The Consultant
A novel by
Claude Bouchard
THE CONSULTANT
All rights reserved
Copyright © 1996 by Claude Bouchard
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.
Published by Claude Bouchard
Kindle Edition
What others are saying about The Consultant!!
Vigilante’s follow-up, The Consultant is equally engaging. By bringing the characters of Vigilante to the next level, Bouchard has managed to create a thrilling series, completely living up to and exceeding the standards of its Mystery and Crime genre. Holly Christine – Pittsburgh Books Examiner
“Perfect follow up” The Consultant is the perfect follow up to Vigilante. A thoroughly enjoyable read that kept me turning pages nearly non-stop, from its intriguing beginning to its satisfying conclusion. Eric B. Thomasma – Author of ‘SEAMS 16: A New Home’
Discover other titles in the VIGILANTE series at
http://www.claudebouchardbooks.com
Table of Contents
Prologue - Tuesday, January 7, 1997
Chapter 1 - Wednesday, January 8, 1997
Chapter 2 - Thursday, January 9, 1997
Chapter 3 - Friday, January 10, 1997
Chapter 4 - Monday, January 13, 1997
Chapter 5 - Tuesday, January 14, 1997
Chapter 6 - Wednesday, January 15, 1997
Chapter 7 - Monday, January 20, 1997
Chapter 8 - Tuesday, January 21, 1997
Chapter 9 - Wednesday, January 22, 1997
Chapter 10 - Thursday, January 23, 1997
Chapter 11 - Friday, January 24, 1997
Chapter 12 - Saturday, January 25, 1997
Chapter 13 - Sunday, January 26, 1997
Chapter 14 - Monday, January 27, 1997
Chapter 15 - Tuesday, January 28, 1997
Chapter 16 - Wednesday, January 29, 1997
Chapter 17 - Thursday, January 30, 1997
Chapter 18 - Friday, January 31, 1997
Chapter 19 - Saturday, February 1, 1997
Chapter 20 - Sunday, February 2, 1997
Books by Claude Bouchard
Prologue - Tuesday, January 7, 1997
“Who the hell is this?” demanded the voice on the other end of the line.
“Never mind who I am,” George replied, his voice a wavering whisper. “Just listen. Quality Imports. Got it? That's all I can say. Quality Imports. Check it out.”
He quickly hung up the phone and sat in the darkness of his office, breathing deeply, fighting back the urge to vomit. After a moment, his shaking subsided and the churning in his stomach slowed. He realized that this was dangerous but also knew that he had done the right thing.
Standing, he began to pace back and forth as he continued his deep breathing in an attempt to regain his composure. He started feeling ridiculous and began to relax. There was no reason to worry, he reasoned, he was alone. Anyhow, nobody had the slightest idea that he was aware of anything.
Feeling better, he picked up his briefcase and left his office, heading for the main entrance. As he walked by the door leading into the warehouse, he paused then stopped. He had to look again. It was silly because he had seen what he had to see but he felt drawn, as if by some powerful, invisible magnet. He set down his briefcase and, following a moment’s hesitation, opened the door.
The warehouse was dark but he had been without light for some time now and his eyes had grown accustomed to its absence. Quickly, he made his way to the rear receiving area where he had seen the cases an hour before.
As he picked up the crowbar he had used earlier and started to pry off the cover of the first wooden case, he could feel the adrenalin pumping through his system once again. The lid came off more easily this time and he leaned it off to one side against the racking. Although this time he knew what to expect, he experienced the same gut wrenching feeling he had felt an hour ago when he had first discovered the cocaine.
At least, he believed it was coke. The shipment came from Colombia and, according to the labels and paperwork, was supposed to be coffee. Though he was far from being a drug expert, he was certain that the contents of this case alone were worth several million dollars on the street.
As he stared in awed horror at the rows of powder filled plastic bags before him, the warehouse lights suddenly came on, bathing the cavernous room in harsh light.
“Good evening, George,” a familiar voice greeted from behind him.
He turned to find himself faced by four men, two of whom, like him, were executive managers of the company. The other two, whom he recognized as warehouse employees, were armed with what appeared to be automatic weapons which they pointed directly at him.
“Greg… Wayne… What’s going on?” George nervously asked, for lack of something better to say.
“Well,” responded Wayne, the company’s Director of Operations. “What’s going on seems to be that Georgie is not minding his own goddamn business. What do you think, you stupid fuck?”
“Listen,” pleaded George, shaking all over again. “Whatever you guys do with your spare time is your own business. Just let me go and I promise I won’t say anything. I swear.”
“You sure of that, Georgie?” enquired Wayne with a warm smile. “I can’t let you go unless you’re sure of what you’re saying.”
“I swear it, Wayne,” promised George, sweat streaming from every pore of his body. “I won’t say a word. Hell, I’ll even quit if you want. I won’t even show up tomorrow.”
Wayne gazed at him thoughtfully for a few seconds then pulled a handgun equipped with a silencer from under his jacket.
“You got that right, dude,” he grinned as he calmly pulled the trigger four times.
“Was that absolutely necessary?” whined Greg, Director of Finance, as George’s body slumped to the floor.
“Greg, sometimes I wonder why the fuck I ever involved you in all of this,” Wayne snarled in exasperation. “What were we supposed to do? Believe the schmuck and let him go? You just better pray that he didn’t speak to anybody about all of this.”
Turning to one of the other two, he continued. “Bring his car out back and get him out of here. Dump him and the car in some tough neighbourhood somewhere. Hopefully, the cops will think it was a mugging or something.”
“Do you think he might have spoken to somebody?” Greg questioned uneasily as he watched the body being dragged away.
“He can’t have been on to us for long so, I doubt it,” Wayne replied with his usual overconfidence. “But if he has, I’m sure they’ll understand that their best bet is to shut the fuck up.”
Chapter 1 - Wednesday, January 8, 1997
Walter Olson signed the last page of the thick, legal-sized document and slid it across the boardroom table to Chris Barry.
Although he knew its contents by heart, Chris allowed himself several minutes to scan the agreement one last time and then also apposed his signature.
The deal was complete. CompuCorp was now majority shareholder of CSS Inc., having acquired all of the shares owned by Walter Olson and Chris Barry.
Founded by Walter Olson some twenty-five years prior, CSS’ original “raison d’être” had been to offer security and investigative services to the business commun
ity at large.
Nine years ago, in a time of difficult markets and falling revenues, Chris Barry, now Executive Vice-President and Chief Operating Officer, had joined the firm and rapidly turned it into a leader in the field of computer security. The company had gone public after three years and had continued to expand ever since. Revenues of the preceding year had slightly exceeded $3 billion and conservative forecasts for the current year were for a 15% increase.
Of the one hundred million outstanding shares, which were currently trading at $16.25, Walter, the firm’s president and CEO, held 40%. In addition to a generous salary and a variety of other perks, Walter had awarded Chris with a number of stock options over the years, in recognition of his contribution towards the company’s success. Today, this translated in Chris’ owning 20% of the firm.
Having turned sixty during the preceding year and satisfied with his accomplishments, Walter had decided that it was time to retire. To ensure a serene retirement, Walter felt it necessary to completely exit the business world and invest his profits in fixed income vehicles, thus eliminating the stress related to the volatility of the stock markets.
His only concern with his decision had been Chris and how the latter would react to it. They had worked extremely well together for nearly a decade and had grown extremely fond of each other during that time.
To Walter’s surprise, when he had announced his intentions, Chris had agreed wholeheartedly, even indicating that he also was at a turning point in his life and wished to take it easy for a while and enjoy life with Sandy, his wife.
CSS had been approached with merger propositions on several occasions in recent years and when word had gotten out that the company was for sale, offers had begun pouring in.
Recognizing the firm’s current value and future earnings potential, CompuCorp had come in with the best bid, offering CSS shareholders $28 cash per share. Walter and Chris had accepted and were now both much wealthier men.
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind, Chris?” asked Jeff Sanders, CEO of CompuCorp. “With Walter out of your hair, you could really make CSS work,” he added with a smile.
“Nope,” Chris replied without hesitation, shaking his head. “I appreciate the vote of confidence but Walter’s the one who really built this company. I just helped keep it profitable over the last few years. He’s decided to turn the page and frankly, having worked with him for close to ten years, I really feel that I’m entitled to a well deserved break.”
“Do you bastards want me to leave the room so that you can continue your goddamn conversation?” demanded Walter in mock anger, now $470 million richer.
“No, stick around,” answered Chris with a smirk. “I’m a rich sonovabitch now and you ain’t my boss anymore. I think it’s time you heard what I’ve really got to say about you.”
“Unappreciative, little punk,” Walter grinned, ending the playful exchange.
“Well, if you change your mind, Chris, let me know,” said Sanders. “I have no doubt that we can find a place in our organization for you.”
“Thanks,” Chris responded. “But thirty-five is not a bad age to retire and I’m sure my wife and I can find something to do to pass the time, at least for a little while.”
* * * *
Chris finished collecting the various documents laid out on the boardroom table before him and walked through the door into his spacious adjoining office. Walter, who was already seated in one of the comfortable leather armchairs in the corner and sipping a Chivas, neat, looked up as Chris entered.
“Are you sure this is what you want, kid?” he questioned, not certain if Chris had made the right decision.
“Harry, I’m gonna turn thirty-five in March,” Chris patiently replied. “I just signed a contract that will put $560 million in the bank in my name. That’s a profit of $235 million with what I consider little or no effort. Yep, this is what I want.”
“What are you gonna do now?” pursued Walter, still not convinced.
“To start,” laughed Chris. “I’m gonna get a real good night’s sleep. Then, I will have frequent sex with my wife, which we both thoroughly enjoy, travel, mow the lawn, do crossword puzzles, read and paint. Hell, I might even write a book. That’s always been something I wanted to do.”
“After that,” pressed Walter. “What are you gonna do if you get bored?”
“You worry too much, Walter,” Chris chuckled, shrugging his shoulders in exasperation. “After that, if I really get bored, I’ll find myself some work to do. You know, freelance. I’ll become a consultant.”
Chapter 2 - Thursday, January 9, 1997
Employed by the federal government’s Ministry of Defence, Jonathan Addley’s official title was Director of Police Relations and, although he allotted a small portion of his available time to the duties related to this title, this was not his true function.
He was in fact responsible for a small, yet elite division, the existence of which was known by very few. Though it had no official name, it was sometimes referred to as Discreet Activities and it worked in tight collaboration with similar organizations of other countries. The purpose of this covert network was to supply whatever help it could to ensure the security and well-being of the member countries’ citizens.
In so doing, Discreet Activities was open to solving problems at all levels and often dealt with issues that might otherwise be looked after by the police at the municipal, provincial or federal level. In fact, as often was the case, such authorities were actually investigating criminal activities which this clandestine team decided to handle. However, when the division became involved, it always did so without the official knowledge of these law enforcement agencies.
The staff of the Canadian team consisted of little more than a handful of people, carefully recruited by Jonathan. None of them however, were on the government payroll, at least not as salaried civil servants. Rather, when their services were required, they were paid from the government's coffers as consultants.
Their assignments usually consisted of tasks which required high levels of discretion as well as actions that could not be carried out by the customary law enforcement agencies. Each member of the team knew well that in the event of an assignment going sour, their government would not back them up as doing so would be admitting that the network actually existed. They were on their own, but were handsomely compensated for this risk and their efforts.
Though Jonathan did not often recruit new members, he remained constantly on the alert for possible candidates, which were a rare commodity in his line of work. He finished reading the confidential file entitled “Christopher Barry” and leaned back in his chair, reminiscing on how he had come to learn of this new potential recruit.
It had been late morning towards the end of September of the previous year and he had been sitting and chatting in the office of his personal friend and professional ally, Nick Sharp, RCMP Director for the province of Quebec. Nick was one of the few people who were more closely aware of Jonathan’s covert activities and the two occasionally helped each other out when possible.
As they had chatted, their conversation had been interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Sorry to bother you, Chief,” apologized Arty, one of Nick's officers, coming in and closing the door behind him. “I’ve got a lady out there who insists on speaking to the person in command.”
“What about?” asked Nick.
“Won’t say,” Arty shrugged. “She just says that she has something of vital importance to discuss with someone high up.”
“Of vital importance?” Nick scoffed. “Is she a crazy one?"
They had their share of nuts coming in off the street to supply information about enemy spies with master schemes or aliens from other planets.
“Nope,” Arty shook his head. “She’s well dressed, good looking, a little agitated, but I don’t think she's crazy.”
“Alright,” Nick sighed. “Show her in.”
As Arty left the room Jonatha
n rose from his seat but Nick waved him back to the chair.
“Stay,” he suggested. “Just in case she is a wacko, I may need you for protection. Seriously, you’re a senior government officer so you can hear what she has to say. Plus, I was hoping you’d buy me lunch so, stick around.”
As Jonathan laughed and dropped back into his seat, the door opened once again and Arty entered, followed by an attractive woman in her early thirties. She did seem agitated, her nervousness displayed by her wan smile and her abrupt, rapid movements.
The two men stood to greet her as she moved into the office.
“This is Chief Sharp, ma’am,” Arty announced before leaving the room, closing the door on his way out.
“How do you do, Miss...?” enquired Nick, smiling warmly as he extended a hand.
“Mrs.” she corrected uncertainly, not responding to the handshake. “Mrs. Denver.”
For some reason, the name seemed vaguely familiar.
“Well, Mrs. Denver, I’m Nick Sharp and this is Jonathan Addley,” said Nick as he sat back down. “Mr. Addley’s with the Ministry of Defence. Have a seat, please.”
As she lowered herself into an armchair, she eyed Jonathan suspiciously and asked, “Does he have to be here?”
“I was told that you wished to speak to somebody high up,” answered Nick with a serious smile. “Mr. Addley is about as high up as they get. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Okay” she hesitantly replied. “I just want to be careful with who I talk to.”
“Quite understandable,” Nick replied soothingly, wondering if she was mentally imbalanced. “Now, how can we help you Mrs. Denver?”
She stared at both men, the uncertainty clear in her eyes, then took a deep breath and spoke.
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