Pacific Flyways

By Brock Clayards

The plot races from one nail-biting crisis to another, whether speeding across the waves, getting fogged in around treacherous shoals,or navigating the amoral traps of small town society. Nature is a cruel mistress who can reward one mistake with injury or even death.
Those who like a touch of romance will enjoy the consternation of the mild-mannered rookie who falls fast for the delicious redhead. The human condition is full of contradictions, and it isn't always the best man or woman who wins.
RCMP constable Grayden Swift and federal fisheries officer Janice Mason, rookies in their respective careers, confront terrorists, thieves, and romantic complications in small town of Pasquin Cove. Pacific Flyways is a tale of action, romance, and intrigue in one of the most beautifully rugged areas of north America; the Broughton archipelago.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brock Clayards
• Release date: Sep 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301639380

Brock Clayards

Brock Clayards is a retired Royal Canadian Mounted Police (R.C.M.P.) officer. He is experienced in general policing, but also spent time in Ottawa specialising in counter terrorism.He is now a writer – his first novel, Pacific Flyways, is a mystery – and his current historical adventure, Chasing the Dragon’s Tail, is inspired by Brock’s great-grandfather, whose exploits in the Boxer Rebellion in China, with early policing in Victoria and in the defense of Victoria before the First World War, stimulated Brock’s creative imagination.Brock and his wife live on Vancouver Island in British Columbia.

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Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the following people for their assistance in the completion of this book. Bob Cain, my brother-in-law, outlined the basics of ocean kayaking, a sport I had never participated in until after completion of this story. Brian Jubenville, Fisheries and Oceans Canada, helped me with understanding marine radio jargon and some of the daily routine of a fisheries patrol officer on Canada’s West Coast. Since this is my first novel, editors Nichola Furlong and Darin Steinkey were exceptional in guiding me on publishing formats and plot suggestions, immensely improving the final product. Phyllis Smallman has been an outstanding supportive influence, providing help and advice through my struggles to produce this manuscript.

This is a work of fiction, inspired by numerous events in my career and wild ventures within my mind. The characters, with a few exceptions, are fictional. Others may be recognizable by people I have met over the years. All errors and omissions are my own short comings.

Finally, I would like to thank my greatest and most patient critic, my ever suffering spouse, Margaret, who endured numerous hours of bad temper, and worse writing, during the initial editing and rewritings of this story.

Every year thousands of migrating birds fill the skies of North America. This year a madman plans to infect them with a deadly strain of the avian flu, turning them into flying timebombs…and you thought The Birds was scary.

Chapter 1

June 2015

Pasquin Cove

Vancouver Island, BC

At first glance, Grayden Swift didn’t realize what he was seeing. New on the job, he was driving the deserted streets of Pasquin Cove, scanning shop windows and peering into back yards. Suddenly, movement in the rear of a store caught his attention. A figure inside the store was apparently adjusting stock. Grayden took his foot off the gas; his police vehicle rolled to a stop. This was his first break in. After watching the action for a moment, he reached for his radio and said, A2. I’ve got a B&E in progress. Jameson’s on Third. Need back up.

The police radio, which had been silent for the last hour, squawked, A1 at second and Main. A second later, another voice broke in,A3 in the north side. Headed your way. Hang on.

Grayden parked the Suburban where he could keep an eye on the storefront unobserved. Without taking his eyes off the store, he fumbled for a pair of binoculars stored in the side of his duty bag. With them he was able to see the culprit selecting basic camping supplies, freeze-dried foodstuffs and water purification filters and then carefully placing them into a large backpack. He heard a vehicle approach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Police Cruiser A2 coast to a stop down the street. I’ll watch the back, Mark radioed.

Grayden saw him get out of A2, zip up his patrol jacket and move quickly into shadows at the far corner of the building. He then heard the growl of Police Cruiser A3’s muscular engine before he saw the car. He picked his flashlight out of the charging rack and stepped out to meet Dave, as A3 pulled up. Hey Dave, got a live one. Just in the store at the back, stealing stuff, putting it in a back pack.

Dave at forty, had been around for a few years and wasn’t one to rush. Deliberately, he adjusted his equipment belt around a generous waist, before moving carefully to the edge of the storefront. While watching the entrance, he asked Grayden, So, what’ve you seen so far? Just some guy inside putting stuff in a backpack, said Grayden. A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him. You don’t suppose it’s the owner, do you?

At one a.m.? Get real. See anyone else? Got a point of entry?

Grayden was so pumped he shook from the adrenaline rush and could barely talk without biting his tongue. No, I’m sorry I didn’t…I don’t think, ahh…

Settle down, you’re going to crap your drawers, Dave replied quietly as he continued to study the front of the store. He whispered into his portable, See anything, Mark?

Yeah, got a rear window pried open here. Can’t hear nothin’.

Hang on. I’m headed your way. Dave turned to Grayden. Wait here and cover the front. Mark and I’ll go in the back and nail this bugger. For heaven’s sake, don’t shoot us! Dave jammed his portable onto his belt and slipped around the back, into the shadows and out of sight.

Grayden edged to the front door and tried to peek in without revealing himself. Everything seemed surreal and suddenly he was blessed with very clear focus. He could hear the ticking of the vehicle engines as they cooled and a dog barking across town. The hairs on his neck bristled, not just from the cool night air drifting in off the ocean. Nervously, he decided to un-holster his weapon when Dave and Mark appeared inside, at the back of the store.

The midnight shopper dropped his pack and hurled himself at the front door where Grayden was standing guard. The man was slight and the door had a solid steel frame with armoured glass. Grayden saw palms and then a nose and face contort against the glass, followed by a mass of elbows, knees and gut. The doorframe bulged but held. The trapped crook splattered into a dishevelled lump on the floor. Dave and Mark pounced and handcuffed him as Grayden stood dumbfounded, staring at the smear of mucus and blood on the inside of the glass in front of him.

• • •

The crook had been drinking and had no ID. He wasn’t too cooperative during the booking process, faking a more advanced intoxication than was clearly the case. Grayden tried to engage him in small talk while fingerprinting him but with only limited success. The crook’s American accent told them that he wasn’t a local or even from the Island.

So, you aren’t from around here, said Grayden as he inked the burglar’s finger. What brought you into these parts?

Just drifting, man. I live off the land and don’t bother no one.

Obviously, he was trying to hide something so Grayden persisted. Well, that was kinda dumb- the B&E-look where it got you. You know the judge won’t release you until he is satisfied who you are, where you come from and what you’ve been up to. I’m going to run these prints through the computer; we’ll know soon enough.

The crook shrugged and said, Whatever.

• • •

Following Dave’s suggestion, he did the full spectrum: Ottawa, Interpol, and the FBI. The Ottawa fingerprint check came back quickly, indicating that an Immigration Act arrest warrant existed under a different name than the one the man provided. The burglar was illegally in Canada, having escaped from an immigration detention centre in Vancouver.

Grayden went back to the cellblock and addressed the prisoner by his correct name, Hey, James Baker, I told you we’d find out about you. Now you don’t get bail. You’re going back to Vancouver. He watched as Baker paled, then slumped onto the steel bunk. After a moment, he looked up and gave Grayden a desperate look. In a quivering voice, he pleaded, There’s some heavy shit going down, man. I can tell you some really good shit, but you have to get me outta here.

Grayden listened for a bit then decided to run it by Dave. He left the cell block and found Dave at his desk.

Hey Dave, there’s something about this Baker guy I just can’t put my finger on. I’m sure he’s up to something. Can you come back and talk to him?

• • •

Later, Grayden had a hard time restraining a smile as he basked in the praise from the rest of his watch. He’d bagged his first criminal and just not any criminal. The guy was generating some attention, spouting crazy talk about Middle-Eastern terrorists and threats to national security. Grayden had been working his tail off, first as a rookie recruit with a mentor, and now on his own. Perhaps he might actually begin to contribute to his watch and be more than just a warm body on the uniform roster. He pushed those thoughts aside. Right now, he had to focus and send a message to Vancouver about this arrest. Dave said it was all bullshit; the guy was trying to screw with them. Despite this caution, Grayden knew he must write the report.

Chapter 2

September 2014

Vancouver, BC

Aquil wasn’t his real name. It was a code name to divert unwanted attention by authorities in Canada and other western countries. Operating quietly from Calgary, Alberta, as an engineer with the Iranian National Petroleum Industry, he moved within Middle Eastern and Canadian cultures blending the two worlds as a consultant and lobbyist.

To his associates, he reflected a moderate liberal Muslim posture. His family dressed in western mode and his children attended secular schools. They regularly prayed at the mosque, but displayed none of the stereotypes commonly associated with radical Islam. Secretly, Aquil was a covert operative of the Pasdaran, commonly known as the Iranian Islamic Revolutionary Guard.

Salim Nelson and Marta Mackenzie were of mixed nationality. Salim’s mother was Chechen. The young man, known to his western friends as Sal, shared his mother’s dark curls and eyes, yet had the fair complexion and features of his American father. Marta’s father was Canadian, her mother Lebanese. She shared he mother’s intense brown eyes, dark black hair and a fierce pride in her Muslim Lebanese heritage.

Marta had a dark personality-prone to outbursts of anger-difficult to control. Just before she entered puberty, several cats in the neighbourhood were horribly mutilated. Marta and her mother quickly traveled to visit relatives in Beirut, avoiding enquiries authorities began making.

Exposure to Wahhabi extremism, as adolescents, radicalized Sal and Marta’s loyalty to Islam and mistrust of non-believers. Inspired by vivid media coverage portraying ruthless Soviet suppression of Chechen independence, each answered a Jihad call to arms. Far thinking minds, at training camps in the Middle East, realized the potential of these recruits. Marta and Sal received far more than basic weapons instruction. After several years as dormant agents, they were sent to Aquil, with dire consequence for North America.

• • •

Aquil sat with Sal and Marta going over the rudiments of his plan. It was simple, with potentially far-reaching effects upon the economy of North America. Most significantly, the scheme incorporated a clever diversion, providing an escape. Aquil was delighted with this choice of field operatives. They were enthusiastic and, with minimal adjustment, could fit into the roles he proposed.

Come children; see what glories I’ve planned for you. Together, the three studied a newspaper photo of a middle-aged man with dreadlocks and earrings. Aquil spoke in a hushed voice.

This Baker is ideal for our purposes. He is well established within the animal rights movement and has connections to the University. Before the fanatics got the best of him he was the electrical engineer in charge of maintenance. He has knowledge of the alarm circuitry and can probably bypass the electronic security measures. His association to the Animal Protection Brigade (APB) movement provides the opportunity to divert attention away from us. Allah willing, we can make the authorities believe his cronies at APB were responsible.

How do you hope to shift the blame for this onto APB? Sal asked.

You, dear children, are about to become animal rights activists. said Aquil, You’ll study the philosophy, literature, and adopt the mannerisms of the zealots. My children, you’ll become animal rights warriors willing to take direct action for that cause.

I could do that, it’d be simple. Just dress down and hang out eating nuts and berries. Marta laughed. Might even lose a few pounds.

Can’t wait to see you running around in a peasant blouse and no bra, Sal leered. This remark earned Sal a glare and a punch on the shoulder.

Aquil watched and smiled. As I was saying Baker fits our requirements nicely, provides links to the University and a path for authorities to follow back to APB, away from us. Once you’ve familiarized yourselves with their dogma, I’ll introduce you to him.

Marta asked, How do we get him to help our cause without stumbling onto our true purpose? She leaned forward, studying the article Aquil had stretched out on the table before them.

It’s not all that difficult, really. replied Aquil patiently. The very nature of the group provides us with a key. APB is a very secretive organization operating in a loose collection of cells comprised of two or three individuals. They train separately but combine for operations. The members of each cell don’t know the identities of other cells. Only a few leaders are aware of membership. He paused. I have, by Allah’s blessings, a man deep within the hierarchy of the organization who gives us access to the highest levels of APB’s infrastructure. He’s identified a team of APB operatives in Seattle, a male and female about your age. We’ll just have to get you to replace them, assume their identities, and then we can approach Baker.

Marta looked at Aquil with a puzzled expression. I’m sorry, I must be missing something. Other than getting us past electronic security, why do we need Baker at all? Can’t we get inside with the help of your campus source?

Aquil smiled impatiently. That’s where the diversion comes into play. We could get past the basic alarm systems but the authorities aren’t fools. Sooner or later they might track us and I don’t relish spending the rest of my life in a Federal Institution. Baker has a criminal record. His DNA is registered with the FBI. It’s a simple matter to leave his DNA trail at the crime scene. The authorities will see a connection between his previous employment at the University and his APB activity. The FBI will believe the plan was conceived and carried out by Baker and his animal rights friends. There’ll be no trace to us.

That does seem to make sense, agreed Marta, suddenly grasping the concept. We just have to get close to Baker to collect some DNA.

Correct, said Aquil. But first you must read up on the basics. We’ll locate the two cell members in the Seattle area and have you two get to know them, to adopt their personas, so to speak.

Marta looked up at Sal, This sounds like a lot of work but I’m up for it if you are.

Sal nodded his approval. Let’s do it.

The two of you can start any time, said Aquil. Here’s the portfolio. I have a few more arrangements to make regarding Baker. Getting you two inside APB is the easy part. Aquil chuckled. We have to get Baker out of jail.

• • •

Late that night, Sal lay in bed his hand toyed with Marta’s dark curls as she lay prostrated against his frame. They were relaxing after a session of frantic Lovemaking. So, why did you join the movement?

Beirut, she said. Maronite Lebanese Christians slaughtered my mother’s family in the civil war when she was just a child. She escaped by the grace of Allah because she was visiting her cousins, on the Islamic side of the green line, when the murderous rape gang attacked. She fled with relatives to Canada, as a refugee. I hate Christians and all their western trappings."

Not all. You dress and act like a westerner. And what about your father, isn’t he Christian?

My father’s an atheist. He could care less about any form of religion so I consider him irrelevant. As for my dress, early in my school days I was teased mercilessly for Muslim ways. I refused to dress any differently than the other girls after that, and another thing, there’s no way I’m trotting around subservient to men, despite what some misguided fanatics think. I’m equal to men; in many ways superior. A liberated woman is much better in bed, don’t you agree?

Chapter 3

September 2014

Puget Sound, WA

Sal and Marta boarded a small vehicle ferry headed to one of the many islands at the top of Puget Sound, near Seattle. Their destination was an adventure guiding business but Sal and Marta’s ultimate purpose was anything but recreational. The guiding enterprise, Cascade Marine Trail Adventures, catered to kayak trips in the Cascade Marine Park. Marta read from a travel brochure, Ben Gilbert and his wife Rhoda are renowned as charming hosts and experienced paddlers. She turned to Sal, Thanks to Aquil we’re amongst the scant few who know that the Gilberts comprise part of the APB movement and are the cell group for the Pacific Northwest.

As the ferry drew near its dock, a cluster of kayaks scuttled out of the way. The paddlers were uniformly dressed in bright-yellow floater vests but there the similarities ended. The group was a mixture of ages with apparently widely-divergent skill levels. They were shepherded, splashing and weaving away from the path of the ferry, by a leader.

Sal remarked as the tanned figure encouraged and cajoled his charges out of harm’s way,

Maybe that’s our man with this flock.

Marta looked at Sal and joked, Well, I hope he at least looks something like that. I just wish their web site featured some photographs. With my luck, he’ll be a grossly unattractive with the charm and intelligence of a toad.

Sal laughed but turned to Marta his face set in a serious manner. If you’re uncomfortable with the plan, now is the time to speak out. The whole idea of seduction was your inspiration. He studied her carefully.

Yes, well, I bet you’re looking forward to getting to know her. Marta said. She is probably gorgeous with big boobs, a huge mane of blonde hair and long muscular limbs.

I can only hope. He sighed, raising an eyebrow.

This remark produced a scowl across Marta’s face. You don’t think I can do the mission, do you? I’m as dedicated as you. Maybe he’ll be something like Brad Pitt and I can really apply myself.

The ferry docked and cars rolled off, past a line of vehicle and foot passenger traffic waiting to take their place. Sal started their Nissan, inching forward in line as they crept carefully over the bump in the loading ramp and began to negotiate a winding climbing road into the heart of the island. It was a glorious autumn day with clear skies and pleasant temperatures. Once away from the water, Sal was struck by the crackling dry odour of sunburned grass, dead Arbutus leaves and Scotch broom.

Ah early fall; my favorite time of year, the seasonal rains haven’t arrived yet. He took a deep breath and said to Marta. See how a soft golden hue penetrates into the shadows, an autumn glow as some call it. The road was fairly narrow winding gently through the heart of the island. As they climbed a steep grade, far below them was a small lake. The truck crested the spine of the island and began descending towards a short peninsula. The main path veered off to the left but they turned onto a side route and headed out onto the peninsula. A short way down the trail was a rustic sign, Cascade Marine Trail Adventures.

Facing them was an upscale country cottage framed by Arbutus trees and set off by a large rear deck overlooking a sheltered bay on the corner of the deck sat a hot tub. When they drove up to the front, a golden lab appeared from around back. His tail tracing lazy circles, he barked a tongue-lolling greeting. As the dust settled, a man appeared from around the side of the cottage. A sweat-stained T-shirt accented his muscular physique. He wore a pair of gloves and he was carrying a set of long- handled clippers. He paused to remove the gloves, placing the clippers on the deck just as a woman stepped through the screen door out into the sunshine.

They weren’t quite movie stars but neither was unattractive. Sal unconsciously did a mental comparison. The other pair appeared to be a bit older. They were lean and had a Mediterranean look about them. Each exhibited superb muscle tone. The men were relatively the same size but she was a couple of inches taller than Marta and had a slimmer build. Both sported dark, kinky, hair; his was close cropped, hers shoulder length.

The man stepped forward with a brilliant smile, extending his hand, Welcome. You must be the Mansons. I’m Ben and this is my wife, Rhoda.

Sal returned his handshake. Pleased to meet you. I’m Sal and this is Marta. My gosh! You have a little bit of paradise here. We could trade in the big city for this any day, right, hun? He reached across behind her shoulders and gave Marta a hug.

Well, come on in, Marta, said Rhoda. Let the men get the bags. You must be stiff from that long drive, how about a cup of coffee or something else? Rhoda had Marta by the hand, pulling her towards the front door.

Sal followed Ben, who was carrying their bags to a group of cabins beside the bay. I’m really looking forward to this weekend, he said. Marta and I don’t get the opportunity to get away nearly as much as we’d like.

I think you’ll find this quite adequate, said Ben. "It doesn’t have all the amenities of home but most people come here to get away from that anyhow.

Sal nodded. Looks great to me. The cabin was spartan and he wondered how Marta would regard the arrangement. He reminded himself that they were here for serious business and not a holiday. There were some intense tasks ahead of them.

Ben dropped their bags inside the door, and then gestured towards the main building. Let’s head up to the house. Rhoda’ll have lunch ready. After, I want to see how you are on the water. Generally, we like to take the first day to introduce guests to the equipment and finish up with an evening paddle. Tomorrow is an overnighter, camping up near the San Juan Islands. We’ll return late Sunday and have a soak in the hot tub to work out the sore muscles and kinks. Then, you guys can head back to the big smoke if you like. The last ferry leaves at 10:30 pm but most people like to spend the extra night with us here. The fee’s the same.

Sal laughed and gestured for Ben to lead the way. I doubt if I could tear Marta away any sooner. It sounds just great.

The men climbed a set of stairs onto the rear deck, walked through a French door into a bright kitchen. Marta and Rhoda sat in comfortable chairs, each sipping a glass of wine. Classical music delicately floated around the room, creating a relaxed atmosphere. Caesar salad and chicken with pesto garlic bread was spread out on the