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.