Covert Acts: Jamison Paxston, #2

By Geoffrey R. Tigg

Jako Palma, the Executive Manager of the West Coast Casino and Suites in Vancouver, has been murdered and his Albanian Mafia kingpin boss, Salvatore Cuntrera, has sent his abrasive fixer, Jorge Linderman, to tie up any loose ends that might endanger the operation. But Cuntrera's not the only one looking for answers, and some of those loose ends have agendas of their own. Cross, double-cross, hacking, high-tech break-ins and murder are the tools as the players conspire to get what they want before Linderman can sort out the facts.

Jamison Paxston, entrepreneur and high-stakes gambler at the Casino, was present at Palma's death and now becomes entangled in the deadly intrigue. He had thought his involvement with Palma ended with Palma's death, but instead he becomes a pawn as he tries to move forward with his own life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rushing Tide Media
• Release date: Mar 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781942545200

Geoffrey R. Tigg

Born in Windsor, Ontario, Canada, Geoff Tigg became interested in film, art and writing in his early teens. He loves telling stories as his father had, and the creative seed sown  in those teen years has been rejuvenated through his works on film, canvas and on paper. Tigg's stories have been inspired by characters, events and places that have touched his life in some imprtessionable way. A graduate of the Univerity of Waterloo, Tigg went on to became a Professional Engineer, receive his cetification in accounting and process logistics, and is a graduate from a consultancy business school in New York. Tigg has been able to provide consulting in Canada, the United States and South America, and has been CFO and CEO of numerous corporations in British Columbia, Canada. Tigg has volunteered in his community, mentored others and has frequently reinvented himself to meet changing times.  Geoff lives in the West Coast overlooking the inspiring and unpredictable ocean absorbing its power and returning it to readers through his written words.

Book preview

Aftermath

I consider myself a tolerant man. I respect different views and beliefs, even if they are radically opposed to my own, but there is a point where my tolerance ends. I have no tolerance for terrorists. I now have been forced to face the reality of what terrorists are, and what damage they can do. They have murdered people who I care about, destroyed my business offices and reputation, and they are still out there to inflict the same fate on others. They must be stopped.

I admit that I had my company develop some software that can invade the privacy of the public with the purpose of identifying and locating these thugs. Many people will say that I was wrong, and that the ends do not justify the means. I don’t agree.

A few days after the shooting of Jako Palma at Malkin Bowl by that terrorist, I agreed to hand over the Tegic Protocol software to Howard Capote, so that he can take it back to his group at the Absaroka Corporation in the United States. The system, even operating without public knowledge, will certainly contribute to the effort to identify those terrorist bastards. I don’t necessarily agree with the philosophies of the Absaroka Corporation, but at this point, I agree with eradicating our society of terrorists by using any means that are reasonable. I felt that Jojo Lee would’ve died in vain if I didn’t deliver what she had developed for me. All I will have to do is hand over that software to Howard Capote.

The Government of Canada now had one copy; Katrina Varis-Bryce, my business partner, told me that she has another on our iLock Corporate backup drive; and I have a third copy on a flash drive that’s in a safe at my executive assistant Sydney Clarkston’s condo. I needed to deliver that software as quickly as possible to Howard. There was one problem—Sydney was on vacation in Mexico until the following Friday, which meant I couldn’t get it for another five days; the copy on the iLock backup drive was not accessible, as iLock hadn’t restored its operating systems that were disrupted during the terrorist bombing of our old office. It was really a crazy idea to turn over the software to this anti-terrorist group, but I did give Howard my word a few days after Sydney had left on her vacation. The thing is, I know that I’m a lucky man having missed a scheduled death at the hands of Jako Palma, and possibly at the hands of that terrorist; with this act, I hope that I’ll settle my score with Jako and the Jabhat al Nusra—at least in some part, anyway.

My original copy of the Tegic Protocol software that is on a flash drive, was promised to Special Agent Arün Mughai of the Integrated Crimes Unit. It was part of our agreement to release iLock and all of its employees from prosecution, should the development of the Tegic software be considered an illegal offence. Technically, the software hasn’t been received by our client, and hasn’t been installed in any cell phone network either, but the risk of prosecution still existed; so I had made the commitment to the ICU. Kate, that is, Katrina, my business partner, had also agreed to destroy iLock’s copy once the company’s systems have been restored in our new business location. The terrorist bombing of our previous office had destroyed almost everything else, so we had to start fresh. Kate and I found a new location for iLock, and we began to put the company back together. She and I had also started a new relationship—a personal one, with each other.

Despite my commitment to SA Mughai, I decided to make another copy of the software before I turned it over to the ICU. That copy, I’m now going to give to Howard. I have learned to be cautious and have backup plans. That strategy has saved my life more than once. My instincts have told me that I need to continue to hold my cards close to my chest. I also feel that trusting Howard Capote may also be risky business. His statement in the police cruiser as we left Palma’s murder scene still nags at my consciousness. "For the wrongdoer will be paid back for the wrong he has done, and there is no partiality." I now wondered if he was referring to the terrorist, Palma, or me.

Howard had agreed to keep our arrangement about the Tegic Protocol software between ourselves. No one was ever to find out that I had made another copy and given it to the Absaroka Corporation. I had told Howard that the delivery of the software would not include any further support by iLock, and that there could not be any acknowledgement that our company had been involved in its development. He had agreed of course, but I now was having second thoughts about releasing the software to him. I was still angry about the devastation the software brought to my people, and to myself. I hoped that releasing this copy to Howard would not somehow result in a similar outcome down the road.

Jako Palma’s another matter altogether. He had manipulated me, got me tangled into a web of deceit with Judge Anthony DeWit, and had almost murdered me in cold blood a week ago. The vivid memory of his gun pressed into my face has replayed in my mind many times since that night. A bastard, no question. I had been warned, I know, but the past events had been beyond comprehension and insane imagination.

It was Monday, the third of February. I was lying in bed next to Kate, who was still asleep. I knew that she was exhausted from working on the list of tasks that had to be accomplished to get iLock established in our new facility. She had an appointment with a contractor at nine, so I was planning to wake her shortly. It had taken us all day Saturday to finalize the lease at the Belmont Building on Humboldt Street. The old 1912 heritage structure had just been renovated, and we had been fortunate enough to find adequate vacant space on the eighth floor. There had been concerns expressed by the landlord surrounding the terrorist attack on our old office, as most of the second floor of that building now requires substantial repair. We had been able to convince our new landlord, and our insurance broker, that the attack had been a random event that had nothing to do with our iLock Smart security system, and that the events were associated with some information that the terrorists had misinterpreted. That explanation seemed reasonable to them, so we were granted our lease which became effective that day. Of course, the insurance company wasn’t so accommodating, so our premiums were significantly increased. That was no surprise, though.

What was a surprise, a shock really, was that Nicole, my wife, was released from custody late Friday afternoon. I had received a phone call from Detective Jamie Steele of the Victoria Police Department, as she wanted to give me the news directly. She had told me that she couldn’t comment on the decision, but that the Crown Prosecutor had determined there had been inadequate evidence that my wife was behind the three attempts to murder me. Rees Savage, my wife’s chauffeur, and Nicole had been having an affair, and Nicole had used Rees to arrange for an assassin, which she funded. Detective Steele had set up a sting operation to get proof of that plot; but in the end, the Crown ruled that the context of the alleged payoff to Red McCauley was unclear. That ambiguity left adequate doubt in the eyes of the law, so the charges against Nicole were dropped. The rest of the evidence gathered by VicPD on her other two attempts was considered circumstantial, so Nicole walked on all counts.

Nicole’s really a dangerous woman, and her obsession to murder me is all about my money. She wants it all, and she had filed for divorce with ridiculous demands. That was before her arrest. With her pending murder charges last week, I thought that she would be out of my life and that she wouldn’t get a dime. I guess my thoughts were premature, and now that I’m living with Kate, the odds of me getting a fair settlement look bleak. I don’t want to give Nicole half; in fact, I still want to give her nothing. I know the truth that she conspired to have me murdered, and I’m sure that I’ll hear from her soon. I know that I’ll need to control myself, when I do: put on that poker face that I have. I don’t trust Nicole, and I believe that she’s more dangerous than any terrorist. I must stay alert, and watch my back.

Hey, sleepy head. Time to get moving, I said, then kissed Kate on her cheek. You have an appointment at nine.

Augh, seven forty-five, Katrina muttered, one eye open, looking at the clock by her bedside. She then rolled over and turned toward me. Another tough night getting to sleep, huh?

Yea. I thought that I would be over my stress by now, but Nicole being released just drives me crazy. Justice … there is no justice, just legal bullshit. Concerning Palma and all that, well, I think that I got a handle on those issues.

Kate kissed me on my cheek. You got me, so screw the rest and relax, she replied with a smile, then pulled her body from under the sheets, stripped off her nightgown and quickly disappeared into the bathroom.

I was about to make some remark when my cell phone rang. It had rung again by the time I grabbed it from the night table. Paxston.

Jamison, its Edgar Logan.

Edgar. I see that the Palma drama’s finally off the news. What’s up?

That’s why I’m calling. I’m concerned about the fallout from Palma’s murder. Not the terrorists, but Judge DeWit and Razan Nandan. Palma’s replacement is a Jorge Linderman, and he came in from Toronto last night. There had been rumors of his arrival at the West Coast Casino and Suites for a few days now. I still haven’t checked him out yet, my friend.

So Edgar, what’s the concern? All this drama is over in my estimation. Palma’s out of the picture and Nandan must deal with Palma’s replacement—Linderman you say. DeWit, well, I don’t know what his agenda was, but I’m not part of it now, regardless what was in those envelopes that Gitman and I took from his safe.

Palma had two of those envelopes, right? One that had Jako Palma’s name on it, and the other with a Jessica Howe’s. I assume that those envelopes are still somewhere in Palma’s office and that ….

That’s DeWit’s problem, not mine, Edgar. You worked with DeWit to recover the other two envelopes from me—what does he say?

I haven’t spoken to him since I returned them to him. The ones with Ivan Dagomar’s and Yang Chao’s names. I do know that he was quite upset that the other two envelopes were in the hands of Palma. I’m concerned about your safety, Jamison. DeWit’s a powerful and influential man, and certainly no one to screw with.

Well, Palma’s no longer an issue anymore, and the envelopes that I gave to Palma will most likely be meaningless to Linderman, should he find them. I’m sure that’s why you haven’t heard from DeWit—he’s not concerned either.

DeWit may very well be concerned. He just hasn’t figured out how to get those envelopes back from Palma’s office. Even though Razan Nandan was Palma’s muscle man and Security Manager, he also was privy to most things that went on in Palma’s office. I’m sure that he knows about you and DeWit. Remember that Nandan was instrumental in the events at Palma’s murder. He provided Capote with that gun that night. What the real reason was for that act is still unclear in my mind. DeWit’s not your problem—Nandan is. I’m calling to advise you to watch your back. I don’t think things ended with the death of Palma. You’re lucky that the terrorist took out Palma, and not you. Something else was going down at Malkin Bowl, something involving Nandan and Capote. I’m convinced of that. With Linderman now showing up, I expect something to happen at the WCCS. Those envelopes will certainly trigger something, either by Linderman, or DeWit. I don’t want to see you trapped in the middle.

I’ve no control over what might be the fall-out from those envelopes, Edgar. You’re the P.I.; what do you suggest?

I don’t know right now, Jamison. Just stay low-key and keep your wits about you. I don’t believe that this situation’s over, just because Palma has been eliminated. There are many players left, and I believe that DeWit has an agenda that goes far beyond Palma.

Thanks for your concern, Edgar. I appreciate your call and I know that you’ll cover my back if things go as you think. You’re a good friend and I owe you. Be careful yourself. Talk with you later.

I disconnected the call and sighed, thinking about the short conversation and warning. I could hear Kate in the shower. I wanted to join her, but I was caught in this strange place, a place where I felt that I had no control over my life; a place where my past decisions could catch up and destroy what good was left in my future; a place where I felt trapped by pending events.

Hey, I thought that you would join me! Who was on the phone? Kate inquired as she returned to the bedroom naked, drying her hair with a towel.

Kate looks intoxicating, even at sixty-three years old. Her tall sleek body has still retained its youthful features, and the only sign of aging is her short gray hair. Her inquiring eyes never miss any detail, and she could sense that I was preoccupied as I sat naked on the side of the bed. I don’t think I look so bad for fifty-nine, either. My hair has turned gray as well; but I have looked after my body, even though I spent a great deal of time entertaining clients and eating out over the years.

I placed the cell phone back onto the side table. Oh, it was Edgar Logan, that investigator who saved my butt at Malkin Bowl. He just wanted to see how I was doing. I like him, and he has turned out to be a good friend. He’s a little concerned about Judge DeWit, however, but I’m not fussed. I better get myself cleaned up if we’re going to get to the office before that contactor shows up.

Kate watched me as I climbed off the bed and headed toward the bathroom. She didn’t say anything else, but I know that look on her face. I had seen it when I brought the Tegic Protocol project to her for approval last month, and I had seen it when she had received that call from Jojo Lee. Concern and worry was written clearly for me to see.

Jorge Linderman sat behind Jako Palma’s executive glass-top office desk. He sat in a black leather executive chair, staring out the nineteenth floor glass window that overlooked Vancouver Harbour and the Inlet. He had a cup of hot coffee in his hand, and he smiled as he thought about his new and exciting opportunity. Jorge had worked for Salvatore Cuntrera for years as a personal body guard and confidant. He was very good at that job, and their shared Albanian heritage certainly had helped build trust and respect between the two. Many people in The Order called Jorge Double-O, like James Bond in the movies, as Jorge was smooth and deadly.

The reek of cigar smoke filled the office, remnants of Jako Palma. The stench brought thoughts of things that he knew would have to change at the West Coast Casino and Suites; but first, he needed firsthand knowledge regarding what events had led to Palma’s death. A shooting at the hands of some terrorist lay on the surface, but Jorge’s experience had taught him that working for The Order often brought many enemies and threatening situations. Salvatore wanted answers, and wanted the individuals responsible, identified.

A knock on the open bullet-proof glass office door redirected Jorge’s attention to his invited guest. Of course, Razan Nandan would now work for him; but more important right now, Razan would have answers and knowledge about Jako Palma.

Jorge eyed the well-toned young man, who was almost six feet tall, now standing at the doorway. The man looked like he was in his late twenties and had a Pakistani heritage. Jorge sat stern-faced and gestured with his right hand for Razan to enter the plush office.

Razan Nandan entered the office and stood stiffly as the glass office door closed silently behind him. He had been informed a few days ago that this man, Jorge Linderman, would be Palma’s replacement, and that Linderman was no man to mess with. He had met Jorge briefly the night before, and had been told to appear in the office at eight in the morning. The entire nineteenth floor had been in a state of lock-down since the murder of Jako Palma, an emergency protocol that had been established by Cuntrera in Toronto years before.

Take a seat, Razan. I’ve been instructed to replace Jako Palma, as I told you last night. The lock-down has been lifted, and I now wish to get operations back to normal as soon as possible. I’ve instructed the Business Manager, ah … Robert Styles … that he needs to brief me later this afternoon.

Razan sat down in a leather chair that was placed in front of Linderman’s desk. He studied his new boss, who was in his late thirties, tall, slim, and had a long narrow face. Jorge’s brown hair was cut very short, and it had already begun to turn gray on the sides. Linderman sat stiffly, wore a white shirt, solid red tie, and a plain dark suit.

Palma’s sudden murder’s a concern to the business partners back in Toronto, said Linderman without emotion. I need to make a report to them; you know—close the loop and close the file. It’s a tragedy for you Razan, I’m sure.

Yes sir! I had been with Mr. Palma for some time now. A terrorist—I’m still in shock!

What was Palma doing in Stanley Park anyway, in the rain and all? It doesn’t sound like the Jako I’ve heard about.

Razan hesitated to answer the question.

Jorge forced a smile. Look, I get it, Razan. Maybe a drink will help. I know that it’s early, but there’s a bar full of stuff here. Jorge rose from his seat.

I’ll get it, Sir, if that’s all right with you? Razan stood quickly from his chair. Can I fix you something?

A Canadian Club, please, Jorge replied as he studied his Security Manager.

Razan quickly walked to the bar in the corner of the room, as he had done thousands of times for Jako Palma, and found two crystal glasses. He poured a whiskey for Jorge and a scotch for himself. Ice, Sir?

Neat, thank you.

Razan grabbed the two stubby glasses, then handed the whiskey to Jorge and kept the scotch for himself. He reseated himself. Mr. Palma was … well, a headstrong man, I can say, Sir. He became angry with events involving some terrorist tracking software. I don’t know what the issue was, but he decided to eliminate the people involved. I warned him that … well, taking out those men was my job, but ah … Razan took a stiff drink from his glass. … He insisted on doing the kills himself.

Terrorist tracking software! What the hell are you talking about? We’re not in the software business, Razan, Jorge exclaimed as he glared at the young man. Palma’s job was to run a casino and hotel. What the hell was going on out here?

Ah …. Razan took another drink from his crystal glass. It’s complicated, Sir. I don’t know all the details, but Mr. Palma was to deliver that tracking software to some contacts in the United States. Software that was designed and built to identify terrorists, but I don’t know anything about how it works. The software was developed by a Jamison Paxston of iLock Technologies Corporation in Victoria. I do know that Mr. Palma coerced Paxston to do it. I guess some terrorist group found out and sent someone to eliminate Mr. Palma. It just so happened to be the same time when Palma was going to take out Paxston and a Howard Capote. A pure coincidence I think, but the facts make me wonder. Anyway, Capote was the software courier for the Americans.

Jorge Linderman shook his head looking a little confused. Where’re Capote and Paxston?

I don’t know, Sir. Paxston’s likely back in Victoria and I assume that Capote went back to the United States, empty handed. Razan shifted his body in his seat looking a little uncomfortable.

And where’s this tracking software now? A scowl formed on Jorge’s forehead as he eyed Razan.

I don’t know that either, Sir.

Jorge said nothing for a moment as he peered into the eyes of Razan Nandan, then shifted his attention to opening a side drawer of his desk. He extracted an envelope, then placed it on the glass desktop. So, tell me about this envelope that I found in Palma’s safe.

Razan glanced at the scribbled name Jessica Howe. The envelope had been opened. I have no idea, Mr. Linderman. In his safe, Sir?

The partners of this hotel have a policy that all passwords and safe combinations associated with this operation are to be registered with the head office in Toronto, including those passwords used by Palma. As a part of my transition, I needed to inventory what was in that safe. I found that ‘Jessica Howe’ envelope and another with Palma’s name hand-written on it. Don’t you find that a little odd? Jorge inquired as he pulled back the envelope flap and withdrew the contents. A USB flash drive, with a red top, slipped onto the surface of the desk. The password on this device doesn’t meet policy, so I can’t view what’s on this thing. There’s another in the envelope with Palma’s name.

I wasn’t privy to all of Mr. Palma’s activities, Sir, Razan commented as he focused on the flash drive.

The handwriting on the two envelopes isn’t Palma’s. Jorge studied the Pakistani for another moment. All right then, Razan, I’ve a few things to attend to. We’ll talk more about Palma’s activities, including Paxston and Capote later. You best go and collect your thoughts, Jorge said coldly as he grabbed the small red topped device then slipped it back into the envelope. I think that there’s more than you’re telling me. Palma’s dead, Razan, so there’s no value in protecting him any longer, no matter what he was doing. It’s better that you tell me now, rather than me finding out later by myself. You’re dismissed for now.

Razan quickly slipped out of his seat, leaving his unfinished drink on Linderman’s desk. Yes, Sir. Razan forced a smile. He turned, walked the few paces to the entrance of the office, pushed open the glass door, then walked to the elevator and pressed the button. Down was the only option. He waited, his heart pounding, feeling uncomfortable with Linderman’s attitude. He felt stressed and intimidated. The stainless steel door opened. He entered the small space, slipped a silver-coloured security keycard through the reader, then pressed the button for the basement. His quarters were located on the bottom of the building’s foundation where other security operations were located, including the security office and the casino’s cash vault.

He watched the numbers decrease in the digital display above the door as the elevator descended. It wouldn’t stop until its destination was reached, a security feature activated by the code on his keycard. He hadn’t felt comfortable with his first meeting with Jorge Linderman, and he wasn’t sure how much about Palma’s activities he was willing to divulge. Razan took a deep breath as the elevator door silently slid open on the basement floor. His room was down at the end of the concrete hallway, so he headed in that direction.

Razan slid his keycard through the reader, waited for the green LED light to blink, then opened his door. He quickly slipped inside and shut the heavy steel door. The Security Manager’s suite wasn’t luxurious by most standards, but was more than comfortable. The small, one-bedroom apartment was painted a light gray throughout, and was modestly outfitted. It had a small galley-like kitchen where one counter also served as a place to eat. One small sofa was placed along one wall, which faced a large flat screen television. The TV also served as a monitor when connected to the casino’s security system.

Razan pulled his cell phone from his pocket, selected a number from his contact list, then pressed send. The phone rang, rang again, and his call was answered on the third ring.

Anthony DeWit.

Judge, its Razan Nandan. I hope that I’m not disturbing you, Sir, but I would like to meet and discuss a few things with you at your earliest convenience.

Razan! You’re the last person that I thought would ever call me, the Judge responded stiffly, then paused for a moment. You want to meet about what exactly?

Ah, it’s personal, and I don’t want to talk about it by phone. Now that Palma’s gone, I think that we could work together. Those envelopes that Paxston and Gitman took from your safe, I think that I could get the flash drives that are in them, if you’re interested.

The new boss at the casino not treating you right, eh Razan?

Look, I think that I can get away from here later tonight. You want to meet or not? Razan held his breath, waiting for a reply.

Hmm … the bar in the Sylvia Hotel at nine. That work for you?

Right, the Sylvia at nine. See you then, Judge. Razan ended the call and felt apprehensive. He knew that it was a big risk to see the Judge and to talk to him about Palma’s business, but working for Jorge Linderman just didn’t sit well, either. The conversation would hopefully, in his mind, set his correct future course of action: an action to distance himself from the WCCS, and those who controlled it from Toronto.

Jorge Linderman sat quietly studying personnel files on Jako Palma’s computer. It was late afternoon and he was getting tired, as he had spent the majority of the day interviewing key employees of the hotel and casino. He had determined that the majority of the staff had been decent and hard-working people who had been working at the hotel and casino for many years. Jorge realized that a few changes would need to be made, as his business style would be quite different from that of Palma. He sat and was pondering a short list of potential terminations when his phone rang. Linderman.

Jorge, its Ivan Dagomar. Congratulations on your promotion. I was talking with Salvatore yesterday, as I was a little concerned about the transition plan from Palma. I know that our family places a great deal of trust in you. Mom sends her best wishes on your appointment, by the way. I called because I need another cash injection for my project.

I appreciate your support, Ivan. I understand that there’s another cash shipment on its way from Toronto. It should be here by Friday, despite the awful weather across the prairies. I’ll look into the executive poker files and arrange that game for you. Once I’ve things organized, I’ll confirm. By the way, Salvatore wants me to close the loop on Palma, so I’m gathering information concerning his death. It appears as though he was doing something that wasn’t connected to our business interests out here. Do you know anything about a Paxston or Capote?

I don’t know a Capote, but Paxston, Jamison Paxston, I have played Texas Hold’em poker with in the past. Everyone at Palma’s Executive Club games had some connection to Palma, but so far as Paxston goes, or the others for that matter, I don’t know what that was.

Well, Palma wanted both of them dead, and he was in the process of doing it himself, just like that stupid move against Ricco Pezim in 2011. I had to go out to Alberta to fix that mess.

Yea, I remember. Well, Palma did have his own way of doing business, Jorge. If you want to learn more about Paxston, I suggest you have him on that poker game list.

Right. Great suggestion, Ivan. See ya Friday.

I had been distracted much of the day. With the noise and activity in our new offices, and the fact that there was no place for me to sit and work yet, I spent most of the day calling clients from a café that is just a block away from our new office. I felt that Kate had been better suited to manage the office construction details anyway, and I needed to reassure all our clients that we would have our business operations up and running by the end of the week. Most of iLock’s clients had heard about the terrorist bombing that we had suffered, and they were very concerned that their security information had been breached. I had reassured them that nothing had been accessed, and that in fact, the majority of the office and records had been destroyed, except for our corporate data backup drive which had been kept off-site. The continued dialogue concerning that event had been wearing and depressing. I just wanted to move on, and let the past stay in the past.

After completing all my calls, I headed back to our new office building. As I stepped off the elevator on the eighth floor I was pleased to see the progress that had been made on our iLock office space. The glass entrance, office walls, and carpet flooring had been installed. I felt better that things were moving forward and that business would be back to normal soon. The silence indicated that the contractors had gone home for the day. I couldn’t see my partner from where I stood, but I had a good idea where I would likely find her.

Kate, its Jamison. How’s it going? I called out. I smiled as I inhaled the scent of the freshly laid carpet.

In the server room.

I figured as much, so I walked in the direction she had chosen to place all the business computers. I found her sitting in a worn wooden chair by an old used table that we had retrieved from a second-hand store during the weekend. Don’t burn out in the first day, Kate. We have the rest of the week you know, I said.

Katrina looked away from a computer monitor that haphazardly stood on the table. The contractors are doing a great job, don’t you think?

I’m amazed at the progress that they’ve made already. You don’t intend on doing all this computer stuff yourself, do you?

Katrina laughed. "You’re not much help! Anyway, I’ve Simon coming tomorrow to help with the network setup and server configurations. I’ve also had a discussion with Brandson Warren. He has agreed to join us on a part time basis while he completes his third year at UVic. One day a week or so will help Simon, and I think that Brandson has great potential, considering how he performed on that iLock Smart issue last month."

Well, I agree that we’ll need a talented person to replace Jojo Lee. Do you think you can support everything with a junior programmer and a part-time student?

That’s the plan right now. Considering everything else that’s going on, things could be a lot worse. Katrina returned her attention to what she had been doing on the computer. How are our clients doing, regarding all the negative press?

Apprehensive I’d say, but I’ve reassured most of them that the bombing was a mistaken action, and that we weren’t the real intended targets. I’ve a few more clients to contact tomorrow, then I’m finished talking about that stuff. The discussion is more stressful than I thought it would be, revisiting that nightmare over and over again. I rubbed my forehead thinking that it might help my headache. Let’s go for dinner. I’m starved.

Sounds great, Jamison … just give me a few more minutes.

The Sylvia Hotel stood across the street from Judge Anthony DeWit’s condo that sat on the edge of the English Bay waterfront. The hotel was an historic landmark that had been constructed in 1912 as an apartment building. Its prominence had been rejuvenated by a child’s book that featured a stray cat that had arrived at the hotel one day, had taken control of the premises, then decided to check in permanently. Artwork of the cat hung throughout the lower floor, and Razan Nandan peered at a painting of the cat as he waited for Judge DeWit to show for their meeting. Razan felt nervous, to say the least.

Razan knew about DeWit’s obsession to recover the stolen contents that had been taken from his safe by Byron Gitman and Jamison Paxston. The heist had been orchestrated by Jako Palma, but only two envelopes with flash drives had been delivered to Palma by Paxston. Envelopes that had Palma’s and Howe’s names on them. There had been two more envelopes with names written on them, and a gun wrapped in plastic, that Palma had also wanted. Palma had insistently directed Razan to retrieve the remaining items from Paxston, as Gitman had been shot and killed at the scene. That assignment, now just a short week ago, had been a failure.

Razan was to pay off Paxston and retrieve the missing safe contents. He had done exactly as he had been instructed, but following payment to Paxston, the items had been stripped from him just a few minutes following the transfer. He had been assaulted by an unknown assailant in a men’s washroom, and the articles had been stripped from his grasp. Razan felt insulted and angry by the assault, and even though he had no proof, he was convinced that the act had been orchestrated by Jamison Paxston. An act that likely was for the benefit of Anthony DeWit.

Razan, the pussy in that painting give you some incentive to take control? Anthony DeWit asked sarcastically, as he eyed Razan staring at the painting. There was no reaction so he continued, I know the story, man. He smiled, then took a seat across from Razan.

Ah … take control? Razan took a stiff breath and continued, somewhat intimidated. Palma’s gone, and I … well, I’ve decided that I want to get away from all this— Paxston, you, and Palma’s mess.

Hum … Palma’s replacement doesn’t like you?

I don’t give a damn about Linderman. I want to leave the business, and you want those two envelopes of yours that Paxston gave to Palma. I can get them, but it’ll cost you.

A waitress appeared. Anything to drink?

A beer and a scotch, neat. Thanks, DeWit replied, then turned his cold gray eyes toward Razan as the woman left the table.

Razan sat trying to maintain his composure. I saw one of those envelopes this morning, Judge. Linderman showed it to me. There was a red coloured flash drive inside. He told me that he can’t read it, not right now anyway. He also said that there was one in Palma’s envelope as well. I told him that I knew nothing about those envelopes. I didn’t tell him about the B&E at you place; in fact, I told him nothing, but my memory could return.

Anthony DeWit sat back in his seat. He peered at Razan, evaluating the situation, but didn’t comment.

Razan continued, Jessica Howe. Who’s that, and why do you have a file on her, Judge?

What do you want, Razan?

As I said, a ticket out of here. Two hundred and fifty grand. I don’t like, or trust Linderman, and whoever’s running things from Toronto.

That’s quite a retirement package for a guy who’s in your position, Razan. Is this a shakedown, or an offer to help? Anthony paused as the waitress arrived with the two drinks. He glanced up at the waitress. Thank you, he said, then smiled at the young woman and waited for her to leave.

Razan fondled his glass of icy cold beer. I’m suggesting a business relationship with mutual benefits. There’s no other way you can recover those files, if you want them that is. I’m sure that Linderman’s curious enough to get that password, or whatever security that’s on those flash drives, cracked. He’s already asking questions.

I’m interested, but the price is very high for a pair of flash drives, Razan.

"I’m offering more than just your two data drives, Judge. I know that Linderman’s looking into Palma’s activities and his death. Linderman believes that the terrorist shooting wasn’t a random event. I’ll deal with Paxston, and keep you informed about what Linderman’s finding out about Palma. I’m sure that you don’t want to be connected with Palma, other than your gambling activities at