Carter's Recourse - 15. Chapter 15

Will stood to the back of the police station; he was trying to stay out of the way, but still felt like he should be there. His arms were folded and he was staring at a large tactical map of the city, his eyes looking over the lines to where the pins had been placed, supposedly following the route from Stornoway to the hotel where the gala dance had been held.

The hotel was nowhere close to where his car had been found. He puzzled on that, wondering why the police had dived on that clue. But then they were the professionals; it was their job to decide what leads to follow.

He turned as Lisa pressed a cup of Tim Hortens coffee into his hand. "Well, the van was rented," she said looking over at one of the police officers who had followed up on Marc's photograph, "and so far they're just running into dead ends with it." She smiled at him tightly. "Also, Mrs. McCormick is talking to the inspector," she added quietly. "It seems in all the rush to find his daughter," she nodded over to Hesston standing with a group of his aides across the room, "they forgot they are looking for two kids."

"No they haven't," Will said, turning to her and touching her arm reassuringly. "The police here are among the best in the world, they're on top of things." He tried to look confident, despite his own worries. Right now they all needed faith in the police that were looking for their loved ones. Faith was all they had.

She nodded, as he let her go and walked over to where Hesston was standing. The two politicians had recognized each other the moment Will had arrived, and as he approached Hesston looked up at Carter as if gauging him.

"What are you doing here, Mister Carter?" Hesston asked, stepping around one of his aides and affixing Will with a stern look.

"Peter McCormick is..." Will struggled for the right words, "like a brother to me. He was driving my car the night... the night they both vanished." He found his footing and continued, "So that makes us a part of this thing together, regardless of our politics." He folded his arms firmly, adamant about his right to be there.

Hesston's eyes hardened as he stared at the Liberal. An ultra-liberal and an ultra-conservative forced to share the same situation; it was enough to boil Hesston's blood. "If your damn Liberals had agreed to the Conservative security amendments after 9/11 this situation may never have happened," he bit out.

"I agree," Will stated evenly; there was no politics to it, he did agree. Right then, if he could turn back time and change his vote he would, but hindsight was twenty-twenty.

Hesston's features softened a little; hearing Carter agree with him blunted his anger. He was spoiling for a fight, someone to blame for his daughter. And Carter had robbed him of that in just a couple of words. "I just wish it hadn't taken this to teach you that," Hesston bit back, turning to one of his aides indicating the conversation was over.

Will shrugged and returned to his side of the police station; in his own mind he was running over the laws and bills he had rejected that would have granted the police the powers to prevent this. They were the same laws that curtailed civil liberties, promoted racial profiling and cut the legs out of multi-culturalism and democracy.

He wondered if the price of those freedoms had been worth it.

* * *

Andrew awoke when Jane shook him; he yawned, sitting upright, squinting around the unfamiliar office, and he looked up at her.

"Any news?" he rasped as she handed him a cup of tea. He peeled back the lid and smiled blissfully at the dark liquid that, in his sleepy state, smelled amazing.

"Nothing yet," Jane admitted as she sat down on one of the chairs in front of the desk. "The DG is going to turn the search over to the RCMP; they're better equipped to deal with this than we are."

Andrew sighed reluctantly, sitting upright and scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Are we giving them everything?" he asked, his eyes heavy, realizing they had failed to stop what ever Knowlan was up to, and now it was up to the RCMP to clean up the mess.

Jane shook her head, "Just the stuff on the kids, we're still on the rest of it." She handed him a small black gym bag, "I pulled this from your trunk in case you wanted to get cleaned up before we went back on it."

Andrew smiled at her gratefully as he pulled open the bag and pulled out the spare shirt he kept in there, along with his shaving kit. "You're amazing," he stated, smiling at her sincerely.

"Don't you know it," Jane replied. "I'll meet you downstairs in half an hour."

He nodded after her as he scrubbed his face, and set out for the showers and a chance to wash away some of the grime that had built up after two days of being on the go. Once under the hot stream of water he began to wake up again, and realized how tired he had been. It was refreshing letting the water roll over his face, waking him up and letting him have a chance to think.

He opened his eyes as he stared at the ceramic tiles. What would someone have to gain by targeting politicians? It would make sense if they were all the same party, someone out to destabilize the liberals, topple the government. But Bob Hesston was a conservative, what was the angle then? Provocation? Misdirection?

Andrew scrubbed the soap through his hair; he was lacking information, and for someone trained to gather as much as he could, it unnerved him. He wasn't looking at the bigger picture; he was so concerned with protecting Will he was ignoring more important issues.

Why hit at Will? The Deputy Prime Minister, the Foreign Secretary and the Leader of the Opposition Andrew could understand, but Will was a backbench liberal, a swing voter...

A swing voter who often voted against his own party. But there was nothing to vote on. And Andrew rubbed his head again, trying to wrap his brain around the problem, rinsing off the soap and stepping out to have a quick shave and get back on the trail.

* * *

Will watched as the Inspector moved to the tactical map, adding a few pins and some notes. She turned back to all of them. "All right, listen up!" she called out. "We know that the kids were last seen at a bar down on Sparks Street; also, the last person to speak to them is coming in for questioning."

The Inspector began to rattle off assignments and Will glanced at Lisa. "Bar on Sparks?" he asked in a low tone through the side of his mouth.

Lisa shook her head. "Edge's the only one I can think of down there," she replied, turning away and shielding her mouth with her notebook.

"That explains why my car was down there..." Will murmured looking up at the map, brushing his hair out of his eyes and away as he slipped on his glasses. He needed to get it cut; it was too long, but that was the least of his worries right then.

He shook his head tracing the route they would have had to take on the map. They would have passed right by the restaurant he and Andrew had been in. He shook his head as he walked across the room to where Mrs. McCormick was sitting. The aging woman was being comforted by her other son, Robert, Peter's twin brother. And they both looked up at Will as he approached.

Peter and Robert were like night and day. Peter was shy and innocent while Robert was bold and a long way from anything approaching innocence. Though they shared the same face, there was no difficulty in telling them apart--the eyes were different.

"They're doing all they can," Will reassured, kneeling beside the woman he had come to know over the years. She was strong in the way someone raising two boys alone could be. Her hair was mostly gray, but there was no mistaking Mrs. McCormick for frail.

She met Will's reassuring eyes. "I know you'll do everything you can," she said clutching his hand. "You always took care of Peter."

Will looked over at Robert and back at Mrs. McCormick, "He's a special kid. You told me that yourself ten years ago." He blew out a heavy breath, "I'll make you the same promise I did back then, we will find him."

Mrs. McCormick reached out to brush Will's face tenderly, "You're a good boy, William."

He shook his head, "Just a good friend."

* * *

Andrew felt better after he had changed and shaved. He had needed it; with so much going on he needed to remain sharp.

He was back at his desk, running through the data that he had collected, trying to glean something he might have missed in his exhausted state. Frustratingly the answers he was seeking were just beyond his reach. The kid Tyler that they had brought in hadn't managed to find who they were looking for in the photo lineup. He'd been sent over to the police station to answer their questions, and that cut that lead off.

That still left the mysterious vanishing bullet and the prisoner Knowlan and his list. They were fragile pieces of evidence that hinted at something, but gave no real clue as to what it was about.

"Highmore," Jane said leaning on the partition to his cubicle, "apparently the Americans have sent us some 'help'."

"Help?" Andrew said, standing up and following her through the cubicle maze to the large conference room where the Director General of the Ottawa region was sitting with a couple of other DG's listening intently to an obviously American man lecturing them.

He was wearing the typical black suit and American power tie, the long trench coat sweeping down almost to his ankles over a broad, muscular frame. Not the typical pencil pusher. The CIA agent spoke in a tone that said he was a field agent, and not a liaison officer, and Andrew leaned forward to listen to what he was saying.

"...The CIA has been tracking the activity of a suspected Al-Quaida cell operating here in Canada." The man was drawling.

Al-Quaida? Andrew exchanged a puzzled look with Jane. That didn't make sense.

"The cell has direct ties to the Iraqi insurgents that have been responsible for a spate of politically motivated kidnappings of Americans and their allies," the man continued, and Andrew gaped at him; he wasn't serious, was he?

"Excuse me?" Andrew said, interrupting. "You're saying that Iraqi insurgents kidnapped these two kids?"

"That is correct," the CIA agent replied turning his heavyset face on Andrew and studying the younger man.

"You're serious?" Andrew said in disbelief.

"It's our belief that they may be trying to keep Canada out of the war in Iraq," the CIA agent pressed on.

"Canada has no intention of going into the war in Iraq," Andrew stated bluntly. He looked at his boss, "Are you buying this shit?"

Jane placed a warning hand on his arm, but Andrew was angry. The Americans would use whatever excuse they could get to turn something to their advantage. He didn't have time for some cock-and-bull story about Iraqi insurgents designed to buy the Americans more allies in their cluster-fuck of a war.

He turned and stalked off, hands thrust deep in his pocket, determined to skip the exercise in bullshit and stick with the facts.

The Director caught up with him back at his cubicle. "That wasn't a smart career move," he stated leaning on the door gap.

Andrew shook his head, "We don't have time to go chasing the American villain of the week."

The DG sighed as he straightened up, "He brought with him some intel on the cell, three guesses who's a part of it." The DG tossed a folder on the edge of the desk, the photos inside spilled out across the desk and there was no mistaking Knowlan's face.

Andrew frowned as he picked it up, flipping through the photos and glancing at the data; he looked up at the Director, "I..."

"You should go and see if that kid we just sent over to the police station recognizes any of those photos." The director paused, "And if he does, then I think you owe Agent Johnson an apology."

* * *

Agent Sam Johnson sat in his chair staring thoughtfully up at the door to the conference room. That had gone surprisingly well aside from the little puppy's outburst. But then Johnson had expected some resistance to this part of the operation.

CSIS wasn't stupid; they weren't going to swallow the whole Iraqi insurgency angle without some kind of proof. Conveniently Johnson decided to play the capture of Knowlan to his advantage. All it had taken was for him to watch the twinkle in the Director's eye when he recognized the photo to confirm they had Knowlan.

How much CSIS actually knew was anyone's guess. But then that is what he was there to find out. Test the waters and see whether or not it was a good idea to press ahead with the plan. So far, from what he had seen, CSIS was in the dark, and that made it all the easier for him to pull the wool over their eyes.

He crossed his legs and waited, the Director-General would want to ask him more questions. What he knew of the cell, where he suspected they would take the children. Those questions would allow him to run the Canadians in desperate circles chasing their own tails for as long as it took to get things into place.

He contemplated when he should leak the fact that a suspected terrorist cell was behind the kidnappings of the daughter to the official opposition to his contact at the newspaper. A strategic call to the right person and the story would decorate the front of every newspaper in the nation, and guaranteed the public outcry would be huge.

* * *

Andrew marched into the police station interrogation room an hour later with the stack of photos. Knowlan looked up from where he had been handcuffed to the table and sneered, keeping his mouth firmly shut.

Andrew took the seat across from him, matching his sneer hate for hate, "Where is he?" he asked coldly.

Knowlan frowned, but again said nothing.

"Where is he?" Andrew stated coldly as his patience finally ran out.

Again Knowlan kept his mouth shut, and Andrew glanced at the mirror and back at the man sitting across from him. "You kidnapped a personal friend of mine," he stated, drawing his service automatic and pulling the slide back with a distinctive snap. "What have you done with Peter McCormick?"

Again there were no words, but Knowlan's eyes were fixated on the gun. "You can't shoot me," he said at last, his voice filled with arrogance.

"You don't know me very well," Andrew stated again, his eyes remaining fixed as he stared into the other man's eyes, his voice as cold as the grave. "Where is Peter McCormick?"

"I don't know any Peter McCormick," the man spat.

"He was the little boy you bastards planned to kidnap with Rebecca Hesston!" Andrew snarled.

There was a momentary flicker of surprise on the man's face, replaced by the impassive expression as Knowlan fell silent again. But it was enough for Andrew.

He stood up and walked from the interview room, holstering his weapon. Leaning against a wall staring in confusion as Jane hurried out of the observation room.

"What?" she asked in concern, looking past him at the interrogation room.

"They don't know who they have," he murmured. "They were after the girl." He looked up at her, "They don't realize who Peter is, or more importantly, who he is connected to."

"Well, what does that mean?" she asked her partner in concern.

Andrew chewed his lip, contemplating, "It means that Peter wasn't the target, and that means that..."

"Carter's name on that list," Jane finished. "He's still a target?"