The Spy I Loved (26 page)

Ab, as he
was universally known in these here parts, was a bit of a fixture.
Abner still loved fishing, still breathed fishing, and still went
fishing with all the enthusiasm of a barefoot fourteen year-old boy
skipping school with a bamboo pole, cotton thread, a bent pin, and
a handful of night crawlers. It was hard to miss Ab, with his
sweat-stained Tilley hat and bib coveralls, rubber boots, yellowed
old undershirt and as hairy as a gorilla.

Ab was always trying to drag Dale off on some
fishin’ mission
to this
here lake forty miles east or that there lake fifteen miles west.
The trouble was that Dale was getting creaky in the joints. He had
the camp to run and didn’t like to go too far from his armchair,
his kitchen and his bathroom so much anymore. The pair of them
could talk fishing all day long, or boats, or hockey or
baseball.

Women
was always a sore subject,
although neither one seemed to have had one in years.

“
There were more of them explosions yesterday.” Ab looked
around as if to spit.

“
Sure there were.” Dale was hardly listening. “Like, who
cares.”

Ab’s
brilliantly-clean dentures always made him look so much more
cheerful than Dale.

The store
was busy, with people at the snack counter and going up and down
the grocery aisles. It was raining lightly although the morning had
begun with a real downpour. The two men were seated at one of half
a dozen aging restaurant tables on the right front side of the
lobby. Round, heavy and with one or two odd chairs in the mix, Dale
had bought them from a café owner in town when their store folded
due to lack of year-round trade.

They had been doing all right in the summer months according
to all the talk. The place had been a bit upscale and pricey for
the locals, who already had their preferred watering holes. The
patronage of a dozen or so ladies who craved something better and
were prepared to pay wasn’t enough to
save
the Coffee Nook. Tourists
didn’t exactly seek out Espanola in winter. Though there was plenty
of snowmobiling, this particular demographic group didn’t tend to
stop and partake of tea and crumpets.

Dale
nodded encouragingly.

Ab went
on.

“
They’re saying it was the seismic testing. That’s bullshit.
There’s no oil within a thousand miles of here.”

Dale
scowled into his mug. It was already well into the day, but not too
many people were going out on the river.

More than
anything he needed a beer. Ab would probably take one too. Lifting
his eyes, turning his head, he watched as Lindsey and one of the
other girls—he had the devil of a time remembering their names
these days, served the counter and the little grocery section on
the far side. His eyes slid across, past the clock in a hopeful
fashion, but it was still too early.

Dale was
slated to mop floors in the store, do the back rooms and then go
into town to pick up their orders at the grocer’s wholesale. Then
there was the liquor store. Since it was a weekday and he was going
into town anyway, he might stop in at the doughnut shop and see who
was there. He must not forget the bank, and there were one or two
bills to pay. A quart of oil for the truck and some new wiper
blades would be good. He had plenty on his plate without this
persistent badgering from Ab.

Their
coffee wasn’t any better than his, but he might see someone he knew
downtown.

It was
early in the season and weather was always an unpredictable part of
the equation. Dale was hoping it would clear up and they could get
some of these people out of his hair and into money-spending mode.
He made fifty cents on a quart of milk and a hundred dollars a day
renting a boat with all the accessories. His gas was ten cents
higher than the stuff in town. Boats went through a lot of gas
these days. That was the difference. With normal occupancy and a
good season, the cabins paid the taxes and the basic bills. The
rest of the operation was what they lived on, and he had his
alleged retirement to think of. It was their profit, as he had
patiently tried to explain to Ab and more than one friend over the
years.

A man
came in the door, he’d seen him with one of their guests. He looked
around and Dale politely nodded, making friendly eye contact and
taking another sip. The fellow turned away. He made his way to the
back of the queue, Dale having dodged a bullet—most likely it was a
question that Lindsey could handle well enough.

“
So what do you think it is?”

“
Shit. How the hell would I know. But what, two or three days
ago, they say a bomb or a rocket or something fell off a
chopper.”

Dale’s
eyebrows lifted.

“
Yeah—so?”

“
Well, I don’t know, Dale. I’m just saying…”

There
were three groups waiting for service in front of Ian
Spencer.

“
Well, they can’t all be falling off.”

The first
people bought their smokes, newspapers, candy and a dozen other
items, then the next crew, a father with two boys about ten and
twelve stood and haggled over what they were allowed to have and
what Dad said and what Jimmy did and what Johnny was always
doing.

Then came
the next customer.

Spencer took it patiently enough, this was why he was
here
after all. Most of
the world was trivialities, the stocky agent thought with a small
grin. They were good-looking kids, with a strong resemblance to
dad.

Next
customer.

An
elderly lady in a sun-hat was looking for skin crème and the girl
led her off into the little general store to his right.

He could see the boys growing up just like the old man. They
might be a little more slender, perhaps a little taller, perhaps
getting a good college education where dad was so obviously
not.
Skilled trade,
thought Spencer. Ironworking, boiler-making, tool-and-die making,
or maybe welding, judging by the thick and ropy forearms. He noted
half a dozen colours in some intricate but not particularly
well-done tattoos. He had no idea what he was supposed to be
looking at sometimes.

They were
completely self-absorbed, perfectly innocent in a world that was
becoming increasingly connected, ever-smaller, and in too many
ways, more threatening, more dangerous.

This is
why we’re here. It sort of gave him a good feeling.

“
Yes, can I help you?”

The
father stood off to one side. The boys wandered the store, picking
at the wrappers and peeling out whatever was in those bright
packages.

“
Ah. Yes.” This was the one—the one Liam had mentioned, going
slightly pink in the cheekbones as he was impaled by those
wondrously clear blue eyes. “My name is Spencer—Ian Spencer,
and—”

“
Spencer, Ian Spencer?” Those eyes glittered at him from
across the counter, yet there was just the hint of an edge to it.
“As in
tea,
stirred, and hopefully not shaken?”

It was
pure nonsense. No one else would have caught it. She was damned
well serious, too.

Sudden
heat came to his cheekbones. There was a real good brain in
there.

“
Ah, yes.”

“
And what can I do for you?” He wasn’t a guest, and yet she’d
obviously seen him with Liam.

The bell
over the door rang and her eyes shifted, then came back to him.
There was a message there. There were two sets of feet approaching
from behind.

“
Well. I would like to rent your largest boat. That’s one
thing. But the other thing is that I already have a boat, it’s from
Murray’s, just on the edge of town. Basically, it’s a bit
small.”

“
Oh. Sure, this is your lucky day.” Lindsey stepped back and
picked up the phone. “Not too many people going out
today.”

Across
the way, through the big front windows, she could see the man
himself, sitting in his little booth by the gas pumps on their main
pier. Mark liked word puzzles and was probably doing one right
now.

Picking
up the phone, she pushed the number two. Three rang back in the
kitchen, four was their home extension.

He picked
up immediately.

“
Hi, Mark.” Lindsey explained what the gentleman was looking
for, as two pairs of filmy blue eyes behind steel-rimmed glasses
looked on in frank interest. “He has a boat he wants returned to
Murray’s. Can we do it?”

Ian
waited patiently for the verdict as they consulted.

Uncle Dale or I could maybe do that later…okay.

Standing
behind Mister Spencer, Lindsey had the impression the newcomers
were listening intently even as their eyes finally traveled
elsewhere in response to her quick glance.

“
He has an eighteen-footer, that’ll be enough for three or
four big guys—how many are in your party?”

“
Ah, yes. That’ll be about it.” He nodded. “Sounds good to
me.”

Three or four guys then.

She kept her jaw firmly closed for a second as Mister
Spencer’s eyes had dropped and he studied…no,
identified
the people standing
behind him. It was a combination of their reflections in front of
him, the sloping angle of the glass, perhaps even catching a sight
of the woman’s very distinctive running shoes out of the corner of
his left eye.

She tried
not to grit her teeth. This was getting to be a bit
much.

The
runners were all the rage, slim uppers on flaring wide plastic or
rubber bottoms. Molded and dyed in bilious shades including black,
blue, purple and neon pink, Lindsey could get exactly the same
thing in town for less than twenty bucks. The shoes looked brand
new, but that wouldn’t last long. Not in this rain, and not around
here.

“
The boat’s standard equipment includes two life-jackets, two
paddles, and an extra fuel can. Fuel is extra. He said it’s got a
hundred and thirty horse-power…”

“
Perfect, that will be fine.” Ian turned and nodded pleasantly
to the couple behind him at the counter.

They
smiled up at him, the woman holding her purse in front of her waist
with both hands and the man stepping back slightly due to the
proximity of a much larger male. The woman was wearing Bermuda
shorts, a thin white blouse with baggy long sleeves, loafers with
no socks and yet she carried that garish large purse in shiny black
patent leather with studs and metal-ringed holes punched every
which where.

“
Good morning.” Ian Spencer grinned pleasantly.
“Are-ye-ketchinennie?”

Mister
Bernstein’s eyes lit up and he nodded eagerly. The two men
exchanged a few polite words about the weather. The fishing was
good, they agreed.

Lindsey
quickly made up the receipt, explained about the deposit, and then
ran his card through, as all the while Spencer chatted with his new
acquaintances. She still couldn’t quite figure out if they were
Dutch or German or Danish or what. It came to her that they were
Estonian—Latvian, somewhere up there along the Baltic. That
explained the odd accent, being neither one thing nor the other.
Spencer scribbled a quick and unreadable little signature and that
was it.

She
handed him the paper.

“
Take that out to Mark and he’ll fix you right up. Now, before
you go out there in the rain, is there anything else you might be
needing?”

***

Recovery number one had gone badly. Two enemy killed
were
relatively
good news, bearing in mind that dead men couldn’t be
interrogated, but a missing satellite maneuvering motor assembly
was relatively bad news. Going by their electronic data and the
remaining mass, the item was mostly in whole condition. It was a
prize for someone.

With
additional resources in the vicinity and the neutralization of the
attack-boat threat, Liam wasn’t taking too many chances. They were
drafting in people from everywhere. Telephone and electrical crews,
municipal and country work crews were hastily employed along major
highways for a hundred miles in each direction. Additional
surveillance cameras were being installed at major intersections.
It might be a little late, but the funding wasn’t outrageous and
the system would eventually be integrated into a road/weather
monitoring system. With a bit of luck, they might capture the image
of a person of interest on camera, and get a license plate and
vehicle description at the same time.

It was
beautiful on the river.

With
Liam’s first big hit still uninvestigated, they had decided on a
night dive. They were using three boats. A still and moonless
night, they had seen a half a dozen other boats on their cruise
from The Pines. The widening of the river slowed the current. There
was a dam or weir further downstream to keep levels high. This was
typical of many northern rivers, it was for both logging and power
generation. It was fairly deep on the downstream run to the target,
which was in a bit of a hole where the channel fell over a shelf of
submerged rock. What made river diving so interesting was the
different currents at the bottom. Visibility would either be very
good or very bad, with rarely a happy medium.