Worse than that, some of his paranoia was proving justified. Florita knew more than she was saying about Mulligan and his investigation of Reggie Kransk. Perhaps she didn’t want too many people knowing where Kransk fitted in, but that still made her someone willing to lie to Gallen.
Cracking a beer from the minibar, he sat on the sofa, pulled off his boots.
‘Get anything?’ said Winter, wandering through, rubbing his eyes.
‘I got a headache,’ said Gallen, throwing his boots at the door.
‘See her?’
‘Drank beer with her. And Aaron.’
Winter grabbed a beer for himself. ‘Aaron? He screwing her?’
‘No. She had a robbery. Thieves took her Oasis files and papers. All of Harry’s secret papers.’
‘Shit.’
‘Yeah. There was one from a private intelligence firm in LA. They wrote a background report on our friend Reggie Kransk.’
‘So?’
‘So it’s very unflattering. It links Reggie’s little tribal council to Russian oil interests.’
‘They stole it? Wonder what else is in it.’
‘I wonder who feels implicated enough to steal it,’ said Gallen.
‘Any ideas?’
Gallen shrugged. ‘What’s important now is that we have some action here in Calgary. Whoever’s been stalking us is around, so why let that go to waste?’
‘You wanna bait them?’ said Winter. ‘If they’re watchers, that’s okay. If they’re shooters, that’s not so good.’
Gallen drained the beer and thought. ‘They wanted a document, and now they have it.’
‘So why would they stay around?’
Gallen let the facts fall into place. ‘Because they know Newport delivered two reports: one original and a copy.’
‘And they think we have the original?’
Gallen stood, walked to the curtained hotel window and stood at the side of it, peeking out through the gap. Traffic sped across the city, steam from exhaust pipes rising in the cold night air.
‘They know that we walked away from that plane crash, and that we worked personal security for Harry,’ said Gallen. ‘They haven’t struck us off the list yet.’
‘Shit, Gerry,’ said Winter, standing. ‘They’ll never stop looking.’
‘So let’s flush ‘em out,’ said Gallen. ‘I was gonna find a new hotel tomorrow, book it in my name, use the Oasis MasterCard, basically put up a flag for these bozos. Any ideas?’
‘We need a flat layout, front and rear exits,’ said Winter without hesitation. ‘Maybe an upmarket motel, with a forecourt. Use a room decoy and put someone in the car.’
‘Maybe make a new buddy in the front office?’
‘You’ve done this before, right?’ said Winter, cracking a smile.
‘Only twice.’
‘There’s something else,’ said the Canadian, having his own look from the side of the window.
‘Yep?’
‘We need Mike back.’
When Winter turned around, Gallen held the strip of paper up to his face.
‘Mike’s number?’ said Winter. ‘Aaron give you that?’
‘Yep,’ said Gallen. ‘Think it’s too late to call?’
‘He’s a fricking Australian,’ said Winter, grabbing his Nokia from the table. ‘It’s eight in the morning for him.’
CHAPTER 43
The first rays of warm spring sunshine fell on the twenty-ninth-floor window as Gallen watched the seven Oasis vice-presidents file out of the chief executive’s office. Kenny Winter had just updated him by phone: Ford had joined Winter at the motel suites. They were rented in their own names with the Oasis MasterCard. The trap had been laid.
Getting to his feet as Aaron beckoned him, Gallen smiled at the executive assistant and walked into the large office.
‘Everyone calm?’ he said, instinctively moving to the window and surveying the view. To his right, sitting on a sofa, he saw a businessman he hadn’t met.
‘No,’ said Florita, sliding into her leather chair as she breathed out. ‘There’s a feeling that we’re vulnerable, that we’re caught in something we don’t understand.’
‘That true?’ said Gallen.
‘The boss was appointed by the board last week,’ said Aaron, ‘but they want a plan at the extraordinary board meeting this Friday.’
‘So you need some answers?’
‘I need something,’ said Florita, throwing a folded copy of the Calgary Herald across the desk.
Picking it up, Gallen saw the front-page headline: oasis stock price
SET TO PLUMMET ON RUSSIAN RUMORS.
‘What the heck is this?’ said Gallen.
‘Third paragraph,’ said the man on the sofa. ‘It’s underlined.’
Looking at Aaron, Gallen raised an eyebrow.
‘Meet Dave Joyce,’ said Aaron. ‘Vice-president, corporate communications.’
‘PR guy?’ said Gallen as Joyce stood and offered his hand.
‘Something like that,’ said Joyce, his puffy eyes suggesting overwork and stress.
Glancing down past the byline of senior writer Lars Flint, Gallen found the highlighted section:
The spokesman for Oasis refused to comment on allegations that the late founder and CEO of Canada’s largest oil company, Harry Durville, was in secret negotiations with several Russian oil companies to control drilling leases in the Arctic Ocean.
When questioned specifically on Mr Durville’s involvement with an Inuit organisation called the Transarctic Tribal Council (TTC), the spokesman terminated the interview.
Tossing the newspaper on Florita’s desk, Gallen looked at Joyce and saw a man in his early forties who was finally being put under the kind of pressure he was paid so well to handle.
‘You’re the spokesman mentioned in here?’ said Gallen, tapping the newspaper.
‘Yep.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘Last night,’ said Joyce. ‘Halfway through the family meal and this journalist is on the line.’
‘He tell you what he knew about the Russians and the TTC?’
‘I told Aaron this,’ said Joyce, swigging at a bottle of water.
‘So tell me.’
Joyce sat back on the sofa, closing his eyes. ‘He asks if I’ve heard the rumours about Durville doing a secret deal with the Russians to control the drilling rights on the Arctic sea bed.’
‘And?’
‘And I said no.’
‘And then?’
‘I think I asked him where the hell he was getting this from.’
‘Flint tell you?’
Joyce shook his head. ‘He went straight into these allegations about Oasis’s support for the TTC, and once that started I just hung up.’
Gallen stole a glance at Aaron, who mouthed the word ‘no’: Dave Joyce didn’t know about the Newport Associates report or the burglary at Florita’s house.
‘Dave, did it sound like this reporter was reading from something?’ said Gallen. ‘Or was it more like he had half the story, trying to flush you out? ‘
‘The second one,’ said Joyce, sitting up. ‘With a major story like that, the reporter would email the evidence across to me or they’d tell me where it came from. It would strengthen their own story, make it bigger and more solid.’
‘You dealt with Flint before?’
‘No, he doesn’t usually write on business.’
Gallen didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean?’
‘On newspapers, there’s a business and finance section,’ said Joyce. ‘Flint doesn’t work there. He’s a senior writer, usually does think-pieces, op-ed and he writes the editorials.’