Chapter Forty-one

 

 

Beechwood Cemetery, Ottawa, Canada

December 20, 10:15 a.m.

 

The cold drizzle had continued throughout the morning and was threatening to turn into snow as the temperature headed below the freezing point. The gray clouds and the haze reflected the somber mood of the funeral procession as the black limousine rounded the last curve of Hemlock Road. It turned toward the entrance to the Beechwood Cemetery, one hundred and sixty acres of the final resting place for fallen Canadian soldiers, war veterans, members of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, police officers, common people, and statesmen.

Carrie had initially expressed her desire for a small, family funeral service for the return of her father’s remains to Canada. McClain, however, had different plans. He told Carrie her father had given his life for his country, and the least the country could do for him was to welcome him back as a hero.

McClain had pulled favors to get the necessary paperwork processed at lightning-fast speed and had made all necessary arrangements for the funeral. He had personally coordinated the return of the remains aboard a special airplane. He had also been present with Carrie, her mother, relatives, and friends at the repatriation ceremony held at Canadian Forces Base Trenton, when the flag-draped casket had been loaded into the black hearse earlier that morning. He was now in one of the vehicles behind the limousine.

Carrie stared absently at the familiar sight beyond the rain-splattered window glass. She had visited the cemetery more often than she cared to remember, and the last time it had been about two months ago, when she came to lay to rest a dear friend from her days in the military service. A roadside bomb blast in Afghanistan had ripped through her Humvee and had cut short her life at the age of twenty-four.

Carrie sighed and looked across the seat at her mother, Sarah. She had combed her long gray hair neatly to the side and two small pins were holding it in place. She seemed lost in her thoughts, her gray eyes lacking any emotion. Carrie was not sure if her mother realized where she was and what was going on around her. She had been fighting Alzheimer’s for a few years and lately the disease was winning the war.

Carrie’s eyes moved to Susan—her sister—who was sitting next to their mother. Susan was the one who had taken care of their mother before she became too ill and needed constant professional care. Carrie’s schedule allowed her to visit her mother maybe once or twice a month at most at her assisted-living facility in Toronto.

Susan returned Carrie’s gaze and gave her a sad grin. “How are you doing?” she asked.

Carrie shrugged. “This will soon be over and I’ll be okay. We’ll all be okay.”

Susan nodded, then sniffled. She found a Kleenex in her purse and dabbed her eyes.

Carrie returned her gaze to the window as the limousine slowed down as it came to the National Memorial Center, then proceeded toward section 29 of the cemetery. They passed by Catherine the Tank Memorial—an M4A2E8 Sherman Tank—placed at the edge of the Veterans Section and by The Cross of Sacrifice—a twenty-foot-high granite memorial. A few more seconds, and the limousine stopped.

Carrie straightened the collar of her black coat, rearranged the splint around her arm, and stepped outside. The driver of the limousine hurried toward her with a large umbrella. Carrie accepted the umbrella and shrugged him off with a polite smile. She helped her mother out of the limousine and then held the umbrella over her. Sarah looked around, apparently confused about her location. Carrie did not have the heart to tell her mother where they were and for what purpose. She hoped the gravesite and her father’s name on the headstone would jog her mother’s memory.

Justin, Anna, and Thomas—Carrie’s fiancé—along with McClain came out of a black Mercedes-Benz. Justin struggled with his crutches, then looked at her. He waved and Carrie nodded back. Justin and McClain headed toward a large green tent set up by the gravesite. Anna and Thomas came and stood next to her. Carrie held his hand, finding an extra ounce of comfort in his firm grip.

“I’m here with you,” Thomas said in a soft, reassuring tone.

Anna nodded at Carrie. Then they fell into each other’s arms in a tight, tearful embrace.

 

* * *

 

Carrie had promised herself she was not going to cry at her father’s funeral. But when the skirl of bagpipes played the notes of “Amazing Grace,” tears began to pour out of her eyes. The pent-up pain had finally found its release. She wished she was not underneath the tent but out in the rain, so the downpour would hide her tears and wipe away her sorrow.

She tried to pay attention to the priest’s sermon that followed the hymn, but the words rang hollow and empty. Carrie believed in God but not in the heavily regulated system of religion and its unbearable burden of rules and regulations. It was her sister’s decision to have a priest deliver the eulogy, and Carrie respected her wishes.

The priest led them in a word of prayer, then came a three-shot rifle salute, the signal that the battle could resume. The volley gave Carrie goose bumps and startled her. She was expecting the volley but not the effect it was going to have on her.

Eight men in military uniform—the same men who had carried the casket from the hearse to the stand at the gravesite—began to fold the Canadian flag that had shrouded the casket. They handed it over to Sarah, who nodded and thanked the men. She was lucid and focused and, like Carrie, had not been able to hold back her tears. Sarah shook their hands and hugged one of them, an old, gray-haired man who looked quite imposing in his crisp uniform and a chest full of ribbons and medals.

Carrie avoided looking at the faces of the men who came to shake her hand. But when the gray-haired man came to embrace her, she held the gaze of his eyes. The man was John Gray, a retired colonel and one of the few men who had tried to help Carrie find her father’s remains.

“You brought him home, Carrie,” John said in a low, quiet voice. “I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks, John. I appreciate all your help.”

John gave her a nod and stepped away.

More men and women came to express their condolences. Carrie did not know some of them, and most of the people she recognized had not been very supportive of her efforts over the years in searching for her father’s whereabouts. They had hidden behind rules surrounding the secrecy of covert missions or had cited national security concerns when obstructing her. She could not care less now, seeing them act polite, saddened, and compassionate. It was the utmost illustration of hypocrisy.

Carrie nodded and thanked them one after the other. She was going to spare her family a public embarrassment and was not going to make a scene. A few more minutes, she kept telling herself, and everything will be over. You’ll never have to see or speak to these people again.

The majority of the people peeled off immediately at the end of the ceremony. Carrie placed her wreath near the grave and ran her fingers over the top of the granite headstone. She looked at the inscription: My Queen and Country Needed Me, I Answered the Call and felt shivers going through her body. She held back tears and gave her father a silent goodbye. She helped her mother with her wreath, then stood next to her as the few remaining relatives and friends chatted among themselves.

McClain came and gave her a big hug. He said he had to leave right away and apologized for his departure. Carrie thanked him for everything he had done and for his great understanding and support.

Justin stepped near Carrie. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked in a whisper.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Not here. Follow me.”

Carrie followed him away from the gravesite and down the pathway leading to the Veterans Section of the cemetery. Justin turned in among the rows of graves.

“What are we doing here, Justin?” she asked.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

A man in a wheelchair was waiting next to a headstone. He looked feeble and his left hand was trembling even though it was fully resting on his knees. The man was perhaps in his early sixties, but his face was colorless and full of wrinkles.

“Who is he?” Carrie asked.

The man moved his power wheelchair slowly so he could face Carrie. “My name is Matthew Nicolas. I used to work for the CIS. I have some intelligence for you.” His voice was weak and low, but his black eyes were full of life. They made a striking contrast against his pale face.

“He was one of my trainers at the plant when I just started at the CIS, and my mentor,” Justin said in a voice full of confidence and admiration.

Carrie nodded. “OK, what sort of intel?”

Matthew reached slowly into one of his black coat’s pockets. “I have a flash drive with some classified documents,” he said when he pulled out his gloved hand. He extended it toward Carrie. “It’s about your father, and his operation in the Soviet Union.”

Carrie tipped her head to the side and pondered the many questions rushing through her mind. She paused for a moment, then asked, “Why? And why now?”

Matthew nodded. “Good questions. I thought you’d want to know, to get some closure.”

Carrie spread her arms out. “I just buried my father. I have closure.”

“Yes, but this is about why he was sent to Moscow and what was expected from his operation.” Matthew gestured with his outstretched hand for Carrie to come forward and pick up the flash drive. When she still did not move, he added, “Now it’s the right time . . . well, for me at least. By the time they find out I gave you classified intel, I will not be around to suffer the consequences.” He gestured again with his trembling hand.

Carrie stepped forward and picked up the flash drive. It barely weighed anything in her hand but she knew the crushing burden it might put on her once she accessed the files and read the reports. Perhaps I’m not ready to find the entire truth.

“Thank you for this intelligence, Mr. Nicolas,” she said in a measured tone of gratitude mixed with a certain uneasiness.

Matthew offered her a hesitant smile. “You’re welcome. If and when you read them, I’m willing to answer all your questions, to the extent that I know the answers. And if I don’t, I’ll find out as much as I can, considering that I’m retired and no longer have a carte blanche access.” He paused for a moment, let out a deep sigh, and added, “And not many friends, I’m afraid. Most of them are resting in peace here. And I shall join them soon.”

Carrie could not think of an appropriate reply to Matthew’s remarks, so she said nothing.

“I have to go back, Mr. Nicolas,” Carrie said. “Thanks again.”

She put the flash drive in one of her inside coat pockets.

“I’ll join you in a minute,” Justin said.

“All right,” Carrie said and began to walk back toward her father’s gravesite.