DANNY DUFOUR
REDEMPTION
NOIR DE NAPHTALENE PUBLICATIONS
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
It is illegal to reproduce a part or the entire book by any available process without the authorization of the publishing house.
All rights reserved © 2010 by Noir de Naphtalene Publications.
Cover and book design by:
Jacqueline Diaz. All rights reserved ©.
English translation by:
Carling Tedesco
Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec
and Library and Archives Canada Cataloging-in-Publication Data
ISBN 978-2-9813784-3-9
Legal deposit-Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec, 2013
Library and Archives Canada, 2013
ISBN 978-2-9813784-3-9
Printed in Canada
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To my long-term friend, Marc-Antoine Habel, who constantly helped me during the writing of this book by his several pieces of advice, expertise, proofreading and honesty. That book would not be what it is today without your help, thanks a lot.
DEDICATION
To my parents, Serge and France, who were always there for me and encouraged me in all my undertakings, thanks for everything.
REDEMPTION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PART I – CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
PART II – CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
PART III--CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
PART IV — CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
PART I – CHAPTER 1
Though my eyes are cold as ice,
my heart burns with fire.
― Old Japanese Martial Proverb
Man is pupil, pain is his teacher.
― Alfred de Musset
The dawn of the year 2015, Montreal, Canada
“Shit! What the…” This, Andy exclaimed when a punch to his face threw him to the ground.
Andy Bane had known fear, but not like this. As an intelligence officer, he dealt with situations of stress to the point where he almost didn’t notice extreme tension. He was a cold-blood above the norm. Even at the beginning of his career, regardless of the danger, he had been able to attain the necessary distance when critical moments presented themselves. He was adept in dangerous situations, and he always prepared for a risk factor that even his intelligence and craftiness couldn’t prevent. But risk was good. The adrenaline was like a drug for him – but he wasn’t crazy. He knew what he did, when to do it, and how to do it efficiently.
But this time the situation was different. He hadn’t seen coming what had happened in a few seconds, and now he was a rat in a trap. It was his own fault, too; he’d acted against habit. Never, when leading tailing or surveillance operations, had he found himself alone. It was Andy’s golden rule. And this, and his impeccable professionalism, he had abandoned, had given him a reward; the bottomless fuck-up in which he currently found himself. He cursed at this, but the damage was done.
He was overwhelmed and on his back in the filthy basement of an abandoned building. His mind was still reeling from the blow to his face that had come right out of the darkness. Then came a mowing that raised his feet above the ground and sent him flying back with all his weight. He was supine and inert on the soiled concrete ground. Was there even an attacker, or was it the darkness itself? He had heard nothing, seen nothing, but he had felt the impact like a lightning. It hurts... I can’t see anything here...what was that...damn...I am such a dickhead...ok, get a grip on yourself...I have to get the hell out of here right now or I am a dead man...right now, go, Andy thought. After a few seconds, the darkness materialized into five silhouettes that encircled him menacingly. No more possible escape.
They were clad in black and wore hoods that showed nothing but their dark eyes. The first figure he saw was the one that was brandishing a cold blade at his throat. Shittt...ok,breathe...stay calm...don’t do anything stupid...let them believe that you are not a threat and it will be fine...everything will be fine...and I am such a dickhead, he thought. Andy could distinguish the sword by the length of the blade even after a violent hit in the teeth. He could also tell that his sword-wielding attacker was a slight man, and Caucasian, according to the tiny bit of face the hood revealed. He scanned Andy with penetrative eyes, sombre and glacial. It was a look that showed no human emotions, common to his four mates.
* * *
Andy Bane was born in Montreal on February 4th, 1964. With an American father and a French Canadian mother, he was raised a dual American and Canadian citizen. He was a mix of the cultures, which were as similar as they were different. Andy was proud of his heritage. He was a citizen of the world. He spoke English to his father and French to his mother, a perfectly bilingual child, a model Montrealer. He was the only child of a family that was small, but close-knit, tucked away in a modest suburb. His mother Caroline, made Andy her occupation, staying at home to oversee his education. A travel agent by profession, she had travelled widely before Andy’s birth.
It was during these travels that she met Scott, Andy’s future father. It was a San Franciscan neighbourhood café, and she noticed him as soon as he entered: a tall, serious, poised man. Their eyes caught and Scott invited her to join him. From that moment, she found him interesting. Like her, he was encyclopaedic on many subjects and she liked his calm voice, his peaceful bearing, and that little smile he made when he looked at her. The two talked for hours about everything and nothing and ended up changing their plans to see each other. When Caroline asked Scott about his life, he’d said that he was a businessman, running an export firm. Interested, she tried to engage him; he responded to her questions without offering details. She asked him if he liked his work. He stared into his glass with a sombre smile and responded:
“It’s got its advantages, but you could say it doesn’t satisfy me a
s much as I want. It’s challenging, competition is fierce, and I get along fine.”
Caroline could sense more behind his words and changed the subject. After their first meeting, they continued to see each other and eventually fell in love. One evening, as they strolled through the downtown, he broke the silence:
“Caroline, I need to talk about something.”
He paused for an answer. Caroline paused, watching him. His face was serious; his attitude, preoccupied. “What, tell me, what is it?”
“I’m not a businessman. Caroline, I don’t work in exports.”
She began to think too many things. Her brain accelerated, and her thoughts were confused. But she didn’t talk; instead, she focused on Scott. Her face demanded an explanation, which he gave:
“I work for the government. I’m an intelligence agent for the United States government.”
Caroline’s eyes darkened.
“Why couldn’t you tell me? Why did you hide it?”
“I was afraid… I didn’t know whether our meeting would lead to something. When it did, I wanted to wait for the right time. I didn’t want you to run away.”
Caroline sat on a bench to gather her thoughts. For several minutes, she stared at the ground in silence. Finally, she regarded Scott, who was standing patiently on the sidewalk.
“Now I’m worried I don’t know anything about you at all. Like… is Scott even your real name?”
“Yes. Listen, Caroline… everything else I told you about me is true, including my feelings for you.”
“What, so you looked me up? You… investigated me?”
“Yes. I understand if… if that’s not okay…”
“Oh, it’s fantastic.” Caroline laughed a little wildly. “I knew it was too good to be true. The man I love is… a spy? I’m sure your life is always in danger and for reasons of security, you’re forbidden from talking about what it is exactly that you do. That’s it, isn’t it? Where would my place be in this world of yours, Scott? I’m asking you… do you honestly believe there can be an ‘us’ in a situation like that?”
“Yes.” She raised her eyebrows. “I believe it’s possible. If you accept it.” He bent forward; he kissed her forehead. He pulled back to give her space. “If I believed we were impossible, I wouldn’t have told you all this. But whatever you choose, I’ll accept it.”
Caroline stood. “I think I need to walk home alone. I… I need to think.”
“I understand.”
“Good night.”
Caroline left Scott by the bench. He watched her walk away down the winding, hilly road. Soon, she was engulfed in the aromatic heat of the night.
Six months later, they were married. A few witnesses gathered at the small church in Oakland, a San Francisco suburb. A simple wedding. A reception followed with friends and family, photos, best wishes, and gifts. And it suddenly occurred to them that they were, against all odds, husband and wife. After several months, Scott finally got what he wanted. In the wake of his revelation to Caroline, he had experienced his own personal revelation: even if she’d chosen to accept him, he decided that, for the good of his relationship, working on the ground was no longer an option. For that matter, he’d been there for several years and he couldn’t remember how he’d done it for this long. Track the threats, develop human resources, exploit them. Work long hours writing meticulous intelligence reports, and longer hours analyzing them. All this, not to mention the overseas work during the weeks (months, even) it took to track down unscrupulous individuals to the worst places in the world.
It was his life, he was made for it. No-one could deny the fact, including him. However, over the years, he had accumulated a sort of disillusion toward his work. He knew too much about the worst terrorists, mercenaries, thieves and conmen on the planet than he did about himself. He knew the names of their children, their wives, their mistresses, their bankers, the restaurants they frequented, the nervous tics they tried to hide – and he also knew, despite his life’s work, that the better part were never caught. He knew what, with whom, and how they did what they did – attacks, business deals – but, for whatever reasons, he had to wait until they made mistakes and revealed links that he already knew were there, and then he might – might – catch a few, a lucky few, send them into the arms of justice, and watch them leave just as quickly after a few years of good behaviour.
So after a time, he got what he wanted. Since his wife was Canadian, they offered him a post as a foreign representative for the US government. He would be a liaison officer for the American consulate. He would work as the link between the already well-bonded Canadian and American government. He would be a sort of diplomat, shaking foreign hands and eating at Society’s table, carted around by his own private chauffeur. They bought a small, pretty house in the suburbs of Montreal, and with the birth of Andy began a life that was agreeable, calm, stable, and above all, happy. A little united family, a simple life – a dream come true.
CHAPTER 2
Summer 1970, Montreal, Canada.
Andy had been up the tree for over an hour. He forced himself to be still and to hold his breath so the mother swallow wouldn’t notice him. Her eggs would hatch within days, and she was standing sentry over her little ones. The nest, that little mass of mud, straw and twigs, was fused to the branch; and she who had built it was scrutinizing the horizon for potential dangers. He wondered if he, with his human hands, could build something as sturdy and sophisticated as this nest, and concluded that he couldn’t, not like she’d done with her beak and two feet. He followed her gaze and realized the sun was slipping below the horizon, sending him down the tree and begrudgingly inside so his own mother wouldn’t worry. Maman didn’t like him to stay out after dark, even though, as he’d argued so many times, he was already six, but she was strict, so he obeyed. Andy wasn’t a rebellious kid – he had character, but he wasn’t unruly.
He climbed down carefully, still trying not to spook the sparrow, and ran toward his house, backpack bouncing behind him. He stepped through the doorway into the aromatic embrace of the family dinner and felt as though he would die of starvation, despite having no idea what was on the table. After the family had seated themselves, Caroline turned to her son with a serious air.
“Andy, we have big news for you. Your father got an offer to work in Japan. If he accepts, it means we’ll all be moving to Japan.”
Andy was busy with his mother’s pie. His stomach might well have been about to explode, but we wouldn’t let that stop him. Caroline’s pie, right now, was all that was important. The wildberry garnish, the hot coulis, the golden crust… yum. Scott gazed at Andy’s gooey purple face and said,
“Andy, think about it. Would you like to live in Japan?”
He responded through a full mouth, “I dunno, maybe. Is there pie there?”
Scott and Caroline smiled gently.
“Of course, yes, you’ll always have pies,” said Caroline.
Andy grinned, his teeth coated with enough sugary fruit to terrify a diabetic.
* * *
Actually, Scott was returning to the ground. He was to join a squadron focused on a particularly tricky problem, as his superior had explained: “Japanese organized crime is gaining more and more of a foothold in North America. It’s everywhere, and their illegal activities go from extortion, drugs, fraud, prostitution, sexual slavery, hits. On top of that, the authorities are facing an impasse, and it’s called ‘Loyalty’. Traitors don’t exist, meaning intelligence doesn’t exist. The criminals have sworn oaths and will follow them at all cost. American and Canadian authorities can’t penetrate the structures or take them down without credible information, nor informers who would sell information in exchange for clemency. Nothing at all. At least, nothing tangible that could lead to arrests. It’s a difference in culture and mentality, and that’s why North American investigations have such a high rate of failure. There’s political pressure to regulate this situation because we’re facing a storm of questions
with no answers, which is embarrassing. The American authorities have therefore decided to create a force joined with the Japanese Secret Service to find alternatives and solutions to the present expanding problem.”
The Japanese government also wanted to their expertise, because obviously the problem is more prevalent in the Land of the Rising Sun. They wanted Scott to supervise a squad based in Tokyo. Their goal: learn the Yakuza. Investigate, approach, understand, predict their every move. Know the enemy and know their weaknesses – this was what awaited them in Tokyo. Scott knew the difficulties: a language barrier, defensiveness from the Japanese authorities, the most intrinsic cultural differences, and a million problems that would hit them at every turn. Moreover, the Yakuza loyalty was a double-edged sword, a dangerous game that Scott would have to learn very quickly. There was no such thing as half-assessing or failure with these criminals. They didn’t joke around and they had moles at every level of government. Corruption of power was a highly prized technique, and their methods of retaliation and the regulation of assets was radical, violent and merciless.
In other words, Scott’s margin of error was nil, and he knew it. But the opportunity was once-in-a-lifetime, and to pass it up was unthinkable.
CHAPTER 3
In Tokyo, Andy walked to and from school. One humid day, he trudged home after a long day of classes to the tune of a light breeze playing through the tree branches. It felt nice, which, for Andy, was new. He was having a hard time getting integrated, and it had been a year. By now, the little rented house had begun to feel like home, despite its tininess compared to Canadian houses (though it was still big for Tokyo). Everything seemed in miniature. The quiet suburban street was overhung with big, fruitful cherry trees. Sunlight filtered through the white, red and pink blossoms onto the tucked-away houses. Sounds of traffic and urban life were softened in the foliage until a silence reigned that was strange, ethereal, but compellingly peaceful.
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