Red Paint

by Valerie Van Clieaf

  “What if they’re a couple of punks who just happened to wander into our frame.”

  “But we don’t know! We don’t know!”

  “Jonas, are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have your men overtaken them yet?” asked Severall.

  “No word yet. It shouldn’t take long. What about the ship?”

  “We need to make other arrangements to offload the cargo,” said Kirigin, who was up and pacing the room. “What about a transfer to smaller boats that can bring them ashore. Then all you have to do is load them onto the trucks.

  “The punks are gone now. The transfer would be much easier done here,” said Cartwright.

  “That’s not going to happen now!” Kirigin yelled.

  “Jonas, surely you have access to a few boats,” said Severall reasonably.

  “I do. But the storm’s about to hit.”

  Kirigin jumped in. “Arrange to do the transfer on the shore, somewhere along the coast! How hard can it be?”

  “Just a minute,” said Cartwright. “I need to check on something.” The line went silent.

  “He hung up!” Kirigin threw the phone down angrily and it bounced across the table. Quick action by Severall prevented it from crashing to the floor.

  “We need to give the man time to get us what we need,” said Severall quietly. He reached for his cheese sandwich, took a bite, then walked to the sink and got himself a glass of water.

  “Cartwright promised that nothing ever goes wrong.” Kirigin had gone from angry to petulant. Severall knew from long experience it was time to mollify him.

  “We both know there’s always a first time.”

  “What if he can’t get the boats we need? What then?”

  “Cartwright is very resourceful. That’s why MacLeish chose him.”

  Kirigin sniffed disdainfully. “If he can’t get boats, we’ll have to dump the cargo.”

  “Nonsense. It won’t come to that.”

  The cell phone came to life and Kirigin lunged for it.

  “What?”

  “Direct the ship to take the inland route south between the coast and Smith Island. I’ve got two mid size fishing boats moored at Haysport, not far from where the Skeena River empties. They will be in the water in half an hour. Two boats should be sufficient to carry the women to shore.

  Kirigin pulled over a map of the area. “Where is Haysport?”

  “Haysport is on Skeena Drive, close to the highway. We can transfer in the water below Haysport. It shouldn’t take longer than an hour for the ship to get to that area. We’ll leave now. The trucks will be waiting for the ship when it gets there. I think we have enough time before the storm hits. By then, no one will be out on the strait.”

  “I want you to handle getting the women off the ship.”

  “Of course. I suggest you return control of the GPS to Captain Donaldson. There’s a couple of rough spots in his path.”

  “As long as I’m in control the ship remains hidden. He’s got radar.”

  “Radar gives him the shoreline and other boats, but that’s it.”

  “I’ll make sure he stays out of trouble.”

  Cartwright was careful not to say any more. There was no arguing with the man. He wondered, not for the first time, why Severall put up with him.

  Chapte

  r 17

  Rupert detachment commander Staff Sergeant Billings was royally pissed with Brandeis for leaving them out of the loop until the last minute and was having a hard time not showing it. He took one look at Alex and dismissed him as unnecessary, a fact not lost on Alex, or Brandeis. Billings insisted on accompanying Brandeis in the Bell.

  “Fine. You can accompany me. We’ll be covering the outer harbour and shipping lanes. Sergeant Desocarras needs a guide as well.”

  “Preferably someone with excellent knowledge of the islands in the inner harbour, the area north of the city and down the coast to where the Skeena River empties,” said Alex.

  Billings looked at Alex in amazement.

  “Now Sergeant,” Brandeis snapped.

  Without another word, Billings went in search of someone. He found Corporal McGee; he was on duty and he was local to the area. He would accompany Alex. They left the station and drove to the Seal Cove Coast Guard base.

  Kumari called just before they boarded the helicopters with an update from the VPD’s Sergeant Fernice. Sanjit Rory showed up at Summit. They tailed him to a surgeon’s private clinic. Six people were found. Five had survived organ removal and were on the way to the Vancouver General. A woman whose heart had been removed was being kept alive on a bypass machine. When the resident surgeon arrived on the scene, she assessed that the woman’s only real chance for survival was at the hospital, if they could get her there without losing her.

  Thorgood and his nurse were taken to the station with the three men they found in the kitchen. Rory was one of them; he wasn’t talking. Fernice had his phone. She used it to text Kirigin at 9:20 am to say the clinic was on schedule.

  “What about the other five people,” Brandeis asked, “where were they taken?”

  “We don’t know yet, sir,” said Kumari. “But there were two guys arrested with Rory. He clammed up but they might get something out of the other two.

  “No luck I guess pinging Kirigin’s phone?” Alex asked.

  “Not yet. He’s probably running a scrambler. We’ll keep trying.”

  Both helicopters were in the air by 9:35 am. Corporal McGee didn’t waste any time or mince words about the futility of the mission.

  “I want to find that ship as much as you do, sergeant, but you need to know that there’s literally dozens of places for that ship to hide.”

  “That much is obvious,” said Alex. He tapped the map spread out on his knees with impatience and turned to McGee. The corporal didn’t like Alex’s impatience one bit.

  “What exactly do you expect of me? How the hell am I supposed to find the ship? If you’d brought us in a little sooner, we might’ve had half a chance!” The corporal had saved the real issue for last and he didn’t bother to hide his anger.

  Alex bristled, then fought to control his tone. “We brought you in late in case someone at your detachment is involved in this mess and tips off the wrong guy at the top of the chain. We’re still waiting to hear whether a woman who had her heart taken from her an hour ago survives the operation to return it. Five others had other organs removed. There’s another five women on their way east, and any one or more of them could be facing death by heart removal. I can also tell you some ugly stories about trafficked children. This outfit had no problem aligning itself with a cadre of men who have preyed on kids for years. And then there’s the Golden Harvest. We suspect dozens of women are being held on that ship. Who knows what fresh horror awaits them? So corporal. I suggest you remember we’re just doing our job and you do yours. You can start by concentrating on possible hiding spots for the ship that are close to the port. Especially places where it could hide from the main radar stations.”

  Red-faced, McGee bent over the map on his knees.

  Alex faced front. He was pissed off, but he wasn’t surprised. Nearly half the population of Prince Rupert was Tsimshian. Fifty years ago, a history of mistreatment by the RCMP ignited into a riot. The second in Canada’s history. Forgotten history for some, but probably not for the detachment. Certainly not by the Tsimshian and not by Alex, who kept that kind of information close.

  Alex asked Jim, their pilot, to circle the harbour north of Rupert.

  “Roger that, Sergeant.” The helicopter immediately banked left and started across the harbour. Black cumulus clouds now formed a thick blanket above the shore northeast of Prince Rupert. As they got closer, the wind started to buffet the copter with more force. Gray sheets of rain could be seen heading their way.

  “The storm is nearly on us. Harvest will be on the move,” said Alex. “Circle north and head ea
st.”

  “I suggest you do a pass over the eastern shore of Vigilant Island,” said McGee. “That would be a good spot to hide. It’s close to the main port.”

  “Roger that,” said Jim with a smile and a glance at Alex. He circled north, then pivoted and headed east.

  “How long do you figure we have before the storm is over us?”

  “Ten minutes,” said Jim, “fifteen max.”

  A few minutes later, Vigilant Island was below them. Jim took them around the coastline and in a couple of kilometers on the eastern side.

  “Nothing here,” said Alex, even as he noted there were several excellent hiding spots.

  “I suggest we head south now, down the east side of Kaien Island,” said McGee.

  “Where are you thinking next?” asked Alex.

  “Porpoise Bay has moorage for larger boats for fishing and the like,” said McGee. “It’s a little off the beaten track, but not that far from the docks, sandwiched between Ridley Island and the mainland. It would be easy for a big ship to move about in the bay without attracting attention.”

  “Okay,” said Alex.

  Jim banked right, crossed the short distance to the north end of Kaien Island and flew over Seal Cove Base, heading south. The approaching storm was moving in fast. Kaien Island, conifer green and mountainous, stretched out below them. As the copter moved down the inside coast of the island, they could see that Prince Rupert and the port on the west side of the island were already under heavy rain. A few minutes later, they were flying over the bridge that connected Kaien Island to the mainland and heading southwest toward Porpoise Harbour. Alex glanced back at the corporal.

  “Where to now?”

  “I suggest we circle the harbour perimeter first.”

  “Roger that,” said Jim. He flew over Port Edward, crossed Porpoise Channel, then headed north, close enough to keep the far shore of Ridley Island in view. Storm winds buffeted the copter. The pilot compensated quickly and expertly.

  “Did you see the tug?” said Jim. “Probably headed for the docks on the other side of the bay.”

  “Yeah, and there’s also a smaller fishing boat just behind us,” said McGee. “Looks like it’s headed in the opposite direction.”

  Alex pulled out his SAT phone and sent a short text to Brandeis to let him know he had nothing yet. The message back was the same. Brandeis let Alex know the Tanu was out on Hecate Strait.

  “Radio the Tanu and get its location,” said Alex.

  The pilot did, and a minute later, Captain Meighan’s voice filled the cockpit. Alex lifted one of his headphones.

  “We’re approaching the north tip of Ridley Island, heading south. The storm has hit here. Has it reached you yet?”

  “We’re on the other side of Ridley Island, heading north,” said Jim. “It’ll be over us in a few minutes.”

  “Inspector Brandeis wants us to stay in the vicinity of Ridley Island. It’s central.”

  “Roger that,” said Jim.”

  Alex glanced at the radar screen in front of him. “Captain, is your radar operator picking up anything useful?”

  “No unidentified ship as yet.”

  Everyone on board was wearing a life vest. Alex had pulled one on over his leather jacket and left it open at the front. His burner buzzed. He pulled it out and checked for new messages, but there was nothing. He pulled up the protonmail account and nearly dropped the phone. Wikem had sent three images: a shot of two semis, a closeup of one of the truck plates and a shot of five men gathered near the trucks. There was a short message:

  Taken at 10:18. Skeena Cellulose Plant. No sign of Golden Harvest.

  Alex checked the time; sent three minutes ago. How the hell had wikem gotten those images?

  “Corporal, where is the Skeena Cellulose Plant?”

  “It’s closed. Been closed for years. Why?”

  “I asked you where it is?” said Alex curtly.

  “It’s on Watson Island,” said McGee, slightly aggrieved. “On the opposite shore, just over there.” He pointed into the distance past Alex’s window.

  “So we’re close?”

  “Very close. It’s not far north of Port Edward.”

  “Take us over the Skeena plant on Watson Island; the dockside area along the shoreline.”

  “Roger that,” said Jim.

  Alex downloaded the pictures to his burner, attached them to an explanatory message and sent it to Brandeis and Kumari from his work email. Then he called Brandeis on the SAT phone.

  “Where did we get the pictures?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” said Alex. This wasn’t the time to explain about the protonmail account.

  “Our hacker no doubt.”

  Our hacktivist friend, Alex mentally corrected. “That’s my guess. We’re just rounding the north end of Porpoise Harbour. The plant is on the east side of the harbour.”

  “I’ll send one of the port teams there.” Brandeis conferred with Sergeant Billings. “He says normally they could be there in ten minutes; the weather will slow them down some. You doing a flyover? In this weather, a rescue copter won’t arouse suspicion.”

  “We are,” said Alex. The storm was directly over them now. Strong gusts of wind and pelting rain swung the copter from side to side.

  “Hang on everyone!” said Jim and started back down the bay. “We’ve got some crosswind and it’s gonna get a little rough.” In answer, the helicopter continued to swing from side to side, but now was doing half-whirls in the crosswind.

  It reminded Alex, who loved carnival rides, of a tilt-a-whirl.

  Behind them, McGee groaned and grabbed a vomit bag someone had thoughtfully provided.

  “Not to worry, bud. Happens to the best of us,” said the pilot cheerfully. McGee was too busy to answer.

  “You’re good flying in this weather?” Alex asked Jim.

  “Couldn’t be better,” he grinned. “Part of the training.”

  That’s comforting, thought Alex.

  “There’s a bridge linking Kaien Island to Watson Island.” The corporal was back with them, if a little breathless. “We should see it soon.”

  “Any idea how far down the coast the plant is?”

  “Not exactly, but not far,” said McGee. “Watson Island is small. Skeena is a good guess. It had its own deep-sea dock. They used to ship product all over the world. It hit the local economy hard when it closed. The dock should be easy to spot, even in this weather.”

  “There’s the bridge,” said Jim. As if on cue, furious gusts of wind carried the copter east over the bridge and off course. “Damn,” Jim said, working hard to bring them back over the bridge and south, to the shore of Watson Island.

  “Take us lower,” said Alex.

  “Roger that. Hang on back there,” Jim said as the copter descended.

  McGee moaned slightly in answer.

  They travelled in silence for several minutes.

  “We’ve got buildings coming up,” said Jim. “That looks like the Skeena dock under us.”

  “There were two trucks in the photos,” said Alex. “I don’t see them now.”

  “What photos?” McGee asked.

  “Photos that were sent by the unidentified source.”

  “There’s no sign of the ship. No sign of anyone,” said McGee. “Maybe they put those women ashore.”

  Alex glanced at the cockpit clock: 10:47 am, thirty-two minutes since the pictures were uploaded.

  “Jim, take us inland to the plant entrance. “See if we can spot any activity.”

  Jim dropped down and followed a paved road through the bush and out to Watson Hwy. “Looks like the gate is locked,” said Jim.

  Alex called Brandeis. “Inspector, we just flew over the Skeena Plant. No sign of anyone at the loading dock. We flew through to the entrance gate on Watson Highway and it was locked. No sign of the team you sent to Skeena. I think we have to assume the women are on the trucks.
”

  “Copy that. The ERT reported that no one’s there. If the women are on the trucks, the drivers will be heading out of town and they’ll need Highway 16. The Terrace detachment has been pulled in. They’ve set up a roadblock on the highway at their end.”

  “We’ll get them then.”

  “We will.” Brandeis conferred with Billings. “We’re heading to the stretch of Highway 16 on the mainland that travels inland to Terrace to try to spot the trucks.”

  “We’ll head out to the inland sea lane and look for the ship. We can’t be far behind it.

  “Good luck, Sergeant.” Brandeis disconnected.

  “You may be right, McGee. Time would have been tight, but the women are most likely on the trucks. Where would the ship head now?”

  “They wouldn’t want to be travelling along the coastline. It’s shallow and there’s a few bad shoals. It can be dangerous. If I was the captain, I’d head out into the sea lane away from the shore. Port Edward is close. He could moor there till the storm’s over.”

  “Let’s start with that. Take us out over the sea lane, Jim. Once we get to Port Edward, we’ll check all the berthing areas.”

  “Roger that.” The copter turned right on a dime and headed southwest to the entrance to Porpoise Bay.

  Chapter 18

  Robbie was careening up the Watson Island Highway driving blind, fast as he dared. He’d just pulled out of the side road onto the highway when a car had loomed behind them, horn roaring, then pulled beside them and tried to force them off the road.

  “They know who we are! They’re trying to kill us!”

  Something in his brother’s voice woke Robbie to action. He put his foot to the floor hard, kept it there and managed to pull ahead of the other car. The storm was on them in earnest now. The white line came and went in a blur.

  “Are they still following us?”

  “I see their headlights,” said Levon.

  Robbie kept his foot to the floor. Without warning, the highway funneled to the on-ramp of a narrow two-lane bridge. The passenger side of the car scraped against the railing and there was the screech of metal against metal. Robbie had to straddle both lanes to maintain his breakneck speed. He managed to get the car under control and stole a glance at Levon. He’d gone white with shock.