by J C Ryan
Irene nodded. “Thank you.”
Kakos wasn’t sure what to say or do next. He folded the napkin, placed it on the table, and said, “Mrs. O’Connell, will you please excuse me? I have to go and arrange to get the money transferred to you. May I call a cab for you?”
Irene looked up at him smiled and said, “No it’s okay. I’m going to have another coffee. Have a good day Doctor Cracks.”
She could swear she heard someone laughing.
Kakos left; he was thrilled with the prospect of getting a copy of the Sirralnnudam and the paycheck if he delivered the copy to his client. The operative phrase here was – if he delivered the copy to his client – Mrs. O’Connell’s absentmindedness was a bit of a worry.
When the Greek Professor walked out of the restaurant, he was under the impression his followers had taped the conversation. His cell phone started ringing shortly after he got into the taxi; it was Michael who wanted to meet immediately. He gave Kakos the address of a coffee shop and told him to be there in 20 minutes. Kakos redirected the taxi.
At the coffee shop, Michael explained the technical mishap to Kakos and asked him to repeat the conversation he had with Mrs. O’Connell.
***
Irene had another coffee while she waited for the message from James that all was clear. When his voice came over her earphones, she nodded slightly at her old school friend. Slipping through a side door in the corridor, she found a storage room where she got rid of her outfit, makeup, and wig, then combing out her own glossy hair she exited the restaurant through a back door where an SUV with tinted windows was waiting to take her to the safe house.
When she walked into the room where James, Carter, Sean, and Dylan were waiting for her, they all got up and applauded her loudly.
“Irene, please let me send this video clip to Hollywood. You will have a movie contract in your hand by the end of the week,” James laughed.
Irene joined in the mirth that followed. The pressure was off. Now all they had to do was follow the money trail to the big fish.
Rick Winslow’s spider web was ready, waiting to track and report the source of the money when it was paid into the bank account of Mrs. Margaret O’Connell, Irene’s mother.
After Kakos and Michael had left the coffee shop, things started to happen quickly. Michael had passed the price and Mrs. O’Connell’s bank details on to Mark Miller, who immediately contacted his brother, Dwayne Miller. Rick’s tracking software followed the trail.
Twenty-four hours later, Mrs. Margaret O’Connell got a call from her bank to inform her that the $5,000 she had been expecting was in her account; a little while later she also got an email from Professor Kakos to confirm the deposit.
Sean and the team were ready. They had all the confirmation they needed.
Chapter 52 -
The first links in the chain
In the weeks leading up to Irene’s lunch date with Professor Kakos, Sean and the rest of the executive team of the Devereux operation, James, Irene, Dylan and Carter created a plan of action. As the information started to come in, they fine-tuned the plan. When Rick’s report unveiled the chain of connections from Kakos up to Dwayne Miller, they went into action with a multipronged attack.
Carter, Kevin, and Joe Costa, took a commercial flight from DC to Quebec City. Joe was one of the two-man team who reconnoitered the drone operator’s hideout a few weeks before. Roy and Andre, both Canadian citizens, were already in Canada, for a week, visiting family. They would meet Carter and the other two at the private airfield outside Quebec City and accompany them to Freydis.
Carter and his four companions’ arrival on Freydis was timed for shortly after nightfall. When they arrived, Kevin and Joe remained in the plane and only got out after the plane was inside the hangar and the doors had been closed. Not even Ahote and Bly knew the two of them were there; Carter would brief them the next day about the plan and what was expected of them.
If the drones were overhead, they wouldn’t detect that Carter all of a sudden had four, instead of the usual two, bodyguards.
Later that night when Carter, Roy, and Andre were in the house and their drone detection equipment indicated the sky was clear, Kevin and Joe left the cover of the hangar and set out on foot toward the farmhouse where the drone operators were based. They intended to cover as much of the 25 miles to the farmhouse as possible while it was dark, hide during the day, and hit them the next night.
In the meantime, four additional three-man teams were dispatched; one in Toronto, two in DC, and one in New York. They would locate their targets, keep close to them, and wait for Sean to give them the go ahead.
It was 7:45 pm the next night when Kevin and Joe stood outside the farmhouse where the two drone operators were based. The drones had been retrieved at 5:00 pm and placed in the shed. The two men were having their second beer in front of the TV, watching a movie, when Kevin, with a black balaclava over his face, appeared in the doorway of the living room pointing a 9mm VP9 Heckler and Koch pistol at them. He took one step into the room and moved to his right to allow Joe to enter; he was also wearing a black balaclava over his face and had a 9mm Sig Sauer semiautomatic pistol in his hand.
Laurel and Hardy, as Joe had dubbed them while he and Kevin were observing them earlier, went slack-jawed and froze in place at the sight of Joe and Kevin, the whites of their startled eyes clearly visible emphasizing the terror on their faces.
“Good evening gentlemen,” Kevin said. “Just sit right where you are, and don’t move.” He nodded to Joe to turn the TV off.
Laurel and Hardy were speechless and ashen.
Joe deadened the TV; turned and grabbed Laurel by the collar, pulled him up from the couch, and pushed him towards one of the chairs. He searched him, relieving him of his cellphone, forced him to sit, then took cable ties out of his pocket and tied his arms and legs to the chair. He repeated the procedure with Hardy, putting him in the chair next to his friend.
Joe didn’t say a word; the muzzle of the VP9 spoke the universal and wordless language understood by everyone on the planet, including Laurel and Hardy.
“Excellent,” Kevin said. “You guys have really been very cooperative so far. Keep it up, and this will be over soon.”
Laurel and Hardy nodded slowly. It seemed as if they were still afraid of their own voices.
“Apologies for dropping in on you like this. Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a hurry, so we won’t be watching the movie with you. We just want to ask a few questions, shoot you and be on our way.” Kevin smiled under the balaclava, but his voice sounded deadly.
“No! Please; what do you want? Food? Money? Just say it. Please don’t shoot us!” Laurel cried.
“Information.”
Tears were running down Hardy’s cheeks as he opened his mouth but no sound came out, he closed it.
“What do you want to know?” Laurel’s voice trembled. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Just please, don’t shoot us.”
Kevin looked at Joe. “What do you think? They’re asking so nicely. Maybe we just shoot them in the knee?”
Joe shook his head and pointed his gun at Laurel.
Hardy had closed his eyes, waiting for the shot. Laurel was trembling and stuttering, making inaudible noises.
Kevin held his hand up to Joe. “Okay wait; let’s just hear what they have to say first. If they lie to me, you can shoot them. If they give me the right answers, maybe we can reconsider shooting them. What do you reckon?”
Joe shrugged his shoulders and lowered the gun.
“Let’s start with the easy stuff.” Kevin said. “Who do you work for?”
“CanSec in Toronto,” Laurel whispered.
“Who is your boss?”
“Stephen Byrne, he’s the owner of CanSec.”
“You’re doing great,” Kevin said. “Two more questions. Is Stephen Byrne the man that you send your daily reports to?”
Laurel nodded, “Yes.”
“Is anyone el
se getting your reports?”
Laurel shook his head, “No, only Stephen.”
Kevin looked at Joe. “I think he did pretty well there. Do you figure that was good enough for a pardon?”
Joe nodded.
“Okay then, keep an eye on them for a minute please,” Kevin said. “I need to make a quick phone call; but don’t shoot them. Okay?”
Joe nodded again but raised his gun when Kevin walked away.
Laurel and Hardy both started squeaking. Their eyes were closed.
Kevin went outside the house, and when he was out of earshot, he pulled his secure satellite phone out and called Sean Walker.
Sean, Dylan, Irene, James, and Rick Winslow were in an operations room at one of the CIA’s secret training facilities in Virginia, waiting for the call. The room was furnished with satellite communications equipment, computers, wall-mounted flat screen TVs, and tracking equipment. They had a visual and audio connection with every one of the four teams.
When Sean answered, Kevin said. “Canuck one complete. It’s their number one.” The conversation between Sean and Kevin was short and cryptic.
“Thanks. Enjoy the holiday,” Sean replied and disconnected. Number one meant the man the Toronto team had to get was Stephen Byrne, the sole proprietor of CanSec.
Although they suspected that CanSec was doing the surveillance job on Carter under contract for Dwayne Miller of CRS, they needed the confirmation. Dwayne Miller was the biggest fish in the pond at that stage of the operation, but they were also convinced that he was just another link in the chain.
Sean turned to the people in the room and said. “That was Kevin. Our man at Cansec is Stephen Byrne, as we suspected. I’m giving orders for the Toronto team to move in. Any objections?”
“Bring it on,” James replied on behalf of them all as he felt the adrenaline rushing through his body.
Sean contacted Chris Jones, the leader of the Toronto team, and gave him Stephen Byrne’s name and the go-ahead.
Kevin and Joe went through the farmhouse, pulled all the hard drives out of the computers, collected all the surveillance and other electronic equipment, pushed the drones out of the shed onto the landing strip then rigged it all with C4 explosives and a timer.
They tied and gagged Laurel and Hardy and pushed them into the back seat of their double cab truck, set the timer on the explosives for one hour and drove off in the direction of Freydis. They would be able to get to within twelve miles of the Freydis homestead with the truck, hide the truck amongst the trees and cover the rest of distance on foot.
***
Stephen Byrne was the sole proprietor of CanSec, a small but successful security company based in Toronto. The information in his personal file, which Chris Jones studied, said Byrne was about five ten, in his mid-forties, and as a former ice hockey player, in good physical shape. He had divorced about a year ago and lived in a studio apartment not too far from the CanSec offices.
Byrne worked hard, putting in long hours and on weekdays usually worked until 9 pm. The floorplans of the offices showed a reception area, four offices, and small meeting room. Byrne’s office was at the end of the hallway behind the reception area.
The reconnaissance team visiting the CanSec offices a few weeks ago had collected all electronic data including Wi-Fi router settings, network administrator password, and the access codes for the office security system.
Chris Jones, David Beckett, and Budd Clarence drove around the block, noted the parked vehicles, office lights, and people on the streets. Once they were sure, they hadn’t been followed, and that Byrne was the only person in the CanSec offices, Budd Clarence was dropped off at the entry to a dark, side alley.
Budd walked to the end of the cul-de-sac, looked around to make sure no one was watching and jumped over the low brick wall. The back of the CanSec building was about five paces away, through the window, he saw Stephen Byrne sitting at his desk, and his back was to him.
Budd hunkered and moved to the right of the building where he could hide in the shadows behind the rubbish bins. He pulled his tablet out, scanned for the Wi-Fi signal and connected to the CanSec network. Budd shook his head; the security system was archaic, at least 15 years old. I thought a security company would have the latest and greatest in security equipment, but I could be wrong.
Within three minutes, he had control of the office security system and whispered into his throat mic, “Ready to go.”
Chris and David had parked their old Toyota Camry about a hundred yards down the street from the CanSec offices, waiting for Budd’s signal. “Thanks, on our way.” Chris replied.
Chris and David carefully opened the front door and entered, closed the door without making a sound, pulled their silenced Sig Sauer P220 pistols out, lowered the balaclavas over their faces and sneaked down the hallway towards Stephen Byrne’s office and the sound of jazz music.
Byrne was glaring at the document on his computer screen and was startled out of his reverie when he saw movement. His eyes flared as his brain registered the masked man with a pistol pointed at him. A low deep grunt escaped from his throat. His right hand went to the top drawer of his desk.
“That would be a very stupid move Mr. Byrne,” The masked man said, “put both your hands on the desk, and don’t move them.”
Byrne half obeyed the order, his eyes kept on darting around, it was obvious to Chris that the man was planning to resist. He took a few steps into the office, closer to Byrne, without dropping his aim or eye contact.
When David’s masked face appeared to Chris’ left side, Byrne threw him a quick glance, must have seen the second pistol pointed at him and sighed. It looked as if Byrne realized he was outnumbered and outgunned.
“What do you want? I don’t keep money on the premises.” His voice was surprisingly calm for someone who had just received a nasty shock and was staring at the business end of two silenced Sig Sauer P220 pistols. It was a situation, which would have scared most human beings shitless.
Without taking his eyes off Byrne, Chris said to David, “Close the blinds and clean out his desk drawers; I got the impression he’s got some hardware in the top right-hand drawer.”
David found Byrne’s loaded .38 revolver in the drawer, as Chris had suspected. He cleared out the rest of the drawers, picked Byrne’s cellphone up from the desk, removed the battery and shoved the phone into his pocket.
“Tie him up,” Chris said.
David retrieved a few cable ties from his pocket and moved towards Byrne. Chris kept his gun trained on Byrne and studied his face closely for any signs of sudden action. Before David could be warned, Byrne suddenly propelled himself out of his chair towards him trying to bowl him over.
Unfortunately for Byrne, David was alert. He saw the move, stepped to the left, his right hand shot out, and hit Byrne in the throat with a controlled blow. Byrne fell to the ground clutching his throat, making gurgling sounds as he tried to suck in air through his dented airway.
“Byrne, don’t be stupid,” David said calmly. “We don’t want to hurt you; we just want to ask you a few questions. However, don’t confuse my kindness for weakness; I don’t have any scruples about hurting you either.”
“What the fuck do you want?” Byrne croaked as he got back into his chair still struggling to breathe. He didn’t move while David tied his arms and legs to the chair.
“You have two boys with drones posted out in the sticks north of Quebec City, to spy on Professor Carter Devereux. Right?” Chris said.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Byrne denied.
“Byrne, don’t test my patience,” Chris said pushing his left hand into his jacket pocket and pulling out a Taser X26.
Byrne’s eyes expanded slightly; he knew how painful a shot from one of those could be; he issued them to all his guards. A few years ago, after a few drinks too many, he felt brave enough to accept the dare and allowed one of his men to shoot him with a Taser. A very stupid decision; when he came to his
senses he was sober, the bravado was gone, and he had the terrible memory of the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced; breaking his leg during an ice hockey match in his young days didn’t even come close.
He tried to hide his fear.
Chris saw the twitch in his eyes, raised his left arm, and pointed the Taser at Byrne. “One more time. Those two boys out there are yours?”
Byrne nodded.
“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Who is your client?”
“Can’t tell you; that’s privileged,” Byrne snarled for a split second but then his face froze mid-snarl as he realized he had just exhausted the patience of the man holding the Taser.
Byrne’s body stiffened as the shot hit him and his muscles cramped; the spasms tipped him and the chair over, hitting the floor like a bag of potatoes off the back of a truck. David held a rag over Byrne’s mouth to stifle his screams.
A few minutes later, David pulled Byrne and the chair upright and whispered in his ear, “My friend is in a real shitty mood tonight. Even I’m a bit scared of him. I haven’t ever seen him like this - ever. It must be the fact that he found his girlfriend in bed with another man earlier tonight. Unless you want 50,000 volts running through your body for the rest of the night, I suggest you tell him what he wants to know.”
Byrne considered the old good-cop-bad-cop trick for a moment, but decided there was no way he was prepared to take another hit. This was much worse than that time when he took a Taser hit when he was drunk, now there was nothing that numbed the pain.
Chris looked at Byrne and said, “Who is your client?”
“Competitive Response Solutions,” Byrne mumbled.
“Who is your contact there?”
Byrne’s eyes darted around the room. “Mhh I…”
Chris raised the Taser.
“Miller! His name is Dwayne Miller. He’s the CEO of CRS,” Byrne blurted eagerly.