Carter's Recourse - 5. Chapter 5

Andrew Highmore rested against the wall of the building. Even though he kept his eyes lowered he still had a clear view across the street at the post office; things were going according to plan, which meant he didn't have to do anything, at least not yet.

He managed a quick look, a simple sweep of the building taking in the figures through the window before he returned to looking at the ground. The man he was watching was at the counter claiming the package; like clockwork he had done the exact same thing at least four times in the past week.

Andrew allowed himself a short count before he crossed Sparks Street; the pedestrian concourse was crowded, it was a warm summer's day. This was probably not the place to do this, but if he didn't then they could lose him, weeks of work would be thrown away because he had been allowed to slip through their fingers.

Andrew pushed through the doors of the post office and picked up a card; he took a few moments to scrawl something illegible on it as he stuffed it into an envelope and walked up to the counter. He deliberately chose the wicket next to the man he was following, exchanging money for stamps and nodding to the postal worker who politely accepted the five dollar bill he slipped her, and proceeded to get him change.

Andrew caught the man glancing at him from the corner of his eye. That was good. Andrew was just another twenty-something guy, dressed in a leather jacket and looking a little scruffy. He was just another student sending a birthday card back home to his mother. And Andrew smiled at the postal worker before turning to walk back to the doors.

At least Andrew had confirmed it was the right man, as the target slipped the small package into the pocket of his suit jacket. Andrew slipped back out onto the street just a few steps ahead of the man he was following, already knowing which route the guy would take made it easy to stay nonchalantly a few steps ahead of him. Andrew had found, with a little experience, that the best way to follow someone was to stay a few steps ahead of them and know where they were going. That way it appeared innocent.

He continued up Sparks Street past the street buskers and stalls. It was the season for street markets in Ottawa and Andrew was careful to avoid the larger crowds. It would be easier to lose his target in the crowd if he wasn't careful. A quick glance up towards the bank and the young woman there that dropped her arm to her wrist, a signal that the others were in position and that the target was still behind him. Everything was going exactly to plan.

Andrew crossed the street first and turned, as the two police cars that had been waiting for him swung to block the cross street, their lights and sirens blaring. The target froze in the middle of the street, his mouth agape as he looked at the police officers leveling their guns at him.

He was middle-aged, looking more like a school teacher than the leader of a political dissident faction. Caucasian, a strong build. He was contemplating running--Andrew recognized the look in his eyes--and he stepped forward pulling out the black case from his jacket pocket.

Behind the target, his partner Jane, the young woman who had signaled Andrew, was stepping forward as well, putting her hand under her jacket, just in case. Andrew hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The police officer stepped forward with a pair of cuffs, his hand out in an effort to calm the target down. Andrew took a deep breath, it was his show, this was what he had been working towards for months; he stepped up and flipped open the case, showing off the CSIS crest to the police officers.

The target looked stunned, the punk student from the post office... the guy that had been right up beside him...He went pale, and Andrew reached out to pull the package from his pocket, hefting it and gesturing to the police car.

And just like that, they were sweeping away from the heart of downtown towards the police station, Andrew turning the package over and over in his hands as he stared at it thoughtfully.

* * *

The Director General of the Ottawa Region stared through the two-way mirror at the target, a James Knowlan. Canadian born and bred according to his birth certificate, but then James Knowlan had been found to be living in Saskatchewan and bore no resemblance whatsoever to the man sitting behind the table.

"Who is he?" the director asked, turning to Andrew who was standing beside him listening with interest to the Police Inspector questioning their arrest.

Andrew frowned, "No idea, we're running his prints through our database, but so far it isn't turning anything up." He glanced at the director, realizing that that really wasn't good enough; he needed to be more specific so he started at the beginning. "We've been tracking a number of suspicious activities recently, ever since..." Andrew shrugged, "we have been monitoring passport applications. It just so happened that our man here decided to renew his passport at the same time the real Mister Knowlan did and the computer system caught it."

"Right," the director said, folding his arms and staring hard through the glass studying the target's mannerisms.

"Normally this sort of thing gets passed to the Immigration Department," Andrew continued. "However, Immigration alerted the RCMP who had him followed, in case he was doing anything illegal. When he made contact with one of our watch list, the RCMP turned the case over to us. I've been following him for about a week now and he's received these," Andrew held up the package, "several times."

"What is it?" the director asked, looking at the package.

Andrew flipped it open carefully and pulled out a couple of music CD's. Andrew opened one of the cases and pulled out a CD that was unmistakably a CD-ROM. "Not exactly the height of high tech, but then it doesn't need to be; mixed into a bunch of music CD's it would be easily missed by Customs."

Andrew opened the laptop on the table and inserted the CD; skipping past the music files he showed the director the hidden directory that had been easily found, and the simple text document tucked into it.

"A list of names." The director mused, "Seems innocuous. Can you prove they are connected to anything?"

Andrew looked up, "Three of them are members of Parliament, the others we are trying to figure out."

"Any idea what he planned to do with these names?" the director pressed. "There isn't exactly much to work with.

"We have enough with the passport issue to hold him," Andrew replied, staring at the names on the list, at one particular name on the list that made him tense up with worry.

"Good, hold him for now, but I need more than a list of names before I can act on this." The director glanced at Andrew meaningfully, "I will assign some of our department to keep an eye on the ministers, and I'd like to play it safe."

"I understand," Andrew said, moving to stand up.

The director paused reading over the list of names, one standing out from the others, "You're friends with one of the ministers, aren't you?"

"William Carter," Andrew replied looking at the director; he'd seen the name, and had been prepared for what the director was going to ask.

"Good, I want you to stay close to him if you have to. Saves me having to assign an RCMP protection detail to him. As I said, I want to keep this quiet until we are sure about what is going on." The director gave Andrew a meaningful look, "Do what you have to do to get to the bottom of this and keep your eyes open, Mister Highmore."

* * *

Andrew shrugged deeper into his leather jacket as he stood loitering by the side entrance to the Parliament buildings, a quick call to Will’s office had his aide Alicia telling him Will was in session. No doubt debating something of world importance like infrastructure or job creation programs. Andrew didn’t know how Will managed it, sitting in Parliament day after day, fighting battles against bureaucracy from within the system. But then Will was one of the good guys, the kind of individual to champion a cause and stick with it.

Andrew had been bothered by one of the RCMP officers charged with protecting Parliament hill; anyone loitering about was often questioned, especially someone dressed down and looking like he didn’t belong there. One flash of his identification and the RCMP officer had known to leave well enough alone.

It wasn’t that CSIS was anything to fear. The RCMP respected the department, the police knew better than to interfere with them. CSIS wasn’t a secret organization; it was an organization with secrets to protect. Counter-terrorism, counter-espionage, counter-subversion and unwanted foreign influences on the democratic system. The Canadian Security and Intelligence Service had a broader mandate than that of the American CIA, but kept to itself. The RCMP could handle the arrests; CSIS would just point to the people and let the legal system do its job.

He wondered again how he had found his way into the service; after being let go from his law practice he’d been angling for a position with crown prosecution. He’d been a good lawyer, experienced and intimately familiar with the law. It had seemed like a golden opportunity to start over again but on his second interview he’d suspected that something was amiss.

The person who was interviewing him had directed the questions, sounding him out. Andrew had taken the bait curious to see where it was leading, and after the first hour had worked out he wasn’t being interviewed for a position with the Crown Prosecutors.

He’d politely pointed that out to the interviewer, who had appeared surprised, and attempted to lie about it. But to anyone that had spent time in a courtroom, training to spot a lie, it was obvious. Andrew had called him on it again, and his life had changed.

The third interview had been without the pretense; the recruiter had sat down with him in a frank manner and explained how well his skills suited their needs. That working for them behind the scenes would make a difference, and that had been that. The training had been intense, but it was clear that they valued his experience--a courtroom lawyer with a keen eye who was also in good physical shape. The recruiter had struck gold, and wasn’t about to let Andrew walk away.

There he stood leaning on a wall on Parliament hill, a Walther P99 tucked under his arm and the weight of the world’s problems on his shoulders. Not just that, the worry that someone he cared about was wrapped up in the mess somehow.

He pulled back the sleeve of his battered leather jacket and glanced at his watch; Will was due out of his session at any moment. And Andrew wondered how much he could tell him, how much would Will believe? Will was convinced Andrew worked for the Crown Prosecutor’s office; on the rare occasions when they went out to dinner together Andrew was always able to skate around the topic of his work by keeping things vague. Luckily their work schedules over the months since Will had become a Member of Parliment had meant they hadn’t spent much time together and had spared Andrew one of Will’s ruthless cross-examinations.

How was he going to explain to Will that he needed to stay close?

Andrew rolled his eyes scrubbing a hand through his sandy-blond hair, shorter now, he’d just had it cut, something more stylish and less distinctive. In the field longer hair was just another thing someone could grab onto and use to their advantage. Andrew felt he looked ok, as he brushed down his jacket. Was he nervous? Seeing Will always made him self-conscious, he had to stop that before Will suspected something was wrong.

The doors opened beside him and he watched as some of the ministers emerged with reporters snapping photos and demanding questions. Andrew smiled as he stepped back out of the way, careful not to have his picture taken by mistake. It was always easier that way.

He watched the parade of ministers as they were met by cars, or set off down towards the parking lot. Everyone accepted that things were over for the evening. It was getting close to the end of the spring session of Parliament and everyone was eager for it. Andrew craned his head around as he caught sight of Will walking purposefully out of the building, hands in pockets in just his faded blue shirt sleeves and a loose red tie. He always looked like that, a man with rolled-up sleeves anxious to get work done.

He caught sight of Andrew, slipping off his glasses to clean them with the end of his tie before he slipped them into his pocket and walked over, nodding to a couple of the ministers as they said their good nights to him. Will affixed an amused smile on his face, as he looked Andrew up and down.

"You look like a bush pilot," Will commented with a grin.

Andrew nodded to the young politician as he leaned carelessly on the old stonework. "I had a day off," he said simply. "Thought you might like to do something."

Will contemplated. "Well, I wouldn’t say no," he admitted. "I leant Peter my car--I think he has a date tonight--and was just going to take a taxi back home; but if you’re offering a drive..."

Andrew nodded with a lopsided smile, "Why didn’t you just ask that fiancé of yours to pick you up?"

Will winced a little, "Marc’s got class tonight, they’re doing a presentation of photo-art, ‘the wonder that is the greenbelt’..." Will shook his head, "I’d rather go ten rounds in question period than be subjected to slides of the same tree shot from different angles..." Will fell into step beside Andrew as they walked down the hill heading towards the downtown core.

"I like your hair," Will commented to break the silence between the two of them.

"Nice tie," Andrew returned, glancing at the stylish tie Will was wearing.

Will looked down at the garish sunflowers on the maroon tie, "Yes, another Christmas present that was best left in the store." He looked over at Andrew again, "So, you’ll never guess what happened to me today."

"Oh?" Andrew returned.

"Well, I had a certain British soldier that served under my father turn up today," Will said with a light shrug of his shoulders. "Took me completely by surprise."

Andrew frowned as they walked across the road and down Elgin Street, "West?" Andrew smiled remembering the young man from back when he’d coached the boy’s hockey team. "What did he want?"

"He just wanted to talk," Will replied, sounding vague. "He wanted to talk to me about my father... where did you feel like going to eat?" Will inquired as they passed D’Arcy McGee’s restaurant.

"I’m not really dressed for anything fancy," Andrew replied, "but it’s your call, providing you let me pay."

Will arched an eyebrow at that, an age-old argument they always had whenever they went out to eat. "All right, but I buy dessert."

Andrew nodded, "I’m okay with that."