ABOVE GROUND
To those who give...
ABOVE GROUND
A Jack Taggart Mystery
Don Easton
A Castle Street Mystery
Copyright © Don Easton, 2007
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
Editor: Barry Jowett
Copy-editor: Jennifer Gallant
Design: Jennifer Scott
Printer: Webcom
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Easton, Don
Above ground / Don Easton.
(A Jack Taggart mystery)
ISBN 978-1-55002-681-8
I. Title. II. Series: Easton, Don. Jack Taggart mystery.
PS8609.A78A63 2007 C813′.6 C2007-900088-6
1 2 3 4 5 11 10 09 08 07
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.
Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.
J. Kirk Howard, President
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chapter one
Holly saw the flash of headlights in the carport and knew that Jack had arrived home. She checked the pot of simmering tomato sauce and turned up the heat. Their daughter, Jenny, at four years of age, was snuggled deep into a corner of the sofa watching television. Charlie, who’d recently had his first birthday, sat on the kitchen floor entertaining himself with an empty pasta box. Spaghetti was what Holly thought her family was going to eat tonight.
“Jenny! Go wash your hands for dinner, sweetie. Daddy is home.”
Jenny was too absorbed in The Simpsons to pay attention.
Holly turned back to the stove, where the pasta sauce was beginning to boil. She felt Charlie’s hug on her leg as she stirred. “Charlie! Daddy’s home! Go see Daddy! Go on!”
Charlie knew the routine, and Holly smiled as he squealed with delight and hurried, taking a few awkward steps before landing on his diapered backside, then scrambling to his feet and disappearing around the corner and down the hall to the door.
Holly caught a glimpse of the cracked window over her kitchen sink. Not much longer. They had lived in the modest rented home for the last four years while her husband went to the University of British Columbia to earn his degree in computer science. Only one more month to graduation! No longer a dim light at the end of a tunnel — it’s a shining star!
The dark green van with tinted rear windows did not draw any attention where it was parked on the street. Apartment buildings and low-rental housing made it a neighbourhood where unfamiliar vehicles were the norm.
Ray sat alone in the back of the van and waited. This was not the type of work he felt he should be doing. He had received his masters in business administration at Cambridge, but right now their resources in Canada were limited. Only twenty-one people, counting himself, for the entire lower mainland. Not much of an army ... but that would change.
Ray knew that The Boss was right about one thing. Corporate takeovers are easier when they are unexpected. First they must ensure that their own position is fortified before domination can begin. He was also confident in his research. British Columbia was the best place in the world for his type of corporation. The judiciary was so lenient that, for the most part, judges wouldn’t even need to be bought. The power and wealth they had elsewhere made local crime groups look like petty thieves. It was time to quietly establish a new power in Canada.
Ray watched as a car slowed, then stopped at a driveway. He squeezed the transmit button on his portable radio and quietly gave the orders. Ray saw his target get out of the car and move the garbage can that had been placed to block his driveway. The target then returned to his car and slowly drove into the carport.
Ray saw the two Suzuki motorcycles zoom past him before braking hard and parking near the garbage can. One passenger got off each motorcycle and headed toward the carport while the drivers stayed and revved their engines.
“Jolly good,” said Ray aloud, as he made his way back to the driver’s seat.
“Where’s my boy? Where’s that Charlie?”
Charlie let out a long, high-pitched yell as he hurried toward his dad, then gasped when he was swept off the ground. Charlie giggled when he felt his dad nestle into his neck and pretend to blow bubbles.
Charlie was too young to grasp the danger when two men appeared in the open door behind his dad wearing motorcycle helmets with dark shields covering their faces. His father also did not understand when he turned around, still holding Charlie in his arms. But he saw the gun in each man’s hand and started to close the door. He was too late.
One assassin calmly fired a shot that passed through Charlie and into his dad’s heart. Jack’s brain was momentarily still alive and he spun around to try to protect Charlie. He took one step before collapsing on the floor with Charlie under him.
The noise of the gun, equipped with a silencer, was drowned out by the television. The television did not, however, drown out a piercing cry from Charlie.
Both Holly and Jenny arrived on the run from different directions. Holly looked in horror, and upon seeing the two men she instinctively grabbed Jenny. One of the assassins stepped forward and fired another shot into the back of Jack’s head before taking the time to stare at Holly and Jenny from behind his visor. The assassins did not know that their intended victim was already in a graveyard.
Constable Danny O’Reilly hurried to keep up with Corporal Jack Taggart. Being tall and lean, Jack tended to take larger strides. His metabolism was also high, and the strides were not only longer but also faster. Danny found himself in a position where jogging was too fast and walking fast was too slow.
“Damn it, slow down, will you?”
“We’re late,” replied Jack, quickening his pace.
“Only a few minutes. Lance has kept us waiting before.”
“Our friend has kept us waiting before.”
Danny sighed, then said, “Yeah, sorry. Our friend.”