Above Ground

by Don Easton

  ABOVE GROUND

  To those who give...

  ABOVE GROUND

  A Jack Taggart Mystery

  Don Easton

  A Castle Street Mystery

  Copyright © Don Easton, 2007

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  Editor: Barry Jowett

  Copy-editor: Jennifer Gallant

  Design: Jennifer Scott

  Printer: Webcom

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Easton, Don

  Above ground / Don Easton.

  (A Jack Taggart mystery)

  ISBN 978-1-55002-681-8

  I. Title. II. Series: Easton, Don. Jack Taggart mystery.

  PS8609.A78A63 2007 C813′.6 C2007-900088-6

  1 2 3 4 5 11 10 09 08 07

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.

  Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.

  J. Kirk Howard, President

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  chapter one

  Holly saw the flash of headlights in the carport and knew that Jack had arrived home. She checked the pot of simmering tomato sauce and turned up the heat. Their daughter, Jenny, at four years of age, was snuggled deep into a corner of the sofa watching television. Charlie, who’d recently had his first birthday, sat on the kitchen floor entertaining himself with an empty pasta box. Spaghetti was what Holly thought her family was going to eat tonight.

  “Jenny! Go wash your hands for dinner, sweetie. Daddy is home.”

  Jenny was too absorbed in The Simpsons to pay attention.

  Holly turned back to the stove, where the pasta sauce was beginning to boil. She felt Charlie’s hug on her leg as she stirred. “Charlie! Daddy’s home! Go see Daddy! Go on!”

  Charlie knew the routine, and Holly smiled as he squealed with delight and hurried, taking a few awkward steps before landing on his diapered backside, then scrambling to his feet and disappearing around the corner and down the hall to the door.

  Holly caught a glimpse of the cracked window over her kitchen sink. Not much longer. They had lived in the modest rented home for the last four years while her husband went to the University of British Columbia to earn his degree in computer science. Only one more month to graduation! No longer a dim light at the end of a tunnel — it’s a shining star!

  The dark green van with tinted rear windows did not draw any attention where it was parked on the street. Apartment buildings and low-rental housing made it a neighbourhood where unfamiliar vehicles were the norm.

  Ray sat alone in the back of the van and waited. This was not the type of work he felt he should be doing. He had received his masters in business administration at Cambridge, but right now their resources in Canada were limited. Only twenty-one people, counting himself, for the entire lower mainland. Not much of an army ... but that would change.

  Ray knew that The Boss was right about one thing. Corporate takeovers are easier when they are unexpected. First they must ensure that their own position is fortified before domination can begin. He was also confident in his research. British Columbia was the best place in the world for his type of corporation. The judiciary was so lenient that, for the most part, judges wouldn’t even need to be bought. The power and wealth they had elsewhere made local crime groups look like petty thieves. It was time to quietly establish a new power in Canada.

  Ray watched as a car slowed, then stopped at a driveway. He squeezed the transmit button on his portable radio and quietly gave the orders. Ray saw his target get out of the car and move the garbage can that had been placed to block his driveway. The target then returned to his car and slowly drove into the carport.

  Ray saw the two Suzuki motorcycles zoom past him before braking hard and parking near the garbage can. One passenger got off each motorcycle and headed toward the carport while the drivers stayed and revved their engines.

  “Jolly good,” said Ray aloud, as he made his way back to the driver’s seat.

  “Where’s my boy? Where’s that Charlie?”

  Charlie let out a long, high-pitched yell as he hurried toward his dad, then gasped when he was swept off the ground. Charlie giggled when he felt his dad nestle into his neck and pretend to blow bubbles.

  Charlie was too young to grasp the danger when two men appeared in the open door behind his dad wearing motorcycle helmets with dark shields covering their faces. His father also did not understand when he turned around, still holding Charlie in his arms. But he saw the gun in each man’s hand and started to close the door. He was too late.

  One assassin calmly fired a shot that passed through Charlie and into his dad’s heart. Jack’s brain was momentarily still alive and he spun around to try to protect Charlie. He took one step before collapsing on the floor with Charlie under him.

  The noise of the gun, equipped with a silencer, was drowned out by the television. The television did not, however, drown out a piercing cry from Charlie.

  Both Holly and Jenny arrived on the run from different directions. Holly looked in horror, and upon seeing the two men she instinctively grabbed Jenny. One of the assassins stepped forward and fired another shot into the back of Jack’s head before taking the time to stare at Holly and Jenny from behind his visor. The assassins did not know that their intended victim was already in a graveyard.

  Constable Danny O’Reilly hurried to keep up with Corporal Jack Taggart. Being tall and lean, Jack tended to take larger strides. His metabolism was also high, and the strides were not only longer but also faster. Danny found himself in a position where jogging was too fast and walking fast was too slow.

  “Damn it, slow down, will you?”

  “We’re late,” replied Jack, quickening his pace.

  “Only a few minutes. Lance has kept us waiting before.”

  “Our friend has kept us waiting before.”

  Danny sighed, then said, “Yeah, sorry. Our friend.”

  As they continued, Danny noticed the inscriptions on the tombstones they passed and the ages of some of the people. He thought of his own life, the past eleven years of which he had been a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Last year he had been transferred from Manitoba to work on the Intelligence Unit in Vancouver.

  That was when he had met Jack Taggart, a man who was both his partner and his boss. He was also his best friend. Working with Jack was not easy. During his first shift with Jack, Danny had been attacked from behind by a junkie with a knife. Later, both he and his family had been targeted for assassination by a splinter group of bikers from Satans Wrat
h. This group had been led by a corrupt Crown prosecutor by the name of Sidney Bishop.

  When the first assassination attempt had failed, Bishop had ordered the bikers to set up an ambush. The bikers were subsequently killed in a shootout, but Bishop fled the country. Danny ended up with a 40 percent loss of vision in one eye as a result of bullet fragments from the skirmish. He looked at one tombstone and did a double take before realizing the name he saw was O’Brien. He gave a wry smile. Not even close to O’Reilly!

  His thoughts brought him back to his family. His daughter, Tiffany, was now fourteen months old. The latest arrival to their family, James Patrick O’Reilly, was two months old. Susan was a great mom. An even greater wife. Working with Jack does make you appreciate life ... as long as you’re still alive to appreciate it.

  Danny glanced at Jack. He’s been with me through a lot of scrapes. Then again, he’s also the asshole who got me into them!

  Jack was a specialist as an undercover operator and had received special police schooling for the task. At the moment, Jack was clean-shaven. Although Danny was now sporting a goatee, he was not a trained operator. His job was usually to remain in the background and try to keep Jack alive when things went wrong — or to identify the right culprits if Jack was killed. Not an easy task.

  Satans Wrath was one of the top organized crime families in the world. Things had changed since the seventies. Long past were the days when they were just a bunch of thugs on wheels. Control of the drug industry brought immense wealth and sophistication to the bikers. The club expanded into twenty-one different countries. Now it was one of the most dangerous and insulated organized crime families in the world. Partly, Satans Wrath could thank the police. Years of police work and international cooperation had decimated much of the mafia, and Satans Wrath had been more than willing to step in and take over.

  In Vancouver, police intelligence units estimated that Satans Wrath had ninety-two members split between the east-side and west-side chapters. There was a president in charge of each chapter. The national president of the club, Damien, also lived in Vancouver.

  With approximately ten hard-core criminal associates connected with each member, in Vancouver alone Damien was in control of an army of approximately one thousand. Across Canada, there were twenty-one other chapters, all with their own armies — and no shortage of recruits.

  Satan’s Wrath was actively seeking recruits at the moment. Competition was deadly. The Indos were of particular concern to Satans Wrath, followed by Asian gangs. At the moment, the Indos were still fighting amongst themselves to gain a share of the drug market, but it would be only a matter of time before the pecking order was established and the Indos turned their attention to Satans Wrath.

  It was Satans Wrath that Jack and Danny focused their attention on, and Lance was the key to their success. Satans Wrath was importing tonnes of cocaine from a vicious drug lord in Columbia by the name of Carlos. Lance had let Jack and Danny know about the intended arrival of the last ship, with a cargo that included one metric tonne of cocaine. To divert suspicion from Lance, Jack had tipped off a friend in the American Drug Enforcement Agency, who had then seized the ship before it ever reached Canada.

  Lance, along with two others, had tried to kill Jack once, believing that he was a police informant. Jack had escaped with Danny’s help. Danny grimaced when he thought of how close Jack had come to dying. That was one of the first lessons he had learned from Jack about seeing the big picture.

  Danny would have arrested those involved. Jack had another idea. He knew that Lance was a family man with four children and a lot to lose. He used this as leverage to convince Lance to become their informant. Having an informant in Satans Wrath was almost unheard of.

  Unfortunately, the same was not true in reverse. Satans Wrath routinely developed informants of their own. In short, Lance was in an extremely precarious situation and Jack insisted that Lance’s real name never be used. He was simply referred to as our friend. It also left Jack and Danny in a position where morality had to be carefully weighed and sorted out. It was a task that Danny found difficult. How much evil do you allow on the prospect of stopping a larger evil? There was something else that had bothered Danny since he had begun to work with Jack. The law and morality may not coincide when your own family is threatened.

  Danny thought back to the ambush attempt on their lives and the biker who had threatened his family. It was someone he could have arrested ... but didn’t. Danny was lucky. Lucky to have survived the ambush and lucky that Connie Crane in the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team purposely ignored evidence indicating exactly how the biker had died.

  Danny had become a changed man since working with Jack. His understanding of right and wrong was now a tangled mess. Jack had brought him into a world where the rules were different and the laws of society were held in contempt. A world where the strong murder the weak. To survive, you have to be strong. If you’re not strong, you die ... or someone you love dies. Jack had survived for a long time. Danny hoped he would too.

  Lance nodded as they approached, then said, “Got some news for ya that ought to make ya happy. Our chapter had our elections. I made it. You’re now lookin’ at the new president of the west-side chapter.”

  “Excellent,” said Jack, giving him a thumbs-up. “Way to go. Next thing you know you’ll be national president.”

  “Not a chance,” chuckled Lance. “I know my limitations. Damien is a lot smarter than I am. I don’t know anybody that could replace him and do as good a job, including the guys back east.”

  “How did it go with us taking down the labs today? Any heat?”

  “No heat, but you screwed up. You missed two of ’em.”

  “We tried. I think they were tipped.”

  “Warned ya. Told ya you had a narc talkin’ to the club.”

  “Would be nice if you found out who. We had over sixty cops involved.”

  “You two go to all seven places yourselves?”

  “No, Danny and I just coordinated and sat back. My name is on all the search warrants for providing the information, but we try to keep out of court as much as possible.”

  “Heard on the news you arrested thirteen. Word is you got Petro.”

  “He received the money. Case on him is weak but we charged him anyway.”

  “Serves him right. He should have stuck to arson. That’s his specialty.”

  “Explains the nickname. We also nailed a striker. He collected the coin from the labs and gave it to Petro.”

  “Silent Sam?”

  “Yes. Charges on him should stick.”

  Lance nodded.

  “You’ve been doing well,” continued Jack. “Still no problems with that ship being taken down in San Diego?”

  “Not a bit. Your buddy in the DEA did it right. What with all the security for terrorism these days, everybody figures the cops in the U.S. just got lucky.”

  “I told you he would protect you. I wouldn’t have used him if I didn’t trust him.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess you were right.”

  “You told us that Damien fronted half the money for that shipment — $3 million U.S. He must be a little agitated.”

  “He did get a lot of heat from the club until Carlos said he would eat the loss. Carlos says the money has been applied to the second shipment. Everyone is okay with Damien now.”

  “A metric tonne of cocaine is a lot to eat,” added Jack.

  Lance shrugged. “Not for Carlos. He runs one of the biggest cartels Colombia has. He’s sending two more ships our way. Our deposit was just applied to the second ship. We pay the other half when it gets here. Then we get a couple of weeks to pay another $3 mil for the third ship and the rest on delivery. This time the ships are coming direct to Vancouver. A place where we got some control of the docks. Might be a bit dicier for me then, as I’ll be in charge of the initial warehousing.”

  “We’ll look after you. I’d let the coke go rather than burn you.”

&
nbsp; “Yeah, I know that. I trust ya.”

  “I want to nail Damien, though.”

  “Forget it. He won’t be anywhere near the action.”

  “I don’t care!” said Jack, trying to control his anger. “He’s still pulling the strings.”

  The tone of Jack’s voice did not go unnoticed by either Lance or Danny.

  Lance frowned and said, “A lot is happening in the club now. Damien seems more obsessed with what the Indos are up to. Now that I’m prez, I’ll be in the know a lot more.”

  “It’s great what took place today,” said Danny. “You did good!”

  “That you did,” added Jack. “I’m pleased. A tonne of coke three weeks ago and five labs today. We make one hell of a good team.”

  “Don’t know if being drafted makes me a good team member or not. I’ll just be glad when I’ve paid my dues and am finished with all this.”

  “You figure out a way for us to take down these other two ships and I’ll say we’re even. Might even buy you a gold watch as a retirement gift.”

  “Forget it! Not if it’s got ‘For loyal service to the RCMP’ stamped on the back of it! Besides, as I said, I’ll be in the middle of things. I’d rather follow through on our agreement and work for you for another four and a half years.” Lance gestured to the tombstones and added, “That would be better than retiring early and ending up in here.”

  Jack’s cellphone vibrated and he answered it. It was Connie Crane. Connie had once worked for the Homicide Section in the Major Crimes Unit. Now the homicide sections from the B.C. lower mainland, with the exception of Vancouver and Delta, had combined into what was known as the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team, or I-HIT, as it was commonly called.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of a call from IHIT?” asked Jack. He heard Connie’s sigh.

  “Just called to let you know that I think there was a consequence to you taking down all those biker labs today,” she said.