Carter's Recourse - 44. Chapter 44

Will sat in his home; it had seemed somehow fitting that he go back to the house in Toronto. Though it didn't have the same feel as the one he shared with Brody in Ottawa, it was more his own in a way the one in Ottawa could never be.

He needed the time away to think, to recover. And to avoid the horde of press that seemed to follow him everywhere, demanding questions of him. What it was like to be shot for his country. How had he survived? Who he felt was behind the shooting.

Will knew that the house in Toronto was quieter, and he was closer to his constituency office there. And more importantly, he could be alone there.

The election was twenty days away; the Thorpe government had fallen exactly as had been predicted. All the struggling, all the fighting and they had done the right thing, sacrificed themselves to protect innocent lives. It seemed almost poetic that a politician had taken a bullet defending the soldiers for a change.

He closed his eyes in his quiet study, resting his head against the soft leather of the comfortable office chair, his computer humming in the background, and the quiet din of Toronto city traffic buzzing outside his window.

The events of that day were unclear, perhaps Will didn't want to know too much. He opened an eye and glanced at his computer screen, the new Liberal Manifesto he had written on the plane. The one that brought new change to his party. It seemed so strange that Thorpe had adopted it as the party platform. In a way that made William Carter the architect for a revitalized party, one that was ready to face Hesston and his Neo-Con alliance.

Will rested a finger along his jaw line as he reached out and scrolled through his manifesto, the party's manifesto. It detailed how to deal with the corruption that had dogged the last Prime Minister's government, tackling it face on with open honesty and shining a harsh light right where so many people were afraid to look.

If they were elected back into power, it was going to be a long, and hard struggle, but if they lived up to those promises then things would definitely change, Will was certain of that.

He closed his eyes again...

* * *

The machine gun fire tore across the road ahead of them, West spinning the wheel of the Land Rover Defender as he accelerated the heavy vehicle towards the blockade ahead of him, keeping his head down as the sergeant in the seat beside him opened up with the SAW attached to the pintle mount in front of the passenger seat. The heavy automatic weapon sent a hail of gunfire towards the reckless men running across the road ahead of them spraying the onrushing Land Rover with their AK-47's.

West eyed the closing distance between him and the blockade, lifting his hand in the prearranged signal, as the huge .50 calibre was brought to bear, clearing a path for them ahead. West gauged the tactical situation at a glance, gunning the engine up to full as he bore down on the ramshackle barrier ahead of them, wood and other debris; if he hit it right...

The Rover ploughed through the debris, riding up and over it, the powerful vehicle crashing back to the ground as it pulled up to the bombed-out building that was their destination. West swung his legs down and brought his SA-80 up to cover his men as the rest of his company pulled up to secure the area, looking to him for commands as he dispatched them to strategic points covering the area. Above them the American Blackhawk helicopter thrummed closer, getting ready to take up the wounded men inside the building that were counting on Captain West Harding and his men to get them out alive.

West tapped his helmet, squinting up at the rooftops, the dry arid heat causing heat lines to waver over them, mirages of water on those dry stone facades; it was easy for an enemy sniper to hide up there. And he wasn't about to forget the lessons he'd learned in his first tour in Basra.

He sighted in and his rifle barked a couple of well-placed shots; he was already moving, ducking and weaving with well earned precision, knowing that the men under his command were thankful they had an experienced CO heading them up. With the Captain who'd survived two years in that rat-infested hellhole, they knew they were going to be okay...

West dropped to a knee as he confirmed that the sniper was dead, any other motion drew his attention, be it as simple as a bit of curtain catching a breeze. Caution kept you alive, and he intended to stay alive.

They'd sent him back to Basra as his punishment, a courts-martial, even a secret one would have drawn too much attention, especially with the Canadian Ambassador breathing down the necks of the British Government for their involvement in the fiasco. They had kept him incarcerated until Major Wessex had decided to permit the transfer, getting him as far from the mess as they could, the vain hope that if they were lucky Captain Harding would catch a stray bullet and never come back.

The battered picture in his DPM pocket was all the reason he needed to want to come home alive. He checked; members of his fire team were shadowing him, keeping him covered at all time as back by the Land Rover the wounded were being loaded onto the Blackhawk's hoist ready to be lifted and flown to safety.

He hated it there, but it was his duty; without him who did those kids have? Some green officer fresh out of Sandhurst? He had a couple of lieutenants under his command that fit that bill, and West wasn't about to let them tackle a dangerous place like that without making sure they were prepared. Lessons learned under the tutelage of the old Colonel now served to keep his men safe.

And in a way that was the best legacy the old man could ever leave behind. A stone cenotaph in a country that had forgotten the meaning of heroes meant nothing when no one had to stare the reality of war in the face. For the men out there in the field fighting someone else's war... survival was their only legacy.

He smiled tightly, pulling back slowly, cool under fire as his men scrambled from the sudden counter attack. West kept his weapon close, sighting and tracking the muzzle around as he reached to grab one of his injured men, all but bodily carrying the young man back towards the Land Rovers. They needed to get out of there, pull back to the reinforcements converging on their position. The running fire fights that sprung up like brush fires across the country were nothing new, and one day they would be out all together, but West knew that was a job for the politicians, for the time being he just did his job.

* * *

Andrew leaned on the partition looking down at his partner Jane as she typed up the last of her final report. They were officially closing the book on the whole affair. They knew few people would ever know the full story about what happened.

The CIA had denied any involvement past their 'recovery team' dispatching the rogue elements of Johnson's team. Johnson was a rogue agent that had cracked under the pressure of seeing the war up close and had blamed Canada for its lack of involvement. Total denial was their only real recourse.

Word had seeped through the intelligence community that Sir Nigel had been arrested in the United Kingdom for his part in the illegal activities. MI-5 stepped in to deal with what it classified as an unsanctioned and wholly illegal operation, but they refused any knowledge in the affair as well.

Everyone was content to simply let the matter slip between the cracks to avoid embarrassment. But CSIS didn't play that kind of game, they had investigated the matter fully, they had delivered their reports dutifully, now it was for the politicians to decide what, if anything, they were going to do about it.

For Andrew's part, he was glad it was over. Too many long lectures from the DG about how reckless and irresponsible he had been for not calling in back up when he went into the building. But Andrew suspected the DG was simply relieved that he hadn't lost an agent in there. The result had been a good one. They had stopped the rogues from doing what they had planned, they had Knowlan in custody, Johnson and two un-identified accomplices were dead, and young Yani was in custody.

Andrew closed the folder and looked up at Jane, "What are they going to do with the kid?" he asked.

"Knowlan's going to jail for his part," Jane said as she waited for the printer to spit out the report. "As for Yani, I don't know. The DG was a bit sceptical of letting him go. We're going to have to keep a close eye on him until all this passes, and he can never go back to the states... Witness protection probably."

Andrew nodded handing her the file as she slipped the papers in, closing the seal and signing it as they both walked it towards the records department where it would be sealed away, probably never to see the light of day again.

"What about you?" Jane asked. "Any plans to see that handsome politician of yours?"

Andrew shook his head. "He's in Toronto gearing up for the election..."

"So?" Jane asked as she handed the file off and again they both signed a receipt for the file. "If you like him shouldn't you go and see him?"

"You wouldn't understand," Andrew shook his head adjusting the P99 slung under his arm.

"You can be a spook and still have a personal life, you know," Jane said, clapping his arm. "You're not James Bond, you know."

"Speak for yourself, Ms Moneypenny," Andrew affected a poor Sean Connery impression.

"Just think about it?" Jane insisted. "Before you lose him again."

* * *

Marc looked up from his undergraduate calendar, checking off the courses he wanted to take over the summer. He paused a moment to look at Blake who was rummaging around in the cupboard.

"What are you doing?" Marc asked, as Blake hauled down an oversized bag of flour.

"Baking a cake." Blake replied, fishing about for some other ingredients.

"But you can't cook," Marc observed knowing full well Blake's cooking was far from gourmet.

"Well I have to go see Yani..." Blake explained.

"You're going to see the spy?" Marc set his book down. "Why?"

"Well, he doesn't have any one else," Blake replied lamely, his ears flushing red as he poured flour into a bowl. "And besides, he's good in bed..."

"Is that all you think about?" Marc asked with a slight grin lifting up the carpenter's file that Blake had set on the counter. "Do I want to ask?"

"That's what you're supposed to do for a boyfriend when they're in jail, right?" Blake said taking the file back. "Bake a file into a cake or something..."

Marc shook his head and took the file from Blake. "You can't do that, they'll lock you up with him..."

He caught the twinkle in Blake's eyes and he shook his head, "You're awful."

"What about you?" Blake asked. "You haven't mentioned... you know who... in a week."

"I know," Marc said with a faint smile. "I love him, but...we're not in love. He's always been like my big brother..."

"Incestuous," Blake grinned, his eyes lighting up. "Tell me more..."

"I don't want that, I'm just starting to figure out who I am." Marc looked back to the books. "Like you said, you can't build a relationship upon dependency. You need more than that."

"So what are you going to do now?" Blake asked.

"What ever I want," Marc said with a satisfied smile.

* * *

"Up and out!" Brody bellowed, crashing through the front door of the house in Toronto, his patent leather shoes clicking as he sauntered into the living room and dropped a couple of bags onto the floor.

Will leaned back in his chair so he could see through the town house and into the living room. "What are you doing here?" he asked, reaching out to shut off his PC.

"I'm here to help you win your election," Brody remarked, folding his arms and tutting at a piece of art work Will had selected for above the mantle. He reached out and straightened it, "God knows why, I think I've done enough for you lately, did I tell you about the cavity search those policemen gave me?"

"Many times," Will groaned shaking his head. "And you told me about the one you gave the police women after..."

"Serve and protect..." Brody waggled his eyebrows behind his sunglasses as he came through into Will's study. "So, do you want the good news or the really good news?"

"Why is it you say good news and I hear bad news for me?" Will asked, standing up and sliding his chair away. "I was happily relaxing here..."

"Must be nice not to have to work for a living," Brody chuckled.

"You don't work either," Will shot back, laying his palms flat on the surface of his desk. "What is it you do, anyway?"

"This and that," Brody dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "Right now I'm your campaign manager, and you're ahead in the polls..."

"Considering the fact I nearly bled to death on the floor of the House of Commons, I should hope so..." Will remarked.

"Well that still means you can't afford to get lazy," Brody said as he nodded to the door. "I have a speech arranged for you down at the park this afternoon... then there's a wet tee-shirt contest I have to go judge..."

"And I have to go to this why...?" Will inquired, realizing Brody was all but pushing him to the front door.

He stepped through the front door and stopped short, looking down at the car parked at the curb, at the handsome man leaning against its front fender. Dressed in his old school jacket, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight as he pushed his hair back from them.

"Are you nuts?" he called up to Will standing on the step.

"I missed the bus," Will replied smiling back down at Andrew standing there.

"What happened to your coat?" Andrew asked, looking up at the clear summer sky.

"Someone trashed my locker." Will stepped down to the curb, facing Andrew, the man that he had shared so much of his life with, the same man that would go anywhere and do anything for him.

They were older now, but repeating the first conversation they'd ever had reminded them that there was still so much life left ahead of them.

"I can give you a lift, beats walking in this," Andrew looked up at the sun again, "without a coat."

Will looked over at the new Mustang; Andrew's car was so much a part of who he was. It wasn't the old restored 1969 Mustang Andrew had driven in high school, but then things had to change... didn't they?

Andrew looked over at him and shrugged out of his jacket, handing it over to Will, "Here, put this on, you're soaked..."

Will glanced up again at the sun, knowing how utterly bizarre the conversation was, but he was enjoying it nonetheless. He accepted the jacket, as much a part of Andrew as the car was. He held it for a moment, feeling the soft worn leather in his hands, before he put it on. It was already warm from Andrew's body heat, and the combination of Andrew's sweat, cologne and the leather assailed his nose. He put it on, tilting his head up at Andrew, not really caring that they were attracting a bit of attention of passers-by on the street who recognized Will from the news.

"I love you," Andrew said calmly, staring straight into Will's eyes.

Will allowed himself a soft smile. "I know," he said, nodding, "I love you too."

"I know," Andrew said leaning forward, the two of them kissing there on the street, holding each other's hands so that they wouldn't get separated again.

THE END