Troop 18 Page 5

  Andy had avoided being on her own as much as possible the last few weeks. But somehow out here it was okay, welcome even. Other than the crappy supper and the load of work she had in the next two days, she felt all right. Kurtz and Tara were only a ten minute run down the steep hill, the truck a fifteen minute walk. She made a note to purchase some two-way radios in town. Without a cellphone, they’d need some way to communicate with the main house and the outside world. Andy’s own cellphone was already off, the only noise in the cabin now the muted crackle of the fire. Opening her bag, Andy pulled out a handful of troop personnel files and sat at the simple wooden table in the centre of the room.

  This was the real work. Trying to understand who these cadets were, what exactly they were hiding, and why. She had few illusions this project was going to be easy. Certainly it wouldn’t follow any usual pattern she had for mining information. There would be no interrogation, no carefully placed questions, no set-ups. Andy hoped their carefully constructed pact would begin to break down out here, and they would begin to see the only way out of this was to give up whatever secret they were so vigilantly guarding.

  It was well after midnight by the time Andy had read all sixteen cadet profiles. She reminded herself not to make assumptions, given their ages, backgrounds, and levels of education. She needed to keep an open mind. When the cadets arrived, they would give her more information from the way they acted than any report could hope to cover.

  Andy pulled at the cord for the light and curled herself under the covers. The only light came from the glow of the woodstove and the edge of orange light cast by the hydro pole through the window. Andy closed her eyes, consciously calmed her breathing, and wondered which memory of Kate would follow her into sleep.

  *

  By the time Troop 18 arrived on Thursday, Andy and the camp were both ready. Cabins were arranged, the kitchen was stocked, trails mapped, and the water tested. Andy had picked up groceries, four radios, boxes of matches, pillows, and a basketball when she’d gone into town the day before, the last items on her very long list. She’d avoided the main house, a cowardly act she wasn’t particularly proud of, but she’d been enjoying the solitude and didn’t want to inflict herself on others until she was sure she could behave.

  Andy had dressed carefully that morning, surprised and amused by her nerves. She wasn’t a cadet and was no longer subject to Sergeant Trokof’s inspections, but she still dressed as if she needed to satisfy those rigid demands. In fact, it was the unmistakable timbre of Sgt. Trokof’s harsh, commanding voice that announced the troop’s arrival. Andy walked into the centre of the clearing to meet the cadets and named them in her head as they appeared on the gravel road.

  Angela Hellman, age twenty-four, three-year university degree, from a small town outside Ottawa. Jacob Frances, fourth generation RCMP cadet, thirty, the oldest member of the troop. Bertrand Petit, twenty-five, a giant at six five, reminding Andy strongly of Jack with his curly hair and long, dark lashes. Tracey Prewitt-Hayes, twenty-six, top of her class so far in everything but fitness, eyes like a hawk. They marched in formation down the path, Trokof’s drill sergeant voice bringing up the rear of the troop.

  Andy wasn’t surprised to see them in the brown uniforms of a more junior troop instead of the blues they should have earned this many weeks into training. She recognized an example of Depot punishment, the giving and taking away of kit items so cadets knew exactly where they stood. Another measure that had failed. As the cadets marched into the centre of the clearing, commanded by the drill sergeant’s voice to stand at attention in two neat rows, Andy stood impassively with her shoulders squared and her hands clasped behind her and waited. She was welcoming them, but this wasn’t her show.

  Sergeant Trokof approached Andy. His blue uniform fit his medium frame with impeccable precision, grey hair short and neat under his cap, high browns gleaming up to his knees, and the same stick he’d carried eleven years ago tucked smartly under one arm. Andy unconsciously sucked in her stomach, lifted her chin a fraction, and reminded herself she was no longer a cadet. She was allowed to look him in the eye.

  “Sergeant Wyles,” Sergeant Trokof yelled, his usual pitch when in the vicinity of cadets. “It is my absolute dishonour to present you with the most worthless troop at Depot, Troop 18.”

  He turned to stand beside Andy with one precise movement, stamping his boots into the gravel, both of them now surveying the cadets. Not one of them moved, shifted, or even let their eyes travel around their new surroundings. They were incredibly controlled, very disciplined. But Andy knew from experience being disciplined was easy. It was freedom and choice and space that could trip you up.

  “Thank you, Sergeant Trokof. May I address the cadets?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” he barked.

  Andy surveyed the cadets again, letting the silence stretch, wondering when someone would break rank and look. There, a quick flick of her eyes from Cadet Krista Shandly, age twenty-one from Gander, Newfoundland, the youngest member of the troop. She blushed when she got caught, Andy detecting mainly curiosity but also embarrassment.

  “Welcome to Camp Depot,” Andy said to the cadets in the same voice she would use with her junior officers back in Vancouver—direct, business-like, but not harsh. “I’m sure you’ve already guessed by Sergeant Trokof’s presence that this isn’t going to be a vacation. Whatever else you think this might be, you should know this is the last chance for Troop 18 to prove you’re ready to be Mounties.”

  Again, no one shifted. Andy scanned the serious, blank faces of the cadets in front of her, counting them in her head, wondering where the dead Acadian cadet had stood, where the troop felt his physical absence.

  “You will answer Sergeant Wyles with ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ when she speaks to you,” Sergeant Trokof warned.

  Silence.

  “What do you answer?” he roared.

  “Yes, Sergeant!” the cadets yelled back.

  Sergeant Trokof turned to Andy and spoke to her under his breath. “They’re not cute, they’re not bright, but Lord almighty these cadets can follow an order in unison.”

  Andy was surprised to hear the faintest Newfie accent in his voice. Rumour had it that Sergeant Trokof had hatched from an egg at Depot, a fully-formed RCMP officer, such was his single-minded attention. Andy suppressed a smile.

  “I’d like to talk to the right mark,” Andy said, referring to the cadet each troop chose early on to be their leader.

  “Cadet Prewitt-Hayes, step forward!” the Sergeant yelled, and Andy wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the hawk-eyed keener step forward smartly. She had a long face and brown eyes, and her auburn hair was braided neatly under her hat. Prewitt-Hayes seemed very young and very serious.

  “Cadet Prewitt-Hayes, you and your troop have one hour to unload your bus and set up in the four cabins behind me,” Andy said. “Anything not put away exactly as it should be will be confiscated. Any questions?”

  “Yes, Sergeant!” Cadet Prewitt-Hayes focused on a point off to Andy’s left. “Permission to ask a question, Sergeant.”

  “Go ahead, cadet,” Andy said mildly.

  “Are we bringing the instructors’ gear off the bus also or just our own, Sergeant?”

  “That will be your second task, cadet. Just worry about your own kit for now. Anything else?”

  “Permission to go, Sergeant!”

  “Granted.”

  Cadet Prewitt-Hayes spun on her heels, waved one arm above her head, pointed back down the path to the bus and yelled, “Doubling!” Every member of the troop turned and sprinted.

  As the cadets disappeared around the bend, the three instructors and an extremely disgruntled-looking woman in civilian clothes stepped forward. Andy guessed this was the medic, and she didn’t look particularly happy to be here.

  “Ten bucks they send Foster back for the keys,” one of the instructors said. He had a shaved head, broad shoulders, and looked to be in his early thirties. He introduced himself to Andy
as Constable Anthony Zeb, fitness and firearms.

  “Nah, ten bucks on Foster and Awad. No way will they let someone come back here alone,” another instructor said. She had dark hair tucked neatly under her cap and was somewhere in her mid-forties. She put her hand out to Andy. “Sergeant Leslie Manitou, APS,” she said, identifying herself as part of the Applied Police Sciences team. “Les, when the cadets aren’t around.”

  Andy shook her hand and gave her own name. The last instructor, a quiet man in his late forties named Sergeant Dave Meyers was just introducing himself as another APS team member when they heard boots on gravel. Andy recognized Cadets Hawke Foster and Michael Awad from their profiles. Andy had read Foster’s file carefully as it was thicker than the rest. He was from Vancouver, and his black hair, light brown skin, and slanted, almond-shaped eyes showed his First Nations heritage. His file didn’t mention any band affiliation. Foster was, not so ironically, a product of the BC foster care system, landing finally with a family at the age of fifteen that would become his home. Andy watched him run, swift and controlled, in unison with his partner, twenty-eight-year-old Michael Awad from Montreal.

  The two cadets stopped in front of the assembled instructors, unsure who to address.

  “You have a question, cadets?” Constable Zeb said.

  “Yes, Constable! We need the keys to the bus, Constable.”

  Constable Zeb pulled them out of his pocket, handed them to Foster, and the two immediately ran back down the path.

  “Pay up,” Les said to Zeb cheerfully after the cadets had disappeared.

  “Put it on my tab.”

  Andy watched the exchange, making continual assessments of the people with whom she was going to be spending the next few weeks.

  “Betting on cadets is an age-old Depot tradition,” Trokof said, seeing Andy eyeing the two instructors. Again, Andy couldn’t help but be surprised by the note of a Newfie accent.

  “Did you ever bet on me?” Andy said, not quite able to control the fear that she was being insubordinate to a senior officer. Some things about Depot never actually left your psyche. Which was the point, of course.

  “Of course, I did.” He seemed surprised at the question. “Sergeant within ten years, you made me a hundred dollars.”

  “Happy I could help.”

  “Don’t lie, Sergeant Wyles. You and every other cadet wished me dead more than once.”

  Andy shrugged, still smiling. “Somewhere around the six thousandth push up, probably.” Andy looked at the only person she hadn’t been introduced to, the civilian medic. She was hunkered down in her jacket even though it really wasn’t that cold. Trokof followed Andy’s gaze.

  “Sgt. Wyles, this is our on-site medic, Melanie Stinson. Ms. Stinson was a last-minute substitute as the medic Lincoln had originally assigned strained his back and had to pull out.”

  Andy shook the woman’s hand. It was a limp shake, the kind that always made Andy angry for some reason.

  “I’ve already requested a replacement,” the medic said, pulling her sleeves back over her hands. Andy took an instant dislike to her.

  “Good. I’ll look forward to it,” Andy said and turned away. She added it to the list of things to worry about. As the instructors wandered around camp and checked out the cabins, Andy focused on the next twenty-four hours. The only agenda today was set-up. Tonight, Andy intended to talk with the instructors about the schedule. Tomorrow would be inspection and drug testing, both a requirement for the first twenty-four hours. Andy had already decided to kill two birds with one stone. She would drive the samples to the lab in Vancouver, have a face-to-face with Finns to get that checkmark out of the way, and talk to Lincoln about getting a replacement medic soon. Things were already too tenuous out here without a disgruntled team member pulling everyone down.

  The trampling of gravel announced the cadets’ arrival, each one carrying a pack or a box, most more than one. Cadet Greg Shipman, aged twenty-six, a tall, stocky farm boy from Alberta ran with a guitar case bouncing against his back. Andy shook her head, amused. He’d better find somewhere to stow it or it would be gone. Camp was mayhem, cadets doubling between cabins, dropping bags, yelling instructions. Cadet Prewitt-Hayes’s voice was the loudest. Andy watched them all listen, argue, compromise, and, finally, fall in line. With ten men and six women in this troop, Andy knew part of this challenge was to decide how to divide up the cabins. To her surprise, the women all bunked in one, taking over the cabin that was marginally bigger than the others. The men divided up the rest.

  Andy checked her watch. “Troop 18, you have nine minutes,” she called out.

  Trokof walked over to her side, looking like he was marching even when he wasn’t. “Want to see something interesting?” he said under his breath. Andy nodded, curious. “Watch this.”

  He marched over to one of the men’s cabins and immediately started yelling. “Cadet Foster, who gave you permission to remove your hat? I didn’t, Sgt. Wyles didn’t, Constable Zeb certainly didn’t. Are you thinking for yourself, Cadet Foster?”

  Foster had stopped what he was doing, jammed his hat back on, and stood at attention. “No, sir!”

  “Then give me twenty-five, Cadet Foster. And keep your uniform clean, or it will be another twenty-five!”

  Andy winced internally. Twenty-five push-ups on wet gravel would suck. But as she watched Hawke Foster drop to the ground and begin his push-ups, Andy heard ‘twenty-five’ being yelled out, echoed around the camp. Every member of Troop 18 was down on the ground, giving twenty-five push-ups. Instructors routinely gave a whole troop behaviour modification, or mod-b as it was commonly known, for one cadet’s transgression, but an entire troop taking one cadet’s punishment when they weren’t ordered to was pretty unusual. As soon as they were done with their push-ups, the cadets went right back to work as if nothing had happened. Andy caught Trokof’s eye. Interesting hardly covered it.

  Andy heard footsteps behind her as Sgt. Manitou approached.

  “Every time?” Andy said.

  “Every time,” the other sergeant confirmed. “Zeb tried to out punish them, kept giving them push ups every time they did someone else’s mod-b. They collapsed trying to keep up, which is when we took away their blues.”

  “They didn’t care?” She remembered the shame in having your kit taken away, the mix of sympathy and ridicule from the other troops.

  “Oh, they cared. Some more than others. But it doesn’t stop them. Nothing does.”

  Andy thought she detected a note of respect mixed in with the frustration. Troop 18 certainly had gotten to their instructors. Again, Andy felt the tug of a challenge. You won’t punish it out of them, you won’t force it out of them, you won’t trick it out of them, Andy reminded herself.

  “So, what’s for supper tonight, Sarge?” Les said to Andy good-naturedly. She seemed very happy to be here.

  “I’ll be cooking for the instructors tonight,” Andy said. “Troop 18 is fending for themselves, but they’re on mess duty after this. I figure instead of the Sergeant Major’s Parade in the afternoons, they can do camp clean up, haul water and garbage and make food. We’ll keep them busy,” Andy promised.

  “I believe it,” Les agreed, looking around. “This place is great. Couldn’t ask for a better vacation spot.”

  Andy raised her eyebrows.

  “I’ve got four boys aged seven to fourteen at home. This, my friend, is a vacation.”

  Andy laughed and, for some reason, thought of Kate. She didn’t try to track anymore what triggered thoughts or memories of her. It didn’t matter, really. Andy let the pain of missing Kate settle on her chest. And as she checked her watch and called out time to the cadets, Andy didn’t bother trying to stop thinking about where Kate was right now and what she was doing. She wasn’t here, that’s all Andy knew. She wasn’t here.

  Chapter Four

  Andy manoeuvred the Yukon carefully down jammed, foggy Vancouver streets. It had taken her almost seven hours to get here from Cle
arwater, even though she’d been on the highway before sunrise. Fog had settled in the farther she got from the mountains, turning into the kind of day where there was no hope of it burning off. You just had to slog your way through it and hope it moved out again overnight. Andy was annoyed: at having to leave so early, at the medic for making her life difficult, at the constriction of being forced to check-in, at the sixteen urine samples she was now delivering to the lab, clear the other side of town from Headquarters. As Andy dropped off the Styrofoam container with the orange-lidded cups and filled out the requisite RCMP paperwork, she called Finns’ secretary and left a message saying she’d be closer to two than twelve for their meeting. Then she got back into the Yukon, glad to be rid of the samples, and fought her way through sluggish traffic to Headquarters.

  The first night at camp had gone fine, the cadets burning their food on the too-hot camp stove, and the instructors happily digging in to Andy’s simple chicken burgers and cold potato salad. Andy and Les had shared a cabin, Andy appreciating the other woman was easy going and funny but didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with chatter. Early this morning, Andy had left a note for Kurtz and Tara along with one of the two-way radios on the porch, asking if she could stay with them in the main house tonight, knowing she’d probably get in late. Kurtz and Tara owed her nothing but they wouldn’t turn Andy away.

  Andy cursed at the traffic and continued to ignore the blinking light on her cell phone as she’d been doing since getting back into range early this morning. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, and if Finns was calling to yell at her for being late, she couldn’t get there any faster. Looking around at the dismal surroundings, peaks of buildings lost in fog, windows reflecting back nothing but grey, Andy thought she truly hated this city sometimes. It was cold, wet, damp, depressing, and, in the right light, unrelentingly ugly.

  She did a second run around the block of 37th and Heather, waiting for a spot to open up outside of Headquarters. One finally did, and Andy didn’t even bother to take a breath or compose herself. She just grabbed her file and her phone, jammed her hat on her head and shrugged her shoulders against the damp bite of the wind. As she was crossing the street, she heard her phone ring but silenced it irritably without looking at it. Ten seconds later, it beeped a message and another five seconds after that it signalled a text, then another. Andy cursed under her breath and called it up. Jack.