Climate Killers: Book 3. Bernadette Callahan Detective Series

by Lyle Nicholson

  Tapping politely on her office door he entered. “Mellissa, you were once working on the Russian Mafia and links to US and Canadian Government, yes?”

  Mellissa wheeled her chair away from her desk and regarded Anton for a minute. She was in her mid-twenties and a big girl, always had been since she was a kid. She’d grown up with a doting German Grandmother who decided that every adversity Mellissa encountered should be treated with streusel cake, poppy seed cake or pudding pretzels.

  She brushed her hand over her wiry hair that seemed unmanageable. “How can I help you, Anton?” Her eyes went soft as she regarded him. He was her reason for late night caramel popcorn binges when her fantasies of him became too much to handle.

  “I need some background information on a guy named, Matlev Sokolov,” Anton said, taking a seat directly across from her and relaxing. He felt she was more like a buddy than any of the other men in the department. He had no idea how Mellissa felt about him.

  “Matlev Sokolov,” Mellissa said coughing into her hand and pulling herself together, “He’s the meanest of the Russian Mafia. He’d make Tony Soprano look like a boy scout.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yep, one mean mother fu… Excuse me,” Melissa said, coughing into her hand again, her face red with embarrassment.

  Anton laughed. “Hey, Mellissa, it’s okay, just the two of us here. Go ahead; use whatever you want to express yourself. This isn’t a briefing. I need to know what one of my team is up against.” He reached forward and patted Melissa on the shoulder.

  Mellissa felt his hand and her heart went into palpitations. Tonight would require a stop at her grandmother’s house for German cake then a full binge of Weeds on Netflix.

  “Sorry, you’re right, thanks Anton.” She sat a little more upright in her chair and began her briefing. “As I said, Sokolov is one bad MF, he came out of the KGB when the USSR was collapsing. He was a mid-grade lieutenant known for his loyalty to Russia and being cruel to opponents. He was well received by the Russian Mafia, or Bratva, the brotherhood as they’re called.”

  “What rank is he? And how well is he connected to the hierarchy?”

  She turned to her computer and with a few keystrokes brought up a file. “He’s listed as an Obshchak, that’s in the security group of the Russian Mafia. That puts him just below the Putkhan or boss.” Her eyes squinted as she read a smaller file, “And, he’s also A Vor—a made man. This is similar to what the American Mafia has. When a recruit shows that he excels in leadership, he becomes a Vor v Zakone,” She looked at Anton. “That translates to a Thief within the law.”

  Anton bent down to look at the screen. His face was centimeters from her. She felt his warmth, smelled his skin. He smelled good, a little earthy with a hint of spice. She wanted to groan.

  “Has he been in trouble in North America?” Anton asked.

  Mellissa cleared her throat. “Yeah, the FBI in Washington caught him in a sting operation. Sokolov was implicated in some collusion to award contracts to companies in the USA that had suspicious links to Russian companies. It seems he had a congressman in his pocket, a guy named Derman.”

  “Any convictions or jail time for anyone?” Anton asked.

  Mellissa blew out her breath. “That is the strangest thing. You’d think there’d be all kinds of serious jail time for this. The congressman got pensioned off. Sokolov was chucked out of the country, and a bunch of billionaires who were in on this threw so many lawyers at the FBI that nothing happened.”

  Anton stood up and stretched, Mellissa feigned not to notice, “Do you have a list of the billionaires involved?” he asked.

  Mellissa pulled up another file. “Yes, we have a Wang Zhoa of China, listed on Forbes as worth 31 billion, Wilhelmina Flowers is a Dutch National living in the USA, worth 28 billion and a Susilo Bambang Yudhoyona of the Philippines…he’s worth a paltry 17 billion.”

  “Wow, some pretty heavy hitters involved in this… Would you do me a favour, Mellissa?”

  Mellissa looked up at Anton, her very idea of an Italian hunk, the very man she fantasied making love to her every night and said, “Sure, what is it Anton?”

  “Would you run a search of all of these parties and see if anything else comes up. I got a feeling these people are doing illegal things and it may affect someone I have in the field.”

  “Of course, happy to, Anton,” Mellissa said. She gave her imagination a quick slap of reality and turned back to her screen.

  10

  The wind blew harder. White caps topped the waves. The boat rocked violently. Bernadette gripped the back railing of the wheelhouse; her knuckles were white with the tension. She could hardly make out the shoreline as wind whipped sea spray over the windshield. Darius leaned his large body into the wheel as he was trying to stay with the waves. The dive boat was surfing them as they plowed towards shore.

  “I’m going to go around the breakwater,” Darius yelled above the wind.

  The boat throttled back as a large wave almost swamped their stern. Bernadette looked below to see the Kazak prisoner get submerged then emerge sputtering from the water. She wanted to go down and bring him up to the wheelhouse, but that was too dangerous now.

  The two bodies they’d brought up were lashed to the deck. The water washed over them then spilled back. It looked like the sea wanted to take the two of them to their final resting place.

  Darius hit the throttle again to stay with the rising wave and not go down in a large trough. If he did the boat’s stern would come out of the water, they’d lose power and the waves would have them at their mercy.

  Time seemed to register in waves striking the boat, each one sending a shudder up the hull and shaking Bernadette to her core, her legs felt like jelly. She had no idea how the others were doing. They held on to the handrails and stared ahead. Their gaze locked on shore and safety from this maddening sea.

  Darius hit the throttle hard. The boat found a big wave and became a surfboard as it careened around the breakwater and found calmer seas.

  For a moment they relaxed. They could see the docks ahead. They gave a sigh of relief and leaned against the railing.

  Sebastian looked at everyone. “Well, that wasn’t so bad. Kind of felt like surfing a really big board.” He smiled and looked below deck. “I’m sure even our Kazak friend enjoyed it—ah—what the fuck!” he screamed, pointing to the deck. The Kazak was gone.

  McAllen pulled his weapon and charged down the stairs. Sebastian came after him followed by Bernadette and Winston. The ropes they’d tied him with were shredded. They searched below deck. He was gone.

  “I guess we were too busy wondering if we were going to live through the waves to watch our prisoner,” McAllen said.

  “Do we turn around and look for him?” Winston asked.

  “We don’t know when he got loose. He could be inside the breakwater or out to sea.” Sebastian pointed out.

  “How do we present the bodies without a suspect?” Winston asked.

  McAllen laughed. “You think that guy would have ever admitted to killing anyone? He looked at the others, “We’ve got a helicopter to catch before this hurricane wipes out the Keys. I hope our Kazak guy is a good swimmer or he’s fish food.”

  They went back to the wheelhouse where Darius and Becky had been watching their conference. McAllen gave a thumbs up sign and Darius hit the throttle. The return to the Marina was different. The landmarks weren’t there. The shoreline was gone; the sea had washed over it as if it had never existed.

  The only thing visible of the dive shop building they’d left from was the divers flag. It blew hard on the roof to mark what was now below. Captain Darius pointed the boat through the parking lot and headed for the number one Interstate Highway. A sign stating Roosevelt Road, Interstate could only be seen when the waves went into a trough.

  They pushed on inland, passing a Marriott, Hilton and several beach bars that had been boarded up. Tops of cars and trucks could be seen in some of the parking
lots. Bernadette brushed the hair from her face and moved closer to Becky.

  The young girl seemed shell shocked. She had been in a quiet underwater laboratory doing experiments when they were attacked. Now, two of her associates were dead and she was racing through a storm with mostly strangers. Bernadette put her arm around Becky. The young woman didn’t mind. She moved closer and put her head on Bernadette’s shoulder.

  They rounded the point of the island on the Interstate, turning onto South Roosevelt Boulevard; a sign barely above water claimed the Key West International Airport was a mile ahead.

  They turned again, passing a Benihana’s Japanese Bistro and a Timeshare sign. The boat swung hard right on a road between some buildings. A large helicopter was hovering ahead. Sebastian pointed it out to Captain Darius. He nodded his head and increased the throttle on the boat.

  They shot passed the car rental lot and come up to the Airport Terminal. The waves were lapping halfway up to its top. Bernadette had remembered seeing a sign on the upper part of the terminal that said WELCOME TO THE CONCH REPUBLIC when she arrived. Only part of the sign was visible.

  The boat throttled down and sidled up to the terminal. The roof was above them. There was no way for them to climb up to it.

  McAllen pointed to a lower structure on the side of the building. It looked like a garage. Its roof was connected to the main terminal. Darius finessed the boat towards the structure. The boat came along side and started to rock up and down with the waves.

  “Jump onto the building when the wave rises,” McAllen yelled over the wind.

  Winston looked at the gap that appeared between the boat and the building, and the waves that kept pushing and pulling the boat. “Easy for you to say. You’re a tall son of a bitch, and me, I’m so close to the ground my hands could drag.”

  McAllen pushed Winston towards the side of the rail. When the waves raised the boat, he picked her up and threw her onto the top of the building.

  Winston hit the deck of the building, rolled several times and glared at McAllen. “I ain’t no god damn free throw in basketball, you maniac.”

  “She’ll thank me later,” McAllen said. He turned and looked at Bernadette and Becky. “Anyone else need a hand over?”

  Bernadette and Becky looked at McAllen. “Hell no,” they said in unison. They jumped over on the next rise of the boat and rolled onto the building. McAllen and Sebastian followed them.

  Captain Darius yelled to McAllen, “I’m taking the stiffs to my buddy’s ice house in Cudjo Bay. If you’re not back in seventy-two hours, they’ll get dropped off late one night behind the sheriff’s office. You okay with that?”

  “That’s fine, thanks. And consider your fee quadrupled.” McAllen shouted. He knew he had to be okay with what the captain had offered. Leaving him with two dead bodies was not a good scenario.

  They climbed to the upper part of the building and towards the helicopter. It was a large sixteen passenger executive copter that the pilot kept hovering just above the roof to keep its weight off the building.

  The winds were buffeting it and rocking it side to side. McAllen could see the pilot’s face set in a mask of tension. The door opened—the co-pilot waved them in. McAllen and Sebastian guided Winston, Bernadette and Becky to the door and helped them in.

  Sebastian was about to step in when the helicopter shuddered to the side. He lost his footing and fell beside the wheel. McAllen grabbed him, threw him into the helicopter and dove in after him. The helicopter lifted off. McAllen lay collapsed on top of Sebastian.

  Sebastian turned his head. “Mac, if you want me to thank you for saving my ass out there, you’ll have to get off me first.”

  McAllen rolled off him. “Some things never change.”

  They took their seats, buckled in and watched the air terminal fall away below them. As they rose, they could see that the Atlantic Ocean had overrun Key West. Tops of building could be seen and some bridges, but everything else was underwater.

  McAllen turned to Bernadette. “You see what Global Warming has done? The ocean has risen up so far in the past years that even a category two hurricane swamps this place. In a few more years, this will happen to Miami. Maybe then people will take notice.”

  Bernadette looked down. The ocean was reclaiming the land. She shook her head at the view. She leaned forward to McAllen. “I kind of feel like a bystander as the Earth takes back what civilization created. It’s a strange feeling.”

  “Well, you’ll need to get used to it. There’s more of this to come,” McAllen said.

  Bernadette shook her head. “Sorry, can’t fathom it all right now. I need to know what your plan is when we face Sokolov. If the Kazak who escaped is anything like his boss we’re not in for a pleasant welcome. What if we call up some of the local Miami Police Force? I could call in an officer assistance request to my people in Canada. What do you think?”

  McAllen shook his head. “Too risky. Any request for assistance between your government and the USA will get bounced through at least two or three channels and I’m sure the FBI will pick it up. I think it puts us in danger.”

  “So, the four us face off whatever Sokolov has for muscle when we arrive?” Bernadette asked.

  “I’m hoping he didn’t bring more of his henchmen with him. He’ll be expecting to pick up Sigurdsson, a seventy-one-year-old with the fighting skills of a scientist—which means none,” McAllen said.

  Bernadette didn’t reply. They’d managed to bring their weapons with them in a dry bag that Darius had given them. She only hoped that when Sokolov saw them he didn’t start shooting.

  11

  Wilhelmina Flowers sat at the head of the boardroom table in a small conference room in the Four Seasons Hotel on the Hawaiian island of Lana’i. She’d booked the time, the hotel and provided the agenda. She arrived one day before, reserved a penthouse with a prime ocean front view at a reasonable cost, to her, of 5,425 USD per night and made sure she had time for some yoga and a spa treatment. She wanted to look refreshed and relaxed for the other members at the meeting. She felt anything but.

  Wilhelmina had always been anxious and high strung. She’d grown up in The Hague, the third largest city in Holland. Her father had been a prominent lawyer in the United Nations International court of justice. She’d had to grow up in the shadow of this man who brought civility and justice where there was greed and lawlessness. She hated her father for that. After all, what was wrong with greed?

  Greed produced a lavish lifestyle, power, and a life of indulgence in the finer things in life. Wilhelmina wanted all that and more. Her family name was Uittenbroek, which she hated as well, almost as much as her father’s good deeds and unfathomable good humour.

  She’d planned and executed her own path to riches. It led to the London School of Economics, the top University of its kind in Europe. With a finance degree, a top bank in Berlin in mergers and acquisitions employed her the day she graduated. By the time she was twenty-seven, she’d formed her own company of corporate raiders to buy corporations, sell off their assets and move on to the next one after the carcass of the company and employees had been laid to rest.

  She met a man named Flowers, an Englishman with an infuriating laugh and a habit of providing off colour jokes at parties. They married on a whim after a big acquisition that produced her first billion. She divorced him three months later, kept the name Flowers, and her billion. There was no looking back after that. Climbing the Forbes list of the world’s billionaires was her passion. The day she got on the list she was ecstatic. It was like rarified air, what someone would experience climbing Mount Everest. She had arrived. There were by some counts, only 2,325 billionaires on the planet, and of those only 286 were women. Wilhelmina Flowers, the gangly little Dutch girl with the blonde hair, blue eyes and hatred for sports had become one of the elite. By the age of thirty, she’d surpassed Oprah Winfrey and Donald Trump with their minuscule three billion. Then, she shot passed the billionaires with retail stores, beer m
anufacturing and real estate holdings. Wilhelmina, or Willa, to her closest friends, and there were not many, was on her way to the ten billion mark, by the time she hit thirty-five.

  Willa no longer cared what the riches brought her. Monet’s and Rembrandts’ hung in her New York Penthouse, a Gulfstream G550 worth fifty-three million dollars was at her command to fly her in total comfort to any destination in the world, and she still had eyes on becoming richer than Alice Walton, the daughter of the Wal-Mart founder. She was only a few billions away.

  To become the richest in the world and to top Bill Gates and his eighty-six billion, she’d need something special. What was about to happen in this room tonight would give it to her. So she hoped.

  Susilo Yudhoyona and Wang Zhao entered the room and sat across from her. They noticed she’d taken the seat at the head of the table. Neither said anything. The expression on their faces mirrored their feelings. A woman had assumed control. Yudhoyona was tall, totally bald with black rim glasses so large that they dominated his face. He wore the customary Filipino Barong shirt in white with white embroidery. He was known for his adherence to customs and traditions, which seemed odd for man in his late twenties.

  Zhao was short, wore a blue golf shirt, plain white pants and an 85,000-dollar Rolex in white gold. The massive watch overmatched his pudgy wrist. Willa thought he looked like a little kid with his dad’s watch.

  The men sat down, busied themselves with their cell phones and ignored Willa. She was used to this. Almost every meeting she’d had with men started in the same way. She’d have their attention soon.

  But in fact, she would not be in control of this meeting. The chair beside her was reserved for Ivanovich Volkov, the Russian that had brought them together a year ago to collude on bribes to get American contracts. The one that had almost brought them to ruin, was now the one who was about to bring them the biggest deal and the most riches they’d ever seen.