A CONSPIRACY
OF SECRETS

A surprising discovery in Africa creates a unique opportunity for several small countries. But their large and powerful neighbour wants to take over. As a result, when Canada invites a group of African leaders to Ottawa for a conference, it ends up hosting an international conflict. While in Canada, the leaders of the smaller countries plan to sign a secret agreement that will ensure stability and economic prosperity. Their larger neighbour decides to send its own "delegates" to the conference in an effort to kill the deal. Canada tries to intervene, but it has a secret of its own to protect. The door of opportunity closes in one week, at noon on Monday. By that time, either the deal will be signed, or the African leaders will be eliminated.

This novel spans two continents, the Atlantic Ocean, 19 chapters and an epilogue. Get ready for lots of action, intrigue, and even a thread of romance!

PROLOGUE

The rose-coloured African sun shimmered on the horizon, throwing light and heat over tall savanna grasses. Young Thomas Karland felt the penetrating warmth on his chest, as the sunlight reached out through heavy, humid air. He was sitting on a picnic table outside the medical clinic run by his parents. From his vantage point he looked eastward into a small valley surrounded by low hills. A few isolated acacia trees sent long shadows across the silent landscape.

His parents' house and their clinic were situated on the western side of the valley. From them a dusty road wound down the hill to a mid-sized village. Thomas enjoyed watching the village coming to life. Small trails of smoke were rising from open fires where people squatted to cook their morning meal. Every so often someone would go to the well and he could just faintly hear resistant squeaking as the pump handle was worked up and down. This was the only home he had known, except for a year in Ottawa when his parents had returned to Canada. Like the daily rising of the sun, life within this community followed a long-established pattern. The rhythm of the routine and the peace of the morning filled him with a deep contentment.

His father and mother had been living in Africa for almost fifteen years. The medical clinic they operated was a low concrete block building with a galvanized metal roof. Its exterior walls had been plastered and painted white in typical Gambalian fashion. Their house had been built in similar style. It was only a short distance away from the clinic and stood among a small grove of trees.

"Thomas," his mother called from across the dusty yard, "your father wants to leave for town right after breakfast! Make sure you're ready to go!"

With a thrill of anticipation he jumped off the picnic table. Today was his eleventh birthday and his father had promised to take him to town to buy a special present. As he was crossing the hard-packed ground to his house, he paused to gaze off to the west. Less than a mile away, the yellow grassland ended sharply at a dark line of trees. The early morning sunlight was bringing the rich green hues of the upper canopy to life. He was starting to continue when he noticed a lone figure emerging from the deep shadows of the dense forest. Thomas was surprised. The only village in that direction took four hours to reach, walking on a difficult trail. It was quite a risk to travel that route at night.

He went into his house and got some binoculars that hung on a peg by the door. Looking through them, he stared with curiosity at a dark man in a khaki shirt who strode forcefully through the waist-high grass. Light glinted off the barrel of a rifle slung over his left shoulder. Thomas lowered the binoculars. There was something familiar about that walk, but there was still too much shadow to see the face. A flicker of movement back in the forest caught his attention. He focused in and scanned the trees but saw nothing. Thomas continued to watch. It was a dangerous time of day to be walking alone in the savanna. After several minutes the man on the trail caught sight of him. He raised his hand and shouted a loud musical greeting in the local Maliki dialect. The voice barely reached the top of the hill where Thomas was standing, but he recognized it at once.

"Mom! Dad!" he called with excitement. "It's Enzali!" Quickly replacing the binoculars on the peg, he ran off to meet their old family friend.

Enzali was a tall, very powerfully built African in his early thirties. His dark, proud face broke into a welcoming smile as Thomas approached. He reached out to shake hands, and when the boy responded Enzali suddenly grabbed Thomas by his waist, threw him high into the air and caught him at the last second before he hit the ground. Then he held him under one arm like a sack of grain and tickled him before finally setting him down.

"Ah! Little brother, you are getting so big! Soon you will be throwing me in the air, eh?"

He put his hand on the boy's shoulder and together they walked up the dusty trail to the house. By this time Jim Karland was standing outside waiting, arms folded across his chest. Enzali's enthusiastic voice boomed with joy, "Dr. Karland! My mother greets you! My father greets you!"

"And I greet them," Dr. Karland responded, stepping forward to shake hands. "Enzali, it's so good to see you again! "

As the muscular African leaned his rifle up against the wall of the house, Mrs. Karland emerged from the door. She was wearing a bright print dress, her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.

"Ah, mama Rose," said Enzali, exchanging a warm hug, "still the flower of Gambala!"

Roseanne flashed him a knowing smile in response. "You didn't come all this way only to flatter me. You must be up to something."

Giving her a sly look, Enzali spoke in a hushed, secretive voice. "Well, last night, as I sat by the fire in my village, I smelled cake... chocolate cake! And I thought to myself, 'Hmm, that must be mama Rose baking a birthday cake for Thomas. If I do not hurry it will all be gone!' So I left the village and travelled all night just to be first in line."

"You must have a very special nose," Roseanne laughed, "because I haven't even started baking yet. But for all your effort I suppose I could spare you a piece when I do. Now please stay out of my kitchen for ten minutes and I'll try to rustle something up for breakfast. You must be hungry as a lion after all that walking!"

When his mother had entered the house, Thomas smiled up at Enzali. "Did you really come here for my birthday?"

Enzali gave the boy's shoulder a firm squeeze. "Ah, how could I forget my little brother, eh? Now you go help your mother for a few minutes. I need to talk to your father before breakfast."

Jim Karland was an astute observer of humanity. In spite of the joy of their reunion, he could see a shadow of concern in Enzali's eyes. He had also noticed that Enzali was still partially in uniform. Along with his short-sleeved khaki shirt, he was wearing dark green military pants and black leather boots. The fact that he had ammunition pouches clipped on his belt meant that he was anticipating trouble. Jim started to stroll across the dusty ground toward the clinic. After a few moments of shared silence he began to speak. "You haven't been home to your village for some time; and nobody walks through the jungle alone at night. So what's happening?"

Enzali hesitated, unsure of how much to share. "No, Dr. Karland, I was not alone last night. Mattana was with me." There was an awkward pause. "He... decided he would rather wait for me at the jungle trail. I left my pack with him."

"I see," Jim responded quietly. There was no need for further explanation. Mattana was about ten years younger than his brother Enzali, the son of a second marriage. There was tension between him and the Karlands, and Jim suspected that he was already involved with the rebels. Yet, out of courtesy, he still asked, "And how is Mattana?"

"Hah!" Enzali responded, with a grunt of disgust. "That man has the personality of a hyena! He is always antagonizing, always causing trouble in our village. My father probably sent him along simply to be rid of him for a few days."

Jim gave a sympathetic sigh. "I suppose even the thorn bush has its uses." He stopped and stood for a moment, squinting as he looked eastward into the valley. "So... you still haven't told me why you are here... though, I can guess that it isn't good news."

Enzali's voice was hushed and full of concern. "Yes, Dr. Karland, the situation is getting very bad. Last week we had confirmed reports that more rebels have been coming in from the north. It is almost certain that there will be an attack soon."

"Civil war... just what this country doesn't need after finally gaining independence."

"My father sits as chief in the Council," Enzali continued. "He hears many things. Some would say that you... people like you... foreigners, should be driven out. My father knows the debt he owes you. He will never forget that those were your hands that saved his life. He understands the good you are trying to do. But others..." Enzali glanced back at the house and lowered his voice, "...others would be happy to see you dead."

Dr. Karland nodded silently. Yes, he had known that for some time. He had seen the shift in attitude over the past few years. Even in Enzali's own family, or at least with Mattana, Enzali's half-brother, there was obvious hostility.

"So you have come to warn us?"

"Yes. I came from the capital to my village only three days ago. My commander will allow you to stay if you wish. But it was my father who sent me to you, and therefore he must know something. You are too isolated. He says that you must head for the coast immediately for the sake of your family."

Jim Karland could well appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Enzali had risked his life last night, not only from wild animals, but also from rebel supporters.

Leaning out from the door of the house, Roseanne called across the yard, "Jim, coffee's ready!"

"Okay! We're coming!" He waved a hand in acknowledgement and then turned to Enzali. "Let's go eat and talk this over with Roseanne."

The kitchen was filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. While the men prepared their mugs, Roseanne placed a large bowl of fruit salad on the polished wooden table. Then she took a spoon and began to stir a pot of porridge that was simmering on the propane burner. Thomas had already cut thick slices of brown bread. He now set them out with a slab of butter and a jar of honey.

"Go ahead and help yourself, Enzali," Roseanne encouraged. "I still want to put on some eggs." She diced a small onion, added it to a bowl of fresh eggs, and dropped in some chunks of cheese. While the mixture sizzled in the frying pan, she poured herself a cup of coffee.

Once their meal was underway, the atmosphere at the kitchen table became increasingly subdued. The military information that Enzali shared made a civil war seem inevitable. Such an event would put the Karlands in a very dangerous position, regardless of their good intentions.

"The rebels see you as an unwelcome link to the outside world," Enzali explained. "You could provide information to other countries about their activities. Even your presence in Gambala could help generate support for our current government."

Roseanne understood where the conversation was headed. "Which means," she observed, "that if foreigners could be removed, then Gambala would be relatively isolated from the rest of the world."

Enzali nodded and sipped his coffee. "It would be merely another African nation at war with itself."

"That would certainly suit the rebels," Jim commented. "It would give them a free hand to try to overthrow the government." There was a lull in the conversation, and Jim pondered his family's situation. All of this was not really news to him, but the pot must be near the boiling point if Enzali's father had sent him a warning.

While the adults talked and sipped strong dark coffee, Thomas began his daily chore of washing dishes. He had been busy rattling silverware and plates around the sink for a few minutes when Enzali suddenly jumped up.

"Thomas, wait!" he commanded.

There was a moment of surprised silence and then from the distant background came a deep rumbling sound, along with faint metallic squeaks and squeals. All four rushed from the house and looked east, in the direction of the noise. Low hills that surrounded the valley blocked their view of the main road. But off to the north-east, thin wisps of dust could be seen rising into the humid morning air. Thomas was unsure what was happening, but both his father and Enzali knew. The noise and dust were being caused by heavy equipment... probably tanks... and whether rebel or government forces made no difference. It was time to get out.

"Dr. Karland, mama Rose, you must get your Land Rover loaded up right away," Enzali ordered. "I will go over to the north hill for a look. I can see for miles from there." He picked up his rifle that had been leaning against the white plastered wall and slung it over his left shoulder. Reaching back inside the house, he took the binoculars from their peg and jogged off down the dusty road toward the village.

The Karlands' red Land Rover was parked at the side of their house. While his parents packed, Thomas began relaying packages into the back hatch of their vehicle. Personal belongings were not important beyond the basics. What they needed were supplies of food, water and survival gear. When the roads were bad it could take up to three days to get to the coast. How long would it be if a civil war was beginning?

Once he reached the edge of the village, Enzali circled around to the north side. Many people had become aware of the strange sounds in the distance. They stood outside their homes, looking anxiously to the east. Enzali's dark face hardened as he began to climb the hill. He knew that the innocent would suffer terrible consequences if the rebels began a war.

The sun had already jumped into a clear sky and the air was heavy. Enzali began to run with sweat from his long climb. Nearing the hilltop, he crouched down in the tall grass and crept up behind some scrubby trees. The main road was slightly over a mile away. Even without binoculars he could see that a large force was moving southward. Dust rose in swirling clouds, partially obscuring the troops. Enzali felt a great sadness. So, it was beginning.

Wiping the sweat from his face, he focused in on the long column of vehicles. Tanks... probably a dozen or so! Now his grief was replaced by a slow-burning anger. If the rebels had tanks, then somebody from outside Gambala was trying to undermine the country. There was no other way they could have obtained that type of firepower in such a short time.

Crouching on one knee in the yellow grass, Enzali studied the troops again. Judging from their formation it was clear that they were not expecting any opposition. Only a few hours away there was a large town which would provide them with abundant supplies and a base of operations. That must be their objective. He watched as they passed the road that turned west into the village. Good. Maybe there would be no trouble here today.

The attack, when it came, was sudden and unexpected. Shells screamed, explosions ripped the air, machine guns and rifles barked. The ambushed rebels scattered for cover, most of them heading toward the hills around the village. Enzali swung his binoculars to the south, where the road funneled between two sweeping ridges. Flashes of flame and puffs of smoke marked the positions of government artillery. They must have moved up from the coast in the last few days. His commander had said nothing about a military offensive. He continued to watch as rebel troops returned fire and the battle was engaged. It would not be long before the fighting reached the valley. Easing away from the trees, Enzali turned and ran through the tall grass.

Dr. Karland had moved his partially loaded vehicle over to the clinic and was carrying out medical supplies and essential files. Back at their house, Roseanne and Thomas had been driven into a panic by the distant sounds of gunfire. They were rushing to finish their packing when Enzali stepped through the door with his rifle in hand. Sweat was streaming down his face and his shirt was soaked. He could see the fear in their eyes.

"Mama Rose, you must go now! Leave everything!"

While they were preparing to exit the house, a rebel tank that had climbed one of the eastern hills fired into the village. A terrific explosion was followed by the screams of wounded and terrified villagers. Enzali took a cautious peek outside. Troops were charging through the grass on the far side of the valley. There was no time to lose! They had to get to the Land Rover!

"Go!" he shouted, waving them out the door.

As the trio dashed across the exposed area on top of the hill, two shots were fired from inside the clinic.

"Jim!" Roseanne screamed. Running through the open door, she collided with a tall black man, knocking him to one side. He stumbled back against the clinic wall and stood in silence. It was Enzali's half-brother. Roseanne looked at him bewildered. "Oh... Mattana... what are you doing here? We heard shots... we... where's Jim?"

Throwing a hard glance at Mattana, Enzali walked through another doorway that separated the office from the treatment area. At his shocked exclamation Roseanne also rushed into the room. Enzali had dropped his rifle and was kneeling beside her husband. Dr. Karland lay on his back on the concrete floor, his chest covered in blood.

"No! No!" Roseanne wailed, falling to her knees beside him.

Thomas ran to the room and looked in, but the horror of what he saw drove him into a shocked silence. It couldn't be! Not his father! For a brief moment, Mattana had been overwhelmed with panic. He had been caught! He should run from the clinic and escape! His dark eyes darted to the front door as he wavered with indecision. Then his thoughts shifted, and he no longer wanted to leave. He had promised the rebels that he would kill the doctor. They would respect him now! His twisted pride filled him with self-importance. Calmly he swaggered to the doorway of the treatment room, an ugly sneer of contempt on his face. For the first time Thomas noticed the pistol in his hand.

Enzali rose slowly to his feet. His face was rigid with fury. "You murdering snake!" he seethed.

Keeping the gun trained on his brother, Mattana began to back away. It was clear that he was frightened by the immense strength of Enzali. Finally realizing what had actually happened, Thomas found himself gripped by an overpowering rage. His father had been shot! The man who had done it was here! They thought he was a friend... He had been in their house and they had eaten together... Reason was replaced by red hatred. With a scream Thomas lunged!

Jumping back in surprise, Mattana swung down hard with his pistol at the boy's head. Thomas fell stunned to the ground, his scalp cut wide open by the force of the blow. Enzali had reacted a split-second after Thomas, but before he could reach his brother, Mattana swept the gun back and fired to ward off the attack. A bullet passed through Enzali's thigh and he fell to the floor with a grunt of pain.

Mattana had not intended to confront Enzali, but now he could not help gloating. "That will teach you to side with foreign dirt! The sooner we get rid of them the better!"

Struggling to his knees, Enzali spoke through gritted teeth. "Who do you side with... brother?" he spat.

Roseanne now emerged from the examination room. Her blood-stained hands were clasped together in despair. Tears rolled freely down her anguished face. "Mattana... why? What did we ever do? We only came here to help your people."

The tall African started to move toward the front door of the clinic. "We don't need your help," he snarled, "your useless beliefs!"

"And you," Enzali countered, as he staggered to his one good leg, "you... with your fine belief in nothing... where has that led?"

Mattana seemed about to answer, when a cruel smile flickered across his face. His eyes burned with malice. Standing in the entrance to the clinic, he raised his pistol and pointed it at Roseanne's head. The whistle of the shell and the deafening concussion of its blast seemed simultaneous. Mattana was thrown violently back into the room as a huge fireball erupted outside. The explosion hammered the concrete building, knocking both Roseanne and Enzali to the floor. It blasted a hole through the exterior wall into the examination room, filling the humid air with dust and smoke.

The red Land Rover, parked in front of a white medical clinic, had made an inviting target for the rebels. Whoever was not for them was against them. The turret of the tank spun away from the burning wreckage. Enzali's ears were ringing and his head was aching as he fought himself to his knees. He knew that he was trying to talk, but couldn't even hear himself. Dr. Karland was dead and the rebels had already entered the village. They had to get away... now.

"Now!" he shouted at Roseanne in answer to her dazed, perplexed look.

Thomas had fallen beside a desk when Mattana struck him. Grabbing hold of it, he made a feeble effort to get to his feet, but slipped back to the floor. Enzali shook Roseanne by the shoulders and pointed at Thomas. "We must go now!" he shouted again into the ringing silence. Awareness began to return to her eyes. The heartrending efforts of her son drove out the shock that would have overpowered her. On hands and knees, she crawled across to help him.

Enzali hobbled over to where the body of his half-brother lay crumpled in a heap. The side of Mattana's head was a bloody mess. Just above the left eye it appeared that his skull had been caved in. Bone fragments were sticking through the skin and blood was running from a deep wound in his scalp. Enzali was sickened by the sight, yet death was what his brother deserved. Reaching down, he pulled the pistol from limp fingers.

Over at the desk, Roseanne had lifted Thomas to his feet. She now had the sense to check the storage area for a first-aid kit. Finding a good sized one, she stuffed it into a backpack with some other supplies while Enzali retrieved his rifle.

During the few minutes of their own personal tragedy, the conflict had escalated around the village. Government forces had begun shelling the area as they fought to pin down the rebels. The sound of gunfire was constant, while more troops and armoured vehicles could be seen crossing the valley. Enzali knew that their only hope was to head west in order to pick up the jungle trail. This would take them north to his village. From there he would have to find a way to get Thomas and Roseanne to the coast.

Smoke from the burning vehicle was still providing reasonable cover at the front corner of the clinic. Taking advantage of this protection, Enzali moved painfully through a gaping hole in the block wall. Followed by Thomas and his mother, he slipped around to the back of the building. The three of them were now shielded from the view of anyone in the valley or eastern hills. But the battle was spreading rapidly as government troops tried to outflank the rebels.

"Mama Rose," Enzali grimaced, "take Thomas and get into the deep grass. Keep to the north of the trail in case rebel soldiers are using it. If they find you they will certainly kill you. I will follow as best I can. We will meet at the forest."

Roseanne's eyes welled up with tears and her hands shook as he handed her Mattana's pistol.

"You must take it," he insisted. "You may need it... to protect Thomas. Now go!"

Without further hesitation Roseanne grabbed Thomas by the hand. The two of them ran across the bare hilltop until they could duck behind some low bushes on the far side. Then, rushing down the slope, they dropped from view into the tall yellow grass. Enzali's wounded leg made it a struggle to cross the open ground. He had just hidden himself behind the same small clump of bushes when a rebel jeep came roaring along the top of the hill. It ground to a dusty halt behind the clinic and half a dozen soldiers hopped out. All of their attention was directed into the valley. Using the building for cover, they moved into position and began firing.

Enzali's shirt was drenched in sweat and dust stuck to his bare arms. Keeping a screen of leafy shrubs between himself and the rebels, he inched down the hill until he reached some relative safety in the savanna grasses. Crouching and crawling, he dragged himself along for a few minutes and then collapsed on the ground. He was breathing heavily, partially from exertion and partially from pain. His leg was bleeding and the muscles were on fire. Activity around the hill kept increasing as more soldiers took up positions behind the house and the clinic. Enzali knew that his trail would be easy to follow if someone came in his direction. He needed to get to the forest. How long would it take? Holding the rifle in his right hand, Enzali began to crawl.

Chapter 1

His work boots echoed in the empty concrete corridor as Tom made his rounds. It was just past noon and all the trades had stopped for lunch. Tom enjoyed the silence. Usually the construction site was full of noise and confusion. Long strings of bare light bulbs were hung throughout the interior of the building. They lit his way as he walked out into the empty expanse of a future arena. The local junior hockey team would play here eventually, but that was over a year away. At the moment the goal was to have the building closed in before winter. It was already early October, and in Ottawa the snow could start flying in five or six weeks.

Climbing some concrete stairs, Tom made his way along a corridor under the stands. There was a situation here that needed to be checked out. He hoped it wasn't going to lead to trouble, but knowing Jack, it would probably be impossible to avoid a confrontation. As he turned the corner and looked down the hallway, Tom felt his jaw tighten. Five tradesmen were sitting in the corridor eating their lunch. Less than ten feet away from them was a large plastic garbage can. Yet the floor by their feet was littered with pop cans, orange peels, discarded sandwiches and all sorts of crumpled wrappers.

Removing his hardhat, Tom ran tense fingers through his thick blond hair. His deeply tanned face was getting darker with the angry blood that was beginning to boil in him. Conversation gradually died out as he approached. Stopping next to the very large, very over-weight boss of the group, he took a moment to scan the faces of the other workers. Jack was sitting on a couple of concrete blocks with his legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded across his chest. He glanced up at Tom with a surly look and then turned away, ignoring him.

"Hello fellas," Tom began, in a calm quiet voice. "I thought I told you... again... the other day that we need to keep the site clean. I want this garbage picked up as soon as you're done eating." His dark blue eyes were cold and hard. "And this will be my last warning."

With a loud yawn of boredom, the burley leader of the group pulled a banana out of his lunch box and began peeling it. "So you want this place clean, huh? Well now that you're here, why don't you help out?" Then he threw his banana peel on the floor in front of the garbage can. "Oops! Too bad!" he mocked. "Be a good little boy and pick that up for me, will you?"

Tom took a slow, deep breath before he spoke. He was tired of talking and being ignored. He had given them enough chances. "You know how it works, Jack. Either you clean up or I send a labourer over here and deduct the cost from your contract."

Tossing the banana aside, Jack heaved his bulk off the concrete blocks and stood up. "No, I don't think so, hotshot." With a belligerent sneer on his face, he took a step toward Tom. "If you take a dime off my contract I'll pound your little head in."

Tom was not quite as little as the other man wanted to believe. He was six feet tall and almost two hundred pounds. Jack was definitely taller and heavier, but most of his extra weight was hanging over his belt. Tom's eyes darted to the other tradesmen. They were looking up at him with smirks of derision. It wasn't in him to back down, but he could tell what was coming and decided to try to disarm the situation. He had no desire to hurt Jack.

"Listen, all I'm asking is for you to clean up after yourselves. I don't see why it has to be such a big problem."

Jack was only a step away from Tom now. His small, round eyes held nothing but contempt. "Well, it is a problem... because I think you're just a little jerk!"

Without any warning, he lunged forward and swung hard with his right hand. When the huge fist started toward his head, Tom's response was instinctive. Ducking under the punch, he pivoted on his left foot and drove his left elbow sharply into Jack's stomach. As the hulking worker doubled over, Tom spun in the opposite direction, hammering his right elbow into the spine and slamming Jack to the floor. He dropped a knee between the shoulders, grabbed the gasping man's right arm and pulled it hard around behind his back. "No! Stop!" Jack cried out in pain. "You'll break it!" In less than ten seconds the altercation was over. The other tradesmen hadn't even moved. They sat in open-mouthed shock, looking at their friend who lay groaning on the ground.

Tom spoke slowly and distinctly in an effort to control the fury he still felt. "This is my last warning, boys. You pick this crap up and keep the job site clean. And Jack, if I don't like what I see, I'll be having another talk with you." He released the big man and stepped away to get his hardhat. Without looking back he walked off down the corridor.

Struggling to sit up, Jack winced as he rubbed his right shoulder. "The little jerk," he muttered to his friends. "Next time I'll kill him."

"Hey buddy," one of the workers responded, "you're just lucky he didn't kill you! He sure never learned that at trade school. Let's clean up and get back to work."

Tom was disappointed with himself as he returned to the site office. There were some people whose personalities and attitudes really grated on him, but that was no excuse for what he had done. He was twenty-eight years old, and with his training he should have been in better control of that situation. Most people would consider him friendly and easy-going, but Tom was very aware of the granite within. He knew that he was not one to be pushed. You're supposed to be a construction supervisor, he told himself. He shook his head and frowned. You saw that Jack was going to try something. You should have backed off.

The site office was located in a small building just inside the main gate. It was separated from the recreational complex by a gravel driveway over one hundred yards long. This allowed the project manager a relatively quiet environment for his work space. Sighing with impatience, Tom entered the front room of the office. His lament was heard by Tina, who sat at a table eating her lunch. Tina was another supervisor for Miller Construction and the two of them got along well. Tom often referred to her as his "little sister". Eyeing him as he closed the door, she could see that he was irritated.

"Hey, big guy," she said. "Something wrong?"

Tom sat down and removed his hardhat.

"Oh," he hesitated, "I had a little run-in with Jack again. I'm not very good at this conflict resolution stuff. But... I think I got my message across this time. I don't expect there will be any more problems."

Tina's green eyes were alert and inquisitive. She had her own suspicions about him that she kept to herself.

"Everything is moving along well," Tom said, changing subjects. "We should be in good shape for winter."

Nodding her agreement, Tina contemplated the clock on the wall. "We still have fifteen minutes. Want to go for a walk?"

"Sure. Some fresh air would do me good."

Tom thoroughly enjoyed strolling along under a clear blue sky on a warm autumn afternoon. It didn't hurt either that his walking partner was young, attractive and friendly. Hillview Recreational Complex was situated in the west end of Ottawa, with a nice view of the river and the distant Gatineau hills. Most of the trees were showing their fall colours now, and the scenery was vibrant in splashes of yellow, orange and red. As the two supervisors circled the Complex, their conversation drifted easily between work, sports and other topics of interest.

The entire construction site was surrounded by a six foot high, steel security fence. On the outside of this enclosure, the ground had been cleared and leveled for a future soccer pitch and baseball diamond. Due to the fence, Tom and Tina had to make a full circuit in order to get back to their office. They were at the far north end of the site, toward the river, when Tina's cell phone rang.

"Hello?... Oh, hi Derek... Alright, I'll add that to my schedule... As a matter of fact, he's right here. Hang on a sec." Tina pressed a button on her phone. "Go ahead, Derek, you're on speaker now."

"Hi Tom. Sorry to interrupt, but the driver for the transport company called a few minutes ago. He says he'll be here with our load of steel in half an hour. I thought you should know."

"Okay Derek, I'll take care of it."

"So you really are planning on working this afternoon?" their project manager joked.

Tom winked at Tina. "I don't know, boss. It's a gorgeous afternoon, I have a great view of the river and I'm out walking with a beautiful woman. Why would I want to go back to work?"

"I suppose if you want to keep your job you might decide to show up on site," Derek laughed. "Tina, I'm counting on you to bring him in."

"Roger that, Derek. We'll be there in ten. Over and out."

She gave Tom a mischievous smile as she put her phone away. Tina was enjoying the moment and wanted it to continue. Her green eyes twinkled as she looked at Tom. "So you think I'm beautiful, do you?" she asked, arching her eyebrows.

Tom laughed defensively. "Oh boy, now I'm in trouble." Then, smiling, he held her gaze for a long, affirming moment. "Of course you are, Tina," he said with sincerity. "Anybody can see that."

Tina felt the blood rush to her neck and cheeks. Turning away, she began surveying the scenery across the river. Her heart was pounding. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she studied her watch. "I guess we'd better get going," she said, her voice quavering.

When they arrived at their office, Tom grabbed his hardhat and headed out to the site. Tina pulled up a stool at her drafting table and fiddled aimlessly with the blueprints. Her left hand was busy twirling her shoulder-length auburn hair, a habit she had when she was distracted. Her mind was confused and agitated. Tom never said much about his private life. Realizing the direction her thoughts were taking, she became angry with herself. Maybe he already had a girlfriend. Maybe... She shook her head and got even angrier. It was none of her business! She was his "little sister" and they were simply good friends who got along well... but...

The door to Derek's room opened and he popped his head out. "Hey Tina, while you were gone, the architect faxed over some information. You should probably have a look at it."

"Okay, Derek. I'll be there in a minute."

Now that lunch was over, all the noise and confusion of commercial construction returned. Various groups of tradesmen who were scattered throughout the Complex resumed their work with a vengeance. The bare concrete seemed to amplify the constant sounds of hammering and drilling. Radios were blaring and people were talking in raised voices or shouting to be heard over the racket of power tools. Outside the building, an excavator and a large bulldozer were busy. Their motors roared and their steel tracks clacked loudly as they moved around in the dirt. When his material delivery arrived, Tom took some time to arrange the off-loading with his fork-lift driver. Then he went inside the Complex to make his rounds and check with the different trades. It was about 2:30 when his cell phone buzzed and Tina contacted him.

"Hi Tom," she said. "There's a fellow here from the architect's office... some sort of an engineer I think. Can you come out and meet him?"

"Yeah, sure. What does he want?"

"I don't know exactly, but he asked for you by name."

"Okay, I'll be right there."

Tom was somewhat surprised as he started for the site office. Usually their architect dealt with Tina since she was the one with an engineering degree. Approaching the building, Tom saw a slim, well-dressed man standing by a white Ford Taurus. He assumed this would be the engineer since he had a clipboard and a digital camera on the hood of his car.

"Mr. Karland," the man smiled as he reached out his hand. "I'm Henri Savard from Chadwick and Associates."

His name was unfamiliar to Tom.

"The office recommended you to me. I wonder if you would have time to give me a little tour. I'd like to look over the project and take a few pictures. I'm working on an interim engineering report."

"Sure," Tom replied. "I assume you have a hardhat?"

Henri appeared embarrassed. "Oh, I... uh... I must have forgotten it at the office."

"That's okay. I'll get you one from inside. I'll be right back." Tom glanced at the engineer's feet as he turned away. He was wearing black boots, but it was hard to tell if they were steel-toed. Better not to ask questions; the guy wouldn't be here for long anyway.

After a sunny walk down the gravel driveway, Tom and Henri entered the recreational complex through a row of metal-framed doors. In contrast with the brilliant sunshine, the interior lighting seemed dim, and the air inside the building was cool and damp. Three long corridors branched off from the main foyer where they were standing.

"Well, what do you want to see?" Tom asked.

Henri was about to speak and then hesitated. "Oh, let's just walk through everything once so that I can get a feel for how the job is progressing. But before we start, let me adjust my flash setting." He fiddled with a few buttons and then snapped a photo of Tom. After checking it on the display, he nodded his head. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Alright," Tom responded, "then we'll do a loop through the arena for starters. Follow me!"

As the two of them meandered through the building, the engineer took few pictures and did not write any notes. He examined the arena with half-hearted attention and Tom began to wonder why he had even bothered coming. With all the background noise, Henri said very little as they progressed on past some curling pads and a future gymnasium. When they began to approach the foyer, he looked back down the hallway at the long string of bare light bulbs.

"I suppose it gets fairly dark in here after hours," he suggested.

"Yes, it certainly does," Tom affirmed. "We turn off all the main lighting for the entire project. But there are still a few lights left on in the corridors and other places for security."

"Oh, I see. So you have a couple of guards roaming around at night?"

Even though he hated small talk, Tom tried not to show his impatience. "No, there's only one security guard, and he spends most of his time in the office. I suppose if he hears something he might go check it out, but we don't ask him to patrol around. All the tools get locked up in trailers at night," Tom continued, "so there's not really much to steal. We figure that with a security fence and a guard nearby it should be enough to discourage most people."

"Yes, you're probably right," Henri agreed. "You wouldn't need anyone in the building at night."

The final stop of their tour was a competitive swimming facility. Hillview Complex held two Olympic-sized pools, laid out in an L- shape. At the moment they were simply two big concrete holes in an enormous concrete cavern. The deck area was littered with pallets of assorted materials, piles of sand, lumber, large round heating ducts and scaffolding. Fortunately, none of the trades were working in the area at that time, so there was no noise to contend with. Tom wasn't sure what all the excitement was about, but Henri's attitude took a dramatic shift. Picking up his pace, he walked through the entrance, straight up to the edge of the nearest pool. From the expression on his face it was clear that he was quite interested in this section of the project. Standing in silence, he scanned the facility with a slow, deliberate gaze.

"Now that space up there," Henri said, pointing toward the ceiling on his left, "...what is that for?"

The structure he indicated looked like a huge concrete box attached to the top of a very high wall. The side facing the pool was open, with a safety railing across the front.

"That's for the water slide," Tom answered. His voice politely concealed the fact that he was puzzled. How could an engineer not be familiar with what he himself had designed? "People climb those stairs in the tower to get to the platform on top."

Henri gave an awkward laugh. "Yes, of course, of course, the water slide." He nodded his head several times in affirmation. "It isn't completed yet; that's what confused me." Then, after a moment, he looked up at the box again and began tapping his lips with his right index finger. It was obvious that something was on his mind. "Now, I'm sorry," he said slowly, as if struggling to recall some information, "but I can't seem to remember... Is the tower the only way up into that area?"

"Actually, no," Tom replied. "The tunnel runs farther back than you can see from here. Then there's an emergency exit that opens into an upper hallway."

"Yes, that would make sense," Henri appeared relieved. "The building code would require that."

The engineer continued to stand by the pool, and Tom could tell that he was giving careful attention to the layout of the room. After a moment, Henri pointed across the gaping concrete hole in front of him to the far right hand corner of the deck. "Those steel plates over there on the wall," he said with some importance, "...what are they for?"

Once again, Tom tried to be polite as he responded, but by now he was convinced that their whole inspection had been a complete waste of time. "As a matter of fact, those are not steel plates," he said. "They are bronze... bronze plaques."

At this error Henri was thoroughly embarrassed. "Yes, of course, of course," he stammered, correcting himself. "I... I can see that now. I simply thought they served some other, uh, structural purpose." He ended with a little forced laugh.

Tom's sense of humour was gone. "No, those are just commemorative plaques," he explained, his words tinged with anger. "They give information about people who made special donations toward the Complex." He paused and put his hands on his hips. "Is there anything else you would like to see?"

"You don't mind if I look around a bit, do you?" Henri asked, as he checked the time on his watch.

"Well, I guess that's what we're here for, isn't it?" Tom answered, irritation showing in his voice. "So, be my guest."

The engineer spent the next five minutes wandering around the pool deck. He took over a dozen pictures and wrote himself several notes. Finally it appeared that he was satisfied. As the two men exited the building, Henri became very talkative.

"You guys are doing a great job. I'm really impressed with Miller Construction. Have you been with them long?"

"No, not long," Tom responded. "About three years."

"Oh, so this isn't your first project for them. Where else have you worked?"

"My first project was overseas."

"Hey, that sounds exciting! Where was that?"

Tom hesitated. "In Africa," he answered. Then, trying to end their conversation, he held out his hand. "I hope you got the information you needed. I'd better go check in at the office."

Instead of shaking hands, Henri pointed to his watch. "Oh, hey, look at that; it's three o'clock! I'm heading over to the Mall for a coffee. Why don't you come along? Give us a chance to chat. I'm buying!"

Chatting was the last thing Tom wanted to do, and he tried his best to graciously refuse. But the engineer kept insisting, saying that it was really more of a business meeting, that he had some additional questions to ask about the project and a few files on his laptop to look over. In the end Tom accepted, though it really made no sense to him. Tina was the one who should be involved in any discussions. Then, to top it all off, Henri handed back the hardhat and hopped right into his car.

"I have a few calls to make," he said through the open window. "I'll meet you there; over by the bank entrance."

Tom watched in aggravation as he drove away. The Mall was only across the street, directly south of the Complex. Why not walk and talk? Well, if he had to go to the Mall, he might as well do his banking. There was a cheque in his briefcase he needed to deposit. After crossing the gravel parking lot, Tom climbed into his blue Chevy Blazer. He stopped at the office for a minute on his way by so that Tina would know where he was.

"Have you ever seen that guy before?" he asked.

"No, he's new to me. But he could be a consultant."

"I suppose so," Tom conceded, "but he seems pretty clueless about his own project. Alright, little sister, you know where I am. If anything comes up give me a call... please." Tom grabbed his green company jacket off a coat hook and put it on. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Okay, Tom. Have fun," Tina teased.

The Mall was a large, multi-level structure. It had a stylish exterior, and its attractive design made extensive use of skylights, to provide for natural lighting. The bank was around the far side, out of view of the Complex. As Tom drove up he could see Henri in his white Taurus talking on a cell phone. It was a Tuesday afternoon and the parking lot was almost empty, so Tom pulled in near the engineer and waited for him to finish his call. Henri looked agitated and kept gesturing with his free hand. Getting tired of sitting around, Tom pulled his cheque out of his briefcase and stepped out of the Blazer. Henri caught sight of him, but simply waved him ahead while continuing to talk on the phone.

The bank was inside the Mall, to the right of the main entrance. A little farther down was the food court. Some light rock music was playing in the background while a handful of people drifted from store to store. Give it a few months, Tom thought, and this place will be overflowing with Christmas shoppers. He turned in and went up to one of the bank machines to make his deposit. Between each machine was a large section of mirror. Tom happened to look in it as he was placing his cheque in an envelope. The line of reflection allowed him to see back outside, through the plate glass windows of the bank. The engineer was standing beside his Taurus, looking around.

Putting his bank card into the machine, Tom punched in his PIN number and selected a transaction. Again glancing in the mirror, he could see a second man now talking to Henri. The stranger was shorter and dark-skinned, with wavy black hair. His face could not be seen clearly, but Tom did notice that sunlight kept glinting off something by his left ear. He wasn't sure if it was an earring or maybe the arm of his glasses. The shorter man jabbed Henri in the chest with his finger to emphasize some point. Tom was quite intrigued by all this when the bank machine began beeping at him to carry on. After depositing the cheque, he took out a little cash and retrieved his card. By the time his transaction was finished, the shorter dark-skinned man was gone, and Henri was crossing the parking lot with a laptop case in his hand.

The engineer seemed nervous as he led the way to the food court. He set his laptop down on one of the empty tables and asked Tom to guard it while he went to pick up some javas.

"And something to eat, Mr. Karland?" he offered.

"No, I'm fine thanks. And please, just call me Tom."

Henri smiled and nodded and went off to the coffee shop. Tom realized that he was not in the best frame of mind for a work-related discussion. He settled into his chair and took a few deep breaths. While trying to relax, he scanned the area, noticing that most of the people in the food court were seniors. They all seemed to know each other, and the conversation moved freely between the tables. As he continued to wait, Tom couldn't help but check out the interior design of the Mall. It was second nature to him now. He was busy admiring some of the large tropical plants the building housed when Henri returned. Tom could tell right away, by the aroma, that the engineer had put vanilla flavoured creamer in his drink. He was disappointed; he much preferred plain cream with his coffee. But he said nothing, accepted the cup with thanks and began to sip the scalding brew. Henri glanced at his watch.

Across the street from the Mall, Stan Chadwick stepped into the site office. He was an older gentleman, a little stout, with thinning grey hair. Some would say that he should have retired from the architects' firm years ago. But Stan loved the world of business and had good associates, so he carried on. After a hearty welcome, he and Derek started to discuss the details of a new change order issued by the Hillview Complex committee. It wasn't long before Tina was invited to join their conversation.

"This is quite an honour," she commented, with a smile. "Two visits from your office in one day! What's the occasion?"

Stan gave her a quizzical look, obviously not understanding the reference.

"Your man... the engineering consultant... he just finished doing a tour of the site with Tom."

With a puzzled expression, Stan shook his head. "We never sent an engineer over here. Consultants cost money and there aren't any structural issues at the moment."

Tina turned to Derek. "But... he asked for Tom by name... said he needed to take some pictures for a report he was working on. They went to the Mall a few minutes ago for coffee."

Derek shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sure there's a good explanation for it all. I guess we'll have to ask Tom when he gets back."

Over at the food court, Tom was waiting for some sort of technical questions related to the structure of the Complex. Instead he found their conversation quite trivial and pointless. While the two men sipped and chatted, the engineer kept looking at his watch. It became so noticeable that finally Tom felt he needed to say something.

"Listen, Henri, you don't need to worry about keeping me away from the job site. Derek understands that my time is flexible. Besides, it doesn't matter if we discuss the project here or at the office. So go ahead and show me those files you were talking about."

"Yes, of course. They are right here." The engineer was reaching for his laptop case when he suddenly doubled over, grabbed his stomach and let out a loud groan.

Tom jumped to his feet. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Oh! My stomach! I feel terrible... I... Quick, help me to the washroom. Please... take my laptop."

Then, holding his stomach with both hands, Henri hunched his way back toward the Mall entrance. Directly behind the bank, a corridor for public washrooms branched off to his left. The engineer lurched to the side, staggering along the white tiled floors to the men's room. Pushing its door open with his shoulder, he fumbled his way into the last stall. Tom followed him to the room, unsure of what to do. He placed the laptop on the counter and looked around. The washroom was empty.

"Are you going to be alright in there?" he asked above the groans.

"I don't feel well at all," came the anguished response. "It must be the coffee." There was a pause. "How do you feel?"

Tom was immediately struck by the tone of the question. It sounded very odd, as if there was no longer any pain behind the words. "I'm fine," he answered. "Look, I think I'll wait outside. If you need me just shout."

"No, no... please!" the engineer responded, with renewed groaning. "I need you to... to keep an eye on the laptop for me. I... I might faint! Please, wait at least a few more minutes."

"Okay, don't worry, I'll be right here."

Tom went to look in the mirror when a sharp shooting pain attacked his stomach. He flinched as another cramp struck and his stomach began to burn. Wow, he mumbled to himself, Henri was right. There must be something wrong with that coffee. He began to feel light-headed and dizzy. Grabbing the edge of the counter with his left hand, Tom turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face. He looked up at the mirror and realized that his vision was going blurry. Alarm bells began ringing in his brain. There was something he was supposed to remember. But... it must be the coffee; he was sure he could smell that vanilla creamer! He was about to splash more water on his face when the warning given by his instructor flashed into his mind.

There had been four of them in the small room that night. Three were sitting on cots, each holding a plastic cup of water. Their instructor was standing by the window with his hands clasped behind his back. He was a tall man, with short grey hair and a neatly trimmed grey mustache. His voice was warm and he spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.

"Gentlemen... and Miss Violette... I have a new one for you tonight; an African specialty. It is derived from the bark of a species of thorn bush that is common to western Africa. Its properties are similar to those of the barbasco root they use in South America." He shrugged. "God only knows how people figure these things out."

Tom smiled to himself. The shepherds had discovered the properties of this bark quite easily when they watched their goats stagger around after a meal of twigs. It didn't knock them out, but it did affect their motor skills.

"Mr. Karland," the instructor interrupted his thoughts. "You find something funny?"

"I grew up in Gambala, sir. I've had experience with those thorn bushes. Sorry, sir."

Their instructor looked out the window for a moment and seemed to be re-living a memory of his own.

"I want to assure you that there is nothing funny about this drug. It cannot kill you, which means that whoever uses it wants you alive. If they need you alive, then they must know who you are and they must want information. How will they obtain that information?" There was a long pause. "Since you will not divulge any secrets freely, interrogation will inevitably lead to torture."

Tom glanced across at Joelle. She sat with head lowered, staring at the coarse green blanket that covered her cot. She was an attractive woman to begin with, and now that her dark brown hair was being allowed to grow out for this mission, Tom found her even more beautiful. From the first day they met, there had been a mutual and unspoken attraction between them. Tom would never let anything happen to her.

"This drug is very potent when distilled," their instructor continued. "It does have a slight flavour and aroma, but these qualities are easily masked. A few sips from a glass that has been suitably prepared will render you unconscious in three to four minutes. Before that happens, you will experience symptoms such as stomach cramps and blurred vision. But there is one more critical indicator that I want you to remember, and that is the reason for this trial tonight."

"The drug creates an artificial stimulus in the brain. It affects your senses in such a way that, just before you blackout, you will be very conscious of an aroma similar to vanilla. This is the key, because it will be very strong... unmistakable. From that point you will have twelve to fifteen seconds maximum before you are unconscious. That gives you twelve seconds to make a decision. You will know the importance and delicacy of your mission. You will understand the consequences if information is obtained. You must decide, at that moment, which action is appropriate. Twelve seconds... to decide..."

The instructor's voice trailed off into silence. It was clear that he was fighting with a painful memory of his own.

"...to decide if you want to risk being taken alive," he finished quietly. "I have placed a number of drops in each glass of water that you now hold. You are to take a small drink, and then I suggest that you lie down. I will see you in the morning."

Tom was jolted back to the reality of his situation. Vanilla! With a rush of terror, he realized that he had been drugged!

"A set-up! Get out!" his mind shouted. But even in this moment of desperation his training took over. Don't alert the man in the stall; he'll have a gun! Use the hand dryer! Press the button! With the blower whining noisily to cover his steps, Tom lurched toward the door. Yanking it open, he went to step through when he bumped into another person trying to enter. In his confusion, Tom thought the man was trying to push him back inside. Grabbing the stranger's jacket, he drove him out and up against the wall. Tom tried to head down the corridor but felt himself falling. The other man reacted quickly and caught him, but again Tom fought with all his remaining strength, trying to force his way to the main hallway.

"Don't worry!" the stranger assured. "I'll get you out of here!" He drew Tom's arm over his shoulder and supported him around the waist. They managed to stumble to the end of the corridor, but Tom's mind was reeling; his legs were going numb.

"Help me!" he pleaded, as the darkness closed in. "They know! They..."

Chapter 2

The man assisting Tom was somewhat stocky, with a thick, powerful chest. He had black hair and black eyes set in a rugged face. As Tom slipped into unconsciousness, the stranger did not hesitate, but drew him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. With short, rapid steps he hurried toward the Mall entrance, then turned to his left and went directly into the bank.

"Sir!" was all the startled receptionist could say as the unconscious man was rushed past her. Jumping up, she followed the two men while astonished staff and customers reacted to the scene. The three of them turned a corner into a narrow carpeted hallway that was lined with glass-fronted rooms. This office wing of the bank was hidden from the view of clients involved with tellers.

"Sir! Please!" the shocked receptionist began again while Tom was carefully lowered to the dark blue carpet. "I'm afraid I'll have to call security."

The kneeling man dug into his jacket and handed her a badge. "Inspector Fiset, RCMP," he said, speaking with a slight French accent. "I have a medical emergency here. This man has had some sort of an attack... or maybe an allergic reaction to something."

"Oh my goodness! Is there anything I can do? Should I call someone?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll take care of it," the Inspector responded, returning his badge to his jacket. "But if you could find me a towel and some water, that would be helpful."

Some of the staff that had exited their offices started milling about, and the receptionist explained the situation. Once the branch manager had this information, she went out by the tellers to assure their customers that everything was fine and under control. Inspector Fiset continued to kneel beside Tom in order to check his pulse. He could now hear a relieved murmur of conversation in the background.

Andre Fiset was in his mid-forties and had been on the force for over twenty years. His quick reaction in the corridor was due to years of training to observe and assess. Tom was clean-cut, reasonably well-dressed and had a look of integrity in his face. His plea for help meant there was danger nearby, and Andre wanted to get him away from the scene as fast as possible. Hiding him in the hallway of the bank kept him invisible from anyone who might be trying to hunt him down. Right now, however, the Inspector wanted to get back and secure the washroom. When the water arrived he tried to revive Tom by sponging off his forehead and neck, but it was hopeless; he was out cold. There was no blood and no evidence of physical violence. Andre was convinced that Tom's condition was drug induced. Standing up, he flipped open his cell phone and called direct to Ottawa Police dispatch.

"This is Inspector Andre Fiset of the RCMP."

"Yes, go ahead Inspector."

"I'm over at the Hillview Mall and I've walked into a bad situation. I need a unit sent here right away: Code 2. I'll meet them at the bank entrance."

"Copy that: Code 2, bank entrance of Hillview Mall. Anything else?"

"Yes. I'm also requesting an ambulance; again, no siren. I have a man unconscious on the floor inside the bank. His pulse is steady. I don't know what's going on, but I want to be able to check things out quietly."

"Understood, Inspector. They're on their way."

Andre was getting impatient. Anyone in the public washroom would surely be gone by now. He waved the branch manager over.

"Excuse me, madame, but I need to go and take a brief look in the Mall. I've already called for an ambulance and it will be arriving soon." He looked down and gestured toward Tom. "I hate to leave this fellow here, but I really have no choice. Would you be able to keep an eye on him for me?"

It was clear that the manager was very unsettled by this unusual situation. "I... I don't know," she responded, with obvious hesitation.

The Inspector knelt to place a towel under Tom's head. "You don't have to worry. I'll only be around the corner and..."

Andre got no further. Through the wall at the end of the hallway, he could faintly hear a muffled voice that rose into an angry shriek. Then several people began a loud and heated argument. Even though the noise was dampened by soundproofing, the voices were distinct enough that Andre could easily read the aggressive tone. There was a bump on the wall and the sound of shattering glass. Where was it coming from? In his mind, he tried to sketch a rough floor plan. Based on his location at the bank, the argument had to be coming from one of the public washrooms. All at once there was a cascade of noise: a pleading scream of terror, four gunshots fired in quick succession, banging and shouting! Inspector Fiset sprang to his feet as the bank erupted in a clamour of confusion from terrified staff and customers. Unzipping his jacket, Andre pulled a small black and silver pistol from a concealed shoulder holster.

"Stay with him!" he ordered the manager.

A fifth shot!

The gunfire had obviously been heard in the south end of the Mall. There were shouts and cries of fear. By the time Andre reached the main hallway, people were scrambling for the exits in panic. Just as he flipped open his cell phone, the fire alarm went off. Once again he speed-dialed to dispatch.

"This is Inspector Fiset," he spoke with urgency. "The lid's blown off here! Shots fired... don't know how many suspects... two units to the bank entrance, Code 3... better send an extra medical team."

Snapping the phone shut, he looked up to see a young security guard creeping along behind a large wooden planter filled with flowering shrubs. Andre held up his badge.

"Hey! Get down and stay there!" he said tersely. "You'll just get yourself killed! The police are on their way."

The young man wavered, then decided it would be better to obey. Andre edged along the tiled floor up to the corridor that led to the public washrooms. He wanted to try to get a glimpse around the corner, but knew that as soon as his head appeared it would be a target. As so often happened when under stress, his mind began a wry dialogue in an effort to ease the tension. "Oh man, I hate this," he muttered to himself. "I need to remember to start carrying a mirror. Here we go." A glance! Empty. A longer glance! Empty.

Darting over to the wooden planter, he crouched down beside the security guard. "How long before this alarm shuts off?" he asked over the racket.

"This is only a level one alarm," the wide-eyed young man responded. "It runs for about five minutes. If the fire department doesn't get here to turn it off, then it goes to level two. That's really loud!"

"Great!" Andre fumed. "There's no fire here! Somebody just pulled that alarm to create a distraction."

The Inspector was starting to plan his strategy when a police cruiser, with lights flashing and siren blaring, raced up to the Mall entrance. Holding out his badge, Andre ran back toward the door as two officers jumped from their car and entered the building.

"Constables Baker and Cormier," one of them announced.

Inspector Fiset acknowledged the men with a quick nod and then began delegating assignments. He patted one of the officers on the shoulder and pointed at the wooden planter. "There's a Mall security guard over there. Hook up with him and find out where this washroom corridor goes. Get to the end and seal it off. Oh, and radio the incoming unit to give you support. Remember, somebody's already started shooting. Constable Baker, you can cover me. Let's go!"

Moving carefully down the white tiled floor, Andre tried to judge his position in relation to the office wing of the bank. The corridor took a small jog at the men's washroom. Yes, the noise would have come from here. He took a quick peek around the corner of the hallway. Nothing but a mop in a bucket. The janitor must have made a run for it. Andre contemplated the grey metal door and considered his options. His black eyes were grim, revealing nothing, but in his mind, the running commentary continued. Oh man, I hate this, he sighed inwardly. If I shout "police", the bad guys can keep quiet, wait for me and then shoot. If I come charging through the door, they can still wait and shoot. Either way, I get shot. Then he remembered the pail with the mop farther down the hall.

He waved Constable Baker over. With the clanging alarm still echoing through the building, he had to speak into his ear in order to be heard. "Take that mop and use it to open the door. Stand to the side and slam it open; make lots of noise. I'll shout. If someone's still in there, maybe we can draw a reaction."

The two officers got into position. Inspector Fiset counted with his fingers: one... two... three! The door banged open with a crash and Andre shouted, "Police!" Nothing. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Cowboy," he muttered. Andre stepped with care over the mop, holding his pistol firmly in front of him. There was a slightly acrid smell in the air. He had to move past a small section of tiled wall before he could see into the room, but he had already noticed shards of broken glass from the mirror on the floor. Taking a slow breath, he held it and eased around the corner. The room was empty... almost. Andre stood still and lowered his weapon. There were two bullet holes in the half open door of the last stall. A bloody body lay sprawled face-down on the tiled floor beneath it. There was no doubt that the man was dead.

As Inspector Fiset turned to the officer at the door, the fire alarm stopped ringing. Silence was heavy in the room. "Okay Constable, you and the boys secure this place. Notify the Sergeant and have him take over for me." He tucked his pistol back into its holster. "I don't know if dispatch told you, but there's another person involved in this situation."

"Yes, they advised us that you were dealing with some kind of a medical emergency."

"Well, actually there's a guy passed out on the floor of the bank, right behind this wall here. I'm going to go and stay with him until the paramedics arrive."

The bank had closed its security doors after the incident and Inspector Fiset had to knock to be admitted. He explained the situation to the manager and informed her that the police would now have to cordon off the area in order to investigate. Then he walked back to the office area where Tom lay on the carpeted floor. He studied him for a minute, noticing the work boots and a Miller Construction logo on the green jacket. Kneeling down, he checked Tom for identification. Once again he took out his phone, this time calling to his secretary at "A" Division of the RCMP.

"Hi Marlene, it's Andre here."

"Hello Andre. Don't tell me you're still working!"

"Yes, unfortunately not by choice. I walked into some sort of a shooting incident at the Mall."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. But I have a fellow here who's unconscious. His name is Thomas Karland. I think he's been drugged. I'll give you his driver's license number and then I'd like you to do a bit of digging for me. See if you can put together an initial report on him. I'll take a look at it tonight."

"Certainly, Andre. Go ahead with that number."

When the call was finished, Inspector Fiset went out and waited by the glass security doors. After a few minutes he walked over to where Constable Baker was guarding the corridor to the washroom.

"So, what do we have?" he asked.

"Unarmed... no identification. But somebody wanted him dead. Two shots in the body and one in the head at close range."

Andre considered his options. "Okay, I want an officer assigned to our friend at the bank. He's involved somehow. I'm not sure if we're protecting him or arresting him, but I want a man at the hospital until he wakes up. Then have Communications give me a call."

"Right, I'll take care of it."

Two ambulances arrived shortly, and several of the paramedics were admitted to the bank. As they wheeled their stretcher back to the offices, Inspector Fiset explained the situation. Underneath his exterior, the leader of the medical team was all business. Yet outwardly he remained friendly and cheerful, in spite of the circumstances. Noticing that Andre was wearing street clothes, he asked him, "So how did you get tangled up with this, Inspector? You look like you're off duty."

Andre smiled. "It's one of the benefits of being a detective. I don't have to wear a uniform."

The medic was intrigued. "You mean I'm talking to a real live detective? I think that's a first for me." Then, with a rueful shake of his head, he added, "But really, Inspector... no uniform, no horse? What's the RCMP coming to these days?"

"Yes, it's a sad state of affairs, isn't it?" Andre laughed in response. He appreciated the need to maintain a sense of humour. He knew these paramedics often faced horrific situations in the course of their profession.

When they reached Tom, the leader of the team squatted down and checked his pulse. Then he pulled Tom's eyelid up with his thumb and shone a small flashlight into his eye. "Oh yes, he's got something in his system; that's for sure. Alright, let's get him loaded up."

Once Tom was strapped down to the stretcher, they wheeled him outside and loaded him into the back of an ambulance. Inspector Fiset followed, his mind busily processing all that had just happened.

"Which hospital will you be taking him to?"

"Queensway-Carleton is closest," the paramedic responded. "We'll be heading over there, if that's okay with you."

"Yes, that's fine. I'm going to send an officer along as a precaution. I want to keep an eye on our patient."

"Very good, Inspector. We'll take it from here."

After checking with the constables that everything was in order, Andre left the Mall. He went and sat quietly in his car for a few minutes. The late afternoon sun was still warm. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he sifted through the events of the last half hour. What did he have? One unarmed man dead; one very scared young man unconscious. What was the link? He started his car and drove around to the north entrance of the Mall. Approaching the street, he looked across at the Hillview Recreational Complex. A large white sign with dark green lettering caught his attention: Miller Construction, general contractor. Andre checked the clock on the dashboard. "Later," he told himself.

His scenic drive east along the Parkway was relaxing after the unexpected events of his day. The trees were beautiful with their display of fall colour, and the sky was still a clear blue. Off to his left, the Ottawa River meandered along beside him, and Andre found himself reflecting on the contrasts that marked his life. "You just never know," he said out loud. But that was a choice he had made years ago when he joined the force. What about those two guys at the Mall? What choices had they made?

Turning north off the Parkway, Andre crossed the river at the Champlain Bridge. Traffic was already streaming out of the downtown core. Every day in the late afternoon, a mass exodus began, as office workers by the thousands fled the inner city. Rather than becoming frustrated by the congestion, Andre tried to use his driving time to deal with any lingering issues. Normally, he had little difficulty in turning his mind away from the concerns of his job. It was something he had disciplined himself to do over the years. But the incident at the Mall was so unusual that he kept replaying the events, trying to find some clue that would help him to make sense of it all.

Once across the bridge, he turned left on Boulevard de Lucerne for the short, bumpy ride to his home in Aylmer. He thought again of the Miller Construction logo on Tom's jacket. Now how did that fit into the picture? Inspector Fiset found himself getting agitated and realized that he was already growing impatient to get more information about Tom. It was probably a good thing that Miriam was going to be out tonight with her friends. He wouldn't have been much company around home anyway. Off to his right he noticed a few golfers on the tree-lined fairways of the local course. As he drove by, one of them connected with a solid shot and the ball lofted high in the air as it sailed toward the green. The vibrancy of the moment reminded Andre that it was a gorgeous fall day. Just relax, mon ami, he told himself. You'll get your answers soon enough.

Less than five minutes later, Inspector Fiset was pulling into the driveway of his small, two-story house. Stepping out of his vehicle, he was greeted by the happy barking of a large, over-weight border collie. His dog was so fat and fluffy, the neighbours joked that it was really a sheep in disguise. Andre walked through the gate to his fenced-in backyard and gave his pet a good scratching behind the ears. He knew that Miriam wouldn't be home from work for at least half an hour.

"Come on, Chimo," he decided. "Let's go for a walk."

He held the gate open and the large dog trotted out of the yard. Andre's house was located by a long, narrow park that bordered the north shore of the Ottawa River. The natural beauty of the area was a constant source of refreshment for him. After a short jaunt down the street, he entered his emotional haven, and strolled along the path through the trees. His dog stayed fairly close beside him, paying little attention to the many large black squirrels that bounded around the grass. Andre made his way to one of his favourite spots down by the river. Sitting on a south-facing bench, he listened to the relaxing sound of the water as it rushed through the Des Chenes Rapids. His mind started to drift while he soaked in the warmth of a sunny, October afternoon.

He had been looking aimlessly across the river for several minutes when he began to realize that he was probably due north of the Mall and the construction site. Picking out some landmarks, he retraced his drive along the Parkway. Yes, he confirmed to himself, the Mall and Complex were right across the river, up on the hill behind that screen of trees. As his mind became active again, he sat up straight on the bench. Miller Construction, he mused. Why did that name seem so familiar? There was some nagging thought. Of course! The mini-profile they had shown on the news last week! It was something about a former African who was now a prominent Ottawa businessman. Andre prodded his memory but was unable to recall many useful details. However, even though other facts weren't clear, the broadcast had definitely stated that this man owned Miller Construction. Andre's desire to get information returned. He slapped his knees and stood to his feet. "Here, Chimo!" he called. "Time to go home boy."

When Andre reached the house, Miriam's mini-van was in the driveway. He put Chimo in the backyard and then stood by the fence for a moment to rein in his thoughts. He didn't want to be distracted by work when he met his wife. It was an unwritten rule in their household that police business was never discussed unless Andre initiated the conversation. For her part, Miriam had a rare ability to let her husband pursue his career without being overly concerned about his safety. Early on in their relationship she had once said to him, "If you go out and get yourself hurt, don't come crying to me for sympathy! You've made your choice, now live with the consequences!" Of course he realized that she wasn't nearly that heartless, but it did help establish some healthy boundaries for their marriage.

Entering his house, Andre could hear the shower running upstairs. He went over to his CD player and turned on some music. Then he wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of red wine. Tuesday was ladies' night out, a ritual that Miriam had been keeping with her friends for years. It meant that he would be eating alone. So, what should he make? Hmm. When in doubt, have spaghetti, he decided. After putting some water on to boil, he went and sat in one of their large, comfortable chairs to relax for a few minutes. By the time his wife came downstairs, he was back in the kitchen working on the spaghetti sauce. Miriam was a petite, vivacious woman with sparkling brown eyes and a ready smile.

"Hello, cheri," she said, giving him a big hug and a peck on the cheek. Walking over to the stove, she lifted the lid on one of the pots and peeked in. "I see you're relying on the old standby."

Andre shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, what else can a man do when his wife deserts him to go off partying with her friends?"

"A man can learn to read a cookbook," she retorted with a smile. "Will you be staying home tonight?"

"No, I don't think so, Miriam," Andre answered quietly. "I have some business that I should take care of. But I won't be late."

There was a moment of silence as Miriam adjusted her emotions to this information. She always felt better knowing that her husband was going to be around the house. Over the years, most of the risky ventures had taken place at night. "Alright, Andre," she said in a subdued voice. "The girls want to watch a movie after supper, so I'll see you when I get home."

Picking up her coat from the arm of a chair, she gave him another hug and walked to the front door. Miriam was reaching for the handle when she suddenly turned toward Andre. "Oh, I forgot," she said. The sparkle was back in her eyes and her voice. "Philippe invited us up to his cottage for the weekend!"

"Really?" Andre's face broke into a wide smile. As an avid outdoorsman, he loved going to the lake. There were miles of trails through the woods, and the fishing was excellent.

His wife was radiant with anticipation. "Wouldn't that be great, with all the fall colours? Can we make it?"

"I think so," Andre responded hopefully. "Let me check my schedule when I'm at the office tonight. We can talk about it when I get home."

"Okay, cheri. I'll see you later."

After Miriam had left, Andre hurried to finish preparing his meal. He ate without any appetite, not enjoying the solitude. He realized that often it was his wife who sat by herself at the table. Shift work did that to a family. Yet Miriam had never complained. Now that he thought about it, he could see why. She was always so full of the joie-de-vivre. She was quite a gift. "Oh man," he shook himself out of his reverie, "keep it up and you'll soon be crying in your coffee. Wake up and get to work!"

Andre took a few minutes to wash the dishes. Then he had a fast shower, changed his clothes and drove back to the station in Ottawa. Now that rush hour was over, the streets downtown were almost deserted. Pedestrian traffic too had dwindled as only a handful of people bustled along in the cool evening air. When he arrived at the office, there were already a number of files on his desk. He picked up the report marked "Thomas Karland" and scanned the information: age twenty-eight... dual citizenship... Canada and Gambala... Gambala? Never heard of it... ex-military... totally clean. Reaching for his phone, Andre dialed the hospital and checked with the officer on duty.

"He's still unconscious, Inspector. They're running some blood tests, but I haven't heard the results."

"Okay, I'll probably be here 'til ten or ten-thirty. Keep an eye on him and give me a call if anything develops. I'd like to talk to him before he's released."

The Inspector hung up the phone and pondered his brief interaction with Tom in the corridor. He remembered the desperation and that strange comment: "They know." The record said Karland was clean, but Andre was convinced that he was mixed up in something; something big enough that people were quite willing to kill.

A second file concerned the victim in the washroom. It was a preliminary report, but contained enough information to confirm Inspector Fiset's initial suspicions. The man was a Canadian citizen, a known felon and believed to be involved in the international arms trade. Federal agents were already investigating him. The Inspector considered this new angle. The arms trade? Now that was a link to some very nasty people.

He thought back to the incident at the Mall again. How many voices had he heard when he was in the bank? Three... at least three... and all in French. Yes, he was sure of that, even though they were muffled. So then... how did Tom manage to escape? Andre hadn't been able to see around the corner of the washroom when he ran into him at the door. But if nobody else was there, why was Tom so desperate to get out? Too many questions. He would have to wait until morning and see what the investigation turned up.

However, as Inspector Fiset worked through the evening on a number of other assignments, he found himself distracted by the events at the Mall. He had a sense that he had stumbled onto an important case and was eager to know more. The Miller Construction connection, between Tom and the new sports complex, kept coming to mind. Finally, around 9:00p.m., he'd had enough. He put on his shoulder holster, grabbed his jacket and checked himself out.

Driving through the city in his unmarked Impala, Andre wasn't sure what he was hoping to find. The construction site would be closed by now. Really, it was more for his own peace of mind that he wanted to have a look at the area. Nearing the location, he could see that the Mall parking lot was well-lit by the pinkish glare of high intensity lamps. At this time of night it was nearly empty. Off to his right, the Complex was mostly in darkness. He slowed down and eased over to the curb. There were lights on in a small building just inside the fence. As he watched, somebody walk past one of the windows. Andre decided to drive up and talk to whoever was there. Maybe he could get some contact numbers for a manager or supervisor. Anything was a start.

Pulling into the short gravel driveway, he stopped by the front gate. A few seconds later, someone in the building looked out the window and then stepped back. Andre opened his car door and tapped politely on the horn. No response. After waiting a bit he honked again, a little louder. The door to the office flew open and a large, tough-looking man stormed out. He had a bald head and a thick, short neck.

"Get lost buddy!" he shouted. "The place is closed!" He turned and went back into the building, slamming the door behind him.

Inspector Fiset had been expecting to have a nice friendly chat. Now he was thoroughly ticked-off. This time he leaned heavily on the horn and held it until the bald man emerged again. Marching right up to the fence, he pointed a threatening finger at Andre.

"Honk that horn again and I'll shove it down your throat! Now get lost! The place is closed!"

Andre held up his badge. "Inspector Fiset, RCMP."

"What?!" The man sounded shocked and concerned. "Look, uh, sorry... I didn't know. I thought you were just some trouble-maker."

"And you are...?"

"I'm the security guard here and, uh, everything's fine. It's all quiet tonight."

Inspector Fiset wasn't buying it; his intuition disputed the claim. If you're a security guard, I'm Molly Maid, he thought. Andre decided to test the man's reaction. "I've been chasing down a suspect from a robbery at the Mall. I'm pretty sure he hopped the fence. I'd like to come in and have a look around."

Instantly the man resumed his gruff manner. "There's nobody here. I would've seen him. You'd only be wasting your time."

The Inspector's voice went cold and his face left no room for argument. "I want you to open this gate now. After that I want you to go into that building, sit down and wait until I'm through with my investigation. Now get this thing open!"

The man gave him a scowl, but said nothing. Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the padlock and swung the gate wide. As Andre drove past the office, he saw a second person standing in the doorway, smoking a cigarette. "So, there are two of them," he muttered. Crunching along the gravel toward the Complex, he watched in his rear view mirror. The bald man shut the gate, locked it and went over to his friend. The driveway was directly in line with the entrance doors of the Complex. It ended in a large circle that looped past the stairs leading up to the building. Andre stopped his unmarked cruiser with the headlights shining up the steps. He looked in his mirror again, but apparently "baldy" had decided to do what he was told.

Rubbing his chin, the Inspector tried to figure out his next move. He had come to the site hoping to satisfy his curiosity about Karland. Instead, he had discovered a situation that didn't seem to be on the level. Or, was he being too suspicious? Andre considered the evidence. No... no, something wasn't right with that big goon out front. He might as well play along with the story he had given the guard at the gate. It wouldn't hurt to snoop around a bit. But if he was going to do that, he should probably have some backup in the area. Punching in the proper channel on his radio, he contacted Ottawa Police dispatch.

"This is Inspector Fiset of the RCMP. I'm over at the new Hillview Recreational Complex. It's right across from the Hillview Mall. I've just had a little incident here that's causing me a few concerns. I'm not sure what's going on yet, but I'd like some assistance nearby."

"Okay Inspector, what are you requesting?"

"Send one unit over. Have them park in the street by the main gate until I come out. That should be enough of a presence for now."

"10-4. They're on their way."

After turning off the Impala, Andre got out of his car. He stood in silence, listening carefully, while taking a minute to scan the area. For the first time he became aware of another vehicle. It was parked off to his right in the shadows near the building. He made a mental note: metallic blue Jetta... four-door... custom chrome rims... dark tinted windows. If it belonged to the security guard, why wasn't it parked near the office? The license plate on the front was caked in mud. Convenient. He decided to check it out later. First, a look around.

Walking up the bare concrete steps, he pulled on several of the door handles. One of the doors swung open. Andre paused for a moment, perplexed. Shouldn't it be locked? There were no trade vehicles in the parking lot, and the so-called guard was stationed next to the street. Not very good security. He stepped into the dimly lit foyer and the door closed behind him. There were three branching corridors, each of them almost in darkness. Andre thought about going back to his car for a flashlight. In the end, he turned left and headed down a long, sloping hallway.

Okay, so now he was here. But what was he looking for? Inspector Fiset had no idea. He did a long loop through the arena section and in ten minutes was back at the foyer. Looking through the glass doors toward the street, he saw that a police cruiser had arrived. He also noticed that the lights were now out in the office building. Reaching for his pistol, Andre crept along the corridor to the right of the entrance. At the end of the hallway, he came to a series of metal door frames. The doors themselves had not yet been installed and low, urgent whispering could be heard.

Inspector Fiset crouched in the shadows against the wall. There was very little lighting, but he could see enough to know that this was the pool area. The deck to his right was cluttered with assorted piles of material and a tangle of scaffolding. Using a stack of sand bags as a shield, Andre inched his way into the darkened cavern. Off to his right was an open door. He ducked inside a tiny storage room and stumbled over something lying on the floor. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but then he knew that he had found the real security guard. His hands and feet had been firmly wrapped in duct tape. There was also a piece of tape over his mouth. His head lay in a small, dark puddle, and he was unconscious.

With great caution, Inspector Fiset peeked around the metal door frame of the storage room. He found himself peering out at a large L-shaped facility. Future swimming lanes stretched directly ahead of him. Then the building turned 90 degrees to his left into the diving area. All of this was noted in passing, because his attention became fixed on the far end of the pool. There, in the corner where the deck changed direction, three men were standing in the dim light. One of them was the bald security guard. He had a pistol in his hand and was slowly surveying the room. The other two were both dark-skinned men. They seemed to be having a serious disagreement. There was something on the ground beside them that Andre thought looked like a couple of large tool boxes.

Inspector Fiset pulled back into the deep shadow of the small room. The other man at the office outside had been Caucasian, which meant that he was still roaming around. Four against one, and the tough-looking guy already had his pistol drawn. Andre didn't like the odds and all his instincts were telling him to get out now. He stared down at the unconscious guard. He looked like a kid right out of high school. What to do? Would they leave him alive? Andre decided he couldn't take that chance. Returning his weapon to its holster, he easily lifted the young man to his left shoulder in a fireman's carry. Twice in one day, he thought, with a slight shake of his head. I need to get a new job description.

Loud whispers caught his attention. He eased into the doorway, knowing that he couldn't be seen in the darkness. The two black men were in a heated discussion. The taller one was pointing and gesturing aggressively. The shorter man had his hands up, fingers spread wide, trying to calm him down. Then "baldy" came over to join them. This was his moment. Carrying the guard over his shoulder, Inspector Fiset moved around the corner and began to make his way down the dim corridor to the entrance. When he reached the foyer, he opened the door gently, trying to make as little noise as possible. The silence was broken by a loud shout and the crack of a pistol! Bullets clacked off the metal frame and shattered the glass!

Andre burst out into the cool night air. He struggled to hold onto the unconscious man with his left hand, while wrestling to get his pistol free with his right. Stumbling down the stairs, he spun and fired back at the entrance just to let his pursuers know that he was armed. As he sprinted for his car, he heard the clang of metal doors being thrown open. Again shots rang out behind him! Andre felt a sharp sting in his side. He dropped the guard on the ground beside his vehicle and returned fire over the hood. Ripping open the front door, he flicked on the headlights. The bald man and his friend were caught in the glare at the top of the stairs! They whirled around and ran for the Complex as Andre snapped off a few more shots.

Opening the rear door of his cruiser, Inspector Fiset grabbed the security guard and tossed him onto the back seat. Then he hopped in the front and fired up his vehicle as several bullets cracked off the hood of the car. Yanking the gearshift into reverse, he stomped on the accelerator. Stones flew as the Impala raced backward down the gravel driveway. More bullets smacked through the windshield! Ducking low behind the dashboard, Andre simply aimed the rear of his vehicle for the main entrance. He slammed into the gate, ripping it right off the fence and throwing it out into the street! His momentum carried him straight across the road. With a deafening bang, his car jolted violently over the curb and up into the Mall parking lot.

Jamming on the brakes, Inspector Fiset threw his vehicle into park and wiped the sweat from his eyes. His breath was coming in shallow gasps. Now that he was out of pistol range, he could finally look back through his shattered windshield toward the Complex. Bodies were scrambling around the Jetta, and its lights came on as it was started. Out at the street, the two officers were crouched behind their cruiser with weapons drawn. The Inspector reached for his radio to call for assistance... and hesitated. To his surprise, the Jetta only came about halfway down the driveway and then stopped. Andre noticed some movement in the background, but because of the brilliance of the high-beams, he couldn't tell what was happening. In the darkness behind the car, there was a sudden flash of white light! Something streaked toward the police cruiser parked on the road. A blinding explosion ripped the fence apart! The officers turned to run for cover, but a second streak of light was already on the way! As their vehicle exploded in a huge fireball, Andre jammed the gearshift of his car into reverse. With tires squealing, he raced backward to safety across the parking lot. Seconds later, the Jetta roared out of the gravel driveway and disappeared down the street.

Chapter 3

There was a moment of hesitation, a brief and furious inner struggle, and then Andre's better judgment overruled his raging emotions. With a snarl of frustration, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He knew that he couldn't give chase. Out at the street, one of the officers had been thrown right up onto the sidewalk where he lay motionless. The second policeman was struggling along on hands and knees, trying to reach his fallen partner. Andre grabbed the radio and called dispatch.

"This is Inspector Fiset. I have a 10-33; two officers down. Four suspects leaving east on Hillview Drive in a metallic blue Jetta; four-door, tinted windows, chrome hubcaps. Plate number unknown."

"Copy that, Inspector," dispatch replied. "What's your 20?"

"I'm at the Hillview Mall, across the street from the recreational complex. My vehicle has been heavily damaged. I'm unable to initiate pursuit. I also have an injured man with me needing medical attention. If you find these guys be careful. They have some sort of a grenade launcher."

"Say again, Inspector."

"They're not just firing bullets! Suspects armed and very dangerous!"

"10-4, Inspector. Backup and medical on the way."

Andre turned off his car as a precaution. No telling what might have been damaged when he went through that fence. He tried to look over his shoulder into the back seat and let out a gasp of pain. His right hand reached instinctively to his left side and came away bloody. He had been shot! Then he remembered the sharp sting as he was running for his car. With the adrenalin wearing off, he was beginning to feel a heavy throbbing above his left hip. He opened the car door and got out carefully. Lifting his punctured jacket, he frowned at his torn and blood-stained shirt. Pretty messy, but the injury couldn't be too bad, he decided. Must have just grazed him. The other men were in much worse shape. If he could walk, then he could help.

The police officer who had been crawling along the pavement finally reached his partner. Inspector Fiset wanted to check on the security guard before going out to the street to assist them. Opening the back door of his cruiser, he looked down in shock. The young man had rolled off the seat and was lying in a heap on the floor. There was blood everywhere.

"No!" Andre exclaimed in despair. He hurried around his car and opened the other back door. Grabbing the guard under the shoulders, he carefully slid him out and laid him on the ground. It was evident that he had been hit by two or three bullets. In the distance, Andre could hear the faint sound of sirens. Help would be here soon. He knelt beside the young guard and gingerly pulled the tape from his mouth. Then he began to unwrap his wrists.

"Hey, is it safe now?"

Inspector Fiset was startled and looked around. A couple of teenagers were hiding behind a van that was parked in the lot. One of them had asked the question.

"Yes, you'll be fine," Andre responded. With a bitter glance toward the street, he added, "Those guys won't be coming back here again tonight."

The teens stood up and tucked their skateboards under their arms. "What about him?" one of them asked, pointing to the security guard. "Is he going to be alright?"

The Inspector's face was grim. "I don't know, fellas, I don't know."

As he finished pulling off the duct tape, two units with lights flashing and sirens blaring came racing down the street. Standing to his feet, Andre realized that a small crowd was being drawn to the scene. He turned to the teens. "You'd better move back now and give us some room to work."

The first police car turned off its siren and stopped out on the street to help the injured officers. The second unit drove in the Mall entrance and rushed over to Andre's vehicle. The siren was off, but the red and blue lights continued flashing. One officer immediately began dealing with crowd control, while the second came over to Andre.

"Constable Frank Brutesco," he announced. "What's going on here, Inspector? Dispatch said something about a grenade launcher."

Andre shook his head as he spoke. "I don't know what I walked into, Frank. I was checking out a situation at the sports complex and found this security guard unconscious on the floor. When I tried to get him out, a couple of guys started shooting at me. I was carrying him over my shoulder. If it hadn't been for that, well... He took those bullets for me."

"And then they blasted the other unit?" questioned the officer.

"Yes," Andre responded, almost in disbelief. "They took two shots with something. The first round must have touched the fence, but the second was a direct hit on the patrol car. Those guys sure didn't want to get caught."

Constable Brutesco stared toward the vehicle that was still in flames on the street. The smell of burning rubber was strong in the air. "So what do you want to do?"

"As soon as everything is under control here, I want to go back into that Complex and have a look around. Those thugs knew that I was with the RCMP, and they had no hesitation about trying to kill me. Whatever they're involved in is big, really big!"

"Okay, I'll call dispatch and make arrangements so that... Hey! Wait a minute! You're bleeding too! You'd better get that checked out!"

Shaking his head, Inspector Fiset gave a weak smile. "No, I'll be alright. They only nicked me, thanks to this young man."

The wound hurt more than Andre admitted. Clenching his teeth, he grimaced with pain as the constable returned to his cruiser. The Inspector contemplated the security guard, feeling an odd mixture of anger and humiliation. It really bothered him that, in trying to help the young man, he had only made matters worse. Now, instead of a bump on the head, the guard had multiple gunshot wounds. Would he live? Andre sighed and rubbed his forehead.

It took only a few minutes before a number of medical teams arrived. The young guard was carefully tended to, then loaded onto a stretcher and placed in an ambulance. One of the emergency personnel came over to take a look at the Inspector. It was the same paramedic he had met earlier in the day at the Mall. Even though the man tried to be lighthearted, Andre could see the deep concern in his eyes.

"So, Inspector," he said with a sour face, "I see you've been stirring things up again. And here I thought it was going to be a nice quiet evening."

"Yes, well, it's not really my fault."

"Right, that's what they all say." The paramedic peered at Andre's hip and gently poked around at the wound. "Hmm, not too bad. The bullet went through without touching the bone. I'd say that you have some slight muscle damage, and you're certainly going to need stitches." He straightened up and nodded toward the ambulance. "You might as well come along for the ride. They may want to cut you open a bit at the hospital."

Andre laughed. "No, I'm not leaving yet, not for this little scratch. I've taken a lot worse than this over the years."

The paramedic put his hands on his hips and grinned. "A real tough guy, eh? Okay, it's your call. But I need to put some disinfectant on that and at least get a gauze pad taped on."

By the time Andre was patched up, several more squad cars and a fire truck had reached the Mall. A large crowd of spectators now ringed the scene, their curious faces lit by flashing red and blue lights. Inspector Fiset put one of the arriving officers in charge and then walked over to Constable Brutesco.

"How are the other men doing?"

Frank shook his head. "Bad, real bad, Inspector. That must have been quite an explosion."

They looked at each other in grim silence. Andre could feel a cold anger building inside.

"I want to go back and check out that Complex. As soon as you can, get your car and drive on over. I'll go ahead and start looking around. I'm sure all the suspects are gone by now."

While the constable left to resume his duties, Andre returned to his own vehicle. Pulling out a large black flashlight, he set it on the roof of his car. Then he drew his pistol from its holster and put in a fresh clip of bullets. When everything was ready, he cut across the Mall parking lot toward the construction site. To the right of the main entrance, a fire crew had begun to spray suppressant foam on the smoldering police cruiser. The section of fence behind it was a tangle of twisted mesh. Inspector Fiset reflected on the file he had read earlier that evening. The victim in the washroom was thought to have links to the international arms trade, and whatever had been used to destroy the squad car was definitely a military weapon. It didn't take much thought to realize that there had to be a connection between the two events.

When the Inspector was about to cross the street, he heard the quiet rumble of approaching skateboards. Turning around, he saw the two teenagers rolling across the Mall parking lot toward him. One of the teens waved his hand and called out, "Hey, wait a minute!"

Andre went back to meet them at the edge of the pavement. "What is it, fellas?" he asked, when they arrived. "What's on your mind?"

"We saw that car before," a red-haired youth explained, as he picked up his skateboard. "I mean the one that came out of the construction site."

"Yeah," his blond friend joined in. "That Jetta was parked here earlier. And then a guy jumped out and hopped that fence across the street."

Inspector Fiset was all attention now. "Okay boys, start at the beginning and tell me what you saw."

"We usually come here at night, when the parking lot is empty, so that we can work on our tricks," the red-haired teen began. "We were grinding curbs on the other side of the Mall entrance, down by the sidewalk. That car was just sitting there with two men in it. One of them was black and the other guy was white."

"How do you know it was the same car?" asked Andre.

"We took a real good look at it because of those chrome rims," the other youth explained. "Wheels like that must cost a fortune! When we skated past it a few times, one of the men rolled down his window and told us to get lost."

The red-haired skateboarder took over. "After they told us to leave, we went up near the Mall and did some riding around there. About... I don't know... maybe fifteen minutes later I was looking over when the black guy jumps out of the Jetta, runs like mad for the fence and hops right over it!"

"Hops?" questioned Andre.

"Well, he sort of swung himself over... but it was so fast! And then he kept running full-blast for the building!"

Inspector Fiset considered the unexpected information. "What about the two men you saw?" he prodded. "Was there anything special about them?"

"No, not really," the blond-haired teen responded. "But the black guy looked pretty tough, like real trouble. And he was dressed all in black too."

That would be the angry one by the pool, Inspector Fiset thought to himself, the one with the shaggy hair. "So what happened to the Jetta? How did it get into the site?"

The red-haired youth shrugged. "We don't know. We went around by the bank for a while and were just getting ready to leave when all the shooting started. We hid by the van and saw everything."

Pulling out a small notebook, Inspector Fiset wrote down a few details. Then he took the names and phone numbers of the teens so that he could get in touch with them later. After thanking them, he continued on toward the gate of the construction site. As he stepped off the curb to cross the street, he had to stifle a gasp of pain. His left side was really starting to hurt now. But he was determined to do some searching around the pool, so he gritted his teeth and kept going.

When he arrived at the site office, Andre tried the handle on the door. It was unlocked. He paused, then drew out his pistol. Better safe than sorry. Standing to one side, he reached over, turned the handle and gently pushed the door open with his foot. After a moment he stepped inside and turned on the lights. As expected, the office was empty. Andre didn't waste any time looking around for clues. He would let the crime scene unit do that. What he really wanted was to get back into the Complex and check out the pool area. Closing the door, he started along the gravel driveway.

Flashing lights from numerous emergency vehicles probed the darkness before him. With stones crunching beneath his feet, he made the hundred yard trek to the building. He began to feel a chill from the cool October air, and realized that he was soaked in sweat from the tension of his narrow escape. He stopped to zip up his fall jacket, and then carried on. Reaching the location where the Jetta had stopped, he swept the ground with his flashlight. He thought he might find some sort of a shell casing, but there was nothing. A little farther ahead he could see two tracks where the tires of his vehicle had dug into the gravel. It has been close. If not for that young security guard...

Inspector Fiset looked up the concrete steps at the entrance doors. A faint light from the lobby shone through them into the darkness outside. Two of the glass panels had been shot right out, and several others had bullet holes in them. How many men had left in the Jetta? He assumed that it had been all four of them. But was he really sure? He thought back to the scramble he had witnessed from a distance. Andre pulled out his pistol again and started up the stairs. Reaching one of the shattered doors, he opened it and stepped into the dimly lit foyer. He decided to leave his flashlight off for now. No use advertising. Turning to his right, he walked with slow, quiet steps along the concrete passageway. Arriving at the entrance to the pool, he stopped and listened, but there was only an empty silence. They must all be gone.

Switching on his flashlight, the first thing Andre saw was blood on the floor next to the metal door frames. He paused to consider this. If his suspicions were correct, that must be where the guard was attacked. So, either he was just doing his rounds, or else some noise from the pool area had attracted him. But what could possibly be going on at a new construction site? And why would the criminals risk killing not just one, but several police officers. It didn't make any sense. They could have escaped on foot through the north end of the property. Unless... unless there was something in their car they couldn't leave behind. Weapons? Money? Shaking his head, Andre exhaled into the silence.

There was a metallic clang as one of the entrance doors was opened. "Inspector!" a voice called.

"Over here, Frank!" Andre shone his flashlight down the corridor as Constable Brutesco approached.

"I talked to the Sergeant. He'll have a full investigation team here in half an hour. Backup has arrived and is sealing off the area."

"Okay, that's good." Now that the other officer had arrived, Andre put his pistol away. "I want to have a quick look around, just to satisfy my own curiosity. When people start shooting at me, I'd like to know the reason why."

"So what are we looking for?"

Andre shrugged. "I don't have a clue." He swung the beam of his flashlight into the far corner of the pool deck. "But something was going on over there. Why don't you walk around to the left and I'll go to the right. Take your time. Let's see what we can find."

Frank nodded, switched on his flashlight and started off around the deck. The route Inspector Fiset had chosen was congested with scaffolding and stacks of materials. He had to climb and duck and weave his way around the pool. When he finally reached the corner, he found a metal stand with a large halogen light. Turning it on, he stood back to survey the scene. This area of the deck was relatively uncluttered. There were some scattered chunks of concrete rubble and a few big piles of assorted debris, but other than that, Andre could see nothing. The two large boxes he had noticed earlier were gone.

He stood waiting in pensive silence as Frank's flashlight pierced the darkness on the far side of the pool. Andre was restless, and the growing pain in his side was making him irritable. What the heck was going on? Those two black men were definitely up to something! Had he walked in on an arms deal? But why meet at a construction site? Spotting a metal door in the wall to the right of the corner, he walked over and pushed it open with his forearm. They might be able to get some prints off that. The door was an emergency exit, and opened directly outside at the front of the Complex. The Inspector found himself looking across the construction site toward the Mall, where a multitude of red and blue lights were flashing on the street. He stepped back inside, and the metal door closed behind him. Well, he thought, that explains how they got to their car so quickly.

Constable Brutesco was approaching much more rapidly now since the far side of the diving pool was completely unobstructed. Making a final inspection of the area, Andre caught sight of the brass plaques. They were fastened on the wall to the left of the corner. Stepping back a few paces, he shone his flashlight on them. There were five in total, each of them about two feet square. He scanned the names and dates, but they meant nothing to him. He continued reading the information until Frank arrived. The constable shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't find anything, Inspector."

Staring at the floor, Andre gave a resigned sigh. "Alright, let's go. We'll have to wait and see what the investigation team can dig up. You'd better take me over to the hospital so I can get checked out properly. My side is killing me."

Tom's body lay still in the quiet ward room, but with the drug wearing off, his mind became active. Thoughts came to him from far away, as in a dream. He tried to understand what could have gone wrong. How could anyone possibly know? It had been on another continent, over six months ago. But now, here in Canada, who could have learned the truth? Even this slight mental effort brought a drug-induced fatigue. Tom tried to fight himself awake, but his thoughts began to slip back into the darkness. Somebody had known. Even in Africa somebody must have known. It was the only explanation. As his mind drifted along the borders of consciousness, the past merged with the present; memory became reality.

The constable on duty at the hospital lowered a Sports Illustrated magazine he had been reading. The lights in the hallway had just been dimmed for the night and it was too dark to read. Setting the magazine on the floor beside his wooden chair, he stood up and stretched. A glance at his watch showed that it was 10:05 p.m. Two more hours. He was considering going for a short walk when he heard a muffled shout from the ward room. Hurrying through the door, he found Tom thrashing around and mumbling. As he approached the bed, Tom tried to sit up. "Francois," he said distinctly.

"Hey, easy fella," the officer soothed. "Just relax; everything is fine."

Putting a hand on Tom's shoulder, he gave him a gentle push onto the mattress. Instantly Tom grabbed his wrist with a grip of steel! When he tried to pull away, he was jerked back hard against the bed frame. Tom's fingers were digging into his arm with unbelievable pressure. The pain was terrible! He tried to use his other hand to break the grip, but it was impossible. Then Tom's left hand shot out, grabbed him by the shirt collar, and dragged him down toward the bed. The constable could see that Tom was only semi-conscious. His eyes were not focusing and his head kept drooping, but his power was relentless! Then, for one split-second, it seemed that Tom's vision cleared and he glared directly at him. It was a look that shocked the officer and drove him into a terrified panic. In Tom's eyes, he saw death.

The engine of the jeep droned noisily as Tom descended the lazy, winding road. Dust floated up behind him into the humid air, then drifted off to coat the jungle foliage with another layer of grime. In less than three months the dirt would be a clinging quagmire of muck when the rainy season began. He was glad the target date had been chosen for early March. Get in, get out, go home; that was the plan.

It was only about a ten minute drive from the construction site to the base camp, and Tom was soon pulling into a large fenced compound. The soldiers at the gate merely nodded as he drove past. His sun-bleached hair and deeply tanned face made him easy to recognize. The jeep stopped in front of a low, concrete-block building. A white sign with green lettering announced it as the Miller Construction Administrative Office. Climbing out of his vehicle onto the hard-packed dirt, Tom walked past a series of large windows to the main door. When he entered the building it was just as stifling inside as outside. No air-conditioning here. A large black woman, who did double duty as a receptionist, looked up from her desk.

"Well now, Monsieur Karland," she said in Gambalian French, "what might you be doing here?"

"Business Colette, always business," Tom responded, also in French. Very few people at the hydroelectric project spoke English. Almost all the conversation on site was either in French or Maliki. Tom was fluent in both.

Colette's eyes twinkled. She wasn't fooled for a second. "Ah yes, but what kind of business?" she asked. Then, with a wave of her hand and a knowing grin, added, "She's in the back, using the fax machine."

Tom walked down the hall to the last office. The door was open and he stood outside for a minute, gazing in. He decided that Joelle couldn't help but look beautiful. At the moment she was wearing a knee-length dress with a vibrant red and green floral pattern. Her dark brown hair was now maintained slightly below the shoulders. Sensing that someone was behind her, she turned toward the door. At once her brown eyes lit up and a warm smile radiated from her tanned face. She set down the small pile of papers she had been holding and stepped toward him.

"I was hoping you would come back," she confided.

Smiling in response, Tom reached out to take her hand. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested.

The Miller Construction property had been cut out of the heart of dense rainforest. Surrounded by a wall of towering trees, the direct sunlight and humidity made it feel like being in a sauna. Once outside, Tom and Joelle ambled around the dusty compound. They were serenaded on their walk by the humming and buzzing of thousands of vociferous insects. Fortunately, at this time of day the mosquitoes were not too bad. While engaged in the casual ebb and flow of conversation, they made their way to a picnic table that sat in the shade provided by a large wooden canopy.

They settled in across from each other, and Tom reached out to take both of Joelle's hands in his. He marveled at the gentle elegance of her fingers, knowing that in fact they possessed great physical strength. She had given him a couple of really good whacks during their training sessions. He smiled to himself. It was just like the rest of her attractive, athletic figure. She was beautiful, but she was also very dangerous. He looked up to find Joelle staring at him with a quizzical gaze. Her cheeks were flushed, but not from the heat. Their eyes locked in a deep communion of understanding. After a few moments, Tom had to turn away, finding himself moved by an unexpected flood of emotion. Once again he realized and admitted to himself how much Joelle meant to him.

They continued to sit under the canopy, enjoying each other's presence in a comfortable silence until Tom finally turned to the business at hand. "I got the timers to Francois at noon," he said. "They should be in the storage box around 4:30. He'll drop them off when he does another survey farther up the canyon. That should have us ready to go by 5:00."

Joelle nodded, but said nothing. She could tell that something was troubling Tom. He studied the table for a minute, then looked up into her eyes with concern.

"Francois thinks that somebody may be on to us. Not that they would know anything about our mission," he clarified, "but that they have become suspicious of who we are."

Joelle continued to wait, her active mind very alert.

"He's noticed a few people watching him from a distance. They've even followed him along the trail toward the storage box a few times. They always stay near the jungle, but they never stay hidden."

"So they want to be seen, but not get caught?" Joelle questioned.

"Yes, exactly. There's no doubt that they are rebels... which, in itself, is not surprising. We know they are in the hills all around this hydro project. But Francois thinks that they are deliberately baiting him, wanting to see his reaction. Obviously a real surveyor would be afraid of being targeted by the rebels, so Francois has asked to have a soldier accompany him." Pausing, Tom took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "This morning he spotted some movement in the trees across the valley. He got a good look through his binoculars before the fellow disappeared. There's no question who he saw. It was the Viper."

Joelle's eyes narrowed as she processed this information. "Are you sure?"

Raising open hands, Tom shrugged. "We can't be one hundred percent certain until somebody gets a picture of this guy. But his appearance fits the best description that we have. The man had shaggy hair and was wearing the Viper's signature clothing... you know... sunglasses, black beret, black shirt... the usual. It was a pretty positive I.D."

"But what would the Viper be doing here? All the Intel we have shows that he's leading rebel activity along the coast near the capital."

"Any answer I can give would only be speculation. But certainly the knowledge that he's around will put a lot of fear into the construction workers. With his reputation for brutality, people are terrified of him."

Closing her eyes, Joelle began massaging her forehead as she tried to fit this new piece of information into the Intelligence puzzle. During the short period of time they had been in Gambala, their team had identified two divergent streams of rebel activity. One was fairly broad, involving widespread guerilla attacks that were designed to destabilize the country. But there was a second group, a smaller one, with a more narrow focus. It was centered around the capital and was led by a vicious killer known only as "the Viper". He was a shadowy figure, who remained in the background, directing his forces with a blood-covered iron fist. The fact that he would suddenly appear in a remote corner of the country was unsettling news.

Opening her eyes, Joelle stared at the picnic table and frowned. "I guess I agree with Francois. For some reason, the rebels have become suspicious of who we are, but they don't know why we are here. If they had any accurate information about our operation, the Viper wouldn't waste time playing games in the jungle; we'd all be dead by now."

Tom gave a weary sigh. "So what's tipped them off?"

"Well..." Joelle shrugged. "Francois has spent a lot of time poking around, asking questions. Anybody who talked with him could also talk to the rebels. It's possible that he's stirred things up. Somebody might be wondering why a surveyor from Canada is so curious."

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Tom dried his fingers on his pants. He looked past Joelle to the steaming jungle, agitation showing in his face. Their mission would soon be over. Four more days and the other two could go home.

Joelle was not finished. "There is another option, Tom," she said, in a subdued voice, "a rather unpleasant one, which puts us all at risk. Somebody close to the President could be leaking information. Think about it," she continued. "Canadians have been working on aid and relief projects for years in Gambala. The fact that the three of us are here isn't unusual. Without some sort of inside information, nobody would have any reason to get suspicious."

Rapping his knuckles on the table, Tom scowled as he considered this possibility. It would make sense. There was nothing around them but rainforest and the hydro project. What else would drag the Viper away from the capital? Besides, he was an experienced soldier. Stepping out of the jungle in full view of Francois was deliberate. He wanted to be seen; he wanted the Canadians to know that he was here. So... he was probably trying to intimidate them, trying to trigger some sort of an unguarded reaction that would give them away.

Having reached this conclusion, Tom sat in brooding silence while he worked through the implications. As team leader, he was responsible for the safety of all the members. He had been convinced that their cover identities were secure. He was no longer so confident.

Joelle had been watching him closely. Reaching across the picnic table, she took his hands in hers, gave them a firm squeeze and smiled. "We'll get through this, Tom. You just concentrate on your job. I'll take care of things at this end."

He stood up, and Joelle followed him out of the shade into the sweltering afternoon sun. His mind was still preoccupied and he said little as they approached the office. Was it because of Francois, or was there an informant? Well, right now it didn't matter which scenario was correct. Both of them were bad news. When they reached the jeep, Tom placed his hands on his hips. He gazed deep into Joelle's eyes before he spoke.

"Okay, from now on we'd better assume that we're targets. I have to get ready to join Francois. You need to send this information to Williams right away. And you also need to be careful while we're gone. As a matter of fact you should probably stay in the compound. There are enough soldiers around here to discourage any rebel activity. I wouldn't want... I mean, there's no reason to take chances."

Joelle smiled, her dark brown eyes warm with understanding. Leaning forward, she kissed him gently on the cheek. "I'll be fine. I'll see you when you get back." Giving his arm a squeeze, she turned and walked away to the office.

After loading his jeep with some more equipment, Tom left the compound and made the routine drive up to the construction site. He had been in Africa for over two months already, doing reconnaissance and coordinating their operation. He knew every curve and bump in the dusty, winding road by now. Ten minutes later he pulled into the huge clearing that served as a storage area. It was larger than a football field, and was crowded with metal cargo containers and battered trailers, roughly organized in two long rows.

The container used by the Canadian team had been deliberately placed at the end of one of the rows, nearest to the jungle. This allowed Tom easy access to disappear into the forest when necessary. His official role, however, was as an explosives expert, and he maintained a constant presence at the hydro site. Driving down the dirt track between the trailers, Tom turned left at the end of the lane. He parked beside his container and hopped out of the jeep. The jungle had been cleared away to allow a thirty-foot perimeter for vehicle traffic and security. During the day, soldiers were constantly monitoring the site in order to discourage any rebel attempts to steal materials or equipment. At night, the storage area was treated like a combat zone, with a very heavy military presence.

The dark green Miller Construction container was battered and dusty on the outside. About halfway down its forty foot length there was a small entrance door that faced the jungle. Tom walked over and undid a heavy combination lock. After a casual surveillance of the area, he opened the rusty exterior door to reveal a second one, made of polished steel. He punched in a code on a key pad and slid the thick metal door effortlessly back into the wall. Stepping inside, he flicked on a light switch, then closed and locked the doors behind him. The front half of the container was used for storage of tools and equipment related to construction work. But the back half was a double-walled secure site that had been specially outfitted for their mission in Gambala.

Entering a small storage room, Tom dropped his pack of gear on the smooth metal floor and checked the shelves. The timers and detonators were gone. Francois would have them in the storage box by now. Since it was almost five o'clock, he thought it would be best to go out and be seen around the site. He could meet Francois by the dam, at the trail that ran along the canyon. As he prepared to leave, Tom turned on the screen for the security camera. The camera was hidden in a dark yellow light bulb over the entrance door. Its convex lens gave a full 180 degree view of the exterior. After a careful study of the screen, he turned off the switch. There was nobody in sight.

Stepping outside, he slid the steel security door shut. As he was closing the battered exterior door, a man walked around the far corner of the container to his right. Tom turned to look, gave the stranger a friendly smile, and then swung his head back to focus on the lock. Outwardly, he appeared completely nonchalant, but inwardly he was fully alert and tense.

"Wrong!" his training was shouting. "Everything is wrong!"

In that brief visual scan, Tom had made instantaneous observations and evaluations. The man's black-skinned face looked nervous, and he had quickly averted his eyes. He was wearing a stained, olive-green shirt stretched tight over a muscular chest. His military pants were dirty, and his black boots were worn, with scuffed toes. He didn't fit the profile for either a soldier or a construction worker. As soon as this conclusion leapt into his mind, Tom removed the combination lock and pretended to be fumbling with it. With his eyes looking down at his hands, he had a better field of peripheral vision. It was this slight advantage that allowed him to detect the attack.

The man had been sauntering past, following the perimeter road, close to the trees. But when he was almost directly behind Tom, he turned and took a quick step forward. Tom's response was immediate: he whirled and charged. The rebel soldier had been reaching behind his back for the pistol he had tucked in his belt. Caught off guard by Tom's reaction, he jumped to the side in panic. The weapon got caught in his belt, and as Tom slammed into him, it slipped from his grasp and dropped to the ground.

Though the stranger was shorter than Tom, he was wide and solid. The two men rolled in the dust of the road, fighting for advantage. The rebel had been told to capture Tom alive. Those orders vanished with the intensity of the struggle. His only option now was to kill the Canadian and escape. Battling with all his strength, Tom tried to get a choke-hold on his assailant. But the soldier squirmed out of his grasp, and pushed himself free with his powerful arms. Instantly he drew a large combat knife from a sheath on his left side and took a wicked slash through the air. Tom dodged and rolled out of the way. Before he could get to his feet, the rebel lunged and swung hard with the point of the blade. Using his left forearm, Tom attempted to block this attack, but the knife deflected and cut across the top of his head.

The instant he felt the sharp sting of the blade, thoughts flashed into his mind with startling clarity. The rebels know who they are! Francois will be targeted! Joelle is in danger! It was this final realization that unleashed Tom's fury. Up to that point, he had been defending only himself. Now he was fighting in order to protect Joelle.

With a snarl of rage, Tom shot out his right hand and grabbed the rebel's wrist. As the two of them struggled and wrestled, he dug his fingers deep into the flesh. The soldier let out a cry of pain and dropped his knife. Using his free hand he gave a vicious chop at Tom's arm, trying to break the hold, but his effort was useless. Suddenly Tom's left hand grabbed the man's throat in a fierce, unrelenting grip. As his fingers closed with crushing force, Tom locked eyes with his opponent. Terrified by what he saw, the rebel began a desperate battle for his life. He twisted his right arm free, swung a brutal hook to Tom's face, and managed to break the hold on his neck. Rolling quickly out of reach, he pawed and scrambled his way through the dust toward his pistol.

Realizing that he would never stop the soldier in time, Tom dove for the knife. He grabbed the handle and came up on one knee, already throwing. With his life in the balance, the combat seemed to move in a slow-motion choreography, where Tom participated as an observer. The rebel spun toward him with his pistol in hand, only to be met by the knife flashing through the air. In an involuntary reaction, the soldier closed his eyes, flinched and fired. There was a loud crack as the shot echoed off the trees. Tom heard the hiss of the bullet whipping past his head. But all his attention was focused on the rebel as he watched the heavy hilt of the knife strike the man a hammer blow under his eye.

While his dazed and bleeding assailant struggled to find a target, Tom staggered to his feet. The pistol was swinging toward him! He tried to dodge to his right. There was a heavy burst of automatic gunfire as Tom stumbled and fell in the dust. But the bullets were not meant for him. One of the Gambalian soldiers on patrol had seen the tail end of the fight and run up just in time. Tom pushed himself to his knees where he laboured to regain his breath. Blood was flowing down the side of his face from the deep gash on his head. The soldier checked on the rebel, then hurried over and knelt beside Tom.

"Monsieur Karland," he said with anxiety, "let me help you! We must get you to the doctor!"

Tom turned toward him and shook his head. He was covered in sweat and grime. His chest was heaving as he fought for oxygen. "Francois," he gasped. "Where is Francois?"

In the dim light of the ward room, the terrified policeman struggled furiously to break free. He managed to shake loose from the grip on his collar and gave Tom a hard shove back onto the bed. With his free hand he grabbed the call button and pressed it repeatedly. Tom began to lapse into unconsciousness again, and as his grip weakened, the officer yanked his arm away. He jumped across the room and threw open the door. Seeing the nurse coming down the hallway, he shouted, "Quick! In here!" Startled, the woman rushed down the corridor and into the room.

"What is it? What's the matter?" she asked, her eyes wide with fright.

The officer now felt embarrassed and tried to regain his composure. But it was impossible to hide the agitation in his voice. "He tried to get up, and when I came over he grabbed me. I could hardly get away from him!"

The nurse looked across at Tom, who was once again thrashing and mumbling. "The drug must be wearing off. I think I'd better sedate him until it completely clears his system or he'll rip his IV out." She hurried to prepare a syringe, then discharged its contents into the IV line. "The doctor won't be here until 6:00 a.m. so our patient will be with us all night anyway. That will calm him down until I can get a proper drip set up. I'll take care of that later. What about you? You look a little shaken yourself."

The officer exhaled a loud agreement. "Yeah, he really caught me off guard. But I'll be fine." He rubbed his wrist for a moment. "Is there somewhere I can get a coffee?"

"Sure. We have a machine in our pantry down the hall. Come on, I'll show you."

Tom lay quietly in his bed after the two of them left the darkened room. His breathing became slow and regulated. His body was still, but his mind remained active, racing ahead through the tragic series of events he had endured in that far distant country. Gradually the sedative took over, and his memories began to fade. But release from his ordeal did not come soon enough. He saw her again in the African moonlight, lying face down in the sand, unmoving. Her legs still trailed in the black water of the river. With a despairing sigh, that was only a breath, he whispered the single word, "Joelle."