Deadline (3 page)

Cannon walked outside to the employee
parking area. It was sparsely populated with vehicles. Only those
from the night shift staff. She always was a bit apprehensive
walking in the garage late at night, but extra lighting had been
put in because of concerns of women staff using the lot late at
night.

She located her 2004 Gulf Blue Grand
Am and headed off to her apartment a 20-minute drive
away.

* * *

Katie heard the sweet, silky sounds of
Michael Bublé emanating from the stereo as she entered her small
condo apartment.

“
Hi honey, what took you
so long?” said a male voice from the nearby kitchen. “I’ve had a
bitch of a day and I’m ready for a drink and some lovin’. How about
you?”

Andrew Chase emerged from the kitchen
with two martinis in hand and wearing nothing but a broad Cheshire
cat grin.

Chapter 6

A Village in Afghanistan
8:45 AM (Afghanistan DST)

THE SOLDIERS moved on to the nearby
local hospital to deliver the medical supplies.

The convoy parked outside a small
white stucco building with a large Red Cross sign outside the front
entrance.

Dr. Khalid Kamal, a small wiry man who
ran the hospital with the aid of a single nurse, greeted the
Canadian troops with enthusiasm.

“
Captain Mark, so glad to
see you. We’re just about out of supplies. You are indeed an angel
of mercy!”

Trained at The University of Western
Ontario medical school in London, Ontario, Khalid Kamal spoke
fluent English. He had returned to Afghanistan to help rebuild his
shattered country.

“
Hi doc, I’m afraid I’m no
angel of mercy – that’s your job,” responded Van Den Boven. “But
I’ve got more supplies for you. There is Morphine, surgical
instruments, bandages, Penicillin and other antibiotics. We’ll try
to get more to you as soon as possible.”

Trevor Trevanian introduced himself to
Kamal and shook hands with the Afghan. He interviewed him about the
work at the hospital.

Trevanian learned the 20-bed
ramshackle facility was three-quarters full of patients. Most
suffered from disease and some from Taliban vengeance and
retribution for collaborating with the allied forces.

Kamal stressed the importance of the
medical supplies provided by the Canadians.

“
Kabul seems to have
forgotten about us. There’s been no help from the capital city in
ages. I think they fear to venture from their safe zone into
southern Afghanistan.”

“
Have the Taliban bothered
you?” inquired Trevanian.

“
No, they pretty much
leave us alone. They also come to us for treatment of wounds. We
are of use to both sides. I really don’t think our own people are
the real problem. If terrorist zealot insurgents would stop coming
here from neighboring countries and blowing themselves up, things
would get better in our country.”

After the visit to the hospital, the
trucks moved into the centre of the village and people gradually
began to emerge from their huts, thinking things were
safe.

The people thronged around the army
trucks as supplies of food, clothing and personal sundries were
unloaded for distribution. Black clouds of flies hovered over the
area. Animal remains lay nearby with the sickening stench of
decaying flesh pervading the air. The air is strong with the smell
of raw sewage.

Trevanian observed as the men and
women soldiers unloaded the goods and distributed them to the
clamoring horde of hungry, emaciated villagers. Many of them make
hand signals to ask for water or food.

He took out his camera and began
shooting the scene. They are the poorest of Afghanistan’s poor, he
thought. Many of the mud huts are roofless. No water. No
electricity. Fuel is scarce.

“
Captain, my heart just
bleeds for these people,” said Trevanian. “They have nothing. The
children look wasted and aged well beyond their years.”

Van Den Boven turned toward Trevanian.
“I know, Trevor. We’re the only hope they’ve got right now, but
it’s still just a drop in the bucket. We can only do what we can to
help. It will never be enough.”

Trevanian eyed a small, emaciated
Afghan child approaching a female soldier. The child was about six
years old but looked twice her age. Sunken eyes without a spark of
life, hollowed out face, her hands outstretched. Trevor snapped a
photo of the soldier handing over a candy bar with a warm
smile.

Soon the soldiers returned to base in
Kandahar. Trevanian had his story and photos to file.

Although it was early Thursday morning
here in Afghanistan, Trevor knew that with the eight-and-a half
hour time difference, it was well after midnight back in eastern
North America. The papers already had been put to bed for the day
and there was no hurry to file. There was plenty of time to meet
Thursday’s deadline for Friday’s paper.

Trevanian couldn’t know that the story
he already had would in hours be surpassed by a much bigger
story.

It would be the biggest scoop of his
life.

Chapter 7

Paddy’s Bar 1:05
A.M.

NOTHING LIKE a few glasses of
Glenfiddich to put things right with the world, thought Braden
Young.

He’d downed the Scotch like water. His
drinking had gotten much heavier lately. It dulled the pain and
loneliness in his life.

Sometimes he picked up a woman in a
bar and after a few drinks it was back to his place or hers for
brief sexual gratification, a pale substitute for a real
relationship.

These were usually one-night stands
and they never saw each other again. Occasionally they might meet
again in another bar, but they were like passing ships in the night
with brief acknowledgement of each other.

Lately these assignations were
becoming fewer as age and booze took its toll on Young’s
libido.

Paul O’Connor had a couple of pints of
Guinness ale and they chatted for 20 minutes or so. Then O’Connor
headed off to his family in the suburbs.

O’Connor was that rare member of the
journalistic breed -- one who had juggled a successful career and
marriage. He was still married to his first wife, Beth. They had
two teenaged children at home.

“
Another round, Braden?”
inquired Jeff Ingot, the bartender eyeing Young’s nearly empty
glass.

“
No, thanks, Jeff. I
better call it a night. I’ve got to get some shut-eye before
getting back to the paper.” He downed the last drops of his glass,
picked up his jacket and headed for the door.

“
No rest for the wicked,
eh,” said the bartender.

“
You got that one right,
Jeff.”

Young caught the subway and got off at
his stop on Bloor Street, just steps from his apartment
building.

He took the elevator to the 12th
floor. He felt slightly giddy. The world whirled about him as he
walked. He felt like he was on a merry-go-round. It must be the
effects of the Glenfiddich.

As he approached his apartment 1207,
Young spotted a woman’s body curled up in his doorway. She appeared
to be asleep. He drew closer and tapped her slightly with his foot.
She looked up at him with her big brown eyes and dimpled
cheeks.

“
Daddy, I wondered if you
were ever coming home.”

“
Megan,” said a stunned
Young. “Whatever are you doing here at this time of night? When did
you get to Toronto?”

“
Oh, Daddy I didn’t know
where else to go. I flew into Pearson Airport tonight and went to
the paper, but they said you had left. I came here, but you weren’t
home so I just crashed here. I must have fallen asleep.”

“
But sweetie, what’s
wrong? Where is Dennis?”

“
I don’t know and I don’t
care. He’s probably with that bimbo whore of a co-anchor.” Megan
started to cry.

“
Now princess, don’t get
yourself all worked up. What’s the slime ball been up to
now?”

“
Daddy, he has been
sleeping around on me. I found the evidence and confronted him with
it. We had this terrific fight. I just packed some things and left.
Mom and her new husband are in London, England at some academic
conference. You’re the only person I could think of to come to. I
hope you don’t mind.”

“
Of course not, sweetie.
You know you can come to me anytime for help. Come on, let’s get
inside. It’s nearly 2 a.m. You must be beat. “

Amid sobs, Braden heard Megan’s story
and tried to be reassuring. He then let her have his bedroom while
he crashed on the couch with a blanket and pillow.

Young felt confused and helpless. What
now? What was he going to be able to do?

As his eyelids grew heavy and he
drifted off to sleep, Braden Young’s last thought was: I haven’t
been much of a father to you when you were growing up, Megan but I
will be here for you now. I promise you that much

Chapter 8

Katie Cannon’s Apartment
2:05 AM

KATIE CANNON nestled in Andrew Chase’s
arms. She was contented.

She watched as his chest rose up and
down slightly as he breathed, gently snoring. She felt a warm
bodily glow from their passionate lovemaking.

Katie ran the palms of her hands along
his chest, her fingertips tracing the small hillocks and hollows of
his body she now knew so well. It was comforting to have him by her
side.

The stresses and strains from her long
day had dissipated. Katie now felt totally relaxed and at peace
with the world.

Despite the 20-year age gap between
them, Katie held an intense passion for Andrew. He was a virile man
with a sensitive touch in the bedroom. Andrew was a man who knew
how to treat a woman well. He was a man undoubtedly who had
extensive experience with women over the years because of his
youthful, handsome looks and the allure of his power and
money.

Andrew Chase could probably lure any
woman he wanted into his bed. Katie often wondered what her
attraction to him was.

At first she thought she would
probably only be a one-night stand, but they had been seeing each
other for six months now. The relationship was still a secret to
her colleagues. They worked hard to keep it secret because Katie
wanted it that way. At least for now.

She earned her reputation as a
journalist at the paper on the basis of her work. She didn’t want
scuttlebutt at the office that she was sleeping with the
publisher.

Katie knew women in the business who
slept their way to the top and to good assignments by bedding some
of the editors. She did not want the reputation as another newsroom
slut.

Chase stirred slightly. She moved his
arm to pull herself tighter against his body. Katie didn’t know
where this relationship was going or if it had any future, but for
now it was all she needed.

She drifted off to sleep, content with
the world.

Chapter 9

High Park Toronto 2:15
AM

THE MAROON Ford Explorer moved slowly
through the park. It was deserted and dark, illuminated only by the
silvery light of a three-quarters moon.

He found the right spot. He parked the
vehicle near a clump of bushes and trees. Within minutes he laid
the near nude body of Antoinette Bower gently on the
ground.

He arranged her neatly so she looked
like she was simply asleep. The only telltale evidence to the
contrary was the bright yellow silk scarf wrapped tightly around
her neck.

He closed his eyes a moment to
experience again the thrill of the climax. After she had satisfied
him sexually at his lair, he caressed her gently with the scarf,
moving up and down her body.

“
Please don’t hurt me,
please,” Bower had pleaded. She hoped that by not struggling he
would release her now that he had got what he wanted.

He eased the scarf around her neck and
embraced the fear in her eyes. He was in total control. Total
power.

“
But you must pay the
price my dear, you must pay the price!”

He pulled the silk scarf tightly,
watching as she struggled to breathe. Her bright blue eyes slowly
turned blank and lifeless.

Placing Antoinette Bower at rest in
the park, he gave her one final kiss on the cheek.

Now for the final step.

He kneeled beside the body, clad only
in pink panties. He caressed her breasts and moved in closer,
placing his mouth over each of them.

Then he gazed up at the moon and let
loose with a bloodcurdling howl, baying“OOOOOOWWWWWWW!”

The Wolfman had left his telltale
mark.

Chapter 10

Kandahar 11:30
AM

TREVOR TREVANIAN pounded the keys of
his Mac Powerbook Pro as he feverishly weaved his story.

He told of the massacre and
destruction at the village by the Taliban. He recounted the
soldiers’s efforts at reconstruction and help for the Afghan
people. He also wrote of their medical aid for the local hospital
and the work of Dr. Khalid Kamal.