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Catherine noticed a definite reaction in John, but he hid it well.
“Ink.”
“Oui. Ink, mixed with murder and prostitution by former members of the Central Intelligence Agency.”
John raised his eyebrows and leaned forward, “The CIA?”
“A group of rogue CIA operatives, who call themselves The Group of Ten, are responsible for the creation of Ink and about 65% of all illegal narcotics entering Russia and most of the C.I.S.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“How?”
Catherine sipped her coffee, “I don’t know,” she lied. “What I do know is that the men we ran up against are members of the Group and they have killed people close to me,” Catherine leaned back and rested against the folded cot. She closed her eyes for a moment then looked right at John, “Two years ago the Moscow police nabbed an Ink dealer. He told them about a pipeline from the north. The Federal Security Service investigated. During their search they found over seven million dollars of Ink poured and ready to travel stored in a brothel in Anadyr.”
“I remember that.”
“The raid also turned up one suspected CIA agent.”
John whistled. “That part never made the news.”
“No surprise,” Catherine said. “The Federal Security Service secretly took that information to the U.S. State Department.”
“Secretly?”
“What I understand is that the raid on the brothel was not exactly legal under present Russian law.” Catherine sipped her coffee. “The official story was that the agent, one Raymond Smyles, was discharged three months earlier for medical reasons.”
“And the real story?” John asked.
She was silent for a moment. “Do you remember Nikolai
Konstantinovich?”
“The peace activist. He was killed last year in a skiing accident.”
Catherine shook her head.
“Shit.”
Catherine leaned closer to John. “There was no hint of assassination in the reports. Not even the usual conspiracy web-sites suggested that. Which, in retrospect, is suspicious.”
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Catherine swallowed a mouthful of coffee and crossed her legs under the table. She noticed that John had not touched his soup or coffee. “Langley cut Smyles loose. Soon after he went underground. No one heard squat from him since.”
“Until now. Recruited by the Group.”
“The Group of Ten was formed in the early 1990s by a handful of emancipated CIA agents. For almost twenty years they operated on the fringe of society. Sponsoring various terrorist groups with the sole intent of collapsing what remains of the Russian government.”
“Why?”
“Old prejudges die hard,” Catherine said.
John was not convinced. “There must be more than that.”
“The money was good.”
“How did they get that much Ink across the Russian border? From what I know about the stuff, it’s very unstable and dangerous. How could they move such a large shipment?”
“Parts of the Russian border are in such a state of flux, particularly across the Sino-and Mongolian frontiers, so smuggling in is not that difficult. Even today someone will still look the other way just for a pack of Western cigarettes.”
John shook his head in disbelief as she continued, “The Federal Security Service realized that the Ink was entering across those borders through Canadian companies and approached the RCMP. Working together they formed Operation Arctic Snow.”
John remained silent and gestured for her to continue.
“My new partner, Gene Hatton, and I were assigned to work with two Russian security officers during the investigation.” Catherine shifted her weight on the bench. “My opposite number was Vladimir Zadneprovsky, a good man, but not cut out for some of the messier aspects of the job.” Catherine continued, “Gene was placed with his opposite, Nikita Triska. But for some reason never made clear I was not to have any contact with Nikita Triska. She could walk past me and I wouldn’t know her, and Gene was to have no contact with Vlad. Deniability if we were somehow caught I suppose.
“We split into teams. Vlad and I spent six months in Russia while Gene and Nikita remained here, then we switched to retain a fresh perspective on the matter. We had the resources of two countries behind us and the best support team in the world backing us up. We made progress. Some minor busts. But I felt we were getting close to the big one when it all fell apart.”
She looked at John who was watching her intently. “Nikita Triska apparently 66
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defected to the United States.”
“Apparently?” John spoke for the first time since Catherine began her narrative.
Catherine shook her head. “I didn’t believe it, but Gene said he was there when she jumped the fence at the U.S. Consulate office in Edmonton. From what I read in her dossier she was fiercely proud of her heritage.” She sighed,
“Nevertheless, the team collapsed. Vlad returned to Moscow for debriefing and Gene and I were given desk jobs.” Catherine glanced at her cold soup. “I can only guess at what happened since.” She looked back at John. He was still silent, but there was a gentleness in his eyes. “Out of the blue, Vlad called me. He said he was in Sudbury and he needed to see me…” Catherine’s voice trailed off.
John leaned forward and softly urged her on. This was what caused her to barge into his life in the middle of the night. “Go on.”
Catherine’s eyes were closed and her jaw was set. “He was dead before I arrived. The Group of Ten killed him.” She looked directly at John. There was a hint of fear in her eyes. “Now they are after me. They killed Vlad and they killed Gene.” Catherine fought to keep her voice under control. “Now they want to kill me because they believe I can blow open their entire operation.” And I can!
“So the yahoos we had a run in with are renegade spies.”
“Don’t treat it lightly. They’re dangerous.”
“I’m not.” John rubbed his temple. “Man, how do I get myself into these things?”
Catherine leaned forward and touched his hand. “Because you are a caring soul. You didn’t have to come after me, but you did. There are very few people left in this world who would’ve placed themselves at risk like you did over some chick who hijacked him in the middle of the night.” With her eyes bright she squeezed his hand heartily. “You saved my life Johnny. I owe you.”
His face unreadable, John was silent. Then he slowly asked, “What’s our next move?”
Catherine let out a breath she did not realize she was holding, and felt her eyes moisten. She was still not sure of his motives, but she felt she could trust him. “Merci,” she said. “First we have to get, uh...?”
“Baby.”
“Right. We have to get Baby on the road.”
“Roger,” John threw her a mock salute and slipped into the driver’s seat. After the third attempt, Baby roared to life.
67
9
The Office of Lydia Curtis
Mackenzie Federal Building # 4
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
16:34 hours 25 April, 2020
Raymond Smyles shoved open the large office door. He still raged, and traveling by helicopter from Sudbury to Toronto in damp clothes did not help his posterior. All the way back to the city with Stein bitching at me. Shit, most of it was DeTully’s screw up. Then as soon as we get here, Stein pisses off back to Ottawa, leaving me to do the crap work with the fucking locals. Fuckin’ wonderful. Asshole.
He spotted Lydia Miezlaiskis with her back toward him. She stood staring out the window at the CN Tower. The glass was speckled with moisture. The sky outside was dark and heavy clouds lumbered toward the city. Smyles cleared his throat.
“God I hate this city,” Lydia said. “It’s so depressing and cold. I don’t understand how anyone co
uld live here.” Lydia, like Stein, was born and raised in the heart of Texas. Although she spent years learning to lose the accent, the Lone Star state would always be home. She turned around and faced the ugly man. A crack of lightning suddenly lit the sky behind her.
“Well Raymond?”—she seldom called him by his given name— “What have you got for me?”
“I used the code name Stein gave me and called the provincial and regional police. I had them place an A.P.B. on the van.” Smyles hated answering to 68
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her. He should be calling the shots. Not her.
“Did you tell them that they were looking for British Columbia plates?”
Lydia asked casually brushing her long auburn hair from her shoulders. She wore an almost sheer blouse, with a black bra supporting her ample breasts, and a matching power skirt slit high on the thigh.
“Yes. Yes I did.”
“Good,” Lydia purred moved toward her desk. “Did you give them anything else about the van that might be useful?”
“I gave them a full description,” Smyles said tightly.
Lydia cocked a hip up on the corner of the desk and crossed her long sleek legs, very much aware that he was ogling them. “What a charge you’re getting,” she said.
“What?” His eyes snapped back to her face.
She smiled slyly. “I said what charge did you give them?”
Smyles loosened his tie. Is it hot in here or is it me? And when did she dim the lights? “I wanted to be creative.”
Lydia casually dropped her lower lip to a pout, “Yes?”
“I told them they were cop killers. Uh...” he stammered as Lydia fiddled with the top button on her blouse, “T-the police believe she killed RCMP S. O. Officer Gene Hatton.” Smyles pulled at his tie again and choked out,
“They’ll call me when they find them and wait for my arrival.”
Lydia slid from the desk and sashayed closer. “That’s very clever Raymond.” She threaded his tie through her long fingers and whispered with a throaty purr, “Nice irony that. Anything else?”
“Un, yeah. I told DeTully to wait in the car.”
Lydia caressed the inside of his thigh. “Good Raymond. After this little loose end is wrapped up tight, I just may have to recommend you to Stein for promotion.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice rising.
Lydia yanked on his tie and the two of them dropped to the floor. It had been too long since she had a man in her and Lydia was getting that itch again. She needed it and she needed it now. Stein would be good, Shit he’d be great, but he acted as if she were not even present. How could he not feel the burning lust that crackled through the air when they were together? If he said the word, I’d go down on him in a second, but the man acts like a fucking eunuch. DeTully? Not a chance. After what he did to the Russian woman? That man is demented. His ideal of a good time involves pain, and not the pain that comes from pleasure. Now Smyles. Once we get past the 69
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personal hygiene problem, he might be worth a quickie. Smyles squeezed a firm breast with one hand, groped up her skirt with his other and pulled on her panties. Lydia’s red tipped fingers found the brass bullhead belt buckle, pulled it away, and soon had his penis throbbing in the palm of her hand.
Probing her mouth with his tongue, Smyles suddenly shifted his hips and delved into Lydia. She gasped and threw her stockinged legs up and locked her ankles tightly around his waist keeping him inside until she was ready. Lydia heaved his shirt off over his head and raked her nails through the thick tangle of hair on his back. Smyles grunted as she squeezed his buttocks. He grunted again and Lydia started to gyrate her hips. Slowly at first, then more and more frantic.
Lightning cracked and thunder howled as the storm unleashed its fury on the city.
*****
Lydia had lit up a cigarette when the secure phone rang. “Curtis,” she answered, “Yes. Yes, one moment.” She tossed the phone across the room at the still naked Smyles. “It’s for you, Quick-draw.”
Smyles snatched the phone from mid-air and turned his back, muttering something vile, “Smyles,” he snapped into the receiver. “Where? Right. Don’t do a thing I’m on my way.” He tossed the phone back at Lydia and said, “I’ve got them.”
70
10
Somewhere on Highway 11
17:58 hours 25 April, 2020
Plump raindrops pounded hard across the windshield of the van as the wipers struggled in vain to keep the glass clear. The road ahead was a dark gray slick.
For the last forty minutes, neither John or Catherine spoke a word. Both were deep in their own thoughts. Despite her mental training, Gene’s grisly death replayed over and over again in her mind. Gnawing at her, taunting her. Catherine realized she will soon have to confront the pain before it shattered her sanity.
Oh Bonita, how I wish you were here...
Crack.
Gene! We’ve got to get-!
Smack.
Non... non...
“Catherine?”
Who? Oh Johnny…
“Oui?” Catherine managed a weak smile. She was tired. Mentally and physically tired.
“You were saying that the Group of Ten is politically motivated?”
“If you don’t like a government, fight the government. Don’t take it out on the people,” Catherine said tightly. “You tell me. They don’t do it for the money. They do it because they hate,” she tried to stroke away the pain in her 71
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skull with the base of her thumb. “I thought that kind of thinking was dead when the Wall fell. Thousands of people, innocent people, kids. All hooked on Ink. Do you know what that crap can do to a person? Convulsions of the brain so severe you shatter your spine.”
“I know...”
“How can one human do that to another? It’s a sick world Johnny. Sometimes I wonder if I do any good at all. You bust one punk for pushin’
and three more take his place. Then the first is back on the street by the end of the day. But now, now ex-CIA agents. CIA! Peddling that crap. I just don’t know,” she stroked her dark brows with her thumb and forefinger. “I was working undercover in a school. On my first day a dope deal went down in the front foyer. Two boys, only twelve. The whole scene was so open that it only took me the afternoon to find the supplier. It turned out to be the school secretary.
“When we arrested her that night at her apartment, her ten-year-old son attacked me with an electric carving knife. He was doped up with enough Ink to kill a full grown man.” She looked over at John as if looking for something, anything. Her lower lip quivered. “I had to shoot him three times.”
“Oh man… Catherine, I’m sorry.” Here I was feeling sorry for myself. This young woman has seen more up close than I ever will, and she is still going. I wanted to pack it in. Time to wake up and—
“Are we being followed?” Catherine asked. She was sitting up straight and her eyes were suddenly wide and alert.
“What?” John checked his mirror. The flashing crimson cherries of an OPP cruiser reflected back in his face. “Damn.”
“Relax,” Catherine whispered touching his shoulder, “Pull over and let him come to the door,” she slipped from her seat and ducked through the curtains into the back. “I’m not here.”
John pulled Baby over onto the muddy shoulder and slowed to a stop. Behind him he heard Catherine load the slide action repeater. He swallowed hard. Oh crap.
His heart leapt into his throat as a lone officer in a bright yellow rain slicker suddenly tapped on the glass. John lowered the window and forced a smile, “Nice day, eh Officer? What can I do for you?”
“John Riel?” the officer asked. The hood of the slicker hid his features.
“Yes. What’s the problem?”
“Are you alone sir?”
“Could you identify yourself please?” John asked.
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<
br /> The officer pushed the hood of his slicker back and revealed a ruggedly handsome young face. “Constable Tom Hoffman, OPP.”
“Tom?” Catherine called from the back. She pushed the curtain aside,
“Tom? Is that really you?”
“Hello Cathy.” The constable smiled. “It’s been a long time.”
Catherine reached past John and touched Tom just to make sure he was real. “Oh God, Tom. Am I glad to see a friendly face.”
Hoffman held her hand for a moment then let her go. “You need some help?”
“Oh, you bet’cha,” Catherine beamed. She felt as if a great weight just dropped from her shoulders.
“Okay. Just follow me. Up the road ahead is an intersection leading to a service road,” he pointed, “turn left and about a klick down you’ll find a waste filtering station. I’ll meet you there.”
“Super!” Catherine exclaimed.
Constable Hoffman flipped a “thumbs up” then turned back toward his cruiser.
Catherine leaned across John and stuck her head out the window, “Tom!”
she called. Hoffman turned around, his face once again hidden beneath the hood. “It’s good to see you,” Catherine said.
Hoffman stood motionless for a moment. Only the sound of the rain and passing traffic broke the stillness in the air. He then waved and climbed back into his cruiser.
“How’s that for an incredible stroke of luck?” Catherine said as she watched the cruiser ease into traffic.
She ducked back into the van and out of the rain. It was then Catherine realized she all but climbed onto John’s lap to talk to Hoffman. Her lips were just centimeters away from his, and parted ever so slightly. For the first time Catherine noticed the enormous body heat John radiated. She felt bathed in his essence and discovered she could not move away.
John felt a stirring, but then deep in her eyes he saw it. He saw the confusion and the pain she felt. Feelings he realized Catherine must struggle to deny. John averted his eyes giving her the reprieve she needed. Catherine backed away slightly. Oh Johnny, maybe in some other circumstance.
“We should follow your friend,” he said.
Fragilely, Catherine regained her composure and slid back into her seat.
“Oui.” She turned toward the rain-streaked window and withdrew back into 73
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