Carter's Recourse - 12. Chapter 12

Robert Hesston swept through the halls with grim determination to his strides. His coat billowed out behind him as he marched, behind him a group of his most loyal parliamentarians followed in his wake.

It was a night of revolution, of that there was no doubt; the sharks could smell blood in the water and they would not be content until they tasted it. He had spent the day in meetings, sweeping first through the Bloc Quebecois camp easily rallying the support of the Canadian separatists; they always took any chance they had to embarrass the federal government.

Their leader was a shrewd politician who took considerable delight in the fact that the Conservative leader had come to him to ask his help. Hesston knew it was akin to getting into bed with the devil, the liberals would tout their new alliance in the upcoming election. But Hesston knew he could put distance between his party and the Bloc when the time came, the Liberals would have a harder time trying to shake the odour of scandal that would follow them everywhere.

That squarely added the Bloc's seats to his own and gave him the support of almost half of the three hundred and eight seats. A powerful voting block, but not enough; he needed the support of the New Democrats to guarantee an election. He was gambling, but if he could get that support he would be able to deal the Liberal government a humiliating blow and force them to the polls. It would give him a foothold for a real bid at the office of Prime Minister, and more importantly a tremendous victory for the conservative vote.

He licked his lips, continuing to march. One of his strategists hurried to keep up with him, flipping through poll results, smiling grimly, "We have enough seats to shut down the government; if we can force them into a situation where they call the confidence vote we can ride the moral high ground into the resulting election."

Hesston nodded his head, his eyes still focused ahead. "Prove to the voters who really runs the country by putting forward motions to suspend the house until the Liberals call the confidence vote," Hesston said, his eyes narrowing. "We can get the Bloc to agree to that."

"Shall I inform the whip?" the strategist asked as they exited the center block and headed towards the parliamentary offices in the center block.

"Do it," Hesston nodded. "The sooner we get this in motion, the sooner we can restore accountability to the government."

* * *

Across town, a police officer got out of his cruiser to investigate a car that had been sitting in a parking lot for over twenty-four hours. He shone his flashlight over the seats, admiring for a second the new-model BMW. It looked sleek and important, and he wondered if he would ever drive one on his salary.

He sighed and pulled out his notebook taking down the license plate number and returning to the cruiser to call it in. He sat beside his onboard console, waiting for it to return the information he had requested, and was a little surprised at the name that flashed up.

He picked up his radio, "Dispatch, this is unit nineteen, what do you want me to do about this car?"

There was a pause before the radio crackled back, "Hang on, nineteen, we're going to give the MP a call."

* * *

Will must have fallen asleep; he sat up in his bed and stared at the cell phone warbling for attention on the nightstand. He had only come upstairs to clear his head, and had fallen asleep on top of the bed still fully clothed.

He reached out, slipping on his glasses as he picked up the phone. "Yes?" he answered drowsily, pushing his hair back from his eyes; it was getting long again...

"Mister Carter, this is the Ottawa Police Department."

Will felt his heart sink; he stood up shakily. "Go ahead," he said after a pause.

"Yes, Mister Carter; your car has been found on Queen Street here in Ottawa. Apparently it's been there all day and..." the woman sounded a little uneasy, "well sir, we normally ticket and tow, but since it's... well, your car, sir, our staff sergeant suggested we notify you."

Will frowned, scrubbing a hand through his rebellious hair as he tried to think; his car had turned up where? "I... I lent my car to a friend."

"Well, sir," the female officer said, "there was no sign of activity around the vehicle and it is parked in the heart of downtown."

"I... I understand," Will said, opening his door and walking down the stairs. Lisa was watching the news and Andrew was working away on his laptop in Will's study. He caught sight of Will first, and stood up at Will's look of concern.

"What would you like us to do with the car, Mister Carter?" the female officer pressed.

"I... I'll send someone to come and get it," he said collecting his thoughts. He covered the phone and looked over at Andrew. "They just found my car," he explained to them both.

"Found?" Lisa inquired, getting up herself. "What do you mean, found?"

Will uncovered the phone. "Thank you officer, I'll sort it out," he said confidently before he hung up the phone and looked into Lisa's worried eyes as he dialed Mrs. McCormick's again.

* * *

The Prime Minister sat at his desk staring at the piece of paper sitting in front of him. He carefully interlaced his fingers as he set his hands down upon the paper and stared blankly at the wood-paneled wall. Thirty years of politics, thirty years of backroom deals, of climbing the ladder, of being everything a politician was supposed to be and it was about to end with a simple pen stroke.

He was the kind of man who looked like a Prime Minister, the kind of man who was intelligent, dignified, refined. Everything a Canadian politician was supposed to be. He had cultivated his alliances, negotiated his way to the top of the party, had managed unseated the previous Prime Minister by forcing him into an early retirement. Their political egos had clashed and culminated in the Prime Minister securing the reins of power in time for the last election. But after eighteen years in power the Liberal Party had gathered a lot of political baggage that was weighing it down.

The price of power had been tying himself politically to allies within the party. People that had backed his bid for the leadership and given him the push he needed. People that had been the foundation of his power. And while they did, indeed support him, it meant that if one of them toppled they had the potential of dragging him down with them.

The International Benevolent Fund was supposed to be his legacy. As the Canadian Bill of Rights was to Trudeau and the Peacekeepers were to Pearson. It had been a project he had entrusted to his closest ally; someone he could count on ensuring it would flourish.

Instead he had been stabbed in the back by one of his oldest friends. Sure the Foreign Secretary denied it, but in the world of politics it wasn't about the truth, it was the appearance of truth. And the evidence, whether real or not, was out in the public eye being scrutinized; the money was missing and the man implicated had a firm grip on the Prime Minister, firm enough to pull him down along with him.

The Prime Minister stared at the paper in front of him. Pierre Elliot Trudeau, another great man who had occupied that office had come to face his own resignation, 'the long walk in the snow,' a Canadian term used to describe the walk the man had taken just before he had made his own decision to call it a day.

The Prime Minister looked up and out of the windows over the lights of the city of Ottawa. He had a duty to protect the nation, and to protect the party. If he didn't resign, he risked the whole party sharing his fate. It was a matter of honour and he knew it.

He scooped up the pen and put it to paper.

And with that, his career was at an end. But at least he was leaving a small sliver of hope for his colleagues behind him.

* * *

Will was well beyond worried as he got ready for his second flight of the day; he was exhausted and the traveling didn't help his disposition. He felt as if he couldn't find a footing. Everything was chaos--his life, his career, his family. He didn't know when it would calm down, and he worried that it was just the beginning of more.

He loosened his tie as he grabbed a jacket and slipped it on, already out the door and heading down the steps to where the car was waiting.

"Will, wait," Andrew called out coming down after him. "You just can't go flying off..."

Will rounded on him looming forward as his eyes looked levelly at his old friend, "I have to. You know that better than anyone. Peter's missing and I have to find him." There was a desperate hitch to Will's voice, and Andrew knew it was taking everything Will had just to remain calm.

"You don't know that," Andrew said catching his shoulders. "You need to keep it together, you won't do him any good like this. Let the police handle it, go back inside and let's figure this out."

Will glanced down slowly at the hand gripping his shoulder, setting his jaw tightly as he ground his teeth, "By the time the police get off their asses and start looking it could be too late." He shivered at that thought, "And if I'd bothered to check when I woke up this morning..." He found his mind recoiling from that thought, knowing full well it was irrational guilt.

"Will," Andrew said, keeping his tone level and staring into Will's eyes, "Will, it's not your fault." He sounded desperate for Will to realize that, desperate enough to cause Will to pause, and stand there long enough to hear him out.

"We'll find him," Andrew insisted. "The police are out looking for him now, I promise. The best thing you can do is hold tight and put out an appeal for anyone that knows anything to come forward. Look, you're a politician; when you say someone's missing people damn well start looking."

Will stood silently, his eyes hardening. Peter was like a little brother to him, he wasn't about to just give up and let someone else find him. But he wasn't in a position to do anything more than stand back and let the police do their jobs. He felt his fists balling as he clenched his teeth bitterly.

He wasn't a young man any more, getting angry wouldn't accomplish anything, and he knew that responsibility wouldn't allow him to go charging off half-cocked firing off baseless accusations. He tilted his head, his eyes still hard as he questioned Andrew with a simple look, wondering if he would help him one more time.

Andrew still had his hand on Will's shoulder compassionately, keeping him close even though Will stood stiffly, staring up at the night sky, feeling his own emotional barriers beginning to break down. And Andrew wrapped an arm protectively around Will keeping him close as he turned to lead him back inside the house.

"Mister Carter!" called a TV reporter as the camera light shone on them. "There are rumors that the Prime Minister will resign over the Benevolent Fund scandal, can you confirm or deny..."

Andrew stared in abject shock at the jackal picking a moment of weakness to strike in the name of his career. He shook his head as he pushed the camera away and guided Will inside the house.

He had barely closed the door when the doorbell rang. He swore, contemplating getting his gun as he thrust the door open to yell at the reporters that they were trespassing. He blinked in surprise recognizing Will's aide, Alicia, in the company of West. Andrew recognized his former student immediately; there were some people that you simply didn't forget, and the young soldier in his British uniform was a welcome sight.

He stepped aside ushering them both inside as he glared down at the cameramen who were still filming on the offhand chance they caught something useful or newsworthy. They were wasting their time as Andrew slammed the door shut violently.

Will looked up from the couch where he sat, taking the time to think about what he could do. Trying to reason out some kind of workable plan. Lisa sat beside him on the couch, waiting to offer him a supportive shoulder in case he needed it. But Will wasn't someone who needed a shoulder to cry on. He was too much a man of action to surrender to that kind of emotion. He looked puzzled even though his face was still troubled by worry. He stood up, straightening his shirt.

"Captain Harding," he said. "You...you have to excuse me...we're having a crisis."

Alicia took one look at her boss. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Peter's missing," Andrew said in a low voice.

West swallowed. "Peter?" he asked quietly, shock seeping on to his face.

"Oh shit!" Alicia said, raising her hands to her mouth. "Is there anything I can do?"

Andrew shook his head, "Nothing until we know more." He pulled out his cell phone, "I'm going to make a few calls and see what I can come up with."

He walked through to Will's study and pushed the door closed as he dialed.

The Director-General picked up the phone on the second ring, "Highmore?"

"Yes," Andrew replied. "Look, something happened--a boy Carter is very close to is missing."

There was a pause on the line, "That wouldn't be Peter McCormick, would it?"

Andrew felt a knot tighten in his stomach, "Yes, why?"

"He's not the only one to go missing last night--Rebecca Hesston went missing after being picked up by a Peter McCormick." The Director-General paused, "Hesston was on that list of yours."

"Hesston, Carter and the former Foreign Secretary," Andrew confirmed, closing his eyes and letting his head sink. He'd failed; he'd been too intent on protecting Carter and hadn't considered the bigger picture.

"It can't be a coincidence," the Director-General replied. "There is still no evidence proving the crash was anything more than an accident, but all of these things happening at the same time..." he paused. "We're too late to stop it, whatever it is. But maybe we can minimize the damage by getting those kids back."

Andrew sat down on the edge of Will's desk heavily. "Shit," he said, echoing Alicia's sentiment.

"We're up to our necks in it," the Director-General replied. "I need some answers, Mister Highmore, not more questions."

"I know," Andrew replied, wondering where he was going to find any.

* * *

West stood frozen in shock, Peter, his Peter... He wanted answers, yet years of training made him bite his lip. He would be told what he needed to know. His place was to hold firm and... But this wasn't the army, this wasn't a battle he was about to charge into.

He looked over at Will, standing in front of the window, his hands knotted at his back as he worried quietly. Will's father had done the same thing on the eve of every patrol; West knew it didn't bode well when a Carter worried like that.

Peter, with his shy smile and blue eyes. Peter with his inoffensive, quiet demeanor. West bit his lip as he crossed to the window. "Sir?" he asked hesitantly.

Will's eyes flicked up to the reflection of the soldier in the pane of glass he was staring out of, and he realized he didn't hold a monopoly over the worry. Whether West still loved Peter or not, he still cared about him a great deal, and he knew even less than Will did.

The young politician turned slightly, speaking over his shoulder, explaining everything he knew, turning fully to look into West's eyes, gauging the young man carefully.

West swallowed as he glanced through to the study where Andrew was talking into his phone, looking back at Will after a moment. "Anything I can do to help..." he said quietly, firmly.

Will nodded, knowing West was sincere and he smiled tightly. "There's nothing we can do," he said, "except sit, wait and hope."

* * *

Robert Hesston walked along the final corridor; the Leader of the New Democrat Party was frustratingly absent from parliament. One of the most important nights in Canadian history and he was nowhere to be found. It frustrated the leader of the Official Opposition to no end.

If they didn't act soon they would lose their advantage, and Hesston needed to know he had the NDP support. He balled his fist and clubbed the wall.

"Damn!" he intoned, turning to his party faithful.

The aide ran down the corridor, waving a piece of paper, which he handed hurriedly to Hesston.

Hesston read it, his eyes tightening as he turned back on his heels and marched away. His cronies looked at each other in confusion as they hurried to catch up. One of them, bold enough to ask him where he was going, received the man's cold hard stare that caused him to back down.

Clutched into Hesston's hand was a message from the RCMP that listed Peter McCormick and his daughter as officially missing. All the political scheming in the world paled alongside the determination of a father whose daughter was missing. The Prime Minister could wait.