Carter's Recourse - 42. Chapter 42

It seemed somehow fitting that the skies were dark and oppressive that morning; a rumble of thunder crackled through the murky darkness, as the rain hammered relentlessly on the city, pouring off of the old clock and running in rivulets off of the gargoyles that chased away the evil spirits from the building.

He had his alliances, but they weren't enough, not without Carter. He was one vote shy, and though it meant he would retain power, he would do so at Bob Hesston's whim, the Conservative-Bloc Alliance that would bring his government to its knees now they knew they had power.

He rubbed his forehead, wondering if there was anything he could do to stop it? He'd had no choice but to call the vote. And he would have no choice but to abide by what happened there that day...

The Air Force general marched through the doors to the Prime Minister's office; Prime Minister Thorpe's aide looked up from his papers and dockets, a worried look on his brow. The only time he saw General Labelle was in times of crisis.

"Sir," the general inclined his head, "I have a British C-130 Hercules off the coast of Newfoundland ..."

"Yes?" Thorpe asked cautiously.

"Sir, they're claiming they have Minister Carter aboard and are requesting permission to enter our airspace."

"Oh, thank god..." Thorpe let out a deep sigh, his eyes skipping to the clock on his wall, mentally working out how long it would take for the flight to arrive in Ottawa--it was cutting it within a hair's breadth of the vote.

"Shall I give them permission...sir?" the general pressed uncertainly.

"Yes," Thorpe nodded. "And arrange for a police escort for him from the airport to Parliament." The Prime Minster stood and straightened his jacket. "Do they know if he's hurt?"

"The plane crew reports that he is injured but he insists that he is fine. He was requesting that a young Mister Lawrence be allowed to bring a suit to him once he lands..."

"Yes, make it so." The Prime Minister returned a tight smile to his lips as he strode out of his office, calling for a couple of his aides to alert the other members of the Cabinet. For a day that had started out so bleak, it was suddenly looking very bright. If his alliances held true, they might stand a chance to stopping the war vote.

* * *

Sir Nigel's hand clenched around the telephone receiver. "He's where?" he bit out a snarl.

"Sir, he's on one of our C-130's about to enter Canadian airspace..." The agent on the other end of the line sounded terrified.

"Order it back at once!" Sir Nigel swore inwardly, why was he surrounded by such incompetence; the second they realized they hadn't recovered the minister they should have checked the airfield, it would have been the first place he should have looked.

"We can't order it back, sir, it doesn't have the fuel..." The agent sounded helpless, "Sir, we can't get them back..."

"Order it to fly to the United States, then..." Sir Nigel realized he sounded desperate, and he calmed himself; the US wouldn't allow it entry, and the Canadians probably already knew the Minister was aboard. No, it was over and he knew it. "Let it go," he commanded, falling heavily into his chair, cursing as he hung up the phone, tapping the receiver against his forehead trying to think.

He reached out and tried their last option...

* * *

"...and now you decide to consult me," Johnson's voice sounded cold as he cut Sir Nigel off from finishing his sentence. "If you had just stayed with the original plan instead of imp..." Johnson controlled his temper, knowing it would be counterproductive.

He turned and looked across the floor to where the CSIS puppy was sitting, watching him with those eyes, taunting him. Knowing that Johnson was no longer in control, that his time was...

Johnson smiled and lifted the phone to his ear again, "I'll ensure that Carter doesn't vote, just trust me." He closed the phone with a sharp snap and walked across the floor to kneel down beside Highmore.

"Your...friend..." he sneered out the word throwing the right amount of innuendo behind it, "seems to be quite insistent about voting today. You are going to help me change his mind..." Johnson's hand cupped Highmore's chin, "aren't you."

Highmore met his eyes, and smiled. "You took on the wrong man," he said calmly. "Every time you hit him, he just gets back up and keeps coming..."

* * *

Marc waited nervously in the small cafeteria overlooking the airfield where he had been told to wait. He hadn't been able to find Andrew. But what with the rush and bustle from being told where he was supposed to meet Will, and the resulting chaos from being told to drive to Trenton a couple of hours southwest of Ottawa, he didn't think too much about it.

He paced nervously fiddling with one of the suits, one of Will's favourites; he'd tried to be discerning as he had rifled through Will's wardrobe, but instead had just grabbed a couple in the hopes of getting the right one.

"Couldn't we just use a helicopter?" a military aide suggested, following an Air Force colonel into the cafeteria.

"We have none available, they're all on that SAR training operation; the time it would take to get one in from Petawawa for this... it'd be faster for the Minister to just drive." The colonel inclined his head to Marc. "Mister Lawrence?" he asked carefully. "The plane will be landing shortly," he said, his voice warm with understanding.

Marc tipped the brim of his ball cap. "Thanks," he smiled, turning as the huge plane roared overhead, adjusting its course to come in for a landing, the huge wheels touching down on the tarmac as it bounced and rolled, the plane's flaps extending as it braked and came to a halt, the military already moving out to secure the plane as per their orders.

Marc swallowed his emotion as he accompanied the colonel out into the rain, the two of them walking over to the plane as its back ramp descended, the all too familiar, battered and bloodied minister walked down the ramp. There was a set of determination in his eyes as he took off the crazy ball cap he'd been wearing and looked right at the colonel.

"I need to get to Ottawa," he said firmly.

The colonel nodded. "We have a police escort for you; two hours tops and you'll be there."

"Nothing faster?" Will inquired, pausing a moment to smile at Marc, a warmth in his eyes that flashed for a moment before it was replaced again by his sense of duty.

The colonel shook his head. "Everything faster is out on operation, we're stretched a bit thin..."

"That's all right." Will glanced at his watch mentally doing the math as they crossed the airfield towards the buildings and the cars. "If we don't stop..."

"I wouldn't worry about that," the colonel reassured. "You'd be surprised how fast people get out of the way when they have a military motorcade barrelling down on them."

Marc extended the two suits, Will glancing at them and selecting one. "I'll change in the car." He nodded again to the colonel as the cars pulled up, the police cruisers already purring in the rain.

Marc looked back towards the Jeep and at Will. "Should I drive the Jeep back?"

Will nodded, looking thoughtful as he took off his jacket, his hand brushing West's Browning--in the rush of the hurried flight from England, he'd forgotten he was carrying it. He glanced about and slipped it into the folds of the coat, not wanting to lose it, as he wrapped the jacket around it and passed it to Marc.

"Can you take that?" he asked as a soldier pulled open the car door for him.

Marc nodded, opening his mouth to say something, but Will was already getting into the car, and Marc's mouth closed again as he hurried to get into the Jeep, tossing the windbreaker and the other suit onto the passenger seat, nearly jumping at the loud thud as the gun dropped from the coat onto the floor.

He stared at it a moment, and up at Will's car that was already beginning to pull out. Marc shrugged and climbed in, setting off to follow as best he could. Trying to ignore the weapon laying beside him.

* * *

"We should cut our losses," the newcomer insisted quietly, leaning in towards Johnson's ear. "The police are probably swarming all over him by now, not to mention..." the newcomer nodding meaningfully towards the CSIS agent.

"We wouldn't get a hundred yards from the building," Johnson said calmly. "We have one shot at this, and if we're lucky..."

"You're banking our lives on luck?" The newcomer sounded incredulous.

"Luck's all we have right now," Johnson said folding his arms and turning Highmore's cell phone over and over in his hands. "And it's too late for cold feet."

* * *

Andrew looked up at Yani, his eye brow lifting slightly. "Your boss is scared," he said evenly.

Yani looked up from his computers. "What?" He blinked and followed Andrew's gaze over to Johnson.

"He's scared, he's lost and he knows it, the question is..." and Andrew focused his eyes on Yani, "do you want to go down with him?"

Yani shook his head, ignoring Andrew as he went back to work, but again Andrew caught the hesitation in the young CIA agent's eyes.

* * *

Will winced as he slid the shirt over his injured arm; the wound wasn't closing properly, he needed a doctor and soon. He did the best he could, knowing that it would reopen if he moved too swiftly, and the last thing he needed was to bleed all over the floor of the House of Commons.

He tried to pull on the jacket, but the motion was too much for him in the cramped back of the car and he settled for just his waist coat. He painfully tied his tie with one hand, glancing back out of the window towards the black Jeep a few cars back in the motorcade breezing along the highway, racing to get him to where he needed to be.

He should have stopped, taken a moment to say something to Marc, to remind him how much he cared, and Will regretted not doing so. After all they had been through, he couldn't figure it out. Marc was...

Will sat back in his seat, pulling the pocket watch from the pocket of his discarded jeans, attaching it as he slipped it into his waistcoat, wondering where Andrew was. Yet more regrets, all for the sake of his duty. He was railroading everyone and everything he loved all because he was so focused on doing what he felt was the right thing, no matter the consequences...

* * *

Will's cell phone rang.

The phone, sitting again on the dash lit up and warbled for attention, as Marc scrambled a hand for it, pulling it up to check the caller ID and starting when he saw it was from Andrew. He took a long sigh, knowing that Will wanted to talk to him, and answered the phone.

"Yes, hello?" he said over the roar of the engine.

"Minister Carter," the voice on the other end of the phone said, pressing on without confirmation. "I know you are back in the country, and I know that you are surrounded by police officers."

Marc blinked. "What?" he intoned.

"If you talk to any of them I will kill Andrew Highmore." The voice was cold and firm.

"But..." Marc stammered, switching hands on the wheel, looking about him at all the other cars, knowing that at their speed he was isolated and cut off.

"I am quite serious, Mister Carter; if you get the police, or CSIS involved in this, I will kill Mister Highmore, do you understand?"

"But..." Marc began again, trying to interrupt.

"Do you understand, Mister Carter!" the voice all but yelled.

"Y-yes..." Marc said, beginning to sweat, looking desperately towards the car that was carrying Will.

"Very well, Mister Carter, here is what you do. At exactly 3:45 pm today you will be standing in the lobby of my building with this cell phone. If you are not there I will..."

"Shoot Highmore, I get it," Marc said, blinking down at the clock; there was no way he was going to be able to get a message to Will before they arrived at Parliament, and by then it would be too late.

"No police, Mister Carter, am I clear on this?" the voice insisted.

"Y-yes," Marc nodded, switching hands again and swallowing.

"Three forty-five this afternoon, then," the voice snarled menacingly as the phone shut off.

Marc leaned back in his seat; he needed to speak to Will, and he needed to do it soon.

* * *

"What makes you so sure he will be here?" the newcomer asked looking at his watch, and down towards the street.

"Because," Johnson said, turning to look at his colleague, "we've given him no real choice. I want you to take O'Neil down to the lobby. Let me know when he arrives."

The newcomer nodded, and gestured for the ex-marine to follow him as they headed for the bank of elevators. Johnson was riding it all on a pretty big gamble, and he knew it. Carter had to get away from a police escort and arrive there without any questions being asked.

A tall order, but one thing Johnson was coming to learn was to never underestimate Will Carter's resourcefulness. If he could elude MI-6 he should be able to escape from the RCMP.

* * *

He stepped to the curb, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves as he looked up at the imposing building, squinting through the rain towards the lights glimmering inside the steel and glass construct. He shot his cuffs, and adjusted his tie swallowing and hoping to god that he was there on time.

Andrew's life was depending on him doing everything the stranger on the phone demanded, and sometimes things were more important than others.

It had taken a bit of skill to slip the motorcade, but their attention had been elsewhere, and as far as they were concerned he was still smack dab in their midst.

He swallowed and walked through the front doors of the building keeping his head low as he crossed to the desk and in a flawlessly clipped English accent, stated, "I'm Mister Carter, I have an appointment..."

* * *

"He's here," the newcomer reported, leaning a little so that he could see out of the stairwell, clearly hearing Carter addressing the security guard on duty.

* * *

Johnson breathed a sigh of relief looking over at Highmore with a wolfish smile. "Good. I'll have him brought up. Have O'Neill follow him in the second car, I don't want to attract the guards attention; I want you to keep an eye on the front door in case the police arrive."

"Understood," the newcomer reported dutifully as he clicked off.

Johnson dialled the phone again. "Carter," he said firmly, "go to the second elevator and get in, press the twenty-third floor."

"All right," came the quiet reply, resigned, the sound of a beaten man. Johnson laughed inwardly with relief as he set Highmore's phone down on the edge of the desk, walking forward to wait patiently for O'Neill to bring him his new guest.

Behind him, the Peace Tower chimed the hour of the vote, and Johnson nodded; no matter what, his mission was a success now. Carter had missed his vote. They'd won.

* * *

The elevator doors slid open and he stepped out, taking a deep steadying breath as he again nervously adjusted his tie. Looking about him for where he was supposed to go next, behind him, one of the elevators dinged and a large man stepped out onto the floor.

The hulking ex-marine spotted the man in the suit, stepping forward to take him, his satisfied smile freezing on his face as Marc turned, the Browning pistol in his hand, discharging once.

* * *

The Honourable William Carter walked out onto the floor of the House of Commons to the stunned expressions from both sides of the floor. He swayed a little, straightening up, aware of the bloodstain spreading across his right arm soaking his white shirt. He ignored it; the delicate chimes of the voting bell resounded calling the members of Parliament to their seats.

He walked down the double row of MP's, ignoring the gasps of one or two of the members, as a couple of his own party stood to offer him a hand. Yet he waved them off, adamant that he was going to walk to his seat under his own power, nodding to Thorpe as he came to the seat alongside him.

"How do we look?" Will asked taking a moment before he sat down.

Thorpe looked up towards the Speaker of the House before he looked back at Will. "We look ok, you on the other hand..." he gestured to the now red sleeve of Will's shirt.

Will shook his head. "After we stop them," he said, turning to look right at Bob Hesston who was staring in abject shock at Will standing across from him.

"It seems," Thorpe murmured, "that he must be thinking you clawed your way out of the very depths of hell just to beat him today."

"I did." Will replied simply sitting down dizzily, hoping that he could hold out for the vote.