Chapter Text
The meeting takes forever. One piece of business turns into another, and that turns into a reminder about another subject, before finally getting to the mission details. All the while, your leg shakes under the table, trying to funnel all that nervous energy into concealed movement. From the waist up, you’re all business, hands folded on the tabletop, mission brief neatly displayed in front of you, eyes turned to Kate Laswell’s face on the large screen at the head of the room. Behind her is a satellite photo of Isle Royale, a dark green paint smear of an island set against the navy-blue canvas of Lake Superior.
“Dancer’s already marked out the most likely locations for any kind of drop-off,” she’s saying from the comfort of her pristine office. As she says it, four yellow dots appear along the north shore of the island, evenly spaced apart. “So far, he’s seen Laflèche’s men in each area. He believes they’re using these points as caches. As far as we know, that intelligence is solid.”
“Hell of a way to move his cargo,” Soap says. He’s seated beside you, tilted back in his chair, one arm behind his head. “Why there?”
“Laflèche has had deals go wrong in the past,” Laswell replies. “He’s notoriously paranoid. The more out of the way a place is, the more likely he is to try to use it. Isle Royale is the perfect combination of everything he wants—it’s isolated, unpopulated, and close to the international border.”
Price grunts and flips one of the pages in the mission brief, looking at Laflèche’s scanty profile. You know he’s reading the same thing you read. Laflèche is a shadowy, otherwise nameless arms dealer shuffling his products back and forth across the U.S.-Canadian border through use of his ‘Voyageurs’, then redistributing that cargo out to his many, many connections around the world. Up until now, he’s proved impossible to identify, always moving one step ahead of any force applied against him.
“Sure,” Price says. “He’s got the money to go the long way ‘round, anyway.”
Yes, you want to say. That’s great. Can we move on to the part where you tell me I’m going and I beg you to change your mind?
Apparently not.
“We’re going to work closely with CSOR and JTF 2 on this operation,” Laswell goes on. “Dancer’s already reassigned to Thunder Bay and will head there as soon as our team arrives. JTF 2 is setting up a station on Trowbridge Island.” As she says it, the screen zooms in on a tiny spit of land to the southeast of Thunder Bay. Satellite shows a cluster of buildings and the rust-colored top of a lighthouse clinging to a tree-flecked rocky outcrop. “From there, they can monitor any marine traffic coming in and out of Thunder Bay. Dancer’s intelligence says that Laflèche’s men will start moving in November, after the last tourists leave Isle Royale.”
“How considerate,” Ghost says dryly.
You’ve done your best to avoid looking at him throughout the meeting. It’s hard, considering his presence at the table is always undeniable. Now, though, your eyes go to him on their own accord, a series of quick saccades until he’s in your line of sight. Like always, he doesn’t bother looking back at you—all his focus is on the screen. Good.
“And dangerous,” Laswell adds. “Lake Superior’s weather is notorious at that time of year.”
“Feels like they should write a song about it,” mutters Price.
“We need to count on the possibility of Laflèche taking too much of a risk and making a mistake,” Laswell goes on, unhindered. “He’s either desperate, or he’s got his hands on a crew skilled enough to make that crossing.”
For the first time, you speak up as a thought crosses your mind. “Freighter crew?” you ask.
All eyes turn to you, including Ghost’s. You try not to obey the urge to sink under the table when he looks at you. Instead, you rally yourself at the same moment that Laswell nods on screen.
“They’re off-season then, right?” you go on. “If Laflèche names the right price, I’m sure he could get every freighter pilot from Duluth to Toronto to work for him.”
Across from you, Gaz hums thoughtfully. “God knows he has the money to do it,” he agrees.
You try not to preen, even as you can feel Ghost’s eyes on you—probably not in a complimentary way.
“That’s plausible. We can definitely start looking at off-season freighter crews based in Thunder Bay to start,” Laswell says. “If anyone knows about Laflèche’s hiring process, I’m sure CSOR and JTF 2 would want to hear about it.”
Soap gives you a gentle nudge with his elbow and a quick wink. “Nice, Fiver,” he says under his breath. This time, you do preen.
“As for assignments, this is an all-hands mission,” Laswell starts, and you feel yourself start to freeze up. “Laflèche is dangerous, and although we don’t know the full scope of his influence, we know the people he tends to employ are well-trained. CSOR and JTF 2 intelligence reports that some of his Voyageurs are former and current RCMP, and some are even former special forces members.”
Several mugshots appear on screen—apprehended men and women with steely gazes and deep-carved frowns. Other photographs pop up showing intercepted crates full of disassembled weapons, small arms and light weapons alike.
“That being said, this isn’t going to be a short mission by any means. If we’re too quick to the draw, we risk Laflèche pulling his forces back entirely and going off-grid again. We need to carefully observe them before we make a move.” The screen flicks back to the satellite map of Isle Royale, now showing two points on the north shore. Laswell zooms into the one on the left—a wide rock-strewn cove. “Gaz and Price will take Little Todd Campground. NPS has set up a temporary structure there for our use. That position gives the two of you a full view of any western traffic from Pie Island or Silver Islet.”
Gaz and Price. Shit. Almost immediately, you feel Ghost’s eyes on you again and it makes you want to crawl under the table.
Laswell shifts the map to the second point, further up the eastern shore. It’s a tiny spit of land, a needlepoint sinking into the deep blue water. “Ghost, Soap, and Fiver will go to Flintlock Camp at Kamloops Point,” she says, completely unaware that you’re formulating a plan to slip away and go off-grid yourself. Two photographs appear, showing separate angles of a rustic cabin facing the lake, mounted moose antlers christening the door. “From there, you three can monitor marine traffic to the east. Dancer believes Laflèche’s American connections are using that corridor, while the Canadians use the west.”
Out of your periphery, you see Ghost shift forward in his seat, elbows on the table. “Nothin’ to the south, then? Looks like there’s a good-sized harbor there.”
“As far as we know, they’ve avoided going anywhere near Rock Harbor. All of their business appears to be on the north side—fewer people, fewer potential eyes on them.”
“Makes sense,” Ghost says, but he doesn’t sound pleased. You can only imagine why.
“Like I said, this isn’t a short mission. And it’s not going to be easy or comfortable, which is why CSOR and JTF 2 agreed to bring the 141 in,” Laswell says. There’s an unreadable expression on her face, some of the meaning lost in the pixels. “Outside of the two main harbors, there’s no electricity, no running water. Neither location can use generators at risk of sound traveling across long distances, so you’ll need battery-powered radios and computers. Dancer’s already helped stock the Flintlock Camp, and NPS has agreed to stock the campground location. However, we can’t risk any of the Voyageurs seeing us make a supply drop. Any supplies will be dropped off either at Amygdaloid Island’s ranger station or Rock Harbor. Both require a hike.”
Every word makes this mission sound worse and worse. Flintlock Camp looks painfully small, and while you’re used to running missions in less-than-ideal locations with few creature comforts, the idea of inhabiting that space with… well, quite frankly, a man who absolutely hates you seems like a punishment for a crime you weren’t aware you committed.
You have half a mind to ask Price about it after the meeting wraps up. Maybe he can switch you and Gaz, or keep three at the campground and two at the cabin. Then again, how can you ask about it without sounding like a tattling kindergartner? ‘Sorry, but I think my position in this mission is compromised because Ghost is mean to me’? Something like, ‘I think one of my mission partners is going to kill me in my sleep,’ might go over better.
At least Soap’s going with you. He can act as a buffer between you and Ghost, or maybe a meat shield.
“When are we due?” Price asks.
“Monday, at the latest,” Laswell replies. Great, now you have a countdown. “It’s a matter of beating the weather. You’ll arrive at Rock Harbor by seaplane based out of Houghton.” Icons of your photographs appear on the map, moving up a thin yellow line marking a hiking trail bisecting the island. They meet with Dancer’s photograph, his sly grin visible even through the middling screen resolution. “You’ll rendezvous at Flintlock and Dancer will brief you on any updates before he leaves for Thunder Bay.”
Ghost interjects, “Who are our CSOR and JTF 2 contacts?”
“Enzo Reyes with CSOR in Thunder Bay, and Julie Corriveau with JTF 2 on Trowbridge,” Laswell says. Then, she adds, “They’re solid. I know Julie personally, and while Reyes is more of a wild card, he’s trustworthy.”
Right. If Laflèche has the Mounted Police in his grasp, it stands to reason that everyone would wonder who they could trust on the other side of the border.
Price plants both hands palms-down on the table. “Right,” he says. “Sounds like a plan to me. You all have any questions?”
Only the one, and it’s not one you think he’d like to answer.
“No, sir,” Soap says, sound pleased as he leans the chair back again.
“Negative,” from Gaz.
“No,” is Ghost’s terse answer.
They all look at you. Ghost, specifically, has his gaze fixed on you like he’s waiting for you to say just the wrong thing.
You hear Price say, “Fiver?” and for one brief moment, you think you’d like to ask to be reassigned, or anything to get you out of spending an inordinate amount of time in a confined space with Ghost.
Instead, you say, “I’m good.” And that’s that.
Laswell nods, and the screen zooms out once more, showing Isle Royale in all its glory. “I’ll get the logistics set in motion. Just remember—pack warm.”