Authors: Danny Dufour
Redemption
DANNY DUFOUR
REDEMPTION
NOIR DE NAPHTALENE PUBLICATIONS
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
It is illegal to reproduce a part or the entire book by any available process without the authorization of the publishing house.
All rights reserved © 2010 by Noir de Naphtalene Publications.
Cover and book design by:
Jacqueline Diaz. All rights reserved ©.
English translation by:
Carling Tedesco
Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec
and Library and Archives Canada Cataloging-in-Publication Data
ISBN 978-2-9813784-3-9
Legal deposit-Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec, 2013
Library and Archives Canada, 2013
ISBN 978-2-9813784-3-9
Printed in Canada
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To my long-term friend, Marc-Antoine Habel, who constantly helped me during the writing of this book by his several pieces of advice, expertise, proofreading and honesty. That book would not be what it is today without your help, thanks a lot.
DEDICATION
To my parents, Serge and France, who were always there for me and encouraged me in all my undertakings, thanks for everything.
REDEMPTION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PART I – CHAPTER 1
Though my eyes are cold as ice,
my heart burns with fire.
― Old Japanese Martial Proverb
Man is pupil, pain is his teacher.
― Alfred de Musset
The dawn of the year 2015, Montreal, Canada
“Shit! What the…” This, Andy exclaimed when a punch to his face threw him to the ground.
Andy Bane had known fear, but not like this. As an intelligence officer, he dealt with situations of stress to the point where he almost didn’t notice extreme tension. He was a cold-blood above the norm. Even at the beginning of his career, regardless of the danger, he had been able to attain the necessary distance when critical moments presented themselves. He was adept in dangerous situations, and he always prepared for a risk factor that even his intelligence and craftiness couldn’t prevent. But risk was good. The adrenaline was like a drug for him – but he wasn’t crazy. He knew what he did, when to do it, and how to do it efficiently.
But this time the situation was different. He hadn’t seen coming what had happened in a few seconds, and now he was a rat in a trap. It was his own fault, too; he’d acted against habit. Never, when leading tailing or surveillance operations, had he found himself alone. It was Andy’s golden rule. And this, and his impeccable professionalism, he had abandoned, had given him a reward; the bottomless fuck-up in which he currently found himself. He cursed at this, but the damage was done.
He was overwhelmed and on his back in the filthy basement of an abandoned building. His mind was still reeling from the blow to his face that had come right out of the darkness. Then came a mowing that raised his feet above the ground and sent him flying back with all his weight. He was supine and inert on the soiled concrete ground. Was there even an attacker, or was it the darkness itself? He had heard nothing, seen nothing, but he had felt the impact like a lightning.
It hurts... I can’t see anything here...what was that...damn...I am such a dickhead...ok, get a grip on yourself...I have to get the hell out of here right now or I am a dead man...right now, go,
Andy thought. After a few seconds, the darkness materialized into five silhouettes that encircled him menacingly. No more possible escape.
They were clad in black and wore hoods that showed nothing but their dark eyes. The first figure he saw was the one that was brandishing a cold blade at his throat. S
hittt...ok,breathe...stay calm...don’t do anything stupid...let them believe that you are not a threat and it will be fine...everything will be fine...and I am such a dickhead,
he thought. Andy could distinguish the sword by the length of the blade even after a violent hit in the teeth. He could also tell that his sword-wielding attacker was a slight man, and Caucasian, according to the tiny bit of face the hood revealed. He scanned Andy with penetrative eyes, sombre and glacial. It was a look that showed no human emotions, common to his four mates.
* * *
Andy Bane was born in Montreal on February 4
th
, 1964. With an American father and a French Canadian mother, he was raised a dual American and Canadian citizen. He was a mix of the cultures, which were as similar as they were different. Andy was proud of his heritage. He was a citizen of the world. He spoke English to his father and French to his mother, a perfectly bilingual child, a model Montrealer. He was the only child of a family that was small, but close-knit, tucked away in a modest suburb. His mother Caroline, made Andy her occupation, staying at home to oversee his education. A travel agent by profession, she had travelled widely before Andy’s birth.
It was during these travels that she met Scott, Andy’s future father. It was a San Franciscan neighbourhood café, and she noticed him as soon as he entered: a tall, serious, poised man. Their eyes caught and Scott invited her to join him. From that moment, she found him interesting. Like her, he was encyclopaedic on many subjects and she liked his calm voice, his peaceful bearing, and that little smile he made when he looked at her. The two talked for hours about everything and nothing and ended up changing their plans to see each other. When Caroline asked Scott about his life, he’d said that he was a businessman, running an export firm. Interested, she tried to engage him; he responded to her questions without offering details. She asked him if he liked his work. He stared into his glass with a sombre smile and responded:
“It’s got its advantages, but you could say it doesn’t satisfy me as much as I want. It’s challenging, competition is fierce, and I get along fine.”
Caroline could sense more behind his words and changed the subject. After their first meeting, they continued to see each other and eventually fell in love. One evening, as they strolled through the downtown, he broke the silence:
“Caroline, I need to talk about something.”
He paused for an answer. Caroline paused, watching him. His face was serious; his attitude, preoccupied. “What, tell me, what is it?”
“I’m not a businessman. Caroline, I don’t work in exports.”
She began to think too many things. Her brain accelerated, and her thoughts were confused. But she didn’t talk; instead, she focused on Scott. Her face demanded an explanation, which he gave:
“I work for the government. I’m an intelligence agent for the United States government.”
Caroline’s eyes darkened.
“Why couldn’t you tell me? Why did you hide it?”
“I was afraid… I didn’t know whether our meeting would lead to something. When it did, I wanted to wait for the right time. I didn’t want you to run away.”
Caroline sat on a bench to gather her thoughts. For several minutes, she stared at the ground in silence. Finally, she regarded Scott, who was standing patiently on the sidewalk.
“Now I’m worried I don’t know anything about you at all. Like… is Scott even your real name?”
“Yes. Listen, Caroline… everything else I told you about me is true, including my feelings for you.”
“What, so you looked me up? You…
investigated
me?”
“Yes. I understand if… if that’s not okay…”
“Oh, it’s fantastic.” Caroline laughed a little wildly. “I knew it was too good to be true. The man I love is… a spy? I’m sure your life is always in danger and for reasons of security, you’re
forbidden
from talking about what it is exactly that you do. That’s it, isn’t it? Where would
my
place be in this world of yours, Scott? I’m asking you… do you honestly believe there can be an ‘us’ in a situation like that?”
“Yes.” She raised her eyebrows. “I believe it’s possible. If you accept it.” He bent forward; he kissed her forehead. He pulled back to give her space. “If I believed we were impossible, I wouldn’t have told you all this. But whatever you choose, I’ll accept it.”
Caroline stood. “I think I need to walk home alone. I… I need to think.”
“I understand.”
“Good night.”
Caroline left Scott by the bench. He watched her walk away down the winding, hilly road. Soon, she was engulfed in the aromatic heat of the night.
Six months later, they were married. A few witnesses gathered at the small church in Oakland, a San Francisco suburb. A simple wedding. A reception followed with friends and family, photos, best wishes, and gifts. And it suddenly occurred to them that they were, against all odds, husband and wife. After several months, Scott finally got what he wanted. In the wake of his revelation to Caroline, he had experienced his own personal revelation: even if she’d chosen to accept him, he decided that, for the good of his relationship, working on the ground was no longer an option. For that matter, he’d been there for several years and he couldn’t remember how he’d done it for this long. Track the threats, develop human resources, exploit them. Work long hours writing meticulous intelligence reports, and longer hours analyzing them. All this, not to mention the overseas work during the weeks (months, even) it took to track down unscrupulous individuals to the worst places in the world.
It was his life, he was made for it. No-one could deny the fact, including him. However, over the years, he had accumulated a sort of disillusion toward his work. He knew too much about the worst terrorists, mercenaries, thieves and conmen on the planet than he did about himself. He knew the names of their children, their wives, their mistresses, their bankers, the restaurants they frequented, the nervous tics they tried to hide – and he also knew, despite his life’s work, that the better part were never caught. He knew what, with whom, and how they did what they did – attacks, business deals – but, for whatever reasons, he had to wait until they made mistakes and revealed links that he already knew were there, and then he might – might – catch a few, a lucky few, send them into the arms of justice, and watch them leave just as quickly after a few years of good behaviour.
