The God Game

by Jeffrey Round

  Steve smiled slowly. “What’s it like to be so cynical?”

  “You tell me. You’re the spy.”

  “So you won’t help us?”

  “Won’t help you, can’t help you. Forget it. I helped you before and look where it got me. I’m just lucky I wasn’t the one who ended up dead.”

  “You refuse?”

  “I refuse.”

  “Remember the Security of Information Act, Daniel.”

  “You can stuff it.”

  Steve smiled. “In fact, I can have you stuffed with it. You did sign a non-disclosure agreement, as you may recall.”

  “Yes, well, I believe that pertained to a different case.”

  “There will be consequences.”

  “Threats work both ways, Steve … Paul. Whatever your name is this week.”

  “I could arrange to have something incriminating planted on your laptop.”

  Dan rolled his eyes. “Child porn is so yesterday.”

  “I was thinking more of a direct link to ISIS. Didn’t you have a child with a Syrian-born woman?”

  Dan felt as if he was looking into the flat, soulless eyes of a shark. He shook his head and turned away. From behind him he heard Steve’s voice.

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  Dan stopped and turned back. “What?”

  Steve was checking his cellphone. “Is that really what he paid you to find his husband? You must be good.” He shook his head in mock dismay. “We’ll pay you twice that for whatever you can tell us about the Magus. Think about it.”

  A small furor arose as a group of schoolchildren rushed by. Steve looked past them, then turned his gaze to the glass ceiling above. “Be a real mess if this thing ever sprang a leak.”

  Twenty

  The Good Book

  Dan drove straight back to his office, unlocked his door, and reset the alarm. His Day-Timer was in its usual place on the desk. It served merely as an appointment reminder, and contained no valuable information, so he had never seen the sense in locking it at night. Even if someone had been through it, however, he doubted there would be any fingerprints on it but his own. CSIS would never be so clumsy. In fact, he doubted he’d find even the smallest indication that anyone had been in his office searching for information about his affairs with Peter Hansen or anyone else.

  He turned to the page where he’d written Hansen’s name on the day of his visit. There was the entry, $10,000 CASH, underlined beneath the time of Peter’s unannounced visit. Easy enough for any semi-competent burglar to discover. He had been foolish to leave it lying about. Better start locking up everything at night then. With CSIS, there was no telling when there might be a next time. Still, it said nothing about Tony Moran. The only document Dan had in writing about Tony was a CV with various addresses for gambling dens, yet Steve Ross had known exactly how much he’d been paid and for what. Good sleuthing? Dan certainly couldn’t imagine Hansen volunteering information to CSIS about hiring a private investigator to look for his missing husband. He’d been far too concerned with discretion.

  He tried to recall if he’d had a phone conversation discussing Hansen’s payment. He couldn’t think of one. There was Nick, of course. They’d talked about it while watching the evening news. Dan couldn’t recall if he’d stated the exact figure, though he hardly suspected Nick of betraying him. So, if not his phone, then where was the leak?

  He ran his hands under the desk and along the drawer edges. Nothing. He pulled out a chair and stood on it to examine the light fixture. Lots of dust and more than a few dead moths. Nothing had been disturbed there recently. Picture frames, ditto. Same with the filing cabinet, the other likely place to conceal a bug. The only thing of interest he found was a long-dead bourbon bottle stashed behind some empty file folders, a remnant of his drinking days. He tossed it across the room, snagging the bin with a dour clank.

  Try to think like a surveillance operator, he told himself. Where would I hide a bug? If it was extremely small, there was little chance of locating it without sophisticated debugging equipment. Maybe he should take a trip to the Spy Depot and stock up on some of the latest gadgets.

  Bookcases flanked the doorway, volumes leaning against one another in companionable disuse. Windows took up most of the space on the two outside walls, while the fourth wall, on his left, separated him from an adjacent office.

  Funny how he’d never seen his next-door neighbours.

  His fingers thrummed on the desk for a second, then he pulled out the bottom drawer and selected a tiny pick, rubber gloves, and a ski mask. He slipped the mask on and went out to the hall. The only sound was the padding of his shoes on the linoleum. It paid to be on the top floor away from the traffic.

  One door down, soft light rippled through opaque glass interrupted here and there by an ornate gold script: R.L.G. SUPPLIES. Silence emanated from inside like darkness in an empty crypt.

  Dan paused and tried to recall how long the company had been there. Not long, was the best he could come up with. No memory of a recent move-in came to mind. While that might have seemed odd it was not entirely unusual in a building where businesses came and went quickly. One floor down, a bustling movie production office had come and gone within a month, taking the circus with it when it left.

  Maybe he should pay these things more mind.

  He set to work. The door was different from his own, the lock more sophisticated in its design. Exactly what sort of supplies did the R.L.G. people deal in? He managed to ease it open in less than a minute. To no one’s surprise but his, he’d become an expert in breaking and entering over the years.

  The door swung inward. There was no camera or surveillance system in direct line of sight. And thankfully, no alarm. A simple desk and fold-up chair sat to one side, turned away from the window. Granted there wasn’t much of a view, Dan thought, unless you enjoyed looking at other people’s garbage bins and back alleys. Still, most people would have made the most of the light. Unless they didn’t want to be seen from the street.

  The desktop was clean, with nothing but a green blotter. No papers, no pencils. Who used blotting pads these days? He pulled the drawers forward slowly, one at a time. They were empty except for a couple of Sudoku books, a copy of Why Everything You Know About Soccer Is Wrong, and a stack of coupons for One free medium hot beverage — available at participating McDonald’s restaurants. He still had a hard time calling them restaurants. No matter. Clearly, someone had too much time on his or her hands.

  Apart from the desk and chair, the only other items in the room were a coat rack with three bent wire hangers and a brand-spanking-new filing cabinet. He went over and yanked the handle. It yielded a few thin hanging folders with a handful of unused order forms inside. Not a booming business, then. He pushed the cabinet away from the wall and looked behind. Again, nothing.

  Someone had stacked a dozen unopened boxes against a far wall. The label read R.L.G. Supplies and the street address. Well, they had to supply something. He hefted one of the boxes. Good, solid weight. Something shifted inside. He slit the top open. Copies of the Holy Bible in soft black cover. Fifty or more. With real pages and everything. A chill ran down his spine. R.L.G. Supplies. Short for Religious Supplies. Bible wholesalers next door to his office? Since when?

  He turned to the common wall, feeling for irregularities, imperfections, anything that might conceal the smallest of devices. Once again, nothing. He could spend hours and still not discover how they spied on him. Worse, they might come looking for him if he stayed too long.

  Time, gentlemen.

  His new cell rang as he stepped back into the hall. For a moment, he felt a hit of paranoia. Then he saw the name.

  He slipped back inside his office and closed the door, pulling off the ski mask. “How’s the wedding planning business?”

  “Atrocious.” Donny’s voice was strident. “Have you an
y idea how much photographers charge?”

  “No. I thought that was your department.”

  “Unbelievable!” He was preparing for a rant. “Whoever invented these rites and rituals should be … should be strung up from the gallows. By his scrotum.”

  “Sorry to hear I’ve been ruining your week,” Dan said.

  “You’re oddly apologetic,” Donny said. “What’s up?”

  “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  “Well, for one thing I seem to have neighbours next door to my office whose business is selling bibles.”

  “Okay, that’s ominous and strange. What else?”

  Dan lowered his voice. “I think they may have bugged my office.”

  “You’re being bugged by Bible-thumpers? That’s going to limit the conversation. Should I hang up now before I say something irreligious?”

  “You could at least tell me how things are going first.”

  “I’m terrified to say a word. Who could be listening in?”

  “This is my new phone, so probably nobody,” Dan replied. “Or it could be just a bunch of second-rate journalists. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to insult them.”

  “You’re very welcome.” There was a moment of suspicious silence. “Does Nick know about this?”

  “Actually, I just figured it out. I need you to promise you won’t say anything to him yet.”

  “Cross my heart and swear on a Bible kind of promise?”

  “Yeah, that kind.”

  “Then no, I won’t. And I strongly advise you to tell him now before he finds out later that you’ve been holding out on him with important secrets.” He spluttered. “Why wouldn’t you tell Nick? He’s a cop, for god’s sake.”

  “Actually … you’re right. I should tell him.”

  “Okay, you’re being very peculiar. First you apologize to me and now you’re agreeing with me. What gives? Have you been cloned by the pod people?”

  “No, I think it was the Stepford Wives. I agreed to get married, didn’t I? Wouldn’t you say that’s the oddest thing I’ve done lately?”

  “Hmm …” Donny pondered. “Can’t say I disagree. But you will tell Nick about this? Cross your heart and hope to die?”

  Memories of the photographs of John Wilkens’s body laid out in the city morgue flashed before Dan’s eyes.

  “Yes — at least the cross-my-heart part. I’m not hoping anyone else dies.”

  Dan closed his office and took his Day-Timer with him. Telling Nick was not going to be easy. The fact that he was a cop was one thing. That Nick had already warned him about the risks he took would only make matters more complicated. But knowing CSIS was now involved in his case, however tangentially, only made it that much worse.

  Dan came and stood just inside the kitchen door, watching as Nick went back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room.

  “Hey! You’re actually on time for dinner.”

  “Smells good.”

  Dan continued to stand there watching. Nick looked over from sorting the table settings.

  “What’s up?”

  “Something I can’t tell you about.”

  “Is this a guessing game?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Because?”

  “Because I signed official papers saying I couldn’t discuss the matter with anyone.”

  Nick straightened and stood very still. “That would be the Security of Information Act. Is CSIS involved in this?”

  Dan nodded. “That would be a good guess. If you were guessing.”

  “Enough with the charades, okay? What can you tell me?”

  “Nothing.”

  Nick’s eyes flashed. “Oh come on! You can’t think that answering questions in our own home is going to jeopardize anything.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a conclusion we can draw at this moment.”

  Nick’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. He motioned for Dan to step out onto the back patio.

  Once outside, he said, “Okay, what’s going on?”

  Dan dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think my office is bugged and possibly this house.”

  “Great. What you’re saying is that whatever we do might be heard by someone from Intelligence Services.”

  “Possibly. I don’t want to get too paranoid yet.”

  “Well, let me know when to start.”

  “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on. For now we have to be careful. I don’t want to involve you more than I have to.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I am involved.”

  “I know. And for the record, I am worried.”

  “Of course. That’s what CSIS does. They worry people to death when they should be out hunting ISIS. Just tell me as much as you can. Legally, I mean.”

  Dan thought back. He saw a woman’s classical features traced in the air, a face with slender cheekbones, a knife-torn throat.

  “I saw someone murdered once. I’m not allowed to talk about it.”

  “Because it would endanger national security?”

  “Because some might say it would.”

  “Whoever was murdered must have been important.”

  “It was … she was someone important.” He paused. “I was approached again today. I refused to help. I don’t think I can tell you any more than that.”

  Nick stared at him.

  “It’s to keep you safe,” Dan said.

  Nick’s expression said he doubted that.

  “In any case,” Dan said, “I just wanted you to know they’ve become involved. Unofficially so far.”

  “Unofficially? They are the least unofficial organization in the country. CSIS doesn’t do ‘unofficial.’”

  “Well, whatever it is they’re doing, they haven’t formalized anything yet.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t, but that’s unlikely given the fact that they’ve already approached you.”

  “I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry.”

  “Well, too late for that. Did you really think I could not worry?” He paused. “I hate to say it, but I really think you’re in this over your head.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Sorry again.”

  Twenty-One

  Knock, Knock

  There was no further word from Steve Ross for the next few days, no sound or presence of any obvious sort on the other side of his office wall. Maybe the bible salespeople worked only on Sundays. Dan hadn’t spoken to Will since being handed over to CSIS. He wasn’t sure he was willing to forgive his old friend for the transgression, regardless of whether he’d had his hand forced or not. For the moment, he was determined to have no further involvement with Queen’s Park.

  Once Nick’s probationary week was up, he returned to work. Glad for the return to normalcy this provided, Dan forged ahead with his efforts to locate Tony Moran. Then Nick went on evening shift, leaving Dan more time alone to think and plan.

  In the meantime, he’d come up with an idea that required Donny’s help. They met at Starbucks. What place could be less worthy of electronic snooping? Dan reasoned, as Donny eyed him skeptically over the tabletop. The room reverberated with the echoes of conversation and the insistent treble of whiney pop singers. Miniature laser lights flashed patterns of green and red, marking the floors, the walls, and the customers. A tiny spot caught Donny’s cheek, twitching and crawling across his face in a series of dimples. A marked man caught in the sharpshooter’s sights.

  “You really think this is a good idea?”

  Dan shrugged. “I can’t find the bug in my phone or in the office. If I’m right, it’s the best way of finding out if someone is really listening in.”

  Donny made a show of shivering and looking around the room. “They could be anywhere. T
hey might be listening right now.”

  Dan smiled and glanced at the late-afternoon shoppers and high school students ordering iced macchiatos. “An unlikely crowd for it, but then again, you never know.”

  “Okay, so let’s see if I got it right. You want me to ask Prabin to call you on your office line and pretend to be Tony Moran suggesting a meeting time and place.”

  “That’s it. Neither Tony nor Prabin has ever called my office phone, so Prabin’s voice will be neutral. But make sure he uses a public phone. I don’t want anything traced back to him or you.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we sit back and see who turns up. Not the real Tony, of course, since he won’t know anything about it.”

  “Won’t this be putting you and Nick in danger?”

  “Nick is on nights. He’s not going to know about it.”

  Donny rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s great. Not only are you putting yourself in danger, you won’t even tell the one person who could protect you.”

  “I can’t involve Nick in this,” Dan said. “There’s too much at risk here.”

  Donny sighed. “Why can’t I have normal friends?”

  “Because they’re boring?”

  “Yeah, that. Please tell me you will be careful.”

  “Of course I’ll be careful.”

  Donny’s shoulders slumped. “That doesn’t mean very much though, does it? I mean, you can be careful all you want but who knows who you’re really dealing with?” He searched Dan’s face for reassurance. “Wait a second. You do know who you’re dealing with, don’t you?”

  Dan held up a hand. “Don’t ask, okay? I can’t tell you any more than I’ve already said.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” When there was no answer, Donny went on. “Should I just knock you on the head and be done with it? Put you out of your misery?”

  “It won’t help.”

  “You’re right. It never has before.” He looked resigned. “When do you want this done?”