Undercover Crisis

By G. R. Daniels

Undercover Crisis is the latest and last novel in the Crisis Series by G. R. Daniels. Graham Carde, the protege of military software genius Jackson Phillips, is shot at while visiting the building site of his own, new civilian security firm. Then the site is set on fire. And, then, he is followed. Then it gets serious. Carde is joined by his girlfriend, RCMP (Mountie) Marion Hartz, and his best pal Clancy Hogarth in a hunt for the perps making life difficult for his startup company. They conscript Mariah Belo, the brilliant head of PR at Jackson Phillips' Toronto-based JPI. She is to be an undercover agent in the search for corporate enemies willing to use arson, attempted murder, and general mayhem to steal the secrets and wreck the launch of a company destined to be the leader in civilian protection and defence. To do her job, Mariah has to move, take a work demotion, do double duty in her PR job and betray her friends, mentor and her employer. Then, she goes on the lam to avoid being murdered. What's not to like?
While you're looking for ways to stay up late, remain fascinated and get excited, Read: The Russian Crisis, Crisis in the Cold, Doubled Down Deadly, Devil's Chair and, now, Undercover Crisis - 5 novels in the Crisis Series by G. R. Daniels.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. R. Daniels
• Release date: Apr 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781999486754

G. R. Daniels

G. R. Daniels is the pen name of this author. He is a veteran journalist who has worked as a front-page reporter, editor, tv writer, tv on-air reporter, tv producer, radio producer, internet blogger and website writer. He also is one of the world's busiest media relations trainers and crisis consultants, working on major and one-off projects for corporations, government bodies, institutions and individuals. His popular novels offer heavy doses of action, thrills, intrigue and complex plots. They are fascinating and fun reads from someone who has been there and done that for world-wide audiences. Daniels writes often about his native Canada but also provides his readers with international stories such as Escape from Zaatari. Many readers are joining the growing audience for Daniels' exciting and absorbing novels. Become one and write a review for this outstanding author's works.

Book preview

UNDERCOVER CRISIS

By G.R. DANIELS

ISBN Canada 978-1-9994867-5-4

Copyright ©2019 Awareness Communications Inc. All rights reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Similarities to actual events, places, persons or other entities are coincidental.

Crisis Undercover: fifth in the Crisis Series

Read: The Russian Crisis

Read: Crisis In The Cold

Read: Doubled Down Deadly

Read: Devil's Chair

PLEASE REVIEW

To improve future books in this series or other of my novels and to bring them to the attention of other lovers of thrillers, please submit a review to any publisher/publication you wish.

To comment or communicate with me, email: [e-mail]

CHAPTER ONE

Graham Carde ran across the open field expecting to feel the impact of a bullet with every step he took. The shooter had missed twice. One shot blasted out the window of his SUV as he stepped out of it, missing his head by a couple of inches. The second bullet had whizzed by close enough for him to hear the soft hum of its passing.

He was heading for a small grove of trees but it was about 50 meters away across this barren field. His feet pounded on the snow-covered ground; it was mid-March but spring had yet to take hold in this area of Ontario. The winter had been one of the harshest in memory, even in Canada where harsh winters were routine. At least the windblown field wasn't covered in foot-deep snow or slush.

Another shot. Another miss. Carde heard the sound of the firing but not of the bullet. Finally, he reached the trees and took shelter behind a mature maple. He put his hands on his knees and tried to get his breath. A run like this would have been easy for Carde in warmer weather with lighter clothes but, now, he was laden down with his Canada Goose jacket, Baffin boots and thick Roots pants. He had lost his baseball cap on his run but had kept his gloves.

Carde peered around the tree. He didn't see anyone but it was twilight and shadows were deep in the distance. Through the trees, he could see another open field ahead, to the south. To the east, the grove ended just short of Highway 400 and Carde saw no salvation there. The cars and trucks on that highway were whizzing past. He would be in more danger of being run over than being hit by gunfire. There were more trees to the west. That was the way Carde would go if he was pursued.

There was a spark of light from the far side of the field, near the parking lot where he had left his SUV. A moment later, he heard the pop. He was better able, now, to identify the sound. It was the firing of a handgun, not a rifle. 'What the hell?' A pistol bullet fired at this range was a waste of ammunition.

He realized the real purpose of the shot was to keep him from circling back. The proof came quickly. He saw a flame across the field and it grew rapidly. Carde bent low and began working his way back.

The fire was blazing as Carde took his phone out of the pocket of his bomber jacket. The phone was a special edition that had phenomenal functions but all Carde wanted was an answer when he tapped in 911. He got it. What is your emergency?

By the time Carde reached the edge of the parking lot, he heard sirens. He kept low and scuttled across the lot to his SUV. He had a gun in a locked cubbyhole below the rear seat. The door of the hideaway slid open as he put his thumb on the keypad. He took out the Glock and checked the load. He backed out of the truck and surveyed the area. Even though it was dark now, he had no trouble seeing in the glare of the fire that was burning in the partially built structure in front of him. There was no one in sight.

Carde tucked the Glock into the inside pocket of his jacket. He went to the entrance of the parking lot and moved into the middle of the road that led out to the highway as a police car and fire department pumper truck barrelled down the road. They slowed and he directed them; the police car into the lot and the pumper to the blaze. Three firefighters jumped out and rolled out a hose. Carde hurried to them and pointed out the hydrant that had been the first thing installed at his new headquarters building.

The fire truck was from Cookstown, the nearest community to the H.Q. which was being built on a tract that had been farmland. The cruiser belonged to the OPP, the Ontario Provincial Police, who patrolled provincial highways and many smaller communities in the province. As water was poured on the fire, Carde walked to the police car.

Good evening, officers, said Carde to the man and woman who were getting out of the cruiser.

Hey, Carde. How the hell are you? The male officer took a step forward and held out his hand.

Evening Derick. Carde shook and turned to the female officer. He didn't know her.

This is Constable Gayle Newland, said the sergeant, Derick Pointer. I'm training her. He gave Gayle a wide smile. She returned a hint of a scowl. She was a tall, slim, attractive woman but her face was red in the cold. She stamped her feet. There was just an inch or less of snow cover on the ground and that would be gone in a day or two but Gayle seemed offended by it.

Just shined these, she grumbled. She looked at Graham Carde as she pulled a gray-covered notebook out of a side pocket of her heavy coat. Name? Her pen hovered over a page in the pad.

Graham Carde, with an 'e'. This is the headquarters of my new company, he volunteered pointing at the structure behind them. The flames had been beaten down and smoke was pouring out of the remains as the firemen blasted them with water. As Carde pointed, the firemen turned off the hose and began to gather their equipment.

Home address? said the woman constable with a full-fledged frown.

5005 Yonge Street, Suite 4602, came the polite response.

Aw, cut it out, Gayle, said the sergeant in an exasperated tone. I know Carde. He didn't set his own building on fire.

We don't know that, Sergeant Pointer, Gayle said in a stern voice. Do we?

Pointer glanced at Carde with a look of disbelief. See what I have to deal with?

Carde gave the sergeant a small smile and a slight shrug. Don't know why you're still using paper, he said. I could set you up with recorders...

Is that an inducement of some sort? Gayle's pen was hovering again but she was staring at Carde."

That's enough, constable. Pointer was angry now. You are a trainee. I am your training officer and I've had enough of Police 101. Go see the fire captain; do something worthwhile.

The two officers obviously were having differences that went well beyond the fire they were supposed to be investigating. Carde didn't want to get in the middle of it. He turned to his SUV and inspected the damaged window. He opened the driver's door and looked at the opposite door. The armrest had absorbed the bullet that had broken the window. there was a hole in the hard rubber of the rest. Audi Service would get a chuckle out of this one, he thought.

Pointer moved to the SUV to stand beside Carde. What broke the window?

A bullet.

What? A bullet. Was it one of yours?

Not likely, said Carde. By the way Derick, he told the sergeant, I'm armed. There is a Glock in my pocket. He patted his jacket.

For Christ's sake, don't mention that to Grizelda the Ghastly.

Now, now, Derick. Carde laughed and opened the back door of his truck. He took out his weapon and put it back in the gun safe under the rear seat. He locked the door of the safe and stood up. All copesetic.

Tell me the story, Pointer asked.

Not much to tell, said Carde. As you will know, we're building a headquarters here for our new company, CDSI. I came out about... Carde checked the time on his watch, ... about two hours ago. My god, is that all it was? He looked up at Pointer and shook his head. I wanted to check the progress. The builder was just erecting the steel framing. What burned seems to have been construction lumber, tarps, some oil or tar for the parking lot - a bunch of stuff piled together. He thought for a moment. I doubt it was hot enough to hurt the steel they had put up. The contractor is on his way.

The two men walked toward the remains of the flammable materials on site. As they neared, they could smell gasoline along with the smoke.

When I drove into the lot, I saw a figure. Nothing more than a shadow so I can't give you a description.

Too bad, said Pointer. It would give Newland something to write down in her little book. Carde looked ahead and saw Gayle talking to a fireman. He stopped and Pointer halted with him.

Anyway. I honked the horn, thinking he might work for the builder. I wanted him to know I wasn't trespassing. There's irony for you. The person - man, I guess - took a shot at me just as I got out of the Audi. The bullet hit the window. It threw me...

As Carde remembered his feeling of shock and surprise, Pointer nodded. I guess it would have, the cop said.

I crouched down. Reflex. Then, I started to run. Carde turned and pointed at the field past the parking lot. No cover but I didn't have much choice. I didn't know if the shooter had a rifle, handgun or an AR-15. Who knows these days, even in Canada?"

I guess he didn't have a rifle, said Pointer staring out across the empty field.

No. He did take another shot but obviously it missed too. I got to the trees and stopped. He shot once more and that was enough for me to know it was a handgun.

How the hell did you know that, Carde?

I heard enough of both kinds of weapons when I was in the army, said Carde.

Who with? Pointer had gone into policing from the forces.

Carde hesitated before replying. Pointer was, after all, a cop, so Carde said, JTF2, he gave the name of Canada's elite special forces unit. A few tours in the Middle East and ... Carde stopped. Pointer was impressed. I've known you for, what, three years and I never knew that. I thought you flew choppers."

Later, I flew, said Carde with a grin. That was fun. Until I crashed one.

The men began walking again. I came back when I realized the shooter had a handgun. By the time I got to the lot and got my gun, he was gone. I called 911 and here you are. Very quick, by the way.

We were patrolling the highway not far from here, Pointer told Carde. This gave me a good excuse to give her something better to do than bother me with questions. And opinions. He glanced at Gayle who was walking toward them.

Glad I could help, Carde muttered with a grimace.

Well, Mr. Carde with an 'e', Gayle said as she came within a meter of the men and stopped. We have a case of arson, here. Do you have insurance?

Carde was familiar with every aspect of the new company. He was not only the CEO, he had been the only employee until three weeks ago. But, he had had enough from the young rookie. I'll have to check, constable. I'll get back to the sergeant on that.

Gayle Newland looked surprised. Make sure you do, she ordered him. Carde gave her a brief look before turning to Sergeant Pointer. Do you need anything else from me, Derick? I think I've told you everything I can.

No other vehicles in the lot or on the road when you arrived?

No. None, said Carde.

By the way, Newland asked, what the hell does CDSI stand for?

Carde's answer was curt before he turned from her. Civilian Defence and Security Incorporated.

Pointer handed over a business card as Carde turned to walk away from the officers toward the wet pile. He heard a heated conversation behind him but a minute or two later the cruiser pulled out of the lot and was driven down the road toward Highway 400.

CHAPTER TWO

The firefighters packed up and followed the police cruiser into the night but Carde remained. A fire marshal would come at daylight to inspect the damage and determine - or confirm - the cause. Carde wandered around the large building site checking to see if there had been any other damage. The building materials that had been doused with gasoline and burned would be easy to replace and insurance would cover the cost. The cleanup and inspection of the steel framing, however, would delay the project and that annoyed Carde more than the cost and inconvenience. He was working to a strict, albeit self-imposed, deadline and he couldn't abide any setbacks. He had promised Jackson Phillips.

Phillips was not only Carde's friend, mentor, employer and now business partner, Phillips was the man who had given Carde's life purpose and direction.

As he told Sgt. Pointer, Carde had become a member of the Canadian armed forces right out of university. He became a member of the special forces JTF2 unit and spent two tours of duty in Afghanistan and another tour in a country he could never name without being charged with violating state secrets. He became a helicopter pilot still attached to special forces. When he quit the military with a handful of medals, he continued as a chopper pilot with the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources (MNR), now renamed, redundantly, the Ministry of Natural Resources and Forestry.

Then he crashed. He was waterbombing a forest fire. Filling the chopper's bladder with water from a remote lake, Carde's rotor failed and the helicopter went down. Carde's legs were broken when the cockpit rammed into a huge floating log. Somehow, he swam to shore using just his arms, and dragged himself onto a tiny beach covered with small rocks and a dozen small blueberry bushes. Together with lake water, the berries sustained Carde for three days until he was spotted by an MNR search plane. He was rescued by conservation officers who hiked into the bush for 10 kilometers to bring out the injured pilot.

It took Carde a year to recover from the accident. With aggressive physiotherapy, he came through without even a limp to show for his injuries. He could walk and run as well as ever. Unaccountably, the government retired him, paying him a pension to go away.

At loose ends, the 29-year-old soldier and pilot bummed around on Georgian Bay, living in a tiny cottage with minimal furniture and making grocery money through a job as a short-order cook at an area diner. Two events intruded to change Carde's life and his attitude. He took a class in cooking at Barrie's Georgian College to kill time. The introductory class caught his interest and led to a series of classes in cooking. He was the star of the course and slowly worked his learning into his diner job. By the time the eatery owner noticed what Carde was doing to his miserly menu, locals had made the diner a must-go at mealtimes and Carde too valuable to fire.

The second break in Carde's undirected life came when Jackson Phillips and his now-late wife dropped into the diner on their way back to Toronto from a visit to the site of the luxurious cottage they were planning to build on the bay. They ate a dinner that they pronounced 'Michelin grade' and Jackson immediately hired Carde to cook a dinner for an upcoming party he was hosting at a local resort. The party was a culinary hit and Carde was marked by Jackson for future hiring.

Unfortunately, Jackson called on Carde earlier than expected. Jackson's wife died suddenly of a heart attack leaving the company CEO devastated. Carde sent a sympathy card and a personal note to Jackson. Jackson reached out to this one man for help; he wanted Carde to take him on a fishing excursion to the most remote place possible. The two spent two weeks in such a place on the northern shore of Lake Superior.

Carde suspected Jackson had not wanted to come back from the lake and kept close watch on his companion. They caught fish but, mostly, they talked and sat, in comfortable silence around a campfire. Jackson returned to Toronto, still emotionally shaken but determined to live a full life. His wife would have wanted him to do that.

Jackson built the cottage he had planned with his wife and hired Carde as a caretaker, sometimes cook and, of course, hunting and fishing guide. This morphed into a friendship that was almost brotherly. Jackson found out more about Carde's surprising abilities.

Carde was now CEO of a spinoff from Jackson Phillips Inc., one of the world's foremost military software providers. The spinoff would develop the same kind of software for civilian markets around the world. It would turn out solutions to protect the public from attacks of many sorts. But CDSI was in its fetal stage. Its headquarters was under construction - and now several days behind schedule because of the fire. It was hiring its executive level and had not yet determined how large a workforce it would need. It had a rudimentary budget. And its products had yet to be finalized. In other words, Carde was taking baby steps and he couldn't afford distractions such as being shot at by an arsonist.

He had stopped at the end of his tour of the property, staring at the stars in the black sky and floating in his reverie. He realized he was still a target; the shooter could be waiting until the cops left to take another run at Carde or the property. Carde walked quickly back to his SUV swiveling his head to scan for figures in the shadows. There was no one.

The attack made no sense. There had been no publicity about the new company or the construction of the H.Q. The building was on acreage that used to be part of a farm; that could have raised the ire of people who hated the conversion of good agricultural land to industry. But this site had not been farmed for 30 years. It had been abandoned and taken by the local township for unpaid taxes. If Carde's company had not bought it, the land was tagged as a future parking lot for people commuting to Toronto by GO Bus, part of the Government of Ontario transport network. Better a growing business than one of Joni Mitchell's paved parking lots.

Carde was about to press the Start button to bring the Audi to life. Another vehicle shot in front of his car.

'Where...?' He could barely make out the machine that had rocketed from somewhere only meters in front of his truck. He turned his lights on and started the SUV to follow whatever that other thing was.

His high beams revealed the mystery machine to be an All-Terrain Vehicle. Carde realized the ATV could have been hidden anywhere, probably in a shallow ravine that cut across a corner of the property about 200 meters from the building site.

Since the window of his SUV had been holed by a bullet, Carde could hear the roar of the ATV over the constant clamour of highway noise. It was painted black and showed no lights. Carde pressed the gas pedal and his Audi leapt forward. The ATV was no match for the SUV and Carde came within a meter of the machine before cutting his speed. He bumped the rear of the ATV and that little auto went into a spin.

The ATV was built to handle any ground and the driver was good. Carde could see the person behind the wheel of the ATV bouncing up, down and sideways, trying to control the spinning machine. The driver succeeded and the ATV took off again like a scared rabbit across the open field. Carde knew how the driver felt as the ATV headed for the same woods in which Carde had taken refuge from the shooter three hours before. There was no sense in following now. The Audi would handle the field with ease but it would be suicide to follow an ATV into a small forest in a full-size car.

Carde kept the ATV in sight until it was swallowed by darkness and the trees. He drove out to Highway 400 and turned south in hopes of seeing the ATV emerge from the other side of the grove of trees but that vehicle was nowhere to be seen. Carde gave up and continued offroad to a turnoff from the busy highway. He circled on the access roads to get into the northbound lanes. He called Pointer's number from his car phone and left a message about the ATV. In less than an hour, he was back at the marina across from Shield Island. He parked and took Jackson's aluminum outboard across the narrow channel to the island. Not long after, he was in his Murphy Bed in his den within Jackson's posh cottage on the private island.

Missed you, last night. It was Marion Hartz waking Carde at 7 a.m. She had been Carde's girlfriend for more than a year now. During that time, she had risen from the rank of Sergeant to that of Inspector with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the famed Mounties. Now, she was in line for another promotion for her work as head of a special team focused on international gangs moving into Canada. She had met Carde during a previous investigation. She had been on the scene after Jackson Phillips reported finding a body on the ice of Georgian Bay close to his cottage on Shield Island. Later, she met Carde at that cottage and the two clicked.

Missed you too, said Carde. Hartz told Carde the basics of an investigation that was taking up all her time and keeping her chained to a desk in her Toronto office. In turn, he told her about the fire at his new H.Q. site. The two were about 90 minutes apart but they couldn't seem to find the time to get together.

Maybe this weekend, said Hartz in a plaintive voice. There is light at the end of this particular tunnel.

Unfortunately, said Carde with regret in his voice, I'm off to Vancouver and won't be back until next week.

Oh, yeah. Clancy.

Yeah. There was concern in Carde's voice. I don't have any idea what'll happen.

The call ended shortly after but his anxiety remained.

Carde had booked a spot in an airport van to take him from Barrie to the Lester B. Pearson Airport on the outskirts of Toronto. Carde's new company had temporary offices in a building in the large town of Barrie less than an hour's drive south of the marina that served Shield Island. The Barrie building was destined to be torn down to make way for condos, another reason why Carde was insistent on keeping a tight schedule for construction of his new headquarters.

Carde picked up his Audi at the marina lot and went to meet his ride to the airport.

There was no one else at the offices when Carde parked and went to his desk. In fact, there were only a dozen employees in his new company and they preferred to work at home during the setup. The temporary offices served mainly to hold interviews with potential new hires and to store a small number of files. The group would collect in the offices to talk but that happened only two or three times a week. Carde felt the pressure to get going and was wrestling with guilt over the slow pace of the setup. He was the only one. Jackson Phillips and