A Long Gray Line

by Simon Gervais

  Persky gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “You let me know if you need anything, Zima.”

  She nodded.

  “I know that probably doesn’t mean much to you, but you’ll be awarded the Medal of Bravery,” Persky said.

  “I don’t want it,” Zima replied dryly.

  “You’ve earned it.”

  “What about Shane?”

  “He’s getting one too.”

  Zima was glad Shane would get the recognition he so rightly deserved.

  “Thank you, Joachim, I appreciate the thought,” she said in a more pleasant tone. “But I’m serious about this. I really don’t want the attention.”

  “Will you at least think about it?” Persky asked after a moment. “It would make the director and the prime minister happy.”

  “Okay, I will,” she lied. She had already decided what was best for her. CSIS was a noble organization. Amazing people like Joachim staffed it and they were quite good at stopping bad guys from doing bad things like blowing up people. Problem was, they were playing by the rules. After what she had witnessed in Edmonton and in Europe while working with Mike and Lisa, she understood something she hadn’t before. To fight the maniacs who detonate a bomb strapped to their chest in a crowd places and kill dozens, if not hundreds, of innocent people, they couldn’t afford to play by the rules anymore. To think otherwise was naïve. That was why she had contacted the IMSI. She saw what they were capable of. And Mike had already asked her to join them, hadn’t he?

  “Anything else I can do for you?” Persky asked.

  “I’d like to visit Shane’s family.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “I need to, Joachim, if I want to move forward.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Part II

  Ottawa, Canada

  Zima Bernbaum looked at the address one more time. She knew the neighborhood well. It was a classic upper-middle-class area with single-family dwellings surrounded by medium-size lawns that were nicely landscaped and well cared for. She imagined young kids running around and laughing while playing hockey with their friends.

  She gathered the last of her stuff and packed it in the carry-on bag Joachim Persky had brought for her earlier in the day. In addition to the suitcase, he had carried with him the sheet of paper she was now holding in her hand.

  Her doctor had cleared her medically. Her busted eardrums would be fragile for some time but she was as good as new. It was miracle, really. Persky had told her that much and so did the many doctors who had taken care of her. She’d been lucky. God have given her another shot at life. But at what cost? She had no children, no husband and no real close friends.

  Shane did.

  She should have died. Shane should have lived. It was that simple. The guilt she was carrying was a heavy burden. She doubted visiting his wife would lift the shame she felt for being alive, but it might help her clear her mind.

  Zima took a minute to thank the head nurse for the superb care she had received before heading down to the first floor where she exited the hospital through the main entrance. There were six cabs parked in line, all waiting for a fare. She tried to get one of the drivers’ attention but they were all busy talking or shouting at each other. After a full minute, she quit trying to get a cab to come over to her and walked to the first one in line.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the group of drivers. “Who’s driving this one?”

  The drivers —all of them men— stopped talking and looked at her, annoyed at being interrupted.

  “I am. Why?” asked one of them in between two puffs of his cigarette.

  “You want a fare or not?”

  “One minute,” he replied before he resumed talking to his colleagues.

  Unbelievable.

  A black Toyota Camry with an Uber sign in its back window drove past her and stopped in front of the hospital’s main entrance. The driver, dressed in a two-piece suit, climbed out of his car as soon as it stopped and jogged to the other side to open the door for his passenger.

  Zima walked to him and asked if the car was available. The driver looked at her and smiled, “Of course it is. Where would you like to go?”

  Zima hesitated. All of a sudden she wasn’t sure if she should head directly to Shane’s residence or stop by her own place to take a shower and change into a new set of clothes.

  “Take me to this address,” she said after she made up her mind.

  “With pleasure,” the driver replied. “Let me put your suitcase in the trunk for you.”

  The cab driver she had talked to gave her the finger when they drove past him.

  “Don’t mind him, please,” the Uber driver said. “Some of them have no manners.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Zima said, already thinking about what she was going to say to Shane’s wife.

  _________________________

  “Should I wait for you, Miss?” the Uber driver asked. “It will be my pleasure to do so.”

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be here for,” Zima replied, handing him forty dollars. “But thanks anyway.”

  She waited until the Uber car left before ringing the doorbell. She heard movements on the second floor and recognized the sound of someone coming down the stairs. A dog started barking from the inside of the house and then she overheard a baby crying.

  What have I done? She wished she had asked the Uber driver to stay. She would have fled.

  The door opened, and there she was, Shane’s widow. She was holding tightly to the collar of her Golden Retriever who, from the look of it, wanted nothing more than to go outside. Even with her eyes puffy from the lack of sleep, she was an attractive woman. She stared back at her. Zima cleared her throat.

  “Hello Catherine, I’m Zima Bernbaum. Your husband saved my life.”

  Shane’s widow let go of the dog, who ran past Zima’s leg and onto the front yard, and she hugged Zima. That wasn’t the response Zima expected. She started to shake uncontrollably and embraced Catherine back. She started to weep and apologized right away.

  “No Zima, don’t apologize,” Catherine said. “Please come in.”

  Catherine called her dog back inside before closing the door behind them. “Can you give me a minute? My boy’s calling me.”

  Zima nodded. “Of course.”

  She watched Catherine go back upstairs. When she returned, she was holding a baby in her arms. “His name’s Jake. He’s my angel.”

  Zima’s knees were shaking. She didn’t know what to say. Jake’s tears were melting her heart. This little man would never know his dad. He’d grow up without the love and comfort his father would have given him. Her own tears started rolling down on her cheeks.

  “I’m so sorry, Catherine,” she said. “I should go.”

  “Please don’t,” Catherine said. “I’m glad you came. Would you like to hold him?”

  Zima took Jake in her arms and cuddled him. “You’re so small,” she whispered to him. “But you have such beautiful eyes.”

  “Do you have children, Zima?” Catherine asked.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “I hope you will, some day,” Catherine said and then added, “Jake likes you.”

  He had stopped crying and was now returning Zima’s look. “Your dad was a brave man, Jake. I’m here with you because your father saved my life, even though he didn’t know me.”

  “I was told Shane would be receiving a medal; will you get one too?”

  “I don’t deserve one, Catherine. I really don’t.”

  “They told me you work with CSIS?”

  “I was.”

  “Not anymore?”

  “I’d like to do more.”

  “I see,” Catherine said. She looked disappointed. “What will you do?”

  Zima wasn’t sure this wa
s the right time to discuss this. “I’m not sure.”

  “My husband believed in you, Zima,” Catherine said. “He sacrificed his life so you could live. I know you’ll do what’s right. Do you believe in God?”

  Zima didn’t know how to answer the question. “I—” she started but Catherine interrupted her.

  “It doesn’t matter because I do. I believe God saved you. And he did it for a reason. He’ll let you know what you must do.”

  Deep down, Zima knew Catherine was right. Was it why she wanted to leave CSIS and join the IMSI? The only thing she knew for sure was that she would avenge Shane’s death. If the IMSI was the organization that would allow her to do just that, her path was clear.

  She looked at Catherine and handed Jake back to her. “Thank you for this, Catherine,” she said.

  “Can’t you stay for a cup of tea?”

  “Not today, but I will. Soon. I think we have much to talk about.”

  “You’ll always be welcome here, Zima.”

  Zima thanked her once again before closing the door behind her.

  Tomorrow, I’ll set up a trust fund for Jake. From now on, fifty percent of her earnings would go to him. It wasn’t much, but it would help.

  For now, she needed to head home and call someone. She considered calling a taxi but instead downloaded the Uber app to her smartphone. Three minutes later, a Ford Edge stopped in front of Catherine and Jake’s residence.

  “Where to, Miss?”

  “CSIS headquarters, please.”

  She had made her decision. She would join the IMSI. It was only fair to let Joachim Persky know in person.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

  My first thank you goes to you my dear readers. Without you, I wouldn’t do what I do. Much thanks for all your tremendous support and all the great word-of-mouth you generated for my first novel The Thin Black Line. I never thought, even in my wildest dreams, that my debut would become an international bestseller. For all of you who follow me on Facebook at Facebook.com/SimonGervaisAuthor/ you know how much I love interacting with you. If you aren’t following me, you really should. In the coming months, and before the release of my next full-length novel A Red Dotted Line, I’ll announce a sweepstake. You won’t believe what the first prize is. The only thing I’ll say is this: Make sure your passport is up to date.

  I’d like to take this opportunity to thank my friend and fabulous literary agent Eric Myers from Dystel & Goderich Literary Management and my editor and publisher Lou Aronica at The Story Plant. I appreciate everything you do for me.

  I also want to thank the three people responsible for my happiness. My best friend Lisane, who also happens to be my wife and the mother of my two children, who supported me from day one. Without her, there would be no books, no stories to tell. She has always been my biggest fan and knowing she has my back makes all the difference in the world. Thank you, and I love you. Un gros merci à Florence et Gabriel, mes deux amours, pour leur soutien et leurs beaux dessins.

  About the Author

  Simon Gervais is a former federal agent who was tasked with guarding foreign heads of state visiting Canada. Among many others, he served on the protection details of Queen Elizabeth II, US President Barack Obama, and Chinese President Hu Jianto. He has also protected the families of three different Canadian prime ministers. Prior to this, Simon spent five years in an anti-terrorism unit and was deployed in many European and Middle Eastern countries. He now writes full-time and is a member of the International Thriller Writers organization. He lives in Ottawa with his wife and two children. Find Simon online at SimonGervaisBooks.com, facebook.com/simongervaisbooks, and Twitter.com/GervaisBooks.

  Coming in November from Simon Gervais:

  Terrorism became personal for Mike Walton on his last mission—a mission that resulted in triumph...and devastating tragedy. Now the stakes have been raised again.

  Mike and his wife Lisa—both covert assets of the International Market Stabilization Institute, a privately funded organization operating outside official channels to protect North America’s financial interests—are sent to Russia after an attempt on their superior officer’s life. It is a mission fraught with peril and one that becomes exponentially more dangerous when their covers are blown within hours of setting foot in Moscow. Now, they are being hunted down by the Sheik, the terrorist mastermind behind the kidnapping of Mike’s father, Ray Powell, and to the treachery that turned Mike and Lisa’s lives upside down.

  To make matters worse, there are clues that Biopreparat—the former Soviet Union biological warfare agency—has been resurrected and is about to launch a strike against the United States. This forces Mike and Lisa to make the most difficult choice of all. With Ray Powell’s life hanging in the balance, and the slightest mistake potentially igniting the next World War, nothing is what it seems.

  And the line between friend and foe is blurring.

  Here are the opening chapters:

  PROLOGUE

  Federal Correction Institution Otisville, New York

  Louis Wall wasn’t a patient man, but he was curious. When the guard told him he had a visitor, he didn’t say a word. For the last ten years, no one had cared enough about him to visit, not even his only daughter. For that, he didn’t blame her; his stupid ex-wife brainwashed her into thinking he was dangerous. He should have killed the woman when he had the chance.

  “You know the drill,” the guard said through the cell’s door. “Turn around.”

  He obeyed and offered his wrists. Seconds later, he felt the cold steel of the handcuffs against his skin. As Wall exited his six-by-eight-foot prison cell, the guard dug his fingers into his bicep while pushing him in the back.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Shut the hell up and stop resisting,” the guard said. To get his point across, he delivered a powerful punch to Wall’s only kidney.

  Wall winced in pain, but not a sound came out of his lips. He didn’t want to give the guard the pleasure of knowing he had hurt him. A few years ago, Wall would have fought back and cracked a skull or two, but with only a few weeks left to his twelve-year sentence for manslaughter and drug trafficking, it was better to take it like a man. Plus, he couldn’t help but wonder who his visitor was.

  To his surprise, the guard didn’t lead him to the regular visitors’ room. Instead, he was escorted to an interview room where a man dressed in a three-piece suit was seated behind a steel table bolted to the floor. Laid open on the table was a yellow file to which Wall’s headshot was stapled. Another file folder, a green one, remained closed.

  “Remove his handcuffs,” the man said.

  The guard didn’t look happy but obeyed nonetheless.

  “You can leave,” the man added.

  Once the guard had closed the door, the man pointed to the single chair across the table. “Please.”

  Wall remained standing. The man seated in front of him didn’t look dangerous. It was hard to say how tall he was. Five-and-a-half feet, he estimated. Maybe less. Dark skin. Slight built. Nothing like Wall’s own muscular six-foot-four-inch frame. But he did have an accent. Russian? It definitely sounded like that. He didn’t like Russians.

  “What do you want?” Wall grunted.

  The man slowly looked up from the file he was reading, his brown eyes locking into Wall’s.

  “Louis Wall, forty-seven years of age, born in Dickson, Tennessee. Only child of Claire Dolan and Peter Wooley. Attended Dickson County High School before enrolling into the US Army-“

  “Was my jaw supposed to drop?” Wall cut in. “That’s all public knowledge.”

  The man simply continued without acknowledging Wall’s interruption. “You faced your first court martial before the end of basic training after assaulting your drill sergeant. After serving a month in a military prison, you were dishonorably discharged and spent the next two years living off the small inheritance you
received after your father’s passing. You met Isabella, your first real girlfriend, at the local tavern on the night of your twenty-first birthday-”

  “What do you want?” Wall said for the second time in less than sixty seconds.

  “Please have a seat,” the man replied.

  Wall shook his head from left to right, then crossed his arms, his biceps threatening to tear apart the fabric of his grey prison suit.

  “I’m here to offer you a second chance.”

  “At what?”

  “Revenge, Louis. Revenge.”

  A picture of his ex-wife hanging at the end of a rope appeared in his mind. “I’m listening.”

  “First you sit,” the man said with an authority that couldn’t be denied.

  Wall sighed, then pulled the chair and sat. “This better be good.”

  “Or what?” the man replied. When he didn’t respond, the man pressed on. “No really. I’m curious. Or what, Louis? What will you do?”

  “I’m on my last stretch here, mister know-it-all. I have no intention of doing anything to fuck that up. Understood?”

  The man cocked his head and looked at him as if he were some kind of undiscovered species. “And what exactly are your plans once you’re out of here?”

  The vision of his ex-wife at the end of a rope reappeared in his mind. “There are a few things I can think of.”

  “Of that I’m sure. But are any of them worth a quarter of a million dollars?”

  That was enough money for Wall to live comfortably in Mexico for a couple of years. Once he’d take care of his ex-wife, of course. “I’m listening.”

  The man slid the green file folder toward him. “Open it.”