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  “I feel fine, thank you.” Jack then added, “You’re exceptionally intuitive. I’m surprised you didn’t make it as an operator.”

  “I lack the ability for fast imaginative responses in unexpected situations,” replied Rose. “I have a tendency to overanalyze. As far as being intuitive goes, thank you.” She watched Jack carefully and added, “It may help that I have my masters in psychology.”

  She expected to see the usual signs of discomfort that people initially felt when they learned of her psychological training. Fear of being analyzed or having someone guess their deepest secrets. It didn’t appear to faze Jack.

  “Good for you,” he replied. “Explains why you clued in about my self-preservation skills developing as a child. Your terminology was the same as the Force psychologists. It is true. When I was a child, report-card time in our house or anything to do with school for that matter, was a nightmare. As a preschooler, I would watch my father flip through a school textbook and ask my older brother questions. If he didn’t know the answer, my father would backhand him out of his chair, make him set the chair up again, sit in it, and then ask him the same question again. Not exactly the best teaching method. Explains why my brother left home when he was fourteen.”

  “And then it was your turn to sit in the chair?”

  “What I did, from about the time I was ten or eleven, was pretend to be mildly mentally challenged. My father believed it and I avoided the punishment that was handed down to my brother.” Jack sighed and said, “So, I guess you’re right. My self-preservation skills did start as a child. Not just learning to lie, but to watch someone, to know when they are about to strike with little warning, as my father would do. Childhood lessons serve me well in what I do now.”

  Rose gave a grim smile and nodded.

  “So why did you become a police officer instead of a psychologist?” asked Jack.

  “Thought it would be a more hands-on approach to helping people. Why did you become a police officer?”

  “I hate bullies.”

  “Bullies like your dad?”

  Jack nodded. “He was physically and emotionally abusive. Also a pedophile. As he grew older, he also took delight in making people angry. Guess it was another way to make himself feel powerful.”

  “Wow … you seem pretty open about it.”

  “It is my belief that if people would stop keeping stuff like that secret, it would save a lot of children from a lifetime of horrible problems. I didn’t find out about his pedophilia until he was practically on his deathbed. Not enough time to put him through a trial.”

  Rose nodded.

  Jack then made pretence of looking around the walls of her office.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Rose.

  “A picture of Sigmund.”

  Rose smiled and said, “Personally I think Freud is overrated.”

  “Carl Jung?”

  “Don’t care for him, either. My doctrine is more in line with a man called Adler.”

  “Good old Alfred,” replied Jack. “I agree. Jung is too spiritual for my liking.”

  “You also have an education in psychology,” said Rose, meaning it more as a question than a statement.

  “No. Just light reading. Clinical works of Alfred Adler.”

  “You call that light reading?”

  Jack shrugged and said, “It’s been awhile. I only skimmed through it.”

  “The Force shrinks never had a chance with you, did they?” she said, accusingly.

  Jack grimaced and said, “Their intentions are good. I believe in the program, but I warned them that many of the good operators are still fooling them.”

  “You included?” she asked.

  “No. Like I said, I believe in the program. I am as honest as you would be.”

  “As I would be?”

  Jack smiled and said, “Some things they don’t need to know about.”

  “Really? Care to expand?”

  “Uh, let’s see, situations comparable to a watch being faulty and an office door left unlocked.”

  Rose paused. Okay, time to change the subject. “I see, well … I do want you to know that although I’m not sure why Isaac transferred me here, I am happy with it. I’m not the Commercial Crime kind of girl.” Rose paused and added, “Guess ‘girl’ is politically incorrect these days. I should say woman, but the older I get, the more I prefer girl.”

  Jack smiled. “Perhaps with your background, Isaac decided you are better suited for these duties. To keep an eye on me in case I start looking for a clock tower to climb.”

  “I guess time will tell, won’t it?” she said, giving a slight grin. “I anticipate that I will earn my pay. Speaking of which — better bring Laura in. I have something to talk to both of you about.”

  Rose watched as Jack stepped out of her office. The Force shrinks weren’t the only ones who never had a chance with you. No wonder Isaac rolled his eyes when I asked him about the results from the Internal Affairs investigations.

  Jack went across the hall to retrieve Laura. “Everything is okay,” he whispered. “I’ll fill you in later.”

  Rose waited until they both returned and said, “I should let you know that my first phone call this morning was a complaint from some inspector out at Surrey Detachment.” She looked directly at Jack and said, “He told me you attacked one of his officers last night and broke her nose. Constable Sophie White.”

  Jack frowned. Great way to start off … “There were extenuating circumstances,” he said grimly. “I was in an undercover situation. My notes on the matter are in my desk drawer. I can get them for you.”

  “I know,” replied Rose, “I’ve read them.”

  You read them? thought Jack. Note to self: watch where I leave stuff.

  “I wanted to nip this in the bud before it went any further,” continued Rose. “While I was reading your notes, the second call I took this morning was from Constable Sophie White. She wanted to thank you for saving her life.”

  “Oh? Well … that’s good.”

  Rose remained passive.

  “Isn’t it?” asked Laura.

  Rose replied, “I called the inspector back and informed him that what you did was a basic undercover strategy known as the Sophie Solution.”

  “You what!” exclaimed Jack.

  Rose laughed and said, “Not really. Still, I’ll leave it to your imagination as to how embarrassed he was when I did call back. He wasn’t aware of all the details.” Rose leaned forward, clasping her hands on her desk before saying, “Good work last night. Both of you.” There was no doubt she meant what she said.

  Jack and Laura nodded silently.

  After leaning back in her chair, Rose continued, “Your report said you were originally introduced to Mad Dog through an informant.”

  “That’s right,” replied Jack.

  “How about the threat level to him or her?”

  “The informant is safe.”

  “Good enough. You seem confident about that?”

  “I am,” replied Jack, quietly, in a tone that betrayed some sadness to Laura’s ears. It crossed her mind to ask him about it later, but decided against it. Jack was extremely protective about his informants. If he wanted to tell her something, he would do so without her asking.

  “So what is next on your agenda?” asked Rose.

  “We would still like to do a little follow-up on the guns we seized. Track Mad Dog’s phone tolls and see if we can figure out who in the U.S. supplied them to him. Might be able to tip off the Americans and have them put a stop to it.”

  “Illegal guns being smuggled into Canada is a priority. Keep me up to date.”

  Once back in their office, Laura said, “So? What’s your first impression of our new boss?”

  “She seems okay.” Jack then filled her in on the conversation he’d had with her.

  “Sounds honest,” said Laura when Jack had finished.

  “There is one other thing you may wish to keep in mind,” said Jack. “Remember her comment about reading my undercover notes?”

  Laura nodded.

  “I keep them in my desk drawer … my locked desk drawer.”

  “Oh, man. You mean she picked —”

  “Must have accidentally left it unlocked,” interrupted Jack. “Like that office door in Toronto,” he added with a grin.

  “I see,” said Laura, frowning. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

  “At least she’s honest about it.”

  “I guess. So, you trust her?”

  “Not particularly. Too soon to know, but my initial feelings are good.”

  “Not exactly someone you would call a good friend yet?”

  “No. She is our boss, so I don’t ever see her becoming a good friend. Her position demands otherwise.”

  “But you’re my boss and I thought we were good friends?”

  “Without question. But we’re also partners and don’t normally have to answer directly to Isaac. If Rose is good, I feel an obligation to protect her from knowing something she could be criticized for.”

  “I hear you. So, what do you want to do now? Personally I feel like getting out of here and grabbing a cup of tea someplace. My treat. Buy you a coffee?”

  Jack sighed and said, “I need to visit a friend receiving hospice care. Won’t take long. Maybe an hour.”

  “Is it anybody I know?”

  Jack shook his head and said, “You’ve never met her. An old informant.” Jack paused before continuing, “At this point there is no harm disclosing her identity. She’s a … or was, a hooker by the name of Ophelia.” He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before saying, “Well, not that old I guess. Cancer,” he added, for explanation. “Maybe two weeks left at the most.”

  “Is she the one who introduced you to Mad Dog?”

  Jack nodded and said, “I want to let her know how it went.”

  “She did good, turning you on to that crowd.”

  “She also turned in the guy who robbed and murdered that eighty-eight-year-old war veteran in his house last year.”

  “That was the one I was on!” exclaimed Laura. “The UC where you brought me in pretending to be your girlfriend.”

  “Ophelia doesn’t have anybody in her life. I owe her.”

  “Want me to go with you?”

  “No, but thanks, anyway. I will take you up on your offer to buy me a coffee first. Right now I could use a cup.”

  ***

  Jack enjoyed his coffee break and found the light conversation he had with Laura relaxing. He wouldn’t have relaxed, if he had known that in the early hours of the following morning he would be using his 9 mm to kill an innocent victim in a back alley.

  7

  It was ten o’clock in the morning when Kang Lee arrived at the Pan Pacific Hotel in downtown Vancouver for a private meeting with The Shaman.

  Lee sipped his espresso while seated on the balcony of the Jade Suite, located on the sixteenth floor. The Shaman, seated next to him, took a moment to gaze out over Vancouver Harbour. The view was exquisite and included the Lions Gate Bridge and the mountains.

  Normally Lee would have enjoyed the view, but he had other things on his mind. Have I been selected to number two position or not?

  The Shaman, still wearing the hotel bathrobe, took a swallow of freshly squeezed orange juice. After putting the glass down, he ran a hand through his thick, dyed-black hair that he kept trimmed to collar length.

  The bathrobe concealed a body that Lee knew was tall, athletic, and agile. The Shaman had a passion for kenjutsu, a military art form originally created in Japan during the fifteenth century, primarily designed to instruct samurai in the use of swords. He had reached the highest level attainable in the sport, that of kyoshi, which made him a master. Overall, the muscular tone of his body, coupled with his agility and appearance, made him look much younger than he was. It was only the ruggedness of his face that betrayed his age of fifty-two.

  “So, tell me,” said The Shaman, “in regard to the immigrants we have brought in, have any new pathways come to light?”

  “Two new situations within the last month,” replied Lee. “A man who gained a position in Pacific Rim Oil and Gas has some valuable inside information that will benefit us greatly on the stock market. He asks that we arrange for more of his relatives to come to Canada.”

  “It will be done. The other?”

  “The president of another company, Eagle Eye Drilling and Exploration, is having an affair with his personal secretary. The president is married with two children. The personal secretary is a young man we brought over two years ago. Neither the president’s wife nor the company executives know that the president is gay, let alone prone to pillow talk about private company business. We have collected enough information to make the company’s next stockholder meeting extremely … shall we say, newsworthy?”

  “Do you anticipate another advantage on the market, perhaps by selling short? Or will he be approached to pay by some other means for our silence?”

  “The company may be on the verge of a major discovery. It is still being analyzed. I should know more within a week as to which way to approach the situation.”

  “Excellent. And our other ventures … the intrepid Canadian. How is he doing?”

  Lee smiled. The intrepid Canadian was Arthur Goldie, who oversaw the distribution of heroin once it arrived in Vancouver. Goldie had come a long way since he first came to their attention back in the early 1990s. That was when Goldie first wanted to import heroin from Burma to North America. Goldie had met personally with warlords overseeing the poppy plantations in Burma in an effort to extract what he thought would be the lowest price. The Shaman admired him for his courage at the time. Lee believed that Goldie was less courageous than he was naive.

  Lee smiled to himself at how simple it had been to convince Goldie to pay a percentage of his profit to them. He first befriended Goldie at a hotel in Rangoon. A day or two later, Goldie was arrested at a Burmese checkpoint and his first shipment of heroin was seized. Lee stepped in as a sympathetic friend with high-level contacts. Soon, Goldie and his shipment were both on their way again.

  Goldie was readily willing to pay a commission to guarantee the safe passage of future shipments. He never realized that the same people who sold the heroin also sold the information to The Shaman. It was The Shaman who paid the majority of the real salary earned by many of the police, military, and immigration officials in Southeast Asia.

  In effect, The Shaman was often able to control which shipments would pass and which ones wouldn’t. In time, with the continued safe arrival of his goods in Vancouver, Goldie profited more than ever and his shipments increased in proportion, as did the commissions he paid out.

  Now Goldie was no longer a micromanager. He owned a couple of antique stores, as well as a nightclub. Both types of businesses served to launder his money and to insulate him from the annoying tentacles of law enforcement. He had reached the point where he could sit back and collect commissions himself from the executive members of other crime families who also frequented his nightclub, bolstering his profit margin even higher.

  “As you know by the increasingly large shipments and commissions, he is doing well,” replied Lee.

  “From what I have read,” replied The Shaman, “in British Columbia that should be rather easy and relatively stress-free. Low risk and high gain.”

  “There is some risk. Last year the national police, the RCMP as it is known, made several dozen arrests in regard to bikers. Many were charged with selling cocaine. The police in Canada are not as easily persuaded to turn a blind eye. Bribery is relatively rare.”

  “Still, is it not true that judicial sentencing practices in British Columbia make it irrelevant? I am familiar with the arrests you mention. It will be interesting to see how long those arrested will actually spend in jail. From what I’ve read so far, it shouldn’t be long. What does interest me is that the arrests were the result of a police informer who was a member of the gang. I have heard a rumour that the courts may not accept the evidence of the police informer because he broke the law while working for the police. An abuse of process it is called.”

  Lee thought about it briefly and a smile crossed his face. “If the court rules favourably, it would certainly make it easy to identify any informers in our midst. They would be unable to behave or perform their duties as directed.”

  “Exactly. It is something we will follow. I wish the bikers luck.”

  “Even if they are our competition?” asked Lee seriously.

  “We do not sell cocaine,” replied The Shaman, with a shrug.

  Lee nodded. No, not yet. When we are stronger and the time is right, then —

  “So, back to Mister Goldie,” continued The Shaman. “How is his progress outside of British Columbia?”

  “Through his contacts, he is opening up more distribution channels all the time. Much of Western Canada and recently Seattle are beginning to add to our investment strategy.”

  “What about the eastern seaboard?” asked The Shaman. “That is where the population is based. I expected our man in Palermo to have had the contacts in New York, but the Italian mafia there has lost all honour. Respected crime bosses are arrested almost daily and continue to cheerfully sing to the police in exchange for leniency. So much for omertà. I would like to discover a new path.”

  “I understand,” replied Lee. “I have approached Mister Goldie on this matter, but he indicates it is a slow process. Competitive organizations in Ontario and Quebec have been receiving their shipments from Afghanistan. I thought the lack of stability in Afghanistan would have crippled that front, but apparently not.”