Catherine tightened the grip on her Beretta. She heard their voices as if they were standing next to her. They’re on the move. Catherine counted to ten then continued to crawl threw the dewy grass. The skin on the back of her neck started to dance. Picking up her pace, Catherine kept low and hugged the small, poorly trimmed shrubs. They were dead and thinning, but they were the only cover she had.
Reaching the poor row of greenery that bordered the road, Catherine stopped and risked a glance at her two mysterious pursuers. Without realizing it, the two men kept pace with her. They were now at the ends of the ‘U’
shape driveway where it met the road. Catherine was between them, huddled in the foliage.
The palms of her hands and knees were getting numb and a jagged brick had broken the skin on her right thigh. Behind her, the flames were fading and the moon was starting to slip behind some clouds. The already dark night was growing darker, and colder.
Okay chick, this is it. Make a decision. Sneak back into the building and hope I can find a phone before they realize where I am, or take a shot in the dark and search out that light near the highway and pray to God it’s help. Silently Catherine watched as the moon disappear, then sprung to her feet and fled into the night.
*****
Smyles touched the transmitter/receiver stud next to his ear, “DeTully,”
26
GREEN-EYED BURN
he said, “Any thing?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s too fucking dark,” Smyles grunted. “Run back to the sin pit and hit up DeCoteau for some flashlights.”
“Right.” The soft crunch of DeTully’s shoes on the gravel informed Smyles that he walked away.
“Where the hell are you, woman?” Smyles whispered. “You aren’t one of Crudup’s hookers. I can feel you’re going to be a major pain in the ass.”
Standing there in the dark, bitter memories from the past forced themselves into his thoughts.
*****
Wilber J.P. Goldwater, Jr., the Deputy Director of Central Intelligence, slammed his fist down on his large oak desk, upsetting a forgotten mug of tea. “Smyles, you stupid son-of-a-bitch! How dare you!”
Raymond Smyles shifted his weight from one foot to the other, “Sir, I thought—”
“Horseshit!” Goldwater bellowed. “If you thought for one fucking moment about what you did, none of this would have ever happened!”
Goldwater dropped his massive frame into his chair and raked his fingers through thinning gray hair.
“Sir—”
“Shut the fuck up. You’re in shit, Smyles. Deep shit. But worst of all, you put me and the whole fucking company in shit.”
“Sir—”
“Where the hell do you get off? Nikolai Konstantinovich was a very powerful member of the new Russia Commonwealth. You had no fucking right to liquidate him. Now Moscow is screaming bloody murder. The lame duck ’crat in the White House is bending over for them and the Joint Chiefs already have most of my ass in a jar.” Spittle dribbled from his lower lip.
“It’s a brave new world order we have out there, Smyles. I’m pulling you out of the field.”
“With all due respect—” Smyles began.
Goldwater exploded back to his feet, “If you respected me we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”
“Sir, Konstantinovich was a threat to our national security,” Smyles continued, “I was only doing my job.”
27
DAVID A. LLOYD
“Your job is surveillance, not murder!”
“But sir—”
Goldwater dropped back into his chair, “You are suspended, pending an investigation.” then with a limp wave of his hand, Raymond Smyles was dismissed from the only life he knew.
*****
A dark mass suddenly loomed before her and Catherine struck the object with a blunt thud. She landed roughly on her backside.
Catherine pressed her hands to her face to try to dull the pain. That’s going to hurt in the morning. She shook the fuzziness from her brain before slowly returning to her feet. With her fingers out before her Catherine moved toward the mass until she touched cool metal. The tips of her fingers followed the curves until the object started to feel familiar.
It’s a van. This must be the light I saw.
*****
Smyles stood on the edge of the driveway and looked up at the moon. It was still behind the clouds, its illumination dulled by the approaching storm. His gray eyes narrowed as he peered into the darkness before him. Soon.
*****
Her fingers rested upon what felt like a door handle. She gave it a gentle tug. It was locked. Nothing’s ever easy anymore. From a hidden pocket in her handbag, Catherine produced a door pick. Gently she slipped the rake in the keyhole and, while making a gentle sawing motion, listened. There was a soft click and the lock gave. Three seconds. My best time. Catherine cautiously slid the door open and climbed in. Crouching on the balls of her feet she eased the door shut behind her.
*****
DeTully had returned with a couple of flashlights. He handed one to Smyles.
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“Did you hear that?” Smyles said suddenly.
DeTully listened for a moment. “Yeah. It sounded like a car door or something.”
Smyles turned on the flashlight and swept the beam down the road, “Keep sharp. There’s a lot more to our little hooker than what meets the eye.”
“Not in that dress.”
*****
The interior of the van was dimly lit with the rainbow colors of a test pattern illumining from a television screen.
Where the hell am I?
Mounted on the wall across from Catherine was what looked like a video control board. Next to it, fastened to a metal rack, was a stack of VCR’s. To her right a tartan curtain separated what would be the driver’s seat from the back of the van. Next to it was a row of narrow shelves. Stacked on the top shelf was a collection of books: Tolkien’s The Lord of The Rings, Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, plus a book of Shakespeare’s complete works, were some of the titles she was able to make out. On the shelf below was a stack of comic books.
Her left hand rested on a small counter with a hot plate and coffee maker. Beyond it, at the back of the van, was a bed.
With her senses focused Catherine listened. She was not alone. As she gently twisted her body toward the sound of gentle snoring, her fingers brushed a switch on the control board. The interior of the van was suddenly aglow with the bright static noise from a half dozen video screens. Suddenly blinded, Catherine fumbled unsuccessfully for the off switch.
*****
The sleeper stirred and woke and felt the presence of someone watching him. He realized was no longer alone. There was someone in the dark.
“Aide moi,” the presence whispered, “Please help me.”
The voice was husky but feminine, almost musical. Yet the tone said more that the words. It touched him. There was a fear contained behind the words, a secret horror that only she had witnessed.
“Who’s there?” he asked.
There was movement, and the face of the most beautiful woman he had 29
DAVID A. LLOYD
ever seen appeared out of the shadows.
“I’ve died and you’re an angel,” he whispered.
Despite the fear, she smiled. “Hardly.”
The sleeper would not have thought it possible, but her beauty intensified with just the slightest flash of teeth.
In that singular moment of time her face was fused into his memory. Her vibrant dark hair, flowing with a natural unruliness and highlighted with streaks of strawberry-gold that seemed to have a life of its own; her ears, trimmed with two gold hoops on the left and three on the right; a pert nose, adorned with a tiny jewel on the left, and the slightest bump hinting that it has been broken at least once before; her mouth, with moist scarlet lips, was slightly parted as she was breathing heavy. Her chest rose and
fell with each breath. There was a characteristic cleft in her strong jaw. But most of all, it was her eyes that engrossed him and seized his will like a vise. Two radiant emerald orbs that held him hostage and spoke of integrity and pride.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Catherine Wildman, RCMP Special Operations. I need your help!”
30
3
Union Cemetery
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
Six Months Earlier
It was raining, but John Riel did not care. He had no umbrella. His hair hung limply over his face, in his eyes, and he did not care. John Riel was cold and soaked to the bone and he did not care. All John Riel really cared about was tucked in a pine box and being lowered into the muddy ground.
“…has gone to her rest in the grace of our lord…”
Kristina was dead.
There were only a few people around. He did not know any of them. They were Kristina’s friends and co-workers. He stood slightly apart from the small group. He had no relatives, she was as close as it got. And she was dead.
“…in your presence, in your mercy and love…”
Drugs.
Ink.
It was over eight weeks since John had last seen his fianceé, and now he would never seen her again. John could not remember what they talked about when they last saw each other.
We hadn’t even set the date.
But he did remember when he heard. It was raining then too, when Constable Terry Osborn of Vancouver’s finest showed up at his door. He told John how Kristina’s partly decomposed body was found early that morning 31
DAVID A. LLOYD
during a police raid of a suspected Ink house in South Vancouver.
“…forgive whatever sins she may have…”
“No!” John cried aloud. He struggled to wake up, but it was not a dream. It was real. Kristina was gone. At first his mind refused to accept the truth. No! Then it slowly sank in, bit by horrible bit, but it was not until he saw the remains of her battered and abused body on that cold metal table that he fully broke down and accepted. Yet still, he did not cry.
“…ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
A gentle hand touched his shoulder and jarred John Riel back to reality. The minister had already closed his Bible and left when Madhuri’s soft voice whispered into his ear, “It’s over John. Time to go.”
John Riel whispered, “Why does it always rain at funerals?”
*****
The coffee shop on Baker was quiet. The steaming mug John held in his hands warmed his skin. But not my soul. Madhuri Sahni sat across the booth nibbling on a tuna sandwich. John had not touched his.
“Thanks,” John whispered.
Madhuri smiled, “Ah, monolith speaks. For what?”
“Just being here.”
“You’ve been my leaning post more than once,” she sat her sandwich down and dabbed her lips with a napkin, “What are you going to do now?”
With his thumb and forefinger John rubbed his eyes, “Go back home.”
“Go back? To Ontario?”
“My parents left me a home there. Kris and I were going to live there.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
John avoided her eyes, “I gave my notice this morning. I’m returning to the CWN. They made me a good offer to come back.”
“Going global on the Canada-World News Network. Cool. You realize Mitch is going to pitch a fit.”
“So what?” John said. “He has been riding me for the last year; trying to
‘promote’ me to ‘special features.’ Screw him.”
“He still mad over the Payne press conference?”
Vancouver East member of Parliament Albert Payne held a press conference the previous week and announced that he was gay. A predictable media frenzy ensued that John walked out of. When he arrived back at the station, News Director Frank ‘Mitch’ Mitchell exploded. “Where the hell is 32
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the Goddamned story?”
“There was no story,” John replied, “Payne is a politician. If we are going to do a story about him it should be about his performance in Ottawa, not his sexual preference.”
“He announced that he’s a faggot with the election only two weeks away. That’s news!” Mitch barked.
“That’s not news, that’s polling the elective. You hire people for that. His numbers were slipping, and his riding has a large homosexual community, while the front runner in the race has a wife and three kids. If we cover Payne’s announcement, then all we’d be doing is his campaigning.”
“He’s a fruit loop and a member of Parliament,” Mitch snapped.
“I’m strait and a member of the media,” John shot back. “There’s no story!”
They remained at odds over the event ever since.
“The CWN agreed to my conditions about returning,” John said, “The face of broadcast journalism is changing, Madhuri. This time in the right direction.”
“You’re preaching to the converted, John.” She smiled briefly, then asked,
“When are you leaving?”
John lowered his eyes for a moment, “Madhuri, you are my friend, my best friend, we’ve known each other for years. Please understand why I must do this.”
“I don’t think I have to be convinced, John.” Madhuri squeezed his hand.
“You need direction. You’ve been aimless since that mess in Pôrto Velho. I think you leaving the CWN in the first place and hooking up with CKKC
was a mistake. You need to dive back into real news, and with the puff pieces Mitch has been dumping in your lap, I’m surprised you’ve stayed here as long as you have.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you here.”
“Damn it, John,” she snapped, before catching herself. “I’m a big girl now,” she said gently. “You’ve pulled me out of a deep descent once and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that, but I’m here because I want to be here.”
“I’m sorry, Madhuri. I didn’t mean to imply—”
Madhuri touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “It’s okay John. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.” She slowly pulled her hand back and brushed an untamed cluster of hair from her eyes. “What are your plans?”
“I’m packing up Baby and spending some time on the road. See the country 33
DAVID A. LLOYD
and all that. I’ve got some time to kill before I have to report in at the CWN
bureau in Toronto.” John gulped down the remains of his coffee, “I think I need the time to think about, you know, stuff,” he avoided Madhuri’s eyes again, “The rent is covered until the end of the year, so you shouldn’t have any problems.”
“When are you leaving?”
John reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a small wrapped box. He handed it to Madhuri, “Here. Please take it. I saw you looking at them last Friday.”
Madhuri found herself grinning. He never ceased to amaze her. Even in the midst of all this turmoil and grief, he still remembers to think of someone other than himself. That’s John Riel through and through. Madhuri removed the paper and opened the box, revealing two large pearl earrings, “God John. They’re beautiful. You shouldn’t have.”
John stood up and placed a twenty down on the table to cover the lunch.
“You’re leaving now?” Madhuri asked. Her voice wavered for the first time.
“Yeah…” John answered, staring at the floor.
Madhuri placed the earrings on the table, then stood and faced her best friend. “So, this is goodbye?”
“Not goodbye. I promise I’ll keep in touch.” John, who had always been uncomfortable with endings, fidgeted before holding out his hand. In one swift motion Madhuri took his hand and pulled him close. She kissed him fully on the lips. It was not a kiss of passion, but of love. They remained like that for a long time. Then Madhuri pulled away first. Her wide blue-green eyes w
ere moist.
John understood. It was time to go. Silently he turned and walked out of the coffee shop, out of sight, and out of her life.
A single tear caressed her cheek, “Goodbye buddy.”
*****
In the middle of the night while parked on a back road, John Riel was awakened by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Who are you?”
“Catherine Wildman, RCMP Special Operations. I need your help!”
34
4
Near The Kieran Crudup Estate
Sudbury, Ontario, Canada
04:42 hours 25 April, 2020
A life time passed before John Riel realized he had a voice to answer with, “Uh?” he said.
“Do you have a phone?” the beautiful woman whispered.
“I, uh, I have a cellular, but I’ve let the batteries run down. It doesn’t work.” That was lame. “Sorry.”
John was not sure, but he thought he saw a physical change cross her face as her mind shifted gears.
Then the dazzling work of art crouched on the floor of the van grasped at her final straw, “This van; it runs?”
John stared at her slack jawed. Her eyes are… Snap out of it, “Van? Van,”
he whispered, “Baby, yes it works. Why are we whispering?”
“There’s a bad situation brewing,” Catherine said, “We’ve got to get out of here.”
John sat up and clutched the sheets to his chest, “Just a moment. Did you say you were a cop or something?”
“You bet’cha.” A badge appeared in her hand. “Royal Canadian Mounded Police.”
John nodded. He had seen enough badges in his life to know where he stood now. “Just wanted to clear that up,” he said and yanked away the sheets. John scooped a terry cloth robe from the floor and pulled it over his shoulders. 35
DAVID A. LLOYD
Catherine noticed all he wore was a pair of plaid boxer shorts decorated with dancing penguins. Despite the situation, she found time to smirk at the image. She slipped her badge back into her purse. “How do you turn the TV’s off?”
John tightened the sash on his robe and a touched a button on the control panel. “You use the off switch.”
“Oh.” Good one, chick. Catherine stood and followed him through the curtains. She slid into the passenger seat as John climbed behind the steering wheel.
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