Carter's Recourse - 30. Chapter 30

"We've lost him," the DG admitted, standing and resting his elbows on the partition to Andrew's cubicle, looking down at his two field officers.

"What do the CIA claim?" Andrew asked, setting his pen down and glancing up at the DG expectantly.

"Considering we have little to no proof connecting Johnson to the kidnapping, or the death of the Deputy Prime Minister, my superiors have decided to avoid an international incident." The Director General was unimpressed with his superiors' decision, it read across his face in tight lines, and a grimly set jaw.

Andrew had expected that reaction, especially considering that they had failed to apprehend Johnson.

"But what about our surveillance tapes, of him here in this building?" Jane asked. "We can prove he was here."

"And the CIA would support that they sent him, but deny flatly his involvement in anything illicit," the DG replied calmly. "No, we have nothing to go on but circumstantial evidence."

"We need to find Johnson," Jane surmised thoughtfully.

"The problem is, he could be out of the country by now." Andrew chewed his lip and folded his arms, leaning back into his chair and staring up at the fluorescent light over his cube. "Miles of unprotected borders, not to mention ports along the great lakes. Hell, he could just grab a boat and sail his way across if he were desperate enough."

The DG shook his head. "Running away isn't his style," he said quietly, lifting and opening a file, that he thumbed through. "I called in a favour with a friend of mine, who works for another group who had dealings with our friend..." He tossed the file down onto the desk.

Andrew's eyes flicked to the Israeli seal on the document sheath: Mossad. He glanced up at the DG questioningly.

"Officially they have never heard of Mister Johnson," the DG said, lowering his voice to not be overheard. "And we don't have that file."

Andrew rested his hand on it thoughtfully. "How did you know to ask them?" he asked.

"Because with a tan like Johnson's it was either Central America or the Middle East, and I played a hunch." The DG turned to leave, pausing as he looked back down, "He's dangerous, and he's not done yet. Find him and stop him before he does any more harm."

Andrew nodded as he opened the file, Jane leaning over him, a hand resting on the back of his chair as she too read over the detailed file, courtesy of Israeli intelligence. It painted a picture of an effective and efficient Operative. A man with a network throughout the Middle East and ties to some of the bloodiest operators.

'Ruthless and direct,' a member of Metsada, the Mossad Special Operations Division wrote--the division that conducted highly sensitive political assassinations, sabotage and paramilitary projects.

"How did a man like that get sent to Canada?" Jane wondered aloud.

She had a point, one that niggled something in the back of Andrew's mind. Why did a man that conducted and orchestrated the kind of operations he was reading about, up and relocate to Canada? The last entry in the file placed Johnson in Saudi Arabia the day before the Deputy Prime Minister was killed.

The day after Knowlan had been arrested.

Andrew looked up suddenly, "Shit!"

"What?" Jane asked in confusion.

"He was sent to replace Knowlan." Andrew stood, tucking the file under his arm, and hurried towards the DG's office.

Jane glanced down at the desk a moment, before she hurried after him. "But with his seniority... that means..."

"...That Knowlan was the one supposed to be running this operation," Andrew finished. "And we've had him the entire time."

* * *

Will gathered up his papers, taking his glasses off of his nose as he slipped them into his jacket pocket. He looked over at the Prime Minister as the Cabinet meeting adjourned.

"That went well," Will murmured sarcastically.

Thorpe shook his head as he walked around the long table, taking a moment to shake hands with the Finance Minister before stopping alongside Will. "It's to be expected with the political climate," Thorpe said, resting his hands on the back of a chair and staring at the heavy pine door as it closed behind the last Minister leaving the two of them alone in the Cabinet room.

"There's not much to be done," Will admitted. "Hesston has control of the House and he knows it. And he's going to bring government to a standstill until he gets what he wants."

Thorpe stroked his chin, the customary smile gracing his face as he stared thoughtfully towards the door. "Perhaps we should give it to him, then."

Will looked up. "You mean give into his demands? Hold a vote on the war?"

"Hesston is holding Parliament hostage," Thorpe responded. "We can't govern like this. He shuts down the House at the same time each day I refuse to call the vote."

"The problem is that's win-win for Hesston." Will loosened his tie glancing at his friend, "If you call for that vote and he wins it we send troops into Iraq. If he loses and the vote is overturned he can call for a vote of confidence, vote us down and send us to election polls."

Thorpe nodded. "Exactly. It's a tough choice. But at least if I call the vote and he loses it, we can go to the polls with a clear conscience."

"And if he wins?" Will asked pointedly.

Thorpe shrugged. "Then we remain in power, and continue to fight to regain control over the House, and Hesston will realize that he can get whatever he wants, whenever he wants."

"At least until the by-elections to replace the three empty seats," Will said. "I've been reviewing some candidate selections for those ridings with the Party Whip."

"Good," Thorpe said, placing a hand on Will's arm and squeezing it lightly. "I trust you to handle that while I focus on Hesston. Do whatever you have to." He shook his wrist free from his sleeve and looked at his watch, "For the time being we should head down to the Commons, question period."

They were tending for a crippled child that was fighting for its life and the two men that represented the new Liberal Party exchanged a meaningful glance at each other.

"Time to face the wolves," Will murmured, straightening his hair and holding the door open for Thorpe.

* * *

Alicia absently scooped up the phone. "Yes, hello, Minister Carter's office," she said as she lacquered her nails with yet another layer of midnight blue.

She sat up as she listened, reaching out for a pad of paper and jotting down the notes, motioning Lisa away from where she watched the question period on CPAC and over to read the note.

Lisa glanced back to the screen, the Opposition were attacking Will directly now; he was a minister and directing questions about his experience, and his parliamentary record, that the new minister was rising to counter with direct answers.

She smiled; he was, just like he did in life, meeting the bullies face on and giving as good as he got.

"Yes, this is Minister Carter's press aide, Mrs. Sternosti," she said, turning her attention to the phone.

"Yes, Mrs. Sternosti, I'm calling from Wealdon borough Council, here in Halisham, England," the clipped English accent said into the phone. "I'm calling to alert the Minister that the town council has voted to honour his father, Colonel David Carter's sacrifice by adding his name to the town's cenotaph."

Lisa stopped watching the screen, "I'm sorry, what?"

"The Colonel, Minister Carter's father, the town council has voted to..." the woman on the other end of the line repeated impatiently.

"I heard," Lisa replied testily, she hated being talked down to. "Fax the information over and I will make sure the Minister receives it."

"Well, we were planning to host the ceremony before the end of the week..." the woman began.

"This week?" Lisa sounded incredulous. "This is very little notice." She looked over at Alicia who was turning through the pages of Will's day planner to expose the week-large sections blocked out by Will's meetings and Votes that he was supposed to attend.

"We apologize; however we feel it would be important for the Minister to be in attendance..."

"I bet," Lisa murmured under her breath. Local politicians looking for a photo-op with a foreign VIP, something to get their names in the local papers alongside the name of a hero and his prominent son.

"The Minister is in Parliament this afternoon, but I will ensure that he gets the message," Lisa reassured, hanging up the phone after giving the woman the fax number. She sighed as she returned to watching the besieged Liberals fight off the attacks flying at them.

* * *

The night vision scope he was staring through didn't allow for any details. But they weren't trying to hide their presence, or the fact that they were watching him.

West balanced the German-made rifle upon the bonnet of the Land Rover as he sighted in again, a couple of his men around him becoming a little jittery about being made to wait so long.

He ignored them, leaning back from the scope to glance at his sergeant who was sighting in along the other night vision scope in the Company.

"Who are they, sir?" the sergeant asked, lowering his rifle to look at the young captain who had dragged them out on night manoeuvres through the dismal Yorkshire spring weather.

"Some new friends," West replied, tilting the rifle to look at the red phone booth a hundred yards from where the two observers were standing. They wanted him to know they knew what he had planned: use the night manoeuvres as an excuse to get to a telephone and relay a message.

West looked down thoughtfully, looking about him at the men clad in their camouflage and carrying their training rifles, all looking to him for guidance. Even if he could reach the phone, there was no guaranteeing that whoever they were that were watching him wouldn't be able to intercept the call. It was the modern battlefield after all, and if his radio operator was capable of that trick, West was willing to bet that they had thought of it too.

West took a deep considering breath as he adjusted the beret on his head so that the flash sat just right, tossing the sniper rifle back to its owner. He was going to have to get creative then. Somehow he should have guessed this wouldn't have been an easy feat to pull off.

It seemed so mundane, five minutes alone with a phone, or a computer to get a message. In a modern society it probably wasn't. But this was the army, where security meant lives, and smuggling information out to a foreign country under the noses of his superiors would take a lot more than diverting a company of men on night exercises to the nearest phone booth.

* * *

"He knows we're watching him," the first operative observed to the other.

"I wouldn't doubt it," the other replied, smoking his cigarette, seated on the front bumper of the Volvo and looking down over the collection of military vehicles. "Should we wave?"

"Don't underestimate him," the first warned, "just because his file says he has some emotional problems coming out of Iraq. I warned you, he's creative, an expert shot and he possesses a tactical mind."

"You worry too much," his partner reassured. "Even if he does know, by the time he can get a message out it will be too late and all of this will be over. And if he tries, we can always put him on the next plane back to Basra. If he thinks using a phone is difficult now..." The operative chuckled.

"You could be right," the first said shaking his head, "but you have to admit, he possesses pretty good instincts to spot us like that. Caged animals are unpredictable, you'd do well to keep that in mind and watch your back."

The second stubbed out his cigarette and tossed the butt away into the bushes, grunting grudgingly at the advice.

* * *

Will adjusted his glasses as he sat down at his desk. Behind him the glow of Parliament hill lit up the view from his window. Late evening in the city was beautiful, and some days Will really appreciated the opportunity to work on the hill.

They had moved his office to the east block, prized real estate for cabinet members and important members of Parliament. His office was a floor below the Prime Minister's, Thorpe keeping him close and not being subtle about it.

Will leafed through the stack of messages that was waiting for him, knowing that he should probably go home, but realistically there was nothing there waiting for him.

He closed his eyes and lowered the papers; he was just tired, working himself too hard trying to get to the bottom of the latest crisis. Reacting instead of acting, a dangerous pattern to get into. But the pieces that would solve the puzzle seemed tantalizingly out of reach, and if only he could focus on it...

He looked up, turning in his chair looking towards the Peace Tower, the great glowing clock that shed its light across the grassy lawns under his window and he realized that for the first time since the whole mess began he missed Marc. Andrew was one thing, a constant presence more than a friend who always looked out for him. But Marc was the man he had chosen to marry.

Soulful eyes that offered him unconditional love and expecting nothing in return for it but to be loved as well. Quiet and reserved at times, and at others extroverted and outgoing. A broken man who counted on Will to protect him. But it was more than that, Will needed Marc as much as Marc needed him.

He thought about his life before Marc, career-driven dull and boring. Trapped in a grey suit trying to break out of the conformity. And along had come this young man, filled with energy, with so much love to give. Yet filled with sadness, and Will had wanted nothing more than to make him smile, finding himself drawn to those eyes.

Will tilted his chair back, and rested a foot on the old style radiator that sat behind his desk under the great window, a finger resting against his jaw wondering where he would be were it not for the support Marc gave him.

They were two individuals; Marc knew when he was needed, and when he wasn't. And Will was grateful that Marc had been smart enough not to accompany him to the police station during Peter's abduction. But that was Marc, there when Will needed him and giving him space when he didn't.

There was only one problem.

Will turned his head to look at Andrew standing in the doorway to his office, studying the ghost of his past that had returned to haunt him with the memories of what could have been.

"You are going to tell me what's going on," Will said quietly, a deadly cold edge to his voice.

"I..." Andrew began.

"You are going to start by telling me why you are carrying a gun." Will's eyes dropped to the slight fold in Andrew's jacket. "I grew up with soldiers, and guns my entire life," he said, explaining for Andrew's surprised look. "I tend to notice things like that."

Andrew swallowed, his eyes meeting Will's uncertainly. But he knew lying to Will wasn't an option. Will's observational skills were scary at times. Momentary flashes of clarity as small details other people would have overlooked suddenly fit together.

"How long did you know?" Andrew asked quietly.

"I'm not certain," Will replied turning back to his view. "I guess it was the uniform shirt you wore at the police station that confirmed it. So are you RCMP? ERT?"

"CSIS," Andrew replied, pulling his ID from his pocket and laying it down on the desk.

Will didn't glance at it, he simply continued to stare out of the window. "So you are going to tell me what I need to know."

"I can't," Andrew said sighing in frustration. "We only have a few facts, we're still playing catch up..."

"You're not the only one playing catch up," Will replied curtly, letting his foot drop to the floor as he turned back to face Andrew. Anger was evident in his eyes as he stood facing his former lover, his palms flat on the surface of his desk. "Who's behind this?" he demanded softly.

"I can't, Will..." Andrew said closing his eyes, "I took an oath..."

"So did I," Will grated through his teeth, "and last I checked your oath was to the Government and the people of Canada, not to your superiors."

Andrew reached out to pick up his ID badge, as Will's hand slammed down upon it, holding it in place. The two men stared into each other's eyes, Will reading the conflict in Andrew's eyes.

"Don't ask me to do this..." Andrew murmured aloud.

"Because this isn't over, is it?" Will demanded, reading every reaction on Andrew's face closely. The way Andrew's eyes flicked up and a look of anguish appeared there a moment before it vanished.

"Because they're after me," Will said quietly. "Why?"

He again searched Andrew's reaction, a face he knew so well, a face that couldn't lie to him. "You don't know," Will answered for him, frowning. "So what am I, bait?"

"No." Andrew shook his head fervently.

"I am going to ask you one last time," Will said looking back to the surface of the desk, his shoulders sagging. "Who is behind this?"

"I can't, Will..." Andrew said apologetically. "You need to trust that I can stop them..."

Will released the CSIS ID, and sank heavily into his chair, "This is it, Andrew," he said as his former lover turned to walk back towards the door.

Andrew's eyes burned as he turned his head a fraction to look back over his shoulder, "It was it a long time ago. That still doesn't change that I'm in love with you."

"I know," Will said softly, his voice heavy with regret.