Above Ground (14 page)

Jack sighed and said, “Consequences are not always so easy to predict.” It was what Natasha had said to him. At the time he'd thought it had made him feel better.
Now it just feels lame.

“Yeah, I guess,” replied Danny. “Sorry, didn't mean to sound like I was upset. I'm just really tired.”

Me too. Tired of screwing up.

Damien sat at his kitchen table and closed his eyes as Vicki massaged the back of his neck and shoulders.

“What is it, Papa Bear?” she asked.

Damien gently reached for her hand and guided her around to sit on his lap. He glanced at the kitchen clock.

“You want to go out for dinner? Just the two of us?” suggested Vicki.

Damien shook his head. It had been forty-two hours since he had walked into the storage locker and discovered they had a traitor. A lot had happened. A lot that Vicki did not know about. He heard the muffled sound
of the entertainment centre coming from another room. Briefly, he wondered what Buck, Sarah, and Kate would think of their dad when they found out. Would it change their image of him?

He whispered in Vicki's ear, “I'm finished. Out. Maybe a couple of months ... but then I'll be gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

Damien put his finger to his lips to tell Vicki to lower her voice, and then whispered, “I screwed up. Cost the club millions. We're going to have to sell off some of our assets to pay back what I lost.”

Vicki's eyes revealed her concern. “How? What happened?” she whispered back.

“Business. We had a traitor. Got ripped. My fault.”

“Everybody makes mistakes. Don't —”

“Not like this. I've already been replaced. In the next couple of weeks The Toad will oversee ... will get a good opportunity to enhance his status. After that, a new election.”

“You can beat that guy! You have before.”

Damien shook his head. “Not this time. I won't even bother to run. It's time to retire. This is a sign. I've been a target too long. Up until now we've been lucky.”

“Oh, Papa Bear,” said Vicki, giving him a hug. “You're tired. I know you haven't slept in two or three days. Maybe if you rest...”

“Yeah, maybe,” replied Damien, while checking an incoming message on his BlackBerry. He expected it to be Rellik, who had also gone without sleep in the last forty-two hours. It wasn't. He recognized the sender and knew it was urgent. He was directed to take a short walk away from his house.

Cecil Hinds knew his work well. He was a member of the Combined Forces Special Enforcement Unit of British Columbia. CFSEU was an independent police agency set up by the government to fight organized crime. It was composed of police officers from various agencies. In the last two days there had been a flurry of activity through coded messages being transmitted in and out of Damien's estate.

Hinds decided to cruise through the neighbour-hood and record various licence plates parked within a few blocks of the estate. The more cautious criminals would sometimes park and walk the remainder in an effort to avoid identification. This evening, he was rewarded for his efforts when he saw Damien walking away from his house.

Hinds manoeuvred his car a block behind Damien and watched through binoculars. He knew that it wasn't a casual after-dinner stroll. Damien walked fast and his physique implied that he was not on a fitness program. Damien was also being extra observant.
Something is definitely up.

Hinds reached for his radio to call for support. He knew that Damien's experience eliminated the chance of being able to follow him with only one car without being detected.

The response Hinds received indicated help would arrive in twenty-five minutes.
Not soon enough
, thought Hinds, as an SUV pulled alongside Damien and he quickly got in.

Hinds watched as the SUV drove past him. He knew he had been lucky. The driver hadn't seen him, which was good, because Hinds recognized him. It was Jack Taggart.
What the hell is he doing with Damien?

Hinds recalled reading a memo a couple of weeks earlier from the RCMP Anti-Corruption Unit requesting
notification of police contact with Satans Wrath.
Jack, you son of a bitch, what are you up to? Following you by myself is out of the question
.

“What's up?” growled Damien, as soon as Jack picked him up.

“Got something to show you. I've rented a motel room,” replied Jack.

“What is it?”

“Has to wait until we get there. You'll see. Trust me.”

“Trust you? That's a good one.”

The rest of the drive was made in silence, with the exception of Damien's grumblings that Jack could have rented a room a little closer to Vancouver, rather than halfway to Chilliwack.

When they entered the motel room, Jack tossed an attaché case onto a small table near the window. Damien quickly walked through the unit to ensure they were alone and then took a seat at the table.

Jack pulled the other chair out and spun it around backwards before sitting down with his arms resting on
the back of the chair as he faced Damien.

“Well? Get on with it,” said Damien. “I'm a busy guy. What's this about?”

Jack stared briefly at Damien and then said, “It's about how I no longer owe you a favour.”

Damien leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I'm listening. How did you reach that conclusion?”

“I've just saved you from going to jail. Even here in B.C., I figure you still would have received a long enough sentence that Buck, Sarah, and Kate would all have graduated before you got out.”

Damien let out a grunt, then sneered and said, “Bullshit. I haven't done anything to go to jail for.”

“I'm not bullshitting you, so please do me a favour and don't bullshit me. I find it insulting.”

Damien paused and the sneer disappeared from his face. “Okay. What evidence do you think you have?”

Jack stared intently at Damien. He felt his body tense, ready to fight. “I have a lot of evidence,” he said tersely. “In fact, if I was to weigh it, I would say it was about two kilos short of a metric tonne!”

Damien stared back in disbelief. “It was you?” he uttered.

Jack nodded and pointed to his attaché case and said, “Go ahead, open it. You can watch it on video — including the murder of Silent Sam.”

“So this is how you pay back a favour?” said Damien, rising to his feet and shoving the attaché case off the table like it was poisonous. “You cost me my position in the club!” he roared.

Jack remained seated. Keeping his voice even he said, “I would have done the same thing if I hadn't owed you a favour. The difference is that someday you won't be looking at pictures of your grandchildren from a jail cell.”

Damien stared down at Jack. His breath came in pants and it took him a moment to regain his composure. He then bent down to pick up the case and Jack quickly stood and backed away.

“I'm not going to hit you with the fucking thing,” said Damien, sitting back down in the chair.

Damien was quiet for a moment and Jack readied himself for a fight. He discovered that Damien was more cerebral. A wry smile appeared on his face and he said, “You've got me. Checkmate. I concede your ... point.”

Jack slid his chair a little farther back and then sat down.

Damien stared at him and said, “I never thought it would end like this. A bullet in the back from an Indo maybe, but not from your side. I underestimated you. Wish I had Bishop's murder on film.”

“I only have one copy of Silent Sam's,” replied Jack, gesturing to the attaché case. “After we watch it, you can destroy it. Then we're going for a ride where you can see that something else is destroyed.”

The drive to the farm was made in silence. Jack parked on an access road and used his flashlight to navigate through a short stretch of bush and into a field that was being cleared to make pasture.

Damien looked down into the pit, where 998 kilos of cocaine had already been slashed open and mixed into a pile of brush. The smell of gas permeated the air as the last of it glubbed out of a barrel that Jack rolled along the top of the pit.

The men watched in silence as the flames crackled and roared to a great height. Then Jack handed Damien a set of keys and said, “These belong to you. An Econoline van that I've got parked nearby in the driveway of an
abandoned farmhouse. You can drive yourself back to the city.”

Damien accepted the keys and said, “I guess one good thing came out of all this.”

“What's that?”

“Not being top dog. I'm no longer a target. Who knows, maybe I'll even be able to take my wife to bed without wondering who is listening.”

“Unless, of course, you continue your criminal career.”

Damien let out a snort and said, “I'm talking about other people. People with ambition. You got lucky. It won't happen again. You mean nothing to me.”

“So you agree that I no longer owe you a favour?”

Damien didn't answer for a moment, and Jack caught the look in his eyes as the flames flickered, casting shadows of light and darkness across his face.
He really does look like the devil.

Damien glared at him and said, “Yeah, but don't ever ask me for another one. If you do, I'm liable to kill you myself.”

Cecil Hinds had his surveillance team hiding near Damien's estate waiting to video Jack and Damien together when they returned. He sat in his car with his hands in his jacket pockets. The weather had turned unseasonably cold for May, forcing him to shut the car off. Any exhaust coming from a parked car would quickly gather attention from those who were wary.

There was one obvious conclusion that Hinds drew from the covert method the two men used to meet. Hinds was a good cop. Like all good cops, he hated criminals ... but like all good cops, he hated dirty cops more.

Hinds was slightly disappointed when Damien reappeared four hours later driving a rented Econoline van and alone.
Interesting. Why the van, and what part did Taggart play?

It was nine o'clock the next morning when Hinds found out what the van had been used for. A striker for Satans Wrath had returned the van to the rental agency. Minutes later, Hinds field-tested the powdery residue found inside. Positive for cocaine!

The chief officer in charge of CFSEU met with Assistant Commissioner Isaac within the hour. Moments later, Legg was also summoned to the meeting. Taggart had just become the Anti-Corruption Unit's top priority.

“Where are we with the pictures you sent to Mexico, Harry?”

Legg squirmed slightly in his chair and replied, “We passed them on to the LO in Mexico City a week ago Monday. We haven't heard back yet.”

“Today is Friday. That makes it eleven days. Why the delay?”

“The liaison officer indicated that the Mexican authorities won't be eager to admit if they made a mistake. If Bishop's death was not accidental, it would cause them embarrassment. It's a delicate matter. The LO is trying to be discreet and go through the back door on this.”

Isaac pointed his finger at Legg and said, “You tell the LO to forget about being delicate! I don't care who is embarrassed! Tell him to send it through channels immediately. If there are any problems, I'll be talking with the Mexican ambassador myself!”

Danny checked his watch as he walked with Jack through the cemetery. It was early afternoon but some people were getting a jump on the weekend. Rush hour
had already started. “You figure we'll be working late?” he asked.

Jack glanced at him and said, “Guess it depends on what our friend has to say. Hoping to make it home for dinner?”

Danny nodded. “I need a break. I've been on edge all week over ... the storage locker thing. I'm glad things worked out for you with Damien last night, though.”

“Me too. Now if we could just find out who sent Connie that note I'd be happy.”

“Wish she had a lead,” said Danny. “Everyone in the office is jittery. Hell, even the building, for that matter.”

“It's starting to get on my nerves, too,” replied Jack. “Let's make this quick with our friend, then pop back to the office and head home. Natasha should get home around five-thirty. I want to be waiting for her with a bottle of wine when she does.”

“Sounds good to me,” replied Danny, reaching for his cellphone to call Susan.

“Hey, babe!” said Danny when she answered. “I'll be home for dinner. Jack and I are taking the weekend off. How about taking a couple of steaks out of the freezer and not eating until after we put Tiff and Jimmy to bed?”

Susan felt relief and joy flutter through her body. This was the Danny she had married. Not the bone-weary, stressed-out, and depressed man she had been putting up with for the last couple of weeks. “I'll be glad to,” she replied, “except it's cold and windy. You'll freeze your butt off if you barbecue.”