Patriot

by A S Bond

  “I can’t guarantee you either, but I can have you taken in as a witness, pending further investigations and information. All of which will be outside my control.”

  Maynard thought for a moment. “The journalists weren’t supposed to be there. That was a mistake.”

  The room became still.

  “In Afghanistan?”

  Maynard nodded.

  “What was supposed to happen?”

  “Everything except that, precisely as planned.”

  “Why?” Scott said. “My patience is running out.”

  “As was ours, with the U.S. Administration’s willingness to walk away from the fight. The attack on ISAF forces by superior weaponry was designed to ramp up support domestically and force the president’s hand into renewing his commitment to winning on the ground in Afghanistan...and wherever else that is, or could, become necessary.”

  “You’re the president’s friend,” Brooke said. “You have his ear, or couldn’t you have used more traditional methods of getting what you want, like campaign contributions? “

  “I see you have being doing your homework. “ Maynard smiled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. No, I wouldn’t call the president a friend of mine. We have never agreed on anything of any significance. It’s true, he came to Canada to do some fishing a few years ago, but that was just PR for both of us. As were the numerous events we have been photographed at, which is no doubt why you imagine we are great friends. But we are really just ...old business associates, at best.”

  He glanced at Scott, who couldn’t help but smirk. The guy had no idea how much he knew.

  “No,” Maynard continued,” those solutions were...uncertain. We needed firm outcomes. And we needed to get the American people on our side to ensure the decisions were carried through, without...” he paused and shot a crooked smile in Scott’s direction. “Without dissembling. Part Two of course, was the attack on Washington. Taking the battle to the lion’s den. No president could ignore that level of provocation. Whether the EMP pulse was activated or not was unimportant. The mere fact that it was discovered would be enough.”

  “You cold bastard,” Scott said.

  “Of course, we also had a security policy, to ensure the correct - interpretation - and response to events at the White House.”

  “Which was?” Brooke said.

  “Move on,” ordered Scott. Maynard gave a slight nod. He wasn’t going to reveal his ace until he could be sure of the jackpot.

  “He worked very well for us, controlling the flow of information, ensuring Vernon got Langley looking in all the wrong places, arguing that the president could look strong and get elected again next year...” Maynard was almost laughing to himself now. “And of course, if it backfired and the president lost the election, his replacement surely wouldn’t make the same mistake and go soft on America’s enemies. It couldn’t fail.”

  A shiver ran through Scott as the sheer cold-bloodedness of it all.”Tell me about the Iranian side of the deal.”

  “That was even simpler,” Maynard said. “I convinced a player in regional politics - “

  “I know his name.” Scott was quick to stop him from mentioning Hassan in front of Brooke. He needed to think about damage limitation for the White House, even though it hardly seemed fair, when she had done so much to stop this madman.

  “I’m sure you do. I convinced him of my commitment to the jihad. The Consortium then supplied his contacts with weaponry - some of it built with my chip - and he ensured that it was used. Vanity and power are a dangerous combination. He gained both and we gained a reason to keep America fighting. I confess, I enjoyed the irony of using him and his people to ensure America’s forces stayed in the Middle East.”

  “What about the men on the ship?”

  “Hired hands, provided by my contact as part of the deal. As was the ship, via links with Al Shabaab in Somalia.”

  Brooke and Dex looked at each other. They clearly had no idea of the extent of the plan. Scott knew questions would be lining up in Brooke’s mind.

  “But you said you tipped off the Navy, and stopped the Marie Louise reaching Washington? Which is why the Navy came and blew her out of the water - “

  “And the evidence,” added Dex. “But why destroy it...?”

  “I’m guessing that’s the reason you were going to be killed along with us in the mine by your friends in the Consortium, am I right?” Brooke said, to Scott’s relief. Dr. Adams’ train of thought was taking him to close to the critical point.

  Maynard nodded.

  “So you double crossed both the Consortium, and your... contact. Why? I don’t understand. Why get so involved, and then pull the plug? “

  “It’s like I said,” Maynard explained. “I’m not a terrorist, I’m a patriot.” He looked sideways at Scott. “No doubt you uncovered my family origins in Algeria.”

  Scott looked at him impassively for moment, then admitted, “Yes, we did.”

  “And it made you suspicious of my motives. It was easy to see me as a potential terrorist and traitor to my country.”

  “Yes.”

  “But, don’t you see? My mother fled fundamentalism. Quebec was the only place that would take her, because she spoke French. There, she met her husband, my late father. He was an American, which is why I was raised in New York, acutely aware of my great fortune to be born a free man. And now I have the means to ensure it stays that way for future generations. Double crossing my contact was a pleasure and the act of a true American patriot. As for the Consortium...that was unfortunate, but necessary, thanks to their own greed.”

  There was silence in the room for a moment, as Scott, Brooke, Dex and Kyle, who had been listening intently and trying to keep up, took in what Maynard had said.

  “You proved you patriotism by attacking the U.S., not once, but twice?” Scott said. “In what kind of twisted reality does that add up?”

  “As Ms. Kinley has already said, I stopped the attack on Washington. The mere fact that a terrorist ship got that close was perfectly sufficient for my needs. That bomb was just as effective, whether it went off or not.”

  “But you betrayed your co-conspirators.”

  “My fellow Americans in the Consortium? Yes, because I discovered that they were motivated more by dollars than by their country’s interests.”

  “What could be more American than the pursuit of cash?” Brooke said. Maynard merely turned his gaze on her for a long moment. Scott broke in.

  “They wanted to set off the bomb?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Do you have any evidence of this?”

  “Of their plan? Intentions, motives? Absolutely. Why do you think they were trying to kill me?”

  A knock on the door pre-empted the arrival of the ship’s doctor and two orderlies.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to give our patients some rest.” The doctor checked Brooke’s pulse and heart rate. “We’ll be docking in a few hours.” The two orderlies started to help Maynard to sit up, when Kyle jumped out of his bed and barred the door.

  “Haven’t you forgotten something?” he said, his face full of emotion. Scott had, in truth, forgotten about him. He only had a vague idea that he was in some way connected to the bodies found in the forest. Then the idea that he could get Maynard on additional conspiracy to murder charges crossed his mind and he didn’t move to intervene.

  “Calm down,” the doctor said, reaching for Kyle’s arm, but he swatted him away and stared at Maynard.

  “Tell me why you shot Max.”

  Maynard regarded him for a moment. “I didn’t shoot Max, once of the security guards did, just as you killed his colleague.”

  “He was trying to murder me!”

  “They were casualties in a much bigger war.”

  “Is that all you have to say? What about imprisoning me in that windowless cave, you bastard?”

  “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

  “I hope you ge
t the chair!” Fury twisted Kyle’s face.

  “OK, that’s enough,” the doctor said, and the two military orderlies forcefully helped Kyle back into his bed and held him there until he wrenched himself free with a glare and a gesture to suggest he would stay there without assistance. The doctor turned to Scott.

  “I think it would be a good idea to separate our guests. We have somewhere nice and secure for this gentleman.”

  “Good idea,” Scott said.

  Orderlies helped Maynard off the bed and held him, one on each arm, with rather more firmness than necessary. Scott followed them down the passageway to a small cabin, which had a lock on the door and no natural light. A single bunk had been flipped down from one wall, and a chair rested next to the opposite wall, barely five feet away.

  With a nod to Scott, the orderlies left, handing him the key to the room. Maynard lowered himself onto the bed like an old man. A lot of the audacity had disappeared, Scott noticed, but there remained nothing vulnerable about him. Quite the reverse; he was trapped, injured, and all the more dangerous for it.

  “Tell me, something - “

  Maynard’s eyebrow raised fractionally. “I thought you had all the answers.”

  “I uncovered the strings you have been using to make the president dance. Since he was just a congressional candidate.”

  Maynard chuckled. “And each time I pulled one, he became ever more tightly enmeshed; like Gulliver and the Lilliputians.”

  “So what happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the leverage wasn’t quite enough when it came to getting what you wanted over Afghanistan, was it?”

  Maynard shook his head, but he was smiling. “No, but it was never meant to be. I designed that little web long before I knew I would need to step in and save my country. That’s where you went wrong, you see. You always thought this was about the president, one way or another. Was he colluding to kill American forces for his own gain at the polls, or was someone trying to destroy him through a humiliating military defeat? The answer is neither - it was never about Campbell.”

  Scott almost laughed at the pomposity, the egomania of the man.

  “But,” Maynard continued, “when he refused to extend our little arrangement, I made him a promise.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I promised that he would see where the right path lay, eventually, but that I couldn’t ensure he wouldn’t get burnt.”

  “So you threatened him.”

  “Not an empty threat; I always fulfil my promises.”

  Scott thought of the pressure the president was under to withdraw from Afghanistan. The press, Congress, even foreign governments. “Why did he refuse your - request?”

  Maynard smiled. “Others had his ear too - “

  “Like Senator McLean?”

  Maynard shrugged noncommittally. “It seems Campbell, for all his veniality, also considers himself an American patriot. But I doubt that will count for much at the polls next year.”

  Scott turned to leave.

  “So here’s the deal.”

  “We have a deal.” Scott didn’t look at Maynard, but he paused on the threshold of the little room.

  “I satisfied your curiosity. It was a good performance, wasn’t it? I think your friends enjoyed it. Now it’s time you and I get down to business.”

  “You can talk ‘business’ with the Federal Marshalls.”

  “I don’t think I’ll have that pleasure. I’ll be some distance away by then.”

  Scott spun on his heel, incredulity on his face, and instantly regretted the disclosure. It would be interpreted as a sign of weakness.

  “You know I can name names. You know I have the evidence.” said Maynard

  “I know the name.”

  Maynard raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed. But do you have evidence? To convince your boss? The press? Save your career? Save you from a prison cell? The murder of a hired assassin is still a murder.”

  Scott swallowed and said nothing.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Where is this evidence you claim to have?”

  “It’s safe. My little insurance. Let’s talk about what it’s worth. I’m thinking I walk.”

  Scott laughed out loud. Maynard cocked his head to one side, waiting.

  “You didn’t get into this to bring me down. Not when there’s a bigger fish out there, a bigger truth. Mine will be a long legal battle, too. Too long for you. If I’m convicted, I’ll be joining you in a cell, won’t I?” Maynard leaned forward, his expression intense. “How long do you think you’ll last, among all those pimps and murderers, the drug dealers, child rapists?”

  Scott shook his head, slowly.

  “He’s already tried to kill you,” Maynard continued. “Bringing me in won’t help you. This is the only way you’re going to get what you need. We dock, here in friendly, safe Canada, where neither of us is a wanted man. We go and get the evidence, which is on a tiny memory stick in a safe...”

  “How far?” Scott said and immediately bit his lip. It sounded like he was negotiating.

  “Not far. A short hop. Which you verify, I leave and you do with as you see best....”

  “Who is the bigger fish?”

  Scott jumped, and his heart leaped in his chest. The open door. What a fool.

  Brooke stood in the hallway, her long bare legs disappearing into an oversize white hospital gown.

  “Let me land him, whoever he is. It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

  Chapter 45

  The airport at St. John’s, Newfoundland, was only a few miles outside the city. Her taxi had left the dock and flashed through empty, steep-sided streets of picturesque weatherboard homes. Within minutes her vehicle was out on the road climbing up into higher country that seemed barely more tamed than the Labrador wilderness. Squat spruce trees lined the two-lane highway, and the old sedan bounced on asphalt pock-marked by relentless winter snows.

  Brooke checked her watch. 5:30 am. Dawn was still some time off, but the weekly flight to New York would be leaving in forty-five minutes. The connection through to D.C. was fast, to suit the regular East Coast commuters, and she would be back in the capital a full hour before the press conference was scheduled to begin at 11.

  There had been relief in Denzel’s voice when she spoke to him from the bridge of the Royal Navy frigate. A missing journalist is a real headache. She couldn’t be precise about her location, of course, but he agreed to get her a press pass for the conference, and send Alice to her apartment to pick up a change of clothes and her cell phone. Brooke flipped down the sun visor and looked in the little back-lit mirror. Her cheek was beginning to heal, her eye was less black, but she was still pale from exhaustion. The hot food and rest courtesy of the British government had been wonderful, but her body craved so much more. Every muscle ached. It even hurt to move her eyes, so she closed them, and let the cheerful Newfie driver speed her towards the final hurdle.

  Scott stood on the dock, in a breeze that brought a chill straight off the northerly icebergs. The neon lights above the concrete walkways and shipping containers began to fade as a gray dawn advanced. He watched as Dex’s wheelchair was hoisted into the back of the waiting ambulance, followed by Kyle.

  The ship’s doctor had diagnosed shock following the injury to his knee, and ordered an additional 24 hours observation. Kyle promised to stay close until his brother was discharged from the city’s General Hospital and they could fly south to Washington together.

  “Don’t you let her down,” Dex called out as the ambulance crew closed the rear doors. “She’s counting on you.” The door clanged shut, and Scott shivered as he pulled up his collar. He had a feeling he wasn’t Adams’ favorite guy. He certainly hadn’t been too enthusiastic about their plan. But what else could he do? It was he who was counting on Brooke.

  “The Montreal flight doesn’t leave for another three hours.” said a voice behind him. It came from deep within shad
ows cast by the frigate in the fragile dawn. Gradually, the tall, thin form of Maynard resolved itself, his face gaunt.

  “May I suggest some hot coffee while we wait? It shouldn’t be hard to find; this town wakes up early.”

  “You had better be right about this, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

  The car service was waiting for Brooke as she emerged from the domestic terminal and took her straight to the newsroom. The miles of city blocks, the concrete mid-rises and busy intersections seemed strange and confining after the wide open spaces of Labrador. But Brooke didn’t have time for contemplation.

  “I’ll be three minutes,” she said as they stopped downtown.

  “Hey, there’s no waitin’ here!” the driver called after her, but Brooke was already gone through the glass doors.

  The newsroom was buzzing as usual, but a lull crept through the space as the staff took in the sight of Brooke as she stepped out of the elevator. She looked down at herself, her appearance registering for the first time. Her clothes had been washed at least, thanks to the ship’s laundry room, but her combat pants were ripped, her shirt dishevelled from the travelling and her face looked like she’d gone six rounds in a boxing ring. With a shrug, Brooke dashed through to Denzel’s office and entered without knocking. He was on the phone, but he hung up as soon as he saw her.

  “You have the things I asked for?”

  “Hey Brooke, nice of you to drop in. Say, where you been?”

  “I don’t have time for this, Denzel. The press conference starts in 40 minutes.”

  Alice appeared in the doorway.

  “Oh my God.” She stared at Brooke.

  “Did you get everything?” Brooke said, snatching the carryall from the intern’s hands.

  “Oh, yes. Your clothes, phone - “

  “- and here’s your press pass and a digital recorder,” added Denzel, sliding them across the corner of his desk not covered with papers.

  Brooke shut herself in the women’s bathroom and, glancing at herself in the mirror, unpacked the bag. Alice had chosen a white shirt and pale gray pantsuit. Brooke pulled off her hiking gear and stepped into the suit, the material silky against her skin. The leather pumps felt oddly light, after her boots. Brooke put her wallet, pass and phone into the little leather purse and looked in the mirror. Not good. She scrabbled in the bottom of the carryall and smiled. There was no covering her wounds, but a slick of lipstick and a dusting of power made a difference—to her self-respect, if nothing else.