Carter's Recourse - 35. Chapter 35

Will didn't like the security. They'd secured a floor in the hotel for him and his two staffers as well as a couple of aides from the Embassy. And yet Will felt increasingly uncomfortable. For people that were supposedly charged with his safety, they remained as threatening reminders of the fact that he wasn't safe.

He wondered idly as he sat on the couch in the hotel suite, reviewing his speech for Sunday and the unveiling of the Cenotaph memorial. His tie loose and his sleeves rolled up, ready to get work done. All part of his image; even though it wasn't done for the benefit of his voters they still seemed to respond well to him when he didn't try to be something he wasn't. They liked their slightly scruffy intellectual, not some artificial politician in Armani with the brain capacity of a potato chip.

"You spelled 'necessary' wrong," Lisa commented leaning over his shoulder. She'd discovered the mini-bar and was on her third daiquiri, not that Will minded; they had nothing planned after the Embassy dinner except settling in to await the madness of the day to come.

Will huffed as he chewed his lip, scratching out the offending word and penning it again. "Satisfied?" he asked testily.

"You should let me hire you a speech writer," Lisa said as she came around to sit down on the cream-coloured couch across from her boss, setting her glass down carefully on the end table.

Will glanced up, his brow furrowing. "Why? I'd only end up redoing them myself anyway."

"Well," Lisa folded her hands neatly in her lap, "you're a minister now, you shouldn't be spending all your time writing speeches. There is this wonderful guy my old professor of English recommended to me, he's young, bright and British..."

"Right..." Will murmured sceptically, penning a few more lines, reaching out a hand to scoop up his ever-present mug of coffee and taking a sip.

"So he would have the same vocabulary and your speeches would still sound like you." Lisa leaned a little to try to read Will's reaction to her suggestion.

"What?" Will asked, looking up and blinking at her.

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" Lisa admonished rolling her eyes.

"I have--guy, professor, British and vocabulary..." Will sipped his coffee, a faint smile lighting his eyes as he teased his old friend.

Lisa picked up her drink and stared into it. "You know my next one's a double--I'll need it if you're in this kind of mood."

"Go easy on the liquor," Will gestured with his mug. "Don't want you streaking through the halls and creating a diplomatic incident."

"That was once nearly four years ago!" Lisa protested. "And how did you know about that, anyway?"

"Jeff and I are old friends," Will smirked resting an elbow on the arm of the couch. "Apparently he'd dared you, and you had to prove you weren't..."

"Okay stop!" Lisa shook her head. "It wasn't like that, I'd gotten out of the shower in our honeymoon suite, and went out the wrong door. I wasn't streaking, I was in a bath towel and I had to go down to the front desk to get them to let me back into my room."

"You know Jeff," Will smiled, "he likes to exaggerate." He yawned and checked his pocket watch, nodding to himself, "On that note, I should get some sleep if I'm supposed to be meeting the foreign secretary tomorrow..."

"There's a luncheon at Number Ten." Lisa watched him rise. "They're going to try to get you in, maybe five minutes with the Prime Minister, a photo-op..."

"Great," Will murmured, tucking his speech under his arm as he retreated towards his bedroom.

There had been a time when Number Ten Downing Street was a place of mystery and wonder. As a kid growing up in the small rural Sussex town, the thought of actually walking through that infamous black door was an impossible dream. Yet now he had a chance to, he didn't want to. All he wanted to do was to go back to that small rural town...

* * *

West disembarked the train into Eastbourne, deliberately going past the Polegate stop that would have gotten him to Hailsham. They would be watching that station, keeping an eye out, and considering the fact that he hadn't had a chance to bring a change of clothes with him, he stood out like a sore thumb.

At least in Eastbourne, the end of the line, there were a number of people getting off the train and walking towards the main station. It was a beautiful Victorian structure with a high-vaulted glass ceiling that reflected the stars above the large lobby.

West doffed his cap and tucked it under his arm, bending his head a bit to blend in with the crowd as he slipped out the back entrance to the train station and into the car park, hopping down the steps and keeping the collar of his coat turned up and his eyes peeled as he walked the long way around to the taxi stand.

Satisfied that no one had spotted him he climbed into the first taxi he reached and asked them to take him to a hotel. Unlike Hailsham that only had one guesthouse, Eastbourne was blessed with being a seaside resort, and had no such shortage of places to stay. And the taxi driver was all too happy to take the soldier to an area densely clustered with hotels.

West paid off the taxi, setting his cap back onto his head, as he wandered up to the great promenade that fronted the entire town, the dark waters of the English channel pounding away on the rocky shore, crashing against the breakers along the beach. There was a sharp smell of salt in the air, as he marched his way back along the town front, adamant to find a hotel that was apart from the others, one that, if they decided to search for him, they wouldn't be able to find as easily.

People tended to notice soldiers in uniform in sleepy retirement towns like Eastbourne.

He at once marvelled at the age and history around him. There was nothing like it in Canada, not the narrow Victorian townhouses, and hotels dotted with more modern resorts that faced out over the magnificent view of the world-famous carpet gardens, and the brightly lit pier off in the distances.

He hitched up the collar of his coat, and set off along the promenade. He had to be missed at the base by now, military police across the country being alerted that he was absent without leave. He smiled tightly, his hand going to his pocket where the last of the orders Wessex had signed was tucked, his last ace in the hole. Now if his luck would hold, he only had two more days, and then he would get his chance to warn Will.

* * *

"What do you mean, his lawyer?" Andrew asked in his phone as he paced across his downtown apartment.

"The RCMP had to charge him with something," Jane replied through the phone. "We can't hold people indefinitely without a reason, and his lawyer showed up at the station and they had little choice but to let him in to see his client. I think they ended up charging him with identity theft, and attempting to defraud the Canadian Postal Service..."

"Because sedition isn't a crime..." Andrew snarled angrily, taking another circuit of his apartment.

"Hey, look..." Jane replied reassuringly, "he's not going anywhere. No judge will grant him bail, he's a major flight risk, not to mention a CSIS recommendation that he's a potential security threat..."

"Great," Andrew fell heavily into his armchair, shifting the phone to his other ear. "Has he answered any questions?"

"He's still staying quiet. And now that his lawyer's in there with him, it's unlikely that he will..."

Andrew frowned. "His lawyer's there now?" he checked his watch.

"Yeah, a loud-mouthed American guy; I didn't catch his name, but he tore a strip off of the desk sergeant when she told him to come back in the morning." Jane sounded tired, "We could have used you. You're better at dealing with legal jargon than we are..."

Andrew nodded to himself, it was part of the reason he was hired; his legal background, and his cross-examination skills had been the principal reason that CSIS had been so interested in hiring him.

"I could come down there to give you a hand," he offered.

"I'm not sure," Jane hesitated. "You're not on this one anymore..."

"Because I requested to be taken off it," Andrew reminded her. "The least I can do is help you to stop this lawyer running roughshod over this investigation." He stood up and walked into his bedroom, fishing through his wardrobe and pulling out a clean shirt and getting changed.

"All right," Jane agreed, "just don't let the DG see you, and if he does, I asked you to help, okay?"

"I'll be there soon," he said, hanging up the phone.

Andrew smiled as he tied a tie and picked a stylish sports coat that would hide his side arm better than the leather jacket. He contemplated not taking the thing at all; it seemed to always be getting him into trouble, and he wasn't on duty, only helping Jane with an interrogation and her lawyer problem.

He slipped the holster off and slipped it away into the end table, closing the drawer with a snap as he headed out.

* * *

Marc drove to his evening class, swinging Will's Jeep down the street that would let him into the student parking lot. Parking would cost him a small fortune if he wasn't careful, and since the Jeep was registered to Will, Marc really didn't want him ending up with a string of university parking tickets. He fished around for some change for the parking meter, digging through the small change tray and the glove compartment.

He stopped and pulled out Will's cell phone, frowning at it and turning it over in his hands. Stopping to smile. So out of fashion, typically Will. He preferred it for its functionality, even though newer phones could do more.

Marc made a mental note to return it to Will when he picked him up on Sunday night, leaving it on the dashboard to remind him. He slammed the battered door closed as he slung his camera over his neck and dashed off to make the lecture he was already five minutes late for.

* * *

Will awoke to the rhythmic tapping on the wall. In a moment of disorientation he sat upright with a start, trying to work out where he was. Fumbling for his glasses as he looked over at the alarm clock. He was still on Canadian time, so it really wasn't that late for him, but in England it was pushing two am. If he had any hope of being cognisant for lunch the next day he needed to fall asleep...

The tapping began again.

Will looked over at the wall where it was coming from, his mind working through all kinds of paranoid reasons for it. All the shadowy threats, and the stresses of the past week preyed upon his imagination, feeding it with a myriad of possibilities, and Will found himself getting to his feet, the plaid flannel pyjamas settling as his hand wrapped around the slender stem of one of the bedside lamps.

He swallowed as he reached down and fumbled in the dark to pull the cord from the wall, and lift his improvised weapon, testing its reassuring weight before he padded barefoot over to the door that led into the suite.

He gritted his teeth as he poked a head around the door, looking out over the still suite living room, and its panoramic view of London through the windows. The tapping was still present, and Will couldn't see anything from the rest of the room, as he bit his lip nervously and slipped into the living room, holding the lamp like a bat, and turning to watch every direction. His father had taught him that while hunting--three dimensions, always look all around.

The tapping was getting louder as he moved along the wall. It was coming from one of the other rooms in the suite, and Will nervously shifted his stance, his clammy hand reaching out for the door handle, swallowing as he steadied his nerves. He flexed the hand before he reached for the knob, swinging into the room with a yell, swinging the lamp up threateningly.

Lisa screamed, Will yelled, behind Will, the main hotel doors crashed open as the protection detail stormed into the room, yelling themselves, pistols waving about madly as they moved to secure the room.

Will shook his head, looking at Lisa, who was covering herself with a pillow still scared half to death, then over towards the antiquated air conditioner that was vibrating in its mounting, bouncing up and down, rattling the window, and back at the officers who were rushing over towards him.

Will dropped the lamp, turning and putting his hands up. "No, no... it's a mistake!" he said pushing their guns down as they stared suspiciously around them, Will blocking them from bursting into Lisa's bedroom. "It's a mistake..." he reassured.

The two guards nodded and returned to their posts, as Will clutched his chest and realized his heart rate was pounding a mile a minute. He turned back to Lisa who was pulling on a nightgown to cover herself, looking concerned at her boss as she tried to put her wits together.

"What the hell, Will?" she demanded, her eyebrows raised and an indignant look on her face.

"I... thought there was an intruder..." Will said, looking down at the broken lamp at his feet, his mind still trying to process what had happened. He swallowed as he looked back up, frowning as he looked over at Lisa who was staring now at the worry lines etched on his face.

Lisa looked over at Brody coming out of his room to investigate all the noise, then slowly back at Will. "Are you okay?" she murmured quietly.

"I should..." Will gestured behind him, "...'cause... you know..." He backed out of the room slowly, bending down to pick up the bits of the lamp to take with him.

"Will...?" Lisa took a step forward.

"No, no," Will shook his head firmly, "no need to explain...I'm sorry... stress..." He backed up and collided with the back of one of the leather sofas.

Lisa sighed as she came out of her room, heading around the sitting room to the mini-bar unscrewing a bottle of bourbon and pouring herself a drink, looking over at Will, clutching the broken lamp against his chest and looking stunned at what he had done.

Brody trotted out of his bedroom, wrapped up in the duvet, sporting a rather nasty bruise to his forehead and his usual self-assured smile as he leaned against the doorframe to watch the explanation from a master spin doctor.

"You've been under a lot of pressure," Lisa began, worriedly.

"Right..." Will nodded, "I got it... I should go to bed now..." He jerked a thumb towards his room, looking towards it wistfully, wondering if this was a nightmare.

"So, what?" Brody chimed up. "You have two armed guards outside, and you decided to tackle an intruder with a lamp in your PJ's?"

"Brody..." Lisa admonished, trying her best not to smile into her glass; after they were certain no one was in danger, it was hard not to see the humour in the situation.

"Okay, okay," Will held up a hand, setting the lamp down on the coffee table as he sank into the arm chair, rubbing his temple and chuckling himself. "So I never claimed to be bright."

"Of course not," Brody said. "You know, you should really speak to the defence minister when you get back; who needs rifles when you can use a lamp... and plaid flannel is the perfect camouflage."

Will looked down at his pyjamas and back up again. "Marc bought these for me last... shut up!" he chuckled again folding his arms. "I'm sorry," he said looking at Lisa who was staring at the broken lock on the suite door, no doubt wondering how much the hotel was going to bill them for that little stunt.

"... and slippers make great combat boots..." Brody was lost to his own imagination, and Will shot him another glare.

"Look," Lisa said, "if it will make you feel better, I can speak to the Embassy about increasing the security detail?"

Will shook his head, "No, that's part of the problem, all these people around me worried that something's going to happen, checking rooms before I enter, answering the phone for me... it's like paranoia is contagious. I just need everyone to back off, let me get used to all this."

"We can't do that, Will..." Lisa said, coming over to rest her hand on his shoulder. "We're worried about you."

Will nodded, "I know." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I hate this job..." he murmured, opening his eyes again, "I hate this job."

"That's the point," Lisa reassured him. "It's what makes you so good at it..."

Will sighed, standing up. "I'm going back to bed," he said nodding to his room. "I'm sorry..." he apologized again as he closed the door behind him.

Lisa looked over at Brody. "Do you think he will be okay?" she asked in a low tone.

Brody folded his arms and considered, "He's always been one of those guys to drop his gloves and give'r when a fight starts, he doesn't like other people fighting his battles for him. He's not going to be okay until this is over, or until he figures out how he can put a stop to it."