Secrets in the Storm: A Christy Spy Romance Novella (A Christy Spy Novella Book 2)

by Cindy M. Hogan

  “Hey guys, I’m really sorry, I know this hasn’t been a smooth ride, but this storm is coming in faster than they anticipated. While it hasn’t hit Calgary yet, this storm is rushing through two of the counties west of it and causing all kinds of havoc. They’ve issued flash flood warnings for those towns. I’m going to try to hit Calgary from the South in hopes of going around and beating the storm. If I were the two of you, I’d get a hotel room and stay in town tonight. I’ve ordered a car service to pick you up. Would you like me to have them meet you outside the CSIS building?”

  “Yes,” Jeremy glanced at me and then added, “Thank you for arranging that for us, Max.”

  “I feel bad that, for obvious reasons, I won’t be able to return you to the lodge.” He laughed his high pitched, strange laugh.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jeremy said. “Nothing you could do about it, Max, unless you somehow have control of the weather.” Jeremy chuckled.

  “I’d be a millionaire if I did. And I’d probably only fly for my own pleasure, ya know?”

  “Is Calgary directly in the storm’s path, then?”

  “It’s looking like it will be a direct hit.”

  Chapter 4

  I sat straight in my seat, my hands clenching and unclenching. It would be okay. We would grab our supplies and get out of town. Jeremy had to be right. There was no reason for us to get more involved than we already were. We were taking the local CSIS agents all the information we had. We had no advantage over them. This case deserved more eyes than four. My stomach quivered, but I wasn’t sure if it had to do with the bumpy ride or not getting involved. A dimness had settled over everything, making it look like twilight even though sundown was still hours off.

  Jeremy put a hand on my knee and it heated immediately, the warmth both calming and exciting at the same time. I turned to him, and he gave me that perfect, comforting smile. I couldn’t smile back; I just wanted to land.

  After a short ten minutes, it appeared that Max had made the right choice. The sky was sunny and clear and the brooding storm clouds were left behind as we continued southeast.

  The scraps of photos from the fireplace and the suite itself, in its disarray, rushed through my mind, over and over again as I tried to make connections with the information I’d learned several years ago when studying Canada during my training at the Bresen Spy Academy, my photographic memory earning its keep today. I hadn’t done a lot of research, but enough to have a light grasp of the area and the problems it faced. Really, it was quite pompous to think that without me they would fail. I didn’t know the area, the people, anything very well. Shoot, I couldn’t even identify the burned pictures. It would take a local to stop these guys. Still, my mind wouldn’t settle.

  I flipped the switch that would cut Max out of our communication, so that I could talk directly to Jeremy.

  “You’ve seen the evidence,” I said. “Who are these people? Why did they build a bomb?”

  “That’s the question of the hour.” He furrowed his brow as if that was all he was going to say on the subject, but then he looked at me and must have seen I was still struggling with motion sickness. “This storm bothering you?”

  “Not so much the storm as what it’s doing to the helicopter.”

  He looked out the window and then at his watch. It had only been twenty minutes since we took off and we had another thirty at least until we reached CSIS. “Hmm. Well, let’s look at what we know.” He was going to brainstorm with me to help me get my mind off the formerly spastic helicopter. “There were at least six men that worked on the bomb or bombs. They weren’t doing it just for fun. They have a target or targets which are most likely pictured in the burned pile of papers I have in that bag.” He reached down and grabbed the bag, pulling out the stack of pictures and handing me some.

  Jeremy’s bright smiling face transported me somewhere else, away from the violent and scary interior of the helicopter. Ever since I was a little kid, I feared flying in storms. I’d watched a TV show where a group of people were flying in a plane and a terrible storm made them crash, killing half of the people and leaving the other half deserted on an island with very little promise of survival. It hadn’t been filmed well, but to my young mind, it made a lasting impression, one that left me terrified whenever the plane jumped or a storm raged outside.

  I turned my attention back to the pictures. My stomach and mind calmed as I focused on the pictures, looking for any clues.

  I looked closer at the picture of the bench. On one of the front legs, words were written with a tiny tipped marker. I had excused the letters as just imprinting on the bench itself. It read, 3:00. I shuffled through and found all the colorful benches had the same type of writing on them. All had times on them, but no locations. I turned the pictures over and looked at the sequence of numbers and letters again. Was the bench a meeting spot? If Jeremy was right, there were a lot of those benches in Calgary. How would the terrorists know where to find that exact bench? Did they have to run around looking?

  “You said there were a lot of these unique benches in downtown Calgary.”

  “Yes. Many. Unless things have changed.”

  “I found times written on the legs in each picture. I missed it before thinking it was just part of the decoration.” I handed him one of the bright bench pictures. He looked close and nodded.

  “Good catch. Meeting points you think or locations of bombs?” He high-fived me and then kissed me.

  I looked at the stack of bench pictures. “Let’s hope meeting places. That would be a lot of bombs to disarm. It’s weird. This string of numbers and letters on the back are the same on every bench picture. I still can't decipher any type of code.”

  “Could you hand all those to me? I’d like to compare the backgrounds.” I handed them all to him.

  An idea sprang to my mind that was quickly dashed with the rocking and rolling of the chopper. It rolled so hard I thought for sure it would go all the way over, which meant not only a crash but also the loss of our lives.

  My stomach roiled as the helicopter veered right, and I closed my eyes and again tried to focus on the photos captured in my mind, my attention drawn to the pilot who was speaking rapidly into his headset. I looked out the window and saw a city below us. I pulled out my phone to check for internet now that we were getting closer to Calgary. “Maybe something happened two or three weeks ago that made this group want to build this bomb.”

  “That would make sense.”

  “I’ve got the internet. Finally.”

  “Excellent.”

  Using the keywords, controversy and Calgary, I got a ton of hits. I went to the most recent article. The headline read, Shop Owners Unite Against Burkas. I clicked on it and nothing. I clicked again. Dark clouds surrounded us once more and the internet was down. I couldn’t see anything and a quick look at Max told me he couldn’t either. His eyes were riveted on the dash and I figured he was having to follow his instruments instead of his own eyes. The grimace on his face told me that he didn’t like it one bit.

  I had to change my focus. “You don’t think it could be some sort of jihadist thing, do you?”

  “I doubt it. Canada and Calgary in particular have been very accepting of Muslims.”

  “Don’t you remember a couple years ago when that terrorist killed those two soldiers at those monuments? He was protesting political and court rulings.”

  “That’s right,” Jeremy said. “I’d forgotten about that. A young radical Muslim boy shot and killed a ceremonial guard at a national war memorial and caused a shootout at the parliament building because he did not like Canada’s foreign policy in respect to his religious beliefs. As a jihadist, he didn’t approve of the West interfering with Middle East politics. Calgary changed a ton of their protocol after that in hopes of preventing any other tragedies like it. Like I said, Calgary has always prided itself on its pro-Muslim stance. They even appointed a special Muslim liaison—I think his name was Samaar or Samad. I can’t r
emember now.”

  I thought for a moment. “Well, someone has a reason—or thinks they do—to plant a bomb. We need to figure out a motive.”

  “You’re right. If we could figure that out, then we’d have a chance at figuring out where the bomb or bombs will be.” The chopper rocked and bounced, and I slipped my phone back into my pocket. I didn’t try to stop the pictures from sliding from my lap. All I wanted to do was close my eyes, curl up into a ball and go to sleep, but that was impossible. I stiffened, and without the luxury of being able to see anything outside, I stared at the frantic pilot. The storm had met us.

  His hands moved from this control to that as we dove and rose and rocked almost completely sideways, debris large and small battering the machine. I heaved. Jeremy too. I don’t know how the pilot saved the chopper. That kind of movement usually sent the helicopter into an uncorrectable spin or roll that killed everyone inside.

  I blinked hard and looked at the dash. The controls seemed to be working. I pointed to the button to let us hear Max. He was hysterical, his high pitched voice hard to understand. We flew in and out of the clouds. He was asking into his headset for a place to land and for someone to guide him down since he couldn’t see.

  Jeremy gave me a quick glance before unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing with some difficulty into the front passenger seat. He calmly put a headset on even as the helicopter bucked. I knew the pilot was a good one. Had he been less skilled, we would have already rolled and most likely needed to eject. All our evidence would have been lost. It had been just over a half an hour, so we were nowhere near our goal of getting to the CSIS building.

  Even if we didn’t die, we most definitely wouldn’t be making it to their landing pad. Our most likely ending involved coffins. I wasn’t sure what Jeremy thought he was going to do besides further calm the pilot, but I said a quick prayer that we could at least live to see the bombers brought to justice. Jeremy’s soothing voice came over the line.

  “Max, take a deep breath. I’m going to help you get this machine just under the clouds so that we can land at our first opportunity.”

  Max did as he was told and his chest puffed out and then in. Jeremy gave him simple, direct commands. Since when did he know how to fly a chopper? Max worked hard to do as Jeremy directed. With a sudden crash, the side pilot window cracked, the resultant hole letting in rain and noise. The pilot screamed.

  “Would you like me to take over the controls?” Jeremy asked, in a measured, authoritative voice. I had thought Max was following Jeremy’s directions pretty well, but I must have been wrong. I knew however, that in this particular helicopter, you also had foot controls that needed to be manipulated in order to fly. Even if Max gave him control, he would not have everything he needed to fly the chopper. There was no way for Jeremy to fly from the passenger seat. He needed the foot pedals and all the different dials around Max.

  I could see lights and the outlines of buildings around us now.

  “No. I’ll be okay. Looks like we’re downtown,” he said in a weak voice with no inflection. “But the CSIS building is still far away.” He moaned. Maybe he was getting sick just like me.

  “Don’t worry about that. I can guide you to the nearest pad. This storm is only going to get worse.” The tone in Jeremy’s voice sent a shiver up my spine. Something more than the storm was not right.

  Max nodded and what? Grunted? I unbuckled and lurched forward with the chopper, hitting my shoulder into Jeremy’s chair. “Jeremy?” That’s when I saw it, a large stick, the diameter of a broom handle, protruded out of Max’s side.

  Chapter 5

  Jeremy put his hand up, letting me know he knew about the stick. The helicopter rocked, and I slammed into the locked side door. I grabbed my shoulder and stifled a scream. I fumbled my way to my seat and buckled up. The helicopter veered so far right that I thought for sure it was going to roll. I could tell by the small bits of flying debris that it was windy, but the rain had stopped and the clouds had thinned. It was like we had beat it at last as the helicopter evened out. The clouds parted and the darkness suddenly lifted. We could see downtown Calgary. A little miracle? Still struggling to maintain control, I’m sure because of his wound and not the weather, Max set us down on the top of a building, the helicopter leaning hard to the right the whole time. The rotors whined as Max flipped them off. Then he slumped down.

  I jumped out of the chopper at the same time Jeremy did, arriving at the pilot’s door almost simultaneously. Jeremy yanked the door open. “Call 9-1-1.” The wind howled and it seemed like the temperature had dropped ten degrees. The rooftop was full of puddles. The storm had definitely been there. A blanket of darkening gray stretched out over the sky in all directions. Light rain fell.

  I grabbed out my phone and gave the operator our location. Thanks to my phone’s GPS, I was able to ascertain that we were on top of a hotel and luxury condominium tower in Calgary proper. Despite the pleas of the dispatcher, I hung up to help Jeremy. He handed me the pilot’s phone.

  “Get the car service on the phone and ask them to meet us at this location. We can use them to get to the CSIS office.”

  Jeremy had stabilized Max with a small kit from the helicopter by the time I got off the phone. It would take the driver forty-five minutes to get to us with traffic and the weather. I worked hard not to focus on the dark, ominous clouds headed our way.

  I stuffed the evidence from the lodge into my go bag, then we slipped our go bags onto our backs. I nodded to Jeremy and we each took hold of Max, carrying him between us in a chair carry. Thankfully the roof access door was open, and a silent calm blanketed me as we walked through it.

  We rode the elevator silently down to the main floor, and as we walked out into the lobby, several hotel workers rushed to help us, horrified faces seeing the stick protruding from his body. They led us to a small room behind the desk that had a couple twin beds. We laid him on one and let them know an ambulance was on the way. He was still unconscious and barely breathing.

  A large woman, dressed in flowered scrubs, burst in through the door. “I’m the hotel’s nurse,” she said in a clipped voice. “Tell me what happened to this man.”

  We filled her in on his injury, though we left out the fact that we’d been in the helicopter with him. She nodded, then started ushering us out of the room.

  “I need space.” She saw the hesitant look that passed between Jeremy and me, but she only pushed harder. “You can’t do anything in here. I need you to leave now.”

  “Please let us know which hospital the ambulance takes him to.”

  “Will do. Thank you. Now, goodbye.”

  As we left the room, I became aware of the hotel’s elegance: marble floors, long fancy draperies and rugs, along with luxury chairs, couches, tables, and sparkly chandeliers. Our attention was quickly averted by a tall, slender, pretty woman talking loudly to a hotel clerk who was refusing to tell the woman anything about the injured man that was just taken behind reception.

  Her pencil skirt displayed her long tan legs better than a picture frame could. Her hair was pulled into a stylish bun, notebook in hand. She looked up, the face of a model was revealed. When her expressive amber eyes lit on us, they rounded. I looked at Jeremy only to see his clothes stained with Max’s blood, his face slightly ashen. I had the same problem. No wonder she looked so shocked. Then she cried out, “Jeremy!” My gaze flicked back to Jeremy.

  “Celeste,” he said, with much less gusto, and yet his face lit up, the ashen color gone.

  She quickly crossed to us and pulled Jeremy into a firm hug, at last his arms lifting to hug her back. As they pulled away from the hug, he turned back to me and the look on his face was one I’d never seen on it before. Dread? Shame? He gave a fleeting smile as his body twisted back to the girl.

  That’s when I remembered he used to live here. She was probably an old friend of his.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” She wrapped her
arms around him again, not giving me the time of day.

  "I could ask you the same thing,” he said, as he hugged her. “What are you doing in Calgary?"

  "I was covering a story at the courthouse when I heard about the storm. I ran over here to hopefully beat the crowds trying to get out of the city, but got here too late. At least I’m not stuck in the courthouse like all those other schmucks. The rumor is that they are going to have to stay put until the storm passes. I must look a sight after running through that wind.”

  She primped her hair even though she looked perfect. I was frozen like a deer in headlights.

  “I guess my story has just become this weather. Awful.”

  “I’m sorry you lost your story.”

  “The good thing is that in this crazy world, there’s always a bigger story. Makes for a terrible world, but exciting and never ending news stories. In any case.” She paused. “Now that I'm covering the storm.” She paused again. “It looks like the two of you have a story to tell. Her eyes fell on me, dropping quickly from my face to the blood on my shirt.

  “Oh, yeah, Celeste,” Jeremy said, taking a step away from me. “This is Jenny. She’s a colleague of mine.” He spoke as if he barely remembered I was there, the words tumbling quickly out of his mouth as if they were the only truth.

  Colleague? It was like I’d been punched in the gut. Completely and totally irrationally, I sunk back into that girl I used to be several years ago in high school. The girl I thought I’d abandoned. That girl back in high school who was laughed at, who lacked any ounce of self-confidence, who was teased and bullied—who didn’t believe in herself.

  Celeste held out her hand, and as if on autopilot, I stepped forward and took it. “Nice to meet you,” I heard myself say. “I guess the two of you knew each other when you were younger?” Our eyes met for the first time. There seemed a challenge in her gaze.

  “Knew each other?” Celeste laughed. The girl’s blue eyes sparkled despite the lack of bright light. “We were the hottest couple in town. Right, Jeremy?”