Jonathan stared at the granite countertop, his hands planted firmly against the kitchen island. "That's pretty...intense."
"Isn't it?"
“I guess...it's just that it happened so suddenly...and I would have liked to have been able to say goodbye.”
“We all would have liked to have said goodbye. Martin especially. He's taking it really hard...he's hardly left Tillman's office.”
Jonathan dropped his chin to his chest and inhaled deeply before releasing a great breath of air that emptied his lungs and relaxed his shoulders.
"You're right...I should be thinking of Martin right now. He loved Tillman like a dog loves his owner."
Alexandra looked at him, her eyes sympathetic and understanding, as she came towards him and gently placed a hand on his arm. She was warm. Alive. And Jonathan felt close to her then.
"We should try and do something nice for him. Make sure he's alright."
Jonathan nodded, but said nothing as he looked away and stared out the balcony door, his eyes coming to rest on a pigeon that hand landed on the balcony railing.
"Maybe we can take him out for coffee," said Alexandra brightly. "Get him doing something. Even if we can only take his mind off it for an hour or so...it's still worth it."
Jonathan returned his attention to the beautiful girl standing beside him.
"You're right. Let's do that."
"Awesome," she said, smiling and pulling closer towards him so that their faces were almost touching.
Surprised by the outburst of affection he was receiving, he nearly stepped backwards. But then, every fibre in his body resisted and he stood firm as she drew closer and finally kissed him softly on the lips. She held the kiss for several seconds and Jonathan felt as though he might float off the ground. When she finally stepped back his lips were tingling with that electric excitement of new love and he smiled as a sizeable dose of enorphins began to coarse through him.
"Wow."
She returned his smile. "I've been meaning to do that for awhile."
Jonathan noticed that she was blushing now and her eyes were directed at the floor.
"You're gutsier than me."
Alexandra looked at him. "You feel the same way?"
"A hundred percent."
No longer embarassed, she kissed him again and Jonathan forgot completely about Tillman as they stumbled towards the couch.
- 7 -
Jonathan's apartment. 8:44 p.m.
"It’s going to get noisy here for a sec,” said Jonathan, indicating the blender full of bananas, blueberries, yogurt and pineapple juice.
Alexandra smiled. “Right.”
It was the following evening and the pair had spent the day jogging along the Canal and picknicking at Westboro Beach.
Jonathan flicked the switch and the gadget whirred to life, filling the apartment with that loud and annoying sound blenders make. When the choking, grating, whirring sounds had stopped he removed two tall glasses from the cupboard and filled them each with lemon coloured smoothie.
“The thing I don’t get still is…what does Axelrod have to gain by dealing with the Russians and the Liristanis?”
Jonathan shrugged as he took a sip of his smoothie. “I don’t know. Money?”
“There are easier ways to make money.”
“Oil rights?”
“Kind of yesterday’s news. Plus, oil is nowhere near the commodity it once was. How many cars still use gas?”
Jonathan suppressed a laugh. “You’re right.”
“So if it’s not money…and it’s not oil rights…”
“What do we know of his family life?”
“Last I checked, he's married. Two kids. House in Kanata. House in Charlottetown.”
“Seems pretty generic,” said Jonathan. “What about his wife and kids? We never really see them in the media. Are they ever on the campaign trail with him or…are there any interviews of his wife floating around YouTube?”
“No. I checked all that. The Axelrod's are pretty low key as far as politicians' families go.”
“Why, I wonder? Is he hiding them?”
“Why would Axelrod want to hide his family?”
“I don’t know. But if he is, I’m going to find out why.”
The houses one finds along the tree-lined, suburban streets that back on to the Kanata Golf Course make no attempt to hide their wealth. Roman pillars, lion statues, gurgling fountains - the miniature mansions serve as tangible testaments of their owners’ wealth. Home to wealthy entrepreneurs, sports stars and politicians, the community is a gated one and not just anyone is privy to drive along Clover Lane and Elderberry Way.
While Jonathan had initially thought that getting the code for the gate would be difficult - and lamenting that Opposition Leaders no longer lived at Stornoway as they had in the past - a simple phone call to a random address on Clover Lane in which Alexandra had posed as a Sears delivery dispatcher proved successful.
“This is the kind of neighbourhood my mom would kill for,” said Jonathan as he punched in the code at the wrought iron gates and watched them swing open.
Alexandra sighed as they pulled through and were greeted by a trio of grey and brown brick, four-storey dwellings.. “I don’t see why people are so vain. They're just houses. You eat in them...you sleep in them. That’s it.”
“You’re the practical sort that these homes aren’t built for.”
Alexandra smiled. “I guess so. And I’m glad for that.”
Rounding a bend they entered the three thousand block.
“Here we are,” said Jonathan slowly, glancing at the numbers visible from the road. “Three thousand seven…three thousand thirteen…”
“What number are we looking for again?”
“Three thousand eighty seven.”
“Knock, knock, Axelrod.”
“Think he’ll be home?”
“No. I made sure of that. He’s in committee meetings all afternoon. It's his wife we want to talk to.”
Alexandra rolled down her window as Jonathan slowed his Jetta to a crawl.
“Three thousand seventy nine…that’ll be three thousand eighty one…three thousand eighty three…eighty five…eighty seven. Three thousand eighty seven.”
“And, oh my God. Look. They're in the driveway? Is that the nanny?”
“Looks like it could be. Two kids. Minivan. She’s wearing a headscarf.”
“Intersting. Maybe she’s Malsma?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
"Let's see if we can talk to her."
"My thoughts exactly," said Jonathan as he parked his Jetta behind a small convertible and shut off the ignition.
"Looks like they're going somewhere. Let's go, quick."
They hurried out of the vehicle and raced to the end of the driveway just as the woman in the headscarf was climbing into the driver's seat.
“Hi there.”
Somewhat startled, the woman stared at them with a look of surprise etched on her face. She was rather pretty, with olive tone skin and well defined eyebrows. Her brown eyes were piercing, though her gaze was somewhat softened by her long eyelashes.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you want?"
With Alexandra beside him, Jonathan raised his hands defensively. “I'm really sorry if we scared you. My name is," he had to think fast, "Thomas Gunther...and I work with Mister Axelrod. Would Missus Aexlrod happen to be in at the moment? There are a few things we'd like to speak with her about."
"I am Missus Axelrod. What would you like to speak to me about?"
"So Axelrod's wife is Malsma?"
Jonathan nodded and took a sip from his mug.
"And now we know his motive for dealing with the Liristanis," said Alexandra, staring across the table at Martin.
It was several hours later and the three were discussing the latest development over coffee at Tina's Tea Shoppe - a small, hole in the wall sort of place in Barrhaven. While the coffee wasn't always fresh, it
was the sort of place that a person could have a chat without being overheard by anyone from the Hill.
"I never would have pegged that ignorant oaf as a religious man," said Martin, nibbling on his biscotti. "I mean, aren't Malsmas like...all serious and stuff? The ones you see on T.V. - with their beards and their skull caps - they look like serious scholars. Like men of God - not used car salesmen."
Jonathan shrugged, but said nothing, instead listening to the soft, acoustic guitar solos being pumped through the speakers.
"And what I don't understand is how the media has never looked into this," said Alexandra. "I mean, hasn't he ever brought his wife to a social function?"
"No, in fact," Martin answered thoughtfully after pausing to finish his biscotti, "he's always been very private about his family life - and he often makes a point of telling the media that he wants his public and private lives to be kept separate. According to him, it's for the good of his family."
Jonathan scoffed. "He makes it sound so honourable. If only people knew the real reason for keeping his family out of the public eye."
"I just wouldn't think that it's possible to do it," said Alexandra, still in disbelief. "I mean, for an Opposition Leader to be able to hide his family away like that? It doesn't make sense. No politician's family life can be guarded that closely."
"Well," Jonathan began, draining his mug and wiping his mouth with a napkin, "they live in a gated community...their children are probably homeschooled...or sent to some sort of Malsma private school where no journalist would even think to snoop...and Axelrod's only been Party leader since December. That's not really long enough for the media to take that much of an interest in his personal affairs - especially not when they regard him as their saviour."
"Well, I don't like it one bit," said Martin bitterly. "And Mister Tillman - " he stopped himself as tears sprang to his eyes, "...Mister Tillman wouldn't have let this stand. People need to know about the real Wilfred Axelrod - before it's too late."
"You're right, Martin," said Alexandra angrily.
"Which paper is our best bet to leak this to?" Jonathan asked, bringing Google up on his phone to begin conducting a search.
"The Toronto Tribune," said Alexandra without a moment's hesitation. "They've always been friendly to the Union Party."
Jonathan nodded and signed into his e-mail account before returning his gaze to Martin. "If we give you all the information we've collected up to now - and copies of the documents relating to Axelrod's business dealings with Liristan and Russia via Kyrex Industries - can you prepare the press package and send it out?"
"It would be my honour."
"Excellent."
"...but we begin tonight with our top story. Documents obtained earlier this afternoon by the Toronto Tribune, our newspaper affiliate, suggest that Wilfred Axelrod, leader of the Reform Party and Official Leader of the Opposition, has been conducting business with Liristan and Russia via Kyrex Industries, a company owned by his cousin, Stuart Pennington..."
Jonathan leaned back and draped his arm around Alexandra as she nestled against his shoulder. Though things were coming apart - and though the Great War was just two months away - they'd done it. They'd completed Alistair Tillman's assignment and in so doing, had dealt the Reform Party a potentially fatal blow. He didn't know what the future would hold - could the Allies really defeat Abu-Ishak's army using only Bronze Age weapons? Would Interim Leader Ronald Court keep the Union Party going in the right direction? Had he done the right thing crossing the floor to become a pseudo-Reformer M.P.? Would the revelation of Axelrod's business dealings with the enemy spell the end of the Reform Party and would his own, fledgling political career come crashing down with it?
He breathed a deep sigh and rested his head against Alexandra's. One could never be sure what the future held. All he could do was watch, wait, and hope that the new and exciting relationship he'd embarked upon with Alexandra Sinclair would make it all a little easier.
PART III
(Six weeks later)
- 8 -
Parliament Hill. Tuesday. 10:33 a.m.
“Presenting the Saskatchewan samurai battalion,” the announcer called out before the trumpet sounded and four columns of men and women, in full-body, Samurai armour marched onto the field and stood at attention.
From their vantage point atop the steps of the parliament buildings, Jonathan and Alexandra watched the procession, both equally as intrigued as the other M.P.s, Senators and dignitaries gathered on the Hill to watch the ceremony.
“The Vancouver Vikings, the Calgary Calvary, the Saskatchewan Samurai,” Wayne Cherneski exclaimed with a chuckle to the amusement of others around him. “They’re more like bloody hockey teams than army units!”
For once Jonathan agreed with the portly M.P. for Winnipeg Centre. Though, even if these army units - comprised of regular forces and volunteers - did have names more akin to hockey teams, the prospect of returning to a style of war that excluded long range ballistics and nuclear warheads appealed to him. There would be far fewer casualties and far less destruction. Moreover, with the battle slated to be fought on Morocco’s Southern Steppes, almost completely eliminating any possibility of civilian casualties.
“Next we present the Winnipeg Warriors!” boomed the announcer as two columns of men and women dressed in traditional, Aboriginal garb marched proudly into view.
“They look like the real deal,” Alexandra said, her breath catching.
“Well, they probably are," answered Jonathan. "Lot of Natives in Winnipeg and Manitoba. These are the descendants of the great Aboriginal warriors of the past.”
“Oh, please, Mister History Channel,” she said, throwing him an amused smile.
“WINNIPEG!” shouted Wayne Cherneski, rising to his feet and clapping loudly.
“Looks like Abu-Ishak's in for a bit of a surprise," Jonathan mused, ignoring the heavy-set, Ukranian M.P. "Probably never would have thought we could amass such a good-looking army. Man, I wish I was out there."
Alexandra slapped his thigh. "What!?"
"I mean...I kind of wish I could be decked out in Samurai gear or Native war paint and going off to battle."
"Jon - people are going to die."
"I know..."
"It's not like the little fantasy games you played as a kid. Or like what those LARPers do. This is real life."
Jonathan sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he surveyed his cheering, clapping colleagues and the crowd of people lining Wellington street with their Canada flags and homemade banners.
"You're right. I guess it's just a little boy's fantasy."
Despite her small size, Alexandra threw and arm around his neck and squeezed him tightly. "You're not a little boy anymore. You're my man now," she grinned, shaking him until he'd had enough and began to tickle her in retaliation.
Her shrieks of laughter filled the air and what with the sun shining and the military band pumping out brass melodies, Jonathan wished Alistair Tillman could have been there.
"Yes, Peter. Canadian troops have been arriving in Gibraltar for the past three days. And this usually quiet port city has been transformed into what some have referred to as a giant Halloween party. You have to admit, if you look here behind me, you can see the incredible variety in terms of uniforms and service men and women. (Camera pans in and out, honing in on men and women dressed in togas, kilts and capes.) There's even a unit here from Alaska that calls themselves the Alaska Archers - and yes - you guessed it - they're archers, bowmen, the Robin Hoods of the north so to speak."
The news anchor chuckled. "And Trisha, tell me. How has the reception been for all these soldiers? Because Tangiers isn't a very big place. Where is everyone being housed and fed? What's the average Spaniard think of all this?
"They love it. Peter, like I said, several people have referred to this as a Halloween party. I guess, for Spain, it's more like Carnival (laughs), and the people of Tangiers have welcome these foreign tro
ops with open arms. There are units from Argentina, Brazil, Mexico - from all over South and Central America and it's just a wondrous thing to see. It's too bad it's all leading up to something so ugly."
"Something ugly indeed," Calvin Tremblay remarked as they all sat in the livingroom several a week later, digesting their supper and sipping their tea and coffee.
"I don't know, dad," Jonathan began, ceasing his game of footsies with Alexandra so that he could give the topic his full attention. "I mean, I'm getting a little philosophical here, but as far as war goes this one will be far less destructive than previous wars. As you know, Court said only volunteers would be sent and any member of the Canadian Forces who doesn't want to participate, doesn't have to."
"War is war, son. It's ugly. Whether with sticks and stones or guns and missiles."
"Yes, but you have to admit, there are going to be far fewer casualties in this conflict than Iraq or Afghanistan or wars like that. This is the new age, dad."
Calvin Tremblay shook his head. "Well, if it's a new age son, I would hope that we would have evolved to the point where we don't need to fight anymore."
Jonathan released a sigh of exasperation and looked at Alexandra. "You see why I can't discuss politics with my dad?"
She smiled. "Every family's like this though when it comes to politics and religion and all that sort of stuff."
"I like her," said Lacey casually as she fiddled with her phone. "You better treat her right."
Jonathan threw her an accusatory stare. "You'd better treat her right - because if she runs away from this family it won't be because of me - it'll be because I've got a crazy, stubborn, annoying little sister."
"Alright you two," said Lorena Tremblay sternly.