Oblivious, p.22
Oblivious, page 22
“Hi, I’m Captain Bridget Dawson. Here to sign some paperwork?”
She looked up from her screen and gave me a once-over. Her lip curled. “Right. They said you’d be coming.” She reached for the yellow file folder sitting next to her elbow, my name written on the tab. “This is for you to fill out.”
With a quick look around as though to make sure no one else was within earshot, I leaned in close. “Is there somewhere I could go to read it? Somewhere private?”
I doubted anyone would hand me an Oscar for my performance of shamed special forces captain—I wasn’t even sure Gagnon’s EA bought it—but she huffed and jerked the file folder towards me. “There are quiet rooms around the floor. Pick an empty one.”
Crap. Not the offer I’d hoped for. If Gideon had been with me, he would have charmed this woman into letting him use whatever room he wanted. Clearly I’d learned nothing during our conversations with the informants.
My stomach clenched, and I forced my thoughts away from him. This wasn’t the time to grieve. I had to find a way into the minister’s office.
The door to the deputy’s office opened, and Gagnon stepped out. I cringed at the sight of him, having sworn today’s humiliation had already reached peak levels. It seemed the Fates’ horrible sense of humour knew no bounds.
His sharp gaze took me in, morphing from irritation at seeing me to understanding when he caught sight of the yellow folder, and he jerked his head in a nod. “Captain Dawson, good of you to come in.”
“She wants a place to read the papers, so I told her to go to a quiet room,” his EA said.
He pressed his lips into a tight line and his nostrils flared as he shot a quick glance at his assistant. Then he forced a smile and nodded at me again. “Follow me, Captain. All sorts of noise filters into those quiet rooms, so I think we can do better for you. Michael called earlier to tell me you might come in, and he suggested the minister’s office. I quite agree.”
With an apology to the Fates for thinking they had it in for me, I fell into step behind him as we crossed the floor to the secure area on the other side. Down the hallway sat Madison’s office, her door closed. Only a few nights ago, she and I had been there together going through the pattern she’d found in the minister’s paperwork… before we’d come to this very office and found the minister’s EA with her throat slashed, the entire space covered in blood.
Today, I never would have believed anything so tragic had happened here. The place was immaculate: files where they were supposed to be, a new desk, new chair, new carpeting, new artwork on the walls. The department’s clean-up crew worked quickly.
“You can have the office to yourself for an hour or so. We have a meeting in here this evening, but I don’t think it should take you that long to read through the documents. They’re fairly straightforward.”
“Thank you, Deputy Minister.”
“If you have any questions, feel free to ask Erin.”
I doubted I’d be in much of a rush to ask the woman the time of day but nodded my thanks all the same. He closed the door behind him, and I sank into the chair beside the minister’s desk. Just like the room outside, this space was spotless, though the desk and shelves hadn’t been replaced, only carefully restored.
I set the file folder on the desk in front of me but couldn’t bring myself to open it. At some point while I was here, I would have to sit down and read through my suspension requirements. I would have to read the citation on my file and sign my name to the reason for it. A black mark on my otherwise clear record.
For now, I turned my thoughts to my real reason for being here. The reason the contents of the yellow folder were a heap of bullshit. A smokescreen so the mole would feel smug and think they’d gotten the upper hand on me.
I looked forward to the day I could shove the folder down their throat and make them choke.
Setting it aside, I lifted the minister’s keyboard, grabbed the sticky note with the filing cabinet combinations, and approached the wall of drawers.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it free to check the screen. A text from Madison waited for me. Heading out for coffee to meet a friend. Hopefully home later with news.
A friend? I understood why she couldn’t be more specific than that, but curiosity burned at me until I forced myself to set it aside. With only an hour to go through what looked like hundreds of files, I had to get started.
I had no clue what I was looking for specifically, so I opted for thoroughness and opened the cabinet on the left-hand side, ruled out the drawers stuffed with office supplies, and made my way down the line.
The first thing I learned was that Madison was one hundred per cent correct about the minister’s EA. Phyllis had been robotically organized. I didn’t find a single folder out of order, the papers tucked inside straight and even. Larger files, which in Michael’s cabinets were stuffed full to bursting, were separated into smaller, labelled segments, and there appeared to be some kind of colour-coded cross-reference system as well.
Intense.
Shaking my head at the dedication of a reputedly miserable woman, I skimmed through the budget files, the personnel files—wincing as I did at the names of my fallen team whose résumés and records remained here for the archives—and finally slowed as I reached the section on international trade.
I checked the clock on the wall and ground my teeth. Soon enough, Erin would knock on the door asking me how things were going, so I had to speed up.
Grabbing the stack of files in one hand, I pulled them out and brought them to the desk. It took me more than a few minutes to get the hang of Phyllis’s organizational system, but as soon as I did, it was easy to jump to the collection of documents on Canada-U.S. trade.
From there, I flipped through the various trade agreements, the negotiations with Madison’s name written all over them.
The clock ticked closer to the hour. Sweat dripped down the back of my neck.
Bad time management, Dawson.
I skimmed faster, flipping through health and security agreements, resources, products.
My eyes blurred, and I buried my face in my hands. Why couldn’t Michael have given me more to go on? Someone in the department was directing attention away from the syndicate, making it easy for them to expand. The tip was vague, and the proof of corruption could be anywhere. I might have already passed it and not known what it was.
Just as I was about to give up, sign my slap on the wrist, and break the news to Michael that I’d failed, my gaze landed on the date stamp of a sheet of paper peeking out from under the stack in the bottom file.
Four days ago.
Curious, I nudged it free with the tip of my finger and leaned over the letterhead-stamped document.
Permission for a cross-border shipment.
I frowned. This document was out of place. Given Phyllis’s strict system, it should have been filed under government orders in the first drawer.
I leaned back in my chair and scanned the printed text, taking in details about three cargo shipments due to pass into the States next week via the Thousand Islands Border Crossing. Signed by the minister two days before he’d died.
There was nothing to say the shipments had anything to do with the syndicate, but the lack of detail about the contents of the shipping containers was damning enough in an office where every last speck of dust was itemized on these requisitions.
Added to that, the city of origin, glaring in its bold italics, was Kingston, Ontario. Centre of the longest-running, most confused rumour about the Death’s Head Syndicate’s movements.
This had to be it. Three shipping containers of ghost to help O’Malley gain a foothold in New York. All the time Gideon had spent with me trying to prove the syndicate’s goal of spreading its reach into the States and here was the evidence right in front of me. My throat tightened, and I screwed my eyes shut against the pain that he wasn’t here to see it for himself.
I fought against my rising grief, wrestled it into the dark corners of my mind, and drew in a long, ragged breath.
Voices sounded from the reception area, and I glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes to the hour. Obviously a few eager beavers had chosen to get here ahead of time. Probably hoping the meeting would start earlier so they could get home before dinner.
They had to be new to government.
I snapped a photo of the shipment authorization and stuffed everything haphazardly into the folders with a silent apology to Phyllis’s memory. Doing my best to move with purpose and not rush to the point of dropping everything, I shoved the folders into the filing cabinet, threw myself into the chair on the outside of the minister’s desk, and wrenched open the yellow file folder.
I was just scrawling my name at the bottom of the page, with no idea what I was signing, when the door opened and Erin led a group inside.
“All done?” she asked. Her tone was pleasant, but beneath the smile lurked a clear message that there was only one answer.
“Just. Should I leave it on your desk on my way out?” Simple, professional, only a hint of embarrassment about sharing space with these overtly loyal and non-scandalous public servants.
Any one of whom could be a syndicate dung beetle.
I eyed them closely as I left, took in the details of their hairstyles and features, but recognized no one. The twenty-fifth floor was a whole other world.
I dropped off the file folder and headed straight for the elevator bay, giving no opportunity for anyone to stop and stare. Only when I reached the empty lobby did I let go of the breath I’d been holding, and I didn’t relax until I’d stepped outside into the stifling summer evening.
Under any other circumstances, I might have been grateful I was only wearing half a shirt.
When I reached the corner, I pulled out my phone and called Michael.
“Dawson? What took you so long?”
“Took me a while to get to the office,” I said, and checked over my shoulder as I crossed the street. So far no sign of O’Malley’s pet, which I hoped meant he’d given up after the shopping centre.
“Find anything?” he asked.
“I think so. I grabbed a photo so you can take a look, but it’s an authorization form for a cross-border shipment out of Kingston.”
“Kingston again. That damned rumour is going to chase me to my grave. Though maybe not so much of a rumour anymore.”
“Looks like.”
I waited for the light to change, using the window of the pub to check my six.
Michael snorted. “No wonder Bastien was so pissed off at finding the American with you. If he was helping O’Malley cart ghost across the border, the last thing he’d want is SilverGuard looking into it.”
Again that squeeze around my heart that threatened to stop me in my tracks, but I forced myself to focus on the bigger issue. “You really think Bastien was involved?”
“He must have been. The authorization was filed in his office. I assume he’s the one who signed it?”
“It looks like his signature, yeah. I guess it makes sense.” I tried to sound sincere, though Madison’s evidence of Bastien’s innocence barred me from believing it so easily. Both Michael and Eric had accused me of reading too much into the paperwork angle, and right now my primary goal was to prove to Michael I was ready and willing to help however he needed me to. I would follow his lead.
“So what next?” I asked. “Do we take this to someone?”
“Not yet. Text me the photo, and I’ll show it to a few people who might be able to help us. We need to prove there’s ghost in those containers before we charge in, and the department is out of resources to get it done. How are we supposed to uphold our promise to the supernaturals of this country and stop the spread of a growing syndicate when our people are stretched thin to transparent? It’s about time we let someone else handle the day-to-day so we can take care of what really matters.”
I drew to a halt in the middle of a concrete courtyard outside a small plaza. The smell of hot dogs filled the air and a child’s laughter echoed in my head.
“You mean the Federation of Supernatural Affairs?”
A moment of silence followed my question. “How do you know about them?”
“Eric told me about the guinea pig project.”
And I had never been so happy he had, as it let me keep Madison’s name out of it. No one needed to know about the files she’d pulled or the evidence she’d found until and unless I guaranteed her safety.
“Good,” Michael said. “He saved me some time. That’s exactly who we need. FoSA can offer services to our people the department could never hope to match. Give us a leg up on this side of the wall so we aren’t trembling in fear of Meril’s shadow. And while they do that, we’ll be free to do our jobs. Like track down the syndicate and ensure the safety of our country.”
“But isn’t offering services the department’s job? Do we really want to outsource?”
“SMOAC as it is was a noble dream, Dawson, but our population has tripled since we crossed the wall and founded the department. We can’t afford to do and be everything anymore. It’s not realistic. Not if we want to thrive.”
My legs unfroze, and I continued my walk up Bank Street. His words made me uncomfortable, going against everything I’d grown up believing, but I saw his point.
No matter how I felt, though, I wasn’t about to make up my mind over a phone call.
“Do we know what they’re offering? What are the strings?”
“There will be time enough to discuss all that. I want to sit down and go over everything in person with you, but first, I’m going to follow up on this shipment. Go home and get some rest. I’ll be in touch soon when I have something else, but this is great work, Dawson. You did good today.”
Warmth blossomed around my heart. It was the highest praise I’d received all week. At least Michael was on my side again, which set my world a little more to rights.
But the thought of going back to my apartment made my stomach acid bubble.
“Sir, I don’t think I should go home. On my way to the office, I had a friend. One of O’Malley’s right hands. It took me a while to lose him, and I’m not in a hurry to pick him up again.”
“Shit. This is the kind of thing you lead with, kid. You all right?”
“I’m fine. Confused about why O’Malley would want me followed, but fine.”
“Use your brains. You’ve been hot on his heels since the de Lauer attack.” He groaned, and I heard a sigh that sounded like it came from the depths of his being. “I hate this. Helping me is not worth your life. You lost his tail, so who knows what he’ll try next. Seriously, Jet, you should back away from this. Keep yourself safe.”
“I’ll be safe once O’Malley is eating dust.”
“Damn your stubbornness. Fine. You have a place to go?”
The safe house on Somerset appeared up ahead, and I walked towards it on autopilot, as though a cable were attached to my jeans, reeling me home.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“All right. I’ll be in touch.”
I hung up and slid my phone into my pocket, then paused on the corner across from the apartment building. The silence and security of our temporary haven lured me in, but the idea of going back without Gideon, of having to find yet another new normal, made me shy away.
Another few minutes wouldn’t kill me. I needed snacks, comfort food, and the grocery store was just across the street. One quick stop, and then I could attempt to reshape my life for the third time this week.
Chapter 24
Madison
I sat in the far back corner of the coffee shop watching the door, searching each face for one in particular but on alert for anyone familiar who might walk in. I’d chosen a meeting spot far enough from the SMOAC office that it was unlikely any of my colleagues would stop by for an after-work pick-me-up, but I couldn’t afford to relax my guard.
I’d already finished my peppermint tea, having measured each sip by the ticking clock, and my anxiety refused to be contained.
Doubts about my decision to be here ebbed and flowed. Of all the risks I could have taken, I’d opted for one that would certainly catch Meril’s attention and possibly turn my few days into hours. Minutes.
What difference does it make anymore? You’re going anyway.
So I kept telling myself, but there was a difference between Meril summoning me out of concern for my well-being and her being upset I’d called in her satellite troops without permission.
But her hands were tied with what action she could take on this side of the wall, and until I joined her court, mine weren’t. Something had to be done—reinforcements readied, eyes and ears prepared to move should our people need to be protected—and as long as I was in a position to save my country from the syndicate, the mole, and the repercussions if the wall fell, I would.
Finally, the woman I waited for walked in. She was as stunning as I remembered, tall and tan, with perfect curves, pouty lips, and eyes that made most people do a double take. Only after a second glance did they laugh and call themselves crazy for thinking she carried the universe in her gaze.
Which she did, of course.
Lilith Cochrane, as she called herself in this world, was a fairy. Not the cute garden fairy type that frolicked amongst the daisies—those guys were incredible gardeners and knew how to throw an amazing summer party—but the soldier type. A pointy-toothed, super-strengthed warrior. She’d been in the queen’s army for most of her life until she’d crossed to this side of the wall a few years ago and opened her own security firm. Concerts, galas, swanky affairs where the hosts wanted people who could fit in with the crowd while watching out for their guests—that was Lilith’s sphere. Which was why I’d called her.
