capabilities.
“Reportedly, the GRU has penetrated the western world thoroughly and maintains deep dossiers on our leaders and other key figures with lethal intent,” concluded Avery.
“Not to say that the western world isn’t doing the same,” broke in Jamee. “I suspect even Canada can put together an assassination squad. If it talks like a duck, quacks like a duck...you know…it is a duck.”
“You watch too much TV,” said Sam with skepticism.
“Granted, you can’t believe everything you see on TV, but the proof is in the pudding,” Jamee insisted. “Ask some of the world’s more recent bad guys, Osama bin Anybody for instance. Yep, you don’t want to be the sitting duck when the shooter arrives.”
“Whose side are you …” Sam’s tone was a touch indignant.
“Children, children. Stop it! Nancy you can strike those last remarks from the record,” Thomas added quietly. “Let’s get back to business, shall we?”
Thomas continued, “The key words for GRU are espionage and sabotage. Kaminski’s profile says she fit right in.
“Over the last decade the GRU has participated extensively in Russia’s involvement in civil war conflicts. The GRU is several times larger than their other intelligence agencies and has special status. It reports directly to the President,” Thomas read from his notes.
Sam took up the conversation. “I know the agency has been credited with some well-publicized spy operations abroad. And conversely, there have been some humiliatingly sensationalized defections of top GRU agents to the West. Spawning those books and movies…Jamee is so fond off.”
Thomas continued, “While the GRU deploys several times more agents, the Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation or SVR is Moscow’s other, better-known intelligence service.”
“Yup, there you go, the SVR is the new KGB. Now there’s an old name that strikes terror,” commented Jamee.
“Guaranteed — it’s not just TV propaganda,” said Sam drolly. The flippant remark earned him a jab in the ribs from Jamee and a stern look from Thomas.
“The SVR,” said Thomas, “is considered one of the most powerful secret services in the world. It is responsible for intelligence and espionage activities outside the Russian Federation and partners with its military counterpart, the GRU.”
“The Russian President, without permission, can personally issue any secret orders his little heart desires,” Thomas confirmed. “They even have a Directorate that evaluates and circulates intelligence data, to provide daily updates for the President. The list just goes on and on.”
“That’s one vast machine,” said Jamee. “Big brother’s definitely watching.”
Thomas continued. “You might ask why we are discussing the SVR in conjunction with Kaminski’s known status as a GRU agent. Reportedly, it’s believed a group of temporary immigrants, including scientists and other professionals, has been created by SVR for deep undercover, spy operations. According to CSIS one of these teams is under the command of a Russian SVR operative branded only as the Wolf. Not much is known about him but even the bad guys seem to have a healthy respect for his abilities. In an interview last month, a felon who had worked as muscle for the Russian mob linked the two names. CSIS feels, and Interpol is in agreement, it’s highly possible Kaminski worked under the direction of the Wolf.”
“I contacted Forensics,” said Sam. They’ve continued to investigate the unidentified prints on the answering machine, and the DNA from blood found at Abi’s house. Their persistence paid off. With the new information, Thomas is providing, they’ve uncovered a new lead. The mystery print remains a mystery, but one of the blood samples on the mail box has been identified as belonging to the SVR operative, the Wolf. He’s considered an elite in the spy world.”
“Several months ago,” said Thomas, ‘in an altercation with one of our overseas CSIS agent’s, a Russian spy was stabbed. The CSIS agent had been checking out a tip from an informant, regarding human traffickers when he was attacked by an unseen assailant. Word on the street was he’d tangled with the Wolf.
“Blood from the knife blade was catalogued, labelled as the Wolf’s, and entered int
o the Interpol database. Our mailbox blood came up as a match.” Thomas paused to let the significance of his words sink in. “And that has certainly given this case a jump forward to crucial international significance.”
“Why the hell has some super-spy turned up at Abi’s house,” said Jamee.
“That’s the hundred-dollar question. The missing care-giver case is now of International importance,” reiterated Sam. “All sorts of law enforcement agencies have their ears and eyes alert to any developments in our investigation. Interpol is not in the spy business. However, we’re eager for their assistance and access to their considerable resources.”
“This case seems to touch on many of their areas of expertise,” Inspector Avery continued. “One last thing to consider, is the latest update on Inspector Aleksey Volkov. Interpol is putting together a dossier. In their initial search an old student record surfaced. It was absent from current data, but emerged on a refined search in the archived files. Volkov was at one time, a Russian foreign exchange student attending the University of Kiev in Ukraine. His Russian family history gives CSIS reason to believe, he could be more than what we see on the surface. His step-father was part of the Politburo, the Old Russian guard. Interpol is willing to keep digging, and they’re in the process of matching Volkov’s fingerprints with their extensive database. CSIS is taking particular interest, and Sam has the CSIS members of his team following that lead.”
“We’ve established Volkov is looking for Odessa Koval,” said Jamee, “and we suspect, without her best interests at heart. I don’t have a good feeling about this.” She rose to pace the room and stood at the window. “Shit, if Volkov’s involved, could I have been helping the bad guys find the good guys?”
“It’s way too early to say,” Thomas pointed out.
“Jamee, I understand where you’re going with this,” countered Sam. “And there’s no way you should be taking responsibility for what might, or might not, have happened to Odessa. Yes, its likely Volkov’s purpose for contacting you may have been a ruse to locate the woman. But, your reaction to his manipulation is helping solve a murder, crack immigration fraud and possibly a lead to human trafficking and spying.”
“You’re giving me too much credit, but what the heck, I say let’s kick butt,” snarled Jamee.
“That’s the intention,” agreed Sam. “Catch the bad guys with an operation which will involve all team players.”
“It’s a good plan,” said Thomas, “but we need to grab a break. We don’t have solid leads to the traffickers, we don’t know where Koval is, or even if she’s still alive, and we don’t know what Volkov’s part in all this is.”
“It’s Thomas’s recommendation to the Minister of Public Safety that I head up the task force team of RCMP and CSIS officers, and liaison with Interpol, where appropriate,” Sam said.
“Of course,” he continued, “I’ve asked specifically for RCMP Sergeant Dunbar, and Thomas will work it out, so you stay on as our consultant. Thomas is in charge of budget. I’m in charge of action and results. And we’re both on the hook, if those results aren’t positive.”
“Well I’m all in,” said Jamee, “and I’ve been thinking about that other, still unidentified blood on Abi’s mailbox and the mystery print in the house. My gut says run Volkov’s prints against those. We have evidence Odessa was at the house; her fingerprints were on the mailbox and then there’s her message on the answering machine. I think the other mailbox blood is likely hers too. She mentioned a note in the phone message and it makes sense she may have cut herself on the hinge if she left it in the mailbox,” said Jamee.
“I think we should reach out to Odessa’s family,” said Sam. “Bring them into the loop and see if they have anything forensics could use for DNA analysis.”
“Aside from that,” Jamee looked to both men, “they should be informed she’s missing. I know we’ve been waiting to confirm the identity of our dead woman, but I don’t like to think they’re either anxiously waiting to hear from her, or presuming everything is okay.”
“I agree,” said Sam. “They might be able to provide vital information that will help find her. Maybe she’s even been in contact with them.”
“Or maybe not,” said Thomas. “Not if she was part of the scheme to get Kaminski into the country. Most of the women who get caught up in human trafficking are ashamed to confide in their families — something traffickers use to their advantage. But, I agree her family might have information that could help us confirm our theories, or explain some of the missing pieces. I’ll put in a request with Interpol to have someone contact Odessa’s family.”
“I have one more thing to offer,” said Sam. “Dunbar provided positive results from the bug sweep of Abi’s house and our cars – hits all around. Some highly sophisticated listening devices were found. The good Sergeant says they’re Russian origin.”
“My money’s on the Wolf,” said Jamee, “with Volkov a close second.”
Chapter Twenty
Sam had arranged to pick her up at six o’clock, reminding her of their mutual decision to set the case aside for tonight. Jamee met him at the door carrying a light-weight cashmere sweater coat in a depth of colour that radiated royal blue. It swept almost to the floor against the hem of a matching wrap around dress. She watched him give her the once over from head to toe. Then inquiring about her bathing suit, reminded her he was serious about that hot tub he’d promised.
Her teasing smile and coyness when she informed him she intended to wear the suit she’d been born with earned her a smoldering look.
He kept that intent gaze on her as she stepped into the shoes she’d left at the door. When one raised dainty foot curved to slide into the fashionable heels, the matching royal coloured silky fabric of her dress parted from ankle to thigh revealing a luscious and shapely leg. She knew the dress was killer when she heard Sam bite back a throaty hum.
“It’s cool out,” he muttered as he reached for her coat. Holding it for her to slide one arm into the soft sleeve he stepped behind her for the other, and lingered. He drew her against his broad chest and nuzzled her neck, gently running his lips from her earlobe and along smooth skin to where neck and shoulder met. Jamee marveled as her senses fired on all sorts of different levels, the scent of him; the feel of him. He turned her in his arms to kiss her. Her lips softened, pliable and wanting. She tasted him, hot spice with a lingering sweetness.
Jamee’s head spun in slow, lazy circles and she wondered about the effect. She let him control the kiss. When he softly released her lips, the sigh was audible in the quiet stillness and she was grateful for the support of his arms. He steadied her briefly before taking her hand and together they stepped outside.
At the car, Sam walked her around to the passenger side door, handed her in and fastened the seatbelt. As he straightened, he snugged her coat cozily around her legs. It reminded Jamee of the experience of being tucked in when she was a little girl. Independence and women’s lib was a fine thing, but it was nice, once in a while to feel cared for.
With the high performance car purring and easy classic rock playing, the atmosphere was a world away from life’s harsh realities. Jamee relaxed into the seat and focused her mind on the loveliness of what it was like to go on a really great date.
When Sam turned into the familiar street and pulled into his underground parking garage, Jamee looked over at him in expectation. The light was dim, but she could see the small smile playing across his face.
“Take a chance,” he said, without looking at her. “Wait and see.”
“Sweet, I like surprises,” said Jamee, “as long as they’re good surprises. She glanced around the car, “I don’t have to wear a blindfold, do I?”
Now he did look her way. His smile was genuine and warm, his eyes full of humour at the pleasure of having planned — something unexpected. It reminded her of a mischievous little boy. She didn’t think Sam, likely had many opportunities to indulge in the light-hearted fun of youth. Tonight
, it looked good on him. It made her wonder what he’d been like as a child.
They stepped into the condo elevator and Sam pressed the button. She was surprised to see the car rise past his usual stop. She glanced at him with raised brows.
“Patience, grasshopper,” he said.
The doors parted at R. “Roof Garden,” he said
Jamee stepped out into the magic of the night where hundreds of tiny lights twinkled amongst columnar cedars and artfully arranged shrubbery. The garden provided privacy to a heated raised gazebo and screened-in patio area featuring a softly lit hot tub.
Sam guided her in the dim light of the gazebo and took her coat. The cloth draped table and two chairs oozed intimacy. It was set with china, stemmed wine glasses and candles. The embossed china was white like the table cloth. The sparkle in the cut-glass wine glasses and heavy silverware reflected the glow of the candles. On her plate, a single deep-red rose rested. Bluesy rock ballads wafted quietly in the soft darkness.
Sam pulled out her chair, making sure she was comfortable before picking up the uncorked red wine and filling her glass. The claret coloured liquid spilled into the fine crystal and Sam gave the bottle an expert’s twist to finish the pour. She took a taste and the heady aroma of cherries and chocolate washed over her palette.
Sam joined her, and with glass in hand, raised his in toast.
“Slàinte”
Jamee touched hers lightly to his, being mindful of the expensive and delicate stemware.
“You set a nice table, sir.”
“An appropriate setting, for the very beautiful woman I am dining with.” He raised his glass to her again. “I confess that’s something that doesn’t happen often, and the credit for setting a nice table belongs to my grandmother. The heirloom china and silverware were hers.”
