Carter's Recourse - 34. Chapter 34

It seemed like he spent most of his life on planes. The most defining moments in his life seemed to involve thirty-thousand feet of altitude in one fashion or another. Will supposed it was just the way his life had chosen to unfold itself, and he still remembered when he had first emigrated to Canada all those years ago, following his father's assignment as a military liaison.

That trip had been in the opposite direction, and he certainly hadn't been placed in first class. But it had been his first time in an aeroplane, aware that in the eight hours it took for him to cross the ocean his life was never to be the same again.

The return trip would only take him five hours, the wonder of ever-evolving technology, but he wondered what the flight heralded. The last time he had crossed the ocean he had broken up with Andrew...

He tried not to focus too much on that, as he glanced across the aisle to where Lisa and Brody were sitting discussing his latest poll results.

"... That's just it," Lisa was saying. "We can't afford to just coast, if they do call an election on Monday we're going to have thirty-five days to get everything ready..."

"No," Brody shook his head, "if they call it, it will mean a June election, and no one wants to come back from their cottages or the lakes to vote. It just won't happen; our Lil'Willy's ahead in the polls, he's popular with the people that voted for him, I think so long as we don't make too big of a deal about the election he'll be re-elected without a problem."

Will closed his eyes and rested his head back onto his seat; Lisa was worried they weren't doing enough, and Brody was worried about overselling an election that hadn't even been called yet. They were a good match--Lisa with her PR experience and her skills at manipulating the media, and Brody who had been Will's campaign manager during his first election, with his unerring ability to know what the people wanted from their MP.

He rubbed his temple lightly, gazing back out of the window wondering about the whole party election platform. He'd been reviewing the infamous Redbook, the Liberal Party manifesto, a collection of promises compiled by the last Prime Minister and his cronies in an effort to win over the public. It had nearly been disastrous.

For a party so deep-seated in corruption and mired in scandal, they clung on with their fingernails narrowly scraping a victory during the last election purely based off of the terror tactic 'do you want the conservatives to win?'. It was an almost brilliant tactic of fear, painting the conservatives as goose-stepping fundamentalists opposed to any kind of reform. The campaign had drawn attention to the Conservative Party's close ties to its neo-conservative roots and its right-wing heritage.

That wouldn't work a second time. Canadians weren't foolish. The scandal that had seen the Minister of Foreign affairs resign taking the Prime Minister down with him was still fresh on the minds of a public who had lived under Liberal Party rule for close to twelve years now. They were looking for change, crying out for it.

Will leaned forward in his seat, flipping down the tray table and digging out his lap top. Lisa glanced at him quizzically, before she launched back into her discussion on election strategy with Brody. And Will slipped his glasses from his pocket, and went to work.

His first move was to delete the copy of the Redbook from his computer. As he sat there, staring at an empty page ideas started to come to him. And he wrote a new manifesto, for a new Liberal Party.

A new Liberal Party, new life for Canada...

* * *

Prime Minister Thorpe sat across the table from an old enemy. Eliza Sauvageau was not a woman he would have ever seen himself sitting down with to have a meal, let alone discussing the future.

She was a conservative, a grass roots, old-style traditionalist who fought tooth and nail against any kind of change that threatened 'her' country. She was an iron lady of her party, one of the backbone members who had forged the alliance that had united the two dissimilar right-wing parties into one conservative party. And she had come within a hair's breadth of leading that party.

Yet there she was, and Thorpe sat firm in the belief that he was having dinner with the devil.

"I don't know what you hope to gain from this," Eliza stated crisply, her French accent running thick through her English words. "My vote is not for sale."

Thorpe gave her his usual winning smile, the one that had earned him the nickname 'the Cheshire cat'. "I'm not endeavouring to buy your vote, but rather asking you how happy you are with the current leadership of the Conservative Party."

"Hesston." She picked up a fork and polished it on a napkin, tsk-ing over the fact that it wasn't clean enough for her expectations. "He's a narrow-minded, petty man. But my feelings for my leader are not the issue here, or are they?" She looked across the dining table suspiciously.

"Canada is at a crossroads," Thrope said quietly. "Shortly, we are going to have to decide if we are going to send our children off to fight in a war that is none of our business, or have an election." Thorpe picked up his glass of red wine and tilted it slightly, "You have a son in the Canadian army, don't you Eliza?" The red wine spilled over the brim of the glass and dripped across the white tablecloth. Thorpe's eyes never left Eliza's who in turn was staring at the deep red liquid soaking into the fine white cotton of the cloth.

Her eyes narrowed, looking up at Thorpe, reading the melodramatic play the Prime Minister was making. But even though she knew what he was doing, she couldn't help her gaze travelling down to the red liquid.

"I'm not going to put my personal concerns ahead of my party," Eliza said pointedly.

"Bob Hesston has no such concerns," Thorpe said setting his glass down slowly. "He isn't above using your son--your youngest son if I'm not mistaken--as a pawn in his plan to be Prime Minister."

"And you," Eliza said, "are not above using him to hold onto power."

"At least I don't want to send him into a war zone," Thorpe said, looking down at the wine.

"If the war vote is defeated, Hesston will still call for a vote of non-confidence and you will still be out of a job." Eliza calmly folded her hands on the table before her.

"I'm not asking for you to vote for the Liberal Party in the confidence vote." Thorpe tilted his head. "All I am asking from you is that you abstain from the war vote. That you don't send our children off to fight in America's war."

Eliza shook her head, "Even if I abstained, you are still short votes."

"Yes," Thorpe agreed, "I'm short one vote to make it a tie. If I can convince one more member of your party to abstain, then we will have a tie, and the Speaker of the House will decide."

"And he traditionally votes with the government," Eliza nodded. "I don't know how you are going to manage convincing another member of the Conservative Party to abstain..."

"Then I convinced you?" Thorpe asked staring at her intently.

"I'm not going to vote to send my son into a war Canada has no part being involved in," she said. "However!" she held up a finger, "on the confidence vote..."

"I would expect nothing less," Thorpe nodded, smiling inwardly--one down. Now if only he could convince one more.

* * *

England, the bustle of Heathrow airport. Will wandered through the arrival lounge, being ushered by airport staff anxious to appease a VIP visitor such as the Canadian Minister Without Portfolio.

One of the perks of his new title, Will presumed, as they were rushed through customs with a minimal amount of fuss. Not that he was complaining--the last time he had tried to enter England he had been rather rudely introduced to a burly customs official's fingers.

A malicious part of Will hoped that he would spot that official again and rub his nose in the fact that he didn't have to get down to his skivvies to prove that indeed he wasn't smuggling anything illegal into the country.

"The Embassy's sent a car and booked a hotel room for you here in London," Lisa said, returning from where she had been talking on the phone.

Will looked up from where his passport was being stamped, bending down to pick up his briefcase and tucking his jacket over his arm. It was damp and dismal outside, but he'd grown up there, and he realized how much he'd come to miss the rain. "I'm not staying in London," Will said firmly.

"But the itinerary..." Lisa started, lifting her daily planner. "You have dinner with the Canadian Ambassador tonight, and tomorrow morning you have an appointment with the British Foreign Secretary."

"Who arranged all of this?" Will asked in concern as he followed her along the winding tunnels, keeping pace, aware of the security guards that were shadowing them a discreet few paces back.

"Well, considering you're here, the Prime Minister's office thought it wise to schedule some important meet and greets." Lisa shrugged, "I just assumed..."

Will gritted his teeth, it wasn't Lisa's fault, she'd been doing her job. He should have said something when he had agreed to go--that it was for personal reasons, not professional ones. He didn't like the idea of being paraded around like a dancing monkey, shaking hands with everyone and showing the Canadian-British unity card. It was selfish, but all he wanted to do was to go and see his hometown, and to hug his sister who he hadn't seen since his father's funeral.

He had to remind himself he was a minister now and that he had a duty that required him to affix a smile to his face and do what needed to be done, despite his own personal wishes.

He dug through the pocket of the black waistcoat he had thrown on over a cotton collarless shirt, pulling out his pocket watch and glancing at it. His father's, it had been returned to him when the Colonel's affects had been sent home from the front. Will was being sentimental carrying it, but the inscription on its case, 'master of your own time' was a frank reminder not to get carried away with doing what other people wanted him to do.

"I want Saturday night and Sunday completely clear," Will instructed firmly, slipping the watch back into his pocket.

"Saturday night you have dinner at..."

"Home," Will said firmly. "I'm having dinner at home on Saturday night, and Sunday is the memorial, I want nothing else on that day, all right?"

Lisa bobbed her head, setting about to make a few calls and rearrange a few things to accommodate Will's request while Will looked about for his errant campaign manager. Typically, Brody was talking to girls.

He had slid his designer sunglasses down a little and was leaning on a café table off to one side, talking to a pair of women who looked like billboard models; one of them was laughing and touching his arm, while the other seemed to be a little more reserved.

Will rolled his eyes, stepping out of the doors to wait for the Embassy car to arrive, taking a moment to breathe the moist air. Remembering what it was like to grow up there. He was home, at least for a few days, and as much as he loved Canada, he always thought of England as his home.

He had never lost that attachment to his homeland, that sense of pride in being resolutely English to the core of his being. He knew, though, each time he came home he was a relative stranger there. Too many years abroad and things that had once seemed so familiar to him now seemed strange and foreign.

"Mister Carter?" someone called, and Will looked up in surprise as a young man in a windbreaker began to snap pictures.

Will looked confused. "Who...?" as the two security guards emerged from the side entrance to shoo the photographer away from an area where he wasn't supposed to be.

He sighed and went back to leaning on the rail, polishing his glasses on the tail of his shirt and watching the rain stream down. So many things had changed over the years to take away the little boy he had been when he had first gotten on a plane to jet across the Atlantic on a brave new adventure with his daddy.

He was coming home now to pay his respects to that man. And in a way Will wondered if it was fitting for him to do so. It was no secret, he and his father had never seen eye to eye. The man had been difficult and opinionated. And Will found he was too much like his father in temperament to ever get along with him.

Strong-willed personalities could only share the same space for so long before they butted heads. And Will smiled remembering some of the more memorable fights about nothing he had shared with his father. Like the time when he had forgotten to put the cap on the toothpaste, or the battle of wills over curfew...

Lisa joined him after a few minutes, slipping her phone away into her purse as she stood staring out over the small stretch of road that was the VIP exit for the terminal. Tucked discreetly away so as to afford visitors like Will a chance to escape the throngs of people in the main arrivals area, it was quiet, and the two police officers patrolling to and fro across the road, carrying their MP5 submachine guns tight against their chests ensured the peace.

"You know," Will said quietly, "when I left here you would never have seen that."

"Seen what?" Lisa asked, craning her neck around to follow what Will was staring at.

"Guns in England," Will said nodding to the policemen as they marched silently past. "At least never so openly."

"Your cops don't carry guns?" Lisa asked incredulously.

"Not usually," Will replied with a long sigh, shaking his head sadly. "But the world's changed a lot since I left home."

"Do you ever feel like coming back?" Lisa asked, checking her watch to work out when the Embassy car would arrive, murmuring to herself that had Will been a Hollywood star the car would have been there waiting for them.

Will stood upright and shook his head, putting his glasses back on and re-tucking his shirt. "No, not really. I miss it, sure, but there's nothing here for me now. My life's in Canada."

"That's the car," Lisa said as the black Lincoln Towncar slipped to a halt beside them, the driver getting out to hold the door open for them.

"Minister," the driver intoned as he stood patiently with the door open.

Will glanced back at the Terminal, and Lisa shook her head. "I'll get him," she said, her tone indicating that she was a little fed up with Brody's constant one-track mind.

Will chuckled at her as he climbed into the car and settled in to wait patiently, his elbow sitting on the door rest. He'd just lost five hours, it was close to evening in England, and he was expected for dinner. He was going to have trouble sleeping and a devil of a time waking up the next morning from the jet lag, but he didn't expect to be there more than a couple of days.

Just enough time to shake a few hands and say a few words about his father.

* * *

"Look, Will," the Ambassador said shifting in the comfortable chair in the private sitting room, fiddling with the bow tie that he was wearing on the formal tuxedo, "I don't wish to alarm you..."

Will looked up from the cup of coffee he was staring into, his eyes meeting the concerned look from the Ambassador. "What?" he asked distractedly.

"I was saying," the Ambassador's moustache twitched from side to side as he spoke, "that I don't wish to alarm you, but the Brits want to place a security detail to ensure your safety." The Ambassador was a warm and kindly old man Will had liked immediately upon meeting, more like a grandfather in demeanour, easy to talk to, and Will was glad that they had a chance to do so before everyone sat down for the formal embassy dinner.

"My safety?" Will asked in surprise, uncurling his leg and sitting up straight, slipping his glasses off to flash a puzzled look over at the Ambassador.

"There's a very strong anti-war movement in England right now. Protestors that would see your visit here, the impending vote to join the war and who your father was, as indications that you are pro-war."

"That's ludicrous," Will said shaking his head and setting his mug down. "Hasn't anyone told them that I'm voting against the war?"

"There are factions that would use this unveiling as a chance to... humiliate the British government. And so the Brits would rather not take a risk with the safety of a visiting foreign dignitary." The Ambassador looked apologetic, "It's just a couple of British policemen in plain clothes keeping an eye on things and stepping in should you need them."

"So they're going to follow me everywhere?" Will asked thinking about his impending visit with his sister and his grandmother, and how difficult that would be with a couple of policemen in tow.

"I consulted with the Prime Minister's office and they agree, it's in your best interest..." the Ambassador pressed apologetically.

Will nodded. "It's all right," he reassured, "I'm just not used to all this attention..."

"The country's making a big deal out of this," the Ambassador explained. "There are going to be a few politicians hoping to win you over to the cause in time for Monday's vote. Not to mention the press deluging you with questions."

"I know," Will crossed his legs again and sat back in the large Edwardian chair, "I have a meeting with the Foreign Secretary tomorrow..."

"Don't be surprised if the old man himself takes a moment to see you." The Ambassador warned, "They want Canada's support, and have so since they started this war... they think it will add some credibility to the stabilizing effort..."

"Canada's peacekeepers," Will said with a nod. "We go in, the United Nations will probably follow suit."

"Exactly," the Ambassador said. "Don't be surprised, but this whole memorial is an opportunity for them to lobby the Canadian government to join the war."

"I know," Will said with a slight shrug. "It's still my father, and if I didn't come it would have sent the wrong message to our veterans back home. Dishonouring the sacrifice and all that..."

"Well," the Ambassador slapped his thighs as he stood up, buttoning up his tuxedo jacket, "shall we? Dinner should be ready in a few minutes, and I still have to introduce you to my wife..."

"Thank you," Will said, standing up as well, turning to follow the Ambassador through the residence.