Carter's Recourse - 36. Chapter 36

Andrew took off his glasses, standing beside Jane watching through the window as the inspector received a thorough dressing-down by the American lawyer. "He's talking bullshit," he murmured, studying the lawyer as he gestured menacingly at the inspector.

"Huh?" Jane asked; she'd been listening to the diatribe the lawyer was dishing out and it had sounded genuine to her.

"He's citing cases and clauses that have no bearing..." Andrew said shaking his head. "He has no idea what he's actually saying... that one there," he nodded as the lawyer made reference to another case, "is a murder case in the southern states fifty years ago, and that one," he watched as the lawyer tapped his finger into the inspector's chest, "is a case against stem cell research... Either this guy's the most incompetent lawyer I've ever seen, or..."

Jane shook her head. "So what do we do? We can't bust in there and arrest him if he's just a bad lawyer, and the DG's not going to like me investigating someone claiming to be from a major US law firm."

Andrew shook his head. "And in the meantime, while you're waiting to get permission to follow this guy?"

"You know I can't just authorize a tail on someone without giving a reason. And once the DG knows the hunch is yours..." Jane looked helpless. "Let me make a few calls, maybe we can have a background check done."

"Never mind," Andrew said frustratedly, "it's not going to do any good..."

"Andrew," Jane warned, "don't do anything stupid."

He shook his head, as he stormed out of the police station, climbing back into his Mustang, and gripping his hands on the wheel tightly. Everything was going wrong, and he knew he should have just driven home, relaxed and tried to put it out of his mind. But that wasn't how it worked for him.

He started the car and pulled it out of the lot, turning and stopping across the street and watching the entrance to the police station as he waited.

* * *

He started as the doorway across from him flashed, the street lamp reflected in the glass as the lawyer made his way out into the dreary Ottawa evening. Andrew sat up in his seat, and started the car, watching the tall man climb into a waiting car, and pull away from the police station heading up Elgin Street towards the heart of downtown.

Andrew cut off a car, as he slipped into the traffic behind the car, keeping a discreet distance back from the black American-made sedan that cut through the traffic ahead of him like a shark, as it turned down a side street beside the imposing Bell Building.

Andrew chewed his lip, following the car as it turned into an underground parking lot of another building, tall dark windows and steel, as Andrew carried through, knowing there was another lot just ahead of him that he could use.

He stepped out of his Mustang and locked the doors, dodging traffic as he crossed the road and backtracked towards the dark building on the corner of the street, a clear view up the road to the parliament buildings, one of the tallest office towers in the city.

He chewed his lip thoughtfully as he crossed the street, straightening his tie and brushing down the tweed jacket he was wearing. At least he would pass as a businessman, despite the fact that it was late Friday evening.

He kept his head down as he walked through the front doors, making a direct line towards the elevators past the guard sitting behind the desk. He remembered his training: always look like you belonged, even when you didn't. No one questioned a person who knew where they were going.

The guard looked over at him, as he stood waiting for the elevator, and folded his newspaper in half, debating if he should question Andrew. Andrew turned and nodded. "Dismal night," he said looking up as the elevator passed three, clicking to two.

"Do you work here?" The guard rose from his desk, sliding a nightstick into his belt loop.

Andrew squared his shoulders. "I work upstairs, I left my briefcase here so just going to run and get it..."

The guard eyed him suspiciously. "Are you with the new American firm that's moving in?"

"Yes," Andrew said without hesitation, lying effortlessly, as the elevator doors slid open. He paused and looked confused. "Which floor again?" he asked, holding the doors open.

"Twenty-two," the guard replied with a nod, as Andrew stepped back hitting the button. He grimaced as the elevator continued on its descent. After hours meant that there was only one elevator in operation, and if someone beat him to the button he would have to ride down before he would go up.

He stepped back from the doors and tensed as he reached the basement parkade and the doors slid open on Agent Johnson and the lawyer.

* * *

Johnson cocked his head to one side as he recognized Andrew immediately, reaching out a hand to hold the elevator doors open as the newcomer, beside him, slipped a hand into his coat.

The CSIS puppy was clever; Johnson didn't deny that as he walked into the elevator, the newcomer a step behind, reaching out with his gloved finger to push the button for the twenty-second floor.

The puppy's eyes were flicking first from Johnson, over to the newcomer, and then down to the hand tucked into his jacket, no doubt resting on a pistol. He was weighing his options and knowing there probably weren't any, and if he was impulsive enough to be there, then he probably hadn't...

Johnson reached out and pushed open the jacket flap and reached in to unclip Andrew's cell phone, and to check if he was carrying a weapon. Satisfied, he slid the phone into his own pocket, and still, without saying a word, waited while the elevator swept upwards.

"We know where you are," Andrew said firmly. "This building's surrounded by now..."

"If it was," Johnson said evenly, "I'd know. No, Mister Highmore, I suspect that you are quite alone here."

* * *

Andrew squared his shoulders, and fixed his eyes on the numbers above the elevator doors; he would have one shot at this. He coiled himself tightly, 19...20...21...

The elevator doors dinged and Andrew exploded into motion, driving his elbow into the guy with the gun, grabbing and driving his head against the side of the elevator car, as he sent him spinning into Johnson who was caught off guard.

Andrew propelled himself forward, slamming the door-closed button as he skidded around a corner and out into the darkened floor of the office building. Behind him he heard the elevator doors ding again as Johnson wrestled them open to come after him, leaving his dazed partner behind.

Andrew didn't have time to worry about it, he needed to find a way out and quickly. He ducked through the rows of building materials, overturned cardboard boxes and hanging plastic sheets that separated what would eventually become rooms, ducking under a half-finished partition, and circling his way through the murky darkness.

He blinked as one by one the overhead lights began to come on. Johnson wasn't stupid enough to hunt him through the dark floor, especially not when he cut off Andrew's only escape; both the emergency stairs and the elevators were in the central core of the building, and Johnson knew Andrew would have to try for them.

Andrew kept his head down, creeping along behind a pile of boxes that housed prefabricated wall sheets, glancing around him for anything he could use as a weapon, gritting his teeth when he saw nothing useful. Then he spied the phone, sitting on the small desk off to one side by the large windows. If he could make it he might be able to call in some backup.

He trod his way carefully along, watching Johnson's shadow through the sheet plastic; the CIA agent was heading across the floor to the right, and fortunately, away from the phone. Andrew ducked and hurried to the desk, dropping down and grabbing the phone from the desktop; curling in under the desk he lifted the receiver and clicked for a dial tone.

Nothing.

"Come out, Highmore!" Johnson called, his voice getting closer, and Andrew tensed again, hefting the rather solid weight of the seventies-style Bell phone with its rotary dial and convenient handhold.

"All right, you son of a bitch," Andrew murmured, taking a deep breath as he readied himself down behind the desk. Johnson's footsteps were getting closer, the reflection in the huge glass windows acting just like a mirror allowing Andrew to know exactly when Johnson's back was turned...

Andrew gritted his teeth, rising and swinging the phone like a heavy club in his hands, connecting solidly with the hand holding the pistol sending it flying. Johnson wasn't about to be surprised twice--he ducked Andrew's clumsy second swing, his hands shooting out to grapple Andrew, forcing him back against the desk.

Andrew kicked out, propelling Johnson backwards and sending him crashing through one of the temporary partitions. Andrew didn't stop to see where he landed as he scrambled for the gun.

His fingers brushed the grip as Johnson wrapped a powerful arm around his neck and cupped his forehead, pulling Andrew back forcibly. The young CSIS officer, gurgled for air as the stronger man squeezed down, cutting off his air.

Andrew fought on instinct, driving his elbow back, and again, as Johnson's grip slipped, and Andrew drove his elbow upwards into Johnson's groin, forcing the man to collapse in pain.

His fingers closed over the butt of the pistol as he spun and stared down at the gun barrel being levelled by the bruised newcomer, resting heavily on the edge of the desk.

"Drop it!" the newcomer commanded, and Andrew knew that there would be three bullets in him if he tried to raise the weapon he was carrying.

* * *

Johnson was laughing, despite the fact that he was in obvious pain. He struggled to his feet and took his gun back from Andrew. "That was impressive," he croaked, gritting his teeth as he hauled off and decked the troublesome CSIS pup.

"Get him up," he thumbed to the newcomer, who was sporting a particularly nasty bruise on the side of his face where he had connected with the elevator wall. The newcomer rubbed his jaw, and nodded, lifting the dazed young man to his feet and dragging him towards a shabby office chair before the large windows, and handcuffing Andrew painfully to it.

For good measure he glanced over at Johnson before he backhanded Andrew, taking a moment to steady himself after being embarrassed in the elevator.

Johnson shook his head, slipping his pistol back into its holster and pulling out his phone. "Yani, get down here," he ordered, closing it again. Now it was just a matter of waiting until Carter got back from England.

* * *

The faint golden light was the first thing he was aware of, the stream of cold air was next, cold and tinny, like air-conditioning that had been turned up too high. He struggled to sit upright, feeling the stiffness in his neck and shoulders, and from his arm that was twisted poorly.

He blinked and shook his head, looking about him as his memories flooded back. He was handcuffed to a chair; a young man looking nervously over at him was watching a small portable television set up on the desk.

Andrew craned his head, spotting Johnson and the 'lawyer' off to one side, Johnson, his arms folded, talking quietly as the pair of them watched something out the tall windows. And Andrew blew out a deep breath--the way they threaded his handcuffs around the arm of the chair he would have to break it to get free, and that would attract too much attention.

The young guy, early twenties, barely out of school by the wide-eyed way he kept looking at Andrew, was watching him as he lifted his arm to test the cuffs. And Andrew smiled with a shrug and set his arm back down.

The kid relaxed a bit, his shoulders easing as he went back to watching the news. It was the BBC World Report, talking about the war, and Andrew glanced behind him out of the window. It was bright, early morning light, and the huge clock on the Peace Tower told him it was steaming towards seven in the morning. He'd been unconscious most of the night.

He was in a dangerous situation and he knew it, but if they wanted him dead, why wasn't he dead? He got the impression that Johnson had nothing to lose, which meant Andrew was serving some purpose by being left alive. Probably as a hostage in case CSIS got too close to whatever it was they had planned.

That was his other worry; there was no way he could get a warning out. As far as anyone at CSIS was concerned he was supposed to be taking a few days off. Even if Jane went to the trouble to check up on him, she would just assume he was off following the DG's orders.

The young guy was staring at him again, and sparing glances at Johnson and the 'lawyer,' obviously not trained in how to watch a prisoner, too green to be experienced in it. Which meant that he was Johnson's weak link.

"Hey," Andrew hissed, nodding for the kid's attention.

The kid shifted, pretending not to hear him. Focusing on the television.

"Hey," Andrew said cocking his head to one side and flashing a tight smile, "Come on, hey..."

The kid glanced at him, nervously looking over towards where Johnson was lost in his conversation.

"Hey," Andrew persisted, "can I get a drink? Please?" He made and kept eye contact. Unlike the kid, Andrew had received training on both taking and being a hostage. The first rule was build a rapport.

The kid looked again at Johnson.

"I'm not going anywhere," Andrew reassured, "I just want a drink..."

The kid shrugged; picking up a cup of coffee from the table he walked forward and handed it to Andrew, before scampering back towards his seat. Andrew smiled and took a sip, trying not to wince at the noxious brew that was more sugar and cream than coffee.

"Hey..." Andrew said looking up and flashing a full smile at the kid. "Thanks..."

Johnson turned sharply. "Yani!" he reprimanded loudly. "Don't," he warned, coming forward and standing in front of Andrew, who sat with his arms secured to the chair staring up at his captor. "You're awake," he commented.

"And you're observant," Andrew retorted. "Now let me go, and maybe we can negotiate."

"I'm not interested in what you have to offer, Mister Highmore," Johnson said, menacingly slipping his sunglasses back onto his face. "In fact you have nothing at all to offer me."

"Right," Andrew said, straightening as much as he could in his chair with his hands secured to the thing. "So instead you're going to stand there and give me some kind of cliché James Bond villain explanation of your plan... you know, you CIA types should really stop watching so many movies..."

Johnson chuckled again dryly, "What is it about you Canadians? You're all so... smart mouthed."

"My sense of humour's the high point of this job," Andrew shot back. "That and knocking the teeth out of people with telephones..."

They both focused on Yani's television as the newscaster changed topics, "...the Canadian Minister without Portfolio arrived yesterday amidst much speculation that Canada will enter the war on Iraq. Mister Carter is reported to be meeting with top Downing Street officials this afternoon, before dedicating a memorial to his father, Colonel David Carter, killed in action in Iraq..."

"You know," Johnson said with a smile, "sometimes, it's all about the way they spin things..." He looked up at the television that was showing Will walking up the steps of the Embassy, reporters throwing questions at him about the war, the imminent vote and the memorial.

To each question, Will simply replied with "No comment."

"Carter's not going to let you blackmail him..." Highmore bit out angrily.

"Oh, I don't know," Johnson said reaching out to tussle Andrew's hair. "When faced with losing someone so special to him, I'm pretty sure Carter's going to do whatever I want him to."

"You don't know Will Carter very well," Andrew smiled confidently, settling in to get comfortable in his seat.