The Viking Seal

CHAPTER 20 - Spying, Buying, and Flying

Kenny banked the helicopter into a long slow turn as Parker studied the ocean along the coast. They had flown for about forty minutes before spotting what they thought was a boat, and now they were moving closer to make sure.

"Is it them?" Kenny yelled over the engine noise.

"Jesus, I don't know. In the goddamn movies lookin' through these things everything is crystal clear and dead steady. I can barely keep the bloody things still long enough to tell the water from the land." Parker was raving away non-stop, his body working like a bobblehead with the glasses banging against the window.

"I don't want to go any lower; we're supposed to be unobtrusive."

"Wait! Wait, I think . . . yeah that's it. That's the CONGA whatever." He lowered the glasses and looked at the map. "Where the hell are we?"

"I think that's Mary's Harbour . . . or maybe it's Hawke . . . we'll follow the coastline back down and see if there's any other landmarks."

"We better bloody know where they are before we get back or we're gonna get the shit kicked outta us."

Kenny finished the long turn and then headed south, dropping down as soon as he thought it was safe and began scanning the coast for clues. The sky ahead started to darken quickly and he and Parker both hit on the same idea at the same time.

"If we don't pinpoint them we use that as the reason." Parker said. Kenny gave him a thumbs up, nodding.

****

Moira exited the cab and stood waiting until it turned the corner then she cut across the road, and jogged through an alley between two low buildings to the street she wanted. She pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and checked the address, and proceeded along until she found the number. It was hanging crooked on the front of a worn pillar holding up a porch roof that was more than happy for the help. She stepped up carefully and knocked on the door. Another knock and she heard it squeak as it was pulled partially open.

"Aye? Can I do for you?"

"Are you Isaac McQueen?"

"Aye." The door opened a little more and Moira saw the unkempt hair and the ratty beard, and the eyes that brightened as they scanned her up and down.

"We talked on the phone about an order that I would be picking up."

The door opened wide, along with the man's mouth. "Oy shit! I thought that was a gag by my mates in Toronto. They're always pullin' stunts like that."

"Are you saying you don't have what I asked for?"

"Well . . . I have some, not a specific order though." He started as Moira pushed her way inside, closing the door behind her.

"Get it."

"Now wait a second—" The small gun appeared in a flash and rested against his scrawny chest. "I said, get it."

Isaac turned and lumbered down the narrow hallway, past a dishevelled room Moira assumed was his living room, filled with discarded newspapers and empty beer cans. They came to a filthy kitchen, and she stopped at the entry while he opened a cupboard and pulled out a box. He stood and faced her, holding out three small packets.

"One-fifty."

Moira looked the packets and glared at him. "That better mean a dollar fifty, Isaac. My order was for a pound, and the price we talked about was four thousand."

He pulled his hand back, shaking his head. "I told you, I thought that was a gag by my mates. There's no way I sell a pound for four grand. You must be kidding."