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34. Probing the Operation

I shuddered at Cynthia's question, calming a bit when Lorne placed a comforting hand on mine. Still, my mind spun. Do we tell her? How much?

Lorne broke the extended silence. "He was unable to escape with us."

Cynthia stared at him, open-mouthed but wordless for a while before she asked, "They nabbed him?"

I nodded.

"How?"

"We assume he confronted them with his suspicions about the scam. He disappeared Monday evening, and ..." I paused while Cynthia's sashimi arrived and was served.

When the waitress had left, Cynthia asked. "Are they holding him for ransom?"

I grimaced as images flashed through my mind, then blowing a deep breath, I pointed to her plate. "Complicated stuff. We should eat first."

As Cynthia picked up her chopsticks, Lorne asked, "What can you tell us about the restaurants? Would you consider them a chain?"

She bobbed her head. "Yeah, I do now – after I realised they have identical menus. When I questioned Frank about all the different names, he said it's part of the marketing."

Lorne pursed his lips and nodded. "To make them more difficult to connect. What do you know about the operation?"

"I saw very little other than the openings. Dealt only with Frank, except on the day of the event when I worked with the managers – arranging seating plans and greeting and mingling with those attending as they arrived." She tilted her head, her face contorted by a quizzical expression. "Strange thinking back. Except for the first opening, I've had no interaction with the chefs nor with kitchen teams."

"Do you usually work with the culinary staff?"

Cynthia nodded. "Until this group. They've always been my major input on what to serve and how – the timing and so on. We'd also tweak the menu descriptions in the days prior to launch." She winced. "But Frank handled the menus, as well. And the handout package contents."

"And the managers? Do you recognise them?"

"None. I know most of the senior people in the industry on the Coast, the executive chefs, the sommeliers and the managers, but these are all new to Vancouver – or at least they said they are." She shook her head and winced. "I should have suspected something."

"You had said you helped launch seventeen of them. All in Vancouver?"

Cynthia paused and tilted her head from side to side. "No, I count only eight. Twelve, if you include Burnaby, White Rock, Richmond and Surrey. We also opened one in Victoria and another in Nanaimo." She shook her head and winced. "Then Abbotsford, Kamloops and Kelowna."

"And eastward?"

"I didn't do any of those, but he paid me a hundred dollars for every food blogger and reviewer who showed up at the openings in Calgary, Edmonton and Winnipeg."

"How long ago was that?"

"Six to eight weeks ago." She patted the large purse beside her on the chair. "It's all in my computer."

"Your communications with Frank? By email?"

"And also by phone and text."

"A generic email address?"

"How do you mean?"

"Like Gmail or Hotmail."

Mostly Gmail, but a few times from a gobbledygook one."

"Gobbledygook?"

"An unpronounceable bunch of letters, zxc something, followed by dot ca."

"Great!"

Cynthia shook her head. "Hunh?"

"Likely a traceable URL."

After another series of questions and responses, Cynthia asked, "You appear to be experienced with this stuff, Lorne – what do you do behind your wine façade?"

He looked up from his plate. "I'm a lawyer, a Crown counsel. You'll be subpoenaed to testify when they're brought to trial. Until then, for your safety, you need to remain out of sight. Does Frank know where you're staying up here?"

"Oh, dear Lord! He booked the room for me."

"Stay away from it. Does he know your home address?"

She winced. "Yeah, it's above my office."

Lorne pulled out two phones, selected one and switched it on. "I'll arrange for a secure escort from here. Too dangerous to leave without."

As he alternately spoke into the phone and tapped the screen, he said to us, "Authentication." He lifted the phone to his ear again, and while he spoke into it, I watched Cynthia's eyes grow round, her expression morphing between awe and terror.

I stroked her arm in an attempt to calm her. "Relax, we're in good hands."

"Where will we go?"

"He'll organise that."

When Lorne had finished the call, he signalled the waitress, and when she arrived, he took a credit card from his wallet and handed it to her. "We need to leave soon. Please, put it all on this, and ask the maître d' to come see me at his earliest convenience."

"Yes, sir." She took the card and hastened away.

Lorne pointed to their plates. "We should concentrate on finishing dinner; our escort will be here in a quarter-hour or less."

A short while later, the maître d' arrived. "You asked to see me, Mr Wilson. Is something amiss?"

"Superb cuisine and service, as always." Lorne nodded through the rooms toward the front. "But to the point of calling for you – we've been targetted by an organised crime group, and the Mounties are sending plain-clothed escorts to get us safely out of here. Please, let us know when they've arrived. Also, inform them of any suspicious loitering in the lobby and around the entrance."

The maître d' nodded. "We can use the service entrance – our contingency for those who wish to avoid gathered paparazzi."

"Excellent! That would simplify."

When he had left, Cynthia asked, "How were you able to so easily arrange the police?"

Lorne shrugged. "Knowing the system. Witness protection is a top priority, particularly when organised crime is involved – they like to leave none to testify."

A quarter-hour later, the maître d' approached the table with another man. "This is Hamish, our duty security officer; he'll take you from here."

Lorne rose and thanked the maître d', then as he assisted Cynthia and me from our chairs, he added, "We'll be back in less stressful times."

We followed Hamish across the room, through a doorway and along a corridor, past offices, staff washrooms and a staff lounge. Then, stopping at a door, he said, "They should be here now, but let me check."

Oh, God! What if it's the goons out there, not the police? How would we know?