Period of Adjustment Ch. 05-08

She went off to work on Monday morning and gave me a spare key to the apartment. She only had one underground secure parking spot, so I was forced to use the street for the time being. That made me very uncomfortable, particularly in an area where car theft was a common occurrence.

I made a couple of decisions when she had left for the day. First, I stopped at a large shopping mall and bought a cheap sport bag. Next, I found a secluded place in an area some distance from the apartment. It was an abandoned industrial site. I made sure I was out of sight when I removed the Glock, the ammunition and the five remaining bundles of cash. Everything went into the sport bag.

After finding a small ceiling hatch in the hall closet in Natasha's apartment, I put the bag up there, making sure I left no evidence that I had been there. Then, I went back to my car and started searching out car dealers in the area. I found several, and after perusing their used car inventories, I bought a nearly new Nissan Maxima in trade for the Taurus and some cash. I used Taggart's compensation fund for the first time.

By noon hour I had my stash secured, and a new car, fully licensed and insured. I decided to drive into the city as see just what Vancouver was all about. I discovered that it was all about traffic. By trial and error I found Grandville Island and spent most of the afternoon there. I headed back for Natasha's place just before five.

When I let myself into her apartment, she was already home. I was greeted like a man just coming home to his wife. A nice big kiss and a "how was your day?" I told her about the new car and she wanted to see it. She liked the Maxima. Very sexy, she thought. She drove a fairly new VW Beetle Convertible, a chickmobile in my opinion. She made a nice, simple dinner for us with a glass of wine to complement it, and we sat down to eat.

When I tried to talk to her about my looking for an apartment, she wouldn't hear of it. As far as she was concerned, I was staying with her. I thought about it, voicing my concerns about her privacy, giving her some space, and my being someone new in her life, but it was to no avail. She was determined, and to tell the truth, I wasn't that upset. I was looking forward to continuing our intimate relationship. I had a lot of catching up to do.

It took me a little while to track him down, but I finally located an old acquaintance of mine from Interpol. Harold Sinden had retired to start his own private investigation firm in Vancouver. He was a very cool, savvy operative, and if he ran his business like he performed his job, he would be a monster success. He called his agency Orca Investigations, and their number was prominent in the yellow pages.

"Harold Sinden, please," I said to the receptionist.

"Who may I say is calling?"

"Just tell him it's Rocky."

I heard her switch the call, and after a moment, the ring tone.

"Colin? Is that you?"

"Yeah. Back from the dead, Harold," I chuckled.

"Bloody hell, mate! It's good to hear your voice. Where are you?"

"I'm here."

"Can we meet? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, so far. No sign of problems. Fancy a pull at a local?"

"Took the words right outta me mouth, son. Pig and Whistle at half three?"

"Fine, see you there," I agreed, and hung up. Old habits die hard: short phone calls with little unnecessary conversation. I picked up the phone book, checked the yellow pages for downtown pubs, and found The Pig and Whistle. I tapped in the address on the Maxima's GPS screen, and set out following the voice instructions.

Harold had changed very little in the nearly ten years since I'd seen him last. His British midlands accent had faded some. Tall, over six feet, lean, gray combed back hair. Cold blue eyes that saw everything. He held out his hand to me and pulled me in for a hug. He was that kind of guy. Cold when he had to be, and warm when he allowed himself to be. I trusted him above anyone I knew. Only Anwar Muktiar, Denis Simard and his wife Cassie ranked at the same level of confidence.

We took a seat in the far corner of the room. There were few people in the bar at mid-afternoon and we could talk in relative privacy.

"How are you, Colin," Harold asked as we ordered our drinks.

"Not bad. Angry, as you can guess, but otherwise, not bad."

"I'm still shaking my head about how they dropped you in it. Their best operative and they treat you like dirt. Thank god Taggart's gone."

"Taggart's gone! What the hell?"

"Of course, you wouldn't know. Sorry. They gave him a golden parachute. It might as well have been made of lead. He didn't last a week."

"What the hell are you talking about Harold?"

"He dropped dead of a heart attack working in his back yard. His wife was with him. He was gone before the paramedics got there."

"Shit! Miserable bastard can still get to me, even when he's dead."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was going to harass him just to get even for what he did to me and my family. Now ...." I left it at that.

"Colin, it's over now. Done. He's gone, and you've got the rest of your life ahead of you. Do yourself a favour and forget him."

"When did all this happen? I had a meeting with him just two weeks ago."

Harold laughed out loud. "So you're the one! I heard he was so upset that he nearly had a stroke. Anyway, he was given the boot on Wednesday last, and he died on Sunday afternoon."

"Where the hell are you getting all this information from?" I was curious just how Harold would know so quickly. He tapped the side of his nose and said nothing. I knew better than to probe any further. It would be futile.

I sat silently for a while, sipping my beer and thinking. What now?

It was time to change the subject. "How are Dorothy and the kids?"

"Fine. She's happy here, and the children come across to see us once a year or so. We should have grandchildren soon."

"Good to hear it."

"Do you have any plans, Colin?" This wasn't an innocent question from Harold.

"No. I'm not in any rush. I'm flush. However, you should know I'm currently going about as Nathan Poirier. Nathan doesn't have a criminal record. I'm staying with a woman I met in California. She has an apartment in Burnaby. I'll probably stick with my new identity."

"What about your parents? Have you seen them yet?"

"No. They never came to see me in prison. I don't know why. Perhaps they've disowned me ... the wayward son. Just like Elise."

"I heard. She's disappeared. Not on anyone's radar right now. Your parents moved, I know. They've got a winter home in Florida, and they moved to someplace near Waterloo. Nice part of the country, I understand."

"Where the hell did they get the money to buy a home in Florida? They win the lottery or something?"

Harold shook his head. "Don't know, son. I expect they'll be heading down there soon. I'm sure I can find a phone number and address for you, if you like."

"No ... that's fine. I can dig that up easily enough." I paused again, before changing the topic once more. "Something doesn't smell right, Harold. I'm not sure I wasn't being tailed in Oregon ... maybe even before then. I checked the car for tracking bugs, but couldn't find anything at all. Still, I think the car was disturbed at least once."

"Things have changed in eight years, Colin. Technology has made another big jump while you were gone. Today's tracking device is a clear plastic patch, not much more than an inch square. Most often, it's hidden near the stem of the passenger side windshield wiper, down where the black mask on the windshield prevents you from seeing it from the inside. If you don't know where to look for it, you won't notice it."

"Shit. I've probably been tracked since I bought that car. I'd better check the one I'm driving now." I was shaking my head. I wonder what other surprises were in store for me.

"Don't worry too much about it, son. I'm pretty sure it was you former employer trying to keep tabs on you. The place is in turmoil right now. Several upper level bureaucrats went for the high jump with Taggart. They sent Singh off to India as security for the cultural liaison staff."

"Who's running the show?" I asked, now intrigued with the changes.

"Don't know yet. Denis Simard is heading up tactical, but I hear it's temporary. The rumour on the street is that the minister wants field experience at the top."

"Well I'll be damned. They might accidentally do the right thing. I hope they make Denis's appointment permanent. There might be hope for CSIS yet."

"So ... Colin ... if you haven't decided yet ... why don't you give coming to work here a thought? You'd fit right in." Harold had been after me in the past to work for him. "Things have changed in the past five years. We spend our efforts combating industrial crime. Besides, I'm now working internationally. I need someone who can operate in foreign countries. You've got that experience. I think you'd find this work rewarding, Colin."

"I can't travel with my criminal record, Harold. I'd be no use to you."

"No ... but Nathan whoever can."

"My fingerprints will give me away."

"Colin ... this isn't CSIS. This is industrial and commercial. Unless you get picked up by the police, fingerprints won't be an issue."

I sat, looking down into my beer. Was this offer a way to a decent future? I couldn't see one as Colin Stewart ... not with my record. Perhaps I should take what I could get and not argue. I should be grateful that people like Harold wanted to help. I needed something to give my life some purpose. It would never again be about the money. That was all taken care of. Now, it was about self-worth.

"Let's talk about it. I haven't had any offers lately that sound better."

"Come to my office on Monday. I'll introduce you to some of my people and give you a walk around. You might find this more interesting than you think. At least come and have a look."

I had no doubt about Harold's sincerity. I trusted him and I was confident I could work for him. I nodded my agreement.

Chapter 7: Visitors

"How was your day," Natasha asked as I stepped into the apartment.

"Interesting. I met an old friend of mine and he offered me a job. I'm thinking I might take it."

"Oh ... what kind of job?" I had her attention.

"He runs a detective agency. He's going international and wants me to use my experience in catching commercial criminals. He made it sound interesting."

"Oh ... is it dangerous?"

"No, I don't think so. Most of what he described was theft, industrial espionage ... that sort of thing."

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Sure ... why not. It's something I was trained for ... in a way. Gathering intelligence, assessing information, separating the good guys from the bad guys. It's what I know."

"Yeah. I suppose it is." Natasha seemed less than delighted with my potential new career.

"You don't sound very happy about it," I said.

Natasha was quick to deny. "No ... no ... It's not my decision anyway. You have to do what you think is right. What you'll be happy with."

I stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what she was thinking. We had become physically close in the past few days. The intimacy was one thing, but the personal closeness was different. We were still feeling each other out. Trying to understand if there was a future for us. I didn't know, and I was fairly sure Natasha didn't either.

I walked to her and wrapped my arms around her. "What's wrong? You seem a bit down."

"I keep wondering if one day you won't just disappear, just like you appeared."

"Would that bother you?"

"Yes ... of course it would. I don't just let anyone into my life." There was an unspoken message in that comment.

"Why do you think I would just disappear?"

She looked at me strangely, as if she was wondering what to say herself. It took her a moment before she spoke.

"I know some things about you. I know you worked for CSIS. I know you were in prison for several years."

I was caught completely off guard. "How do you know these things?"

"Denis Simard told me."

"How do you know Denis?"

"I work for CSIS."

I was stunned. I had been played like an amateur. My so-called skills had been useless to protect me from an easy intercept. Speechless, I moved back from her and dropped my arms to my side. I turned to the lounge chair and sat.

"Denis will be here after supper. He needs to talk to you," she said in a quiet voice. She almost seemed afraid of me at that point.

I sat in the chair, saying nothing, just staring at her. I didn't know whether to be hurt, angry, or relieved. Hurt that she had deceived me, angry that I had allowed her to get close to me, or relieved that our mutual deception was over.

"Denis will explain everything when he comes, Nathan." She was still using that soft, quiet voice I had come to love.

"Why do you still call me Nathan? You know my name is Colin." I wasn't irate ... but I wasn't very happy either.

"I told you, I like that name. It suits the person I think you are. The person I've been with for the past week."

"The person you've been controlling the past week, you mean." I was beginning to feel an anger building. I had been followed, tagged, and maneuvered like a steer on a cattle drive. There was nothing to feel good about with this turn of events.

"I wasn't doing anything of the kind. I was there because I wanted to be with you. Once I knew you were coming here, my assignment was done. The rest of it was personal. We could track you anyway, but we wanted to know your destination, and if possible, your intent. You gave me both, and I had no reason not to believe you."

I had my hands folded beneath my chin, watching her, trying to judge just how honest she was being. I really couldn't tell.

At length, Natasha spoke. "Why don't we eat now? I've made supper and it's in the oven, waiting for us."

I thought about it for a moment before I agreed. I stood and walked with her to the kitchen.

We ate in silence, my mind trying to decide just how I felt about the events of the last seven days. I was thinking as much about Natasha as I was about the interception. I didn't work for CSIS any more, and I never intended to again. They couldn't be trying to retrieve the eight million I had extorted out of Taggart. Hell would freeze over before that happened. And I wasn't going back to jail. Not under any circumstances. What did Denis want?

I barely heard the question she asked as we finished the meal. "Do you hate me, Nathan?"

"No. You were just doing your job," I answered honestly. I had been in her situation before. I was curious though. "If you didn't have to accompany me, it puts a different colour on your behaviour.

"It wasn't really my job. I just happened to be nearby. I work in Section One. We don't get involved in field work."

"You did this time. Why did you agree to travel with me?"

"I told you ... I was lonely. You were good company. I trusted you."

"Is Natasha your real name?"

"Yes."

She stood to clear the table and as she did, the intercom buzzer sounded. Natasha put the dishes down and moved to the phone on the wall. "Hello?" She listened and then pushed the button for the lobby door release.

"It's Denis. He will be here in a moment. He will want to talk to you alone, so I'll look after the dishes and then go the bedroom while you talk." I couldn't miss the look of sadness on her face.

Two minutes later I heard the knock on the door and I walked to it.

"Hello, Colin," Denis said with an understated smile. This didn't look like a social call. We had been very close; he and his wife, Cassie. It wasn't how I expected him to greet me after more than eight years.

"Hi, Denis. Come in, please."

We walked to the living room and Denis sat in the lounge chair, wearing a serious mask.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes ... the usual, thanks."

"Scotch, water, no ice," I remembered. I poured myself one as well.

"It's been a long time, Denis. How's Cassie?"

"She's fine. She sends her best."

I nodded. "Why do I get the feeling this isn't an 'old pals get together for a drink' meeting?"

"Colin ... I'm sorry to have to tell you this ... but ... your parents are dead."

I sat there stunned into silence. My parents dead? How? When? I couldn't comprehend it. I had planned to find them and try to reconnect with them in a week or so. Bewildered, I didn't know what to say or where to start. I sank back on the sofa, tears beginning to well in my eyes.

"There's no easy way to say this, Colin. They were murdered."

Now I was really in turmoil. It wasn't an accident. It wasn't an act of God. Someone had taken their lives. Why?

Denis sensed my frozen state and continued. "They were in their home in Sarasota. They had been tied to their kitchen chairs, facing each other. There were signs they had been ... interrogated."

I finally found my voice. "How did they die?"

"They were shot. One bullet in the head. I'm sure they never felt any pain."

"Executed, you mean," I said, feeling the groundswell of anger building in me.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"There's no evidence of anything being stolen. The place was undisturbed and there was no sign of a break in. They weren't there to steal," he said, his slight French accent still evident. "They were looking for you. When your parents couldn't tell them ... well, you can imagine the rest." I don't think I'd ever seen Denis look quite as pale and unhappy as he did at that moment.

"Why me?"

"We're sure it's the River Riders. After you fingered the killer of the boy, the SQ's moved in and raided their club houses. They got enough evidence to break the gang up into fragments. There are some old grudges out there. We believe they want you for 'demonstration purposes,' to make sure everyone knows what happens if you mess with them and their operations."

"Pros?"

"I'm sure that's right. We have picked some street noise that Marvin Warrington has been hired. He was last seen in the U.S., but he's dropped out of sight in the past two weeks. Your parents died sometime late last week, but weren't found until two days ago. The Sarasota County police are keeping a lid on this for now. The FBI has joined us in asking them to kill any publicity. It's being played like a domestic violence crime for the time being.

"And you're here to warn me," I said finally. He nodded. "Where are my parents' bodies?"

"They're in the county coroner's office until the autopsies are done. Then they will be shipped back to Kitchener. I'll let you know when that happens, but I don't think you should be involved. I'm sure someone will be watching for you."

"Kitchener. Is that where they moved to from Ottawa?"

"Yes. We suggested both they and your ex-wife should be less visible, just in case. When nothing happened for eight years, we thought they were safe. We should have guessed they might go after you when you got out. I'm sorry, Colin, I never wanted this to happen."

"I know. I didn't expect anything either." I sat, lost in a tumble of unconnected thoughts. "I'll be packed and out of here in a half hour. I don't want to put Natasha at risk."

"Don't jump to conclusions yet, Colin. They haven't found you and they don't have any leads. They don't know your new name, I'm betting."

"You're betting with my life, Denis. And Natasha's. I don't like the odds. Besides, someone may have disturbed my car in Oregon. They may be closer than you think."

Denis sat back and sipped his drink. "That was four days ago. If it was them, they'd have found you and tried to deal with you by now."

I had never seen him this way before. He looked gray with worry. He really didn't know what to expect. Neither did I. But it was pretty certain I was targeted, and that whoever was after me would use any leverage to find me. It didn't look good for my future.