Snow Blind

by Jim Heskett

  But Layne didn’t know what he could do about it at this moment, anyway. Harry hadn’t been able to find meaningful connections via all the government intelligence back channels. Layne’s in-person snooping had fared no better.

  Perhaps the best option would be to return to civilization and attack this investigation from a completely new angle. Still, Layne thought that avenue would feel too much like a failure.

  He didn’t know for sure if Daphne had made the drone drop as she’d promised she would. She would have had to complete it before the weather turned. There was a backup communication dead drop area at the edge of campus, but Layne had found no messages there each time he’d checked. With this wind and snow, getting information in and out had proved too tricky.

  As he trudged back along the pathway to the area of campus containing the rows of bungalows, he spotted a person in a heavy parka with a thick, fluffy hood. Hunched over, sitting on the steps outside a bungalow. As he drew closer, the hood rose, and Layne spied Janine in that parka. Mascara running down her face like two rivers of charcoal.

  She met Layne’s eyes, a blank expression on her face. From twenty feet away, she said, “hi.”

  Layne ambled through the snow over to her, and he struggled to find something to say. “It’s late,” was the only thing he could finally decide upon.

  Janine barked a cynical laugh. “That doesn’t matter much to me since I won’t be sleeping tonight.”

  “You can go home tomorrow. There has to be comfort in that, at least.”

  “Not really, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

  He opened his mouth as if he might have something wise to say, then stopped himself. After a pause, he said, “I’m sorry about your husband. Did he have a history of heart trouble?”

  She nodded. “He’s had a bad ticker for years. This was his second heart attack. I kept telling him to treat himself better, to exercise, to cut out all the cigars and red meat. Turns out, I was right, but it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  The wind picked up, whipping snow between them, creating a brief and impenetrable filter of white.

  “I’m sorry he hit you with a baseball bat,” she said.

  Layne turned his palms to the sky. “I’ve got a couple bruises, but that’s nothing new for me. I understand why he did it.”

  “And I owe you an apology for that. I took off my wedding ring on purpose. We played this game last year on vacation, and it was fun and harmless. We pretended like we’re not together and we got flirty with other people. Last time, it made us—I don’t know—appreciate each other more, or something. This time was different. He became genuinely jealous from the second I saw you on our first day. I should have stopped it right away, but I didn’t. I pushed it by talking to you, again and again, and now we’re here.”

  Layne didn’t know how to respond. So, he dug his hands into his pockets and waited for her to continue. He didn’t much like being a pawn in a game to spice up their marriage, but now wasn’t the time to confront her.

  “I only met him three years ago, and we’ve been married for two. This was the anniversary of our honeymoon.”

  “I’m sorry, Janine.”

  “Did he have any last words?”

  Layne thought for a moment and couldn’t remember what Grant had said in the final moments before he collapsed. Right after they’d both been kicked out of the SMRC, neither was in a good mood. Whatever Grant Paluski had said, it wasn’t worthy of memorialization. So, Layne shrugged. “We weren’t speaking.”

  She nodded, eyes fixed on a lamppost illuminating the other side of the pathway. “I’d like to be alone, now. It’s been nice knowing you, Lenny Priest. Sorry it was under such weird circumstances.”

  “You too, Janine. Take it easy.”

  Layne pressed on, past Janine’s bungalow, toward the main lodge. Wandering, hoping something useful would pop into his head. About Grant, about Rudy Costello, or about anything.

  Rapid footsteps shuffled through the snow behind Layne. He spun to find a breathless Harry, leaning against a nearby guard rail for support.

  “Come back to our room. I’ve got something… I found… you’re going to want to see this.”

  Harry hustled in the opposite direction, and Layne followed him, hopping through the snow to move faster. Lit by only a smattering of overhead lights, Layne concentrated on his feet to avoid the icy patches.

  Harry stumbled up the steps, flinging little chunks of ice out into the deeper snow in the pathway. Layne followed, holding onto the railing. Harry was on edge, for sure.

  Once they were in the living room, Harry shed a few of his outer layers and motioned Layne to join him in his bedroom. He stamped his feet as he crossed the carpet, leaving a trail of crunchy snow behind.

  Harry pointed at the laptop, panting so hard, he could barely speak.

  “Breathe,” Layne said. “Start from the top.”

  “I got her,” Harry said, hoisting his laptop. “Victoria Overton goes by an alias of Shelby Waterston. Shelby was part owner of a restaurant in Seattle that failed about five years ago. The other owner was Rudy Costello, and the restaurant manager was Grant Paluski. At the very least, this would make her a person of interest in their deaths and a reason to get her shipped down to America for questioning.”

  Harry brandished the laptop like a trophy he’d won, holding it out for Layne to accept. Layne took it in his hands. His eyes skimmed over the report detailing the tax documents for the restaurant. “Good. This is good stuff, Harry. This is what we needed.” Then, a thought occurred. “Is Janine Paluski listed on these documents anywhere?”

  Harry shook his head. “There’s no record of a connection with Grant. They were married in Hawaii, two years ago. Two years ago last week, actually.”

  Layne nodded, processing the info. He hadn’t been convinced Janine was involved in this shady business, but it didn’t hurt to be sure.

  “There’s more,” Harry said.

  “What’s that?”

  Harry swallowed. “Because of the internet hiccups, I got a flurry of emails and other bits of intel all at once. That info about Grant and Janine’s marriage was a part of it.”

  “And the rest?”

  “We should have had this days ago, but it just came through. There is a ship leaving an island near Seattle in two days, and it’s scheduled to contain cargo. We don’t know which island, though.”

  “The kind of cargo I’m thinking?”

  Harry nodded. “We will have a small window. A very small one if we want to intercept.”

  Layne nodded. “Copy that.”

  “Also, get this: The bodies of Rudy Costello and Grant Paluski are currently being stored in the lodge’s infirmary.”

  “Huh?”

  Harry nodded. “I know. Weird, right?”

  “I would have thought the RCMP would have taken Rudy, at least. The roads were still manageable then.”

  “Victoria somehow arranged it that he was left here. Or maybe they didn’t have the manpower to get those bodies down the mountain.”

  Layne handed the laptop back to Harry. “Works out better for Victoria this way. Probably so they can do something to the body before there’s an autopsy.”

  “So, what’s the next step?”

  Layne removed his heavy boots and swapped them out for his quieter, quicker athletic shoes. “I'll talk to Victoria and see what I can figure out. Let’s close this investigation and get the hell down to Seattle, as quickly as possible.”

  INTERLUDE 3

  London | Six years ago

  Back at Salty Wench, Layne, Oleg, and Alicia wait for Daphne and Harry to join them in the back room. They’re at the long tables, all three of them forgoing the chairs to sit on the table surfaces themselves. Pints all around. Layne is only sipping his since he’s not eaten enough today to coat his stomach for the thick beers his teammates like to consume.

  Oleg taps on his phone, playing a game that makes coin plinking sounds every few seconds.
Layne can’t see it, but he watches the light reflect off Oleg’s face.

  Layne is watching Alicia as she sits at a far table, performing self-surgery. He stares at her blankly, thinking about the charred bones in the warehouse, and the one bone in particular with the strange circular carving.

  She had her injuries treated the night before, but now she’s re-dressing the bandages. The crazy woman insisted on stitching herself up. Even Layne isn't into that.

  “Do you need help?” he asks.

  She shakes her head as she removes the last few inches of dirty bandage from the cut and drops them onto the floor. “You could get me something to bite on. This is going to hurt like hell.”

  He unfolds a butter knife from a nearby napkin and holds it up to her. She shakes her head but nudges her chin at the napkin itself. He walks it across the room to her, and she floats a smirk at him as he extends the napkin.

  Alicia takes it, folds it, and then clenches it between her teeth. She lifts a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and flicks the cap off with her thumb.

  Oleg looks up from his game long enough to cringe as she douses the stitched wound with a healthy pour of the peroxide. Alicia winces and growls as tears stream down her face. The trail of peroxide is pink as it cascades down her sinewy arm.

  “Some people would say you enjoy doing that,” Oleg says.

  “You okay?” Layne asks.

  Alicia blinks away the tears and grins at him. “Whoo! That was intense.”

  Layne wonders how Alicia will take the news she’s being booted off the team. He can see it going badly. Very badly.

  “You know,” Oleg says, “hydrogen peroxide is a terrible way to clean your wound. Too harsh. You’d be better off with soap and water.”

  Alicia scoffs. “I’ve been doing it this way since basic training. It’s good enough for me.”

  Next, she slathers some Vaseline across the stitches and pokes and prods around the wound. “Why did the warehouse last night turn into a big catastrophe, Oleg?”

  The operational leader puts his phone away and rubs his hands together. “How were we to know that they would blow themselves up? We can’t prepare for every contingency.”

  Now, Alicia glowers at him and heightens each point by stabbing a finger at the table. “We should have had eyes on the inside. More time to gather surveillance before committing to a plan. We should have known what we were walking into.”

  Layne senses her rising anger. It’s been a long time since someone on the team took a swing at another member, but if anyone is capable of it, it’s Alicia.

  “Easy,” he says, speaking slowly and deliberately. “Let’s remember why we’re here.”

  This seems to break her concentration. She tilts her head to Layne, her soft blue eyes like intricate crystal. Three years from now, Layne will have a daughter, and his child’s eyes will remind him of Alicia’s.

  “We’re here because some filthy-rich assholes in Dubai like to buy Russian girls,” she says.

  “And let’s keep our heads so we can stop that from happening ever again,” Oleg says.

  She purses her lips and makes no further argument. The door to the room opens, and Daphne leads Harry inside, clutching a laptop. While Harry sets the laptop up and connects it to a projector, Daphne turns to face her team. “Good evening. Sorry I’ve been tied up all day. I hope you were able to find something useful to do with your time.”

  “We’re ready to debrief,” Oleg says, cutting off Alicia, who opened her mouth, probably to say something snarky.

  Daphne clears her throat. “It won't surprise any of you when I say that the warehouse raid didn't go as expected.”

  “No shit," Alicia says.

  "Check your mouth," Oleg says, growling.

  Alicia dips her eyes and presses her upper row of teeth into her lower lip. She adds no further comment.

  "But it wasn't a total loss," Daphne says. "As Harry is about to explain, we’ve developed some promising leads. This is part of what’s been occupying us today.”

  Layne lifts a hand to catch Harry’s attention. “Anything on that strange circle symbol I found carved into the bones?"

  Harry shakes his head as he finishes connecting the laptop to the projector. "Not yet. I'm working on scanning through known gang, cult, and trafficking symbols, though.” He presses a button, and the projector activates. A grid of the city of London appears against the back wall of the pub.

  Harry crosses the room and points at one section of the city, near Littlebrook. "We were able to track vehicles in this area. Not everyone in that warehouse died in the grenade explosion. One of the hostiles sneaked away before the firefight started, and we’ve been monitoring him. He’s clever, so he keeps ditching phones and trying to shake surveillance. But, he’s not as clever as he thinks he is.”

  Daphne crosses the room to join Harry. The projected map of the city paints lines across her face. "We were on him for a while, but he eventually eluded us this afternoon. Doesn't matter though, because we know his personal vehicle now. And, because of that, we were able to track a couple of the other vehicles, and we’ve identified a few of his associates.”

  Harry draws a line between that dock and another building a few blocks away. "We don't have a firm location for the pickup or destination, but we know the vehicles travel along this route. We've got eyes on it, and we’re going to position the team for a takedown operation in an alley between the two.”

  Oleg nods, and Alicia grunts as she pulls the new bandages tight. Layne sits back, crosses his legs, and says nothing. Seems flimsy to him. Seems like something that’ll get them all killed.

  29

  Layne stood outside in the cold and the snow in front of Victoria's bungalow and knocked. He had a good idea what he would say, but no idea how she would react. The frontal approach—the full confrontation—would not be effective. Exposing Victoria would require a little more guile. He made sure his phone’s voice recorder was on, then he slipped his phone into the interior chest pocket of his jacket.

  Layne didn’t need to catch her on audio to know she was guilty, but it might come in handy later.

  No answer. He knocked again.

  The most critical thing was this shipment somewhere near Seattle in two days. A ship arriving, something likely weighed down with containers. Some of those containers would house children and teens, ripped from their families, being delivered to an awful future. Layne knew so little at this point, he didn’t know if the ship was coming or going, let alone where he could find it.

  Thirty seconds passed, and no one came to the door. No shuffling across the carpet, at least none that Layne could hear. So, he knocked again. Another thirty seconds ticked by, and still, no answer. He scooted a few steps over to check inside the window. Only a minimum of lights inside.

  Maybe, if she wasn't home, a little breaking and entering might be just as good as a confrontation. Maybe some evidence might lurk around in hidden spots to make it easier to confront her.

  Layne slid around to the back and noted the lock was the same as the locks on all the other bungalows. He drew the tiny Raspberry Pi device and unlocked the door in quick order. With a last look around, he slipped inside Victoria's bungalow and held his breath until he was sure he was alone.

  Odd for her to be gone now, this late at night. No telling when that front door would open. Whatever Layne did in here, he needed to make it quick.

  He'd entered a kitchen, three times the size of the bungalow he shared with Harry. Made sense, since Victoria was the director of the facility.

  He padded across the kitchen, looking for anything that might seem unusual or out of place. It’s not as if he’d find a burlap bag with a large printed dollar sign on the side. If Victoria were as tricky as he expected her to be, this would be a tough snooping job.

  She had a large dining room, a living room, and a guest bedroom. Layne didn't pay too much attention to these areas and decided he would focus on the bedroom and home office, assuming
she had one of the latter. That's where most people kept their private possessions.

  As he explored the layout, Layne didn't discover a dedicated home office, but there was a small section of the living room with a desk and file cabinets. He investigated the desk and found no hidden compartments, no false bottoms in the drawers, and nothing else of interest. Lots of paper documents he didn't have time to search. The file cabinets were unlocked and contained paper copies of guest applications. If he’d had the resources to comb through all those or snap pictures, that might’ve proved useful. But, he didn’t have time. At least, not now.

  After a fruitless search and a wasted two minutes in the living room, Layne did find one promising lead in the bedroom. Hidden under a swath of carpet in the corner was a floor safe. Exactly the sort of thing he’d hoped to find. A standard dial lock, nothing fancy about it. The safe itself was an AMSEC B1500 model, one he’d familiarized himself with in his short post-spy career as a dealer and installer of home and corporate security systems.

  Unfortunately, Layne was more adept at bypassing the electronic models than the old-fashioned ones. Cracking a safe was never as easy as Hollywood made it seem. But, with a little luck, he still might find a way in.

  He turned off his phone’s voice recorder and set out working on the safe, carefully and painstakingly turning the dial, with his ear pressed against it. A fraction of an inch at a time, listening for that tiny catch of the lock. Several times he thought he’d heard it, only to reverse the direction and lose track of the sound.

  After a couple agonizing minutes of this with no luck, Layne stood up and stretched his legs. He needed to take a break because the extended concentration was making his ears hum.