Period of Adjustment Ch. 05-08

"You'd better look after Natasha," I said quietly.

He nodded. "Stay here, Colin. We'll assign agents to watch the place. Do you have a gun?"

"No," I lied.

"Natasha does. I'll get you one. In the meantime, we've got agents watching Elise as well. I'd be surprised if they aren't looking for her. No one but Cassie and I know your whereabouts at CSIS, so there's no chance of a leak."

I nodded, suddenly tired. I didn't like the way this was shaping up. My parents were dead before I could talk to them. I'd never be able to make it right with them. Never get them to understand I wasn't who they thought I was. We sat silently for a while.

"How did they end up buying a house in Florida?" I finally asked.

"Your dad and two of his army friends bought a double-wide in a mobile home park. Apparently it needed fixing up, but the park was nice and I guess they figured it was a good investment. There was enough room for all three families, but only your parents were there at the time. I think they were getting it ready for the winter season."

"Fuck! How the hell would someone know that? Have you checked his friends?"

"Yes. They're fine. I doubt they're in danger. They don't know anything about you."

"What's the chance of finding Warrington?"

"Maybe fifty-fifty. He's pretty unremarkable. I'm sure he'll be back in Canada, if not already here. We're checking all the border and airport security tapes. Sooner or later we'll track him down."

"I'm counting on sooner, Denis." I couldn't help a worried smile. He nodded his agreement as he sipped on his scotch. Mine had been hardly touched. Suddenly, I didn't like the taste.

"You know I'm never coming back," I finally said.

"Yes. I know. I don't blame you. You were treated very badly by the top end. I'm glad you got them to pay for their betrayal. The only trouble is that it didn't cause them any pain. I think they're much more worried about what you have tucked away -- safely I hope."

"Yes. Let them know it's in their best interest that nothing happens to Natasha, me ... or for that matter, you."

Denis smiled for the first time since he'd walked in the door. "I will."

When I closed the door behind him, I wondered what was going to happen in the next week or so. Would I even have to wait that long? I had made a decision about Natasha. For her protection, I was going to have to guard her as carefully as myself. I was also going to have to take her into my confidence. I walked to the bedroom door and knocked softly.

She answered almost immediately, a terrified look on her face.

"Come into the living room. We need to talk." I walked back to the sofa I had been occupying and Natasha followed me, choosing to sit near me.

"I've put you in danger, girl. I didn't mean for that to happen, but it has. Someone is out to kill me. A professional. He won't stop until we get him, or he gets me. Denis is arranging for protection, but it isn't foolproof, and we are going to have to be very careful for the next while."

Her expression hadn't changed, but she was nodding her understanding.

"Denis tells me you have a gun. Would you get if for me, please."

She rose and walked swiftly to the bedroom, returning seconds later, handing me a small pistol. It was a Beretta 3032 Tomcat, a ladies gun with limited range and stopping power. A purse pistol. Of little use to me, I checked it and it was loaded. It didn't look like it had ever been fired.

"Can you use this?"

"Yes. I've had some practice with it. It doesn't have much range, though."

I nodded. At least she had fired it and knew its limitations. "Keep it on you at all times. Without fail! Understood?" I delivered my order in a no-nonsense tone.

"Yes. I understand, Nathan"

"I told Denis I didn't have a gun and he said he'd get me one. I hope neither of us ever needs to use it."

She nodded her agreement, her face a mask of fear and uncertainty. I moved to her and wrapped my arms around her. She was shaking as I held her.

"You didn't sign up for this, did you?" I murmured in her ear. She shook her head, still trembling.

"Well, girl, you're going to have to trust me and Denis. I promise we will do everything we can to keep you safe."

Chapter 8: Survival

The next day, a courier delivered a package to Natasha's door. It was a carefully packaged 45 cal. Glock 36 Slim-Line, complete with back holster. A box of shells accompanied the weapon. I now had two very powerful weapons at my disposal. I tested the holster and gun under my jacket, and I was satisfied that it was unobtrusive. I would be wearing it constantly until my adversary had been dealt with.

More surprisingly though, the box contained a concealed weapon carry permit, made out to Nathan Poirier. Now I wondered how many people knew that this was my new identity. It made me uncomfortable, but the permit would resolve any problems I might have if someone spotted the gun.

I dropped Natasha at her gallery and met with Harold Sinden on Monday as promised. He gave the full tour and what I would describe as the full-court press. It wasn't very subtle, but it didn't leave any doubt that he really did want me to work for him. I met several of his people, and I was impressed with their professionalism and diversity.

It was a bit of a risk, but when the tour was over, I filled Harold in on what had happened to my parents, and the threat to myself, Natasha, and my ex-wife. He immediately offered to provide some additional surveillance on Natasha, and I accepted. I would pay for their protection services, but it wasn't an issue at this point. I just wanted all the resources I could gather to protect her.

I told Harold that I would join Orca Investigations, but not until I had some sense that the danger was lessened. He wasn't happy, but he understood. We did agree that I would come in during the day for a couple of hours for orientation and training before I began with a caseload. It would at least give me something to do when Natasha was at her office.

He loaned me one of his electronics specialists, and we went over my car, Natasha's, and the apartment, making sure we were free of tracking and listening devices. When that was accomplished, Harold installed tracking patches that were exclusive to his "system," and applied them to Natasha's and my car. He was concerned that the CSIS system may have been compromised, and I might be located. Denis didn't need to know about that.

So it began. The orientation was quite surprising and revealing. I had little understanding of the kind of work private detectives did in this modern age. Sam Spade was long dead, and his methods as well. Science played a major role, along with forensic accounting and plain, old-fashioned footwork. The advent of GPS systems had changed the art of tracking people and items, making it easier and more precise.

On the other hand, the need for irrefutable evidence was heightened at the same time. Harold was religious about following the law and involving law enforcement when crimes had been uncovered. He wanted police co-operation, not confrontation. He spent a great deal of his time cultivating the relationships with the RCMP and city police forces. It had paid off handsomely. He was happy to let the police take the credit, and they were happy to get the help. His clients were glad to have their problems resolved.

It was the following Tuesday that I had decided to stay a little later and talk to a couple of the operatives in the industrial espionage group. I phoned Natasha's apartment and left a message that I might be a little later getting back there. She usually got home just before five, and I didn't want her to worry if I wasn't there when she arrived.

It was not much after five-thirty when I walked down the hallway to her apartment and slipped the key card into the slot. I entered the room and noticed all the lights were on, but I couldn't hear any sounds from Natasha. I began to walk toward the kitchen entrance when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I froze for a moment, then carefully got down on my belly on the carpet, drawing my gun.

As I looked toward the kitchen entrance, I noticed the fridge door was slightly ajar and there seemed to be a light spray of something on the door. I lay still, my mind screaming at me to do something. All those hours of training began to kick in. Don't make the first move. Make your adversary come to you. Be patient ... but be ready.

I couldn't tell if there was anyone in the kitchen or in the back of the apartment. I concentrated on listening for anything that might help me locate the hit man ... if that's who it was. I don't know if time compresses or expands when you're in a situation like this. It might have been less than a minute or it might have been much longer, I couldn't tell. I knew I was forcing myself to breathe evenly, steady my nerves, and be alert. I might only get one chance.

It's strange what goes through your mind when you are under extreme stress. Logic was asking me if he might have body armor. If so, did I have to risk a head shot? Would he have a silencer? It reduced muzzle velocity and altered accuracy. Intermixed with these questions I wondered what Natasha had been preparing for dinner. I couldn't smell anything. I waited, not daring to make a sound or a move.

Then, I heard it. The slightest squeak of a door moving. There was only one place it could be and that was in the back. And, there was only one way out of the back and that was directly in front of me. I remained in the prone shooting position, forcing myself to stay calm and be ready for whatever came next.

It came in a blur. The intruder dove to the carpeted entrance, rolling once and coming up in a kneeling shooting position. I aimed and squeezed the trigger once before he had finished moving. My bullet tore away the left side of his head above the ear. I had hit my target, but only just. He dropped face down on the carpet and didn't move. I stayed in my shooting position for some time before I ventured to rise and move toward him.

A quick feel of his carotid artery confirmed he was dead. I kicked the gun away from his body, but he wouldn't need it any more. I began to breathe again. I holstered my gun and turned toward the kitchen and stopped cold. Natasha was sitting in a kitchen chair, hands bound behind her and feet tied to the chair. Her head drooped on her chest, her hair matted with blood on the back. There was little doubt she was dead too.

I walked carefully to the entrance of the kitchen. She had been executed, just as my parents had been. The speckles on the refrigerator were blood spatter. I took another deep breath. She had no chance ... not against a professional, a guy who could beat all the CSIS and Orca surveillance and work his way into the apartment.

I stood there for a moment more before realizing that someone might have heard my gunshot and called the police. It woke me from my trance. I walked quickly to the laundry area and took the collapsible footstool to the hall closet. In seconds I had removed my sport bag and replaced the hatch cover. I took the Slim-Line, wiped it clean, and threw it on the carpet in front of the dead man. I holstered my unused alternate.

It took me less than a minute to throw my clothes and toiletries into my carryon bag and prepare to leave. I opened the door slightly, listening for any sounds of activity in the hallway. Hearing none, I walked out, closed the door quietly behind me and moved rapidly to the stairwell. I ran down the six flights to the basement entrance into the underground parking lot. I had been "borrowing" a space from a vacationing tenant, so I didn't have to worry about going outside and exposing myself to identification.

I drove slowly and carefully out of the garage and moved quickly to the main road connecting to the freeway east. There was no sign of police or any other emergency vehicles heading toward the apartment building. Turning onto the freeway, I immediately encountered rush hour traffic moving at a very slow, but steady pace. I willed myself to calm down and think logically.

It took nearly an hour before the adrenalin ran out. I was nearing Chilliwack and I knew I had to stop. I pulled off at the first exit, rolling into a gas station. I stepped out, but before I could make it to the washroom, I vomited. I must have stood at the side of the paved apron for several minutes as I emptied the contents of my stomach. When the heaving finally stopped, I felt no better and was aware of the onset of a headache.

I would be a wanted man. I was on the run. I had killed a man. For the very first time in my life, I had killed a human being. Not that he gave me a choice. It was my first life or death moment, and I hoped my only one. I got no satisfaction from the fact that I had avenged my parents and Natasha's murders.

Natasha. A woman I thought I might be falling in love with. Another innocent victim of my past. First the Mohawk, then my parents, and now Natasha; all dead because of me. Warrington had defeated every attempt to protect us. We had all failed.

I wasn't in any state to think or drive at that moment. I went inside the convenience store and bought a coffee and sat down while I tried to decide what I was going to do. The coffee tasted like battery acid and I didn't finish it. I bought two bottles of water and a small package of Tylenol instead.

I filled the tank at the self-serve and returned to the freeway. I was beginning to form a loose plan for my next moves. There wouldn't be any hit man chasing me for the foreseeable future. Even the River Riders had limits to their resources. Sooner or later however, the police would be looking for Colin Stewart. No matter who it was I had killed, there would be questions, and with my record, I didn't like my chances of escaping another jail term. I was destined to be Nathan Poirier now.

In the back of my mind, I knew I had to try to see Elise. Perhaps there was a reason my ex-wife was so quick to divorce me. I was beginning to wonder just what she and my parents had been told. Did Denis know? My parents were too easy to find. Elise's maiden name was Parton. Was that the name she was using today? One way to find out.

I gave up driving in Hope, just before entering the Coquihalla highway. I found a modest, fairly modern motel with a pub nearby. It would do for tonight. I checked in, parked the car around the back, stashed the gun and money under the spare, and dropped my clothes and sport-bag in the room. I walked to the pub, found a table away from the small crowd and sat. The clock on the wall said it was almost eight o'clock, and I was hungry.

I ordered a pint of dark ale and the house special burger. Simple enough food that it shouldn't cause my stomach any problems. My headache was almost gone and my stomach was stable again. I was, however, very tired. The stress and tension had drained the energy out of me. This day couldn't end too soon. Tomorrow, I would start again.

I was awake before dawn, showered and shaved. I made some coffee in the coffee maker, just to get me started, but it was little better than the gas station coffee from yesterday. The motel had wireless, and I logged on to an airline site. Within five minutes, I had reserved a flight out of Kelowna to Calgary, then from Calgary to Kitchener. I paid for the flights with my new credit card and relaxed. It was a five hour drive to Kelowna at most, and the flight left at 5:05 that afternoon. I had plenty of time.

I checked out and had breakfast in a small restaurant attached to another gas station. The car had plenty of fuel to get to Kelowna, so I took my time and considered just what I was going to do over the next few days. I had slept better than I expected to, despite what had happened the day before. I had been thinking that I should phone Denis and see what had happened at the apartment. I would use the satellite phone to avoid any trace.

"Denis ... it's Colin."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Do you know what happened?"

"Yes ... I think so. You took out Warrington, but he got Natasha and our surveillance man. Three dead. He came at a high price. I'm sorry, Colin."

"I know. I'm going to see Elise, Denis. I need to know what happened, now that she's out of danger."

"Call me when you get to Kitchener. I'll give you her address. Use the secure line. I'm not sure we didn't have someone tip off Warrington. I've got a couple of people trying to find out. You're not out of danger yet, friend."

"I hope you're wrong. About the inside help I mean."

"Yeah. I hope so too. When are you coming east?"

"Tomorrow. I'll call you Thursday morning."

"Good. Take care, Colin."

I phoned Harold Sinden next.

"I guess you've figured out I won't be into work any time soon," I said after identifying myself.

"I heard. I'm sorry, Nathan. I know you had something with the girl. I'm sure that hurts."

"You'll see that my car will be in Kelowna this afternoon, but I won't be. I'm going to try and find Elise. I need to know what happened."

"Do you think that's safe?"

"Yeah. I figure they'll be a while deciding if they want to pay another guy to take me out. They didn't get anything for their money this time."

"Be careful, Nathan. The job will be here for you when this is over. Stay in touch. If there's anything we can do, just name it."

"Thank you, Harold. I know you mean that."

It was just before ten am when I set out for Kelowna. With a brief lunch stop along the way, I was at the Kelowna Airport by three. As luck would have it, I was in time to get the earlier 3:40pm Calgary flight and I took advantage of it. I had ironed and repacked my clothes before leaving the motel, so at least I would be reasonably presentable when I checked in at the hotel.

It was shortly after six when I arrived at the Calgary Sheraton for an overnight stay. My flight to Kitchener was just after noon the next day. Connections to the Ontario city were limited. I treated myself to a nice meal, but slept fitfully after the turmoil of the past two days.