Climate Killers: Book 3. Bernadette Callahan Detective Series

by Lyle Nicholson

  Becky walked off in a huff towards a cabin that Sam directed her to find some clothes. She came back dressed in shorts and a t-shirt with the uniform in a bag.

  Sam stood on the gangplank and gave McAllen a hug,

  “Does this mean all is forgiven?” McAllen asked.

  “Hell no. It means if I have my arms around you I can’t sock you again with my fists,” Sam said. She stood back from McAllen. “Look, I know you love Barney. You two go way back. But you’ve got some really strange ideas. It kind of makes me crazy.”

  Bernadette smiled. “You’re right, Sam, you and the rest of the world. I’ll make sure he stays out of trouble, or gets into the right kind.”

  They hailed a cab and headed back to the airport.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” McAllen said.

  “Really, did you expect a worse reception than a punch in the face?” Bernadette asked.

  “Yeah, one time she took a shot at me.” McAllen smiled ruefully.

  20

  Sokolov sat in a chair in the waiting room of the charter terminal. He wore his sunglasses and peered over the top of a newspaper at the policemen. He was calculating. He wondered if McAllen walked out of the lounge with Winston now, if they’d recognize him? Did they have weapons on them—would they draw them or try to run? What about the police officers?

  Then, it got worse. Another officer walked in. This one was a female police officer and, by her uniform, he assumed she outranked the others. She shook hands with the dignitary and looked around the room. She was maybe in her late twenties, dark hair pulled back over amber-coloured skin. He couldn’t see her eyes, imagined them as hazel. The look fit. Sokolov liked to have a description of everyone. The young policewoman’s eyes took in everything in the room until, eventually, her gaze rested on the small Russian. He was used to being watched, being tailed. This young lady should be no problem to him.

  He was, after all, off limits to the FBI because of Adam Morgan’s meddling in the central bureaus data banks, but Bermuda was a problem. They weren’t under any American jurisdiction. Bermuda was a British Protectorate. As such, they had the local police and a direct link to MI6, the British Foreign Intelligence service, which also worked closely with Interpol.

  There was a worldwide alert out for him. Interpol wanted him bad. MI6 would love to have a few words with him before they handed them over. MI6, however, wasn’t as kind as most British believed. Their methods of interrogation were quite sophisticated and rough.

  The policewoman took off her sunglasses and took out her cell phone. She was pointing it in Sokolov’s direction. Before she could adjust the image to bring him into focus, he took out his cigarettes and began a sideways slide out the door.

  He turned his face towards the wall and kept his head down, working furiously to pull a cigarette out of a pack that was somehow not producing his nicotine delivery system. He swung the door open and breathed a sigh of relief until he saw the two police cars with uniformed officers. Sokolov stuck the cigarette between his lips and put his lighter up to his face.

  In seconds he had made his legs move him to the other side of the terminal building. He looked around for Fuentes and Rozales who were nowhere to be seen. Walking down the short road towards the main terminal, he saw them hanging around the taxi stand. They were smarter than he thought. If they’d stayed where they were, the police would have questioned them. Any search of their person would have produced their weapons.

  He was walking towards them when he saw a taxi van approach. Instinct told him to stand behind a palm tree. In that moment he saw McAllen and Bernadette Callahan returning. A feeling of rage came over Sokolov. There was no way he could touch them. They’d outmaneuvered him, and they didn’t even know it. He cursed his luck as he walked towards his Cuban henchman. Then he stopped.

  He realized that the young lady he’d identified as Becky Sigurdsson wasn’t with them. They must have dropped her off on the island. He grabbed his phone and dialed Morgan.

  Morgan answered on the second ring.

  “You said Sigurdsson’s wife was on a research ship somewhere off Bermuda. I want the name of the ship and I want you to put your global tracking system on it now,” Sokolov said.

  “I don’t know if I can get that to you right away. I’m in the middle of something.” Morgan said, bristling at the Russian’s tone.

  “My friend. You could be in the middle of the river with a weight tied to your ass if I don’t get this information in the next hour,” Sokolov insisted.

  Morgan almost hung up the phone. He wasn’t used to being talked to that way, but he knew whom he was dealing with. Russian Mafia killed those who disobeyed or displeased them.

  “I’ll have the information to you shortly.” Morgan put the phone down and brushed the sweat from his brow. This was getting worse, not better. There would be a breaking point; he hoped he wasn’t at the center of it.

  McAllen and Bernadette saw the police cars as they approached the terminal. The taxi van stopped in front and the driver opened the door. There was nothing else they could do but pay the taxi driver and walk inside. Any other move would have drawn attention. Had their covers been blown? Had someone identified Alistair McAllen, and Sebastian Germaine as they’d left the airport?

  If they had, then they would be walking into police custody. Bernadette wondered how she’d explain this to the Bermuda Police. She was travelling on a false passport to do police business… would that even work, she wondered? They took a deep breath and walked into the terminal. Three policemen and a policewoman were standing in a corner with a man in a beige suite. Sebastian and Winston were nowhere to be seen.

  A door opened and a giggle was heard, followed by a laugh. The two of them came out of the lounge as if they were teenage kids on a first date.

  Winston saw Bernadette and McAllen. Her eyes dropped down and she let go of Sebastian’s hand. She put her hand up to her neck, as if this would hide her recent actions.

  “I see you two have been taking in some valuable rest time,” McAllen said with only a hint of sarcasm.

  “Hey, great showers, Mac,” Sebastian said pointing behind him to the lounge. “Here, we got you some new clothes. I suggest you hit the showers before you put them on.”

  “Thanks,” Bernadette said, eyeing Winston. “I’ll see if they have another room available.”

  “Oh, heck no, we’re done with the room. Your turn,” Sebastian said.

  McAllen grabbed the clothes and headed into the room. “No one needs to tell me twice. I can smell myself from two hundred metres. How about if you get us another plane, Sebastian? This time we’re heading for Montreal and a little place called Ellesmere Island. I’ll work the details out with the pilot once you’ve found the transport.”

  “I’m pretty sure the plane we fly in on, is still here,” Sebastian said. “I heard the pilot say he couldn’t fly back to his base in Phoenix due to the heat, and the storms are keeping him from the Eastern USA.”

  “Great, then he’ll love where we’re going,” McAllen said.

  Winston looked at Bernadette. “Where is this Ellesmere Island? Is it in a lake near Montreal? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “Well, you can plan that some other time. We’ll stop to refuel there, but Ellesmere Island is in the Arctic Ocean,” Bernadette told her.

  “How far north is that?” Winston asked.

  “About 1,000 kilometres from the North Pole,” Bernadette said. “Pretty much the top of the Earth.”

  Winston looked down at her new linen slacks and blouse. “I guess I should have bought some different clothes.”

  Bernadette waited until McAllen was finished with his shower, and out of the lounge before she went in. She found ample towels and fresh toiletries. The shower felt amazing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one. They’d been washed over by the Atlantic Ocean and dripped dried in the helicopter, so being clean with fresh underwear was the next best thing to heaven she’d felt. She foun
d McAllen when she came out. The police had left the building. He was in a muted conversation with Sebastian.

  She waited patiently for them to finish. McAllen looked at her; he could see there was something on her mind. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I think we’re going at this wrong,” Bernadette said. “Here we are chasing after Sigurdsson, but we need to find out who is behind this ocean temperature rise.”

  “And, you’re going to do this how?” McAllen asked.

  “I’m going to contact my people in Canadian Security and Intelligence. I’m going to feed them what we’ve found and see what I can find,” Bernadette said.

  “You don’t think that will get back to the FBI guys who are trying to kill us?” Sebastian said. He’d come up behind Bernadette.

  “The guy I’m going to contact is a bit outside the loop. He’ll be discreet,” Bernadette assured him.

  “I hope so. If this gets out as to where we’re heading, we’ll have one hell of a welcoming committee waiting for us,” McAllen said.

  “I hear you.” Bernadette went to a quiet corner and dialed Anton de Luca on her cell.

  Sokolov and his Cuban thugs pulled up in front of the Nemo II in Hamilton Harbor. They’d rented a van and picked up two large duffel bags and some chloroform and cotton wool in town.

  The three walked up the gangplank and were met by Samantha Sigurdsson. “May I help you?” she asked.

  Sokolov stuck a gun in her ribs, “You will say nothing, move quietly towards the lower deck. If you shout, I will kill you and everyone on this ship. You understand me?”

  Bernadette reached Anton. “Where are you now?” he asked.

  “Bermuda.”

  “Nice, I’ve always wanted to go there. I take it you’re not hitting the beach.”

  “Nope,” Bernadette said. She filled him on the conversation she had with Samantha Sigurdsson.

  “And you’re heading for Ellesmere Island?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay… strange travel plans, but I understand. Now, what is it you want me to do?” Anton said.

  Bernadette smiled. He was always to the point. “This Sokolov guy was in the Miami Charter Terminal waiting for Sigurdsson to be delivered to him. He could only have got his orders from someone in the FBI. Who transmitted McAllen’s information about Sigurdsson being in Key West?”

  “You’re right. I hate to admit it, but the dots connect,” Anton admitted.

  “I think you start following the rabbit down the hole. If you go back to Adam Morgan, who gave you the order from the FBI to have me come with Agent Winston to find McAllen, we could progress up the chain.”

  “Okay, I’m on it,” Anton said.

  “But you’ll have to keep your investigation quiet. If Adam Morgan gets wind of it he could shut it down and destroy any evidence.”

  “Trust me, Bernadette, this investigation won’t leave here. I’ll have a crack team work on it and I’ll get back to you with what we’ve found out.”

  Bernadette turned off her phone and found McAllen and Sebastian with Winston in the terminal. She motioned for McAllen to join her.

  “I’ve got someone in Canada working on this. He’ll report whatever he finds,” Bernadette told him.

  “Good, now we’d better make tracks. We have a lot of airspace to make up to get to the top of the world,” McAllen said.

  “Is the pilot going to take us all the way there?”

  McAllen chuckled. “You know, he actually said he’d like to, but the landing strip in Ellesmere Island is small, and gravel. He’ll take us as far north as he can. We’ll make alternative arrangements for the final leg.”

  Bernadette smiled at the phrase, ‘alternative arrangements.’ She’d flown in the far north of Canada before. Some of the planes could look less than airworthy but the pilots were always capable.

  21

  The crack team that Anton De Luca promised Bernadette Callahan was really only Mellissa Ackerman. Her attention to detail and imagination in research far surpassed the other analysts’, which made her a ‘team,’ and a force all by herself.

  She was a loner, spending lunch breaks on a walk or reading a book, not hanging in the break room sharing stories with other analysts. To Anton, that meant a project or conversation with her, went no further. He loved that about her.

  He walked to her cubicle and found her peering at the computer. “Hey, Mellissa, I hope you’re not too busy, but I really need you on a project.”

  Mellissa whirled around in her chair. “Of course not, whatever you need, Anton.” She was hoping he’d drop into her office again. She’d been up nights working on the connections of the billionaires, Congressman Derman and Sokolov.

  That very day she’d planned to present it to him. She’d worn her blue dress with the lower cut neckline. It revealed just a little of her ample bosoms that, in her dreams, she wanted Anton to caress. Four times that morning she’d wanted to go to his office with her research and each time she’d lost her nerve. She couldn’t believe he was in front of her. Her heart raced and her palms went sweaty.

  “Did you find anything about those billionaires and the Russian guy?” Anton asked.

  “Oh, yes…” Mellissa began slowly. She didn’t want to seem too rushed. Not wanting to appear like a flustered schoolgirl.

  “I’ve found a few things since we last spoke.” She pulled out a large file beside her desk and turned it towards Anton. He pulled up a chair and sat beside her.

  “What have you got?”

  Every pore of Mellissa was vibrating with Anton beside her. She pulled the first piece of information and cleared her throat. “Ah, I ran a cross check of our three billionaires first. I put them into the Interpol database, their Ballistic Information Network and I got a strange hit.”

  “How strange?”

  “All three of them were on the same island of Lanai in Hawaii a few days ago. I did some further checking and found they’d checked into the Four Seasons hotel there.”

  “Were they all attending a conference?”

  “Nope, I checked that too. The Fuglemans had a wedding, but they weren’t on the guest list.” Mellissa allowed herself a small smile. She was sweating so much with Anton beside her she thought there’d be a puddle forming around her chair.

  “Well, I guess it’s not that strange the three of them were together. They were involved in some crooked dealings in the USA, maybe they were trying to come up with some new ones,’ Anton suggested.

  “Yes, but Illy Volkov was also there,” Melissa said.

  “Volkov. Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I had a friend of mine in Homeland Security do me a favour and run a facial recognition scan of all persons who entered the Lanai airport. They all arrived by private jets but Homeland Security has made all private charters put in cameras to feed into their scanners.”

  “Isn’t Volkov the boss of Sokolov?”

  “You bet. He’s the head boss of Sokolov and the key Russian Mafia figure that heads the controlling group of most of Russia’s government. They say that nothing in Russia happens without a bribe being paid. There’s even a saying that you don’t take a shit without paying the Mafia for the toilet paper.” Melissa cringed, “Oops, sorry, I didn’t mean to be so crass…”

  Anton shook his head and smiled. “It’s okay, Melissa, it’s just us here. I don’t mind you embellishing on the information.”

  Mellissa’s face went a deep red. She couldn’t believe her silly slip of the tongue in front of Anton. Was she trying to impress him? She wanted to die inside.

  “This is excellent work. Now there’s something else I’d like you to do for me,” Anton said.

  “Anything—I mean… how can I help?” Mellissa wanted to slap herself at this moment for blurting out her feelings.

  “One of our people in the field thinks that someone might be doing some underwater drilling on the Ocean’s floor. If they were doing this, they’d have to purchase some pretty substantial equip
ment. Can you see if you can find any correlation to this with our billionaires and Volkov?”

  “Sure thing. I have someone in the US FBI Forensic Accounting Department I can talk to—”

  “This has got to be super discreet,” Anton cut in. “No one, not even the FBI can know what we’re looking for or why.”

  “That’s not a problem. The person I’ll be contacting will be through a backchannel. There will be no record of our conversation and any information passed on will be your eyes only,” Mellissa assured him.

  “That’s excellent,” Anton said. “I knew I could count on you.” He got up, patted her on the shoulder then left the office.

  Mellissa was a puddle of emotions as she watched him walk down the hall. She finally took her eyes off his firm butt, sighed and got back to work.

  She couldn’t wait to call her secret contacts—what she told Anton was her back channel. They were all young women with fantasies just like hers. She’d met Tina Engelbach from Homeland Security and Lisa Burkhart from the FBI Forensic Accounting Department over a year ago at a Cyber Security Conference in Orlando.

  They instantly connected. Three big girls with oversized handbags and bad hair that gravitated to the same table at lunch amongst the sea of skinny people in their cool Banana Republic outfits and comments about the lack of ‘carb free food,’ on the buffet. Mellissa, Lisa and Tina shared their passion for law enforcement, then, they all admitted to their fantasies of the male agents they worked for. Their meeting evolved into a pizza party in their room, away from the prying eyes of the skinnies. They watched their favorite hero, Melissa McCarthy in the movie Spy. She’d played an analyst with Jude Law as her love interest.

  From then on, the three connected by Facebook, and used FB Messenger to communicate. They did everything, ‘off campus,’ which meant using burner phones to communicate. Any data sent would be to a private server. None of their transmissions showed up in FBI or CSIS files. They felt they could chase bad guys this way, and they hoped they’d impress the hell out of the hunky Agents they worked for. It worked that way in their imaginations. And their imaginations worked overtime.