“Holy shit!” said Frank over the headset. He had seen what they were seeing through the feed from the camera strapped to Reggie’s chest. “This guy has issues.”
“You think?” said Shaw as he looked around at the Soviet flag, the old lockers, the battered desk, and the file cabinets. “Reggie, sweep the room so Frank can record it all on the camera.”
She did so, getting as close to as many objects as she could.
Shaw opened one of the lockers and saw the uniform that Kuchin had worn while with the KGB. He next searched the file cabinets and took out documents showing some of the atrocities that the man had exacted on innocent men, women, and children. Reggie captured all of this with her camera.
And then they found the film reel and projector. It took a few minutes to set up. As the film ran Shaw and Reggie said nothing. Not even Frank muttered a word. Finally, Reggie hit the off switch. “I can’t watch anymore,” she said as the face of the dead child faded on the screen.
When Shaw looked over at her he saw the tears in the woman’s eyes. He put the projector away but slipped the film reel in his bag.
“We need to see anything else, Frank?” he said.
When Frank answered his voice was strained. “No, good to go.”
* * *
A couple of minutes later, Shaw and Reggie were walking down the streets of Montreal. A car picked them up and took them to a low-rise office building about a half mile away. Frank was waiting for them there.
They all sat in silence for a few moments, staring down at their hands.
Shaw looked up. “Okay, this confirms a lot. The guy is a psycho—not that we ever doubted that.”
“But what did we find that might help us get to him?” asked Reggie.
Shaw looked over at Frank. “Alan Rice?”
“The plane came back from France. That we know. It landed at the airport in Montreal. Neither Rice nor Kuchin were on it. And Rice is not at his home or office or any other place we can find. He’s either dead or more likely laying low. To go any further than that we would have to involve the local authorities, and we don’t want to go there. At least not yet. Might actually make matters worse.”
“So we can’t use Rice as leverage?” asked Reggie.
“It’s Kuchin or nothing, it seems.”
“But where is he?” she asked. “We took a risk in breaking into his place and really came away with nothing that’ll help us find him.”
Shaw and Frank exchanged glances.
“There’s been no sign of him since France,” said Frank. “You know it was private wings so it’s conceivable he never actually left France, or the plane made an unscheduled stop en route to Canada. The wings have been on the ground here ever since. But he could easily hire another plane under a fake name.”
“So he could be anywhere,” said Reggie.
“But now we have evidence of his involvement with the KGB in Ukraine,” pointed out Frank.
“We already knew that,” shot back Reggie. “And I’m no solicitor, but I hardly think the courts will allow in the evidence we got because I’m pretty certain our burglary wasn’t authorized.”
Shaw said, “She’s right about that.”
Frank didn’t look convinced. “Maybe, maybe not. As far as I’m concerned this bastard qualifies for war crimes treatment at the Hague, and their rules of evidence are a little different. And the stuff is still there in his penthouse. Maybe we tip the Canadian cops or Interpol and they go get it with nice official search warrants.”
“Fine, then he’ll be tried in bloody absentia,” snapped Reggie.
“Nobody said this would be easy,” remarked Frank. “Did you think you were going to waltz in there and find the secret key that would take us right to the guy?”
“No, but I was hoping for something to help us. But since there wasn’t anything, what’s our next step?” She looked expectantly between Shaw and Frank.
“We beat the bushes some more,” said Frank vaguely.
“Wonderful. You know, you guys have all this really cool, whiz-bang technology with your lasers and your being able to knock out power to an entire skyscraper with a push of a little button, but sometimes I think our tin-can-and-string approach is more effective.”