by Easton, Don
“You sound pissed off about it.”
“Yeah, I’m pissed off!” said Adams. “Not over him being dead. I’m pissed off at you. With everything we have been through, I thought you would trust me enough to tell me the truth.”
“Listen … I’d trust you with my life … but that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you something you don’t need to know just to try and ease my conscience. Sure, sometimes I would like to confide in someone. Maybe get their assurance that whatever I did was the right thing.”
“So why don’t you? I was about to do that with you.”
“And look what might have happened. Does it really matter if someone else agrees or not?” said Jack. “You have your own conscience and have to live with what you did. Confiding in someone might give you temporary relief, but it’s the rest of your life you have to deal with. In the long run, having told someone else will give you one more thing to worry about. It is also a burden for the person you told. Keep in mind what Al Capone once said: ‘Two can keep a secret if one is dead.’”
Adams looked up at the sky, then sighed and looked around at the landscape, avoiding Jack’s intense stare as he thought about what had been said. He then focused his gaze on the Camaro and his face darkened. Without warning, he scooped up a rock and threw it as hard as he could and swore as the rock bounced off the car fender.
“Feel better?” asked Jack.
“No, I should have shot it,” replied Adams.
“It would be the American thing to do.”
Adams stared hard at Jack a moment, then grinned. “Don’t give me that shit. If you had a gun you would probably put a slug up the muffler and then chew off the radiator hose and push it over a cliff.”
Jack smiled in response and said, “We each have our own style.”
Adams put his hand on Jack’s shoulder and said, “Guess I’m not pissed at you. What you say makes sense. I think I’m pissed off at the world we live in. Don’t know who the good guys are anymore.”
“In my books, I’m talking to one of the good guys,” replied Jack.
“Thanks, buddy.”
“Let me give you a hug … or are you afraid that will ruin your two-gun-packing macho image?”
“Only if you keep your underwear on and promise not to tell anyone. Otherwise I’ll be forced to shoot ya.”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” replied Jack.
Adams followed Jack into the main office and saw the open door into Davidson’s office. Inside, District Attorney White was standing and talking to Davidson, who was sitting behind his desk.
What’s he doing here again? Am I being arrested?
Then Adams saw Weber and the other two bosses were also in the office talking. By the looks on their faces, he knew they were angry.
Jack also saw them and as he approached, Davidson spotted him and gestured at him with his hand. The others turned and looked at Jack and their faces displayed a combination of anger and pure hatred. As Jack neared, Weber stepped forward and slammed the door in his face.
Jack shrugged and returned to where Adams stood.“I suddenly feel like I’m persona non grata right now. Gee, I wonder why?”
Adams didn’t reply, but stared at the closed door with his mouth gaped open. Seconds later, his body trembled as he gazed around the office. Up until this moment, he still had some doubts that his car had been bugged. He didn’t want to believe he was really considered a bad guy. Now he had no doubt.
As he looked at his colleagues sitting at their desks, he felt like he was in no man’s land, with enemies on both sides. Family was the only thing he had left and all he wanted to do was go home and hug his wife.
“I thought I felt alone before,” mumbled Adams, “but it was nothing compared to how I feel now. Are you done? I want to get the hell away from these guys.”
“I’m done.”
As they were heading for the door, three men were sitting in the general office talking in hushed tones to each other. One looked up at them and said, “Hang on a sec.” He gave a furtive glance toward Davidson’s office, before rushing into Weber’s empty office, only to return a moment later and hand Jack a desk ornament. It was a small U.S. Customs and Immigration flag attached to a small plastic pole and stand.
“The guys … me …” the man started to say to Jack, but glanced at Adams and mumbled apologetically, “We didn’t know, uh, until a few minutes ago that they,” he nodded toward Davidson’s office and continued, “uh, that they were doing what they were doing.” He looked at Jack. “We wanted to give you something,” he added solemnly, before turning on his heel and returning to the others.
When Jack and Adams stepped outside, Jack waved the flag in front of Adams’s face and said, “Looks to me like you might not be alone as much as you think.”
chapter forty-seven
* * *
It was Friday afternoon in Vancouver when Miguel and Ramiro parked their car beside a car wash. They were immediately met by two members of Satans Wrath, who directed them into the public washroom. Neither Miguel nor Ramiro protested when they were then searched for weapons and any electronic listening devices. After that, they were taken for a ride in a van being driven by one of the bikers.
Lance strolled with Damien through Stanley Park and each man was enjoying an ice-cream cone when Lance received a message on his BlackBerry.
“Seems our two Mexicans have picked up heat today,” said Lance.
“Which means the police knew them all along,” said Damien.
“Also means Taggart is probably dead and the cops don’t give a shit if we see them or not,” replied Lance.
“Looks that way.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Tell them to bring the two taco boys over. We’ll have to take some precautions, but I want to hear what they’ve got to say. We’re also going to have to prepare them for the amount of heat that will be coming down on them. Make sure they don’t do anything stupid like popping off wives and kids.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Miguel and Ramiro met with Damien and Lance on the beach at Stanley Park. Their backs were to a seawall that rose above head level and they stood amongst a cluster of sun-bleached driftwood logs strewn on the beach.
Several members of Satans Wrath patrolled nearby to ensure none of the police who had been following would be in a position to monitor any conversation.
Damien was not a man who was shocked easily, but even his mouth hung open in stunned silence as he listened to what Miguel had to say.
“You mean to tell me you let him escape?” he said, flabbergasted.
“Not me,” Miguel hastened to say. “The men in the house.”
“Let me get this right,” said Damien. “You beat him unconscious, strip him naked, handcuff him to a pipe, torture him, threaten his family, and then …” Damien paused, rolling his eyes at Lance, before turning back to Miguel, “and then you let him escape?”
“Yes, that is what happened.”
Damien glanced at Lance who shook his head and muttered, “I can’t believe it.”
Damien turned his attention back to Miguel. “Do you just think he might have been a little pissed off?”
“A little pissed off?”
“Do you recall me telling you Taggart was … make that is, a very dangerous man and to kill him immediately?”
“Yes, but —”
“But what?” snarled Damien.
“That was not my decision. It was Big Al who made that decision.”
“And this house … let me get this correct,” said Damien facetiously, “you said was out in the desert, surrounded by professional soldiers with trained commandos inside.”
“Yes.”
“And not only did he escape, but first he shoved a gun up El Pero’s ass and shot him, then bit Big Al’s nose off, broke his arms, threw him down a shaft, and broke his neck?”
“Yes … it is very sad about Big Al. They even said from the blood Big Al coughed up, it looked like hi
s ribs had been broken, which punctured his lungs, as well.”
“Yeah, it sounds to me like Taggart was a little pissed off,” said Lance.
Miguel saw the sarcastic look on Damien’s face and squirmed his back against the protruding end of a driftwood log before adding, “But I have a new boss, so everything is okay now. We are still interested in doing business with you.”
“Do you believe me now that Taggart is a dangerous man?” asked Damien.
“Yes, of course.”
“Think about what he did to El Pero and Big Al for asking questions about his family.”
“What do you mean?” asked Miguel.
“Could you imagine what someone like Taggart would do if you had actually harmed his family?”
“Well … I —”
“Then you brought a parade of policemen with you when you went to meet my guys at the car wash. Did it occur to you the police might wonder what part I had in Taggart being tortured and the questions asked?”
“Yes, that is unfortunate,” replied Miguel looking around, “but I am sure the police cannot hear us.”
“I don’t think you’re hearing me.”
“No, it is windy … and these birds are very noisy, but it is okay, I can still hear you.”
Damien looked at Lance, who shook his head in disbelief.
“So what can I tell my new boss?” asked Miguel. “Are you interested in going into business with us?”
Damien glanced at the seagulls squawking around them and smiled and said, “I’ll tell you what, wait here and I will confer with my colleague for a minute before giving you an answer.”
As soon as Lance and Damien walked up the stairs to the top of the seawall, Damien said, “Find out where the closest cops are.”
Lance walked over to another member of Satans Wrath and returned a moment later and said, “The young couple who are sitting on the park bench down from us.”
“The ones holding hands, looking like they’re on their honeymoon?”
“Yup. They were both in a white Ford Taurus and followed the guys all the way from the car wash to here. At least two other cars were involved, as well.”
Constables Helen Fraser and Darcy Cummings both sat on the park bench. It was Helen who first suspected their little charade wasn’t working.
“Crap, I think we’ve been burned,” she said. “Damien is pointing right at us and it looks like he’s coming over.”
“Be cool,” cautioned Darcy. “He’s probably only guessing and trying to see what our response is.”
“Hello, officers,” said Damien with a smile as he approached. “Make any busts under the Controlled Drugs and Substances Act yet today?”
“I’m sorry,” said Darcy, looking confused. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“Then let me explain it more clearly and help you out,” replied Damien. “The two Mexicans you were following this morning in your white Ford Taurus … you know, the two guys who led you to Wet Willy’s Car wash?”
Neither Helen nor Darcy answered.
“Well as it turns out,” continued Damien, “they wanted to see me. I had met them for the first time yesterday when they came uninvited to one of our clubhouses. They say they want to go into business with me.”
“Uh, we don’t, uh know what you’re —”
“Forget it, Darcy, he knows,” interjected Helen.
“Thank you,” said Damien. “Now, they are both waiting for my answer as to whether we should go into business together.”
“And what business would that be?” asked Helen.
“There is some confusion on that issue. All I know is it was a business agreement that Corporal Jack Taggart of your Intelligence Unit was trying to arrange. You can ask him about it.”
“I see,” replied Helen, “but as things stand, do you think you might be going into business with them?”
Damien glanced back at the seawall and saw where Lance was standing watching him. Lance gave him a nod and Damien turned back to Helen and Darcy and said, “You’ll find the answer to that on the other side of that wall.”
“We will?” asked Helen.
As Damien turned to walk away he said, “Oh, one more thing. Tell Taggart if he wishes to remain above ground, not to pretend he belongs to our club ever again.”
Helen and Darcy looked at each other a moment, then hurried over to the seawall and looked down.
“Oh, Christ,” muttered Helen. “Call an ambulance.”
chapter forty-eight
* * *
The flight Jack and Lily took back to Vancouver went as scheduled and Jack used the time to prepare his report. They cleared customs at the Vancouver International Airport Friday night.
Jack was acutely aware of the psychologist’s recommendation about keeping Lily’s ordeal away from the media. He knew the reunification between Lily and her mom would be an emotionally charged event that could draw unwanted attention, so he had made arrangements to drive her directly home to her mother instead.
Jack and Lily were greeted at the airport by Natasha and Mikey. After a quick introduction and hugs, they drove Lily home.
Upon arrival at the house, Jack saw the tree in the front yard was adorned with a large yellow ribbon. He had not yet shut the engine off when Lily burst from the car and ran to hug her mom, who appeared on the porch in her wheelchair. Marcie, standing under a “welcome home” banner strung over the door, anxiously waited for her own hug.
Jack was right in his prediction about it being an emotionally charged moment. The only one who didn’t have tears in their eyes was Mikey, who remained asleep in his car seat.
Monday morning saw Jack back at the office. He gave a copy of his undercover notes to his boss, Staff Sergeant Rose Wood, along with his report. She read them carefully while he sat across from her desk.
“Basically what you said when you called me Friday afternoon,” she said, leaning back in her chair and nodding at the report.
“That’s about all there is to say,” said Jack, gesturing to the report.
“All there is to say? I think not,” she said firmly.
“Oh?”
“It goes without saying I’m pleased everything turned out okay, but why the hell didn’t you call me before Friday? You went into Mexico totally on your own, without authorization and without so much as even a phone call to me or anyone else to get permission.”
“Three reasons,” replied Jack. “First of all, there wasn’t time to sit and wait for Ottawa to make a decision … and even if they did make it in time and give authorization, policy dictates the police in Mexico would have to be informed. That would have jeopardized both Lily’s life and my own.”
“You might be right, but Ottawa will still be furious. You could be facing disciplinary action.”
“I feel what I did was right.”
“There is no moral servitude in Ottawa. They dance to what the politicians want, no matter the cost. If they think you upset some Mexican politician they’ll land on you with both feet.”
“I’m aware of that, but nothing they could do to me would take away how good I felt Saturday night when I brought Lily home. Let them take their best shot — it was worth it.”
“What were your other two reasons for not seeking permission?”
“If I called you and gave you the details, you would have come to the same conclusion about Ottawa as I did, leaving you with two choices. Tell me I couldn’t go, knowing Lily would die because of it, or give me permission to go on your own and risk both Lily and myself being murdered … which really would have put you in hot water.”
“I would have given you permission. I know you would have gone anyway,” said Rose.
“I know. That was the third reason. You would have been in trouble from Ottawa for something I was going to do, anyway.”
Rose drummed her fingers on her desk for a moment. “I don’t need you to judge what is in my best interest. Should something like this ever occur again,
let me make that call.”
“Will do. Is that all?”
“No, it is not all. Besides the fact you went into Mexico without authorization, I have no idea what Ottawa or Isaac will think of all this,” she said, gesturing to Jack’s notes and his report. “You’re basically saying you went down there, found the girl, and escaped with her when the bad guys were fighting amongst themselves.”
“Timing was fortunate,” replied Jack, being careful not to use the word coincidence, which had been used all too often in his past investigations.
“Then the next day the police discover there are a total of seven bodies. Was that all good timing … what the hell … a coincidence, too?”
“No, that was not a coincidence. Five of those men were killed by the cartel for letting me escape.”
“I see. So it is only two out of seven who died coincidentally with you being there?”
“Uh, yes, I guess you could say that, although I understand Clive Slater is missing. I am sure he was killed, as well.”
Rose sighed and flipped through Jack’s notes again before looking up. “You said you were clubbed over the head, stripped naked, handcuffed … and Big Al was going to ask you questions about colleagues and … family,” she noted, putting the emphasis on the last word.
“Correct.”
“You were then poked with a cattle prod by El Pero and passed out.”
“Correct.”
“And when you regained consciousness and were picking the lock on the handcuffs, El Pero was actually in the act of raping Lily.”
“I believe so. That’s when I saw another guy going —”
Rose’s face hardened. “Stop it right there!” she snapped. “Don’t you ever —” She paused, and after letting out a deep breath and regaining her composure, she said, “I think I’ve got a clear enough picture of what happened, despite my belief there are certain omissions in your report and your notes.” She stared hard at Jack. “What? No acting surprised? No look of concern followed by denials?”
