Carter's Recourse - 7. Chapter 7

He walked across and rented a car, pulling on his sunglasses and looking over the indistinctive sedan. He'd rented it without any hassle, the Platinum MasterCard saw to that. It said he was someone important, and they gave him the service they reserved for VIP's. He would have felt honoured, had it not been carefully choreographed to go smoothly. Just another American business man that barely acknowledged the clerk behind the desk, picking up his briefcase and waiting for them to bring the car around to him.

Getting into and out of Canada was proving easier for him than getting into a third world country. And it seemed to him, on certain days, that he spent a great deal of time going into and out of countries.

"Your keys, Mister Thompson." The valet extended the keys to the man standing wearing the heavy black trench coat despite of the warm summer day.

The unfamiliar name didn't faze Johnson at all, he was used to it. He had several; a couple of passports would be waiting for him at the hotel, and he could drop Thompson at any time he chose.

He was driving through the streets minutes later heading towards his hotel reviewing in his mind the reason he was there. Something had happened to the senior field agent earlier that day and when he had failed to report in, that had set off warning bells through the upper levels of Langley. And within an hour of missing his scheduled call Johnson had been recalled from Saudi Arabia.

Accidents happened, but Johnson and his employers had long ago become accustomed to not trusting them. If their field agent had failed to make his report, it meant the operation was in jeopardy and no one could afford that. So they had called in their most senior field agent to take over the operation.

Johnson knew he had little time, as he glanced at his watch; the operation was due to go down in a couple of hours. He hoped that everything was still in place; missing field agent or not, Johnson had strict instructions to go ahead--there was too much at stake not to do so.

He cursed to himself as he pulled out his cell phone and dialled a number, waiting for the voice on the other end to acknowledge him.

"Good evening," he stated in an even tone, his eyes squinting up at the lights he had pulled to a stop for. "I'm Mister Thompson."

There was a pause on the line, "Hello Mister Thompson, are you in town?"

"The company thought it prudent to send me to oversee the arrangements," Johnson replied.

"Everything is going well, we are about to spring the surprise," the voice returned.

"Proceed as planned," Johnson replied with a tight smile. "I will be there shortly."

He clicked off the phone. At least the other field agents were in place and ready to do their jobs. That left one small problem, and Johnson eyed his watch; he was going to cut it close but that was why he had been sent. Should anything go wrong he was more than capable of dealing with it.

* * *

Peter smiled at Becky, they both stood nervously at the end of the street opposite the Edge nightclub. Peter was biting his lip and shifting uncomfortably. He'd been working up the courage to actually go through the door for a while, but he couldn't bring himself to take that bold step forward.

Becky sighed at him as she hiked up the skirt of her dress, "Either you're coming with me or I am going in alone."

"Can I tell you my vote in the morning?" Peter said, glancing back to where he had parked the car.

A couple of guys, arms wrapped around each other, walked past him, their eyes sweeping him up and down taking in the tuxedo and his bright blue eyes. One turned to the other and whispered, and they both started laughing as they continued into the bar.

"That's it, I'm going home!" Peter stated resolutely as he turned to march away.

Becky rolled her eyes reached out and caught his arm; gripping it firmly she turned him around and started to march him towards the doors to the bar. "I am not about to let you give up on this."

The two climbed the wooden steps to the door and made their way inside, the bouncer giving both of them a glance over and a grin as he waved them through and into the noisy nightclub.

Peter was surprised at first, he had been expecting the kind of place he had been exposed to on television: somewhere dark, with flashing lights and people lurking in corners. He wasn't prepared for the tasteful décor of the main bar that reminded him of a living room.

Becky grinned at him. "Not so bad, is it?" she said bouncing up to the bar, her skirts rustling as she went.

A couple of drag queens in garish dresses and hair that seemed to be piled up on top of itself gave her the evil eye, one of them sashaying over to her, giving her the once over from head to toe before she returned to her corner to confer with her 'sisters'.

Peter followed them with his eyes and smiled nervously as Becky turned to him with a couple of drinks. "Relax," she said with a grin, obviously enjoying herself. "You'll never meet a guy if you stay this uptight."

A couple of older men walked past him, both of them slowing their walking as they went past him, one of them leering a little as he moved to a spot on the wall a few feet away from Peter continuing to watch him over a glass of something red.

Peter screwed up his nose and stepped closer to Becky for protection. Sipping at his drink, he was surprised to find it a double. She was trying to give him a bit of Dutch courage. He smiled at her fondly and she sat down on one of the bar stools and decided to take her advice.

"Oh...oh!" He bounced excitedly, "Miss Hesston, Miss Hesston... what's next on our field trip?" he asked, a massive grin spreading across his face.

Becky shrugged as she turned to survey the room, resting a hand on the bar rail and taking a drink as she did so. "So, which one are you interested in?" she asked directly.

Peter flushed, "I don't think I'm ready for that yet." He turned back to the bar and cradled his drink, trying to be as small as possible.

Becky looked at him compassionately, "It's okay, the fact you're actually in here is a good first step, how are you feeling?" She rubbed his shoulders reassuringly.

"Scared half to death," he admitted truthfully. "Thanks for coming with me, Becka."

"No problems, squirt," she said tussling his perfectly combed hair. "What are best friends for?"

* * *

Marc Lawrence stood nervously at the front of the lecture hall, the bright light shining down on him from the projector room as they loaded his next slide, and he blinked trying to see out at the audience of people following his presentation, to get an idea of their reactions, but the light was too bright and all he could see were silhouettes out there.

He coughed and adjusted his bright yellow baseball cap as he shuffled through his cue cards, Will's careful handwriting on them helping him prepare. They contained clear and concise bullet points that encapsulated what he wanted to say.

"This last set," Marc said lifting his hand to gesture at the picture being displayed on the great screen, "was an experiment in light filters. I took a heavy blue filter and took several shots of city buildings from street level. I was lucky to catch a rainy day, and the combination of lighting, the blue filter and the weather environment really added a sense of what I was trying to capture with these shots. The sense that it's easy to lose yourself in a city, the experiences, the size of it..." He looked up, "Next shot, please..." The frame changed to show a simple flower poking up between a crack in the asphalt, the only splash of colour in the entire set.

Marc smiled, "But still, life finds a way..." He offered up a tight smile, folding his arms over the old navy tee shirt he was wearing, "Even in the streets of an uncaring city."

The applause from the audience made him blush a little as he gathered up the cue cards to return to his seat, catching the last card in the pile, Will's handwriting scrawling a simple "Good luck" and his smile deepened as he slipped that one into the pocket of his jeans.

"Well done, Mister Lawrence," his professor caught him as he left the stage. "An excellent presentation, the use of colour and texture in your photography is a wonderfully personal touch." He scrawled a mark down onto his book and turned it so Mark could see the A there."

Marc gaped at it, and looked up at his professor. "Thank you..." he said, his eyes wide in surprise.

The professor nodded to him as the class dissolved, folding his books and slipping them into his brief case as Marc climbed the stairs to recover his slides from the projection room. He smiled in gratitude at one of his classmates who handed the slides over to him, before setting out towards where he had parked Will's Jeep.

"How'd it go?" the lanky dark-haired youth dressed all in black asked. He was sitting on a bench across the hall, cocking his head to look up with keen blue eyes and smiled at Marc.

"Great," Marc said, hefting his backpack around and smiling at his friend Blake, the renegade writer who usually caused him so much grief, "I got an A."

"Cool," Blake said, hopping to his feet and tucking his notebook under his arm and falling into step beside Marc, "I was..."

"Hanging about waiting for me?" Marc said with a nod. "Need a ride?"

Blake grinned, sliding a hand sheepishly through his fine hair, "Since you're offering..."

"Yeah, yeah," Marc grinned as they pushed out into the evening air, Marc digging through the front pocket of his backpack to tug out his cigarettes and sparking one up, "you're just too lazy to take the bus."

"You seen the buses around here?" Blake screwed up his nose. "Ugh; besides, getting chauffeured around in a Beamer is much better..."

"I have the Jeep tonight," Marc chuckled. "Will leant Peter the car for his big date..."

"That's right, he's pretending to take Becka out so her ultraconservative dad doesn't know she's bar hopping." Blake smiled, he'd known Peter for ages, and knew first hand how easy it was to get the short blond to go along with mischievous schemes.

Marc looked over at Blake, taking a long drag on his cigarette, "No."

"What?" Blake asked innocently.

"He's out, we should leave him alone."

"I didn't say anything!" Blake protested his innocence.

"You're thinking we should go rescue him from the 'date'," Marc accused with a lazy smile. "For his own good..."

"I was not," Blake replied, his eyes narrowing suspiciously; Marc was plotting something and trying to pin it on him, even though he had the exact same idea sitting outside waiting for Marc to get done his presentation.

"You know if Will finds out, he's gonna get pissed..." Marc said, flicking aside his ash and smirking.

"Then he won't find out," Blake suggested.

"This is a bad idea..." Marc said, shaking his head as he walked around to unlock the door to the battered black Jeep.

"We have to... it's our duty to rescue him from the evil clutches of girls..." Blake nodded enthusiastically.

"You just want to go to a bar," Marc replied, hopping up and tossing the butt of his cigarette away.

"So do you," Blake nodded confidently as he got into the passenger side, rolling down the window and slipping on his dark sunglasses.

"How are we going to find them?" Marc asked pointedly.

"We're going to have to search every bar in the downtown area..." Blake grinned in anticipation.

"Hey, I'm driving," Marc said starting the Jeep, "I'm not gonna drink."

"I'll have to do enough for both of us." Blake relaxed and leaned an arm out of the window, "Onwards, chariot!"

Marc turned to look at his cocky friend. "You're an idiot," he grinned as he began to drive.

* * *

"What do you mean you don't know where she is?" Johnson's voice was coldly calm, a hint of menace behind them as he sat in the car on the darkened side street in downtown Ottawa.

"They were supposed to be going to a dress gala." The voice on the other end of the phone sounded helpless, "She was picked up by a guy in a tuxedo and they drove off an hour or so ago..."

"And you didn't think to follow them?" Johnson didn't raise his voice, there was no need. He didn't have to.

"We knew where they were supposed to be going," the voice continued. "We had everything set up to..."

"Hold on," Johnson said, disconnecting the phone and making another call, this one to a secured number.

"Operator," the professional voice sounded over the phone.

"Yes, operator, I'd like a number in Ottawa," he said calmly.

"For what name please?" the operator said.

"Rebecca Hesston."

"Hold, please."

* * *

Becky's cell phone rang; she jumped a little and looked worriedly at Peter.

"You'd better answer it if it's your dad," Peter said; he knew they were busted.

Becky squinted at the caller id, frowning when all it told her was the number was withheld. She clicked it on and held it up, covering her other ear with her hand, "Hello?"

"Hello?" she asked again, shaking her head as she turned the phone off. "Must be bad reception in here," she said, slipping the phone away.

* * *

"I have your number," the operator returned.

"Excellent," Johnson said as he picked up a pen and scrawled the numbers down on the edge of his city map. "Thank you," he said, closing the phone.

It took him only a couple of minutes to find the GPS co-ordinates gleaned from her cell phone on a map, he activated his phone's internet browser and ran the address. Scrawling the information again on the map he dialled again.

"They are at a bar on Sparks Street called Edge." He took a deep breath, "Don't fuck up again."

He left the threat hanging in the air as he hung up the phone, watching another man walk down the street towards him. The newcomer was carrying a briefcase, wearing a smart black suit that seemed a little tight on his barrel-chested frame. He glanced about him, crossed the street and got into the passenger side of the car.

"Good evening," the newcomer stated simply.

"Good evening," Johnson returned, starting the car and turning it out onto the street heading for Parliament Hill. "How is she tonight?"

"Working late," the newcomer said setting his briefcase down on the floor between his legs. "Good to see you again," he said sincerely, glancing over at the driver.

Johnson grunted, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, "I just wish it was under better circumstances. Any word on Knowlan's whereabouts?"

The newcomer shook his head, "Nothing; he went out and didn't come back. He's either in a hospital somewhere or he got picked up."

"If that's the case, we need to move quickly," Johnson replied. "I'm already changing the routes, we should be done and gone before they have time to get anything out of him." He accelerated through a set of lights and turned the car in a tight loop, "Is everything set?"

The newcomer nodded, "We're good to go."

* * *

"Hey," Becky nudged his arm, "is that Tyler?"

Peter turned in surprise to follow her gaze, blinking in surprise. Tyler had just walked into the bar with an older girl Peter didn't recognize. He immediately turned his head away and tried to hide, feeling the heat creeping into his cheeks.

He turned his head again, and realized he'd been spotted and he blushed again. That was all he needed, Tyler would... he stopped and glanced at Becky, realizing where they were, and what it meant if Tyler were there as well.

"Oh my god..." Peter mouthed in shock.

Tyler seemed to go rigid in surprise himself when he recognized Peter and Becky. He stopped beside them, his eyes wide and uncertain as if he wrestled with what he should do.

Becky looked from one stunned boy to the other, shrugged and stuck out her hand to the strange woman, "Hi, I'm Becky."

"Hi," the woman replied, "I'm Tyler's big sister, Lizzie." She looked questioningly at her brother, and smiled to herself--her guess had probably been pretty accurate. She looked back at Peter, "And who's this?"

"Peter," Becky said with a broad grin. "We all went to school together. Well .. we did, those two graduated a couple of years ago, I'm just catching up."

"I see," Lizzie said with a warm smile, noting that both boys were still dealing with their shocked realizations. "Well, I could use a drink, do you mind if I get in there?" She gestured behind Becky to the crowded bar and squeezed through.

Becky jostling Peter caused him to shake his head and smile a little shyly at Tyler, "Uh...hi..."

"Uh, yeah, uh, hi," Tyler managed with a swallow. "Nice tux."

"Thanks," Peter beamed, "we were kinda going to a school gala..."

"Oh," Tyler's smile slipped a little. "Right, are you two...?"

"No, no," Peter said with a grin, squeezing Becky close to him. "We're just friends."

"Yeah," Becky said sipping her drink. "We decided to come here instead of the gala, Peter's always nervous going to a..." she mouthed the words 'gay bar'.

"It's my first time..." Tyler said looking about him in wonder. "First time for everything, I guess."

Lizzie turned back with a couple of drinks, one of which she pushed into her brother's hand. "We're just out because," she said with a knowing smile. "So... that's a lovely dress."

"Thanks," Becky beamed. "Problem is I think everyone thinks I'm a drag queen in it. They don't believe me when I say they're real," she gestured to her front.

"They're just jealous," Lizzie said with a laugh. "So why don't we grab a table so the boys can stop gaping at each other."

Both boys blushed as they followed the girls deeper into the bar.

Across the bar, a rather uncomfortable-looking man flipped open his cell phone, "Found her."