Terror Stash

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Why don’t you start with the facts?” she said dryly.

  “I supposed they’re bad enough,” Nelson murmured and scrolled down. He cleared his throat. “Let me see. We’re pretty sure Caden Rawn is the name on his birth certificate. We know he was born in Alberta, Canada. Possibly Edmonton. Father unknown. His mother was a nineteen-sixties flower child who never gave up the lifestyle even when it became passé. She moved into the seventies and while the rest of the world grew respectable, she supported her lifestyle and Caden’s upbringing by smuggling drugs across borders. Any borders. She had like-minded friends in a dozen countries around the world and she stayed constantly on the move, one step ahead of any authority. She was a damned good courier. For ten years they tried to pin her down, but she was elusive. Nothing could be proven.”

  “What about Caden? Where did he grow up?”

  “At her side.” Nelson’s voice was dry. “We’re pretty sure she was teaching him all the tricks of her trade, too. Well, it all came to an end in nineteen eighty-seven. His mother was busted in Bangkok airport and thrown into jail to await execution.”

  Montana stared at him, horrified. Nelson was clearly enjoying himself. “This is all still...verified fact?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse.

  “Most of it. I’ll be sure to point out the speculation when I get to it. Here’s another fact for you. His mother failed to inform Canada of her arrest. She simply refused to contact anyone. I think she was afraid that if she did, the Thai authorities would track them down, too. Which left them in a pickle. They didn’t know what to do with the elementary school child by her side. As it turned out, they did nothing.”

  “He stayed with her? In jail?” Even Montana had heard of the appalling conditions of the Bangkok jail. The beatings, the suppression of prisoners, the rape and humiliation heaped upon them, the cramped quarters and lack of privacy, the terrible food and conditions, and these were stories from today, this year. What had conditions been like thirty years ago, when the world’s eye had not seen what went on there quite so easily?

  What would it do to a child to grow up in those conditions, even with a mother by his side?

  Horror touched her. She stared at Nelson, genuinely speechless.

  He gave a grim little smile. “Also verified fact. In November nineteen ninety-three, his mother was executed by machine gun fire. She was one of the last to be executed by the Thai authorities. Eighteen months later, Caden Rawn, now an adult, escaped from the prison.”

  Montana’s horror doubled, then tripled, as her imagination painted the details of Caden’s terrible childhood. What would something like that do to a child?

  “What else is there?” she asked. Her voice was a croak.

  “Ah, well, we’re moving into the realm of speculation now. Based on rumor, second hand reports and sometimes pure legend.” Nelson seemed to be enjoying himself. This was his big pay-off. He was getting to say “I told you so” with a vengeance.

  “We think that by the turn of the century he’d made his way to Bali. He met a great many West Australians there and the drug trade was brisk. Australians were happy to pay prices they considered reasonable. There, those prices are a kings’ ransom.”

  “He would not have been involved in selling drugs,” Montana said firmly. “I don’t believe it.”

  Nelson nodded. “Surprisingly, the little we know supports that. It seems Rawn became a sort of crusader. He spent a lot of time taking on the local drug lords and...well, ‘dealing’ with them, shall we say? His methods were less than legal and he managed to make himself a tidy little fortune while he was doing it. For that reason alone, I think the Balinese authorities took umbrage at a private citizen waging a war. Not only waging it, but winning where they plainly could not make an impact.”

  “Speculation again. Rawn appeared in Singapore around two thousand and one and has been an unofficial resident there ever since. The theory is that the Singaporean authorities are more than happy for him to help them clean up their streets. They let him live there without hassles, while they turn a blind eye to his less savory methods, as his methods work better than anyone else’s.”

  Montana felt a little dizzy. Caden’s words as they’d got out of the car. His implication that what came next would change everything for her. And it did. Oh, it did!

  But Nelson wasn’t finished, yet. “It’s not like Rawn stayed exclusively in Singapore. He’s a world traveler, going where his ‘work’ takes him. He’s expert at staying off the grid. He travels under different names and crosses borders illegally and with impunity. He seems to delight in throwing a spanner in the works of authority whenever he can. Misinformation is a specialty of his. He creates chaos, promotes anarchy, will steal when it suits him—”

  “Who? Who does he steal from?” Montana interceded.

  “Speculation again,” Nelson said. “There was an entrepreneur in Singapore, this was, oh ten years ago? He had a big land deal going at the top of the island. You have to understand that land is scarce and pricey in Singapore. There’s not enough of it to go around. Stallidich announced he was developing about five square miles of it. He called for backers to help him buy up the land, develop it and sell it as ready-to-build or build-yourself. What happened next is not certain, but rumors started to fly that there was no land, that the investors were sinking their money into a con. Rawn was mixed up in the deal somewhere. No one knows how, exactly, but when the dust settled, Rawn owned Stallidich’s mansion on the mountain and a quarter acre of prime downtown property, that included a high-rise building that he converted to lofts and gave away cheap to some of the most needy families in Singapore. The investors got a share in the building and he sold them on long-term capital gains. They aren’t making any money on that building, there’s not enough rent. But when they eventually sell the building and the land, it’ll be worth at least five times its value. That’s how fast prices rise in Singapore.”

  “Sounds like Stallidich had it coming,” Montana said.

  Nelson dropped his chin to look at her with a steely glance. “You condone stealing?”

  She mentally winced. “No, of course not,” she said.

  “I’m sure there are other, just as apocryphal, stories in other countries. As a result, there are quite a few countries that would very much like to interview him. Extensively. Canada is one of them, of course. I know a Mountie over at the Canadian consulate who will rub his hands in glee when he finds out that you just walked the infamous Caden Rawn onto our territory. Especially now, with this sudden shift in our priorities. And Canada’s, too, of course.”

  “What sudden shift?”

  Nelson shook his head. “I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

  She felt genuinely ill now. Her stomach was clenched so tight she could hardly draw breath. “You can’t just hand him over like that!” she protested. “As far as I can tell, he’s done nothing against the law in Canada and nothing to offend the United States, either.”

  “Don’t be silly, Montana. He’s an embarrassment to law enforcement agencies everywhere.”

  “Because he gets the job done,” she said. “From what you’ve told me, he seems to spend more of his time hunting down and ridding the world of drug kings than lining his own pockets.”

  “For goodness, sake, Montana, you know that a private citizen can’t take the law into their own hands. That’s the fast track to—”

  “Chaos?” she suggested. “Anarchy?”

  “He is a criminal and should face the full penalty of the law.”

  “Why? Because he personally pisses you off? When did the law stop distinguishing between good and bad, Nelson? When did we stop looking at the outcomes and start focusing so much on process? That’s the real crime here.”

  “I’ve made my decision.”

  “Then I’m taking it higher, to the embassy in Canberra. Tomlinson wouldn’t put laws before people this way.”

  “You don’t understand,” Nelson said softly. “I said I have made my de
cision. There is no higher appeal for you. Rawn will have to face the consequences of his actions. As for you....” He shook his head. “You will never be trusted by this department again. I told them six years ago that you were a loose cannon and by god I was right. I’m glad now I kept you here all this time, out of harm’s way. They wanted to send you to China. Imagine!”

  She could feel her fingernails digging crescents into her palms. “You bounced my transfers? Without consulting with me? Without telling me?”

  Nelson sat back and threaded his pudgy fingers together. “Breeding always shows, in the end. I warned them that your unknown origins would emerge in some unsavory way.”

  Her chest was heaving, but she fought to keep her voice steady. “If I’m stuck here in this backwater, what are you doing here?” she asked. “Haven’t you been here fifteen years? What, did they bounce your transfers, too?”

  Nelson began to splutter, turning red in the face. Finally, he found his voice. It emerged strangled. “Rawn isn’t a patriot!” He would have shouted if his windpipes had been clear. “He’s anything but patriotic. He’s rabidly against western civilization. He seems to feel he’s entitled to stoop to petty larceny and screwing up the system whenever he feels like it. He strews about misinformation, mis-filing and misdirection like confetti.”

  He was rising to his feet, his choler forcing him to unaccustomed movement. He even stabbed his forefinger upon the desk to emphasize his point. “That man rages against the system. He thumbs his nose up at it! Oh yes, let’s feel sorry for the poor bastard and let’s applaud him for his social conscience. He’s anti-drugs, my my, how honorable. He runs downtown tenements to get the poor dumb idiots without the sense god gave them who struggle pathetically to get clean. But the dealers and pushers...them, he’ll happily slaughter and has. That’s nothing but murder. Murder!” He stopped, panting.

  “I think you’re jealous of him,” Montana returned.

  Nelson’s face turned cottage cheese white, with red and sickly grey highlights. Montana watched his reaction, her alarm tinged with awe.

  The phone on Nelson’s desk burred loudly and they both jumped.

  Nelson reached for it quickly. “I thought I said—” He listened, but even Montana could hear the high, hurried, panicky tones of the woman at the other end of the phone.

  Nelson swung his chair around to look at the security monitor. “I turned it off,” he said. A pause. “I’m on my way.”

  He was moving from behind his desk even as he replaced the phone. “You’ll have to come with me,” he said. “I can’t leave you here alone.”

  “To where?” she asked.

  “Reception. There’s trouble.”

  Chapter Twenty

  When Steve arrived at the station, there was no one at the duty desk, and no one standing around drinking coffee, waiting for their shift to start. That was the first sign.

  He checked his watch, just to be sure. He was twenty minutes early.

  Invisible hackles lifted on the back of his neck, prickling painfully. Moving casually, he stepped into the office area and walked around the island of battered tin desks pushed together in the center of the room.

  “Hello?”

  Silence. Then, faintly, keyboard clicks from the sergeant’s office. Sergeant Borelli at his post on a Tuesday afternoon?

  Steve stopped at the deserted desks. Ghostly cold fingers were playing a blaring tune up and down his spine now.

  There was a tiny squeak, one he knew well, the sound of standard issue rubber-soled boots on the faded institutional green linoleum. He whirled, to find Chris Goonewardene behind him. The constable leaned against the desk next to him. It conveniently blocked off Steve’s retreat. Intentional?

  “Borelli’s looking for you,” Chris said.

  “Thanks.” Steve waved a hand. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Gone. You’re the only slacker here today, mate.”

  Not bloody likely. Steve knew that Chris himself was inclined to park in one of the national park turnouts and sleep away a hot summer’s afternoon shift. Same as Borelli’s Tuesday afternoon tryst with the wife of a town council member was a staple, as predictable as duty shifts that started on the hour and not before.

  “Guess I’d better go and see Borelli, then,” Steve said. He realized that he was sweating, although today was a mild thirty-two Celsius. He went to Borelli’s door, tapped and stepped inside.

  In that instant, he knew it was all over. Borelli’s computer screen was one of the big flat-panel things, with a high resolution and crystal clarity. The grainy black and white images of the three of them, Steve, Montana and Caden, were unmistakable. So was the backdrop behind them—the main cavern of the cave dwellers.

  Somewhere, there had been a security camera they’d failed to notice. It had framed them for all time.

  Despite the ice in his gut, that was spreading frostbitten fingers through the rest of him, Steve spoke casually. “You know, it wasn’t until we got down there that I finally questioned whether that convenient cave-in had really blocked off the main entrance at all. All those police warning signs and barriers scaring away the high-school kids...I’m kinda pissed off I didn’t see it before. Of course they’d have local help. They couldn’t remain hidden for so long without it.”

  As he spoke, he was moving closer to the monitor, peering over Borelli’s shoulder. Information. He might die with it, but it was all he had left, now. The three images were inside an email message. The header at the top had the sender’s email address. Only a few more steps and he would be able to read the address on Borelli’s big monitor.

  Borelli turned to face him, smiling genially. “I wouldn’t feel too disheartened, Steve. We went out of our way to keep you distracted. A small deal here, a bad guy there. Steve, check out this surfer accident at the Bommie. Steve, go check out the deaths at the hospital.”

  “I never did get to the bottom of that one,” Steve admitted easily. “How did he pull it off? He never set foot in the place. Just looked at them through the window.”

  Borelli shook his head. “These people have a discipline and commitment you and I will never be able to understand, not with our upbringing, not in a million years. They pledge their lives when they join and they know they’ll be called upon to die for their cause. That’s more than can be said of anyone in this miserable station.”

  “You’re overlooking one, there.”

  Borelli’s smile broadened. “Right. I forgot about you, didn’t I? Well,” He slapped his thighs as he stood up. “How about we go fix that right now?”

  Steve took the last step he needed and read off the address. Ligurio@bigpond.com.au.

  His gaze dropped to Montana’s image. The best he could do now was try to protect her. Help her. He swallowed and looked up at Borelli, dropping his hand into his pocket, the one with his personal cell phone inside. “We going a long way?” He felt for and found the power switch and depressed it.

  “Not far.” Borelli put a friendly hand on his shoulder and steered him out of the office. “But I guarantee that to you, Steve, it’ll feel like a thousand miles.”

  * * * * *

  The consulate offices took up a whole floor of one of the biggest tower blocks along St. George’s Terrace. Because the elevators and amenities were in the center of the floor, the offices were laid out in a big square around the four edges. The reception area faced the bank of elevators and the interview rooms where they were holding Caden were just off that area.

  But Nelson’s office was all the way down the other side of the building and Nelson would never run, not even to save his life. Montana wondered if it was even possible for him to run, but he moved swiftly enough even at a walk. His huge girth disguised the fact that he was actually quite a tall man, with long legs to match.

  They were barely halfway there and already she could hear frightened screams. Overriding them were loud, angry bellows. There were words in those fury-filled shouts, but she could not make them o
ut. Consulate staff were streaming back up the corridor, looking over their shoulders.

  They rounded the corner to the reception area and halted. Montana could feel her jaw dropping and snapped it closed, for Crystal Wong stood in between a row of the low leather waiting room chairs, all by herself.

  Everyone else in the area—consulate staff and visitors alike—were pressed against the walls. Many were frankly cowering. Peppered between them were four of the five security staff who were on duty at any one time and they were standing back, too.

  At the end of the big rectangular area, in the spacious section in front of the counters, stood one of the biggest men Montana had ever seen. He was possibly over seven feet tall with the very black skin of a Papua New Guinean. He was holding the fifth security guard, his hand around her neck.

  Crystal Wong stood slender and upright before him, confronting him. She lifted her hands in a calming motion. “There are better ways to be heard, Mr. Popowich. Really. You don’t want to do this.”

  Popowich stamped his feet. “You people do not listen! How can I be heard when you only listen long enough to find a reason to say no?” His speech was slow and thick with a tribal accent.

  “We will listen, sir,” Crystal assured him. “But you must let the girl go, first. Let her go and we can look more favorably upon your position.”

  “You have already decided!”

  Montana leaned towards one of the front desk clerks nearby. “He was turned down for a visa?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide. “His whole family. His wife is pregnant. Three year old boy.”

  “Residency?”

  “Yeah, no special status.”

  Popowich’s eyes seemed to roll. “You have all decided,” he declared. “None of you listened to me. I tried to tell you about us, but no one would listen to my story.”

  It’s all about people, even when you think it’s not. Caden’s abiding philosophy. Montana marveled at how often it applied.

  Crystal spread her hands wider. “Sir, we considered your application as fairly as we do all of them.”