Climate Killers: Book 3. Bernadette Callahan Detective Series

by Lyle Nicholson

  “Of course, a likely story. How’s it playing out?”

  “The entire Russian Arctic Brigade has been put on red alert and a fleet of their submarines is heading up there to assert their territory. I think you started World War III in the Arctic Ocean.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Anton chuckled. “Sorry, Bernadette. Look, a whole bunch of diplomats are working things out. The Americans are on our side, thank god. They’ve already responded that the Russians should have given clear indication if they needed aid. They’re all just posturing at this point. We have at least a week or two before the nuclear missiles start flying.”

  “Always with the snappy sense of humor, Anton. Do you have anything else for me besides your Armageddon speech.”

  “Sorry, yes I do,” Anton said. He filled her in on the information that Mellissa had given him about the billionaires and their submarine drilling operations and warehouse in San Francisco.

  “You know, I’m getting a feeling that some of this is starting to fit together,” Bernadette said.

  “Enlighten me, Bernadette,” Anton said rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “It’s 4 am here, you’ve put the world on nuclear alert and I could use some good news.”

  “You said Regent Marine had a warehouse in San Francisco?”

  “Yes, I did. What does it mean to you?”

  Bernadette sipped her coffee. She had a note pad beside her with the words San Francisco on it. “You need to give me that address. I think I know where we’re going next.”

  “I’d be happy to. At least in San Francisco you won’t be running into the Russian Fleet and we’ll only have one small war to deal with,” Anton said.

  “Again, you should have been a comedian, Anton. Good Italian-Canadian humour is hard to come by,” Bernadette said. She wrote the name and address of the warehouse in San Francisco down and circled it.

  “You have no idea where Sigurdsson is? Anton asked.

  Bernadette shook her head. “I’m sorry, we’re no further ahead than when we left on this mission.”

  “And how’s your partner, Detective Winston doing in the far north?” Anton asked.

  Bernadette almost choked on her coffee. “She’s fine. Not happy with the cold up here but she’s fine.” She realized that she hadn’t given Anton any details that she was travelling with McAllen and Sebastian Germaine. At this point, this was information she wouldn’t pass on; it would be hard to explain.

  “Good. I haven’t heard anything from her boss, Adam Morgan. I phoned him yesterday and no one in his department seemed to know where he was. I know he’s a strange guy, but going absent during a major case like this is odd.”

  Bernadette felt a tingle in her spine. That could only be the work of Winston and Sebastian in Washington. Her next phone call would be to Winston for an update.

  “Well, you know those FBI types. They can be strange,” Bernadette offered as a weak reply.

  “Just keep me updated on your movements,” Anton said. “I’ll see what information and assistance I can give you.”

  Bernadette was about to say something when she thought she heard a female voice. “Do you have someone with you?” She couldn’t believe she blurted that out. “Oh god, sorry about that. If you do that’s none of my business—sorry.”

  Anton sighed. “It’s okay, Bernadette. How about if we say goodnight or good morning and we both get back to saving the world.”

  “Sure, sure thing,” Bernadette said.

  Mellissa Ackerman rolled onto Anton. “Do you think we could take a little time from saving the world for one more gigantic orgasm like the last five?” she asked, kissing his chest.

  “I’m sure we can make time for that,” Anton said. He kissed her deeply as she grabbed him and pulled him inside her. The world would just have to wait.

  Bernadette got another coffee from Uncle Peter and greeted McAllen as he came out of the bedroom. He looked a little worse for wear, but awake.

  “We need to talk. There have been a lot of developments,” Bernadette said.

  “How about if we meet in our outer office,” McAllen replied.

  39

  They put on their parkas and went outside. The cold morning air grabbed at their lungs and produced steam from their coffees. A thermometer on the outside door read minus five Celsius. A light snow was falling; the flakes came out of the darkness and dropped on their hair.

  Bernadette brushed some snow off her brow and sipped her coffee, giving McAllen a briefing of what she’d learned from Anton. She waited for him to digest the information.

  “They’ve got a warehouse in San Francisco and you think that fits with what you saw on the River of Thule game. Is that how your intuition is working this?” McAllen asked.

  “Yeah, that’s where I’m going with this, plus dreams of narwhales and unicorns dancing in my head overnight.”

  McAllen turned his face up to the snow and let some rest on his face, and then turned to Bernadette. “You know, that sounds just bat shit crazy enough to work. We’ve got nothing else at this point. You mentioned Adam Morgan has gone missing, how about we call our compatriots in Washington and see what they’ve been up to?”

  Bernadette dialed the number she had for Winston’s cell phone. The phone rang several times before Sebastian answered in a sleepy voice. “Damn it, this better be important cause I was having a great dream.”

  “Sebastian… we’re looking for Winston. Is she somewhere close?” Bernadette asked.

  “Yeah, she’s here, let me wake her up,” Sebastian said.

  They could hear a muted conversation and Winston came on the phone. “Hey, Bernadette, McAllen, how are you two doing? We’ve heard all kinds of action from your area. Did you kick the ass out of some Russian Submarine?”

  “Well, not exactly,” Bernadette said. “That was the Canadian Air Force, we just happened to arrive at the right moment.”

  Winston laughed. “We thought it had your fingerprints on it. The world is on high alert for a nuclear war. CNN has stopped covering the rising tides and forest fires.”

  “Is that why you two decided to sleep together tonight?” McAllen asked. He looked at Bernadette who couldn’t believe his direct question.

  “I needed to continue this fine lady’s treatment of sexual healing,” Sebastian said.

  McAllen turned to Bernadette and muttered, “That’s his line with all the women. I’m amazed it works.”

  “Besides,” Sebastian continued, “we found all this great information on Morgan’s computer. It looks like the Russian Mafia was behind this scheme to raise the world’s temperature. They wanted to take over the United States.”

  “You have evidence of this?” McAllen asked.

  “Sure, we got it off his hard drive. We turned it into the Washington Post and sent copies to the New York Times and several other leading world newspapers, but your antics in the Arctic have buried the story for now. Who’s going to care about this story when everyone’s running for cover from a world war of nuclear missiles?” Sebastian asked.

  “He’s right,” Bernadette said. “Even if we could get someone to print this story about Russian involvement in this, it won’t see a front page until this crisis blows over.”

  “What do we do now?” Winston asked. She’d moved closer to Sebastian. He was resting his head on her breast and stroking her tummy. She smiled down at him.

  “If you two love birds can break yourself out of bed, how about we meet in San Francisco,” McAllen suggested.

  “Sure, I love the clam chowder and sourdough bread in San Fran, but what else is there?” Sebastian asked.

  “We found a warehouse we want to check out, and we’ve got a possible location of where the Earth’s ocean temperature is being messed with. A good chance it’s some 1,000 kms off the coast of San Fran. We found a kind of map in a game Sigurdsson developed called River of Thule,” McAllen explained.

  “I remember that game. I played it with Theo and Grace down in Nica
ragua. Both of them were kick ass at it, they killed me when we played it,” Sebastian said.

  “Well, thanks for that,” McAllen said.

  Bernadette looked into McAllen’s eyes. He looked back up into the sky and breathed in deeply. It was obvious the pain of losing them was still there and raw.

  “If we’re heading off shore we’ll need a boat,” Sebastian said. “I think I know where I can get us one.”

  “Now, don’t get no Tuna boat or something industrial,” McAllen cautioned. “We need some speed. There’s no use in getting on board something that chugs at ten knots and takes us over three days to get there.”

  “You know me, Mac, I always come through. I’ll get us a nice ride for the waves,” Sebastian said as he winked up at Winston and patted her tummy.

  “How soon can we meet up?” Winston asked.

  “We have to find out when we’re leaving here,” Bernadette said. “I understand we’re being smuggled out of here, but not sure when. As soon as we have an idea of the final flight to San Francisco, we’ll send you a text.”

  “Sounds good,” Winston and Sebastian said in unison.

  Bernadette heard a distinct giggle from the two of them before they clicked off their phone. She wondered if the entire world was having sex because of the situation they’d caused in the Arctic?

  A lump came into her throat. She missed Chris at this moment. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. She looked at McAllen. “Could you give me a moment. There’s someone I need to talk to.”

  “Sure, I need more coffee anyway. Can I bring you some?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Bernadette punched in the numbers she had for Chris and listened to a distant ring that was somewhere in Afghanistan.

  “Hello, Chris here.”

  “Hey, fella, it’s me, Bernadette—”

  “Wow, where are you calling from? I’ve just heard on the international news that the RCMP and FBI are looking for you. I had some uptight FBI guy call me and ask me if I’d heard from you.”

  “Did you tell him anything?” Bernadette asked weakly. She felt it hard to compose herself. She was realizing how much she missed him.

  “Of course not, Bernie, you know I’d never give up my best girl. Didn’t I always say we were outlaws in our last life, I was Butch Cassidy and you were—”

  “Calamity Jane,” Bernadette interrupted with a smile. “I miss you so much, you know that don’t you?”

  “I miss you too.”

  “Did you want to prove a point, to see how crazy I’d be knowing you’re in danger?” Bernadette asked.

  “Okay, I guess I may have been pushing the limits on this one,” Chris said. “This mission is pretty nuts. The guy we’re protecting has us going into some dangerous areas. We got these Hezbollah guys coming at us daily with all kinds of shit. It keeps me on my toes, but sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it for the cash their paying me.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather be my houseboy? I’d pay in amazing sex,” Bernadette said. Her face went hot as she mouthed those words.

  “You know, Bernadette, right now I’d about throw this whole thing over just to be next to you watching bad gangster movies and falling asleep together on the sofa.”

  Bernadette squeezed her phone. A tear made its way down her face and started to freeze. “What do you say, when all this is over, maybe we meet somewhere in Europe?”

  “You mean if I live through the next rocket attack and you don’t get captured and put in jail?”

  “Exactly. We’ll meet in Paris. A friend of mine told me about this cool little street called Rue Mouffetard in the Latin Quarter. It has wonderful restaurants and markets.”

  “Great.” Chris laughed. “As long as it has a decent hotel with a nice bed where you and I can work up an appetite, I’m in.”

  His phone started to cut out. “I need to go, we’re about to leave on our next trip outside the wire and my connection is fading. Listen, girl, you know I love you. I’m a rare idiot some times, but I love you madly. You know that and—”

  The phone clicked off. Bernadette stood there as the sun rose up in the high Arctic sky staring at the phone, her lifeline to Chris. He was gone. She sighed and put away her phone. She felt a shiver; she needed to go back into the house.

  As she walked into the house a wall of warmth and the smell of cooking breakfast greeted her. Uncle Peter looked up from the stove where he was frying something that smelled like more walrus with eggs. “Danny called, he’s arranged a flight for you out of here after sunset.”

  “When’s that?” McAllen asked.

  “It’s at 4:00. Be ready to leave at 3:30.” Peter said.

  40

  Admiral Fairborne watched the news and clenched his jaw. His fists were balled and he found it hard to restrain himself from pounding on his armchair in the officer’s club. CNN was showing the American submarines that were entering the Arctic Ocean to defend Canadian Sovereignty.

  A news clip showed the fighter jets taking off from Eielson Airforce base near Fairbanks Alaska. Four Ohio Class Nuclear submarines were listed as entering the Bering Sea and steaming for the Arctic. Even the English and Danes were committing ships and planes to back up Canadian Sovereignty in the Arctic.

  Fairborne knew this was the Americans using the pretense of defending Canada to reassert its own rights in the region. With the melting ice in the Arctic Ocean, it was virtually ice free in the summer. Ships were now making regular passage through and saving hundreds of thousands of dollars in fuel instead of going through the Panama Canal.

  But what was at stake was all of the offshore oil and minerals found on the ocean floor. Fairborne had seen the secret documents of what America stood to profit from drilling and mining in the Arctic. It’s what his Russian handlers had told him would be the riches that he, the great Admiral Fairborne would be part of once they’d taken over the American government.

  This latest, unseen incident was derailing that. A Russian submarine was destroyed off Ellesmere Island in the Canadian Arctic. The Canadian’s claimed the submarine fired upon them as they came to the aid of their civilians. A commentator was claiming how close the world was to nuclear war over this incident and started to list the firepower of the submarines headed for the Arctic.

  With a smugness that couldn’t be missed, the commentator explained how the Ohio Class submarine, with its 192 warheads that could enter back into the atmosphere at Mach 24, separate into eight multiple warheads with up to a 475 Kiloton warhead could wipe 24 Russian cities off the map. He then said, “That would be a bad day for Russia, back to you.”

  Fairborne almost choked on his coffee. The utter morons, what were they thinking? This was removing the attention from America’s plight of forest fires, drought and rising seas to see who would stand down first.

  This was not going well. Fairborne walked out of the officers’ club. Two men in uniform stood on the steps of the club. “Admiral Fairborne?”

  “How may I help you, Lieutenant?” Fairborne asked. He noticed that neither the lieutenant nor the young corporal at his side had saluted him as he neared them. He drew in a breath and calmed himself before he gave his reprimand.

  “I’m Lieutenant Moskowitz. You need to come with us, Admiral, you’re being taken in for questioning for charges of treason against the United States of America.”

  “Treason?” Fairborne sputtered. That’s absurd.”

  “No, sir. There’s been a complete report from the Washington Post on your activities. The Judge Advocate General’s office wants a meeting with you. This is not a request, sir. It’s an order.”

  “The Washington Post. You can’t be serious. Any news from them is fake news,” Fairborne said.

  Lieutenant Moskowitz spun Fairborne around and put handcuffs on him. “My wife is a reporter for the Washington Post, sir.”

  41

  Omar took Bernadette and McAllen back to the airport just as the sun was setting at 4 pm. There was a threat of mo
re snow, but it wasn’t coming down. In late October there should have been piles on the ground already. The truck tires crunched on gravel as it headed for the airport.

  They parked away from the terminal and entered a small Quonset hut that was Danny’s headquarters for his airplane. The hut was crowded with wooden pallets and boxes that had either been shipped in or were to be shipped out.

  Bernadette couldn’t see any specific order to the warehouse; Danny seemed to be the organizer. He wandered from one crate to another, with his helper, a tall man with greasy coveralls and a Montreal Canadiens Hockey hat that had seen better days, as had the team.

  McAllen found himself a space on a packing crate and surfed the net on his phone. He was looking for islands just off the coast of California. Other than the Channel Islands off Los Angeles, only Alcatraz came up. After a while he gave up, turned off his phone and stared into space.

  The door opened into the warehouse. Bernadette whirled. She expected to see the RCMP with guns drawn to do a takedown. Her stomach had been feeling anxious all morning from more fried walrus.

  A little Inuit lady walked in. Bernadette recognized her as the one she’d met in Montreal and she’d given the parkas to. She approached with twinkling eyes. She was speaking in her native Inuktuk so Bernadette called Danny over to translate.

  “My grandmother says she heard you are going to search for the headwaters of the River of Thule,” Danny said.

  “How did she find that out?” Bernadette asked as she jumped off her packing crate and dusted off her jeans.

  “Ah… well… I maybe told her,” Danny said as he found something interesting to look at on the warehouse floor.

  “Is there anyone who doesn’t know what we’re up to in Iqaluit?”

  “Not if they’re native. We’ve pretty much in the loop on this one. The River of Thule could reduce the temperature of the Arctic, bring the ice back and keep the Kallunak out of here,” Danny said. “Sorry, Kallunak means white people. But what she means is if the ice returns in the winter and into the summer we won’t have the ships and Kallunak hunting for oil. We can get back to our traditional ways of hunting and fishing. My grandmother thinks it’s a better way of life for the Inuit.”