Deadline (15 page)

It was time for choices – for both of
them.

It was high time for Katie to decide
whether she wanted a life together with him where she could play a
role as his partner in life and the newspaper. It was time for him
to evaluate where things were going and to look at the best options
for the future of the paper and his life.

Love or money? That’s basically what
it came down to for Chase.

He could marry Katie for love or take
up Ashley on her offer for a substantial investment by her father
that would keep the paper afloat for a few more years. Perhaps by
then it would be running on a profitable basis.

Chase had two great loves in his life
-- Katie and the Daily Express.

Perhaps it was pre-ordained that he
could only keep one. A man could only be so happy in this life. To
have both is perhaps too much to expect.

He walked over to Katie’s desk, deep
in his thoughts and stared at the vacant seat. His thoughts were
suddenly interrupted.

“
Is there something I can
do for you, Mr. Chase?”

Chase looked over to the right of
Katie’s desk toward the source of the interruption. It was that
rookie reporter Donna-Marie Pierce. She had stopped working at her
computer terminal and was staring at Chase.

“
Oh, Miss Pierce, I am
looking for Katie Cannon. There’s something important I need to
discuss with her.”

“
Sorry, sir, you just
missed her,” said Pierce. “I believe she went to police
headquarters regarding that Wolfman case. She left about a
half-hour ago. Can I take a message for her?”

“
No, that’s alright. I’ll
talk to her when she returns.”

Chase was about to turn away when he
was hailed from behind. Braden Young emerged from his office at the
far end of the newsroom and waved him over.

“
Good to see you slumming
down in the newsroom, Andrew. It is nice to have the publisher mix
with the plebs. We’re about to start our final news story line-up
meeting at 4 p.m. for tomorrow’s paper. Would you like to join us
and see the editors fight over who gets the front page? It’s always
an interesting session. Sometimes I’m surprised there isn’t blood
on the floor before we’re finished.”

“
Thanks for the
invitation, Braden. Perhaps I’ll take you up on it some other time.
I need to get back to my office right now. I have some important
business to deal with. I was hoping to catch Katie Cannon for a
moment, but it appears she went down to the police
station.”

At that moment, Braden Young’s
secretary interrupted. “Mr. Young, you have a phone call from
Sergeant Moon at Toronto Homicide. He’s wondering where Katie
Cannon is. Apparently he was expecting her down at police
headquarters.”

“
What, she’s not there
yet?’’ Young’s voice took on a note of concern.

“
Miss Pierce here says she
left over a half-hour ago,” said Chase. “It’s only a 10-15 minute
drive down to police headquarters unless she got stuck in
traffic.

Both men dashed into Young’s office.
Young picked up the phone, identifying himself.

“
Mr. Young, Detective
Sergeant Peter Moon here,” said the voice on the phone. “I was
expecting your reporter Katie Cannon to come down here, but there’s
no sign of her.”

“
I’m surprised at that,
Sergeant. She apparently left over half an hour ago. She should be
there by now. I’m sure she would call if there was a problem. I’m a
little concerned given this e-mail threat by the
Wolfman.”

Moon’s voice took on a note of
concern. “So am I Mr. Young. Especially since we have strong reason
to believe this killer is an employee of your newspaper. The
e-mails to Katie emanated from the computer of your librarian
Thomas Philpott. We’ve been interviewing him extensively, but it
seems unlikely he is our killer. Any number of employees could have
had access to his computer. We are going to have to kick him loose.
That means your real killer is still out there and a threat to
Katie.”

“
Oh my God, man! I hope
she is OK.”

At that moment, Young’s door opened
and Donna-Marie Pierce rushed into the office. “Mr. Young, I went
down to the garage to check on Katie’s car. It’s still parked there
with two flat tires, but there is no sign of Katie.”

Chapter 42

Toronto Island Waterfront
4:20 PM

MEGAN YOUNG sat on the wooden park
bench staring out at the placid waters of Lake Ontario.

White sails on the small yachts dotted
the horizon on the sparkling blue lake off Toronto
Island.

Megan had caught the ferry over to the
island. She needed a quiet place to think. Her life was a mess. Her
relationship with Dennis was over.

No job, no home and now no man in her
life.

She had refused to listen to her Dad.
She had left saying cruel things to him. Her mother was off in
Europe living her own life. What future could Megan look forward
to?

She looked out at the calm waters of
the lake. They seemed inviting as her depression
deepened.

The water lapping gently onto shore
seemed to offer a sense of comfort and finality. Megan had never
learned to swim. It would just be a matter of walking out into the
lake and letting it claim her.

Calm, peaceful. It offered an end to
the soulful pain that overwhelmed her.

She reached into her jeans pocket and
pulled out her cell phone. She punched in some numbers. Braden
Young’s voice-mail answered.

“
Hello, daddy. You were
right,” said Megan. “I should have listened. I’m sorry. Dennis is
such a louse. I went to him and found him with another woman in his
hotel room. I can never trust him again. We’re through.”

Tears started to well up in her
bright, green eyes. She began to choke out the words.

“
I don’t know where to
turn, daddy. I can’t take this pain anymore. I’m sorry for taking
it out on you. Please forgive me. Goodbye.”

She hit the end call button on the
phone. She left the cell phone on the bench and began to walk
slowly toward the lake.

Chapter 43

Peshawar, Pakistan Friday
2:30 AM

TREVOR TREVANIAN slowly came back to
life.

The blackness receded. Trevanian felt
his head throbbing like it had been hit with a hammer.

He opened his eyes and saw bright neon
light overhead. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was lying on a
bed. One arm was handcuffed to a bed railing.

He felt an overwhelming thirst. His
throat was parched. His lips cracked with dryness. Next to him was
a Pakistani nurse checking his blood pressure.

“
Water, please,” he
rasped.

“
Welcome back to the land
of the living,” said the nurse. She had an angular face with short
black hair, but skin like dark caramel. “You took quite a crack on
the head. The doctor says you have a mild concussion, but you
should recover in a couple of days.”

“
What happened? Why am I
chained to this bed?”

“
They say you are a
terrorist. Your two friends were not quite so lucky – they were
both killed.”

“
They were no friends of
mine. There’s been a mistake here. I’m no terrorist. I was
kidnapped by those two men in Kandahar and brought here to
Pakistan.”

“
There’s no use telling me
all this. I’m just a nurse. But these two gentlemen want to talk
you.” She turned away from him and spoke to the back of the room.
“He’s all yours now.”

The nurse moved out of the room and
two uniformed men moved closer to the bed.

“
Mr. Trevanian. I believe
that is your name from the identification we found on you. I am
Major Patel from the ISI, the Pakistani Intelligence Service, and
this is agent Amman. You are most fortunate to have survived your
crash given the shootout at the checkpoint. Why are you in
Pakistan?”

“
Like I said, I am here
not of my own accord. I’m not a terrorist. I’m a Canadian
journalist. I was kidnapped at gunpoint in Kandahar by those two in
the car and driven here to Pakistan.”

“
Why would they do that?
Why wouldn’t they just kill you in Afghanistan or hold you for
hostage if that was their motive?”

Patel moved his face in closer to
Trevanian. He had thick bushy black eyebrows and a dark handlebar
moustache. He was so close that Trevanian could smell stale tobacco
on his breath. He was a heavy smoker by the look of the yellowish
stains on his teeth.

Trevanian thought before answering. He
didn’t feel it would be wise to mention Osama bin Laden at this
juncture of their conversation.

“
That was my first fear.
But they brought me here to interview one of their top al-Qaida
leaders.”

Patel smiled. “A nice story, but not
the truth I think. We need to get the real story from you about
your mission here. I would suggest you talk freely; we have ways of
extracting information from you that you will not like. We can do
this painlessly or with excruciating pain. It is your choice, my
friend. You will eventually talk, I promise you.”

“
Check my identification.
I assure you that I am a journalist and I was brought here against
my will. I don’t know why they felt the need to kidnap me. I would
have come voluntarily for the interview. All part of their security
I suppose.”

Amman, the other Pakistani
intelligence agent, suddenly piped up. “There is no evidence of
your being a journalist.”

“
I have press credentials
in my wallet. If you checked my identification you should know
that.”

“
Never mind,” said Patel.
“We have recovered your laptop computer and digital recorder. It
appears you interviewed someone, but it is not clear who or why. If
you are a journalist as you say, your activities could be a cover
for your work with al-Qaida. Many of you journalists show sympathy
and bias toward al-Qaida in your reporting. Rest now and think on
what I have said. We will return shortly and we expect some
answers.”

Patel and Amman started to leave the
room.

“
At least let me call the
Canadian consulate,” Trevanian said.

The two Pakistani intelligence agents
ignored his plea.

How was he going to convince them he
was no terrorist? If only he could make a phone call. Then
Trevanian had an idea.

Could it be possible?

His left arm was chained to the bed,
but his right was free. He manoeuvred his right hand to check his
pocket.

There it was. His cell phone was still
there. Hopefully it was still intact and he could get a signal
inside this hospital.

He eased the phone out of his trouser
pocket and flipped it open. Good. It indicated there was a
signal.

With considerable difficulty he
started punching numbers with his right hand while holding the
phone.

He wasn’t calling the consulate. There
wasn’t time for that. He needed faster action so he could file his
story.

There was only one place to
go.

Chapter 44

Off Toronto Island 4:35
PM

BRIAN HARRISON felt the exhilaration
of the wind in his face as he steered the Delta Dawn several
hundred yards off shore from Toronto Island.

The hot rays of the late afternoon
August sun beat down relentlessly on his deeply tanned bare back as
he moved the foresail of his 30-foot monohull Catalina sloop. He
wanted to catch the wind and steer the yacht from getting too close
to shore.

Off to his right he spotted a young
woman walking into the water in her clothes. It seemed
strange.

She was fully clothed in a red blouse
and blue jeans. Yet she was waist high in the water and continuing
to walk out from shore. Too far for just paddling, Harrison
thought.

He continued top focus on the woman
when she suddenly stepped off the coastal lake shelf. She was in
deep water and flailed. Her arms thrashed wildly as she tried to
tread water. But Harrison clearly could see the woman was in deep
trouble. She was drowning.

He turned the yacht towards her and
tried to close the gap of about five hundred yards. Harrison saw
the woman go under once. She surfaced a few seconds later. She
still splashed wildly. She sank under the surface again and this
time didn’t emerge.

Harrison, clad only in a brown
swimsuit, immediately reached for his anchor and dropped it over
the side. The sloop slowly started to slow down.

He then dived over the side, swimming
furiously to the spot where the woman disappeared. He took in a
deep gulp of air and swam under the water seeking the young
woman.

He saw nothing but murky water that
caused a stinging sensation in his eyes. After a couple of minutes
he had to surface for air. He took in another deep breath and dove
back under the water.

He went deeper this time. After about
a minute, he thought he could see a body floating ahead of him. He
reached out and took hold. Then he headed back up to the surface,
his lungs bursting for air.