“Stay here,” the officer said. “I mean it, or you’re going to find yourselves in the back of a police cruiser.”
Jordan stepped to the side as a group of officers in dark tactical gear moved en masse to the front of the vehicle line.
“Jesus,” Ali breathed.
Jordan glanced at Ali. Her expression was focused. And just the edge of scared.
“Jordan!”
Rachel was waving her over, the young cop by her side.
“I shouldn’t be surprised you muscled your way onto the scene. Jesus, McAddie,” Rachel said when the three of them approached. “Have you heard anything else from Madi?”
“No, nothing. Have you seen her? Have you seen any of them?” Jordan had to shout to be heard above the racket around them.
Rachel shook her head. “No confirmation. We’ve got helicopters overhead trying to get footage, and we’ve got two police boats circling underneath. So far we’ve got around a hundred head count. Placards and chanting. No demands at this point, which, I have to say, is making me nervous.”
“You don’t think blocking the bridge during rush hour is the final goal of this demonstration?” Ali said.
Rachel shook her head again and was about to answer when the two-way radio attached to her lapel crackled a message Jordan couldn’t hear. Rachel spoke into the two-way and listened to a garbled message. Jordan saw shock and fear take over Rachel’s expression before it was replaced by grim focus.
“Officers on the Coast Guard boat are reporting activity on the struts of the bridge.”
“What kind of activity?” the young officer said.
“They’re not sure. But I can’t think of a reason for any protesters to be down in the structure of the bridge if all they’re trying to do is bring awareness to their cause. Can you?”
The young officer silently shook his head. Rachel closed her eyes briefly.
“Jordan, I’m going to ask you to come with me. Constable Jeffs, can you escort Sierra and Ms. Clarke back to their vehicle, please?”
Jordan nodded her agreement but Ali was already building her case.
“Sierra should go, yes. But I got a message from Madi as well. Let me stay until we know why Jordan and I were asked to be here. There’s a plan, let’s see if we can co-opt it.”
Jordan watched as the two women squared off, Ali standing her ground even though Rachel had all the power.
“Okay, you can stay,” Rachel said. “For now. Let’s go find Staff Sergeant Buck.”
Jordan and Ali followed Rachel around vehicles and clusters of cops and firefighters until they reached a large van with “Emergency Response Team” emblazoned on the side. Staff Sergeant Buck was conferring with the tactical team, looking down at a tablet playing video footage.
“Staff Sergeant Buck,” Rachel said, and the officer looked up before handing the tablet to the tactical officer. “You know Jordan McAddie, and this is Alison Clarke. They both received texts from Madigan Battiste trying to get them on the bridge tonight.”
Buck stepped in closer as the helicopter made another pass overhead. He shouted as Jordan and Ali leaned in to hear. “I need to know if Ms. Battiste is part of the protest group. A leader or a follower, it doesn’t matter. Her allegiance in this is central to any plan we have moving forward.”
Allegiance, a tricky word. It implied ties and loyalty, love and family. Jordan hated that she hesitated, a complete betrayal of Madi. But maybe that was her answer. Ali touched her arm and shook it a little until she had her attention.
“Tell him, Jordan. You know the answer to this.”
Jordan looked briefly at Ali, and then she turned to Buck. “I think Madi has known what’s been going on with this group for a long time. I think she’s involved to protect the other kids. I think she’s involved to keep me as far away as possible. I think someone took her phone and sent that message so we would be here. But I don’t know why.”
Staff Sergeant Buck nodded once curtly. “That’s Constable Shreve’s opinion also. I needed to hear it from the source.” He gestured to the truck and they all followed him.
The space was cramped, walls lined with monitors and equipment and gear Jordan only recognized from movies. But it was quieter here, even with the various screens streaming footage obviously taken from the helicopters and the boat. Jordan stared at the screens, seeing the protestors at the apex of the bridge, some waving placards, some cheering, most moving in a ponderous, massive circle. She tried to find familiar faces, but she couldn’t.
Rachel seemed to follow Jordan’s gaze. “Norton, can you show us what you’ve got zoomed in?”
The officer sitting at the controls clicked on his keypad and pointed at a monitor above his head. The aerial footage was magnified.
“There,” Jordan said suddenly, breaking the tense silence as she pointed to the screen. “That’s Philip and Rupert. Jasmine. Dylan. Seamus. Raya.” Jordan named some kids she’d seen just yesterday in gym as well as a few that had aged out of her programs.
The picture zoomed up and away as the helicopter raced past and turned around mid-air. The sensation was nauseating, but Jordan kept staring at the screen as the helicopter returned. She was looking for Madi, tiny and fierce Madi.
“We can switch to the boat footage,” Rachel said quietly. “It can give us another—”
“I see Helena,” Jordan said. “Right there.”
Rachel and Buck both leaned closer.
“Capture that image, Norton,” Buck said.
They all stared at the screen in silence. Helena was surrounded by people, but two looked like they were acting as bodyguards, positioning themselves between Helena and the crowd. They had their hoods up and their faces were obscured. But Helena, in her pea coat and scarf, had her head bare. She seemed to be smiling.
Ali moved a little closer to the screen. “Is that…?” She pointed at a figure sandwiched between one of the bodyguards and Helena.
Jordan saw Madi’s face. She couldn’t make out all the details, but she recognized her pale face and defiant body language.
“Pause it, please, Norton,” Rachel said quietly. The frame froze, and Rachel pointed. “Madigan Battiste next to Helena Cavio.” She looked at her superior officer. “I think you need to let Jordan in on a few details.”
Buck ran a hand over his mouth as if considering Rachel’s request. Then he turned to Jordan. “The protestors have blocked the bridge with vehicles in both directions.” Norton, the video guy, pulled up images without being asked. “The ones that concern us most are the four rental vans, two on each side of the bridge. Their contents are unknown, and we’re treating them as suspicious until we can get more intel. Those vans coupled with activity on the understructure of the bridge means we are moving real careful on this one. With a hundred people on the bridge, a couple dozen of them minors, we’ve got the potential for a real situation here.”
Jordan squeezed her hands in her pockets, clenching and unclenching her fists as a wave of dread threatened to engulf her. “What do you need from me?” Jordan said. “I’ll help in whatever way I can.”
Buck regarded her before he nodded decisively. “All right. We want you to make contact with the protestors, specifically with Helena Cavio. We assume that’s why she used Ms. Battiste’s phone to get both of you down here. I am very hesitant about asking you to go on that bridge. I have very little idea what I’m sending you into, but my gut is telling me a police presence or show of force will only add fuel to the fire, and we need eyes and ears up there.”
“I’m in,” Jordan said. “Let’s do it.”
“Me, too.” Ali held up a hand as Jordan spun to face her. “Save it, McAddie. I’m not interested in your argument.”
Jordan felt all eyes on her as she glared at Ali. In response, Ali just lifted her chin in silent challenge.
“Hand me a mic and earpiece, will you, Norton?” Rachel said.
Jordan didn’t move as Rachel hooked a battery pack to the back of Jordan’s
jeans and threaded a wire up her back and over her shoulder. “You know,” Rachel said conversationally as she worked, “as much as I don’t want to see both of you walking toward that protest group on the bridge, I’ll feel a hell of a lot better knowing you’ve got backup.” She handed Jordan an earpiece. “Especially backup that has already proven she can kick ass if necessary.”
“There are a hundred people on that bridge,” Jordan said, adjusting the rubbery piece of plastic in her ear. “No one can kick that much ass.”
“I don’t think they’re all a threat,” Buck said from his position by the door.
Rachel grabbed another set and started wiring Ali. Jordan felt sick. She focused on Buck’s words.
“What do you mean?”
“I think more than one agenda is playing out right now. Hell, I think there’s been more than one agenda this whole damn time. I think most of the people on the bridge, most of the folks who have been involved in the graffiti and demonstrations, truly believe they’re fighting a cause for justice and change. I don’t think their motives are violent. My guess is a core few, like Helena Cavio and her henchmen there, have no issues with injury or loss of life to further their cause. The convenience store fire proved that.” He pointed at Jordan and Ali. “I need you two to find out who is a threat and what do they have planned.”
As Jordan and Ali, both fitted with mics and earpieces descended out of the ERT truck back onto the windy and loud bridge, those words kept repeating in the back of Jordan’s head. Who is a threat, what do they have planned. Rachel and two officers in tactical gear escorted them to the front of the line of the emergency vehicles. Then, with a few last words of encouragement, Jordan and Ali began making their way up the slope of the bridge.
It was an odd feeling, silently climbing the deserted four-lane highway as wind swept over the massive structure spanning the Halifax harbour.
“I love you, Jordan McAddie,” Ali said as the wind whipped in a downward draft, bringing the sound of the protestors in an anger and energy-fueled wave. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment it all hung in the balance, past and present and future, as Jordan’s heart struggled to place Ali’s words where they needed to go.
“Your timing is impeccable, Alison Clarke,” Jordan said.
Ali grinned, her eyes shining.
“I love you, too,” Jordan said. “But I won’t pretend I’m happy you’re here right now.”
Before Ali could respond, Rachel’s voice came through Jordan’s earpiece. “As much as I’m looking forward to the wedding invitation, I thought I should remind you two that you’re being broadcast to the ERT base here.”
Jordan felt herself blush, and Ali’s eyes went wide and she mouthed “oops” to Jordan.
“Sorry, Rach,” Jordan said. “How should we play this, exactly?”
“Don’t play it,” Rachel said immediately. “You can be completely honest about your motives for being there. We’re not trying to fool Helena or whoever is running this. You want a peaceful resolution, end of story.”
“Okay.”
“Just be yourself,” Ali said, briefly squeezing Jordan’s hand. “Treat Helena like you always have. She respects you because you’ve always shown her respect.”
Jordan’s steps felt heavier as they passed the first set of struts that held the suspension wires over the Halifax Harbour. Jordan couldn’t hear the water far below but she could picture it, inky and cold and deep. She shivered.
“Fifty metres from contact.” Jordan heard an unfamiliar voice in her ear.
“If you’re with the police, that’s close enough.”
Jordan tried to find the source of the shouted command, finally isolating it to a figure in a bulky jacket standing by the hood of one of the rental vans. He popped his head over the hood, and Jordan recognized him immediately.
“Creaser, it’s me. Jordan.”
Creaser immediately walked around the hood of the van, smiling broadly.
“Jordan? Hey! I didn’t know you were joining us. The boss said no one else was allowed on the bridge. What the hell are you doing here?”
Jordan passed the line of cars and shook Creaser’s outstretched hand. “I should be asking you the same thing.”
“Ah, you know. Just doing my duty,” he said good-naturedly. Everything about Creaser had always been good-natured. “Vive la révolution, and all that,” he added in a terrible imitation of a French accent. He switched his gaze to Ali. “Who’s with you, Jordan?”
“Creaser, this is Ali. Ali, this is Creaser. We grew up in the same housing project together.”
Ali shook Creaser’s hand and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same to you, ma’am.” Creaser looked over his shoulder and yelled out. “Jamie, come cover the van for me. I’m going to take these two to the boss lady.”
The man Creaser had called over glowered first at Creaser and then at Jordan and Ali. Jordan looked at him impassively, trying to remain neutral and unaffected by the urgency and undercurrent of tension.
“Fine,” Jamie said curtly.
Creaser waved them over. Jordan tried to look at everything and everyone, counting cars, detailing locations, trying to decipher intent from the expressions of everyone around them. The vans were most heavily guarded, and the stationary guards seemed to have the coldest and most serious expressions. The main group of protestors was surrounded by these hardened, immovable men and women. Jordan caught sight of a few of her kids, though they were too caught up in what they were doing to pay attention. They were imprisoned, not protected. Jordan doubted they knew.
Ali had her chin tucked into her jacket, as if she was cold. But Jordan was fairly certain she was relaying everything she could see into her mic.
“Boss lady is just back here with her lieutenants. Well, two of them. You heard about Roddie Connors, didn’t you, Jordan?”
“I did. Was he a friend of yours?”
“Yeah. I mean kinda? Guess I’m just surprised. He just seemed so set on doing whatever the boss lady said, you know? She was so clear with everyone that our group wasn’t about revenge. But when Rod heard about how those people at Lucky Seven treated Helena when she was on the street…” Creaser gave a low whistle and shook his head as he ducked around more people and more cars. “He wanted to get back at them even though Helena said not to.”
“Was she upset? Helena?” Jordan said just as a cheer went up with the protesters.
“They’re really having a blast,” Creaser said, smiling at the antics of the group. Then his face fell. “She was mad. Real mad.” Creaser gestured at the side of the bridge. “Here we are.”
A few men shuffled back as Jordan and Ali approached, giving them a clear view of Helena.
“Hello, Jordan.”
Helena’s voice cut through Jordan. She looked at Helena Cavio standing calmly in the midst of the chaos. Madi was nowhere to be seen.
“Hello, Helena. I think you wanted to see me.”
Helena smiled. “I’m always happy to see you.” When Helena looked at Ali, her expression grew noticeable colder. “Ms. Clarke, I see you got my message also.”
“I did.”
Helena nodded briefly in acknowledgement and turned her attention back to Jordan. “I knew you would ignore a message from me, but not from Madigan. I hope you’ll forgive the trickery. It really was very important to get you here. You straddle worlds in a way I have never been able to. I need you to do that now since you have a voice people will listen to.”
“I don’t know about that,” Jordan said. “But I want to help in whatever way I can.”
Helena nodded, her face becoming more animated. “I always admired your willingness to help. Not just a willingness, a selflessness.”
“These kids are important to me, Helena.”
“Yes. Exactly. They are important. Which is why we need to make changes now. Demand change. Force change.” Helena spread her arms wide, as if glorying in the cold confusion of th
is dance she had orchestrated.
“I’m worried about my kids. They’ve had a chance to be part of this protest and use their voices. But I’d like to take them home now.”
Helena’s eyes had become distant with that far-off stare Jordan had come to recognize. It no longer looked like a simple quirk. It seemed like the marker of someone no longer able to connect with reality. That gaze filled Jordan’s chest with fear far more than the shouts and stomps of the protestors behind them or the glares of Helena’s bodyguards.
“Where’s Madigan?” Helena said suddenly. One of the men gestured to someone behind Jordan. “Her voice is important in this.” She laughed, but the sound was off to Jordan, just this side of shrill. “You know that already, of course. You helped give Madigan her voice.”
Madi walked into the small circle of people, her expression oddly blank. Her hood was pulled up against the wind. She looked at Jordan and stood in the vacant spot next to Helena. Jordan’s heart pounded.
“Hey, Madi,” Jordan said.
Madi nodded an acknowledgement.
“You okay, Mad?” Ali said.
“You didn’t need to come down here.”
“You said you needed help.”
“I don’t.” Madi looked at Helena. “Let them take their guys out of here. We had a better turnout than we expected, we don’t need—”
Helena held up a hand, and Madi stopped talking. She looked pleadingly at Jordan and then she dropped her gaze to the ground.
“A brief story for context,” Helena said, her voice sharper than it had been a moment ago. “Eight years ago, I decided I would become the person I had always needed on the streets.” Helena stopped and seemed to scrutinize Jordan’s face. “You don’t look surprised.”
“I always knew you were connected to the people you supported in a way most folks weren’t.”
“Yes,” Helena said softly. “I know their powerlessness, and I promised myself I would do what I could to shift the balance. So I paid for a new identity and took a bus and a ferry to Halifax to start over. I lived in a shelter in Dartmouth, worked on my résumé, found a job. I dressed up in donated clothes, I even carried the same Starbucks coffee cup for two weeks and refilled it at the shelter every morning. I pretended to fit in, but I was a sheep in wolf’s clothing. I mimicked the tones and postures of the people who worked in Social Services, bemoaning the lack of resources when all I saw were misspent riches. I feigned exhaustion at the end of the day when people went home congratulating themselves on their hard work. Instead, I walked the streets and used my paycheck to hand out food, and all I wanted to do was sit with them, be one of them. But I needed to keep my cover. I played the game just enough to hide. I wanted the world to see a wolf among wolves.”
Shadowboxer Page 24
