by Matthew Hart
One of the crime-scene techs handed the constable a large sealed envelope. We drove up the hill and through the empty town and parked in an underground garage. The constable let us out and card-swiped us into the elevator.
We went down a carpeted gray corridor. All the doors were shut. The constable let us into a room furnished with a single metal desk, chairs, and a battered filing cabinet. He placed the sealed package on the desk, then left.
Coffee rings stained the cracked linoleum desktop. Last year’s calendar hung on the wall beside a faded picture of Queen Elizabeth. She gazed serenely into the room, as if she’d seen worse and wasn’t going to be troubled by the musk ox head that peered from an open game bag on the floor. Its tongue hung out, flecked with blood.
The door clicked open and Luc came in, followed by the constable.
“Jesus, Cedric,” he muttered when he caught sight of the gory head.
“Sorry, sir,” the constable said. “The fish-and-game people use this room. I’ll get rid of it.”
“Leave it. Just get some coffee.” He snapped the seal on the bulging envelope and spread the contents on the desk.
The constable glanced at Lily. “Medic, sir?”
Luc ignored the question. The constable left. The door closed behind him with a loud click. Luc began to arrange the material from the envelope. No satanic grin this time. He had the harried look of a man up all night trying to answer questions from his boss, and failing.
He studied some photographs for a moment, then pushed them aside and frowned at the report. “Tell me how you knew you were going to be attacked,” he said, keeping his eyes on the statement. He hadn’t looked at me since he came in. I waited. He pretended to study the material on his desk, but he’d had it for hours. It would have been phone-scanned and sent to him the moment the staff sergeant had finished writing it.
“Because that was a lot of fire power you brought along,” he said. “You and your friend.” He picked up a page of the crime-scene report. “Submachine gun. Sawed-off twelve-gauge.” He tossed the page back on the desk. “Not the kind of equipment people usually take on a flight to look for a missing person. Maybe where you come from. Not up here.”
“Is that right, Luc?” I said. “It seems to be exactly what you need up here. Up here is where somebody tried to take me out on a cab ride in from the airport. So I’m glad I had it, which you already knew because you didn’t confiscate it at the airport when your guy went to bring in my bag and took five minutes.”
The constable returned with a tray and dealt out Styrofoam cups. The coffee had an oily film and tasted like acid. Lily sat there like a coiled rattler, her eyes drilling holes in Luc.
“You’re an intelligence officer of an allied government, Alex,” Luc said. He shoved the papers aside and put his elbows on the desk. “So I cut you some slack in the matter of undeclared firearms and generally trying to feed me bullshit about why you’re here.” He pointed a finger at Lily while keeping his eyes on me. “Your sidekick doesn’t represent anybody but herself. She’s a foreign national currently residing in Canada. Nobody’s going to bat for her if I drop her in a hole until she provides some plausible explanation for why Chinese hoods are ready to go to war in my country, and why you two are in the middle of it.”
I could see where Luc might think that was a good move—grab the small woman in the suede pixie boots and give her a good shake and see if anything falls out. But it was the wrong way to go with Lily. She was already in a rage. Also, Lily didn’t scare. While still in her teens, she’d been raped and tortured by Russian gangsters trying to force her to reveal information, and she hadn’t broken.
She leapt to her feet and slammed her hands on the desk. The bandage on her face came loose and flopped against her neck. She tore it off and flung it away. It landed on the musk ox. Blood started dribbling down her cheek.
“This is how you treat a legal Canadian resident and taxpayer attacked in your jurisdiction by foreign assassins armed with sophisticated military weapons you allowed them to bring into your country through your own appalling negligence?”
A bright thread of blood was just completing its journey from her neck into the remnants of her shirt. The Glock was concealed by the leather jacket, but not as well as Lily thought.
Some people can’t string two words together when they’re mad. Me, for example. Lily was the opposite. And just as good in English as in Russian. Her mother had taught English at the polytechnic in Mirny, the Siberian diamond-mining city where Lily had grown up. Lily could recite Hamlet’s soliloquy and “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” before she was old enough to go to school.
“A helpless woman in a remote place, injured and abused—and you threaten her with jail?” She slammed her hands on the desk again. “Go ahead! I can hardly wait to appear in court.”
Luc watched her coldly. “Who said anything about court? You won’t go to court. The first time you’ll see a judge will be when we put you on a flight to Russia and he reads you the expulsion order under the terms of the Official Secrets Act.”
So at least one thing was clear. Compassion for our personal suffering was not on the agenda.
“Sit down, Lily,” I said. “Let’s hear what’s on the man’s mind.”
11
L uc opened a drawer, took out a file, and placed it on his desk. It had a scarlet cover and a tamper-proof seal—a strip of clear tape that fogs as soon as it’s broken. Luc slid a thumbnail through it, opened the folder, and studied it for a moment.
“Let’s put some basic facts on the table that we can all agree on,” he said.
Luc had the rank of inspector in the RCMP. In my department, we had a working assumption that Luc’s Mountie status was a cover. We thought he worked for CSIS.
Until 1984, the RCMP was Canada’s spy agency as well as its national police force. A scandal involving illegal surveillance embarrassed the government. They created a separate agency—the Canadian Security Intelligence Service—to take over espionage. Illegal surveillance didn’t stop, but the politicians in Ottawa hoped that CSIS would be better at it. Among the new agency’s responsibilities was spying on foreign governments, with us at the top of the list. So if Luc was going to share information, there was something he wanted in exchange.
The Canadians had tracked Pete’s Otter with one of the geostationary satellites on constant watch above their Arctic territories. They’d seen the Caravan take off from its camp on the North Arm of Great Slave Lake and tail us into the Barrens. Luc assumed their aim was to discover where Jimmy had been exploring, since that was where Mitzi would start. He realized something more dangerous was happening when they saw the Caravan approach so close to the Otter at a point where they knew both planes were in thick cloud.
“I didn’t think satellites could see through that,” I said.
“Microwave radar,” he said.
“And that’s when you scrambled the F-18s, when you saw the Caravan come up beside us.”
“The mine picked up the first part of your mayday call. That’s when we sent them off.”
He shuffled through the crime-scene report and withdrew four black-and-white glossies found in the Caravan. They were the same pictures I’d found on the sniper: Pete, Mitzi, Lily, and me.
“We have the air crew on ice downstairs,” he said. “They say they were forced to fly the mission.” He waved a hand dismissively. “The thing is, there was never any chance you’d lose them in the cloud. They had advanced radar.”
“Why didn’t they just wait for us to crash? They had to be behind the contaminated fuel.”
“That was the plan. With all the lakes, they knew the Otter would find water to land on. When it did, they would land too, and pick off Pete and Mitzi.”
“But they changed that plan.”
Luc shuffled the papers together and shoved them in the file. “Their spotter in Yellowknife saw you board. The kill team had your picture. Same as the two who tried to scrub you on the way in fr
om the airport. So they knew there was a pro on the Otter. Certainly armed. New plan: Don’t wait for the contaminated fuel. Kill before you can land and mount a defense.”
It was two A.M. Lily fumbled for my hand and gave it a weak squeeze. She looked drawn. Her tirade had worn her out. Luc caught the exchange. His harsh expression didn’t waver.
“We’re both trying to understand the same thing here,” he said. “Motive. Let me put it plainly. What is so important that people like the twins buy into Jimmy Angel’s company and then kill him? Because that’s what we’re both thinking.”
“Is that what we’re thinking, Luc?” I hadn’t told him anything about Fan and Mei, and if he was making a guess, I wanted to know why.
“Don’t fuck with me, Alex,” he said, his lips tight with anger. “We know about the twins. A lawyer from Vancouver is filing writs for control of Jimmy Angel’s company. He works for Fan. If they want to muscle their way in here, there’s not much I can do to stop them.” He stared hard at me. “The Chinese will retaliate if we don’t release Mei, and they can hit us hard.”
The Canadians knew China. They’d been selling wheat and timber and machinery to the Chinese for twenty years by the time Kissinger and Nixon bragged about opening China to the West.
Luc stood up and paced to the window and stared out at the sleeping city. “Xi Mei,” he said. “Always a step behind her brother.”
I was only really starting to smell the musk ox now, so it hadn’t been there long. My guess, they’d put it there on purpose. Something for us to think about. This could be you.
“We think she’s the one pulling the strings,” Luc went on. “Fan is enraged about his sister’s house arrest. Maybe it’s fear, he’s panicky. We don’t know. What we do know is that the Chinese leaders the twins made into billionaires are taking a wrecking ball to some of our biggest trade deals. My job—and I’m reminded of it on an hourly basis by my superiors—is to not make things worse.”
Luc went back to the desk and sat down, picked up the file and opened it. He glanced through a couple of pages, then put the folder down again. He didn’t need to look at anything. He knew the contents cold.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You and me are going to go down to Vancouver and have a sit-down with Mei.” He jerked his thumb at Lily. “And she’s coming.” His eyes darted back and forth between us. “We’re going to get on a plane and go down there and see if we can find out what they want. And if we can, we’re going to give it to them.”
He yanked open a drawer and glared inside, then slammed it shut. He was pretty mad. The only one in the room who was completely calm was Queen Elizabeth, but she was trained to it.
“And you’re OK with that?” I said. “They commit murder and assault in your territory, so the response is to give them what they want?”
“How does it work in Washington, Alex? They make sure you’re OK with it before they tell you what to do?”
“Why Lily?”
“Because she’s the one Mei asked for.”
12
The British Columbia supreme court was a modernist complex of concrete and glass on a plaza in the middle of Vancouver. The cruiser that led us in from the airport stopped at the entrance to the parking garage. We swept by and went down the ramp and drove to an elevator. A Mountie in a dark suit, wearing an earpiece, was waiting for us. He muttered something into the mike in his lapel, punched a code into the keypad, and the doors opened. He stepped in after us and hit the button for the second floor.
“Is she here?” said Luc.
“On her way, sir.” He checked his watch. “Her hearing resumes in an hour.”
When the door opened, he led us down a red-carpeted corridor, opened a door, and we entered a spacious conference room. It had a long, teak table with red leather chairs. A glass wall looked out on a strip of park. The benches were packed with a lunchtime crowd, chopsticks flashing in the sun as they devoured the contents of their bento boxes.
A man in an apron wheeled in a food cart, set up a coffee urn, and laid out a platter of croissants. Lily picked one up and tapped it experimentally on the table, where it left a heap of flakes. She poured a coffee, handed it to me, poured one for herself, and we sat down.
She was looking better. An RCMP medic had patched her up before we’d left the building. At the apartment, she’d taken a long hot shower. Her skin glowed pink when she came out. Her black hair clung to her head in coils. She roughed it dry with a thick white towel. The tips of her elvish ears poked out. The bandage had come loose in the shower. It hung from her cheek. I’d peeled it carefully away and put a fresh one in place.
“I’d almost forgotten I’d met Mei,” she said.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Lily.”
She grabbed my arm and looked intently at me. “The twins were just starting out. They needed a quick way to make money. China was becoming a huge retail market for diamonds. I was handling all that rough from Mirny. It was natural we’d meet. I suppose she remembers me.”
“That must be it.”
Between Lily and me there was always calculation. How could it be otherwise? I’d forced her to make one that night at Brussels airport, when I turned her. I’d used her for my own ends. Now she’d do the same to me. So I picked the sliver of resentment from my heart and fixed her bandage.
My phone pinged with the message that Luc was waiting. “Finish the story another time,” I said. “You can probably improve it.” And we went downstairs.
If she was lying, the lie, like all really good ones, made sense. The twins could have created a profitable diamond business by taking advantage of the discount for stolen rough diamonds. Lily was handling millions of carats of top-grade Russian rough for the people who were stealing it.
But what about Luc? He hadn’t asked Lily why Mei would ask for her. That suggested he already knew. If what Lily told me was true, that the twins had approached her about buying rough, that was exactly the kind of detail Luc could have learned. When the Chinese were looking for help to develop their own mineral assets, they turned to the Western country they’d been dating the longest—Canada. Canadian geologists and mining companies poured into China, hoping for a slice of the coming boom. It was a safe bet that some of those people weren’t reporting only to head office.
The plainclothes Mountie on the door came in and spoke to Luc and went back out again. “Ten minutes,” Luc said. He shot me a probing look. It was the same glance he’d given me when he’d dropped the bomb about Mei asking for Lily. He was wondering what I knew about Lily and Mei. I kept my face as blank as possible. In the circumstances, not hard to do.
* * *
Mei came rustling through the door in a burst of sapphire light. Her dress blazed, and her glasses flashed, and her heels clicked across the parquet floor. Her lips were curved in a slight smile. She seemed untroubled by either the security guards who trailed her or the court-ordered electronic monitor strapped to her ankle. She sat down and placed her large handbag on the table. Her eyes rested on Lily for a moment.
Her lawyer slid in beside her like an eel. His yellow eyes darted suspicious glances at us. “I am George Wu,” he said in a frosty voice. “May I ask who is in charge of this irregular affair?” He looked around the table. “I have advised my client against this meeting. We really must wait for Mr. Xi Fan, her partner and closest adviser. He was in Ottawa, pleading his sister’s case, and cut the meeting short the moment I informed him of your imminent arrival. We can all meet after today’s hearing.”
Mei watched him through her coke-bottle lenses while he spoke. Her lips were curved in the same half smile. She had a thick neck, narrow shoulders, and small, delicate ears. She had the posture of a drill sergeant—straight back and head erect. Her lustrous black hair was pulled back by the lapis lazuli clips. Her eyes looked like raisins behind the thick glass. She winked at Lily.
“I think your client’s in charge, but I’m Inspector Savard,” Luc said to Wu. “This is Ms. Lilian
a Ostrokhova, a private person whose attendance your client requested. The gentleman is my colleague from the US Treasury, Mr. Turner.”
Wu looked bleakly at me. “I hope you are not contemplating another American government fishing expedition to fill in the blanks in your meritless extradition case against Ms. Xi,” he said. “Perhaps it would be better if I just called the court clerk and put you on my witness list and deposed you under oath this afternoon.”
A loud meow came from Mei’s big purse. “Oh, dear,” she said, leaning forward and unsnapping the catch and opening the bag. A tawny head with enormous ears, hazel eyes, and a snow-white chin popped out and blinked at us. Meow, it said again.
“Brutus,” said Mei in a tone of mild reproach. She plucked him out of the purse and put him in her lap and stroked his head. “He’s such a boy,” she explained to Luc. “Very macho.”
“We’re here at your request,” Luc said. He didn’t look like a man who wanted to hear about a cat. In fact, he looked like hell. He had bags under his eyes and a two-day beard, and in his wrinkled suit he looked like what he was—a guy who’d been up for forty-eight hours, watching a disaster unspool before his eyes and knowing that his bosses would blame it on him. We all must have looked pathetic. Lily and I were tired, peppered with tiny cuts, and fighting to keep ourselves alert.
“I understand there’s been some terrible calamity,” Mei said smoothly. “I want to see if there’s anything I can do. And maybe also,” she said, glancing at me, “help people see that we’re not monsters who need to be locked up, but businessmen who want to contribute.”
Luc gave her a bleak look and pulled a folder from his briefcase.
“Whatever ‘calamity’ there may have been,” Wu said to Mei, “it’s nothing to do with us.”
Mei tracked her lenses around to look at him directly. “Let’s switch to listening mode for a moment, shall we, pumpkin?” she said in a hard voice.
Meow, said Brutus.