“Last year,” Webb told Knox, “my grandfather David McLean died. I have six cousins, all guys, all about my age. In his will, he left each of us a task and the money it would take to complete the task. My cousin DJ went to Africa. Steve to Spain. Adam to France. Bunny and Spencer stayed in Canada. And Rennie went to Iceland. Me? Grandfather sent me to the Northwest Territories, and I hiked a remote trail. Led me to discover something that happened about sixty years ago.”
“Ruby Gavin’s father,” Lee said. “The funeral in Eagleville.”
“And more than that.”
David McLean had hired a private investigator to dig up information on Webb’s stepfather, information that had removed the stepfather as a threat from Webb’s life and the life of his mother. Not Lee’s business though.
Webb instead told Lee about the other legacy. “Grandfather left money for me to get some songs recorded in Nashville. I did that before Christmas, and then I went back to Canada for a visit.”
Webb wondered if he should explain how the producer seemed to be ripping him off and how he was still trying to get back the copies of the songs. Webb decided against that too. It wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.
“The day after Christmas,” Webb continued, “all the grandsons who were around decided to spend the day at our grandfather’s cottage, in honor of his memory.”
Webb could easily picture it. The snow-plowed driveway marked by an old, handmade mailbox in the shape of a beehive. The cottage that had begun as a few bedrooms and a stone fireplace in a central room, with more and more rooms added on over the years.
Webb had driven up to the cottage with Adam, happy to listen to him talk about movies. Webb wasn’t about to talk about his troubles with a sleazy producer in Nashville.
“We were nearly out of firewood, and it was cold. Spencer was pulling at a log beside the fireplace and didn’t know that it was actually nailed in place to hide a panel behind it. First thing that came out when the panel pulled loose was a Walther PPK.”
“You Canadians even know what that is?” Lee said. “I thought the only weapons you had up there were snowballs.”
“Ha, ha,” Webb answered. “We watch movies too. A Walther PPK is what Bond uses. But trust me, we were rattled. What would our grandfather be doing with a hidden weapon?”
“Take your time with this,” Lee said. “We’ve got more than two hundred miles ahead of us, and you’ve got my full interest.”
“My cousin Bunny is a cool kid,” Webb said. “Kind of lives in his own world. He got hold of the gun, and when he pulled the trigger—”
“Not loaded,” Lee interrupted. “Tell me it wasn’t loaded.”
“Bunny didn’t think so. It was very loud. Understatement. Nobody got hurt though. And that wasn’t the most dangerous thing we found.”
There’d been a mesh bag full of golf balls, but confusing as that was, it didn’t seem relevant, so Webb described the money instead.
“My grandfather had hidden a bag full of money behind the panel,” Webb said. “Lots of currencies. I mean, lots. Ten thousand in American. Ten thousand in Canadian. Five thousand British pounds, five thousand Euros. Argentinian pesos. Russian rubles. We wanted to believe it was there because he’d made a good living as an importer/exporter. That’s what everyone had believed while he was alive.”
“That makes sense,” Lee said.
“But the passports didn’t. British. Spanish. American. Russian. German. About a dozen. Each of them with his photo, and each of them with a different name.”
“Import/export,” Lee said. “You were thinking…”
“Yeah,” Webb said. “Spy. It didn’t help that there were some disguises in the bag too. It was hard to comprehend. Who had our grandfather been? Someone we never really knew like we thought we did? A spy?”
“Not necessarily,” Lee said. “Maybe there was another explanation.”
“Like what?” Webb asked.
They traveled about a mile in silence. Lee broke it first. “Okay, maybe there isn’t another explanation. But if he was working for the Canadian government, that makes him a good guy. And, of course, he’d have to keep it hidden from his family. We have the CIA. You guys have…”
“CSIS. Canadian Security Intelligence Service.”
“So he probably spent his life helping Canada then.”
“Except…” Webb said. He needed to gather himself to continue. He’d promised Lee the truth and all of it. That didn’t make it easy though.
“Except?”
“We found a small black notebook too.” Webb could picture Adam holding it up after he’d found it in the back corner of the hidden cubbyhole. “There was a note from our grandfather in it.”
Webb pulled out his iPhone. He’d taken a photo of the note, and now he read it to Lee.
“I hoped I’d never have to use this book, but I needed to keep my own record, my own account, in case things ever came tumbling down around me. Maybe I know better than anybody that you can never trust anything or anyone, and I needed proof of who I was and what I did. I just know that I always did what needed to be done. Nothing more, and nothing less.”
“Good guy,” Lee said. “Cautious. Wants to make sure there’s no blowback.”
“Blowback?”
“Repercussions. It’s a gun expression for burns from exploding powder.”
Webb sighed. It was a heavy load, only made easier because he knew his six cousins were bearing it with him. “The notebook was divided into sections. One for each passport. From when my grandfather was younger. A lot of it was written in what looked like code. There was also an envelope that fell out as we opened it. You could see the imprint of some words on the front. You are a traitor. You deserve to die.”
“Nice Christmas present,” Lee said.
“And a Happy New Year. Our parents didn’t expect us back until New Year’s Day, so some of us decided to take the week to do what we could to prove he wasn’t a traitor. We’re going to report back to each other at the end of the week. Adam, DJ and I each chose passports and the currency that went with them. DJ sent stuff to Steve in Spain, and Adam to Rennie in South America. Bunny couldn’t leave the country, so he and his brother, Spencer took some other stuff.”
“Long shot,” Lee said. “Especially if your grandfather was involved with CSIS. Most things would be under wraps. Ancient history too.”
“You’d think,” Webb said. “Except here we are, on a highway at night, because someone burned your house and garage to the ground. Maybe not so ancient history.”
They both gave that some thought. Then Lee said, “Your grandfather had an American passport? That’s why you’re here?”
“It’s the fake Canadian passport I’m worried about. With his photo and in the name Sean Alexander. It had stamps from entry into Saigon and Paris. The dates were in the seventies. Both the identification cards I left with you were in the passport, tucked between the pages. I only found them after I left the cottage.”
“Easy conclusion that it has something to do with the Vietnam War.” Lee grunted. “I was talking to Roy on the phone while Ali was giving you a ride to Marion. He says the guy who tried to take you at the memorial was a Vietnamese gangster.”
“Maybe this helps,” Webb said. After telling this much, there was no point holding back the rest. “The Sean Alexander passport also had two other identification cards tucked between the pages. Not military, just ID. One for a man and one for a woman. Both Vietnamese.”
“Yeah,” Lee said. “It does help. All of it points to Vietnam and the war. If we can find out what the link is, we’ll get our answers. If your grandfather was a spy, you want to prove he wasn’t a traitor. Me? I want payback for a burned-down house.”