Easton, a former undercover cop with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, fills the Taggart books the kind of precise, accurate detail that gives the series a kind of authenticity rare in crime fiction--Booklist, for Subverting Justice
It's hard to fault a man who writes good pulp and Don Easton, a former Mountie, really knows how to do rock 'em sock 'em action stories.--Globe and Mail
Ripped from the headlines ... Easton, an ex-Mountie, knows his police work.--The Globe and Mail, for Dead Ends
It’s hard to fault a man who writes good pulp and Don Easton, a former Mountie, really knows how to do rock ’em sock ’em action stories. -- Globe and Mail
Ripped from the headlines … Easton, an ex-Mountie, knows his police work. ― The Globe and Mail, for Dead Ends
Easton, a former undercover cop with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, fills the Taggart books the kind of precise, accurate detail that gives the series a kind of authenticity rare in crime fiction ― Booklist, for Subverting Justice
About the Author
Don Easton worked as an undercover Mountie for twenty years, including seven years in an RCMP Intelligence Unit. He lives in Victoria, B.C.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter Two
Corporal Jack Taggart and Constable Laura Secord were both members of the RCMP assigned to an intelligence unit in the headquarters building in Vancouver. Their mandate was to target sophisticated organized crime rings, particularly those who operated on an international level. At the top of their list was the Satans Wrath Motorcycle Club.
Satans Wrath operated in more than forty countries and included an overall membership of several thousand members worldwide. Most countries had numerous chapters, with larger cities being divided into more than a couple of chapters. Each chapter was overseen by a president, and a national president oversaw each country.
The club was responsible for a multitude of crimes, including murder, drug importing and exporting by the tonne, prostitution, corruption, identify theft, credit card fraud, and basically any other criminal activity imaginable.
Both Jack and Laura had been specially trained as undercover operatives, but their primary aim was to develop high-level informants. Undercover operatives, surveillance, and wiretaps could be important tools, but having someone on the inside was much more valuable.
Three months previous, Purvis Evans, who’d been the national president of Satans Wrath in Canada, was murdered after making a fatal mistake ― he’d threatened Jack’s family. A high-level informant Jack had cultivated within the club claimed that Evans had disappeared after meeting some Russian cocaine importers whose real identities were never discovered by the bikers. This informant was certain that Evans had been murdered. Jack was more than certain. He knew.
After speaking with his informant, Jack submitted an intelligence report advising what his informant had told him. The truth was that, unbeknownst to the informant or anyone else in Satans Wrath, Jack had assumed an undercover role and tipped off a small band of thugs who were about to be murdered on orders from Evans. He then arranged for these criminals to murder Evans and make it appear that Russian criminals were responsible ― Russian criminals who did not exist.
Evans’s murder, coupled with several arrests orchestrated by Jack and Laura from tips received from their informant, hindered some of Satans Wrath’s criminal ventures within British Columbia … but not all. Some crimes, regardless of how deadly, were allowed to continue to protect the identity of their informant.
Monday was the start of a new week and Jack took a sip of coffee and eyed Laura over the top of his mug. Her desk butted up to his and he’d noticed she’d been reading intelligence reports submitted from other parts of Canada. “You’re quiet this morning,” he noted. “Anything good?”
Laura frowned as she dipped a tea bag into her mug. “I don’t know if you’d call it good. I’m reading a report from the Canadian Intelligence Service out of Ottawa about Italian organized crime in Montreal and Toronto.” She took the tea bag out and gazed at it as it spun on the string before putting it aside. “It’s been a long time since our unit has taken a look to see how much influence the Cosa Nostra has out west.”
“Thinking we’ve stalled Satans Wrath a little and should take a look ourselves?”
Laura made a face. “You and I don’t have the time. Stalled is the right word, but it won’t take them long to recover. With our friend on the inside, we’re still going to be busy. I don’t see us getting the chance to take a long hard look at anyone else, which is the problem.”
Jack put his mug down. “We’re getting an increase in staff soon.”
Laura’s face brightened. “Yes, a new sergeant’s position and two constables.”
“That should help.”
“The promotion board is supposed to sit next month. I’m certain you’ll be the one selected to get your third stripe.” Jack pretended to eye her suspiciously. “You’re hoping I am so you’ll have an opportunity to move into my spot and pick up your corporal stripes.”
Laura smiled. “I wouldn’t turn down a 10 percent pay increase.” “Likewise,” Jack replied. He took another sip of coffee as he thought about the possibility of Italian organized crime evolving in B.C. “I don’t think we need to worry about the Italians at the moment. Our extra manpower, when we get it, could be used in other areas.”
“What makes you think we don’t need to worry about them?”
“What criminal activity do you think Satans Wrath is not involved in?”
“Is not involved in?” Laura appeared to think hard on the question. “None that I can think of. Drug trafficking, prostitution, not to mention corruption, infiltration of labour unions, elected officials, the judiciary, the ports…” She looked curiously at Jack. “Why?”
“In other words, anything that Italian organized crime would touch would also have to be in collusion with Satans Wrath. If they didn’t, we’d be finding bodies, either bikers or Italians, or both.”
Laura nodded. “And our friend would know about it,” she added.
Jack was about to reply in the affirmative but stopped when their boss, Staff Sergeant Rose Wood, entered the office. Looks ticked … what now?
“Hi, Rose. What’s up? You look like you inhaled a bug.”
Rose didn’t bother to pull up a chair as she glowered at Jack. “I bumped into Lexton out in the hall a moment ago. She asked if our section has come up with any Russian organized crime factions in the city yet.”
Crap! Assistant Commissioner Lexton was recently promoted to the position of being the criminal officer in charge of the Pacific region. She wielded enormous power and was someone whose attention he wished to avoid.
“Not coming up with anything doesn’t exactly put our office in a good light,” Rose said.
Damn it. I was hoping Lexton would forget about that.… He looked up at Rose. “I reported at the time that my informant believes the Russians were not from here and moved on after Evans disappeared.”
“Alleged Russians,” Rose retorted. “I get the distinct feeling that Lexton doesn’t believe your informant.”
“He’s always been reliable in the past,” Jack noted.
“Yes, I told Lexton that.”
“How’d she respond?”
Rose stared at Jack a moment, “That perhaps your informant was fed misinformation and Satans Wrath only believes it to be true.” When Jack didn’t respond, her face hardened. “What do you have to say about that?”
That Lexton is a smart lady.…
“Well?” Rose prodded.
“I suppose it’s possible,” Jack replied.
“Yes, it certainly is possible,” Rose replied bluntly before trudging back out the door.
Jack stared after her.
And Lexton isn’t the only smart lady.
The accused, nineteen-year-old Ronald Forsythe, belonged to a neighbouring gang based out of Abbotsford called the Death Heads. The two gangs had been in a turf war for over two years and were vying for control of the lucrative drug and prostitution trade.
The gangs were primarily comprised of adolescent males. Approximately fifty members made up the Death Heads and there were perhaps a dozen less in the United Front. Even the leaders were younger than thirty years old.
It was their age that made them so dangerous. A lack of maturity, coupled with inexperience, decidedly limited their ability to reason, let alone envision the consequences of their actions or feel empathy for any unintended victims.
The wanton disregard for life exhibited by both gangs had been appalling. Drive-by shootings were occurring on crowded sidewalks, in restaurants, and in parking lots. Car chases with shots being exchanged had become outrageously common.
The trial was receiving a lot of attention from the news media and citizens, not to mention the gang members themselves. Security was tight, and those intent on attending the trial were subjected to the same intense screening one would receive at an airport.
During the preliminary trial, which had taken place months earlier, the defence lawyer, fearing that the presence of fellow gang members might have a negative influence on the judge, had strongly suggested to his client that he tell his fellow gang members not to show up in court. Any who did show had been requested to dress appropriately and try their best to look like choir boys. The same suggestion had been made by Ana for those who sided with the victim.
The gangs took the suggestion to heart and usually limited their support, sending only the leader of each gang along with one or two followers. When gang representatives did show, the two gangs were kept separate.
Harold Borman, the leader of the Death Heads, was delegated to sit on the right side of the courtroom, while Jarvis Thibault, leader of the United Front, sat on the left. Despite the heavy police presence, the tension was palpable.
Ana knew it wasn’t only the tight security that aroused attention. The citizenry, stirred by media coverage of the ongoing shootings, were rightfully scared, angry, and keenly interested in the outcome of the trial.
Her case was also receiving rapt attention from her own superiors. She’d been selected to prosecute because she was a seasoned veteran with a reputation for being savvy, but she knew the respect she’d earned through years of dedicated work could vanish in an instant. Any slip-ups on her part would have serious ramifications for her future.
So far, the case was going as she wanted. The preliminary trial had gone well, but that being said, the real battle was yet to come.
Now, as she drove her white BMW out of the parkade, she went over the testimony she’d heard that afternoon and thought about the questions she’d ask when court reopened the next morning.
