Sea of Cortez

by Garry Ryan

  Arthur nodded. “I thought that’s why we need Tommy Pham. He’s the lawyer.”

  Lane’s pulled the phone out of the side pocket of his carry-on bag and tapped the screen. He reread the text from Nigel: Pike has expanded the contract on you and increased the reward. Provide updates on your status so protection can be arranged.

  Arthur leaned over and read the text. “What do you want to do?”

  Lane shrugged. “Nigel and Cam will take care of it.”

  Fidel approached the south end of the airport as Alejandro’s phone rang. After a brief conversation in Spanish, he turned in his seat. “The Policía Federal are at the hotel asking for you.” He turned to Fidel. “We must hurry.”

  Ten minutes later they pulled through a gate at the north end of the airport. Fidel stopped at the edge of the pavement and next to a white Bombardier jet with its engines tucked near the tail. Lane got out and went to the back of the SUV. Fidel remotely opened the hatch. Lane shouldered his carry-on, then lifted both of the larger pieces from the back. Arthur and Alejandro joined him.

  “Let me help you,” Alejandro said. “There isn’t much time. You may have as many as three governments after you as we speak.”

  Lane lifted the handle on his rolling luggage. “Those problems can be managed.”

  Arthur followed behind. “Then there is no need to rush.”

  Lane stopped and turned, looking at Alejandro and Arthur. “Pike will be on his way up the coast on Bonner’s yacht. He is the priority problem we need to solve.” He stood at the open side door of the jet. The co-pilot stepped down and took the first bag. Lane thought, Until Pike is dealt with, my family will be at risk. I’ll take him out first; maybe then it will be time to retire. “Come on, Arthur. You and I have some planning to do.”

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22

  chapter 20

  Lane finally had the feel of the motorhome. It was thirty-eight feet long, painted gold and called American Revolution.

  “Are we out of Utah yet? Are we legal here?” Arthur sat on the couch behind the driver. He sipped from a bottle of water.

  “Just. Another hour and we should be in Pocatello, Idaho.”

  “Okay if we stop for something to eat?” Arthur came forward and dropped into the passenger’s chair. “What did Nigel call this?”

  “Dumbspicuous consumption.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever sat in a more comfortable vehicle.”

  “No way we’re gonna buy one of these.”

  “I’m just saying.” Arthur looked out the massive windshield. “How much trouble are we in?”

  Lane reached down to fiddle with the power settings on the seat. A pair of full-size silver Chevy SUVs passed them. Brigham Young University Volleyball and Girl Power were written in pink on signs on the rear windows. “Three governments, the Angels and Pike are after us. I’m starting to think that maybe it’s a good thing.”

  “How do you come to that conclusion?”

  “Ever since I signed up with the police service we’ve been fighting this war on drugs. This time we got together with people from the affected communities and figured out a different solution. Instead of the money going to some federal government, it goes to local communities. The whales took care of some of the heads of the organization. So this may be an opportunity.”

  “I forgot to tell you that Nigel and Lori sent texts.” Arthur held up Lane’s phone.

  “And?” Lane looked ahead to the semi with two trailers beginning to slow as it climbed a hill. He checked his mirror and moved over into the passing lane.

  “They’re getting inquiries from the RCMP and FBI. They want to know what happened to Bonner’s accounts and they want to talk with you and me.”

  “Sometimes doing the right thing stirs up a real wasp’s nest of trouble. The people who’ve been fighting the drug war with the same tired old tactics are upset.”

  “Then there are all of those other people who helped us out. Aldo’s friend with the jet who set us up with this delivery to Calgary. The people at the resort. It’s like there’s this network of people willing and ready to change things — and taking risks to help us change things.”

  “Kind of like Uncle Tran?”

  “Exactly. People with money or connections who are looking for solutions. They’re not interested in doing things the same old way. They just see the job that needs doing and then figure out ways to get it done.”

  Lane nodded. “That’s what I’ve been thinking about. After a while, swimming upstream just gets old.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “We’ve tried something new with the supply side. Now we need to take care of the distribution side. Pike’s network needs to be dismantled. The problem is what do we replace it with? In San José there was a plan to put the money into the community. What do we do at our end?”

  Lane waited until they passed the semi on their way up the hill. “We got rid of Moreau and Stan Pike. Now we have the start of a gang war because Sean Pike wants to expand his market share. With Bonner, Fuentes and Manny out of the way, Pike could end up running the whole mess. Judging by the way he’s operated things so far, it will probably become more violent.”

  Arthur looked west at the setting sun. “After we stop, you want me to drive for a while?”

  Lane checked his mirrors, signalled and eased back into the right lane. “Sure. I might take a nap. You’ll wake me when you get tired?”

  “I just woke up, so I should be good for a while.”

  SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 23

  chapter 21

  Lane woke up when Arthur stopped in Butte, Montana. The gas station lights were on and the eastern sky was a horizon-wide valance of purple and pink. He put his feet on the floor.

  The door of the RV opened, and Arthur climbed aboard. “You’re up. Want to get some breakfast?” He sat sideways in the driver’s seat. “There’s a nice little place between here and the highway.” The diesel clattered to life. Arthur checked for traffic before rolling them out onto the road.

  Up ahead a neon sign announced that Red’s was open. It was a one-storey, flat-roofed, plain white building set at one corner of a parking lot. Arthur manoeuvred the RV alongside a semi parked next to a chain-link fence at the furthest end of the lot. He waited for Lane to open the door, then followed him outside. The air added frost to their breath and they dodged patches of ice as they walked to the front door of the restaurant. The inside was bright, and the decor featured clear-stained shades of softwood, pillars of cedar to support the roof and pictures of highways during every season and from a variety of climates. A shining vintage Harley was parked out front of the kitchen. The waitress wore jeans, a white T-shirt and big blonde hair. She smiled and opened her right hand to indicate they should pick a table on their left. They sat down near a window. The waitress arrived with menus and a carafe of coffee. “When you decide just give me a wave.” She left behind the carafe and a pleasant scent of soap and gentle perfume.

  Lane poured, added sugar and cream to his coffee, stirred, sipped and smiled. “This is good.” He looked at Arthur, who was checking out the room.

  “Someone is a pretty good photographer.” He pointed at a shot of Moraine Lake. The glacier fed impossibly blue water.

  Lane looked at the menu and made his choice. “How come you didn’t wake me up to spell you?”

  “You needed to sleep and I needed to think.”

  “About what?” Lane reached for the carafe and refilled both cups.

  Arthur reached for a creamer. “The kids are all going to be out on their own. You’re about to retire and I was thinking about what we could do next.” He looked over his shoulder for the waitress, who headed their way. “You ready to order?”

  “What’s good?” Arthur asked.

  She smiled. “Everything.”

  Lane ordered bacon and eggs over medium; Arthur, the Montana omelette.

  They sipped their coffees in comfortable silence. Lane began to wake up and Arthur
surveyed the counter and the kitchen.

  The waitress smiled as she set their plates in front of them. Lane sprinkled salt and pepper on his eggs. Arthur watched as the waitress went to the cash register, picked up a tablet and began to tap the screen. She studied something on the tablet, held it up and looked at Arthur. She looked away quickly, then elbowed her way through the double swinging doors into the kitchen. Arthur waited until the cook’s face appeared. He was framed in the opening in the wall between the kitchen and dining area. The man spotted Arthur and ducked back behind the wall.

  Arthur concentrated on pouring fresh coffee into his cup and Lane’s. “Keep eating.” Lane looked up. Arthur said, “Just keep eating.” He picked up his knife and fork, cut off an omelette tail and shovelled it into his mouth.

  Lane’s eyes looked to the left. He looked back at Arthur and raised his eyebrows.

  Arthur chewed, took a sip of coffee and rubbed his hand over his upper lip. “The cook and the waitress have taken a sudden interest in you and me. Think it’s time to contact Harper and let him know where we are?”

  Lane put a slice of bacon on a piece of toast and folded it in half. “Looks like it.”

  Lane drove the morning. Arthur slept until early afternoon. They stopped for gas and coffee in Lethbridge. Arthur took over in the driver’s seat, sipping a cappuccino set in a handy cup holder. He looked at the stubble in the fields sticking out of the snow like fingers. “I know a shortcut.” Arthur signalled and turned north onto Highway 23. The two-lane blacktop was a bit of a squeeze for the motorhome. “This will save us at least twenty minutes.”

  Lane sat beside in the passenger seat, nursing his mocaccino. His stomach growled. “Anything in the fridge?”

  “Some apples, I think.”

  Lane got up and swayed back to the fridge. Inside he found half a dozen apples. “Want one?”

  “Later.” Arthur lifted his coffee while keeping his eyes on the road. They passed farms and a few pickups headed in the opposite direction.

  Thirty minutes later Arthur said, “Keep your eyes open for Highway 529 West.”

  They spotted the sign at the same time. Arthur slowed, braked then turned west on another two-lane highway.

  Robbie sat in the driver’s seat with Daryl perched on the passenger seat. The black Suburban’s oversized eight-cylinder engine was running. The seats kept their backs and backsides warm, but the leather complained when they moved. They were parked on the north side of a block-long metal-walled building with a corrugated metal roof. Twenty metres in front of them, northbound traffic accelerated as it left the town of Nanton.

  Daryl rolled the wood-stocked shotgun over. The sawed-off barrel pointed at the floor. He reached with his left hand and pulled slugs from the box inside the console. Five rounds slid easily into the chamber. He took five more from the box and tucked them into the left pocket of his canvas shirt.

  Robbie adjusted his navy-blue toque, checking to make sure his ponytail was hanging over the collar of his leather jacket. “You’re using slugs, right?”

  Daryl nodded and rolled his left hand into a fist. “They make a nice big hole.” He rubbed his clean-shaven cheeks with his right hand and inhaled the scent of gun oil. Then he reached into the glove box. A pair of black deerskin gloves lay under the 9-mm Glock. He pulled it out, ejected the magazine, checked it was full, then slid it back in. He pulled on the gloves. They fit tight along the fingers to keep them warm when he opened the window and poked the gun into the winter wind.

  Robbie looked at the clock on the dash. “We should see them pretty soon. It’s a gold RV with Nevada plates.” He pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “Here’s the number.”

  Arthur waited at the stop sign, then pulled into the northbound lane of the four-lane divided highway. “We’ll be home just after dark.” He looked west at the mountains and the sun settling onto the peaks.

  Lane checked his mirror and leaned forward to take a look out Arthur’s mirror. Then he turned on the camera mounted at the back of the RV. He lifted his cup from the console and savoured the last drops. “Let me know if you spot anything unusual.”

  Daryl pointed at a gold RV with American Revolution painted on its side. “That them?”

  Robbie checked the back seat and the AK waiting there. “You bring binoculars?”

  “Nope.”

  Robbie shifted into drive. The tires spun on the gravel, rattling against the belly of the Suburban. He checked right, stopped at the sign, turned north on the highway, then pressed his right foot to the floor.

  Lane kept his eyes moving from the side mirror on the passenger side to the camera to the traffic ahead.

  Arthur accelerated to one twenty. “Any sign of Nigel or the RCMP?”

  “Not yet. Maybe we were wrong about the staff at Red’s.” Lane looked west at the Rocky Mountains. The sky shone orange and pink as the sun dipped down behind the peaks. “That never gets old.”

  “Hang on. Why is this guy so close?” Arthur jerked his thumb back in the direction of Nanton.

  Lane looked in the mirror, seeing nothing. Then he looked at the rear camera. He saw a large black SUV with a Chevrolet logo on the grill. Two men sat in the front. Lane said, “Looks like the passenger is reading a piece of paper.”

  “Just keep talking. Let me know what they’re up to.”

  “They’re dropping back. Soon they’ll be moving into the passing lane.”

  “Mounties?”

  Lane shook his head as he released his seat belt so he could see both mirrors and the camera. “I don’t think so.”

  “What are you doing?” Arthur kept one eye on his side mirror and the other on the road. It ran up to the crest of a hill. “There’s not much traffic out here.” He spotted a white pickup truck waiting at a stop sign about five hundred metres ahead. On the other side of the highway, an SUV approached from about a kilometre away.

  Arthur’s the best driver. “You watch the road. I’ll let you know what they’re up to.”

  Lane crouched next to Arthur, checking the camera and then turning to look out the side window. He saw the black Chev accelerate and disappear from camera view. He looked out Arthur’s side window. The passenger-side window of the Chev slid down, and the barrel of a gun appeared. “Gun!” Arthur saw the gun barrel from his side mirror and hit the air brakes. Lane was thrown against the dash, then to the floor. The Chev shot ahead. There was a puff of smoke and a pop from the shotgun. The round missed.

  Lane got on his knees, left hand holding the back of the driver’s chair as Arthur swung into the passing lane.

  The passenger in the Chev swung the barrel around and fired again. The second round went wide.

  There was a thump as Arthur’s right foot slammed the accelerator to the floor. The Chev swung onto the highway’s left shoulder. Arthur followed. The Chev slowed.

  Arthur swung right and thumped the right rear corner of the Chev’s bumper with the RV’s front left bumper. The Chev swapped ends. There was a blizzard of snow as the rear of the SUV hit the median and disappeared into the white.

  Lane got to his feet. “Nice driving!”

  Arthur began to slow. “We’d better stop.”

  “Let me take a look first.” Lane stood up and rubbed the shoulder he’d bruised during Arthur’s manoeuvres. “If they can get out of the Chev, we’ll want to put some distance between us.” He walked down the length of the RV and looked out the back window. The white pickup pulled up alongside the black Chev. The approaching blue SUV stopped on the other side. Armed officers got out of the unmarked trucks and took cover on the far side of their vehicles. “Pull over onto the shoulder and stop. Looks like we were being covered all along.”

  Arthur pulled over, stopped and put on the four-way flashers. They both watched from the rear window as the officers held their positions and the men inside the Chev stayed there. Five minutes later a slate-blue armoured Gurkha arrived in the southbound lane. It stopped behind the SUV.

 
“What’s that thing?” Arthur asked.

  “The intimidation factor, I think.”

  The pair in the Chev put their hands out the windows. Officers approached the black Chev from either side of the median. They dragged the suspects out the windows, onto the snow and then onto the pavement.

  A white RCMP cruiser pulled up alongside the RV and stopped next to the driver’s window. Lane walked up the passageway and opened the driver’s window. Arthur stood behind him.

  A female officer in the cruiser leaned to the passenger side and looked up. “You two all right?”

  Lane said, “Just fine, thanks.”

  The officer said, “Follow me into Calgary. That pair —” she jerked her thumb in the direction of the Chev stuck in the snow “— will be transported for questioning.” She pulled ahead. Arthur climbed into the driver’s seat, waited for Lane to sit and put his seat belt on, then trailed their escort into Calgary. “What do we tell Cam?” Arthur asked.

  “He’ll know the whole story by the time we get there.”

  It took an hour to reach the RV dealership and drop off American Revolution. An unmarked grey Dodge Charger was waiting for them. The male uniformed driver, with high and tight hair, said nothing as he drove downtown and dropped them off in front of the police service office. Lane got out and zipped up his jacket. The north wind knifed through the opening at his throat. He looked over his shoulder behind the Charger and saw the driver of the RCMP cruiser pull up behind. The driver waited and watched Lane and Arthur go into the building. Another uniform — female and as uncommunicative as the driver — escorted them up the elevator and waited until they walked past Jean, who raised her eyebrows and gave a brief smile. “Welcome home.”

  Cam Harper sat behind his desk. He wore his navy-blue tie and shirt with its epaulets. He stood, came around the desk and shook their hands with his familiar bear-like grip. “Glad you got back safe. I hear a couple of Angels tried to mess up your trip.” He motioned with his hand that they should sit.