front of his desk, waiting for him to look up.
For management purposes, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police was broken down into four regions Canada-wide: Atlantic, Central, North West, and Pacific. Assistant Commissioner Isaac was the criminal operations officer who oversaw all the operational investigations in the Pacific Region.
Louie knew that Isaac deserved the respect that went with his position. He was a shrewd and tireless worker. He could quote policy and legal matters to the point that Louie wondered if it was true that he had a photographic memory. Isaac was also unbending when it came to policy — something that made Louie uncomfortable. His section tended to have many grey areas when it came to what was right or wrong. Well, actually some things are clearly wrong...
Eventually Isaac glanced up and said, “How long have you been in charge of Intelligence, Louie?”
There were three leather upholstered chairs facing Isaac’s desk, but he did not gesture for Louie to sit so he remained standing. “Coming up ten years, sir,” replied Louie casually, trying to get a read on Isaac’s disposition. As usual, Isaac’s face revealed nothing.
“Still plan on retiring this coming summer?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have my thirty-five years in this July.”
Isaac nodded before continuing. “What can you tell me about this Taggart matter? Is the Jack Taggart who works for you the target of someone who wants to kill him?”
“Not that I know of, sir. I-HIT is investigating. I spoke with Jack and he thinks it might all be a coincidence.”
“I want I-HIT, you, and Taggart in my office in one hour for a meeting.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll arrange it.”
Damien, at fifty-three years of age, had done well for someone who had started out with nothing. His home, protected from view by a stone wall, was situated on an estate in one of the most prestigious areas of Vancouver. From the street, one could see only the roof, which was peppered with satellite dishes and antennas. Closed-circuit television cameras mounted in strategic locations outside led to a fortified panic room inside the mansion. A large cast iron gate, electronically controlled, blocked the entrance to the driveway. Damien did not become national president of Satans Wrath Motorcycle Club by being careless ... or weak.
Damien sat at his kitchen table and read the newspaper. It was a quiet time of the day that he enjoyed. His wife, Vicki, who was thirty-five, had borne him three children. Buck was thirteen, and his two sisters, Sarah and Kate, were eleven and eight years old. Damien enjoyed bantering with his children at the breakfast table, but now that they were heading out the door to school, he also enjoyed sitting quietly and catching up on the news.
Vicki had already skimmed the paper today and she watched with interest as her husband flipped to the local news.
Damien let out a snort when he read about the speed labs being connected with Satans Wrath and how the arrests and seizures would have a big impact on the crystal meth supply in the city. Good excuse to raise the price.
Vicki gestured to the article and asked, “Is it a problem?”
Damien shook his head. “They’re always trying to pin crap on us. Actually it’s funny. They think it’s a big deal ... shows how small their cerebral cavities are. I might have to do the usual PR routine to the media. No big deal.”
“The paper said that two members were taken down. Silent Sam and Petro.”
“Silent Sam doesn’t even have his full patch yet. No worries. Leisure Suit Larry will have them out today.”
Vicki suppressed a smile. Leisure Suit Larry was Damien’s pet name for Lawrence Leitch, a lawyer that Satans Wrath kept on retainer.
Vicki noticed Damien turn another page and scan the paper for something else to read. His eyes settled on an article. Seconds later, he slammed the paper down on the table. She saw the pulse beat on the side of his temple and his fist close momentarily. He abruptly stood up and headed for his communications centre in the den. She knew from experience that this was not the time to ask why.
Vicki reached for the paper. The article was about the murder of a man called Jack Taggart. He was gunned down, leaving behind a wife and two children. One child, an infant, was wounded and still undergoing surgery. His condition was listed as critical. Jack Taggart ... I’ve heard that name before. Isn’t he one of the cops who was in a shootout with the club last year?
In his control centre, Damien rapidly sent a BlackBerry message. Pussy Paul received the message immediately and understood its importance. Pussy Paul controlled the strip clubs for Satans Wrath, but more importantly, he was also responsible for recruiting people who worked in a variety of positions that could benefit Satans Wrath.
Damien’s anger was evident. The message noted that an RCMP Intelligence officer was named Jack Taggart. Not just any officer, but one that had considerable past conflict with the club. Damien capitalized his point: SOMEONE DOES THIS THE SAME DAY AS THE LABS ARE TAKEN DOWN! We don’t need the attention — not now of all times! Contact the mole and find out what Taggart thinks. Are they blaming us? I want the info included with the other delivery. Arrange for me to meet LSL personally.
Pussy Paul knew that the “other delivery” was a copy of an RCMP intelligence report that they were expecting to receive by Thursday. That only gave him two days to find out about this other matter.
Lawrence Leitch checked his watch as the judge released two of his more important clients. They were to return in a week to enter a plea. Leitch was pleased. They had been in jail less than a day. Silent Sam and Petro smirked at each other before giving a curt nod to Leitch. In a week they would enter a not guilty plea and a trial date would be set. With delay tactics, such as having his clients fire him just before the trial, Leitch was confident that he could drag the situation on for at least two years. They would then hire another lawyer from his firm and the games would continue. Who knew what could happen to witnesses during that time?
The court recessed for morning coffee. Leitch used the break to browse through the information he had on the other eleven clients arrested in connection with the speed labs.
Jack shifted in his seat and glanced at Assistant Commissioner Isaac. Operational meetings in his office were rare. The murder of his namesake was drawing more attention than he wished. Also present were Louie, Danny, Connie Crane, and Randy Otto, who was Connie’s boss in I-HIT.
After a nod from Randy, Connie took a report from her briefcase and quickly read the details of the murder and the inquiries being conducted. She noted that the victim had never been in trouble with the police. He did not carry life insurance, and his wife was definitely not a suspect.
Jack fielded the questions as best he could. He was adamant that it was not in retaliation for yesterday’s raids on the speed labs. He reiterated that he and Danny had a reliable source who would have known if that was the case, not to mention that Satans Wrath knew what he looked like and where he lived.
Isaac studied him closely and then said, “You were also responsible for the DEA seizing a metric tonne of cocaine in San Diego three weeks ago. Perhaps Satans Wrath found out that you were involved? Your name was on the warrants for the speed labs here. Did the Americans use it on their warrant for the cocaine in the ship?”
“No sir. It was left out intentionally to protect my informant. Lots of people knew about the speed labs, but not too many new the details about the ship. I called the DEA agent I dealt with over that matter. I’ve known JimBo for years. I both trust and respect him. He assured me that he never divulged my name and simply identified me in a search warrant as a confidential informant. He didn’t even indicate that I was Canadian.”
“That much cocaine, it must have made someone angry,” said Isaac.
“Sir,” said Jack, “after 9-11, everyone knows that there is more security at the ports. I think the cartels expect to take a few hits once in a while. Even if Satans Wrath did find out, it still leaves us with the fact