BACK IN HIS unmarked, Sam ran Smithford’s driver’s licence. “Clean as a nun’s habit. Did your contact get a better shot of the men?”
I checked my phone. “Nothing yet. Do you think the woman in there is involved?”
“No, but she wasn’t monitoring that security camera either. Someone alerted her. She might suspect Mr. Smithford isn’t totally legit, but as she reminded us twice, he’s a good customer.” Sam put the car in gear and pulled back onto No. 2 Road.
“Where are we going?”
“Smithford’s address.”
We parked at the curb outside Smithford’s house on Cambie Road. “Let’s go,” he said, and we climbed out. He came around my side and we hastened up the front walk together.
“What if he’s in there?”
“He won’t be.” Sam rang the doorbell.
A diminutive Chinese man answered. His equally diminutive wife hovered in the doorway behind him. “Yes,” he said.
Sam flashed his badge. “I’m looking for Mr. Smithford.”
The elderly man shook his head. “No. No Mr. Smithford here. You have the wrong address.”
Sam pulled up Smithford’s photo on his phone. “Do you know this man?”
The grey-haired man lifted the glasses that hung from a chain around his neck and propped them on the end of his nose. He tipped his head back to examine the photo. “No. Not familiar. Who is he?”
“Like you said, wrong address.” Sam thanked the man and we returned to the car.
“Now what?”
“I go back to the station, get an ID on the elusive Mr. Smithford and touch base with Abbott about his drones. I’ll call you when I have something. Where do you want me to drop you?”
“Main and Sixteenth. I’ll get home on my own from there.”
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. California was all it said. I didn’t recognize the 619 area code. I answered, but there was no one on the other end.
“Who is it?” Sam asked.
“One of those annoying robocalls,” I said.
We spent the drive working out suspects. I dismissed his suggestion that it might be the Redeemers. They would have no use for drones. He dismissed my suggestion it was organized crime. “Not their style,” he said. I removed the protective vest and dropped it on the back seat.
“Has to be an insider,” I said. “If it’s not ICO, could it be someone in the local department?”
“I can’t see it. Could be higher up the chain.”
“I thought ICO was as high up as it got.”
“Not high—hidden, as in black ops. Only a select few know that ICO exists, let alone what it does.”
“Maybe it’s someone connected to the infighting that’s had us stalled.”
“Could be. It’s an old rivalry. ICO is military intelligence. CSIS is civilian intelligence. General Cain embedded me in the civilian side to mask the military’s involvement. Could be the mask slipped.”
“Territorial squabbles? As if our jobs weren’t complicated enough. Whatever happened to the greater good?”
“Looks like it’s under the bus keeping common sense company. You and I are on our own. We have to find out who’s messing in our business and shut them down.”
We didn’t pinpoint that who before Sam and I parted ways.
If my instincts were correct, Sebastian wasn’t far away. Meeting on Main Street was infinitely better than having him drop into my condo.
Sushi restaurants were more plentiful than coffee shops on this stretch of Main. I chose an unpopular one, took a table for two and ordered tea and a spicy tuna roll.
My instincts hadn’t failed me. Sebastian strolled into the near-empty restaurant moments later looking as if he’d come off a Matrix movie set. He spotted me and waved off the hostess. My waitress approached from the other direction and delivered the pot of tea and the tuna roll.
Sebastian waited until she’d left before taking the seat opposite.
“Hungry?” he asked. His sarcastic tone prompted me to pop a piece in my mouth. The rice was still warm. “What did you learn?”
I finished my bite and reached for the teapot. “The man who rented the van calls himself Smithford, but the address on his driver’s licence isn’t his. Sam is working on an ID right now.”
“You can save him the time. He won’t be able to ID him. The two men in the van tonight were military.”
“How do you know?” I pushed a cup of tea across the table to him.
“I’ve worked with enough of them to spot the training. Tell the detective. He’ll understand. If he has any sense, it should shake him out of the notion that this is a child abduction.”
It must be hard for Sebastian to have to deal with idiots like Sam and me, I thought. If I actually bit my tongue each time I held it, I’d have a callus on it. “Did you get a better shot of the men?”
He pulled out his phone, clicked through a few screens and put it back in his pocket. A moment later my phone vibrated against the table. If he’d intended to make me feel as if I had a communicable disease, he’d succeeded. I glanced through the photos. “That’s Smithford,” I said, pointing him out. The other man had short, dark hair and a swarthy, pocked complexion. “What’s this?” I asked, indicating a picture he’d sent of a small rundown house with an attached garage.
“The van is parked in that garage. It’s on Spires Road in Richmond.”
“Did you go inside?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m glad you think so highly of my skills, but I don’t perform miracles. I detoured to follow the van, doubled back to locate you and the detective at the warehouse, and followed you here. You imagine I also found the time to go inside that house and investigate? I think I’ve done quite enough.”
Well, when he put it like that. Suitably chastened, I adopted a look of chagrin.
“Perhaps now the detective can do his job and find out who’s behind this.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“I want to know what he learns immediately.” Sebastian stood and left without another word.
I toyed with my phone while I ate another piece of spicy tuna. Despite Sebastian’s arrogant manner, I couldn’t fault him. He’d stepped up. Maybe Mason was right and I didn’t know all there was to know about the man.
I texted Sam what I’d learned, sent him Sebastian’s photos and then finished off the sushi roll while I awaited his response. The waitress cleared my plate and I poured another cup of tea.
Sam phoned. “The house on Spires is a rental. Owners live a few blocks away from it. How about I pick you up and we go take a look.”
“Just you and me? Don’t you think we should bring backup?”
“I’ve seen you in action, remember? You can take care of yourself and I’ve got a gun. Until we know who’s behind this, there’s no one here I can trust.”
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up at the curb and I jumped in.
“What’s the plan?” I asked, buckling up.
“Put on your vest. We’ll hit the landlord first.”
The clock on the dashboard read 11:27 p.m. Disturbing people’s sleep was turning into a nasty habit.
“I know I shouldn’t be happy about these guys being military,” I said, “but it eliminates the possibility of someone new knowing about us.”
“Wish I could agree, but all field intelligence operatives are highly trained, military or otherwise. We can’t eliminate anyone.”
The tiny bubble of hope I’d been floating on popped and I plunged back into shitload-of-trouble territory.
We found the landlord’s address and parked on the street. The house was dark inside, but a car sat in the driveway.
“Let me do the talking,” Sam said, and we got out. I followed him to the front door. Three angled windows lined the top edge. He rapped his knuckles so hard against the heavily painted wood I expected to see blood. Eventually, a light came on, and moments later we heard shuffling inside. “Police,” Sam announced.
The middle-aged man who opened the door squinted against the light. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he said, rubbing one eye and then the other. He wore flip-flops and tugged at the sleeve of a neon-green housecoat he’d pulled on over his pyjamas.
Sam had his notepad out. “Are you Huang Yeung?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding and blinking fiercely.
“We’re here as a courtesy. Earlier this evening, we detained two young men in the neighbourhood of the rental you own on Spires Road.” I looked sideways at Sam. “They broke a few windows, turned on some outdoor taps and shoved the hoses in basement windows. No one’s answering the door at your rental. We suggest you go over and make sure it’s secure.”
“Jesus! . . . I mean, thank you, officer. Yes, I’ll—” He stepped to his right then paused and swung back. “Yeah, I’ll go right now.” This time he stepped to his left and turned back into the house. He’d left the door ajar, distracted no doubt, with visions of water damage and rising insurance premiums.
Sam and I trotted back to the car and climbed in. “How long did it take you to come up with that whopper?” I asked.
Sam pulled his seat belt across his chest and clicked it into place. “You think this is the first time I’ve had to gain access without a warrant?”
“Isn’t this risky? That man doesn’t stand a chance against Smithford and his buddy.”
“He’ll be fine. Smithford knows him, and he has a legitimate reason for being there.”
“Except for the fact that no one knocked on his tenant’s door.”
The corners of Sam’s mouth curled up ever so slightly. “They probably just didn’t hear it.”
Yeung re-emerged still wearing the pyjama pants, but he’d pulled on a field jacket. It was an improvement on the housecoat. He got in his car, backed out of the driveway and made the turn toward Spires.
Sam took a different route, sped the entire way and approached from the other end of the street. He flipped off his headlights, coasted to the curb three houses away and cut the engine. Then he retrieved a pair of binoculars from a pocket on the driver door and scoped out our surroundings.
We watched Yeung pull into the driveway. He kept his head down and fumbled with keys as he climbed the stairs to the front porch.
“I sure hope he knocks first,” I said.
Sam watched through the binoculars. “He’s knocking.” Yeung grabbed the rail and bent to the right to look into the window. He straightened and then stooped. “Looks like he dropped the keys. He’s knocking again.”
Yeung turned and jogged down the stairs. “Where’s he going?” I said. Yeung stepped across the lawn and turned into the side yard.
“Checking for broken windows,” Sam said. “Curious they didn’t answer his knock.”
“Do you think they can see us?”
Sam didn’t answer. He kept his binoculars focused on the house. A few minutes later, Yeung came around the other side of the house and went straight to the garage. “He’s unlocking the garage,” Sam said. Seconds later we heard the rattle of the garage door opening. From this angle, I couldn’t see a vehicle inside.
“Where’s the van?” I said, startled by the sight of the empty bay.
This time when Yeung jogged up the front steps, he didn’t knock. He immediately inserted the key, opened the door wide and charged inside.
“Shit!” Sam hurled open his door and ran across the road. He pulled his gun from its holster as he crossed the door’s threshold. I hurried to catch up.
The living room lay to the right of the front door. It was bare. The dining room beyond was also bare. I looked left into a den and then a bedroom. There wasn’t so much as a dust bunny. Sam followed Yeung down a staircase off the hall, calling out and identifying himself. I poked through the kitchen cupboards and opened the fridge. Empty. I checked under the sink. No garbage.
“He signed a lease,” Yeung said, emerging from the basement. Sam’s gun was back in its holster. “I don’t rent for less than a year. I told him.”
Sam pulled out his phone. “Is this the man you rented to?”
Yeung glanced at Sam’s phone. “Yes. That’s him.” A quizzical glare crossed Yeung’s face. “Why do you have a photograph of my tenant?”
“The vandalism?” Sam said, reminding Yeung. “We looked up the plates on their vehicle. A white Mercedes cargo van, right?”
“Yes. Brand new.” He shook his head. “He had good references.”
Sam swiped to the photo of the second man. “What about him?”
“That’s his brother, Ed.” Sam and I glanced at one another. Brother? Not in any gene pool I knew of. “He lived here too.”
Sam opened the front hall closet. Empty.
“He had furniture, right?” I asked.
Yeung thought about it. “Less than most. He worked in sales. Said he spent a lot of time on the road.”
“Any broken windows? Water in the basement?” I asked, aiming for a bright spot in Yeung’s night.
He shook his head. “No. The trouble-makers didn’t hit here, thank god. No damage.”
Sam jammed his hand in his pocket and came out with a business card. He offered it to Yeung. “We’re sorry for your trouble here tonight, Mr. Yeung. I hate to see you taken advantage of. Perhaps we can help. Unofficially, you understand.” Yeung’s face brightened. “As soon as you get home, email me the rental agreement and anything else you have on Smithford or his brother. References, credit checks. We’ll see if we can find where Mr. Smithford has moved.”
Yeung dipped his head with a little bow. “Thank you.”
Sam rested his hand on Yeung’s shoulder. “This is strictly between you and me, because officially,”—Sam shook his head—”I couldn’t do it.”
“Yes, yes. Just between you and me,” Yeung said with a smile that nearly split his face.
We left Yeung in the house and returned to the car.
“They knew we were coming,” Sam said. “How?”
“The woman at the warehouse. She told us Mr. Clean was a good customer. She probably phoned him.”
“Mr. Clean?” Sam said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, Smithford’s not his name.” I picked up the binoculars and absently checked on the neighbours.
“Smithford would have known the vehicle rental agreement wouldn’t point to this address,” I said. “So why clear out of here? There must be a connection between Smithford and this place that he knew we’d find.”
Sam drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Unless they knew they were being followed. Could be someone saw your contact.”
I lowered the binoculars. “Not a chance. Sebastian is scary good at this.” His name was out of my mouth before I could stop it. Sam stilled his fingers. I closed my eyes. Damn it.
Sam resumed drumming and had the good grace not to mention my slip. “They vacated a perfectly safe hideout, in record time, and left not even a scrap of paper behind. These guys know what they’re doing, which means Yeung’s information will be a dead end.”
“I think we have to concede the obvious. The simplest answer is probably the right one. ICO have the skills and resources. They knew about the gift or some of it. Maybe they speculated there was more to it. They definitely knew James and I weren’t the only two.”
Sam studied my face. Behind the stern facade, thoughts turned and twisted. I knew because I was thinking the same ones.
“They know I’m a Ghost,” I said. “I fell for their trap back at that stronghold and showed them. That’s why Smithford and his partner cleared out. They knew once we were on to them they’d have nowhere to hide. This is my fault.”
He twisted in his seat. “If it was a trap, we both fell for it. Someone on the inside is responsible, but I’m not ready to concede ICO just yet. And we can’t forget that a child is still missing.”
My train of thought jumped the tracks and I swivelled my head to gaze out the windshield. With so many moving parts in this charade, how could whoever they were possibly look after a newborn? “Maybe the child isn’t missing. Sure, they wanted to make it look like that, but why take on the complication of a newborn if they didn’t have to.”
“What are you thinking?”
“They didn’t need to take the baby, just park him somewhere where he wouldn’t be found for twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Just enough time to get the info they were going after. The bundle in that woman’s arms as she left the hospital could have been a pillow for all we know.”
“Shit!” Sam reached down and started the car.
“Where are we going?”
He did a quick shoulder check and screeched away from the curb. “The hospital.” On the way, he called Abbott on the radio. We headed north on No. 3 Road and Sam tested the speed limit into Vancouver. By the time we’d arrived at St. Paul’s, the hospital was awash in a kaleidoscope of flashing red and white. Sam parked in the fire zone. We got out and approached the main entrance. Sam badged us past the police constables who barred the doors. The hospital had been locked down.
Despite the early hour, the hospital buzzed with activity. Inside, a throng of uniformed police, scrub-clad nurses and aides were being dispatched with speed by a man in a white coat with a clipboard. Abbott stood at his side and motioned Sam and me over. “We’ve already searched and secured the basement levels. The teams are moving from top to bottom now. If that child is still here, we’ll find him.”
Sam and I stepped aside and let the man do his job. Abbott was in constant contact with his teams, talking alternately into his shoulder mic and a hand-held radio and jotting down notes on what looked like floor plans secured to a clipboard of his own.
Sam and I made like patients and planted ourselves in uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room. Fifty minutes later, Abbott’s shoulders slumped and he raised his eyes to the ceiling. The white-clad man at his side took off at a gallop and disappeared into the stairwell. Sam and I stood and walked lockstep to the lip of the waiting room. Abbott closed his eyes and didn’t move. When his radio finally squeaked, he lowered his chin and a slow smile spread across his face.
Sam wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “They found him,” he said, and exhaled a heavy breath. We stood in accord, two colleagues relieved of a heavy burden. I snaked my arm around his waist and squeezed back.
It took another thirty minutes to learn the details. A “nurse” had placed the kidnapped newborn with a new single mom who’d suffered a hemorrhage bad enough to keep her on bedrest and extend her hospital stay. She’d been told the baby’s mother had died during delivery and they needed a wet nurse. The young mother had no reason to question the nurse, and her child’s bassinette was big enough for two. The young mother had been more than happy to help the poor motherless babe.
Sam shook Abbott’s hand and patted the backs of several of the uniformed officers before we made our way back to his unmarked. He got in and rested his arms on the steering wheel. “You were right,” he said, as I clicked my seat belt into place. “Some bastard’s been playing us and I want to know who the fuck it is.”
He started the engine, fastened his own seat belt and pulled out.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked.
“A video call to Ottawa. It’s time I had a discussion with General Cain, and I want to see his face when I do.” Sam reported our ICO activity to the general, much like I reported to Sebastian.
I pointed to the clock. “It’s barely five in the morning there.”
Sam signalled a turn. “He wanted timely reports.”
“He won’t be in his office at this hour.”
“I’m not calling his office.”
Traffic was non-existent as we left the downtown. Ten minutes later, Sam parked on the street near Olympic Village on First Avenue. He popped the trunk. “You coming?” he asked, and got out.
I didn’t ask the obvious, simply followed. I removed my vest and dropped it in the trunk. He pulled out a computer bag, locked the car and led me to a townhouse with a red door. Sam’s keys jingled in his hand. This was his place, or so it would seem, and it struck me as odd that I’d never imagined where he lived.
He unlocked the door, pushed it open and reached inside to flick on the lights. “After you,” he said, gesturing. He stepped in behind me, locked the door and kicked off his shoes. A closet and a staircase going up lay on the left. A small, sparsely furnished bedroom lay on the right.
I slipped out of my shoes and followed Sam down the corridor. It spilled out into a sleek kitchen, which was open to the dining and living rooms. “You didn’t tell me you lived with Martha Stewart,” I said, stunned by the contemporary colour-coordinated décor.
“Don’t be impressed. It came like this. It was a show suite.”
“I like it.” I raked my gaze over the space looking for clues to Sam’s personal life. There wasn’t much: a beat-up recliner that Martha hadn’t picked out and a stack of newspapers.
“It’s close to the station,” he said, oblivious to the compliment. He stepped into a small den opposite the kitchen. I slowed and looked around. A drain rack on the counter above the dishwasher held a few pieces of cutlery, a cup, a plate and a mismatched bowl.
I crossed into the den, where Sam had shrugged out of his jacket and now stood with his shoulder holster in view. The computer bag lay on his desk. He turned on a lamp then walked around the desk and sat in the swivel chair behind it. “You’re not here,” he said, unzipping the bag. He pulled out the computer and opened it.
“Sit there and don’t move.” He pointed to a modern leather-and-chrome guest chair. One wall of the small office was glass and looked out into the living room. Another was lined with neatly framed photographs of children’s sports teams.
The screen lit Sam’s face. “Not a word from you,” he warned, tapping on the computer’s keys. He plugged in a headset and wriggled the buds in his ears. It seemed I would hear only one side of this conversation.
“General Cain,” Sam said. “I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure ‘congratulations’ is the right sentiment.”
“Someone went to extraordinary lengths to make it look like a kidnapping and yet the child never left the hospital,” Sam said. “He was never in serious danger. This wasn’t a kidnapping, it was a set-up.”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Sam said. “I’ve emailed you two photographs. The men in those photographs employed drones to keep tabs on me and my operative during the investigation. And there’s no doubt in my mind that those men are military. If you sent them, I’d like to know why.”
Sam dropped his gaze to the desk. “I don’t mean any disrespect.”
I furrowed my brow.
“Not you,” Sam said. “But whoever set us up employs trained military, has the skills to infiltrate encrypted databases and was in place six months ago. If it isn’t ICO, it’s someone in your line of business.”
“And you’ll let me know?”
“All right. Next week then.” Sam pulled out his earbuds and closed the laptop.
“He knew the child had been found. Congratulated us.” Sam remained deathly still, his stare focused on the laptop as though he could see through it to the desk below. “Says he doesn’t recognize the drone operators.”
“Why do I get the impression you don’t believe him?”
Sam slowly coiled the earbud wires. “It’s always the little shit that trips you up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m Cain’s contact. So who told him the child had been found?”
“Someone from the station?”
“No one at the station knows I report to Cain. Officially, I’m the communication liaison between the RCMP and CSIS. A civilian position. Cain is military.”
“So Cain knows who’s behind this.”
Sam scrubbed his face with his hands. “Yup, and whoever it is set us up. And worse? Cain knows it and he’s shutting me out. Told me to take a fucking week off. Bastard!” He slammed his fist on the desk. “What kind of lowlife uses a baby for this shit?” He shoved his chair back and leapt to his feet. “You and me? That newborn? We’re all fucking pawns.”
I’d never seen Sam so angry, and the violence of it shook me. He paced in front of the glass wall while I made a futile attempt to melt into my chair.
When he stopped pacing, he put his hands on his hips. “You know the problem with pawns? They’re a means to an end. They’re expendable.” He looked at me with fire in his eyes. “I got news for them. We’re not playing that game anymore.”
A thought whispered across my mind and snapped me to attention. “Oh, no!” I straightened in my chair. “James! He’s been off the grid. What if Cain or his buddies are pulling the same crap with him?” I wasn’t the only one with secrets ICO didn’t know about.
Sam locked down his eyebrows, pulled out his phone and then hesitated, his thumb hovering over the screen. “I don’t know Beale. I’ve met him, but that’s all. He could be a part of this.”
Sam dialled. “Hey, Beale. Jordan here. Wrapped up another case. Interesting one. Call me for the deets.” He hung up.
“He wasn’t there?”
“No,” Sam said, perching his butt on the edge of the desk.
And we were back to waiting—waiting for Beale to call, waiting for James to call, waiting for my house of secrets to implode. “How do we find out who Cain’s been talking to?”
“If our suspect called him from the station, the digital call logs might ID him. It’s a long shot. I can’t imagine anyone dealing with Cain would be stupid enough to leave a trail, but it’s my only move.”
“You never know. They were stupid enough to get caught by us. What do you think they were after?”
“My guess? They want to know what you’re capable of. What they might be up against.”
I gathered my courage and stood. Sam looked at me. “I’d better get back. Report in.”
“What are you going to tell Mason?”
Sam erroneously believed I reported to Mason. He had no reason to know that Sebastian was the current head of the Tribunal, and correcting Sam’s misperception would expose Sebastian, not that I hadn’t already hit my thumb with that hammer. “I’ll start with the child. Give him the good news. But he needs to know we’ve been compromised. Cain and whoever he’s been talking to are a threat to us. We have to protect ourselves, or at least prepare.”
“Don’t tell him about investigating the traffickers’ stronghold. He doesn’t need to know that.”
“If there’s evidence of me in action at that house, ICO will use it. He’ll find out soon enough.”
“Maybe they have proof, maybe they don’t.” Sam rammed the computer in its bag none too gently. “You think I don’t know what goes on in your inner circles. I have a pretty good idea. Don’t tell him.”
I wondered if Sam’s “pretty good idea” was even close. The Tribunal dished out retribution with an unforgiving hand and no chance of appeal. If they had proof that I’d further exposed us, who knew what price I’d pay? I wasn’t anxious to find out. “If I can avoid it, I will. But I won’t lie to him.”
Sam nodded. “I’d better get to the station, go through those digital logs before they disappear. Can I give you a lift?”
I declined Sam’s offer. A long trip home would give me time to clear my head. Telling Sebastian that General Cain knew we’d been compromised and wasn’t sharing the details would not be a fun conversation. It also meant our deal with ICO was a farce. Once again, the secret I’d had a hand in exposing was in jeopardy.
I pulled up my hood, stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked to Broadway, where a night bus would still be running. The cool air put a spark in my step. Street traffic was sparse. I slowed at the first bus stop I came across and glanced back. With no bus on the horizon, I continued walking toward the next stop.
Sebastian, like most of the Tribunal members, didn’t think the world would accept the free existence of our kind. At best, Fliers would be treated like privacy-trouncing drones. And when people learned the second lens in our eyes was as good as a weapon, who knew how they’d react? It wasn’t as though there were a safety or a trigger guard.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that Avery had found me and opened the blinds to shine light on the wonder of this gift. I remembered the disconnect I felt after experiencing flight for the first time, knowing that Jolene had given this gift away. Mason believed his sister had gifted me in a suicide bid. Now I wondered if she’d simply gotten tired of having a target on her back.
Life seemed so much simpler when I was just a woman who had a problem with gravity. How I longed to go back to my cottage in Summerset, close the door and shut out the world.
With the next bus stop ahead, I turned. Instead of a bus, a cab approached. On impulse, I thrust out my hand and hailed it. The cab rolled to the curb and I jumped in.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked, looking at me in his rear-view mirror.
“Summerset,” I said. “Cliffside Avenue.”