She threw on a t-shirt, pulled on her trousers and walked to the door. Through the peephole she saw Elvis. He was looking left and right. She froze with her hand on the door handle. Could she say she didn’t hear the knock?
He knocked again. She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and opened the door. “What is it, Elvis?”
“Ah, Senora, I’m glad you’re still awake. Your FBI people wanted to be sure you had this,” Elvis said handing her a heavy plastic bag that could only be a weapon.
Winston took the bag and put it behind her. “Thank you, Elvis,” was all she could manage to say.
“One other thing,” Elvis said. “I was told to give you these.” He handed her a pair of sunglasses. “These will transmit images and the voices of the people you see to me. I’ll be recording on shore… you know… for your safety.”
Winston looked at the sunglasses. They looked ordinary but she knew they held a transmitter and small camera. Elvis would be sitting on shore and dialing the feed into his phone or laptop and sending it to Morgan. He’d see everything.
“Thank you, Elvis,” Winston said once more and closed the door. She broke into a cold sweat. She opened the bag and looked at the gun. It was a Heizer Defense PKO-9. She’d always wanted one for her own use.
This was a nine mm, with a seven-bullet magazine, six inches in length and weighed all of 19 oz. There was a small concealing holster in the bag that she could shove into the back of her trousers or in the waistband.
Winston whispered as she checked the gun sights, “Someone must really want you dead, McAllen. This thing costs close to a thousand dollars.”
She put the glasses on. They were lightly tinted so she wouldn’t look like she was avoiding eye contact when she entered a darkened room. People with dark sunglasses always attract suspicion.
She put the gun beside her bed with the glasses. Tomorrow she’d have to wear a jacket to conceal the gun. The sunglasses she’d put in her inside jacket pocket. She undressed again and got into bed. She knew sleep wouldn’t come, she thought of all the possible scenarios for the next day, none of them looked good.
Morning broke with a light rain. It pattered outside the window of the hotel as Elvis came by the rooms of both Bernadette and Winston to wake them. They both looked ragged to him. He told them he’d meet them downstairs and left them alone. He had his own preparations to make.
He’d worked all night to arrange the plans for today. He was under strict orders as to how to proceed, what boat to give them, what time to send them off. Everything must be as instructed. He hated days like this. He needed to remember too many things that he could not write down.
Bernadette had showered and packed her bag when Elvis knocked on her door. She was hoping this day would end with a good result, a lead to find Sigurdsson and a drive back to the airport. That was her hope. Deep in her gut, she knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Carla Winston packed and put the gun in its holster and shoved it into the waistband of her pants. She put her jacket on and stood in front of the mirror, turning to the back and to the side. The gun didn’t look like it showed but she’d need to be careful. She blew out a breath, grabbed her suitcase and headed downstairs.
Elvis was full of good spirits, greeting them with a bright, “Buenos Dias.”
Both women muttered a reply, found coffee to go and motioned for him to take them to the SUV. Elvis shrugged. They were not hungry, and he did not want to darken their mood.
The small city of Granada was barely waking up as they pulled away from the hotel at 7:30 am. Traffic was light. A few people wandered the narrow streets with the even narrower sidewalks.
Bernadette knew of some of the history of the place. A colony of Spanish had settled here in 1524. They’d lived in relative peace until they received independence from Spain, then all hell broke loose. A period of dictators and revolution plagued the poor country until somehow they tired of killing one another and brokered peace in 1989.
Winston broke Bernadette’s thoughts on history by turning to her. “How do you want to play this with your buddy, McAllen?”
“Ah, he’s not my buddy. But that aside, I plan on appealing to his general love of this planet.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Simple, if you read his file. He did try to sabotage some oil fields back in 2013, but he also developed an antidote for a virus that was attacking pipelines on land and steel boats in the ocean in 2014.”
“So, you think he’s a mad scientist, but one with a strange conscience that oscillates between trying to destroy the world and save it, depending on how he feels that day?”
“I guess that’s one way of putting it. It’s hard to know what makes people tick, especially those that cross the line into criminal behavior,” Bernadette said. She looked out the window and then back at Winston. “You know, there’s a report I read that McAllen has been financing some major activities in providing fresh water to villages in Africa. There’s a rumor that he’s also been funding Professor Sigurdsson’s research into climate change.”
“Um huh, sounds like a real Robin Hood. Now where did this McAllen get all that money to do all these good works?’
Bernadette suppressed a chuckle. “Your own FBI people think he stole it from the Wall Street people that tried to kill him.”
“Sounds to me like he’s got a big streak of vengeance in him. I hope you’re on his good side when we meet.”
“Me too.” Bernadette stared back out the window.
Elvis said the drive to Marina Cocibolca was only six kilometres and would take only a few minutes. It took longer as they navigated more school buses that were the local transport and donkeys wandering slowly across the road.
The lake was calm at the marina. White Herons stalked the shores for small fish while a lone Osprey hovered overhead looking for fish that would be breakfast.
Bernadette took all of this in. Lake birds were signs of how healthy a lake was. She wished she could read the signs of humans as easily.
Numerous boats lined the dock. Elvis ushered them towards a sleek looking motorboat.
“This I have found for you ladies. See, this is an inboard motor, nice leather interior, it is very fast – you will be across the lake in no time,” Elvis told them.
Bernadette scanned the lake. “Is that McAllen’s island?”
Elvis followed her gaze, “Si, that is his place. It is maybe one kilometre. You will be in there in minutes with this boat. It’s very fast.” He motioned back to the boat, waving his hand for them to get in.
“No, we need a row boat,” Bernadette said.
“A what?” Winston asked. She was about to get in the boat. She turned to look at Bernadette.
“I said we need a row boat. I told you how much firepower McAllen has. You want to be on the business end of a bunch of lead?
‘But this is loco,” Elvis said. He stared at Bernadette, then at Winston. “A row boat is so much trouble. Only the poor of Nicaragua travel in this.”
“Yep, that’s right, the poor and the defenseless—ones with no weapons. That’s why we’re going over in a row boat.” Bernadette looked at Elvis. “Now, you want to locate us one or do we have to get it ourselves?”
“No, no—as you wish. I will find you a row boat right away,” Elvis said running off down the dock.
Winston stood there shaking her head. “Well, I knew you were crazy, girl, but not this crazy. But if you think this will keep us from getting shot that’s fine with me—oh, and I assume you’re doing the rowing?”
Elvis ran back, seemingly flustered. “Please, this way. I’ve found a little row boat that will meet your needs.”
Winston sat in the back of the rowboat and put on her sunglasses. Bernadette sat in the centre, unshipped the oars and pushed off. She dipped the paddles deep into the water getting the feel of them.
“You know, this feels good,” Bernadette said. “I can use some exercise after that long plane ride.”
&
nbsp; Winston said nothing. Her body language said it all. This was verification that Callahan was crazy.
Elvis walked back to his SUV, muttering to himself about how his bosses were not going to like this. Sending a text to tell them of the change of plans, he opened the back of the SUV and unlatched a small compartment.
Elvis pulled out a Heckler and Koch MP7 submachine gun and screwed on the suppressor. Looking around, he slipped it under his jacket. He had orders that the two women were not to make it back from the island.
If they wanted to row, that was their problem—he’d be waiting to meet them with a special welcome.
Bernadette was enjoying the rowing. She felt her back muscles flexing and contracting as her arms pulled the oars. Her legs were getting a work out as well. She kept the stern in line with a point on the shore to ensure she was heading for McAllen’s island, but what she saw trailing the boat was a bit unnerving. She decided not to tell Winston, yet.
“How close are we to the island?” Bernadette asked.
“About 200 metres,” Winston said.
“Good. I need you to row us the rest of the way in.”
“You tired?”
“No, McAllen needs to see it’s me approaching the island. He doesn’t know you and might fire on us.” Bernadette put the oars to the side.
Winston sat there staring at Bernadette, not moving.
“Look, Agent Winston, you said you wanted to get home safe. Well, this is making sure you do.”
“Okay, I get it. Sounds like a good plan,” Winston said as she began to move forward to take Bernadette’s place.
“Be careful with your movements,” Bernadette said.
“Why, can’t you swim?”
“No, I can swim. But there’s been a large shark following us since we left the dock,” Bernadette said.
“They got sharks in this lake?” Winston looked over her shoulder. She watched the large fin submerge beneath their boat.
“Yeah, bull sharks. Guess they came in from the sea thousands of years ago when this lake was once part of the ocean.”
Winston moved slowly forward and sat in the middle seat and Bernadette took her place in the back. She began pulling on the oars while Bernadette made sure she kept her head high so she could be seen from the house on the island.
“I don’t think we have to worry about that shark following us,” Winston said.
“Why is that?”
“You’ve got five laser dots from gun sights dancing on your forehead and chest,” Winston said.
Bernadette looked at her chest and saw the lasers. “Well. At least we know they’re home.”
4
“I got a shot. Want me to take it?”
“Negative.”
“They’re inside one hundred metres. I have a clear shot. I could take them both out with a single bullet.”
“Negative.”
Sebastian looked up at McAllen. He had a M40 Sniper rifle with 50 caliber bullets. “You sure about this?”
“You’d make them into pink mist at this range with that rifle,” McAllen said.
“And, this is bad, how?”
McAllen shook his head, “We don’t kill people who arrive on our island unarmed. That’s Detective Bernadette Callahan from the RCMP in the back of the boat.”
“What if it’s a ruse?” Percy said from a window beside Sebastian. “Maybe they’re decoys. Trying to distract us from an attack.”
McAllen picked up his binoculars and scanned the horizon. He could see a guy on the shore beside an SUV looking at a cell phone. “Let’s see how this plays out. Everyone stay sharp.”
Grace Fairchild came up beside McAllen. “How about if Margaret and I are the welcoming committee? You shouldn’t be seen outside.”
McAllen nodded. “Keep your weapons trained on our visitors. Any sudden movements and they’re toast—you copy that?”
A chorus of ‘copy that,’ came from the other three men in the room. Percy shouldered his M16 with Theo on another sniper rifle.
Grace Fairchild and Margaret Ashley walked towards the rowboat as it approached the dock.
“Good morning, ladies,” Margaret said pulling the bow of the boat into the dock and securing the bowline. “Did you row out for coffee?”
Bernadette smiled as she stepped onto the dock. “Sure, I take mine with cream and two sugars.”
Winston stepped onto the dock behind Bernadette. “I’m good with whatever.”
Margaret motioned for them to follow her into the house. It was a two a story that looked like it had been built in the 1900’s and renovated several times. A channel had been dug that allowed boats to drive into the lower level.
They walked into the front room to a welcome committee of four weapons pointed at them. The sound of handguns having their chambers cocked told Bernadette that Margaret and Grace had weapons at their backs.
“Well, well, Detective Bernadette Callahan of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police,” McAllen said as he lowered his weapon and came forward from the group. “We’ve met in some strange places before, but I don’t think you’ve ever come calling on me in a row boat. Mind enlightening us all as to the reason for your visit?”
“How about if we sit down, and maybe you can point those weapons elsewhere? You can see we’re not armed. We just came for some information,” Bernadette said.
McAllen smiled. “You’re right, we’re being most inhospitable. Please take a seat. Boys lower your weapons. Margaret and Grace, keep them covered.”
Bernadette shrugged. “Well, that’s somewhat better.” She smiled at Margaret and Grace. “Women usually ask questions before they shoot.”
“Not always,” Grace mumbled. She raised her gun and pointed at a couch for Bernadette and Winston to sit in.
Bernadette scanned the room. They all looked older now. She felt like she’d walked into a retirement home, but with a group of seniors who’d been cast in a B movie by the Cohen Brothers.
McAllen had a more grizzled look to him. He was tall, with a short grey beard and buzz cut. Gone was his long grey ponytail. Percy and Theo had somehow succeeded to look like old age hippies, sporting long grey hair with Hawaiian shirts, shorts and sandals that made them look like they’d escaped a Grateful Dead Concert.
Grace Fairchild and Margaret Ashley looked like they’d become sisters. They dressed in a similar fashion, native Mayan chic with colorful jewelry.
It was Sebastian Germaine who’d changed the most. Once he had looked like Willy Nelson, with the short beard and long braided hair, but now he sported a goatee and his grey hair was top knotted into a man bun. He wore a stylish t-shirt, designer jeans and slip-on boat shoes in tan leather. He could easily have stepped off a yacht or into the boardroom in Silicon Valley.
“I’ll get right to the point,” Bernadette said. “An old friend of yours, Professor Bjarni Sigurdsson went missing several months ago in Oslo, Sweden. The Swedish Police recovered his cell phone and discovered it contained multiple texts to you. The FBI and Canadian Security and Intelligence Agency think you might be able to help us find him.”
“And, why if I knew where to look for him, would I help you?” McAllen asked.
“Because he was working on a project to cool the Earth. We have Intel that says you were working with him on it.” Bernadette leaned forward on the couch, “Look, I know the FBI and CSIS have you pegged as a terrorist, but I saw what you did in Mexico. You came through for the world with an antidote. Now, we need you to help us find someone who can stop the world from heating up before small islands and the coasts are under water.”
“You actually think Sigurdsson’s invention will help repair the damage we’ve done to this planet already? The Antarctic ice shelf is ready to collapse. So is much of Greenland’s ice. Once they melt, there’s no going back. The oceans rise, and adios to beachfront property,” McAllen said.
“But it’s not too late if the world gets turned down by two degrees,” Bernadette insisted. “And we have reaso
n to believe that someone is causing the Earth to heat up faster.”
“How do you know that?” McAllen asked. He pulled up a chair and sat down a short distance from Bernadette. They stared at each other.
“The scientists say the computer models don’t match for the amount of carbon in the atmosphere to what’s happening with the temperature. They think it’s as if someone is turning it up on purpose,” Bernadette said.
McAllen turned and looked at Margaret and Grace. “Barney said that might happen, if his project got into the wrong hands.”
“Who’s Barney?” Bernadette asked.
“That’s Bjarni Sigurdssons’ nickname. No one could get his Icelandic moniker,” McAllen said.
“So… you’ll help us find him?” Bernadette said.
“I didn’t say that—”
“We just need to be pointed in the right direction. The scientists need your help, the Earth…”
“Oh god, the world. Why don’t you just say the greedy bastards who use up the Earth’s resources and pollute the damn place for their own profit because they don’t care how they affect the planet.” McAllen said.
Bernadette stood up. “I didn’t come here on behalf of the greedy bastards. I came for the rest of planet. The one’s who can’t get a break—they all suffer from when the tides rise and the forests burn. They have nowhere to run—no one to turn to.”
McAllen stopped and looked at her, “You know, you’re right.” He looked at the rest of the group. “The rest of the world will suffer because of the greedy bastards. Okay, the last time I heard from Barney, he said he was going to be heading to his marine lab off of Key West. You need coordinates for that?”
“I can call it into our people and see,” Bernadette said.
Winston tensed up beside Bernadette. This was it. This was the moment she was supposed to do something. How could she? She had a 9mm handgun in a room full of weapons. She was not about to sacrifice her life for the idiot Morgan. Perhaps the transmitter in her glasses was all the FBI needed to find Sigurdsson.
Climate Killers: Book 3. Bernadette Callahan Detective Series Page 3