The One

By Réal Laplaine

The federal law enforcement agency of Canada is called the Royal Canadian Mounted Police or RCMP, one of the oldest law enforcement agencies in the world, and one which is famous for several notable things:

Their motto, "We always get our man".

Their famously red riding jackets, black yellow-striped pants and blackjack boots and western style hats, mounted on big horses, which they still use to this day.

And lastly, if you are stupid enough as a terrorist, domestic or otherwise, to cross their paths, they probably won't hesitate to put a bullet in you - essentially, a no-tolerance policy when it comes to such threat levels.

The Keeno Crime Thriller Novels follow in this tradition, minus the riding outfits and horses of course, and are based on a special unit of the RCMP called the ATU or Anti-Terrorism-Unit, headed by Keeno McCole. This small team is called into play as point-man when it comes to taking on domestic terrorism or large-scale criminal rings. Keeno McCole is a maverick crime-fighter, rarely listening to authority, but certainly no less passionate about getting his man as the saying goes. He's deadly with a throwing knife, which never leaves his side. He wears blue jeans and cowboy boots to work. He drinks copious amounts of coffee along with bear claws. He loves one woman, and none other. When it comes to crime fighting, he is fearless to a fault, testimony to that fact are the large number of scars covering his body. Along with his crime-fighting partner, Jake Williams, and two brilliant forensic and think-tank team members, Janene and Kelly, the ATU is relentless in searching down and removing the criminals on their radar - where ever that takes them in the world.

In The One, book three of this series, as a large freighter is passing through the Soo Locks in Sault Ste. Marie, a canal system that allows some 10,000 ships annually to connect to Lake Superior, a deckhand screams into his radio to stop the ship. News soon reaches the top tier of Canada's government, as the Prime Minister is told that his niece's body has just been found snagged to the side of a freighter. It doesn't take long for investigators to make a connection to a strange sect, one which the girl was a part of. The PM himself, knowing about the ATU's reputation, calls on Keeno McCole to take up the investigation, suspecting more than just murder. Keeno and Jake fly to Winnipeg, the headquarters of the sect called The One, the last known location of the Prime Minister's niece, and what ensues is a bizarre thriller, one that will challenge Keeno and push him and his team to the very edge as they take on a seditious and serpentine cult leader.

"If you are familiar with and enjoyed Louise Penny's Three Pines mysteries, you'll love The One." - Russell Warnberg, author of 2064
"There is no doubt that Réal Laplaine can create a nail-biting mystery." - Red City Review
"I enjoyed this novel very much. I love Keeno, his awesome personality, his guts, integrity and abilities."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Réal Laplaine
• Release date: Jul 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9780463145715

Réal Laplaine

I write in several genres; crime thrillers, speculative fiction thrillers (some would call it sci-fi but I prefer speculative fiction because my themes are more possible than not) and geopolitical thrillers.I have written a few books which classify as literary fiction - novels with an inspirational edge.My focus has always been on writing very contemporary novels, which, while entertaining, pull no punches on the state of the world we live in, or the potential futures facing us, thus, the speculative fiction aspect of my works.In the bookstore at www.reallaplaine.com you will find my books in eBook formats (ePub/PDF) which are instantly downloadable to your computer, smartphone or other device. Links are provided for each book if you prefer to order Kindle, Nook, paperback or other formats from other book retailers.You will also find a number of my short stories which are cost-free.Some of my titles are now in audio book format - more are coming.Abolishing nuclear weapons:In 2014 I published a book, Twilight Visitor, a geopolitical thriller about China invading Iran for its oil, wherein Iran retaliates by firing a nuclear warhead at Beijing. The book has garnered tremendous reviews, comparing it to the best of Dan Brown and other similar authors, but what is important is that the story impresses on the reader that nuclear war is just a button away. In several of my subsequent geopolitical thrillers this thread also weaves through the stories, to help raise awareness on this existential threat to the future of our kids.Please take a moment to visit the page entitled B.A.N. or Ban All Nukes at www.reallaplaine.comRéal LaplaineAuthor of Break Out Bookswww.reallaplaine.com

Book preview

A Keeno Crime Thriller Novel

by Réal Laplaine

The One

A Keeno Crime Thriller Novel

Copyright © 2017 by Réal Laplaine

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the author.

Cover design by Cindy Anderson

This is a fictional work of the author’s imagination. Any names or references made are used within a fictional construct.

Other books by Réal Laplaine:

Intrusion: A Keeno Crime Thriller Novel

Quantum Assault: A Keeno Crime Thriller Novel

Finding Agnetha

See Me Not

Dead but not Gone

Twilight Visitor

Deception People: An Out-Step Series Novel

The Other: An Out-Step Series Novel

L.I.N.:  An Out-Step Series Novel

The Buffalo Kid

Earth Escape

Woman Ex

For more information about the author and his books go to www.reallaplaine.com

Dedication

To the First Nations of Canada – who deserved better than what they got.

Throw me to the wolves and I’ll return leading the pack.

Anonymous

The deepest sin against the human mind is to believe things without evidence.

Aldous Huxley

A note

Novels, such as the Keeno Crime Thrillers, inherently deal with the criminal or sociopathic element of our society; and for this reason, an understanding of the term sociopath is useful.      The sociopath is defined as: a person…whose behavior is antisocial, often criminal, and who lacks a sense of moral responsibility or social conscience. (Dictionary.com)

The keynote of the sociopath is that they have no moral compass, conscience nor empathy when it comes to other people. Roughly 98% of the world’s population falls into the bracket of being social, gray zones permitted, since there is no one-size-shoe that fits all. Social people have a natural sense of respect for the law and others. The sociopath does NOT. Sociopaths are the reason why prisons are necessary to protect the majority from the small, yet destructive, criminal-minority. They are the reason why wars are waged and why the world appears crazy – because in fact, the sociopath is quite crazy. The sociopath embraces confusion, and they create disorder and turmoil as a means of hiding their true nature, while leveraging the tumultuous circumstances to their advantage.

To see through the veil behind which they hide, look to their actions and never their words. Their deeds unmask them.

With that in mind, I hope you enjoy the book!

The Soo Locks

The ball of pale yellow slowly crested the horizon, pushing up against the omnipresent darkness. Light suffused the black of receding night, chasing away some of the frigid chill which choked the air.

Within minutes, the rising sun had cast a warm glow over the land, giving chase to the specters of night-time haunts; while offering meager solace against the relentless hand of a brutal Canadian winter which gripped the land in its icy fingers.

The giant cargo-ship made ready to emerge from the Soo Locks in Sault Ste. Marie, on the final leg of its voyage from South America to Duluth, Minnesota.

The Soo Locks, as they are colloquially referred to, were built on the American side of the twin city of Sault Ste. Marie, bordering both America and Canada. They dated back as far as 1855 when the first rendition was put into service. Today, the Soo permits over 10,000 ocean-going vessels to traverse the St. Marie River, which connects Lake Superior to the other lakes in the Great Lakes system, eventually leading out through the St. Lawrence Seaway into the maws of the waiting Atlantic.

Captain Tomson had every ounce of his attention focused on navigating his 763 foot-long-ship through the final portion of the narrow passageway, one which permitted only a matter of feet on either side of the towering monster. To someone standing on the nearby road, it would appear as if a fifteen-story building was magically sliding across the land. Despite that illusion, the breadth of his ship did not leave a lot of room for error; in fact, a minor mistake could easily send the multi-ton behemoth careening into the sides of the lock with disastrous results. Considering that his payload was valued at over twelve million dollars, not counting the value of the ship itself, it was a mistake that would surely cost him his career.

Captain, a voice distracted him through the speaker on the console in front of him.

What is it? he asked gruffly, watching as the bow of the ship slid past the outer edge of the lock.

There’s a body down there.

What?! his brows furrowed. A body – where?

Sir, we’re dragging it on the port side; looks to be snagged on the bow thruster, answered the deck hand.

How do you know it’s a body?

The ship hand, assigned to watch the port side of the ship as they navigated the passageway, continued to stare down at the gruesome sight of a female body, her arms and legs flailing like broken tree limbs in the water.

It’s a body, sir, no doubt ‘bout it.

Captain Tomson shook his head. He had seen a lot of bizarre things in his day, but dragging a body through the Soo Locks, that was a first. He glanced to the port side as a crowd of custom’s officials, security personnel and engineers gathered, pointing and clamoring at something in the water.

Shit! said Tomson, knowing that his arrival in Duluth was about to be delayed. It took only a matter of seconds before he got the call from the Port Master, ordering him to bring his ship to a dead stop.

The Call

Ross Fletcher trudged through the knee-deep snow toward his car which was buried in the sea of white around him. Using his gloved-hand, he swiped away the fresh-fall, just enough to see through the windshield and to find the door handle, and then stomped his feet before slipping into his car. As the vehicle warmed, he glanced up at his two-story home located in Erin Mills, Mississauga, obscured by a mantle of white which the Canadian winter had graciously deposited overnight.

I’ve got some shoveling to do when I get home, he thought – not relishing the duty.

As he took the slip onto the 407 Freeway, his phone rang. The digital display on the dashboard said Private.

"Answer," he commanded the hands-free system.

Is this Ross Fletcher?

Yes, it is. Who am I speaking to?

This is Grant.

Ross paused – not recognizing the name, although the timbre of the man’s voice sounded vaguely familiar.

The Prime Minister? said the voice. Have you forgotten me already, Ross?

Ross was momentarily stunned. The Prime Minister of Canada calling him – why, he wondered?

No, no, of course, how are you, sir.

Call me, Grant, no need for formalities here, Ross.

In a flash, it all came back to him. He had known Grant years ago from when they attended the same high school back in Ottawa. Their ways had parted when Ross veered off into law enforcement, while Grant Caldwin had jumped onto the political bandwagon and successfully worked his way up the pecking order to the top rung as the nation’s Prime Minister. Even though they were good friends in high school, that was several lifetimes ago and Ross hadn’t heard from Grant since then.

I realize we haven’t spoken in years, said the PM, but I have something of considerable importance to go over with you.

Of course, how can I help?

The Prime Minister sighed. My niece’s body just washed up in Sault Ste. Marie, Ross.

What?! exclaimed Ross – genuinely shocked by the statement. I’m very sorry to hear that.

She was murdered, Ross.

Ross’ shock re-doubled.

Listen, I know you’re a busy man and this call probably seems odd to you but this whole matter is extremely personal to me.

I totally understand, sir, and not to sound insensitive but why are you calling me directly.

I’m told that you have the best team in the RCMP.

Ross raised a brow. I’m not sure I understand what you mean.

"Your Anti-Terrorism-Unit."

But why us? asked Ross. Why not RCMP Ottawa?

Because, I know you, and you know me, and I need someone who can handle this investigation discretely and effectively.

Ross quietly nodded to himself. "You do realize that the ATU deals with large-scale criminal syndicates, as well domestic and foreign terrorism."

I know that, Ross, answered the PM, but consider this; if someone can murder my niece, wouldn’t that be grounds for a potential threat against the leader of this nation, maybe even a covert sign of terrorism?

Ross nodded to himself. It’s a possibility – of course.

Listen, Ross, my family and I need closure on this, and I need to know that there isn’t something deeper going on which could be a threat to the nation.

You said she was murdered.

Yes, but I won’t go into the details by phone. He paused to speak to someone in the background, and then returned, I will call you when you’ve had time to digest the information which is being sent to you right now.

I assume you’ve already talked to my superior in Ottawa?

It’s all coordinated with RCMP Ottawa, and your boss has sanctioned my call directly to you.

A message flashed up on the dash-screen, containing a zip-file.

Use the phone number in the file you just received, said the PM. Call me once you’ve studied it.

Ross pressed down on the accelerator.

Winnipeg

Remind me again why we came to this hell-forsaken place, asked Jake, his teeth chattering as he leaned into the wind. As if insulted by his comment, the wind suddenly picked up its attack, charging down the snow-covered street at the two lonely figures, and slammed into Jake like a train head-butting him at full speed. Jake reeled from the blast.

Keeno grinned as he tilted his body against the onslaught. Stop whining, he said as he cautiously raised an eye into the pelting snow, just enough to see the outline of their hotel across the street. The familiar Marriott sign, back-lit by bright red neon letters, barely showed through the gust of white, blinking on and off, like a ship’s bow-light flickering in the toss of a violent sea.

Keeno McCole had endured far-tougher circumstances than the brutal winter which assailed them. Besides being a veteran crime-fighter and head of Canada’s ATU, the Anti-Terrorism-Unit, he had spent several years of his youth learning to survive in an outpost of rural Ontario, with his uncle, where the winters could be merciless beyond belief.

Former members of the OPP, Ontario’s Provincial Police, Keeno McCole and Jake Williams had accrued a considerable reputation as a crime-fighting duo, who seemed to have a penchant for getting themselves into life-threatening situations and coming out alive. It was this reputation and their track-record of successfully cleaning up the streets on their beat which eventually caught the attention of the RCMP.

Seasoned and tried street-warriors, Keeno and Jake had withstood more bullets, knife-wounds, beatings and explosions than considered humanly possible – and yet, the two seemed no less daunted by the scars which decorated their bodies.

Compared to Keeno, who possessed a slim and taut frame, both strong and conditioned by pain and injury, Jake was a stout man, bullish in stature, with a barrel chest, thick muscular arms and a neck that looked more like a tree stump, giving the illusion that his head and shoulders were one. Despite his roguish appearance, Jake was a light-hearted man, with a proclivity for injecting humor into any situation, even when there were more bullets flying around than words.

While Jake preferred his Beretta 92FS, one of the most accurate handguns of its kind and popular within law enforcement circles, Keeno’s weapon of choice was the four-inch stainless-steel throwing knife sheathed to his belt. Although deadly with a gun, Keeno’s speed and precision with that knife was legendary, and there were many criminals, if only they were still alive to endorse the fact, who had felt its lethal bite.

So… Jake’s voice cut through the wash of a howling wind what’s the plan, Kemosabe?

A hot cup of coffee and … Keeno began to answer when he felt the quaking of his cell phone in his pocket. He pulled it out and thumbed the caller while turning his back against the renewed charge of an angry wash.

What’s up, Janene?

You haven’t heard?! Her voice had that desperate edge to it, one which he had come to know – having worked with her for nearly a decade now.

Heard what? he asked as he pressed the phone to his ear.

There’s a hostage crisis happening right down the street from your hotel, at the CBC television station. I’m watching the live footage now. It’s being broadcast to the whole damn world.

He cupped the phone with his other hand. What’s the situation?

You have to see it to believe it.

Within a few seconds a message arrived on his phone. Keeno clicked the link. Jake hunched nearby and together they watched the live transmission as the wind refused to give up its assault.

Okay, we’re on it. Talk to you later, he screamed into the phone as the wind seemed to suck the words from his mouth.

Both took off at a dead run. As they arrived at the location on Portage Avenue – Police cars surrounded the five-story structure, the headquarters of the Manitoba Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Keeno flashed his RCMP ID card and within seconds they were inside – safe from the raging wind.

They shook off the crusty snow which clung to them and looked around the reception area. Police, holding semi-automatics, clad in bullet proof vests and protective helmets, were positioned everywhere. One man, clearly a senior officer, judging by his braid, turned and approached them.

Who are you? he demanded.

I’m Keeno McCole and this is Jake Williams, we’re with the RCMP ATU in Toronto.

The officer’s brow raised as he studied the two who appeared anything but RCMP – at least judging by their attire. Keeno, as was customary for him, was wearing a pair of black cowboy boots, blue jeans and a black parka. Jake was sporting Nike running shoes, jeans, as well as winter jacket. Neither of them showed any signs of being members of the RCMP’s famed ATU, but that was by decision, as Keeno refused to have a target painted on their backs.

What is the ATU doing in Winnipeg?

Following up another case. Can we help out here… answered Keeno, looking at his name badge, Officer Bukowski?

The man shook his head. RCMP Manitoba is sending a hostage-crisis team to deal with this – but thanks for the offer.

This looks to me like domestic terrorism, so that falls under our jurisdiction too, said Keeno as he stepped over to a wall-monitor showing the happenings inside the studio.

A woman was kneeling on the floor inside the studio, her eyes were wide with terror and a trickle of blood dripped from her lower lip leaving a patch of red on her white blouse. Strapped to her chest was a small package, and next to her, on a chair, was a laptop computer which clearly showed the head of man, from the shoulders up, with a black balaclava over his head. Only his eyes were visible.

Is that a bomb on her chest? asked Keeno without taking his eyes off the woman.

As best we can tell, yes; but short of going in there, we don’t know for sure.

Has he made any demands?

No. Bukowski answered. He hasn’t said a word. Just stares straight at the cameras – that’s all. It’s as if he’s waiting for us to do something.

And this is being televised live, right?

The officer nodded.

Keeno looked back at the monitor. Not good. They usually have two agendas, either to make money, or to make a point. If he’s not asking for money, then he plans to do something.

Are we sure the guy isn’t still in there? asked Jake.

Bukowski’s head wagged. We can’t be sure, but why leave a computer behind if he was still in there?

He intends to blow the bomb, said Keeno, his mind suddenly made up.

Keeno stepped closer to the wall monitor. How can I talk to this guy?

Bukowski raised a challenging brow. I’m not sure that’s a smart idea, McCole, and besides, I’ve been ordered to stand-down until the RCMP crisis-team arrives.

Keeno turned to face Bukowski. Look. You’ve got minutes, at best, before he decides to detonate it. We don’t have time to wait for the other team.

How can you know that?

Keeno looked at the wolf-like eyes staring back at him from the laptop. I’ve seen people like him before. He’s just waiting for his horse and pony show to capture enough attention, before popping the cap on that bomb.

The officer pressed his lips together, thinking to himself that he didn’t want her blood on his watch, so he silently conceded with a nod. Okay, you can talk into that wall speaker, there, he pointed. Press the button and talk, then let go. It works like a walkie-talkie. The studio engineer assures us that the man on the computer will hear us clearly.

Keeno approached and pressed the button while keeping his eyes trained on the hooded man on the laptop.

What do you want? he asked and then released the button.

The man’s eyes shifted, like a predator suddenly catching sight of its next meal.

Please - help me!!! the woman suddenly cried out upon hearing Keeno’s voice. He’s going to kill me. Her entreaty echoed eerily from the small speaker, filling the foyer and catching the ears of every law enforcement officer with her haunting plea.

Ahhh, finally, someone who is willing to talk, said the masked man, his voice distorted by the balaclava covering all but his eyes. Who am I speaking to?

Keeno McCole. I’m with RCMP Toronto.

You’re a little far from home, McCole. What brings you to Winnipeg?

I love the winters here.

The masked man chuckled. A sense of humor, I like that.

Glad I could entertain you. So, what do you want?

I want nothing but your attention.

What does that mean?

I have a message for the world, said the man with a monotone voice.

What message?

The hooded man tipped his head to one side, a slow and deliberate gesticulation. There is evil in our world, McCole, you of all people should know that.

Tell me something I don’t already know.

I am not referring to the run-of-the-mill criminals you deal with. I am referring to the ones who hide behind the veil of sanctity and who posture as ambassadors of truth, and yet, who spread lies, hyperbole and bullshit. He paused. Do you know who I am referring to, Keeno?

Judging by the fact that you’ve taken a news anchor hostage and have strapped a bomb to her chest, I’m pretty sure that you’ve got it in for the media.

Smart and funny too! Correct answer.

You expect to change the media by blowing up this station?

A guttural laugh emitted from under the balaclava.       Of course not! Nothing I do here today will really change anything.

So, why do it at all?

Let’s call it a matter of principle!

Keeno raised a challenging brow at the face in the computer screen. Standing by one’s principles usually infers positive merit, not something like this.

Semantics, McCole, purely semantics.

The man paused as his eyes drifted with a slow and deliberate tempo, lingering on the woman, as if