Carter's Recourse - 23. Chapter 23

Will awoke with a start, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings as he rubbed his eyes. He disengaged himself from Andrew's arms, getting up and stretching as he walked to the window and peered outside. Another beautiful summer day was dawning, the sun turning the sky a shade of burnt amber as it struggled to rise above the horizon.

Will stood there staring out at it, his eyes taking in the panorama as he held the net curtain back. It was a new day, Sunday morning. The day after yesterday when his perspective of the world had changed.

He let the curtain fall back and glanced down at Andrew asleep on the couch they had shared. He looked so peaceful, and Will was reminded of the young man that he had once been. Back when the biggest threat had been the pop quiz at the end of the week and what to wear to the next school dance.

He walked from the den, back towards the kitchen. He knew she would be there, stately and regal in her chair, greeting the first rays of the sun, cradling her cup of coffee in delicate hands. He hesitated, wondering if he should intrude upon her solitude.

She angled her head slightly to face the young man, and looked down towards the seat across from her at the table. A coffee mug was already set out and sitting there for him. Will smiled; Micheline had expected him.

He crossed and sat down, reaching out to pour himself a mug of coffee and turning his head to look out of the patio doors beside the table, out across the field of long grass that stirred in a morning breeze. The first rays of the sun were changing the grass to a golden colour and again Will was awed by the natural beauty of it.

Micheline always greeted the dawn; it was her way to feel closer to a husband long since gone to her. The love of her life had been snatched away before his time and Will could feel her sadness; he understood her a lot better now that he was older. When he was young her ritual had always baffled him, now he simply accepted it. A woman taking solace in God.

He stirred some sugar into his mug, glancing up again and he wondered what answers the Divine would have for him. It was not as if he was on speaking terms with the powers that be, they had a mutual understanding in Will's mind. Whatever supreme entity was out there left him alone and he in turn avoided churches like the plague.

He tasted the coffee and relaxed a little. He probably looked like hell--he'd slept in his clothes the night before and he knew they showed it. But he had more important things to deal with than a rumpled suit.

He rubbed his temple and decided to ignore Thorpe's advice and lay low for the weekend, it had already gone too far for that. He needed to be decisive, take some kind of on Monday. Will wasn't that kind of man. He had set a style for being a man of action, someone who went out and met problems head-on rather than cowering.

He set his mug of coffee down and flipped open his cell phone, aware that it was still ridiculously early in the morning. He needed Alicia and Lisa in at the office; he smiled apologetically to Micheline as he walked through into the main kitchen and talked in a low voice, making arrangements.

* * *

The Ambassador awoke to the distinctive double click. At first he was disoriented, trying to place why that sound was out of place. Instincts told him something was wrong. He just had no idea exactly what that something was.

He rolled and sat up in bed, and immediately his eyes flew open as he realized he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Holy..." he said, startled, as he slipped back up to the headboard.

"Good morning," Johnson said coldly, standing at the foot of the bed.

"Who the hell are you and how did you..." the Ambassador began, but stopped as Johnson moved the gun an inch closer.

"Don't even bother," Johnson stated flatly. "I received a full briefing before I was pulled out of Saudi Arabia to come and supervise this cluster-fuck of an operation you put together. I know you had a full brief and I know you know who I am."

"What do you want?" The Ambassador licked his lips nervously as he glanced to where his wife was still asleep; he deliberately kept his voice so as not to wake her, "Can we..." he gestured through to the suite's living room.

Johnson stepped back. "After you," he stated, allowing the Ambassador up and out of the bed, following him through into the sitting room and closing the bedroom door behind them.

The Ambassador considered calling for help; there were always marine guards in the Embassy residence, they could be inside in moments but moments would be all the time Johnson needed to end his life. The Ambassador was smart enough to weigh the value of his own life and not call for the guards.

"What do you want?" the Ambassador pressed.

"I want to go home," Johnson stated flatly, taking a seat in one of the chairs and indicating with his weapon for the Ambassador to do the same.

"I...it can't be done," the Ambassador said sitting heavily into the chair across from Johnson. "You screwed up..."

"No," Johnson stated flatly, correcting the Ambassador. "The mission is still right on track, we just had a minor setback, and that can be rectified with a little creative thinking. But then creative thinking isn't exactly the hallmark of the CIA, now is it?"

The Ambassador shook his head, "If this comes out it's going to be a major embarrassment for the current administration. We took a gamble and we lost and it's time to cut our losses..."

"And I am an acceptable loss?" Johnson said flatly, setting the gun on the arm of the chair, his hand resting lightly on it. He stared at the Ambassador with glittering eyes; he wasn't even trying to hide the menace in them.

"You're just one man..." the Ambassador protested. "I didn't agree with the decision, but there's nothing I can do..."

"On the contrary," Johnson said tilting his head to look about him at the opulent furniture his tax money had paid for. "There are several things you can do, first of which is provide me with a safe way out of this country."

"No," the Ambassador stated, standing up again and walking over to his liquor cabinet, pouring himself a stiff bourbon. He swirled it around the glass and downed it looking back over at the CIA agent who was threatening his life, realizing that even though he had the gun, the Ambassador was the one in control

Johnson sat still watching the Ambassador, contemplating shooting him, but then that wouldn't accomplish anything. "Why do I get the impression there is a but, coming?"

The Ambassador turned. "You fucked up royally," he stated angrily. "You were supposed to kidnap the girl, you weren't supposed to grab McCormick."

"Who?" Johnson asked with a frown.

"Peter McCormick, the young man you grabbed with Hesston's daughter." The Ambassador walked to his desk and picked up a file that he tossed across to Johnson.

Johnson caught it and flipped through its pages. "The boy's a nobody," he said continuing to scan the pages.

"Wrong," the Ambassador stated. "He's connected closely to Carter."

"William Carter?" Johnson said looking up in surprise.

"Yes," the ambassador stated flatly, fury evident in his voice.

"I don't see how this affects anything..." Johnson said setting the file aside.

The Ambassador rolled his eyes, "Kidnapping Peter McCormick drastically changes the situation. We were carefully grooming William Carter's mental state to be an impartial voice advocating going to war. A calm voice on the Liberals agreeing with Hesston..."

"I don't understand," Johnson said rubbing his temple. "You wanted him to support the war in Iraq, and he's going to want to support it now..."

"You blind..." The Ambassador shook, struggling to control his anger, "You really have no idea what you've done, do you? We were grooming Carter to react to the news of the insurgents calmly and come out in support Hesston's vote, an impartial voice that would have added validity to Hesston's call for troops." He sighed and refilled his glass. "Carter would have been a calm and rational backing to Hesston's righteous outrage. He would have added a liberal vote to the Conservative block and would serve validate everything to parliament... But Carter isn't impartial anymore now is he?" The ambassador slammed his glass down. "The others in parliament will simply write him off as being hurt and reacting to that instead of thinking rationally."

"If my enemy and my friend both tell me the same thing..." Johnson mused.

"... Chances are they are telling you the truth," the ambassador stated flatly. "As it stands now the vote will be too close to call, and all the work the British have done for us will be for nothing."

"You should have told me there was a second operation going on," Johnson said flatly.

The Ambassador shook his head. "The Brits want as much distance as they can get from this mess so it was need to know."

"Obviously I needed to know." Johnson stroked his chin watching the Ambassador, thinking through the problem. Carter would create an obstacle, as his vote would be dismissed as being reactionary. A hurt man lashing out instead of trying to think clearly, there had to be some way to restore the message behind his vote...

Martyr him.

Johnson stood up, "If I can fix this, and that vote passes you will send me home?"

The Ambassador frowned, "What are you going to do?"

"Send a message," Johnson said walking across to the door and peering out, making sure the hall was clear before he slipped out and was gone.

The second the door was closed the Ambassador was on the phone to Langley.

After he had explained what had transpired the voice on the other end of the phone paused, and replied simply, "We will look into it," before the phone clicked dead.

* * *

Breakfast was well underway when Andrew came out of the den, yawning tiredly realizing that he had spent entirely too much time sleeping on couches lately. His shoulder was sore, but thankfully sleeping awkwardly hadn't reopened his stitches. He rubbed it, feeling the tender flesh under the bandage and was again reminded how close he had come to dying the night before.

He took a shower and carefully rewrapped his bandages; it felt good to be clean once again, he felt like the grime of the last few days literally clung to his skin. He went to the closet of his old room, finding stuff that he had worn in high school--fortunately he had kept in shape and most of it still fit. Changing into fresh clothes he turned as Will knocked on his door.

"Hey," he said, finishing buttoning up the old coffee coloured dress shirt and tucking it into a clean pair of brown trousers.

Will looked tired as he leaned on the doorframe, "I have to go in to work after breakfast. Try to figure out damage control for this mess."

"Has something else happened?" Andrew asked in concern.

"They just announced it on the news, the Prime Minister resigned yesterday," Will responded.

"You're joking," Andrew said, reaching out to turn on the small alarm clock radio on his nightstand. It took him only a couple of tries to find the CBC news station.

"...Decided to retire early yesterday stating that he had no desire to sit through another session of parliament and that he wanted to give his successor a good run up to the next federal election. This decision comes shortly after evidence surfaced of the Foreign Secretary's alleged embezzlement of the international benevolent fund, a pet project of the Prime Minister..."

"Can he do that?" Andrew asked in stark shock.

"He can," Will nodded.

"Will there be an election?" Andrew sat down on the edge of the bed.

"There will be if by tomorrow the Liberals can't name a successor and prove a majority," Will replied scrubbing his face. "The conservatives will start pushing for a confidence vote, and that's it, game over."

"What are you going to do?" Andrew asked, looking up at Will in concern.

"I don't know," Will said slowly, "but I can't do anything here. I need to be on the hill and soon."

Andrew nodded, "Let me grab my coat and I'll come with you."

"Thanks," Will said, following Andrew through to the kitchen.

Micheline watched the pair of them from where she was preparing breakfast. "You're not staying to eat?" she asked as Andrew picked up his torn leather jacket from the chair.

Will turned to her, "We don't have time Mrs. Highmore..."

Andrew walked to the closet and fished about for a coat, finding only his old high school coat on a hanger pushed towards the back. He touched the soft green leather and felt the lettering on it, slipping it on and quickly pocketing his pistol while Will was distracted.

"Very well, then," Mrs. Highmore said looking over at the two young men, dedicated to their responsibilities. Sometimes you just had to let children grow up, as much as she didn't like it.

Andrew re-entered the kitchen to gently kiss the top of his mother's head. And she found her eyes welling with tears.

"Be good," she said squeezing him gently, "and if you can't be good...be safe."

"We both will," Andrew said reassuringly.