Carter's Recourse - 41. Chapter 41

Marc rested his head against the metal railing of the fire escape. Their house was overrun by police all waiting for the telephone to ring, to get some clue or hint of where the missing Minister was.

It was some ridiculous hour in the morning; Marc was on his second pack of cigarettes. Chain-smoking wasn't going to help Will, but Marc didn't know what else he could do. He shifted his gaze down to the alleyway where he'd parked Will's Jeep, a light smattering of rain beginning, and he frowned at the faint blue glow coming from the dashboard.

What was that?

He squinted again, glancing behind him at the RCMP officers busying themselves in the apartment, Blake sitting on his hands trying to look composed despite the fact that he was inundated by police officers.

Marc looked back down at the blue glow again, and quickly climbed down the fire escape, the cold iron slick beneath his hands from the rain, and he nearly slipped. He caught himself and uttered a small curse--when did he turn into such a wuss?

He dropped to the pavement, his docs splashing in a puddle as the rain began to stream off of the brim of his ball cap and soaked through the cheap bowling shirt he was wearing. He shrugged it off, dashing the short distance to the Jeep, wrestling the keys out of his jeans and fumbling open the old door.

Will's cell phone rang again, its face panel lighting up a bright blue as it did so. Marc stepped onto the running board to scramble for it; he hated being short. He flipped it open and stuck it against his ear.

"Hello, Marc?" The sound of Will's voice flooded him with relief, and Marc closed his eyes, curling down over the front seat.

"Will," he murmured, his voice almost overcome by emotion.

"Hey," Will said. He sounded tired, but he still wanted to reassure the man he loved that it was okay, "I'm all right."

"Where are you?" Marc pressed, looking back up towards the apartment, and slipping into the Jeep's front seat, closing the door on the rain. "Everyone's looking for you over here, there are police in our apartment..."

"I know; you can't tell them you heard from me," Will said, covering the phone and murmuring something off the line, before coming back. "I can't tell you where I am yet, just that I'm okay and I need a favour from you."

"Anything," Marc said firmly, chewing his lip; there was so much he wanted to say to Will, but he knew that it wasn't the time.

"I need you to go to my place and pick up a suit for me--tie, the works," Will said. "I'm going to... need a new one for tomorrow." Will paused. "Here's the tough one, Marc..."

Marc swallowed and nodded, "What?"

"I need you to find Andrew," Will said, his voice sounding guarded about asking that of Marc.

Marc took a deep breath. "Where do I find him?" he said without hesitation, knowing that no matter what, Andrew would be able to help Will, probably better than he could.

He tugged a pen and a notebook out of his school bag, and jotted down the address Will reeled off to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Will said after Marc read the address back to him.

Marc again felt the wave of relief. "It's okay," he said leaning back damply in the seat, "I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'll be home soon," Will said firmly, his usual confidence seeping into his voice. "I'll call you before I get there, make sure you know where to meet me."

* * *

Yani looked up and pulled his headphones off of his head, licking his lips nervously as he craned his head around trying to find Johnson. He took a deep breath as he got up from behind his desk and took a couple of steps to get a better angle through the construction materials.

He chewed his lip again and looked down at Andrew, whose shoulders sagged, half asleep in the uncomfortable chair. And Yani glanced around again for Johnson.

"He's alive," Yani murmured, watching as Andrew's eyes shot open and locked on him.

Yani sighed and glanced around again. "He's alive and he's okay."

Andrew nodded. "Thank you," he murmured in a low tone.

Yani nodded. "I just..." he gave up and walked away to find Johnson.

He missed Andrew's small smile of relief as he turned in his chair to look out of the window. Will was alive and staying one step ahead. Andrew just hoped Will could keep it up, and he prayed that no matter what, Will would do the right thing.

* * *

"I look like a Chav," Will murmured, adjusting the jeans and the Nautica windbreaker he was wearing.

"What's a Chav?" West asked as he pulled on the training pants and set about doing up the fasteners that ran up the legs.

"We are," Will said with a nod to the mirror, wondering at how young he looked in the get-up, pulling the ball cap on, and adjusting the visor low so that it cast his eyes in shadows. "It's kind... well, it's a style... if you can call it that."

"Right," West said, hauling on the hooded sweatshirt looking quite at ease with what he was wearing. "So what's the plan from here?"

Templeman looked up from his phone where he was firing off some rapid text messages under Brody's watchful eye. "We need to get you out of the country and on a plane to Canada."

"So how do we do that with all the airports being watched?" Will asked.

"Well, we could stick you in a box and mail you..." Brody suggested with a light grin.

"I'll mail you in a minute..." Will threatened, smiling nonetheless.

"Well, ordinarily," Templeman said, "we'd find a way to get you into France or Ireland and get you on a plane that way. But Sir Nigel's going to be prepared for those options, and we don't have time to find a boat and get you there anyway, not if you have to make this vote of yours."

"The war vote," Will explained at long last. "Without me, the vote will pass and we'll go to war."

"The Americans." Templeman shook his head angrily as he settled into his seat, "This explains why MI-6 is doing this alone. No, we need another way; perhaps if we chartered a plane?"

"With what?" Will inquired. "I have maybe two hundred pounds on me, and my credit cards, if we use one of them..."

"They'd be down on top of us in a second," Templeman agreed.

"Right, so I'm screwed," Will murmured, sitting back down on the edge of the bunk, craving a real cup of coffee. "What about..."

"RAF Lyneham," West said, turning. "A military transport; I mean, they won't be watching the transport field, right? And it sends how many planes to Iraq and back?"

"Iraq?" Will murmured, blinking.

"Well not Iraq directly, but if we can redirect one of the flights," West suggested, chewing his lip.

"You're proposing we... misappropriate a C-130 Hercules?" Templeman asked with a smirk. "Now that would be fun."

"Is everyone around me insane?" Will muttered for the umpteenth time. "How are we going to redirect a military transport plane to fly me to Canada?"

"With orders," Templeman said, plugging away at his cell. "We should get moving," he observed, getting up and heading for the door, "if we're to make it to Wiltshire."

Brody extended his hands and caught the keys that Templeman tossed to him, heading off to fetch the car while West searched through his uniform coat, fishing out some papers.

"What are they?" Will asked nodding to them.

"My last ace," West smiled, folding the papers again and tucking them into his pocket and zipping them up. He looked down at the Browning and picked it up considering a moment. The training pants he was wearing weren't strong enough to hold it in place; if he tucked it into the waistband he'd run the risk of losing it completely.

He held the gun out to Will. "Can you carry this for me?" he asked.

Will nodded as he slipped the weapon into the small of his back, adjusting the Nautica windbreaker to cover it. He took a long sigh as he started down into the trailer park, pausing a moment to look at his grandfather gratefully.

"Thanks," he said, extending his good hand.

Ernie nodded gruffly; never a man to show that kind of emotion he made no move to accept the hand. Some things didn't need to be expressed, they were family and that meant something far more than a simple gesture could convey.

Will let his hand drop and nodded, looking towards the car, and up towards the evening sky before settling back on his grandfather. "I should visit more often," he remarked dryly.

Ernie snorted, "There are some places you shouldn't come back to. Once you get a chance like you have, you should take it and run as far from all this as you can..."

"Like my mother did?" Will asked, broaching a subject neither of the men had wanted to touch on before then.

Ernie nodded. "She's happy..." he offered, knowing that it wouldn't satisfy Will's curiosity about the woman that had given birth to him and left all those years before.

"She needed to escape," Will shrugged. "Knowing my father, I can understand it..."

"She couldn't escape the one thing she needed to, though," Ernie replied thoughtfully as the pair of them walked towards the car, the old man holding the door open for his grandson.

"Herself." Will nodded. "Tell her..." he took a long, deep breath, "... tell her I'm happy," he replied.

"She knows." Ernie closed the door as Will settled back into the seat, his fingers resting against his temple as he lost himself in his thoughts.

* * *

West watched Will closely on that drive across the country to Wiltshire through the dead of night. There was a quiet contemplation on Will's face as he stared out of the window, his eyes unfocused, thinking through what was to come. His father had stared like that, contemplating a coming battle, working through what had to be done, sharing concern for his men.

"... I'm sorry..." West remembered those words, whispered in the oppressive heat of the night in Basra, crowded into a small hovel with the old man who had saved his life on the verge of surrendering his own.

"Stay with me..." the desperate plea from a young boy substituted for another in that old man's eyes.

What could have been--West knew it, had seen it that night. The realization from the old colonel as his blood stained the youth's uniform that it could have been his son there. That it could have been Will lost fighting another man's war, fulfilling an age-old hatred in an effort to secure oil.

It could have been Will cradling his father's head, watching the old man die a completely pointless death.

West shook his head to snap himself out of his memories. It didn't matter that Will had chosen another path. That he had decided not to don a uniform. The war still touched him, still reached out to clutch at him, to hold him fast in a death grip.

Will was watching him.

Those intelligent hazel eyes seemed to search his soul in that moment focused and sharp, as if they knew exactly what West was thinking. He had come to learn that Will was a man gifted with great insight into people; it was the same talent that had made his father a good officer, and what made Will such a good politician. That capacity to make it seem that he was listening, even though nothing was being said.

It didn't need to be. Will knew that West would do whatever it took to defend him, that he would do his duty as a soldier--the look in his eyes at that moment conveyed that to him. And West smiled at the reassurance that he had Will's faith.

"So what's the plan?" Will asked leaning forward in his seat.

Brody, who was driving following the directions Templeman was giving from the front passenger seat, shrugged. "I'm still all for mailing your ass," he joked, looking across at Templeman, "but I think he has a plan."

"I'm arranging a set of flight orders," Templeman explained. "Now, depending on how carefully Sir Nigel is monitoring my department he may be able to intercept us before we can get the Minister onto that plane..."

"So you need a distraction?" West inquired thoughtfully. He chewed his lip and nodded. "They just need to think they're chasing me and the Minister, right?"

Templeman nodded. "I can get the Minister to the plane and on his way if you can distract them."

"That makes me the decoy?" Brody asked, glancing back at Will and shaking his head.

Will smirked, "Hey, so you get to pretend to be a productive, respectable member of society for a change..."

"You're a politician," Brody reminded flatly.

"Right... so you get to pretend you have great hair," Will shrugged.

Brody's eyes narrowed at the quip, returning his attention to the road, searching for the exit they needed.

"They'll be watching the gate." Templeman stroked his chin as the car entered the small town, pulling closer to their destination. "Knowing Sir Nigel, he'll want to keep this in-house, so he probably won't alert the base that there's anything going on unless he really has to."

"I should drive then," West said tapping the back of the front seat, waiting as Brody pulled into a pub parking lot and they all climbed out of the car.

Will squinted up the road in the direction of the base, the rain tapping gently on the cap he was wearing. Knowing he stood out like a sore thumb next to the sedan dressed the way he was.

"We'll walk, if you're up to it?" Templeman asked, folding his arms and studying the road carefully.

Will nodded, tucking his hands into the windbreaker and turning to his two friends. "Thank you," he said evenly.

West nodded, "I'll get you the time you need to get on that flight."

Brody shrugged simply. "You owe me another one, I'll add it to your tab."

Will smiled tightly, bowing his head a moment, trying to think if there was anything he could say that would sum up his appreciation for what they were willing to do for him. He just gave them both a stiff nod and set off with Templeman towards the base.

West watched him a second before climbing behind the wheel of the car and looking over at Brody, who had buckled himself in tightly. "Ready?" he asked.

"Hell yeah," Brody up-nodded.

West smiled and started the car, driving it up towards the gates to the base.

Exactly as Templeman had predicted, a nondescript car was sitting a little ways back, a couple of bored-looking intelligence officers sitting inside making small talk. West looked over at Brody again, who had ducked low in his seat and turned his head so they wouldn't be able to make out who he was, as West slowed down a little to roll right past them.

The first intelligence agent looked up at the car rolling past him, and West staring straight at him as he gunned the car engine and took off in a squeal of tires. The officers scrambled into action as their car started up and began to follow.

* * *

"Hook, line and sinker," Templeman remarked, the two of them watching as the two cars shot off up the road, West weaving the large black sedan expertly through the traffic, getting ready to lead them on a merry chase.

Templeman looked both ways as they crossed and walked up towards the gates of the base, the confused-looking sentry watching a man in a business suit and a Burberry Chav heading towards him as he signalled to a couple of the other guards to stand ready.

Templeman fished through his pocket and pulled out his identification, showing it to the sentry and fixing a steely look upon the man. "You will let us through and forget you ever saw this," he instructed firmly.

"I'll...I'll have to confirm with the Group Captain," the sentry murmured, his eyes locked on the MI-5 ID.

"While you're at it you can have one of your men warm up that Rover to run us to the airfield," Templeman instructed, pointing.

The sentry gestured to a man who complied while he walked back to the sentry hut, leaning over his desk as he spoke hurriedly into his phone. Will glanced nervously towards the road which the two cars had shot down; if the operatives failed to take the bait, or clued in to the diversion...

"You're cleared," the sentry said, turning.

* * *

West slammed the hand brake and pulled up to the front doors of the police station. "Inside," he instructed, jumping out of the car, their pursuers a few moments behind as they squealed their brakes a few feet away.

Brody cleared the doors first, West a step behind, the two men coming face to face with a surprised desk sergeant who watched as the MI-6 operatives stormed through the doors a second or two later.

West took a deep breath and turned to them, a smile on his face. "Good morning," he said, resting an arm on the desk.

"Arrest that man," the first officer instructed, pulling out his ID and displaying it for the surprised sergeant who was beginning to recover his wits.

"On what charge?" West demanded.

"Kidnapping!" the officer demanded.

"Who?" West smirked, holding onto a scrap of paper he had tugged from his pocket.

"The Canadian Minister..." The MI-6 operative hesitated realizing for the first time that Brody wasn't the Minister.

Brody shook his head. "But the Minister isn't missing." He smiled fully.

"He's a soldier," the other MI-6 agent demanded pointing to West. "He's absent without leave..."

"Really?" West asked again, pouring on the charm and holding up the final piece of paper Major Wessex had signed for him at Catterick. "Because I have my furlough papers right here that say I am not due back for another two days..."

* * *

The heavy military transport jostled him as it bucked its way airborne, winging around and heading out towards the Atlantic Ocean. Templeman's orders had been very specific for the plane--it was to fly non-stop to CFB Trenton maintaining radio silence until it was about to enter Canadian airspace.

What was to happen then was up to Will's ability to talk. He jostled in the narrow bucket seat feeling the air turbulence, the grim-faced British airman across from him keeping a close eye on their precious cargo, recognizing who he was from the papers.

Will offered a weak smile, and a nod. Good officers didn't question when they were given orders, and Will was glad for that. With a little luck he'd make it. He checked his watch, knowing that he only had mere hours until the vote was to take place; he was cutting it close, very close.