Daniel pointed at where Claire had been standing. “She knows. She’s the captain of the navy ship that intercepted the smugglers. She saw everything.”
The crowd of reporters rustled, looking for her in the hallways behind Daniel in vain.
“Mr. Haynes ordered the murder of his own father. And he didn’t want any witnesses. So he hired a professional assassin to hunt me down. He did manage to kill the only other witness, but he missed me at least twice. To finish the job, to scare you into supporting their cause, he either caused or ordered the bombing this morning. I’m certain. He missed me but not by much. Others, however, innocent bystanders, were not so lucky. We’ve been working with the Halifax Police all the way, and they can vouch for what we’ve said.”
Daniel felt the cameras zoom in close. “So, people of Alberta, are you sure you want these people controlling your destiny?”
Then, pandemonium.
Claire ran as fast as she could with her injuries. Garth disappeared down a corridor on the left, while his two security men, a few steps behind, stopped and turned to block her way. Their massive frames towered over hers. Their bulging muscles strained their tight-fitting suits. Their stance — one foot in front, weight evenly divided, bodies shifted slightly to reduce the exposed target in a fight — betrayed some police or military training. Any blow from such strong adversaries would probably knock her out, or worse. Their eyes betrayed overconfidence that they could easily take her down.
“That’s close enough,” said the goon on the right.
More over-testosteroned, underqualified men trying to tell me what to do, thought Claire.
Perhaps she should have warned them to step aside. She only wanted the man responsible for the weapon smugglers crippling her ship and wounding her crew. It was personal. The thought lasted only a fraction of a second before she surprised the one on the right. Showing no fear, she walked right up to him and shoved him, knocking him off balance, and punching him in the sternum with her good right arm before he had time to react. He fell over backward, his back slapping the floor with a loud smack. In a few seconds, he sprang back up to his original stance, this time with fists tight and arms half extended, telegraphing a look of concern. She approached again. He jabbed his right hand toward her face. She shifted to the left, grabbed his forearm with both hands, swung her hips around, leaned down, and pulled. His own momentum forced him to fall forward and land with a crunch on the hard, wooden floor. Her elbow smashed into his neck.
She pivoted to the second bodyguard. This one was better prepared. He pulled out a short metal rod and with a sharp flick, extended it into a metal truncheon.
It had only one use: to break bones.
Claire took a step back, assessing the new situation. She waited for him to make the first move. He swiped at her bandaged left arm, which she moved as she spun around, whipping her left leg out, sweeping a wide arc, and forcing his right leg to bend. He collapsed onto one knee. With his head now at a more reasonable height, she swung back around to the left, this time stopping to throw her body forward. She retracted, then snapped her right foot in his face. She moved faster than his ability to respond. The force hurled him backward, and his head slammed against the concrete pillar. He crumpled headfirst onto the floor. He wasn’t getting back up anytime soon.
The first man struggled to stand up. She launched her body toward his head. Her elbow crushed his nose while her knee smashed into his chest. He collapsed again, holding his face, his nose gushing red. She grabbed the truncheon. The man screamed as she jammed it into his shoulder.
“Beaten by a woman? Maybe it’s time to think about retirement.” She smiled. The two men lay barely conscious, arms spread wide, one on his stomach, the other on his back. She couldn’t tell if they agreed.
She didn’t dwell on her victory. Ahead, Garth awaited.
As soon as he opened the rear door of the hotel, Garth knew his escape would be more complicated than planned. The door squeaked on tired hinges, revealing a parking lot half-filled with cars that glistened with frozen dampness from the sea air. Beyond the lot was a road and another lot with people milling about in front of a collection of glass and metal buildings. He squinted in the weak late-afternoon light. A large sign read “Seaport Market.” Where his car was waiting. The one the AIM armourer, one of only a handful of loyalists in this province, had left for him. What was his name? Ted? Fred?
The problem was evident in the nearer parking lot. Police, lots of them, checking each car. Looking for him. He let out a deep sigh. The hotel was probably surrounded. He had to find another way out.
One of the officers looked his way. He tried to look innocent, but a raised hand and a shout from the uniform confirmed his failure. He released the door and scrambled along the narrow hallway that led back to the din of the lobby. There, scattered collections of people, dressed in business attire, professional looking, recognized him; a few media talked into their cameras, trying to get the news out.
Closer, on the floor, his two bodyguards lay motionless. And the woman, standing over them. She did that to them?
On his right, away from the crowd hovering around the now abandoned stage, one man stood out. One arm in a sling, head bandaged, scruffy, dark stains on his shirt, wrinkled pants, and hair in random directions. Ritter stood to the left of the wall that divided the hall from the lobby, took a few tentative steps, heavily favouring one leg, then stopped, and turned to look at Garth.
His plan had been exposed; he couldn’t return home. He would be forever on the run.
Fucking pain in the ass. Larch was supposed to be good. I better get a discount from those bastards who sent him.
And Fanshawe. Winning the referendum will give me access to sovereign funds. Alberta as an independent country will raise billions. At least I don’t need him anymore. Losing the professor, maybe that wasn’t so bad.
Ritter stood alone at the end of the hallway. Garth whipped his gun out. Gripped tight. Aimed low. He held his destiny in his right hand.
I will take that bastard out right now.
He walked closer until he was staring straight at the man who had destroyed his dream.
Daniel stepped back until he was rammed against a wall. He felt for space behind. His right hand slid smoothly on the concrete wall. There was nowhere to go. Beyond Garth, Claire stood over Garth’s two fallen bodyguards.
“It’s over, Haynes.” Claire took a few steps toward Garth, and he turned to face her, the gun now pointed at her.
“Back off. This is between him and me.”
Claire froze. Garth returned his aim at Daniel.
Daniel paused the scene in his mind. Is this it, then? Am I going to die on this floor, in this hotel? In front of random witnesses and the national press? In front of Claire? It wasn’t fear he felt. More embarrassment. And anger.
“Haynes?” He let the words die. “It’s over. The media, the premier, everyone knows about your scheme. And about your private army. We know about your attempts to discredit the demonstrations. About your bomb. And about the murder of your own father.”
Garth raised an eyebrow, then the gun, waving it as he spoke. “You ruined everything.”
And then Daniel heard MacKinnon’s serious tone from somewhere behind Garth: “Stop. Drop your weapon. Police.”
MacKinnon and two other officers, guns held forward, appeared from the corner behind Garth. “Final warning. Drop your weapon.”
But Garth’s attention remained fixed on Daniel. Daniel watched Garth’s eyes. He saw a twitch in Garth’s right hand as his finger tightened around the trigger. Daniel knew that a bullet striking his heart or head would kill him instantly, while one elsewhere could permanently cripple him. Will I ever see Emily again? What will she learn about my death? That I died trying to protect others? What will the news headline read? What will Vanessa tell her?
He imagined Garth now realized that with his plan exposed, he had no future except behind bars. At least he would have the satis
faction of killing the person he blamed most for his troubles. One squeeze. And the shame would end, longer prison term be damned. It was personal, now.
Daniel saw Garth shift his right foot into a firing stance. I hope MacKinnon is a good shot. I hope he has a faster reaction time than Garth. It was at that precise moment that Daniel realized he was in the line of fire. Any bullet from MacKinnon’s weapon could pass through Garth and continue toward him. He shuffled to the right, trying to get away from the trajectory of any round fired by MacKinnon toward Garth. He thought of his high-school trigonometry classes.
Daniel said nothing. There was nothing to say. He glanced at MacKinnon a few metres behind, holding his gun level at Garth.
Garth shifted again, arm outstretched. He levelled his arm and his gun —
A flash and a concussive boom split the silence. The echo tore at his ears.
SIXTY-TWO
FINALLY, THE BOARDING CALL. Air Canada 881 to London now boarding. He sprang from his chair, joined the short line forming in front of the business-class access. The race had begun. Garth’s public demise was splashed across all the news sites. The guy always hogged the headlines, even in death. He had to assume that Garth would have explained his link to the weapon smuggling, and the police would be looking for him. He just needed to keep a low profile and to get out of the country fast. He checked with the Foreign Affairs Department website and selected the palm tree–laden Netherlands Antilles as the perfect spot. Because they had no extradition, he could relax there, and his money in the Caymans would be accessible. Yes, he would miss a few of his friends. But, with his financial bounty, he could fly his family down anytime they wanted. His first purchase was a fake passport.
His thoughts were interrupted by an announcement over the public address system. “Passenger Harrington. Please present yourself to the agent at gate twenty-six.”
He’d asked earlier for an upgrade to business class. It was a good start for the trip and a good omen. He wasn’t going to take the fall for the premier’s catastrophic choice of campaign manager. He had done his duty to help start the country he longed for, that he had dreamed of since he was a young man on the Prairies. That little weasel of a manager had lied to him, and now he had to abandon his noble military career and flee the country.
He stepped out of the line and walked to the ticket agent at the gate immediately ahead. He could see the plane outside being loaded with baggage. On his way to his new home. And with an upgrade to boot.
He forced a smile and handed his boarding pass to the agent. She took the pass, nodded, and looked behind him.
“Going somewhere, Commodore?” said a familiar voice.
He spun around to face Captain Hall, Lieutenant Commander Marcoux, two military police, and three armed and uniformed RCMP officers.
“Commodore Miller, we have a warrant for your arrest,” said one of the MPs, hand ready on his sidearm.
Miller scoffed.
“The charge is criminal conspiracy to commit treason.”
Before he could respond, one RCMP officer took a step closer, spun him around, leaned him against the ticket counter, and slapped on the cuff. Another read him his rights, while the third picked up his carry-on bag. The other passengers shared shocked looks. Two whipped out their cellphones to capture the arrest, no doubt so they could share it on Facebook. Claire stood, arms crossed, her satisfaction evident. She noticed that Hall was grinning, too.
Earlier, in the cruiser speeding on Highway 102 to the airport, Hall had explained how the commodore worked for the Yes campaign. His job had been to ensure that the heavy weapons moved undetected along the Atlantic coast. When the Kingston intercepted the first shipment, he tried to divert any navy vessel away from the coast under the guise of a surprise readiness exercise. But Hall was suspicious and had sent the Kingston on a low-profile mission, just in case a second shipment was attempted. The commodore had exploded in fury at the insubordination, threatening a court martial, only deepening Hall’s suspicion. Hall called Claire to ask if she wanted to participate in the arrest. She showed up in a flash.
Claire smiled. She knew there would be more celebrating later.
SIXTY-THREE
AT NINE SHARP the following evening, Daniel met Claire at the Carleton on Argyle Street. He had spent the day dealing with the repercussions of the demise of Larch and Garth. Deep in HRM Police headquarters, he reviewed the events with MacKinnon, signed countless forms and, more importantly, learned what lay in store for Lloyd. MacKinnon said the professor wouldn’t be teaching anytime soon: He was still in custody, faced serious prison time, and Canada Revenue had expressed a keen interest in knowing where he had stashed all of his money. Best of all, Touesnard was out of surgery and his prognosis was good.
After explaining to MacKinnon how she floored the two bodyguards and describing what she saw of Garth’s final confrontation, Claire had returned to her ship. It sat alongside a dock at CFB Halifax, illuminated against the night by a bank of lights and occasional flashes from welding arcs. Everyone she passed gave her a knowing nod at the sight of her bandaged arm, a sign of respect to a fellow sailor injured in battle. As she reviewed the damage with the chief engineer and the XO, she began to formulate her plan to overhaul the ship. The engineer’s initial assessment had been detailed, complete but optimistic. The repair list quickly grew through the night and into the morning. She saw how cleverly the engineering team had improvised the engines to get them back to port after the attack in the bay. Wiseman showed her the charred remnants of the RHIB launcher. Sullivan described the characteristics of the antenna array on the missing tower. Barry described the repairs necessary for the navigation system. New engines, a new RHIB launcher, new tech, and a large percentage of the ship would have to be rebuilt. By noon, she concluded that the Kingston would not return to sea for at least a year.
Her impression of Wiseman improved, too. He started the repair work, as instructed, while she and Captain Hall had participated in the arrest of the commodore at the airport. He hadn’t waited. He hadn’t questioned her orders. She wondered if the combat in the bay had shown him what kind of captain she was under fire. She could see that he genuinely wanted to show her how he could take command of the repair work. Maybe she could help him become a CO one day. She didn’t care about the mole anymore, as she sensed the crew’s confidence in having her as captain. As the sun set at the end of a busy day, she told Wiseman that she would return after sunrise to review the progress.
Now, at the Carleton, Daniel and Claire buzzed with the adrenalin high of what they had done. He had evaded a professional assassin, rescued Claire, and exposed Garth’s plan to the nation. She had saved Daniel at the demonstration and stopped the weapon supply. Her boss’s boss was now in custody. And she had confidence in her crew and second-in-command to make things right.
They both smiled at the past few wild days but they didn’t know what to do next. Neither wanted to make the first move. So they talked in between sets of local bands and the hours flew by. He gave her an abbreviated version of his life, filling in a few gaps that their exploits had exposed. The more traumatic details could wait. He didn’t want to scare her off. She told him of growing up in Montreal, her perpetually disappointed parents, her deadbeat brother, and her ambition to become captain.
Even in jeans and a grey navy T-shirt, she looked incredibly attractive to him. She also looked re-energized. Her smile melted his will to be anywhere else. He felt he could talk about everything, well, almost everything, with her. The rest of everything might come later. What mattered now was that they shared this moment of having done something good.
Distracting them, though, was the referendum. As they talked and sipped glasses of red wine and made their way through a fine meal, they felt compelled to give some of their attention to the coverage of the referendum on a small television screen behind the bar. Daniel wondered if his impending sense of doom was due to his recent experiences with Haynes, Forrestal, and Larch, or more f
rom the news station’s attempt to generate suspense, lock in viewers, and raise ratings.
Around midnight, during a lull between sets, Claire’s phone chirped at the arrival of a new message. Whatever was on the screen transfixed her. Eyes wide, she whispered something Daniel couldn’t quite make out.
“What’s it say?” he said.
“It’s from Captain Hall,” she said. “He says he’s been talking to the head of the Pacific Fleet.”
“Sounds like good news then.”
“Better than that. I have my next posting.” She stood up, hugged the phone close against her chest, spun around, and looked at Daniel with probing eyes. “It’s a wish come true, Daniel. I could be a commander in a few years. Captain of a frigate. It’s everything I could wish for.” She beamed when she said it.
“Wonderful. What do you have to do?”
“Transfer to Esquimalt.”
Daniel didn’t know how to react. He wasn’t moving to another coast.
By two in the morning Halifax time, as the final band packed up, the verdict was clear. CTV, Global, and CBC announced that the referendum was officially defeated, with the No side winning by a narrow margin of 2.7 percent. Premier Brewster resigned thirty minutes later, holding his distraught-looking wife, their two photogenic blond kids, but not holding back his tears.
Claire grabbed Daniel’s hand. “Even with their dirty tricks, the bombing, and the disinformation, they were so close to winning.”
“Scary, isn’t it?”
“We stopped them, though, didn’t we?”
“You more than me. You blew stuff up. I just talked.”
She used her good arm to thwack him.
On the sidewalk outside the bar, he stopped, turned around to face her, and took her hands. And then surprised himself with a first kiss. It was unexpected, but they had both been waiting, wondering what it would be like. For Daniel, it was full of light and softness.
True Patriots Page 25
