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#1
OCT 08 |
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“Forgotten Heroes” Part One
The first message came in the form of an e-mail to the Minister of National Defence, Ian Chalmers. It said just one word, and was immediately deleted upon opening. Nothing more was said of it until the second message, written in the blood of Chalmers on the wall of his parking space, was found. This time, there were two words.
Forensics finally traced the body back to an apartment in Quebec; it was entwined with that of his equally dead mistress and suspended in a walk-in wardrobe. His mistress’ head had been severed and in her neck cavity they found a third note, this time with three words.
“Beware. We are,” Robin Madison, Secretary of State (Science, Research and Development) began her speech to Parliament. “Just three words. But these three words have already caused the deaths of Defence Minister Chalmers and a citizen of our fair nation. But perhaps the most chilling thought is this … are these three words the complete sentence, or is there more to come? And if so, what destruction will the others bring?”
Cries of agreement were mixed with some of dissent. Madison simply smiled to herself, biding her time before delivering her next line.
“Whatever we do, we should not wait,” she continued “We must strive to find the perpetrator of this horrific act and put a stop to their killing. We must work proactively to safeguard Canada’s resources and protect her for future generations.”
The negative response was now gone from the House and ripples of applause echoed around the chamber and she nodded solemnly, shuffling her papers.
“I spoke with Janet Pym today, of the famed Avengers,” she went on. “She said, and I quote, ‘While the Avengers sympathise with the death of the Minster of National Defence, we cannot guarantee our support at this time as we have other, more pressing problems to deal with. Be assured that should this problem escalate, and the Avengers are available, we will help in any way we can.’”
The House filled with howls of protest. Prime Minister Gerard Banks leapt to his feet and put a hand on Madison’s shoulder.
“Robin!” he whispered. “What are you doing calling the Avengers? This is just…”
Robin Madison put her hand over the microphone and turned to Banks.
“Listen Gerard,” she sighed. “This is just the start. You know it; I know it; they all know it. They want to know they are safe and we’re doing something about it. I knew the Avengers would be too busy, but I had to show we were doing something.”
“This is out of line, Robin,” Banks hissed.
“Maybe it is, Prime Minister, but do we need a country with no confidence in us just a few months before an election? We have to look strong, and stand up to this kind of crap.”
“You had better know what you’re doing, Robin.”
“Don’t worry, Gerard,” she whispered. “We’ve won this one already.”
Banks smiled at the gallery and retook his seat. Madison removed her hand from the microphone and composed herself for a few moments before continuing her speech.
“It is the feeling of this Government,” she continued, “that Canada needs to be protected. For too long we have been living in the shadow of other powers, with their posthuman fighting forces. It is about time that we regained our dignity and our strength. I call for a vote to re-open Department H immediately and refund the Alpha Flight project!”
The House erupted with roars of agreement and papers were strewn all over the room. Madison sat down three places along from Banks. As the noise increased, and the speaker called for order, Banks leaned over.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Robin,” he said.
“Gerard,” she replied with a smile. “You’re already re-elected.”
Banks sat back. His feeling of uneasiness had changed to one of mild contentment.
James Macdonald Hudson watched the sun set over the mountains and felt totally at peace. In his hand, he held a glass of white wine, while on the table beside him sat a pile of wheat biscuits. He hadn’t felt so relaxed in years and every day he became more and more convinced that moving out to live in this cabin was the best decision he had ever made.
The location was ideal; complete peace and solitude when required, with some breathtaking views; but also just a few miles from Banff and civilisation.
Heather McNeil Hudson stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. She wrapped it around her head and then reached for her robe, which she slipped on as she wandered into the bedroom. She picked up her glass of wine from the bedside table and made for the veranda. Pulling open a glass door she stepped outside to watch the sun set.
Mac heard the wood creak above him.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” he called out, not taking his eyes off the sunset.
“Magnificent,” Heather replied.
“You know,” he began, taking another sip from his glass, “no matter how many times I see it, the beauty always takes my breath away.”
Heather smiled and nodded.
“Same goes for you,” he continued.
Heather closed her eyes and smiled.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked.
“I’m grilling some snapper,” he replied, “But first, I thought we could have some oysters.”
He looked up and caught her leaning over the railing, gazing down at him.
“Sounds fabulous,” she laughed, just as her towel fell from her head.
The towel hit him on the face but he sat there absolutely still. Heather put a hand over her mouth, but she couldn’t stop herself from laughing. After a few seconds he erupted into fits of laughter, leaving the towel in place.
Heather felt so happy that they were able to once again relax together, for the first time in years.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she called.
“Take your time,” he called back, breathing in her scent from the towel. “No need to rush any more.”
“You missed out by three votes,” Prime Minister Banks said, throwing the results of the vote on Department H onto the desk of Robin Madison.
“I expected as much,” she replied, barely acknowledging him and continuing with the work on her computer.
“You might have at least been there!” Banks growled. “How in Hell’s name did you think this would be pushed through when you couldn’t even show face?”
“Its all under control, Gerard,” she said calmly. “I never thought it would go through first time, whether I was there or not.”
“But how…?”
“Look,” she began, finally turning to face him, “the budget I proposed is an obscene amount of money. I knew they wouldn’t go for it.”
“Then why did you put it in?” Banks roared, his face growing redder by the second.
“Because it is the exact amount that is needed to run the show effectively,” she replied, rising to her feet. “They can’t function for a penny less, so me cutting corners to try and get it pushed through is nonsense. It would collapse within six months. No, we need the full amount or nothing.”
“So, you’re dropping it?”
“Gerard. Poor, poor Gerard,” she moved to front of her desk and sat on the edge. “You really don’t know me well at all. Of course, I’m not dropping it. It would be a great addition to my portfolio, and I’m not about to let it slip through my fingers. I’ll just bide my time and wait.”
“For what?”
“Well, this madman’s bound to strike again, and when he does, they’ll vote unanimously for the funding.”
“You’re so sure?” Banks asked.
“It stands to reason.” She replied, swinging her right leg back and forth. “What makes you think he’ll stop now? He’s probably got a taste for it. He’ll strike again, and it’ll be for the last time, I promise you that.”
“The Secret Service have already put together a task force and the manhunt is on,” Banks said, taking a seat beside the open fireplace. “They’ll get him in due course.”
“If they were that effective, how did he get to Chalmers and his mistress so easily?” she asked. “He had a Secret Service detail at all times, yet they couldn’t stop his killer. I hardly think putting twenty of them together will make them any more effective, do you?"
Banks conceded with a shake of his head.
“Hopefully no one will die this time,” she continued, “but if the body count increases it won’t be for nothing. We’ll get this guy in the end.”
“And you’ll get your power, Robin.” Banks sighed.
“We’ll get our power, Gerard.” Madison replied, hoping off the desk and walking towards him. “Our power.”
With that, she leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips.
“James Macdonald Hudson?”
Heather sauntered out of the grocery store scanning the contents of her brown bag, double-checking the shopping list in her head with the products she had purchased. There was something she had forgotten, she was sure of it, but although it was probably staring her in the face – or not, as the case was – she couldn’t concentrate enough to pinpoint it.
When she looked up and saw the two men in black trenchcoats, trilby hats and dark glasses talking to James, she dropped the bag onto the ground and started out in a run towards them.
“I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person,” Hudson replied. “My name is Robert P…”
“We know who you are Mr Hudson,” the agent interrupted. “We are an Intelligence agency.”
“But…”
“Can we see some ID, please?” Heather said, as she caught up with them.
“Surely,” the agent said. He reached into his inside pocket and produced a slim leather cardholder, and held it open to them. “Agent John McArthur. This is agent Paul Rivera.”
“Secret service.” Heather sighed. “To what do we owe this pleasure.”
“We need to talk to you, Mr. Hudson,” the agent continued.
“Don’t tell us,” Heather said. “His country needs him?”
“Not just him, Ms. McNeil,” the agent said, relishing the way she physically shivered at the name. “Both of you are needed. The country is in grave danger, and I must ask you both to accompany me,”
“Look, Agent McArthur…” James began.
“And what if we don’t give a stuff about what our country needs?” she growled, thrusting a finger at him. “After all, when has our country come to our aid? What have you done for us, agent whoever you are?”
“That is not the point,” the agent hissed. “The point is, there is a menace which is threatening to destabilise Canada and potentially destroy it. You protected it once. We just want you to do it again.”
“Why?” Heather shouted.
“Heather,” James said calmly, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “Lets hear him out.”
“Mac?”
“Please,” he said, turning to look at her.
She stared into his eyes and she saw it again. The joy and pain were there in equal measure, but they were being pushed aside by the one thing stronger than both: his patriotism. She had never been able to beat that, no matter how hard she had tried.
“Mac,” she began, but she knew it was a lost cause. She turned to the agent. “Right, we’ll listen, but that’s as far as it goes.”
“I’m afraid it will have to be on the move,” came the response, as the agent turned slightly and pointed to the car parked across the street.
“No way,” Heather said angrily. “You can tell us now, or not at all!”
“Heather,” James sighed.
“No, Mac,” she growled. “We’ve worked too hard over the past year to drop it all now and regress back to the way it was. If he wants us, he has to brief us here.”
“Valuable time would be lost, Ms. McNeil,” the agent said. “We really need to move now, or the killer could strike again.”
“Killer?” James asked.
The agent nodded.
“Don’t you read the newspapers?” he replied.
Heather realised what she had forgotten at the grocery store.
“Two Government officials are already dead,” he continued “along with a civilian. Nobody is safe, and we don’t have much to go on. We need you to head up our response to this threat.”
“I see,” James said. He turned to Heather. “We’re needed, Heather. You understand, don’t you?”
She nodded silently. She did understand, but she didn’t like it. The last thing she, or rather they, needed was Department H and all its machinations screwing up their lives once more. Everything had been perfect for months now, and here was the proverbial spanner, slamming down and destroying their idyllic existence. But no matter how much she wanted the easy life, she couldn’t lose Mac again: not now, not ever. Even though it tore her inside, she had to stay with him and make sure he survived whatever ordeals they were going to put him through.
“Right,” she said, turning to the agent. “We’re in. What do we do now?”
The agent smiled widely.
“Excellent,” he said. “If you would just follow me, we can get going.”
The bomb was strapped to the fountain in Confederation Square, Ottawa. The warning came over the phone just half an hour before they detonated it. Fortunately, the authorities were able to evacuate those who work in the area and there were no casualties.
The real target, Secretary of State (Children & Youth) Rene Paul was shot six times in the head from a rooftop across from his apartment. He was reaching for the telephone when it happened, and the call was never answered. Instead, it went onto the answering machine.
The message consisted of four words, read out in a monotone with a non-specific accent. “Beware. We are here.”
“Looks like you’ve got your funding, Minister Madison,” the private secretary said with a smile, when he popped his head around her office door.
“Excellent,” Robin said. “Then we have to get a move on.”
“The …ah, Prime Minister wants to see you,” he continued. “Urgently.”
“Probably wanting to start work on re-opening Department H,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her coat before she followed the private secretary out of the door.
“We did it, Gerard,” Madison shouted, tossing her coat over the chair before marching towards his desk.
“We certainly did,” Banks agreed, as he signed some papers. “Now, we have a very short time to get things running, and top priority is who is going to run it.”
Madison stopped dead in her tracks. The look on her face was a mixture of surprise, shock and incredulity.
“Something wrong?” he asked, switching to another document and signing it.
“You’re going to give it to someone else?” she asked slowly.
“Of course,” he replied.
“But, why?” she asked, “We agreed.”
Banks stopped signing and looked up. He leant back in his seat and swivelled from side to side.
“What did we agree, Robin?” he asked, throwing his pen onto the desk.
“We agreed that I would run Department H!”
“Did we?” he asked. “Tell me, when was that?”
“When we…”
“When exactly was that, Robin?” Banks asked. “When did I actually say, you can run Department H?”
She thought for a minute and slowly realised that between the parliamentary question time and the sex in offices or hired apartments, he had never actually agreed that she would run Department H.
“You bastard!” she growled.
“Now now, Robin,” he began, rising to his feet and walking towards her, his arms outstretched. “There’s still opportunities for you that are coming up.”
“Don’t!” she roared, stepping backwards and holding out her hands to stop him. “Don’t touch me.”
“Robin.”
“Don’t Robin me,” she spat. “You knew I wanted this. I made this happen. I won you the next bloody election, for Christ’s sake!”
“Robin, you know how I hate it when you blaspheme,” Banks frowned.
“I couldn’t give a toss what you like!” she spat, spinning around on her heels and storming towards the door.
“Robin,” he pleaded, but when it fell on deaf ears he tried a little firmer. “Robin! Goddamn it, stop!”
She stopped, and bowed her head. She couldn’t look at him. She felt sick to her stomach that they had slept together and he had betrayed her. He had used her and she felt cheap.
“Listen, this is Defence,” Banks began. “Department H has to be classified as Defence. It always has been. I couldn’t give it to you. It would look like favouritism.”
“That’s total crap.” She growled, turning sharply to face him. Her face was purple with rage. “Department H is whatever we want it to be. In any case, it is research. Department H was built on science and research, for Christ’s sake!”
“Robin.”
“Stuff it, Gerard!” she shouted, and grabbed her coat before heading towards the door. “Stuff it all!”
“Robin!”
She didn’t turn back. Instead she raced through the door; fought her way through the maze of corridors ignoring the ‘Good Mornings’ and ‘Hellos’; leapt into her car and started it up. She waited for a few seconds, not moving, fighting back the tears. Then she lost it, and her head fell into her hands before the flood of tears came.
Heather didn’t sleep on the train. She sat staring out of the window, watching her sanctuary disappear into the distance.
Mac however, slept soundly. He had spent the previous few hours thinking only, saying nothing. Heather had been scared at first in case the shock of his recall had regressed him in any way, but she had held back from broaching him about it. After a short while, he had snapped out of it and smiled broadly, before kissing her passionately.
“It’ll be different this time,” he had said. “I promise.”
“Promise me something else, Mac,” she said quietly.
“Anything,” he said. “Just name it.”
“No costumes,” she said calmly. “At least, not for us.”
Mac looked up at the ceiling of the car and sighed, closing his eyes.
“Why should we put our lives on the line again?” she pleaded. “They want us, so lets set our own terms. Lets stay behind the scenes; control things for a change.”
He smiled and turned back to her.
“Of course,” he said, before kissing her softly on the forehead. “We’ve been on the front line far too long.”
Heather smiled back, but it was a forced smile. Something in her gut made her think that wouldn’t be the end of it.
As eventually, the gentle rocking of the train forced her towards sleep, she still had the feeling. Only this time, she was sure of it.
Robin Madison called in sick the next day. She couldn’t face Banks, or the grinning creep Ralph Franks, the Secretary of Defence elect who would no doubt be basking in his own glory. Instead, she intended to sit around her apartment all day, avoiding the telephone and e-mails, and wash away her sorrows with lots of Vodka and strawberries.
Her seven bodyguards were divided between standing outside her front door, sitting in their cars and camping out in the café across the street. She felt it was unfair for them all to be bored waiting in case the madman struck, so when the grocery store delivery boy came with a fresh batch of alcohol and sweet fruits, she offered a glass and some strawberries to each of the guards outside her door. They refused the alcohol, but did eat some of the strawberries.
When the shift detail change over happened three hours later, they found both men lying dead on the floor, sickening green foam drying from their eyes, nostrils and mouth.
The jeep came to a stop just outside the main gates, and one of the guards stepped out of his booth and walked towards them. He talked to the driver and then moved to speak to one of the agents in the back. James shifted uneasily in his seat, and Heather tried to comfort him with a reassuring hand on his knee. He ignored it and waited impatiently as the guard returned to the booth, nodding to his colleague as he went. In a few seconds the barrier was raised and the jeep roared into life once more, moving onto the dirt track road which wound its way through the dense mass of trees.
As the building which housed Department H - their once and future home - hove into view, James and Heather both tensed up.
The agent turned around in his seat to speak to them.
“Welcome back,” he said with a sly grin.
Heather shot him an angry look, and then refocused on the cold, grey building.
The jeep pulled up just in front of the main security doors, and before the driver could get out of the jeep, James and Heather were already standing on the gravel looking up at the towering structure.
“Mac,” Heather said, as she felt his hand squeeze tightly in hers. “For a place which has been closed down for almost a year, its looking surprisingly…”
“Alive,” Mac breathed.
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To Be Continued...
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