Angel in the Full Moon (12 page)

“Good. Let's chance it and go talk to her.”

Jack and Laura introduced themselves to the travel agent and expressed their interest in the two Russians. Elaine introduced herself and said, “I'm not really supposed to do this ... but they're flying out of Vancouver a week today. Their destination flight is the city of Liberia located in the northern part of Costa Rica.”

Matches the call on the pay phone,
thought Jack. He glanced at Laura and saw her nod.

“From there,” said Elaine, “they're taking about a forty-five minute taxi ride to the coast. A small town called Playas del Coco—or as us gringos call it, Coco Beach.”

“I know that place,” said Jack. “I passed through there on my honeymoon.”

“You should have booked it through me,” said Elaine, with a smile. “Anyway, I offered to get these two guys a rental car but they weren't interested. They did ask that I book them each a room at Hotel Coco Verde, which I did. It's walking distance to the beach and has a pool and a casino.”

“They asked for that specific hotel?” asked Jack.

“Yes. Actually I told them that the place has a reputation for a lot of prostitution. Men go there on conferences and sometimes book a prostitute to be with them for the whole time they're there. These two didn't care. They said they were meeting a friend who was going there and had already recommended it.”

“No indication of who their friend was?” asked Jack.

“They didn't say, but when I was booking their flight, one of them told me that the date was good because it was
two days before the guy arrived that they were supposed to meet. That's all I know. They are there for a week and then are scheduled to return.”

Jack gave Elaine his business card and she promised to call him if there were any changes.

On their way back to their office, Laura said, “Our Russians have to be planning on bringing in cocaine. They've been checking the ports, wanting navigational maps—they must have a boat they're using.”

“I sort of agree,” replied Jack. “Costa Rica is like the skinny end of the funnel for coke coming up from South America. As I recall, someone told me that Coco Beach is the first port of entry for boats coming into the country from the north.”

“Did you and Natasha stay at the Hotel Coco Verde?”

Jack laughed and said, “No. A small place called Villa del Sol. Actually it's owned by a couple of French-Canadians. Nice people.”

“You said you
sort of
agree. Not completely?”

“If it was cocaine importation, why didn't the bikers cut themselves in on the action ... or permanently cut the Russians out? That part still doesn't make sense to me. Maybe it is cocaine importation, but there has to be something else. Something that scared our friend in Satans Wrath—and he doesn't scare easily.”

“We've got to go down there,” replied Laura. “What chance do you think we'll have with Quaile authorizing that?”

“Last week I would have said none,” replied Jack, “but after the number Bob did on him, I bet there won't be a problem,” he added with a wink.

Jack's meeting with Quaile was brief.

“I'll okay it for you and Laura to go,” said Quaile, “but for the chunk you're taking out of our budget, I can tell you right now ... you'd better get results!”

Hang anxiously waited when Pops carried in a couple of Styrofoam containers of hot Chinese food, along with napkins and plastic utensils.

“Red-circle day,” he said, setting the items down out of her reach while he turned on the propane heater. The smell of the food permeated every corner of the room.

Pops used his foot to slide the food over to Hang.

Hang ate the food rapidly while Pops sat on the floor, smiling at her. When she was finished, he stood and marked another X on the calendar.

“Two days to your next red circle,” he said, before shutting heater off and taking the food containers away as he left.

Hang stared at the calendar.
This red-circle day was okay. What will I get on the next red-circle day?

For Hang, it was better that she did not know.

“Assistant Commissioner Isaac will see you now, Staff.”

Quaile nodded curtly to the secretary and strode into Isaac's office. He saw Isaac gesture to a chair and sat down.

“Good morning,” said Isaac. “Update me on this file involving travel to Costa Rica.”

“Yes, sir. Corporal Taggart and Constable Secord left yesterday. Liaisons were arranged and the Costa Rican police are accommodating. The two Russians are flying out at five o'clock this afternoon. Corporal Taggart and Constable Secord will assist with coordinating the surveillance with the police down south when the Russians land.”

“No indication of who the Russians are meeting?” asked Isaac.

“No, sir. Not at this time.”

“What about the Vietnamese? These Tran brothers.... Any indication they are going?”

“No, sir.”

“At least on this venture, it does not appear that Corporal Taggart has any personal issues—or potential vendettas,” mused Isaac.

“Last week I did his performance evaluation,” said Quaile. “I must say, it was the poorest assessment I have ever been forced to give anyone.” Quaile saw the raised eyebrow that Isaac cast in his direction.
Was I wrong to ... if he doubts my judgement!

“I told you to keep an eye on him,” said Isaac, “but I expect you to treat him fairly.”

“It was fair, sir” said Quaile hurriedly. “The man is a low-life. Shows up to work in the morning with bags under his eyes. Unkempt appearance. Obviously likes to party all night. He lacks initiative to learn new things or apply himself to assignments that I have tried to give him.”

Isaac did not reply.

“Are you questioning my judgement?” asked Quaile, nervously.

Isaac stared at him for a moment before answering, “No, I am simply ensuring that he is being treated fairly.”

“Well, I certainly stand by my assessment of him. If it wasn't for this investigation on the Russians, I would recommend his immediate transfer but with Deputy Commissioner Simonson calling me and the Commissioner's personal interest, I decided to wait until the investigation is over.”

“Paul called you from Ottawa?” asked Isaac in surprise.

“Yes, sir,” replied Quaile, feeling somewhat self-important. “It is highly confidential. These two Russians are connected to a major international investigation. Involves corruption. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. It just sort of slipped—well, besides, I know ... I mean, obviously it is appropriate for you to know ...”

Quaile quit talking when Isaac held up his hand for him
to stop. He waited and listened quietly as Isaac dialled. From snippets of conversation, Quaile realized he had been duped and his ears turned crimson.

When Isaac hung up, he turned to Quaile and said, “Your alleged call from Ottawa was bogus.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Quaile. “I gathered that from what I heard.”

“And you didn't suspect anything?”

“Taggart was in the office when I received the call,” stammered Quaile. “How could I? I even remember seeing the area code. It was Ottawa—”

“Likely had a friend do it.”

“Sir, this is terribly embarrassing. For a member to pull a stunt like this, well—”

“I warned you to keep an eye on him,” said Isaac. “There is something, however, that we need to consider.”

“Sir?”

“It would appear that young Jack Taggart is risking his career on the fact that the Russians are worth it. It will be interesting to see the results. Keep quiet about this for now. Give it a week or two and see how all this pans out. We'll deal with the phone call later, although I doubt we could ever prove that he was behind it.”

“Yes, sir. Like I said, if you had any doubts about my judgement in regards to his assessment, this incident just goes to highlight the fact that—”

“You can go now, Staff.”

Moustache Pete and the Fat Man were both jovial as they checked their baggage at the Delta Airlines counter in the Vancouver International Airport. Their demeanour and self-confidence changed completely just as they were entering
the security check-in.

“Hey, comrades!”

Both men turned in surprise and were partially blinded by the flash of a camera. Both were too startled to say anything as the man with the camera turned and hurried away.

The following day, Jack and Laura watched through the tinted windows of a van parked on the main street in Coco Beach. With them was a plainclothes member of the
Fuerza Pública.
This was the name of the Costa Rican police force and the policeman assigned to work with them, Eduardo, spoke English.

“Your two men,” said Eduardo, “They are very nervous.”

It was a point that Jack and Laura had already observed. The Russians had constantly been looking around them ever since they got off the plane. After checking in to the Hotel Coco Verde, they changed into shorts and singlets went across the street and had lunch at a Cajun-style restaurant, where they sat talking in hushed voices.

The Russians were watched as they finished lunch and took the five-minute stroll down the main street that led directly to the beach. Most tourists stared at the array of gift shops and local crafts, but the Russians seemed more interested in looking at people's faces.

When they arrived at the beach, they turned right and trudged through the cocoa-coloured sand.

Jack and Laura discreetly followed behind, using an abundance of coconut trees farther back from the beach as cover while Eduardo leap-frogged ahead on a road running parallel to the beach that was obscured by buildings and vegetation.

The Russians arrived at the end of the beach and climbed up and stood on some large rock formations jutting out into
the ocean. They paused to look back down the beach and Jack was relieved that there was nobody in sight to make them more paranoid.

“These guys are really heated up,” said Jack, passing the binoculars to Eduardo, who had now abandoned the van.

“Yes, it is hot,” said Eduardo. “Canada.
Mucho frio
.”

“Yes, very cold in Canada,” said Jack.

“I think they are fight with each other,” said Eduardo, peering through the binoculars.

Jack looked and could see the Fat Man shaking his head and looking at Moustache Pete, who was waving his arms and gesturing in all directions. The Fat Man handed a cellphone to Moustache Pete who took it and flung it far into the ocean.

“Shit! We're burned,” said Jack.

“Yes, sun very hot,” said Eduardo.

Following their stroll down the beach, the Russians used an Internet facility before returning to their hotel, where they spent the rest of the day drinking and lounging about the hotel pool.

Eduardo attempted to track the Russians' Internet activity on the computer, but told Jack and Laura that it had all been deleted and therefore was unable to retrieve anything.

The next two days passed and, with the exception of another visit to the Internet facility, the Russians did little of interest. They did appear to be more relaxed and now drank copious amounts of Imperial beer while sampling the services of several different prostitutes.

At no time did they appear to meet with anyone of interest—a fact Jack was all too conscious of as he continued to delay calling Quaile to debrief him. Eventually he knew he could delay no longer. He left Laura with Eduardo and went to his room. He found that the phone lines were not working,
but after a twenty-minute delay and some apologies from the hotel switchboard, he was able to connect.

“So they're just down there on a holiday!” exclaimed Quaile.

“Something has made them paranoid,” said Jack.

“So you're telling me you screwed up the surveillance?”

“The Costa Rican police have been good. Professional enough not to have burned us. Something else must ...”

“So you're saying they're just partying and acting like tourists. Obviously then, they weren't up to anything in the first place.”

“At the moment they're not, but ....” A knock on Jack's door interrupted him and he said, “Hang on, someone's at my door.”

Laura was quick with the news. “When you left they went up the street to a place called De La Costa Travel Agency. Eduardo just found out they booked a flight to Cuba. They leave tomorrow and fly to Havana. The agent tried to book them a hotel, but they said they would find one when they arrived. They're booked to come back to Costa Rica, arriving in San Jose five days later and will then head back to Canada.”

Jack relayed the news to Quaile as Secord stood next to him, listening.

“Where do you plan on going on holidays next? Spain? Forget it. You and Secord be on the next plane available back to Vancouver. You're finished with this scam!”

Jack didn't reply, his mind racing to find a solution. He knew Quaile wouldn't allow him to pursue the investigation any further.
Phone the Cuban police? They would probably think it was a hoax. Or at the very least, contact Ottawa—and eventually Quaile. Nope, this has to be personal.

“Did you hear me, Taggart?”

“Staff, I'm feeling really burnt-out. I've got a lot of annual leave to use before year's end. I'd like to take a week off and
stay here. I'll pay for it myself. Okay with you?”

A week off,
thought Quaile, remembering the short time frame that Isaac mentioned as a deadline to get results. “Go ahead. It's your money. You won't exactly be missed around here.”

Laura grabbed the phone from Jack's hand and said, “The same goes for me. I'll be back in the office when Jack is.”

“Suit yourself, but realize I'll be checking every penny of your expenses when you get back. As of right now, you're on your own money.”