“Crap.”
“That’s exactly what I said. Same spelling and everything. But my question is, what did Hassan know – or do – that would make a minor drug lord put together a carefully-planned three-man assassination team to take down a Syrian student already at death’s door in a regional hospital in rural Ontario Canada?”
Both men were silent, except for the scrape of forks finishing off breakfast. “I think,” said Willy, “that between Anita and Hassan, they had possibly disconnected information from their own networks of workers and locals that could lead back to Juan and his operation. Anita has already told me she knows about a drug operation going on in the area, and wonders if Juan was part of it.”
“Did she know Hassan had been in a car crash that looked suspicious, and was under guard in the hospital?”
“Yes, and no. She knew he had been hurt, and she knew Mr. Anderson had probably saved his life, but the rest, I don’t think so. She is going to be terribly sad and very angry with this news.”
“May I ask how you have her protected right now?”
“Of course. Juanita and I had built a tiny cottage at a small lake (sort of a hidden inlet from the river) about a mile from our house and outbuildings. It is now completely overgrown and hidden – I had never been there since Juanita died – but this seemed like the right time and the right reason, so I took her there, along with three big boxes of books from Juanita’s library. And, since I still have family and friends in my original community, I contacted them and asked for three well-armed and tough FBIs for a few weeks to help out a family member. They were there the next morning. Tell ya, I sure don’t want to argue with them!”
“FBIs?”
“You haven’t heard that expression? ‘Fucking Big Indians’ Not politically correct maybe, but if they don’t care I’m sure I don’t!”
“How did they get there? If they can get there, maybe Juan can.”
“They put a shiny new jet-boat into the lake at the boat launch beside your dock. To you – if you saw them – they looked like just another three yahoos out for a day on the lake. Two big guys and one hefty chick, and a case of beer!”
Anderson paused and giggled: “That’s cool. That’s really cool!” He picked up the plates, wiped them off and went out and rinsed them in the lake before drying them and putting them away. He also rinsed the coffee cups, refilled them and said, “let’s take our smokes and go sit in the sun. It’s nice out there. Take the coffees and I’ll grab a couple of deck chairs from the hatch.”
“Let’s talk about people: friends and allies, jerks and creeps, and enemy targets. Maybe I should write ‘em down... I’ll get a clipboard and a pen.” Anderson returned from the wheelhouse with a clipboard and made three columns. “Let’s start with enemy targets: unfortunately we have to start with your grandson Juan.”
“Yes we do. And also unfortunately I don’t know who are his contacts up the chain.”
“Okay, let’s put OPS Sergeant John MacLeod on the friends and allies side. I have learned I can trust him and he sees the big picture. I’ve been working with him on this ever since Anita disappeared from the village.”
“Yes, I have been told he is a good cop, tough and fair – and intelligent.”
“And of course Arnold and Marion, and Fred and Georgina. Not sure if we want Fred and Georgina in on the rough stuff under the circumstances, but we can trust them.” Anderson paused. “What do we do with people like Giordano and Mistraika?”
“Gerald and Henry? Both should have been drowned at birth and saved everyone a lot of trouble. They make lots of noise but they’re strictly bottom feeders. Juan might use them for cannon-fodder but I don’t think he’d even trust them for that.” And we can’t trust them either... maybe put them in the ‘jerks and creeps’ column.”
“I’m going to put the Webster sisters (from that little island southeast of the village) in the Friends column. I have a particular reason not to want them in danger, but they are being extremely useful doing some research for us, and they are a hundred percent trustworthy. For example, just last night they were on the phone from Toronto and had just found out that Giordano and Mistraika were the registered lessees of that former provincial campground north of Robertson Mines, but that the Robertson Group actually pays the lease. Now that means something, I’m pretty sure!”
“Whoa, Frankie... whoa! We just about slid right by that and suddenly I see connections. I know that the one or two times I ever talked to Juan a couple of years ago he mentioned being down to see friends at Robertson Mines. And, I’ll bet if you look it up on the internet you’ll see that Robertson has mines in Mexico – and maybe others in South America. I wonder if his upstream connection is through someone there? He may just be a manager and enforcer, not a business owner!
“Well, sure as hell they’ll disavow any connection at head office. I wonder if they have any record of shady operations. I could ask Wendy Webster to check – she used to work there as a public relations executive.”
“Hold it,” Willy spoke up suddenly. “We’re going fishing. I’ll get the rods.” and he jumped up and went for the mooring line to his skiff. Plane coming!”
“Got it!” Anderson re-arranged the deck chairs along the starboard side and went in for the beer cooler and binoculars. In less than a minute they were both sitting with a beer in one hand and a fishing rod between their knees with the lines out. It was only then that Anderson saw a two-engine plane about a mile west, headed right over them. He had his cellphone out and sitting on the deck locker, camera ready to go. “Good eye, Willy!”
An instrument in the cabin started to beep. Anderson swung around to look, then remembered: “Geez. No worries, hadn’t remembered to turn off the radar warning signal. Nice to see it works!”
As the airplane flew overhead, maybe 700 feet off the water, the two men looked up and waved. The pilot dipped his wing-tips and flew on in a straight line toward Big Island, which was a half-mile east. Willy grabbed the binoculars and followed the plane, while Anderson flipped through the shots on his cellphone to make sure he had a good clear picture. “There,” shouted Willy. “There... that’s got to be one of their planes because he just opened the door and dumped out eight or ten sacks. Did you get a photo?”
“Yeah, not great though. We’ll have to see what a lab can do with it. I didn’t want to make it too obvious that I was taking pictures! Keep an eye on that thing ‘til it’s out of sight, then we’ll talk about next steps, you and I.”
“Uh huh. If he turns around and goes back, we’d better keep fishing. I think we must have fooled them though, otherwise they wouldn’t have waggled their wings and then made the drop.”
It was most definitely cigarette time, and since the beer was now out, they opened up a couple of those too and tried to relax. They watched as the airplane flew on over the east shore, then turned north and was soon out of sight.
Anderson was the first to speak. “It’s mid-morning, almost ten. We have people to talk to and a bunch of information to get, and even with the booster I need to be six or eight miles closer to the Spirit River tower to get cell and internet service. I need to call Marjorie and Wendy – mostly Wendy I think – in Toronto to dig a little further into the Robertson Group and their holdings in Mexico and California, and I need to get to them before too long because they are planning to leave the city in the morning tomorrow to come back here. And, we need to involve John – Sergeant MacLeod. I would be happier if you could meet him and we could talk together – maybe with Arnold too. Do you have to get back home or can you reach them and say you’re staying away another day? My place is yours.”
“I can try from here with my mostly-portable ham radio. If that don’t want to work, I’ll have to wait until we get cell coverage.”
“So that’s the famous Moccasin Telegraph – ham radio?”
Well, it’s sometimes more complicated than that. If I have to use the phone, I call my youngest brother on the Rez, and he radios in to my place where
I have a powerful radio and a big antenna. That’s how Marion gets to me, but she’ll never tell you that. I’d do it through Fred, but much as I love my son I can’t trust the alcohol thing.”
“He’s been a lot better since Anita went missing.”
“So Marion tells me. I hope it holds. I’ll get the radio from my boat and maybe I’ll power it from your main battery and put the Yagi antenna up on your roof. I have a clamp.”
Anderson did some cleaning up around the boat, checked engine oil levels and started the genset while the not-so-crazy man set up his radio, pointed the antenna southeast in the general direction of his home and started his call procedures. He received a response within less than a minute, and launched into a hurried conversation in a language Anderson didn’t understand. He signed off and shut the radio down: “Okay, Anderson. Everything’s fine at home and they won’t expect me back until tomorrow. I did tell them to keep a 24-hour watch on the radio in case we need to tell them something.”
“That was Ojibwe, I assume?”
“Yes. Sort of... my people talk a different dialect, but yes, basically Ojibwe.”
“Much as I enjoy your company, I don’t think we should travel back to the village together in case someone turns that plane around for another look. You could go straight in, and I’ll swing west and go back through the cottage islands by the mouth of the river.”
“Good. I’ll walk uptown for coffee and listen to the gossip until you get in. Let’s trade cellphone numbers.”
“You’re saying that little skiff is faster than my big diesel?”
“Oh yeah. You named it right – The Beaver. Big and slow. The skiff is like an otter, especially since I bored out the cylinder and added a couple of inches to the prop.”
“Crazy Man is well-named too, apparently! Okay, I’ll start my puny little diesel and pull the anchor. Might as well get going. I’ll start by calling the Websters once I get cell service, then I’ll call the sergeant and set up a meeting somewhere – away from prying eyes.”
“Need help with the anchor?”
“Electric winch.”
“Geesh. Okay, I’ll get untied and started. And Anderson – Frank – thank you.”
“No worries.” Anderson went into the wheelhouse, started the main engine and eased the transmission into forward for about fifteen seconds to take the pressure off the chain before he went forward to tend the winch. He glanced over at the skiff, where Willy had settled down in the middle of the double-ended boat, behind the engine. He fiddled with a couple of valves and a big switch, then gave the big open flywheel a big flip. It bounced forward, then back, then caught... there was a little puff of blue smoke from the exhaust pipe below the waterline, and the sleek little boat took off toward the village.
The anchor chain flaked into the under-deck locker until the ring at the top of the anchor itself appeared over the bow. Anderson toggled the switch a few times to settle the hook into its chocks, screwed down the dog that kept it in place, and returned to the wheel. Within a few moments he had set a course for Barker’s Island on the GPS and autohelm, and The Beaver was travelling northwest at just over ten knots.
***
After a half-hour, Anderson made sure the cell booster was on and checked the signal strength on his phone: four bars. He dialled Marjorie. “Hello? Marjorie? It’s me.”
“I know it’s you, silly, and I’m sure glad to hear from you. I tried your number an hour ago and you didn’t pick up.”
“I’m away out on the lake. It was like being written into a spy movie; we met at dawn at the end of that big island you and I passed. Crazy Man Willy is an extraordinary old man, tougher than nails, bright as hell and speaks like a grumpy old university professor. We need as many answers as we can get in the shortest possible time about the Robinson Group – especially what holdings the company has in Mexico and California. It seems that all the bad stuff here is all about drugs, pure and simple. Probably all the action is under the radar of Robertson’s senior management, but there are likely some fairly senior linkages to what’s going on. And it would appear that California and or Mexico is the source.”
“Wendy’s here – we are packing to leave tomorrow as planned. I’ll talk to her right away and get back to you as soon as she learns more. Will you be within reach?”
“Yes, I’m on my way back to the village. Lots of things to pull together today, specially with sergeant John and Willy. And, well... I’ll just be really glad to see you back here!”
“Me too. Stay safe... and I’ll call you when we learn something, or not.”
They switched off. Anderson placed the next call to the sergeant, which went to voicemail immediately: “Hey, it’s Anderson. Hope you’re okay. Call me ASAP.” After a three-sixty sweep of the horizon with the glasses, Anderson put on a fresh pot of coffee and cleaned up in the forward cabin. He had sent the rest of the first pack of cigarettes with Willy, so he dug out the second pack from the groceries he had brought onboard yesterday and took it to the shelf beside the wheel, where he fished out a smoke and lit it. I’m gonna have to quit playing cop and get back to real work. I’ve sucked back more cigarettes in the last week than I usually do in a month!
He called Arnold. “Hi, it’s Frank. How’s everything in town?”
“Crazy, and not good. People are talking about nothing else but the Maple Falls Assassination, as they are calling it on the news. The nurse that was hurt – broke her leg – lives here – Lucy Forbes, Jeremy’s youngest daughter. The cop that is on life support is Marie Beauchemin, the corporal who patrolled here just about every day. Folks loved her. Lots of the younger folk knew Hassan, and especially Cyndi and Adumbi who are terrified. We’ve put them up at the house. The sergeant called once this morning to see if I had heard from you – he couldn’t get through on your phone. He’s up to his ass in senior inspectors and crime scene experts from Toronto. How’s your world? That reminds me, I drove by your place last night and locked the doors, dummy. Hope you’ve got keys! Drove by this morning too, looks okay.”
“Thanks man. I thought about locking up but forgot. So I met up with Crazy Man Willy, who’s about as crazy as a fox and a really good guy – and a big help. This is all about drugs, and he knows a lot of stuff that I’m pretty sure John and his bunch know about, so we need to meet. I’m an hour – maybe an hour and a half – out and Willy is headed to the marina by a slightly different route. I’ve got Marjorie and Wendy digging around for some stuff in Toronto – more about Robertson Mines – some of their personnel may actually be tied into this. Can you get free to join us somehow, somewhere, later on? Something has to pulled together or away more people are going to get hurt.”
“Yep. My phone’s on and the truck’s running. Just let me know.”
“Maybe don’t tell anyone anything yet. I hate secrets but they’re safer when they are kept. Take care!”
A couple of miles ahead, Anderson could now see the cluster of small, low islands near the mouth of the Spirit River. He adjusted the autohelm to pass west of them so he could swing back around between the islands and the marsh before heading back to the village. It was 13:00 hours.
***
At 13:21, the sergeant called. He briefly filled Anderson in on the situation in Maples Falls, along with the news that Marie was still in a coma and had been air-lifted to an Ottawa hospital. There was pain in the sergeant’s voice that Anderson had neither heard before nor expected to hear. It had all gone down under his watch, she was his second-in-command, and he had been in the damn shower. “Were you able to learn anything from the grandfather, Frank?”
“Actually, yes. A helluva lot. I’m almost certain this is all about drugs – international stuff – and I think we have solid information about the source, the top end of the distribution chain – including airplanes, boats and trucks, the name of the regional kingpin, and probably some of the local soldiers. The grandfather and I will be arriving at the village in separate boats but at roughly the same time in ju
st over an hour. If you can spring it, let’s get together, and I think your top dog should come with you.”
“Okay, I’ll grab him and stuff him into my car and get to your dock at 15:30. I can fill him in on why I have kidnapped him on the way out here. He’s a really good guy, but I expect he’ll be a bit surprised about my team of SMEs.”
“SMEs? I’ve heard about FBIs... what are SMEs?”
“Pronounced ‘smee’ and stands for ‘Subject Matter Experts’”.
“Yeah, I guess that’s pretty much what we are. See you at 15:30 John... take care, my friend and bring donuts, dammit... I’m starved and I bet Willy will be too!”
He called Arnold. “Three-thirty at the dock. John and his senior investigator, plus Willy. Maybe get Marion to drop you off so there isn’t a big bunch of extra vehicles to attract attention.”
“Better than that. I’ll drop off Marion and she can join you for the discussions while I mind the store for a change. She is closer to Willy, Anita and the Indian – Indigenous – bunch than I am, and as you said the other day, she always knows... stuff.”
“Okay my friend. Probably a good call. Thanks. Later!”
By now Anderson was threading The Beaver through cottage islands. As he passed Barker’s island, he could see Tony fiddling around at his boathouse and wharf, and bumped his horn a couple of times. Tony looked up and waved. A few minutes later the launch passed the east end of the marshes and was headed east toward the village. The afternoon was bright and very warm, so he was not surprised to see a couple of boats come out of the channel through the marsh. He assumed they had come upriver from The Falls... one was a high-powered wakeboard boat with two couples onboard, and the other was a high-powered fishing boat, with a small trolling motor and a couple of big Mercs cranked right up and probably pushing 300 horsepower and two men onboard. The boats were a couple of hundred yards apart, and sped by as if the launch was standing still. The occupants of both boats waved – it was that kind of afternoon.
It was 14:45 when he got to the harbour, and he had to wait a few moments for a young couple with a sailboat to sort themselves out and get out of his way so he could land safely. The marina had it’s own small-boat launch around the little point of land that split the bay in two, but these folks had put their boat in at the public launch beside his dock. They waved at him as they glided by: it was a perfect afternoon for a pleasant but not too rough sail.
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