“I surmised as much,” St. James said tonelessly.
“Right,” John glanced at Catherine again. Her eyes were directed at the floor. Puzzled by Catherine’s sudden disposition, John turned and left. In the outer office John stood silently for a moment. What the hell was that all about? Before he could finish his thoughts, John was indifferently brushed aside by a handsome black man rushing into St. James’ office. As the door shut behind him John caught a glimpse of Catherine hugging him warmly.
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“Bonjour Pau,” Catherine said. “It’s been a long time.”
“Still with S.O., eh. Come over to CSIS. We could use someone like you.”
“I’m content where I am Paul, but thanks,” she replied, slipping from his embrace.
Forrester just shrugged and sat next to her. “Sorry I’m late Sylvia. Traffic was a bitch.”
“Fine,” St. James said, “We were just about to start.”
“I didn’t know the two of you knew each other,” Catherine said.
“I’ve been CSIS’ liaison with Special Operations for the last three months,”
Forrester said.
“Really? I didn’t know.”
St. James tapped her pencil, “May we get on with this?”
Catherine tugged on her blazer, crossed her legs and began. She explained in precise detail the events starting with Vladimir’s phone call, yet omitted any reference to a data disk and claimed that the Russian was dead when she found him.
Catherine described her encounter with Johnny Riel, the set up with Smyles, and Johnny’s unselfish rescue. She left out any reference to his feelings toward her. Catherine continued her description with their encounter with Tom Hoffman and how DeTully killed the constable.
Catherine finished with a vague description of her experience in the V.R. unit.
St. James leaned back in her chair and pressed her first fingers to her pursed lips. “So Jefferson Stein wasn’t the only member of the Group of Ten 123
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to infiltrate the RCMP,” she said.
“I agree. I think Linda Curtis and our mystery woman are one and the same.”
“That explains several things,” Burton added, “Curtis vanished three days ago. Her desk has been cleaned out, her apartment is empty and the hard drive on her computer had been wiped. I have the geeks working the drive, but I doubt they’ll manage to pull anything.”
“How the hell could Stein and Curtis breach RCMP security, let alone rise so high in Special Operations?” Forrester asked. “Wasn’t Curtis your assistant, Sylvia?”
St. James brushed aside the petty contempt in Forrester’s voice. “There’s a theory that dates back to the first cold war,” she said. “The American Intelligence community decided that if they had their own people in the Intelligence organizations of their allies they could put a cap on secrets leaking though through to the East.” St. James shot a glance at the CSIS man. “I’m sure there are one or two in your camp. The bottom line, people, were less leaks and international relations remained good.”
“Stein and Curtis simply took advantage of the opening,” Burton said.
“Do you think that there any others within the RCMP?” Forrester asked.
“No, ” Catherine replied.
“Okay. This is what I want,” St. James said. “Burton, I want security bumped up in the building and all calls in or out randomly monitored.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“After we debrief Mr. Riel I’m to going to ring Goldwater at Langly and ream his ass about Stein, Smyles, Curtis, and DeTully. Then, Mr. Forrester, you and I will return to Ottawa. I have to report to the PM and I want every thing CSIS can dig up on the Group.”
“What about me?” Catherine asked.
“Clear your stuff out of the apartment and go home,” St. James said. “I want you to stay clear of Mr. Riel for now. I’d be surprised if his motives are as pure as you think.”
“But—” Catherine began.
St. James cut her off, “I believe we can restart Operation Arctic Snow without the Russian involvement. That’s all,” she waved them off with a flick of her hand.
Catherine stood up and left, with Burton on her heels.
*****
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John stood up as the office door opened. “Catherine?”
Without an acknowledgment she walked past him and disappeared down the hall.
“Mr. Riel,” Burton said. “It’s time.”
“Right,” John grumbled, growing more and more annoyed.
St. James studied John as he reentered her office. “Please sit,” she said.
“For the record, please state your name and occupation please.”
“John Riel. I am, actually will be shortly, a video journalist with the Canada-World News Network.”
“Shit, a reporter,” Forrester hissed.
“Mr. Forrester!” St. James snapped.
“My apologies,” Forrester mumbled.
“Mr. Riel?” Burton prompted.
John explained the event from his point of view, but let out any reference to his encounter with the mystery woman. In the middle of the narration, Forrester let out a big yawn. John finished up with Catherine’s shooting of Stein.
“Very interesting,” St. James whispered. “Thank you Mr. Riel. That will be all.”
“Excuse me Ms. St. James,” John said, “But I do have a few questions of my own.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, now what? Do I just wait?”
“You’ll remain our guest for a few days, Mr. Riel, until some loose ends are cleared up. I also suggest some counseling with Dr. Yen-ping. What you experienced was rather traumatic.”
“What’s traumatic for me is being left in the dark for too long.”
“Meaning?” she asked.
“Please don’t play flippant with me.”
“Mr. Riel,” Burton warned. St. James waved him off.
“I want to know about compensation,” John continued. “I lost my Baby, my personal possessions, my ID and credit cards, and over six hundred thousand dollars in irreplacable—”
“Baby?”
“My van.”
“Right.” St. James smiled. That made John nervous. “Provide my secretary with a detailed list of all items and I’ll have compensation looked into.”
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“Thank you,” John said evenly.
St. James silently studied him for a moment, then said, “I have to inform you that all information pertaining to this situation, until further notice, is top secret. Likewise, all telephone conversations to and from the apartment will be monitored. For your own protection, of course.”
“Of course,” John replied dryly.
St. James’ neutral expression wavered briefly as she glanced over at Burton.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Riel,” the big cop said, opening the door.
“I’ll escort you back to the apartment.”
“Right,” John cast a glance at Forrester, who had a deep scowl on his face. He flashed a bright smile at the CSIS man and left with Burton behind him.
“I don’t like that asshole,” Forrester said intentionally before the door shut.
“I don’t care,” St. James replied. “Be ready to leave in one hour,” she dismissed him with the wave of her hand.
After Forrester sulked out, Catherine reentered the office though another door and sat down silently.
“Did you hear everything?” St. James asked.
“Oui.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think he knows anything.”
“I agree,” she watched Catherine closely. “Where do you think this disk business came from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have any theories?”
“If there was one and if Vladimir knew about it he took it to his grave.”
<
br /> St. James leaned back in her chair and cast a casual glance at Catherine.
“I have to ask you a personal question.”
Catherine did not respond.
“How are you and Mr. Riel involved with each other?”
“We went through a traumatic event together. That in it self creates a bond. Then when we arrived we were placed in the same room until you arrived.”
“That was an oversight. The two of you should have been separated. I didn’t know about Mr. Riel’s involvement when I requested you stay in the apartment here and you did not answer my question.”
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“He has expressed some feelings for me.”
“And you?”
“You know my preference,” Catherine replied coldly.
St. James leaned forward. “Then it should be easy.” Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but St. James cut her off, “You know what you must do.”
“Oui madame, I do.” Her voice hardened. “I hate this. It’s not—”
St. James exploded, “Goddamnit Cathy! I don’t trust him. I want him out of the loop. Christ, sometime I wonder why the hell you were even assigned to this unit.”
Catherine did not reply.
“Did you sleep with Riel?” St. James suddenly asked.
Catherine’s tone was clipped, “Non.”
“How did he react?”
“He didn’t. The subject never came up.”
“Fine. Mr. Riel is going to remain here for the rest of the week. We’ll call it protective custody or something, I don’t care. I just want him out of the picture for the next ninety-six hours.” St. James tapped her desk with her fingers. “I want you to see Franklin in the arsenal. He has a package for you. Then you will fly back to Sudbury. There are still several loose ends at Crudup’s to tie up.”
“What if Crudup recognizes me and puts two and two together?”
“According to your report he was out of the country and the only other person who could finger you, this DeCoteau person, is dead.”
“But what if?”
“You will just have to deal with it, won’t you?” St. James snapped.
“Oui madame. I would like to see Mr. Riel before I go.”
“No. I think the two of you are getting too close. He might cloud your judgement and I don’t want anything to jeopardize this mission. Your personal affairs have already turned this incident into a can of worms.”
Catherine set her jaw and spoke slowly, “My personal life has no bearing on this situation and I feel he has helped me.”
St. James slammed her fist down on her desk top. “You have yet to prove that, Officer, and how you feel about it is irrelevant!”
“Oui madame. Est-ce tout?” Catherine said and left though the door she entered.
St. James placed her elbows on her desk and rubbed her temples.
“What the hell are you doing, Sylvia?” Bonita asked.
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Bonita. You?”
Bonita entered the office and gently closed the door behind her, “Mine. You saw my report,” she said and sat down. “Officer Wildman is not ready to return to duty. What part of that didn’t you understand?”
“I understand more than you know, Doctor. Officer Wildman is the only one fully briefed on the situation and to replace her now we risk blowing three years work. She can handle it,” the older woman retorted. “And why were they sequestered together? You know the policy on that and one more thing, kindly keep your personal feeling about Wildman to yourself.”
“My dearest Sylvia, what relationship Cathy and I had is now in the past and it is none of your damn business.”
“I’m not going to get into that with you,” St. James said.
“Don’t you get it, Sylvia? She was raped by Smyles.”
“Officer Wildman said molested.”
Bonita erupted to her feet and pounded her fist on the desk. “Despite what she said Cathy was raped. Raymond Smyles held her down, took photos, and—”
“I know what he did,” St. James interjected sharply.
Bonita pressed on, “He’s one sick puppy. Cathy can’t handle this assignment right now. She needs to come to grips with it. She could slip over the edge at any moment.”
“Please sit down,” St. James said tightly. “That is one opinion, but not mine. Cathy is a lot stronger than you think. She’s a lot stronger than she thinks. She can finish the assignment.” She raised her hand before Dr. Yenping could protest further. “But I agree she could lose control if forced to confront Smyles again. That is why I have him and DeTully locked up.” St. James stood up and looked the doctor in the eye. “Now. Please. Sit. Down.”
Grudgingly Bonita Yen-ping sat.
“Tell me about Riel.”
Bonita removed a file from her valise and opened it. “Let’s see, matching my examination with what I accessed from his medical records, Mr. Riel went through a bout of deep depression. Following his return from covering the fighting in Rondônia, he discovered his fianceé died of an Ink overdose.”
“Rondônia?” St. James snapped her fingers. “I knew Riel seemed familiar. He was the one on trial.”
“That’s right. He interviewed Chin Wah Pong, the Triad leader in South America, less than an hour before the assassination. His partner was also killed during the fighting. All that lead to the kangaroo trial he endured. A 128
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real bad time. A minor side note here—Kristina Alexander’s body was found in an Ink house the Vancouver police said was owned by the GEB holding company.”
“Should I know that name?”
“She was Riel’s fianceé.”
“I see. Coincidence?”
“Likely, but Burton is checking with Vancouver P.D.”
“Fine. Have him send me the results. Continue.”
“It would seem that meeting up with Cathy brought him out of the depression. Other than that he’s average.”
“Any signs the two of them had sex?”
“Why is that so important to you?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Cathy, no. But he had an ejaculation earlier on the day they were brought in. He wouldn’t let me question him further but I suspect it wasn’t by his own choice. I treated him and gave him some antibiotics.”
“I see. Interesting.”
“I took blood tests from both of them. Here are the results. The green stuff they injected into Mr. Riel is harmless. Although he might have diarrhea for a couple of days.” She dropped a file on St. James’ desk. The older woman make no move toward it.
“Fine.”
“I assume you will inform them of the results as soon as possible.”
“Of course.”
“Of course. I also think it’s a mistake keeping them separated. After what they’ve endured they will need each other for support.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” St. James said and dismissed the doctor with a wave of her hand.
“Bullshit,” Bonita hissed as she stood. “My comments are on file and you have my report. Place them anywhere you like.”
The small doctor turned on her heels and left.
*****
John stood looking out the apartment window at a tour bus unloading a group of nuns when a large, forcible hand dropped on his shoulder.
“This is sensitive information we are dealing with here. You breath one word of this before it’s cleared and I’ll personally shatter your world.”
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John pulled his shoulder away and faced Paul Forrester. He did not hear him enter the apartment. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
John tried to turn away, but Forrester shoved him into the window and held him with a powerful arm across his neck. “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself asshole. Not one friggen�
�� word.”
“Can I quote you on that?” John snapped back.
Forrester’s fist connected with John’s right kidney. “Quote that, Shithead,”
he said, letting him drop to the floor. Forrester turned and left the apartment. 130
17
Catherine sat alone in her office. The ceiling light was off and her desk lamp was set low. She had kicked off her flats and had her bare feet crossed on the top of her old oak desk. She absently flipped through a file folder. Damne elle.
Catherine removed her reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“Damne elle,” she muttered and dumped the file on her desk. Catherine swung her feet around, stood and stretched her arms into the air. She then dropped to the floor and starting some one-arm pushups. Since the Academy, Catherine found it helped relieve stress. That and sex. But right now sex is part of my stress.
A gentle knocked sounded at the door.
“...five... six... yo... seven...”
The door opened and Bonita entered. “In the middle of something?”
“...nine... ten...” Catherine switched arms. “One... yeah... two... stress... three... release... four...”
Catherine finished, stood up and brushed a lock of wayward hair from her eyes.
“Not even breathing hard,” the doctor observed, still standing in her doorway. “You’re still in incredible shape.”
“Merci,” Catherine said, “But don’t tell me you’re only here to admire my physique.”
Bonita closed the door behind her. “No,” she said and stepped toward Catherine. The doctor kissed her passionately on the lips. Catherine returned the kiss for a moment then gently pushed the other woman away. “Bonita, I….”
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The Doctor tuned away, flushed. “Oh lord Cathy, I’m so sorry.”
Catherine placed her hand on Bonita’s shoulder. “Don’t be. What we had was wonderful, but it’s over now.” Bonita turned and faced Catherine. “I still care for you Bonita, a lot, but...”
Bonita took Catherine’s hand in hers and kissed her knuckles. “I know, and I’m sorry. I guess I… uh… just seeing you there… working out. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.”
“That’s the third time you said you were sorry. Twice more than necessary.”
Catherine motioned toward the chair in the corner of the small office. Bonita sat down. “I’m glad you maintained your body building. You look absolutely great, Cathy.”
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