by J. K. Kelly
Capri let out a breath, smiled, and nodded her head in gratitude to Matt while the two Canadians spoke quietly about the proposal. “Why one of our phones?” the quieter of the two asked.
“Because I’ll be there as a Canadian, entering on a Canadian passport, working for you, equipped with your government phone. Everything will point to a Canadian intervention if anything goes ape shit up there.”
As if they had practiced the move, both guests from the embassy stood up and extended their hands across the table to Matt and then shook hands with Capri and excused themselves. Before they were both out the door, the leader turned and offered his thanks once more.
“I will have everything arranged for you on arrival. Safe travels,” he stated.
“Thank you, and see you in Quebec!”
After the door closed, Matt looked at Capri for a moment. “What is it you aren’t telling me, Linda?”
“Oh, just that there’s been a trail of unsolved assaults and even one murder in the wake of the Banff conference and the two before it,” she said with a smile. “Your job is not only to keep us – the US – out of trouble, but to catch this guy if he is indeed the bad actor in this.” Capri stepped close to Matt. Her beautiful brown eyes caught his attention and he stayed his ground, unsure of what was coming next.
“Off the record?” she whispered. He nodded. “If you catch this guy in a crime, do whatever you must to get concrete evidence we can use to keep the White House in check. Budgets are being reviewed and I’ve been told we may need some leverage.”
Matt took a slight step closer and told her in a whisper, “I hate this shit but I hate pricks like this even more. I’ll do what I can but it’s not for the leverage. It’s to protect the prey.”
Matt smiled and stepped back. “Sounds easy. But it might be tough to cut through his security team and handlers,” he responded. “I’m game.”
Capri picked up her black desktop phone and asked her assistant to have her car ready in the underground garage. It was getting late, and, he imagined, she wanted to beat the traffic across the bridge to Virginia. She then picked up a folder from her desk and handed it to Matt to take with him.
“He has one assistant, one media person, and one armed escort when he travels,” she stated. “I think once you get a look at them and the lay of the land, you should be alright.” She smiled as she shook Matt’s hand. “Claire told me about London. Nice work, very nice work,”
“Thanks,” he responded. “I just wonder how long it will be before I have to start looking over my shoulder.” He thought about his friend for a moment. Actually, Charlie’s the one who should be really worried.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The sun was just setting as Matt left the FBI building. All he wanted to do was get on the water. He was exhausted and needed a few days to rest and recharge. But the phone vibrating in his pocket told him something else was up, something that would in all likelihood ruin his plans once again. He picked up the pace, hoping to get the blood flowing after so many hours in the air. Trying to ignore his phone, he kept going, picturing the cold beer and hot pizza he planned on having aboard Bella, his baby, a 60-foot pearl white motor yacht, but the incessant vibration and delaying the inevitable might only make things worse.
He slowed to pull his phone from his jeans pocket and smiled when he read the caller’s name. “HC, how are you, sweetie?” Matt spoke into the phone.
Years before this, Helene Coleman had been elected to the U.S. Senate to represent the people of a mostly rural Wyoming, a mere 600,000 people in a country of nearly 330,000,000. She had proven herself worthy and fast-tracked to powerful committees that earned her respect, power, and as is always the case in politics, powerful enemies. She had never married, focusing solely on becoming a lawyer and then pursuing a career where she hoped to make a difference in the federal government. Matt, her late brother’s son, was her only living relative, and she adored him.
An attractive woman with an infectious smile, short brown hair, and a fit runner’s body, she had run for president years before, but her gruff voice, a result of a bout with throat cancer, had made campaign speeches a struggle and consequently dissolved her hopes for the highest office in the land. Since then, she had sought a position in government that would keep her in the middle of the action.
“You’re home, and you haven’t called me, young man,” she protested to her nephew. “The next words out of your mouth better be that you’re asking me to dinner tonight!”
Matt laughed to himself. “Well, actually, as you already know, I just came from Capri’s office and need to get packed up and headed north, plus–”
“Don’t give me any of that bullshit, young man,” she insisted. “That boat and the girls can wait, and there’s plenty of beer where I’m taking you. You need to have dinner with me before I head west to the ranch.”
Matt slowed to a stop. He was fast on his feet but when it came to Aunt Helene, he needed to focus, or he’d wind up as roadkill in a crosswalk, literally.
“But Aunt–”
“Get in the car, young man,” she ordered, smiling through the half-opened window of the side door of her chauffeured black SUV as it stopped fast in front of him. He waved for the security agent riding shotgun to stay put, he’d get the door, and then they were off. The next stop would be at their favorite restaurant within the city on a side street close to Dupont Circle. It was a quiet spot with a rustic atmosphere but not frequented by many in her crowd. Mostly locals and the occasional tourists who stumbled across the place were the type of patrons Helene in particular would appreciate. No journalists, no lobbyists, no politicians, and rarely anyone with a badge. The two caught up over a round of drinks at the bar, Matt taking his time working a tall draft beer while his aunt enjoyed one Moscow Mule and then another. The host seated them at a corner table in the back of the restaurant that afforded them the quiet, and the privacy, to talk. For dinner, Matt ordered a medium-well filet mignon while his aunt had a craving for fresh Maine lobster.
*
She pushed Matt as they both grabbed for the last of the shrimp cocktail to drop everything and join her on her trip west but he took a pass on it. “Come on, when was the last time we just sat on that deck together and watched the Elk pass by?” she asked in an attempt to set the hook. Matt smiled at her as he laid his hand on hers. “It’s been too long and I promise I will come out as soon as I get a few things cleaned up. I promise. By the way, did you forget you were the one who signed me up for my babysitting job up north?”
She laughed. “Young man, I have no idea what you are talking about.” Matt just smiled back. As their dinners arrived she paused until the servers left them to it.
“It’s amazing how quickly the jury came back with that verdict yesterday,” Coleman said as she drowned her baked potato in butter. Matt didn’t respond and remained focused on the steak he was preparing to devour. She continued.
“I’m hearing he’ll get twenty years.” Matt looked up from his plate with a grin.
“Dear boy,” Coleman said softly. “I buried your father but have no intention of burying his son. Tread softly, if you had anything to do with that investigation.” Matt placed his fork on the plate and began working on his beer.
“The AG of the United States should be clean. Yes, they barter and make deals just like mine but he was dirty, dirtier than most.” He paused and finished his drink, nodding to the waiter for another. “Someone must have leaked that file to that reporter and once the snowball started rolling nothing could stop it.”
Coleman stared at her nephew and reached across the table placing her hand on his. “Just remember what I said. You’ll be able to work here again someday, when the timing is right, just don’t muck it up.”
After dinner, she directed her driver to drop Matt off at his condo and then head to Reagan National for a flight to her sprawling horse ranch in the foothills of the Grand Teton mountain range. Before climbing out of the SUV, Matt unbuckled his
seat belt and leaned over to give his aunt yet another bear hug and a soft kiss on her cheek.
“You just take care of yourself and don’t eat too many of those damn crepes up there!”
As the SUV drove away, Matt smiled and gave her a wave. He took two steps toward his building’s lobby but stopped and turned toward the lights and sounds of the marina just a few minutes’ walk away. He stopped at the first open-air bar he came to, bought a beer, and then headed for his sanctuary. Sliding his key card into the gate lock, he strolled the remaining 50 feet along the dock to Bella. Sitting on the stern, Matt looked up at the stars and thought back to those spectacular nights near the top of the world at the Everest Base Camp.
Wonder if Amir ever tracked down that killer? he thought to himself and then took the last sip of his third beer taken from the well-stocked galley the boat’s attendant always maintained. He hadn’t heard from the homicide detective from Kathmandu and swore to himself he’d reach out to him soon. Still can’t get how someone can trek all that way, roll in the hay, slam an ax in the guy’s head, and then disappear without a trace. Wish I hadn’t been so screwed up up there. I would like to have worked the case better.
He had purchased Bella a few years earlier after spending time in the Caribbean on one just like her, perfect for partying, chilling, or anything in between. He often found company for the night at a nearby bar and impressed his guests with his sharp sense of humor and endless offerings of food and drink onboard the boat. Sometimes that included an entertaining ride either down in the master suite or along the Potomac.
Tonight had to be cut short though. It was time to go back to work. Another few beers might drive him to shots at the bars and a delay in getting up to Quebec and his next assignment. “Ciao, Bella,” he said affectionately as he flipped off the lights, stepped onto the dock, and headed for his condo. As he passed back by the bar he saw something going on in the shadows. Are they just making out or does someone need their ass kicked?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Matt was back on board another airplane. This flight would be a short one compared to his most recent excursions overseas. Just before noon, the Air Canada commuter jet landed at Quebec City’s Jean Lesage International Airport. He sailed through customs and was in and out of a cab in no time. Along the way, he thought about the incident in the shadows the night before. He rubbed his right hand and was glad he’d iced it after he’d knocked the big drunk on his ass. The bastard had been trying to digit the girl he’d been pouring drinks into all night and once Matt had seen the fear in her eyes he took out the trash and had left the unconscious mess for the D.C. police. As the edifice of the castle-like Chateau Frontenac Hotel came into view, a broad smile returned to his face.
The Grand Allee, the main boulevard parallel to the St. Lawrence River, ran high along the hilltop past Le Concorde Hotel, down into the old city, and ended in front of the Chateau. Automotive traffic flowed to the left, down and away from the hotel, while pedestrians walking the Allee continued straight onto a wide boardwalk built on the cliffside known as the Dufferin Terrace.
“Do you know where we can get the funicular?” the Asian woman asked Matt, assuming for some reason that he would know its location. It was essentially a hillside cable car that slid up and down on vertical rails between the upper and lower city, providing its riders with a spectacular view of the river and its surroundings.
“Straight ahead.” He pointed toward the river. “Just past the statue of Champlain,” Matt advised the woman and her group of fellow tourists.
He continued his walk toward the Chateau, stopping briefly to review the restaurant menu that was posted on the high stone wall to the right of the front entrance. There were crepes of all types, from plain and sweet with powdered sugar and maple syrup to salty, more filling ones filled with beef bourguignon.
“I know where I’ll be tonight, I hope,” he said out loud. Continuing his walk, he stopped at the security checkpoint that had been set up to block the car path leading to the elegant, gold-plated entry doors of the hotel. The pedestrian pathways on opposite sides of the car path were also blocked and staffed by uniformed police.After presenting his passport, his Canadian one, the guard checked his list and waved Matt through.
“Inside the left side main doorway is a desk where you can sign in and acquire your credentials,” the officer told him. “There will be a metal detector, as well. If there’s anything you shouldn’t be carrying with you, best turn about or toss it in that dumpster over there,” she said, pointing to the trash dumpster tucked in a corner of the small valet area.
Matt was clean. He never carried a weapon across country borders unless he was carrying an untouchable diplomatic pouch and the credentials to go with it. Sometimes a weapon was set up and waiting for him or left behind somewhere safe from a previous excursion. As he approached the doorway, a policeman raised his hand, stopping Matt before he could reach for the door.
“Please wait here for a moment,” he directed. As Matt turned to learn what the commotion behind him was, he saw two black SUVs drive through the checkpoint and stop in front of the main entrance. The boos of the crowd that had gathered quickly out on the street seemed to echo within the high, fortress-like walls of the entry area.
“Ah, the Americans have arrived,” he said to the policeman, smiling to himself as he saw the U.S. flag waving from its mount on the front of the first SUV. Four plainclothes members of the U.S. State Department’s security force jumped from the second vehicle and formed a human rope line for their protectee. Once they were in place, a side door of the lead SUV opened and out stepped the undersecretary himself – Matt’s babysitting assignment for the event, John Tilton.
“He’s put on weight,” Matt said with a shrug, a comment ignored by the policeman, who had focused his attention on the people in the area taking photos of the controversial government official.
“Would have thought the metal detectors would have been at the checkpoint, not past the damn thing,” Matt said in follow-up, but the jeers from the crowd had grown louder and drowned out his observation.
Once Tilton and his entourage had entered the hotel, they were whisked directly to the bank of lobby elevators that would take them to the Roosevelt Suite on the upper floors of the hotel.
“Hard to think FDR and Winston Churchill met here in ’43 to discuss how to kick Hitler’s ass,” Matt said to the policeman, who had turned his attention back to this apparent history buff.
“Queen Elizabeth and Ronald Reagan have been here, too,” the officer noted. “It’s a shame that guy is the best our American neighbors have been able to muster for such an important conference. The newspapers here say he’s a bit of a turd.”
“Well said, officer.”
Matt passed through the metal detectors, collected the press credential Leclerc had left in his name, and then checked into a small but comfortable hotel room that offered the basics any experienced traveler would need. His window view was disappointing as it overlooked the roof of an adjacent wing, but the room had been upgraded to include a large flat-screen television. The bathroom had been left in a more original state, a huge bathtub with legs and six stainless steel knobs that at first blush Matt had no idea how he’d operate. But what really mattered was his proximity to Tilton’s room and the fire escape.
He went down to the bar lounge to meet Mercier and obtain the cellphone that had been promised. The room had more mahogany than Matt had ever seen in one place and it jutted out over the boardwalk below with tall, wide windows that offered panoramic views of the sites. The two sat quietly at a window table that overlooked the boardwalk and the river below it. A Norwegian Cruise Liner had just departed, now headed southwest to Montreal before it would turn back and head north into Canada’s maritime provinces and perhaps a night view of the somewhat elusive aurora borealis.
“You don’t talk much, do you, Mercier?” Matt joked, having exchanged no more than four or five words as they sat there.
&n
bsp; “Everything you need and need to know is in that information packet, Mr. Christopher. I’m a bit of a shadow man. I just get things done without much fanfare.”
“I can respect that. No worries, my friend.”
“It is a shame we have to bother with this buffoon of yours,” Mercier protested.
“He’s not mine. I didn’t appoint the piece of shit,” Matt countered. “I’ll do everything I can to protect your people, this great building, and your wonderful city. I promise,” Matt said.
Without another word, Mercier excused himself, shook Matt’s hand, and left the room. With nothing of a formal agenda until an 8 a.m. opening breakfast in one of the hotel’s banquet rooms, Matt decided to get close to Tilton’s room to observe the layout and his security team. Meanwhile, he had hours to kill, and the bar was calling to him. He moved from the table to a tall barstool, placed the conference agenda packet on the bar, and ordered a Labatt Blue. Spinning the stool slowly, he let it move a full 360 degrees so he could take in the view through the tall windows and scope who was drinking this early. His ride came to an abrupt end.
“What the fuck, dude!” a woman protested as Matt and she collided in mid-spin, her conference packet spilling out onto the lounge floor.
He immediately hopped off the stool and went down on one knee to help recover her papers. The two banged heads, and she cursed him a second time.
“Damn it!” she said in a much louder voice, gaining the attention of everyone in the bar, including a plainclothes policeman who was standing watch at the entryway.
Matt laughed, pulled his hands back from helping her, stood up quickly, and moved back onto his stool. He watched as the woman collected her belongings and then smiled when she stood and their eyes met. “I’m so sorry,” he said, trying to hold back a laugh.
“What, you think this is funny?” she said, taking her voice down a notch when she noticed the plainclothes policeman with the earpiece watching them.