Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 4, 5 & 6 (Box Set)

by Robert P. French

“So we have two generals involved.”

  Jen picks up a french fry and nibbles the end of it. “I guess.”

  “You sound unsure.”

  “The Captain I spoke to at Four-twelve Squadron, sounded, I don’t know, odd, when he told me McNeil’s name.”

  “Maybe he didn’t like being forced to tell you,” Tina says.

  I finish my mouthful of mashed potato and gravy. “OK, so we’ve got Neil Harris, the late Minister of National Defence, Lieutenant-General Matherson, a high-ranking general, Major-General McNeil, and a Senior RCMP guy, as yet unknown. They are in this cabal to make millions of dollars selling weapons illegally.” I pause and Jen and Tina both nod. “It’s a crime of opportunity. They work in important jobs but get government salaries. They see an opportunity to work together and make hundreds of millions, with little chance of being found out. I get that.” I pause again and this time for effect. They both nod again. “Then Annalise Lamarche steals some incriminating documents. Why don’t they say 'OK, the game’s up’, take their millions and go live on a tropical island or in a big city under the finest false identities that money can buy?”

  “Maybe they’re just greedy,” Tina suggests. “They figure if they kill Annalise and her brother, they can just carry on making more money.”

  Jen nods, “When it comes to money, some people just can’t have enough. Maybe they want billions, not just hundreds of millions.”

  I wave at the waitress to indicate another round of drinks. “I don’t buy that,” I say. “There are businessmen that are wired that way, all these high-tech billionaires for example…” I pause, the thought of high-tech billionaires reminds me that I must call Damien. “…but these guys have spent a life in public service; they’re not wired that way.” Jen and Tina don’t look convinced. “And another thing: I understand them killing Denis by having him beaten to death but why get their big buyer, Zarin, to get one of his people to kill Annalise in a terrorist bombing? Tina, I know you said that it was a way to kill her without there being a murder investigation, but there’s got to be more to it than that. There’s more to this whole conspiracy than we know about.”

  We slip into silent eating.

  As I savour the good pub food, a new thought hits. “We don’t know how big this conspiracy is. We discovered Neil Harris and when we got close to him, they killed him. You have to be pretty callous to kill your own people just so they won’t talk. So now that we know about General Matherson, is he dispensable too? Is he next on the list?”

  “Or are we?” Tina adds.

  Jen says, “I doubt that Matherson is next. He’s the one who controls the Special Ops guys who are doing the actual killings.” She thinks for a second. “In fact they were probably the ones who told him your name,” she adds pointedly.

  Tina adds, “Plus he’s a Lieutenant-General. That’s a senior rank, the second most senior rank in the military; there are only about a dozen of them. He may well be the top man in this whole conspiracy.”

  “We need to find out who the senior RCMP officer is,” I say.

  “I’ve already told you more than I should,” Jen says, “so I might as well tell you that my boss has a mole in the RCMP who’s trying to find out. First thing in the morning, I’ll talk to Markus and get an update and I’ll tell him about General Matherson.”

  “Make that second thing in the morning,” I say. “There’s something we need to check on first.”

  I take the last slice of the liver, with bacon, onions and gravy, and pop it in my mouth.” Man, that Uber driver was worth the five hundred dollars we paid him. This place is great.

  43

  Cal

  Thursday

  For better or for worse, we have decided to trust Jen and so far we haven’t been arrested but it’s still early in the morning. We’ll see how the day unfolds. Uplands CFB is not a high security military base and Jen’s CSIS credentials get us in with no problems. Captain Vince McCaffery is skinny with a slight stoop, even though he can’t be more than thirty-five. He’s sitting behind a desk that has definitely done more years of military service than he has. Behind him is a photograph of aircraft flying in close formation. He looks uncomfortable.

  “Did you fly with the Snowbirds, Captain?” I ask.

  He brightens. “Yes sir, I did.”

  That makes him one hell of a pilot. Only the cream of the crop get to fly in Canada’s famed aerobatic squadron. “Impressive,” I say. He smiles.

  When Jen speaks, the smile disappears. “You told me on the phone that the flight from Vancouver to Ottawa had two passengers and was authorized by Major-General McNeil. Is that correct, Captain?”

  “Yes ma’am.” His discomfort level visibly goes up.

  I weigh in with, “It’s correct that you told her or it’s correct that it was authorized by General McNeil?”

  He looks down at his hands clasped together on the surface of his desk. His left thumb rubs his right. “I can’t say sir.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I say.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Captain, this is a very serious matter,” Jen says gently. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he says again.

  We wait. I look around the tiny office with its posters of various military jets and one of a black aircraft on a runway. It resembles Damien’s corporate jet that brought us to Ottawa. The word Canada is painted on the side and the number 616 is on it’s nose.

  “Is that the plane that was used for the flight?” I ask.

  He swivels in his chair to look at it. “Yes, sir. It’s a Challenger.”

  I look him in the eye. “The flight was authorized by General Matherson wasn’t it?” I say.

  He takes a deep breath. “Yes sir. Well, not the General himself, but it was a Lieutenant-Colonel on General Matherson’s staff. It was him who called me yesterday morning and told me to say it was authorized by General McNeil. I’m sorry I lied to you ma’am. The fact I was ordered to is no excuse. I don’t think it’s right to order a soldier to lie to anyone. I hope you can accept my apology.”

  “No apology is necessary, Captain. You were just following orders. I appreciate your honesty now.”

  “With respect ma’am, I am a student of military history and the phrase 'just following orders’ has, more than once, led humanity down some very dark paths.”

  On that cheery note, we get up and say our goodbyes.

  Jen drops me off at a Holiday Inn just east of downtown, before heading to her office. I thought a second change of hotel would be wise. I’d like to be a fly on the wall and hear what her boss has to say when he hears that General Matherson is in this cabal and not General McNeil. Especially when she tells him that some private eye from Vancouver found it out.

  Tina gives me a big hug as I walk in. “How did it go?” she asks.

  When I’ve told her, she gives me another hug and says, “I want to talk to you about something.”

  Those are never words you want to hear from a lover.

  She reads my expression perfectly. “No, silly. I have a plan. But I want to run it by you.”

  Phew! My smile returns. “Great! I just need to make a call first. I’ve kept putting if off or forgetting it, I just need to do it now while it’s on my mind. You should sit in on it.”

  I pull my phone from my pocket, dial and press the speaker button. It rings four times, then, “Hey Cal, you do know it’s six AM here, right?”

  “Sorry man, I just wanted to ask you if you’d managed to decrypt any more of those documents.”

  Damien is silent for a second. Then, “A team from the RCMP came to my office and made me hand over copies of the documents and then delete them all from our servers.”

  “The RCMP?!” I can feel the hackles rising on the back of my neck.

  “Yes. They sent a Superintendent, an Inspector and a tech.”

  “This is really important Damien. Did they say on whose authority they were there?”

&
nbsp; He thinks for a bit. “No, the Inspector just said that they had been ordered to get the documents back.”

  “Damn!” I say. “We’ve learned that a Senior RCMP officer is involved in this illegal gunrunning operation; he probably sent them to your office. I was hoping…” I clutch at a final straw. “Do you remember the name of the Superintendent?”

  “Yes… is was Bruce… No, not Bruce, it was Brian, Brian O’Mahoney.”

  Maybe Jen, or her boss’ mole, can find out who in the RCMP ordered Superintendent O’Mahoney to retrieve those documents.

  “That sucks, they got them before you could decrypt any more of them.”

  There is a pause. “Uh-huh.”

  My neck is prickling again. “Was that uh-huh, yes, or uh-huh, no?”

  The pause is long this time. “No. Between the time I left my office to go see them and the time that I deleted the documents, one more document was decrypted.”

  I look at Tina; her eyes are shining. “What was in it?” I ask.

  Silence.

  “Come on Damien. Was it just another shipping document or was it something more incriminating?”

  He gives a grim chuckle. “Both,” he says.

  “What do you mean, 'both’?”

  “Schrödinger’s cat.”

  I let it sink in. Tina looks at me with a questioning frown.

  “You haven’t looked at the document, have you?” I say.

  “No, I haven’t. I didn’t open the file. I just re-encrypted it with a key of my own and kept it.”

  “Why?”

  “The RCMP guys made me sign a legal document. If I’d looked at the file, I would have been open to prosecution.”

  “So why didn’t you just delete it?”

  “Dunno. I just thought that maybe, one day, I would be asked to hand it over to someone who had the legal right to demand it.”

  “Can you send it to Jen Halley?” I ask.

  “Happily, but only if she has a court order compelling me to do so.”

  “OK. I’ll get on that. Thanks, Damien. You’re a star.”

  I hang up and call Jen’s cell. No reply. She’ll be meeting with her boss. “It’s Cal. Call me a.s.a.p.,” I tell her voicemail.

  I take a deep breath and give another big, but this time, long and out loud, “Phew!”

  “What was that about the cat?” Tina asks.

  “Never mind. It’s too long to explain right now. You said you had a plan.”

  She laughs. “Yes, I have a plan so cunning you could brush your teeth with it.”

  “What?” It’s my turn to frown in perplexity.

  In a deep growl, she says, “Never mind. It’s too long to explain right now.” I have to admit it’s a pretty good imitation of my voice and tone. When I laugh, she relents. “It’s from a British TV show called 'Black Adder’. My parents and I lived in England before we moved here. They made us watch a bunch of old TV comedies when we were kids.”

  I hug her. For a long time. We kiss. And hug some more.

  Finally, I release her from my arms. “I’ll tell you about Schrödinger’s cat over lunch. Right now what’s this cunning plan of yours?”

  Her face becomes serious. “I’ve been thinking about this whole thing. Twice since we’ve been in Ottawa, the General’s special Ops guys have tried to take us down. Last night, after you went to sleep, I spent some time worrying about it. The third time they might just get lucky.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. Jen’s the only person in the world who knows we’re at this hotel.”

  “Yes, but we can’t stay cooped up here forever. So I thought this whole conspiracy has gone on in the shadows for far too long. I thought, what if I publish an article in the Hound that brings the whole thing into the light, talks about the End User Certificates and the shipments, names Harris and Matherson and mentions you too. Then they wouldn’t dare attack us. It would incriminate them further.”

  “You can’t do that. You’d be breaking the Official Secrets Act.”

  “I’ve never signed the Official Secrets Act. Everything in the article is stuff we found out for ourselves.”

  “But you’re bound by the Act, even if you’ve never actually signed it.” I say.

  “I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that’s a problem,” she says, picking up her computer from the desk. She opens it. There, on the screen, is the banner of the Daily News Hound dot com. I read the words in big letters: Canadian Government Officials make Millions from Illegal Arms Sales.

  She gives me a lopsided grin.

  “Because I kind of… already posted it.”

  44

  Jen

  The look on the Director’s face is amazement. “You’re telling me that it’s not McNeil but it’s Matherson?” He asks. I just nod. “How did you find this out?” It’s the question I knew he would ask and the question I don’t want to have to answer.

  I take a deep breath. “Cal Rogan contacted me.” His eyebrows raise a fraction. “He discovered that it was Matherson who was the General involved in the conspiracy. He went to interrogate the General at his house.” The brows go higher. I rush on, “And right after, he was attacked by who he thinks were Special Ops soldiers, but he got away. I have to believe that implicates General Matherson. Then I went to see the Captain at Four-twelve Squadron and he told me that the flight from Vancouver was arranged by an aide to General Matherson, and that the same aide told him to tell anyone who asked that it was arranged by General McNeil.”

  I take a big breath in.

  Markus purses his lips in thought. “Well, I’m not delighted about Rogan being involved but it was a good result. Well done.”

  I let out the big breath in relief and in silence.

  “There’s another thing, sir, uh, Markus. I couldn’t get hold of you yesterday to tell you this because you were with the PM.” I tell him about Cal’s meeting with Majid Zarin and then seeing Rachad Kashif and his theory that the bombing was caused by the conspirators.

  When I finish, he doesn’t say anything, he just leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling tiles.

  I wait on tenterhooks.

  Finally he speaks. “It’s improbable but not impossible. Here’s what I want you to do,” he says. “Like it or not, Rogan is involved in this and I have to admit he’s been much more of an asset than I thought. You’ve found the General, so I think it would be good if you and Rogan could work together to find out who the hell is the senior RCMP member in this cabal. I want you both to meet with the mole I have in the RCMP. Let me set it up and I’ll text you the details.”

  “Right,” I say. “Who is the mole, by the way?”

  His phone rings. He gives a frown of annoyance and looks at the caller ID. The frown changes to one of puzzlement. He picks up the phone. “Yes Minister,” he says. “No, I haven’t… Which…?” He opens the lid of his laptop and taps some keys. His eyes go wide. “Let me read it. I’ll call you right back.”

  He turns back to me. “I have to deal with this. I’ll text you the details.” He turns back to his screen and I leave his office.

  Listening in on a communication with a Cabinet Minister is probably over my security clearance.

  “Why the change of heart?” Cal asks as we walk across the carpark of his hotel.

  “The Director was so impressed that you were able to track down and confirm General Matherson’s involvement in the conspiracy, he wanted you to help with finding the RCMP member in this cabal.”

  He just grunts at this.

  When we are in my car, he asks, “So where is it we’re going?”

  “We’re meeting him in the Victoria Building.”

  “Isn’t that near where the bombing was?”

  “A couple of hundred metres. It’s an old heritage building just across the street from Parliament Hill.”

  He’s silent for a while. Then, “What do you know about this mole in the RCMP?” he asks.

  “Nothing. I a
sked the Director who he was, but before he could tell me, he got a call from a Cabinet Minister. His text didn’t say. He just texted me to pick you up from your hotel and go to suite three-oh-seven in the Victoria Building to meet with the mole.”

  He’s silent for the next ten minutes. I get the intuition that there’s something on his mind but he doesn’t know whether to share it.

  I score on the parking and get a spot just a block away.

  As we walk up the block, Cal asks, “Did you check the news today?”

  “No, why?”

  “Did you tell anyone where Tina and I are staying?”

  “No. No one asked me.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Yes, absolutely. What’s it got to do with today’s news?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on Cal, what’s going on?” I wonder if he’s often as exasperating as this.

  “When your boss reads the news he’s going to freak.”

  Uh-oh. “Why?”

  He doesn’t answer but pulls out his phone and taps away with his fingers. He spends the time it takes to walk the entire block tapping away and ignoring me.

  “Why Cal?” I repeat as we go through the sliding doors of the building. He just stares at his phone. As we enter the elevator, he puts it back in his pocket, sighs and looks up at the floor numbers changing.

  “Cal, will you please tell me what’s going on?”

  We get off at the third floor. “Wait until we get inside. The mole will want to know about this too.”

  Our heels click as we walk along the corridor’s old flooring. The door of suite three-oh-seven has no marking other than the numbers. I knock and enter.

  The office is minimalist, probably just being used temporarily. There is a reception desk with a privacy wall behind it. Beside the desk are about fifty, shrink-wrapped boxes of copier paper; they are stacked in two rows. That’s a lot of paper. At five thousand sheets a box, it’s a quarter of a million pages. Against the far wall are six folding chairs in a drab olive colour; they are clearly government issue. Over all, there is a slight chemical odour. I think I can smell ammonia; it’s as if the office has been cleaned with cleaning products left over from the nineteen-twenties, when the building was constructed.