Adam’s Deception

Introduction

Welcome to our fictional e-book, Adam’s Deception, a project of the Metroland Media Group Ltd. Durham Region Division that is a first for us on two fronts.

It’s the first time we’ve created a story for readers that is entirely fictional. Set in Durham Region, many of the scenes created by our community-based authors will seem familiar: Lynde House, the Whitby cenotaph, Lynde Shores Conservation Area, and more.

The e-book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Some set-ting locations depicted in the book, while real, are used in a way that is purely fic-tional.

It’s also the first time we have recruited residents in communities across Durham Region to provide the story that follows.

Join us as we meet Adam, a young man with a mysterious past who literally washes up on the shore of Lake Ontario in the heart of the Lynde Shores Conservation Area. He soon meets a young widow and the two hit it off while Adam’s adventures — and his reasons for being in Whitby — are made more clear.

As with any large project, we relied on the engaged interest and patience of a large group of volunteer authors. Our project saw us choose the best chapters from among three submissions each month, from January to August, and the result is the book you see here.

We invite you to join us on Adam’s journey and share in the creations of our five chapter authors: Jonathan O’Mara, Laurie Ball, Gord Lee, Adam Sikora and Carolyn Palmer.

It was an adventure in seeing the novel’s disparate parts come together. It was an adventure working with the many talented and imaginative writers who live and work in Durham Region. It was an adventure to create Adam’s adventure.

Enjoy!

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Prologue

The lake spat Adam onto the shore soaking, cold and exhausted. He turned and sat on the beach, looking briefly back into the black water before gathering his strength and his wits for whatever the future had in store.

He stood and turned again, away from the water, and walked up a small bluff, water still dripping from his clothes. When he reached the top, an expanse of field lay before him, divided by a white gravel path that meandered through the green-ery.

He paused on the edge of the path, its fine white limestone gravel winding a course through the field, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the stone with a soft crunch.

Behind him lay Lake Ontario and his past. In front of him lay this shining path and an unclear future. Before long, he saw the sign: Welcome to Lynde Shores...

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Adam’s Deception

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1 A Chance MeetingJonathan O’Mara

The shrill keening of a red-tailed hawk pierced the early morning quiet. The raptor soared above the meadow, lofted high upon rising waves of warming air. From this height, the keen-eyed predator could easily spot its prey. Far below, to the south, lay a vast marshland and farm fields nestled by the shore of Lake Ontario. To the north, east and west lay a patchwork of roads, housing developments and shop-ping plazas, encroaching upon the open areas like a besieging army. With soundless intent, the hawk folded its wings and plummeted to earth, slowing slightly before deftly trapping a hapless meadow vole in its razor-sharp talons. The hawk’s hooked beak tore into the tiny mammal’s neck, killing it instantly. With a flick of its head, the raptor downed the limp rodent in one gulp. Predator and prey inhabited two vastly different realms, realms where neither animal could ever understand the other. The one, red in tooth and claw, the other, helpless and cowering in fear, both players in an unrelenting battle for survival. To the gentle observer, it may have

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seemed a barbaric, horrifying tableau. But it was not ... for you see ... Nature is nei-ther cruel nor kind. It is quite simply ... indifferent.

Susan Kennedy brushed an errant strand of jet black hair from her forehead and yelled up the stairs, “Timothy Kennedy! You’re late for school! If you don’t get down here this minute, you’ll be hoofing it, mister!”

From the landing at the top of the stairs, “Geez, Mom! Chill! Bradley ...”

“Mister Bradley to you, young man!”, she interjected, calling up the stairs to him.

“Yeah, okay ... ’MISTER’ Bradley ... but he doesn’t care if we’re late. Honest! He’s usually late himself.”

“Well, be that as it may, I care if you’re late and so should you. Punctuality is very important, Tim. Try being late for work and see how often your boss tolerates that!”

“Oh, Mom,” he sighed, “you know what? You have to learn to lighten up a bit ... young lady”, he added, laughing.

With that, Timothy Kennedy spilled down the stairs, an impossibly stuffed backpack bumping along behind him. A tall, wiry, handsome sixteen year old, Tim had that seemingly innate Irish charm that could melt hearts, particularly those of the fairer sex, his mother included. Particularly his mother. He shot a freckle-faced grin at a harried Sue. At once, her pretty face dissolved into a warm smile and the tension drained from her neck and shoulders. “Don’t do that to me, you!”, she said, barely keeping the smile out of her voice. Laughing, “God, Tim! You’re so much like your father!”

Tim blushed, but loved it when she said that. Like most boys, he thought the world of his father: once a professor of classics at Trent University in Peterborough, avid hiker, fisherman, musician, poet, you name it. A ‘Renaissance Man’, one of his friends once called him. Put simply, his father was his idol. Tragically, cancer tore Tim Kennedy Sr. from the bosom of his family at the tender age of 34, when young Timothy was a mere nine years old. Ever since then, Susan, like so many other sin-gle mothers, had worked hard to bring up her child in the best way that she could: fair but firm, the way she had been raised. She figured it had worked on her, so it should work on him. She hoped.

Susan Kennedy was very pretty and had a fine figure for a 38-year-old woman.

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Certainly not possessed of a sinewy athletic body, the one many women aspired to in the 21st century, Sue had the sort of figure that was considered the ideal in the 1950s, curvy, feminine and soft. Not that Sue thought much about it. She was far too focused on more important things and, indeed, her many admirers appreciated her natural beauty, just the way she was. Since her husband’s death, seven years be-fore, Sue had not made time, nor had she much inclination, to date any of the many men who approached her. If she had, she wasn’t sure how it would affect Tim and that was of paramount importance.

“Come on Mom, you’re slowing me down”, he chided playfully over his shoul-der, as he headed for the front door, inserting the ear buds of his ever-present iPod.

“Oh, you!”, she shot back at him, with mock exasperation.

No doubt about it. Sue had a hard life, juggling an upper management career at General Motors in neighbouring Oshawa, all the while being both a mother and a father to her son. But it was all worth it. Timothy was a good kid, tuned in to his mother’s needs and appreciative of her efforts on his behalf. Just before Tim’s father had become ill, they had moved from Peterborough to Whitby. Tim Sr. had been awarded an associate professorship at the Trent University satellite campus in Oshawa. With Sue working in Oshawa as well, it was an ideal move for them. Life would become much simpler for the entire family. Impressed with the location, the Kennedys had bought a modest house in Lynde Shores, a new Whitby community adjacent to the conservation area of the same name and only a leisurely 15-minute drive to the Oshawa university campus and even closer to General Motors. Yes, Whitby was a peaceful place where nothing much ever happened, a town grown from 30,000 souls in 1980 to a rather large town of 130,000 at present, but still with that small-town feel, where sometimes years would pass without even a single homicide.

There had been quite a fuss about putting a subdivision right next to an ex-tremely sensitive wetland, an important stopover for thousands of migratory birds and home to numerous sensitive animals and plants. Nevertheless, as so often hap-pens, politics and money trumped the environment and the subdivision was built. Situated on the north shore of Lake Ontario, just east of the seething metropolis of Toronto, it was a quiet, picturesque spot, close to nature at its best. There was easy access to the town, the city and local recreational pursuits such as swimming, hik-ing, bird watching, sailing and fishing, most of which the Kennedys never seemed to have the time for. All the same, they enjoyed their new life in Whitby immensely.

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Sue thought it a wonderful place for a boy to grow up.

Like many Canadian children, Tim Jr. played hockey, mostly at the huge Iro-quois Arena complex which was within walking distance, not that he ever walked there, mind you. Every year, Sue Kennedy dutifully, but happily, joined the winter fleet of SUVs, laden with sons and daughters and hockey equipment, wending their way to the arena and to various other arenas in southern Ontario and beyond.

Hockey was a very big deal in Whitby, especially since the Whitby Dunlops had captured the junior world championship gold from the Russians in 1958. For-mer Whitby mayor Bob Attersley had been a team member and had managed to parley that local fame into successful business and political ventures. The Attersley name was to be seen all over town, a town Sue found increasingly intriguing, the longer she lived there. She loved any and all local history and always made it a point to stop and visit the tiny museums most villages seemed to have.

Just recently, Sue had been persuaded by a very civic-minded neighbour to volunteer to help refurbish Lynde House, home of the first area settler, whose name was also ubiquitous in Whitby. The house had recently been moved from its last location in Cullen Park, a few kilometres to the north of the town centre, down to the site of the Whitby Tourist Information office at the corner of Brock Street and Burns Street, just south of the four corners, as the downtown intersection was called by long-time locals. The move was quite a production and drew a large crowd, anxiously watching the stately pale yellow house, perched precariously on the back of a flat bed truck, making its slow, laborious way down the road. Once situated, volunteers would work to refurbish the interior readying it for, they hoped, interested locals and tourists.

How Sue would find time to do this extra work, she didn’t know. But, as the saying goes, if you want something done, ask a busy person. Besides, it would give Sue a chance to meet some of the other volunteers and perhaps make some new friends. She was to accompany her neighbour and newest friend, Victoria “Vicky” Stevenson, a striking divorcee. They had arranged to meet on Saturday morning and drive over to Lynde House, just to get an idea of what needed to be done. Sue craved a distraction from her busy life and this would also indulge her love of local history. She found herself looking forward to it.

Saturday morning dawned bright and warm, a perfect day for late May. Sue, dressed in blue jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt, bent down in the foyer to lace up an old pair of sneakers while admonishing Tim to please mow the lawn and to not

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entertain any “young ladies” at the house while she was gone. As she opened the front door, she reminded him, “There’s ham, cheese, and rye bread in the fridge for lunch ... and clean up after yourself, OK?”

“Yeah, Mom, I know. I’m a big boy, now. Du-uh!” Tim smiled that same grin that seemed to melt her heart.

At the foot of the driveway, Vicky tooted her horn and Sue bounced from her front door, trotted over, then climbed up into the big black Dodge Durango, an im-pressive beast of an SUV that dwarfed the slight woman at the wheel. Vicky greeted Sue with a broad smile, handed her a hot Tim Hortons coffee (she’d been up for hours), put the beast into gear and set out for Lynde House.

“So, what have you been up to, Sue? We haven’t really talked in ages, have we?”

”Oh, you know ... the usual: Tim, work, home, Tim, sleep ... Tim, work, home, Tim, sleep!” she laughed.

Vicky, who was childless, chuckled. “Sue ... you’re breakin’ my heart, darlin’. You really gotta get out more! You know,” nudging Sue in the ribs, “kick up your heels now and then. Find a great big hunk of a guy to take you to a club and dance. Live a little! Life’s short, if you hadn’t noticed ... ooooh, uh, sorry, baby.” Vicky caught herself, remembering too late that Sue was a widow.

“Oh, God ... don’t be embarrassed, sweetie. I’m OK, really. It was a long time ago,” Sue replied, touching Vicky’s arm, putting her friend at ease.

“Well still, I really don’t know how girls like you do it, juggling a career, a house, a kid. Superwomen is what you are!” Sue saw a mischievous grin de-veloping on her friend’s face. Amused, she thought, here we go again.

Vicky continued, “Me? Hey, I get worn out, too, you know, girl? You think it’s easy being footloose and fancy free and dating two different guys at once? It’s hard work keeping my girlish figure while being wined and dined in the finest restau-rants all the time.”

“You’re a shameless hussy. I don’t know why I even keep company with you!” kidded Sue.

“And don’t I know it? Play your cards right and someday, you too may enter into the land of Hussydom. I know you want to,” Vicky teased.

Exchanging glances, they both laughed. Today was going to be fun. From their

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first encounter, the two women had developed an enviable ease with each other. Neither put on airs or tried to compete. They could completely relax while together, say what they liked, knowing there would be no judgment or condescension. Two people, each secure in their own skin. That was a rare thing and they both knew it.

Vicky Stevenson had a great outlook and a wicked sense of humour, much of it self-deprecating. However, she was one of those women who, upon first encoun-ter, you knew instantly must be successful. She carried herself with confidence and an air of benign authority. A lover of sports, she assiduously maintained her ath-letic figure, the result of four quite frenzied spinning sessions a week. Sue reckoned, though not unkindly, that Vicky was a ‘suicide blonde’ -- dyed by her own hand -- but still, the lighter hair colour complemented her strikingly vivid green eyes. Though she wore the barest trace of makeup, Vicky Stevenson was an attractive woman of about 35 with fine, symmetrical lines to her face. Her slightly aquiline nose lent her aspect a certain gravitas without detracting from her natural beauty or femininity. She was twice a divorcee, yet, somewhat surprisingly, harboured no bit-terness toward the male of the species. An honest and practical woman, she readily assumed her share of the blame for two failed marriages. When asked about them, she never hesitated to say, “Yeah, I married a couple of jerks but, to be honest, my friends, I was a bit of a jerkette myself. Lots of blame to go around.” After which, she would laugh uproariously.

By any measure, Victoria Stevenson was a dynamo. She made quite a comfort-able living, thank you very much, as supervisor of a small army of local “Five Steps to Beauty Cosmetics Company” representatives, who sold in-home or at parties that various friends would arrange. Though it was not technically a pyramid enter-prise, Vicky, nonetheless, gleaned a healthy commission from every sale her sub-ordinates made, commissions that were more than enough to maintain her lifestyle, supplemented by small, but welcome, alimony payments.

In her own way, Sue Kennedy was a match for Vicky, though in a different, more subdued manner. Physically, her black hair, porcelain skin, piercing blue eyes and fine Celtic features made her every bit as striking as her equally pretty, blond friend. Her quiet but confident way, along with her native intelligence, saw her rise steadily up the ranks in General Motors. Sue was a practical and some might even say naive country girl, but as much at ease in the corporate boardroom as she was in her own home, a rare and valuable trait. She put others at ease without even try-ing. The office work was hard and intense, so when the day was done, Sue tried to leave it behind and concentrate on her son, her house and her small circle of

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friends. Helping to renovate this house could be just what she needed.

A siren wailed in the distance. Adam awoke with a start, heart racing, muscles tensed, prepared to either fight or flee. He held his breath until the sound of the siren drifted away. Still disoriented after his long, cold swim, and an exhausted sleep, he looked around. Where the hell was he? The room he was in was entirely devoid of furnishings, and the windows appeared to be boarded up. Thin slivers of morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the boards and pierced the gloom.

Now he remembered. Having dragged himself from icy Lake Ontario in the dead of night, he knew he had to remain out of sight, at least until he could get his bearings. The lake had delivered him to the edge of the community of Lynde Shores, which looked positively idyllic by the light of the amber street lamps. So quiet, so peaceful, so serene, an atmosphere he craved but hadn’t known for years. Perhaps he never would again. As inviting as it was, the neighbourhood was very much inhabited. He had to find a secluded space where he could rest and take stock of his situation, but not before wandering in and out of several unlocked garages.

He easily liberated a jean jacket, a well-fitting pair of coveralls, a utility knife, and, “thank you God!”, a half case of beer that someone had conveniently left for him in a garage fridge, right beside a packet of hot dogs and buns, which he de-voured rather quickly. Adam was more than a little incredulous as to how easy it was to gain access to so many homes. So trusting. These people didn’t even lock their doors. Not at all like the places he had known. After wandering for an hour or more, he discovered, on what looked like a main street in the town proper, an old house with boarded-up windows. Perfect. Using a thin piece of discarded wire he had found on the grounds, it wasn’t long before he had jimmied the door lock and was inside. The street lights, through gaps in the shuttered windows, just man-aged to penetrate the darkness inside, lending his surroundings a very dim aspect. Although there didn’t appear to be a stick of furniture in the room, it still seemed the perfect place to warm up, sleep, gather his strength and consider his options. It was quite warm for late May and Adam’s clothes had dried thoroughly on his walk from the lake. He rolled up the jacket and coveralls into a pillow of sorts, and curled up in the corner of the main room. Stomach full and feeling a slight buzz from the beer, he immediately fell into an exhausted, dreamless slumber.

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As Vicky and Sue pulled into the small parking lot of the adjacent Tourist In-formation office, it became apparent that Lynde House looked like it belonged in its new location, as if it had always been there, front and centre on the main thorough-fare of town, proudly proclaiming its right as one of the first real houses in Whitby.

It had been built in the early to mid 19th century, on what was once the Kings-ton Road which linked the small city of Kingston, the one-time capital of Canada, to York, which soon became known as Toronto. That muddy, rutted, well-travelled route became King’s Provincial Highway 2, known as Dundas Street as it passes through the town of Whitby. Sue was quite impressed by the look of the two-storey, clapboard house and couldn’t wait to get inside. As she went to open the car door, Sue noticed a movement over by the far side of the house. A rather young looking man, fair-haired and well built, dressed in a Canadian tuxedo (matching blue jeans and jacket), emerged, stretching rather energetically, oblivious to his surroundings.

“Who’s that?” asked Sue, her voice rising, surprised to see anyone else at the site that early.

Vicky perked up, smiled, then stared lasciviously. “I don’t know, darlin’ ... but he sure looks yummy.”

Jonathan O’Mara is a former school teacher, living in Whitby with wife, Shirley. He enjoys astrono-my, fishing, hiking, gardening, writing and plays guitar in a local rock n’ roll band, Four Cats and a Chick. Jonathan holds B.A. and B.Ed. degrees from the University of Toronto and a Masters degree from Niagara University in New York.

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2 New FriendsLaurie Ball

Three cars pulled into the parking lot simultaneously and Adam had to face their occupants without any idea of who was arriving or why they were here. He was caught; how could he explain his presence near the deserted building? At least he had come out with the coveralls and utility knife in a bundle under his arm, and had pulled the door locked as he left.

Vicky hardly had her SUV parked before rushing over to introduce herself to Adam.

“Well, hello stranger. I’m Vicky Stevenson, and this is my friend Sue. I haven’t seen you at any of the planning meetings for the Lynde House volunteers, but we never turn down any offers of help.”

She turned to wink at Sue and motioned her to come forward.

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Adam self consciously rubbed his hand down his side before extending it to shake Vicky’s outstretched hand.

“Hi Vicky, I’m Adam. I haven’t been at any of your meetings, but I am willing to work.”

He looked behind Vicky to face Sue, who had followed, and reached out to shake her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you Sue.”

Vicky’s attention was soon attracted to two tanned and fit fellows who emerged from a shiny black Ford pickup.

“Hi, Norm and Marty. Great day for working, isn’t it? This is Adam. He’s here to help out too.” The guys shook hands and Norm and Marty waved hello to Sue as they buckled on tool belts and began unloading crowbars and shovels.

The last car held the curator of the project, Shawna, who introduced her two student interns, Lisa and Matt, then organized the unpacking of an urn of coffee, boxes of muffins and trays of fruit and sandwiches, as well as a box of files and large roll of plans from her compact trunk.

“Hey everyone, thanks so much for coming here so early on such a lovely weekend. I’ll get the door unlocked so we can get started. We may have others drop in to help for a few hours, so let’s grab some breakfast as we plan our wish list of all that we hope to accomplish today.”

Adam let out a deep breath. His eyes followed Sue as she picked up a box and carried it into the yellow clapboard building. Norm and Marty were unloading lad-ders from the truck and Adam helped them manoeuvre around the cars and lean them against the foundation, before they stepped over the threshold. The smell of the coffee was drawing Adam and he hoped that no one noticed his stomach rum-bling as he helped himself to a plate of food from the instant banquet set up on a card table that must have been brought in from Shawna’s car.

One young intern had quickly taped a list of jobs on large newsprint along the wall. It was readable with light from the open door and the sunlight leaking through the boarded windows. When everyone had some food and coffee, Shawna again welcomed the volunteers and suggested that work should be done in pairs for safety and sociability. She had work gloves and suggested that until the boards were removed from the upstairs windows it would be better to have only Norm and Mar-

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ty working outside.

Vicky chose to work with the male intern, Matt, on sweeping rooms in prep-aration for sanding, painting and wallpapering, which would be carried out by con-tractors starting Monday. Shawna and the female intern, Lisa, took out measuring tapes and floor plans to arrange the furniture and displays from files of inventory stored off-site. Adam asked Sue if they could work together spreading the topsoil provided by the Town and laying out sites for trees and shrubs to be planted within the next week. Shawna had opened the visitor centre next door, and Sue tidied away the food that she and Adam carried to the staff kitchen there. Adam put on his coveralls in the washroom.

As they checked to see where the ladders indicated the guys might be drop-ping boards and nails from above, they began to load the discarded boards into the back of the pickup.

“Boy, if this house could talk it sure would have some amazing stories to tell,” Adam mused as they worked.

“I agree,” Sue nodded. “Our family has seen this house in two locations now, but we never knew it on its original site. It would be hard to tell where that was now. So much has changed in Whitby even in the years that we have been here.”

“I once lived in an old clapboard farmhouse not unlike this place. One sum-mer I had to stain it with a mixture of linseed oil and wood preservative. I felt as though I knew the builders by the time I had covered each of those lovely old boards,” Adam said.

“Yes it is amazing to see the craftsmanship that has gone into these old houses, especially considering the types of tools they were using. I am glad that the town has gone to all of the trouble of keeping this one,” Sue responded.

Norm came around the corner.

“Marty is just finishin’ the last boards on the far side. If I get our magnet out of the truck, could you folks drag for nails that might have dropped? We don’t want any visitors, or volunteers for that matter, ruinin’ their tires.”

“And better to find any bits of metal now, before we prepare for the gardens and cover the dangerous debris,” Sue added. “I’ll grab a bucket from Shawna. We might even get enough to collect money at the scrap metal yard.”

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“Good idea. There might even be some interestin’ bits that have loosened in the move. There are for sure hand-made square nails in this house from the real builders. Keep those ones aside if you find any,” Norm instructed as he retrieved a large magnet on the end of a rope and removed the protective bar from the lower surface, before handing it carefully to Adam.

Traffic sped close by along the main route when Adam passed the heavy in-dustrial magnet above the ground, then lifted it for Sue to detach and sort the col-lected materials. The bucket filled with nails and rusty odd-shaped debris, while she separated a few interesting pieces into her carpenter’s apron. When they were able to move to the back of the building site, it was surprisingly tranquil with green lawns and trees in bloom. Shawna came to speak to them just as they completed all four sides of the building and were returning their finds and the magnet to the truck.

“We’ve accomplished a lot this morning. What a great team. Lisa and Matt have cleaned off a picnic table at the back of the visitors centre and spread out the sandwiches and other snacks. Make sure that you drink enough water too. It’s get-ting even warmer and I don’t want anyone to suffer from heat exhaustion,” Shawna said.

“It will be good to sit down and take a break. I am looking forward to seeing what the inside looks like now too. Let’s go and find Vicky and the others,” Sue said as she poured the last bucket’s contents into the metal drum in Norm’s truck.

She showed her treasures from her apron pocket to Shawna as she and Adam walked back to join the others.

Vicky rushed over as they approached.

“Well, you two seem to be getting along very well. She’s a good catch, Adam. Say, what is your last name?” Vicky asked as she linked her arm in Adam’s and led him over to the food.

“It’s too complicated to remember and most people can’t even pronounce it, so just call me Adam Zed,” Adam answered as he pulled away from Vicky. “I’m just go-ing to wash up before we eat, but please save some food for me,” he said, mostly to Sue.

“Actually I need to head for the washroom too, so we will have to trust that Shawna won’t get any more work from us this afternoon if she lets the rest of the

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team eat all of our lunch,” Sue winked back at the group as she followed Adam into the visitors centre.

Sue touched Adam’s back and said quietly, “I apologize for Vicky. She means well, but I hope that she didn’t embarrass you. She just wants me to get out more and not spend so much time either working or at home with my son.”

Adam turned and looked directly into Sue’s eyes as he said, “I hope you don’t think that I was rude to your friend, but she reminds me of someone that really let me down. I just want to steer clear of her.” With that he went straight into the men’s doorway and left Sue standing in the hall.

Over lunch in the park-like setting behind the buildings, everyone seemed to be happy enjoying the sunshine and joking around. Lisa and Matt were enthusiastic about the opportunity to work and learn with the experts on site after studying all winter, then assisting Shawna with scheduling meetings and contractors since their placement began in early May. Vicky could not resist teasing Lisa that she should see how well Matt could clean, which made him ‘ultimate husband material’.

Lisa responded that he was great in the kitchen too, and was equally good at doing dishes after their many meetings. Marty, who seemed to want to work with Lisa for the afternoon, suggested that the true test of a man was how well he could work with the basic tools that had been used to build Lynde House. Matt quickly responded that Lisa could probably hold her own as she had worked as a props builder in theatre and been to Africa to build houses with Habitat for Humanity. Adam was glad to eat in silence and laugh as he listened to the others.

As Sue and Adam worked shovelling the topsoil throughout the afternoon they mostly worked in silence, thinking their own thoughts. Adam asked Sue why Vicky was trying to push her to get out more, and Sue quietly answered that her husband had died of cancer seven years ago. “Are you married?” Sue asked Adam.

“Separated,” Adam answered. “I have two young girls that I worry about, al-though I have probably been more of a problem to them than I have been a good dad. I just need to figure out how to get things back on track.”

Sue didn’t want to pry but at the same time she felt that Adam needed to talk. “Are you working?” she asked gently.

Adam let out a sigh and said, “I was until a few nights ago. I thought my job was awesome, but you know what they say about something that is too good to be

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true probably being a fake? Well, I was certainly duped. I thought I was hired based on my reputation and honesty, and that I was finally going to be a good provider for my family. Instead I found out that my friends who helped me get the job were rip-ping off the company big time and expecting me to look the other way. I basically ran away because I couldn’t see another way out.” Adam’s voice was close to break-ing.

He stood with his shovel still, just staring at the ground.

Sue looked at Adam and resisted the urge to comfort him or touch him, fear-ing that they would attract the others’ attention. “So you have no place to go?” she asked.

“That’s right. I headed out into the lake in my dad’s old sea kayak and I honest-ly didn’t think that I would survive with the water being so cold this time of year. I left all of my ID and keys with the car along Sunnyside Beach in TO. I’ve seen what these folks do when someone rats them out, so it seemed better to make it look as though I had drowned. Actually I thought that I would drown since I didn’t even have a wetsuit or life preserver. I am hoping they will leave my wife and daughters alone. But that’s as far as my plan went.”

Adam looked at Sue to see if this story was too much for her to take in. Des-perate as he was to solve his problem, he didn’t want to burden her, especially since she was already coping with a lot herself.

Sue was wrestling in her own mind with some of the practical sides of this situation versus the obvious risks. She had only known Adam for a few hours and he could be making up this sad story, but her gut thought that he was telling the truth.

“At the risk of all that Vicky will say, why don’t you come to my place when Vicky drives me home? We can at least talk about what some of your options are and you can help with my barbecue. I promised Tim that we would take advantage of this lovely weather and make the whole dinner outside. I have a semi-comfort-able bedroom in my basement and I even have clothes that might fit you that I was saving for Tim.” There, she had said all that she was thinking. Would he think that she was desperate or appreciate her offer?

“Wow, I can’t believe that you would do all this for me. I won’t let you down, Sue. I will pay you back one day, I promise,” Adam said as he almost threw the shovel in the air in excitement.

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“I’ll call my son and give him the heads up, and we will tell Vicky that you are going to help Tim fix the lawnmower or something. Just give me a minute to find where I put my purse with my phone.”

Sue grasped Adam’s arm as she said this, partly to reassure him that she was sincere, and partly to reassure herself that she was doing the right thing.

Laurie Ball has lived and worked in Durham Region for 38 years. She is retired from a varied teach-ing career that included preschool, elementary, secondary and online teacher education through Queen’s University. She is now thoroughly enjoying her grandchildren and activities for seniors.

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3 Making Connections

Carolyn Palmer

No one was in much of a rush to leave after the first day of the Lynde House renovation project. Following the day’s work, most of the group stayed in the park-ing lot and shared stories about life’s missed opportunities.

“I should have gone to Australia for that masters program when I was young-er,” said Marty as he looked over to Lisa and Matt. “I decided to follow my heart and not my head ... I’ve got two beautiful kids now though.” His eyes shifted to the ground as he kicked a small piece of drywall with his steel-toed boot.

Sue was looking for a break in the heavy conversation to say her goodbyes and to start her journey home with her new house guest. Adam must have noticed her glance at her wristwatch, so as Lisa explained her desire to learn sign language to better communicate with her hearing-impaired cousin, Adam blurted out, “Tomor-row is another day ... we’ve all still got time.” And like the end of a Sunday morning church sermon, the crowd silently nodded at one another and dispersed to go their separate ways.

Sue had waited until the very last minute to break the news to Vicky about her offer to Adam. With a tilt of her head and a slight wrinkling of her nose, she mo-tioned to the now awkward gentleman standing in the middle of an empty parking lot to move over to Vicky’s car. Sue had seconds to explain everything to Vicky as they made their way over to the Durango. Vicky closed down her compact mirror as she finished powdering her nose and before Sue had a chance to spew out the ridiculous explanation she had rehearsed in her head, Vicki said; “It’s not easy to look so good after a hard day’s work. Listen Sue, about Adam staying with you for a while. Thanks for taking one for the team. My suitors would have a fit.”

The ladies walked over to the vehicle, where Adam’s left hand rested on the rear passenger door. His eyes locked with Sue’s and a gentle grin surfaced on their faces. Sue wasn’t sure exactly what Adam had told Vicky or when he managed to pull her away in private to discuss their arrangement. The details of the conversa-tion grew increasingly less important as the threesome drove off the lot and were en route to her house.

Vicki dropped Sue and Adam off and actually looked relieved as if a burden

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had been lifted off her shoulders. She honked her horn twice and was gone. It was a little after 9:30 p.m. and Tim could either be passed out on the couch in the living room after a rigorous soccer practice and five to six slices of those not-delivery-but-tastes-like-it pizzas. Thankfully, Tim managed to make it upstairs to his room, leav-ing a note on the kitchen table, “out of pizza, left you some mac and cheese- Love T.K.”

Sue sighed as she thought that his classmates had shortened her son’s name from Timothy, to Tim, to this characterless initialled T.K. She didn’t care too much for it, especially when Tim was communicating with her. Sue crumpled the note and slipped it into her apron that she had forgotten to take off after leaving Lynde House.

She suddenly felt like an old maid. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and folded her arms across her chest, staring at the pot on the stove with streams of yel-low cheese melted to the sides.

“Can I offer you something? Coffee?” she asked Adam glancing over to him but quickly returning her eyes to the stove.

“Thank you, but I’m exhausted, If I could –”

“Of, course,” Sue interjected. “Let me show you the basement, it’s really quite cozy.”

Adam followed Sue down a narrow flight of stairs off the side of the kitchen. The walls were a dark beige tint, which complemented the wood varnished floors. It was almost a cabin feel underneath a contemporary 20th-century home. “Very cozy, indeed,” Adam thought to himself.

The basement was an open space with a single window on the west side. Tiny circles of rust spotted the edge of the bottom of the steel windowsill; evidence of a record-breaking rainstorm that damaged parts of the house’s foundation several years ago. Adam’s eye continued to scan the room, pausing every now and again once something piqued his interest. Old exercise equipment draped in dust lined the back wall. The dumbbells, an odd shade of lime green and much too heavy for someone of Sue’s build to lift.

“Your husband kept in shape I see,” remarked Adam pointing his finger over to the rear wall.

“Yes, he did ... when he was strong enough”, replied Sue with an air of pride in

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her voice.

Sue proceeded to show Adam the small poorly lit bathroom tucked under-neath the stairs and to the left of the laundry room. ”The toilet is a bit finicky,” she said while walking over to the pale yellow toilet. “Hold the lever down at least two Mississippis. It’s going to stick a little, just flick it right back up.”

Sue demonstrated for Adam, but his eyes continued to wander the room. From the remnants of old wallpaper, to the stucco ceilings, he was taking mental inventory of everything around him. But watching or not, under the sound of the flushing toilet, Adam released a short grunt of contentment letting Sue know that he understood. He moved through his new living space like he was accustomed to it; slowly brushing his fingertips over lamps, chairs or picture frames.

Sue gave up on her hostess duties and simply propped herself against an old book shelf by the furnace and followed Adam’s slow prowl with her eyes. As he examined the trinkets on the chest in between a long full-length mirror and the double bed on which he would later rest his weary body, he came across a dusty horse-racing trophy. The trophy read, “Gold Medal Recipient 1989 Equestrian - Windfields Farms.” Adam’s hand trembled as he picked up the heavy trophy to read it more clearly. The sweat from his palms caused for a clammy chalk-like feel against the dust underneath the base of the statue.

Her gaze fixed on his calm, deliberate moves, Sue moved to a nearby chair and sat on its arm. Taking his sleeve, Adam wiped down the trophy from the head of the miniature man figure mounted atop the thoroughbred horse to its stand. His lips moved as he read the smaller inscription near the base of the plaque; his voice lost in his throat. “Patrick Kennedy?” Adam’s vocal chords lubricated to release a loud awkward tone, failing to realize his first attempt to speak was amiss.

“Shhh ... yes, Patrick Kennedy, my husband’s father.” Sue responded in a quasi whisper blended with her maternal disciplinary tone. She continued, “He was a really great rider. Listen, there are blankets in the chest right over there.”

“Can I tell you a story?” Adam asked as he took a final look at the trophy and returned it to its place on the chest. Sue’s eye widened as she let out a timid giggle. She rubbed the back of her neck with her right hand but she hesitated to respond.

“Up until a few nights ago, I used to tell my daughters a story every night be-fore bed.” He chuckled and leaned backwards against the chest. “More often than not it would be on one of those online video programs, but every night nonethe-

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less.”

Sue’s eyes softened. She slid down from the arm of the old floral print chair unto its cushion, laid her head against the headrest and said, “All right Mr. Zed, I’m all ears.”

Adam remained standing. He shifted his weight onto his left leg, placed his hands in his pockets and looked up at the ceiling. His story began with himself as a young boy, growing up on his grandparents’ farm in Port Perry, minutes from the local mill and grain elevator. He spoke about wandering off at night to feed the horses in the McKinley’s, his neighbour’s stables. The walk was always long and lonely, but he would imagine the moon as a spotlight and perform solo perform-ances for the trees, for the frogs, for the river, for everything else that was alive. Northern Dancer, one of the horses on his neighbour’s property, was his favourite. Clementine, Jupiter, Marmalade and Tempest, the other four horses, would be fed berries and carrots through their individual stable gates. But not Northern Dancer. Young Adam would climb atop the tin bucket borrowed from beside the well and shimmied over his gate. Rubbing his silk coat and combing his mane with his fin-gers, he would hum a soft melody and present him with the treats. Adam explained that he treated him more special than the others because the McKinleys would work him the hardest in preparation for races. He was the prize horse. Early one morning Adam recalls, a man was coming by to give Northern Dancer a quick once over as if he were interested in buying him.

A gentle whistle interrupted Adam’s tale. He freed his hands from his pockets and turned to face the direction of the sound. Sue, head still laid comfortably on the back headrest of the chair, had fallen asleep. Her bottom lip quivering slightly from the draft in the old basement, causing what now became more of a humming than a whistle while he looked on. Adam fetched two blankets from the chest at the foot of the bed. He used the large hand-woven colourful one to cover his host and kept the smaller but clearly less worn blanket for himself. He would have to continue his story at another time or perhaps the truth would unravel on its own. He took one final look at Sue before turning off the lights, undressing and climbing into bed. The gentle snoring had stopped and her hair fell over her face as her head tilted to the left. As he lay on the bed, he reflected on the sheer trust Sue and the others he had met earlier in the day had in him. But more so Sue; she believed every word he said and questioned very little except when attempting to encourage a more sentiment-ally charged explanation rather than an account of facts about his life. There was a stark feeling of accomplishment with acquiring this trust in others. Nevertheless,

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Adam could not shake the feeling of unrest that came over him after noticing the trophy.

Waking up the following morning, Sue immediately reached for her sore neck and started to massage it with her fingers. She looked around the basement and saw a single beam of light escaping from a broken blind covering the side window. Adam’s bed was made. The sheets were tight and sharp, very much like one would expect to see in an army barracks. Sue wondered if Adam had been in the military. She must remember to ask him. Sue slipped from under the thick blanket and eased out of the chair and made her way upstairs. She gripped the railing on the way up, partly due to the tension caused in her back from her night spent on the chair, but her stomach was also tight with anxiety. She invited a stranger into her home with her son. The prayer she uttered while walking upstairs that her son would be safe reminded her that she hadn’t really been so worried since the passing of her hus-band. The house was quiet. The macaroni and cheese pot still there from the night before. It was just after 7 a.m. on a Sunday. She crept around from room to room, slowly opening doors and mindful of stepping on the loose, squeaking floor panels. She couldn’t find Tim or Adam. Years spent protecting her only child from the dan-gers of the world. Had she graciously invited trouble inside? Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Startled by the sound while creeping around her own home, Sue jumped and grabbed her chest.

At the door was Nora, a beautiful petite girl from Tim’s school. Her high cheekbones and wide brown eyes complemented her rich hazelnut complexion. Sue recognized her immediately from the science fair earlier that year, where Nora claimed first prize, leaving her son as runner up. “Hey, Miss K, is T.K. around?” Nora asked.

Sue was puzzled and she was certain it was written all over her face. These kids struggle to get up every morning for school and yet here was one of Tim’s peers at her house just after dawn on a weekend. Her blank stare was also reflective of the fact that she didn’t know the location of her son and really had no answer to give her.

“Nora, we’re in here,” Tim’s voice called from the open garage door. Nora turned and raced towards Tim’s voice, leaving Sue standing in the doorway. Sue threw on her gardening boots, grabbed a blazer to combat the brisk morning air and hurriedly followed suit. The garage doubled as storage for landscaping tools, old toys that she meant to donate and sentimental mementos from her wedding. In

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what was literally an overnight transformation, the garage became a science work-shop. Adam stood at the entrance of the garage as a conductor would as guests filled a train. Nora was already with Tim dabbling with something on a far table underneath an old desk lamp.

“I hope you don’t mind. I was looking under the kitchen sink for some tools to fix the water inlet in the bathroom downstairs. I guess the noise woke your boy. He brought me out here for the toolbox. I found some harmless compounds and one thing led to another. He’s really bright.”

“Oh, yes, it’s ... it’s fine.” Sue’s voice cracked. She was partially surprised, but her heart was at ease knowing that her son was safe. Adam rejoined Tim and Nora at the table.

Tim had seemingly taken to Adam; asking him questions about mixing Wind-ex with baking soda. They laughed at a joke about Silver Surfer and Iron Man be-coming fighting allies. Adam had a familiarity about him that made him very trust-ing. His voice was so reassuring and commanding. His eyes were so peaceful and peered into one’s soul, digesting someone’s raw emotion and speaking directly to it. But in essence, Sue knew very little about her new guest. She continued to observe his interaction with the kids and smiled as he tucked a pen behind his right ear. Along with knowing his plans while in town, she was now interested in more about his past, starting with the scar she just noticed above his temple.

Carolyn Palmer was born in Jamaica and now calls Oshawa home. She is bilingual, speaking both French and English fluently. Carolyn is a self-proclaimed foodie and nap connoisseur. She’s a hard worker with a knack for building strategic partnerships. Her varied career path has led her to her current role in public relations in the not-for-profit sector.

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4 A Meeting at the Cenotaph

Jonathan O’Mara

Item:

Oshawa/Whitby This Week, Sunday, May 31, 2015

Derelict kayak prompts fear for missing occupant

by Jane Oglethorpe, staff reporter

Durham Regional Police confirmed today that an overturned sea kayak washed ashore on Saturday morning near the grounds of the former Whitby Psychiatric Hos-pital, adjacent to Lynde Shores Conservation Area. Jim Gundy, a local resident out walking his dog, became alarmed and immediately notified police when he spotted the vessel near the shore.

Detective Sergeant Robert Paterson said yesterday that no one had reported a stolen or lost kayak. He added that the kayak is a large model routinely used by

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the military. A routine alert has been put out to towns and cities within the Golden Horseshoe and northern New York State for reports of any missing person known to have been out on the lake in the last couple of days. Det. Sgt. Paterson said that with the water still being very cold, time was of the essence if a survivor were still out there.

A Canadian Coast Guard search and rescue helicopter has been dispatched from Trenton to patrol inshore waters. So far, no reports have come in but Det. Sgt. Pater-son said that the investigation was still in its early stages, and that, more often than not, these types of incidents are the result of smaller boats falling off larger vessels. Most often, they are not necessarily the result of tragic events. Members of the pub-lic are asked to contact their local police if they have any knowledge, no matter how seemingly insignificant, that could lead to the owner of the kayak.

Frowning, Sue looked away from the Sunday newspaper and stared blankly out the kitchen window. That had to be Adam’s kayak, she thought. But why was there no report from his wife about his going missing? Perhaps she didn’t know yet, she mused, since they are separated. Further to that, though, something had been niggling away at her. What kind of a man would let his wife and especially his young children think that he was dead and leave them to possible repercussions, if Adam’s former partners were as dangerous as Adam said? That sort of callous-ness just did not jibe with what she knew of Adam, which admittedly, wasn’t much. Should she inform the police about Adam and the kayak, perhaps putting Adam in jeopardy from his creditors? Should she confront him ... or give him the benefit of the doubt and perhaps wait to see if any reports do come in? After all, it had been only two days since Adam said he had left his family behind. Sue was becoming distinctly uneasy. It just didn’t smell right. And yet, that smile and ... oh, those eyes, that gentleness and sincerity. And what about the way she, Tim and even Nora had taken an instant liking to him? On the face of it though, his back story seemed to her less and less believable. Yet, she had bought it wholesale, without so much as a question. Such was the charisma of this mysterious newcomer, such was her need for Adam to be what he purported to be. Sue desperately hoped all was well.

She liked him so much. Her instincts told her he was a good man. What’s more, Tim obviously liked him, as well. It had been such a long time since she had had butterflies in her stomach ... over anyone. His mere presence had put a new spring in her step, a lightness in her heart and a song on her lips. For fear of push-ing him away, maybe she would let this go for now but remain vigilant. Yes, that’s

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what she would do. Putting it out of her mind for the moment, Sue began preparing tuna sandwiches for the crew in the garage. The pleasant sound of laughter was so sweet to her ears. It had been years since she had heard that in her house. Sighing, she hoped ... no, prayed ... that this would work out.

Sue’s cellphone rang. It was Vicky, almost giddy with excitement, “So, hon, give ‘er. Tell me what happened. And don’t you dare leave anything out.” Sue could hear the smile in her voice.

“Oh, Vicky,” countered Sue, feigning exasperation. “Nothing happened. What did you expect? Really, now? I just met the guy for heaven’s sake. I set him up in the basement and we, I mean, he went to sleep.”

“You mean, that’s it?” Vicky sounded disappointed. “Oh my girl ... my poor, poor girl, haven’t I taught you anything? Time and tide wait for no one, y’know?” Vicky chuckled.

“Yeah, OK, OK. Adam’s very nice. And very cute. And Tim and his friend, Nora, love him already, it’s true. But I’m not getting my hopes up. I’m gonna take this slowly. Besides, I don’t know what his plans are. He doesn’t even have a place to stay. I really know very little about him.”

Vicky laughed. “You know I’m just kidding you, babe? Just trust your instincts. They’ve never let you down. You have good old-fashioned common sense, too. Say, to change the subject, do you need anything at the supermarket? I’m picking up a few things for myself.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Vic, but I’m OK, thanks. Have a nice time and leave that hunky guy in the produce department alone, OK?” Sue chuckled.

“No worries, I will,” Vicky laughed. “But guess what? I spotted an even hunkier guy there a couple of weeks ago. He’s the manager. His name’s Yuri,” she said his name in a rather poor imitation of a Slavic accent. “He’s kinda foreign sounding, y’know ... exotic? Built like a fire plug and he’s very handsome. We had a nice chat about laundry detergent, of all things, one thing led to another and, presto. We’re meeting for lunch this week. I’ve been in the store every day and he always makes time to talk to me. Such a sweet man. I think he really likes me. Pretty good, eh?” Vicky sounded positively jubilant.

“Vicky, you’re incorrigible.” They both laughed out loud.

“Hi, Sue,” Adam called as he came in from the garage. My, but she is a beauti-

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ful woman, he thought, taking her in at a glance. If possible, she looked even pret-tier than the day before. Sue was one of those women, he realized, who was quite oblivious to how beautiful she really was. He had met several women like that and was at a loss to explain it.

Adam was wearing blue jeans and an old sleeveless T-shirt that had once be-longed to Sue’s husband. Sue couldn’t help noticing his well-muscled arms and shoulders, shining with a light perspiration, his tousled sandy hair, his piercing blue eyes and his high cheek bones. Oh, God, he’s like a Greek statue, she thought, and felt her knees weaken ever so slightly. Quickly, she checked herself. Stop it, Sue. You‘re acting like a smitten teenager. But there was no doubt there was a physical chemistry, an obvious electricity between them.

“Those two kids are great. Your Tim? Sue, I have to say, you’ve done a first rate job of bringing him up. Great sense of humour, smart, witty and very handsome, to quote Nora,” he winked. They both laughed.

“Yes”, agreed Sue. She smiled. “He’s the spit of his father.”

In a more serious tone, Adam said, “I’d like to thank you again for taking me in last night, Sue. I really appreciate it ... but I won’t impose upon you any further.”

“Oh, you’re not imposing at all,” she replied, perhaps a little too quickly. “It’s been so nice to have a man around the house for a change. I know Tim has really taken to you. Don’t be silly, Adam. You can stay until you get something, OK?” Sue hoped she didn’t sound like she were pleading with him.

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind? But it won’t be for long. I promise. In fact, I thought I’d walk into town today and see what there is in the way of apartments.” Adam beamed that fabulous smile at her.

“Well, sure. Want me to drop you?”

“No, thanks anyway, Sue. It’s not that far and it’s a beautiful day, so I thought I would walk. I’ll be back before five.”

“OK, Mr. Adam Zed,” she said coyly, then adding, “ Maybe you could help with the barbecuing tonight?”

“Count on it,” said Adam. As he grabbed his jean jacket, he shot her a cheer-ful grin, turned on his heel, loped down the driveway and marched smartly up the street.

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Sue couldn’t help noticing how good he looked from behind, too. She sighed and got back to making a marinade for the chicken for the night’s dinner.

It really was a beautiful day. The sky was cloudless, an azure blue and, com-bined with the fresh spring greenery, the old town of Whitby took on an other-worldly glow. If you squinted your eyes just so, it looked as it might have appeared a hundred years ago, when it was known as the County Town, the hub of local com-merce, the lovely, quiet place where retirees chose to finish life’s long, hard jour-ney. The idyllic scene of comfortable old houses spread before him, many with tidy picket fences, could have been from a Norman Rockwell painting, a scene not so dissimilar to many small towns he had known. He pined for simpler times. Life was becoming far too complicated. Adam’s thoughts went back to the previous night, to the equestrian trophy in the basement. Patrick Kennedy? Could it possibly be? No. That would be far too much of a coincidence. He put the thought out of his mind for the moment. He had more important things to think about.

Walking briskly, Adam soon found himself in the heart of the old part of town. He took a right on Dundas Street at the Four Corners, then stopped, fittingly he thought, at the Whitby Cenotaph, just east of Brock Street. Here, on this modest monument, conflicts dating back to Queen Victoria’s Boer War, were inscribed the names of Whitby’s fallen sons who had fought and died so valiantly in several of those bloody wars for queen and country.

Adam stood in front of the cenotaph and put his hands behind his back, idly reading the list of names inscribed there. Seated on the bench beside the monu-ment, just to Adam’s right, was a dark-haired man of about 50, greying at the temples, possessed of a medium build, reasonably fit looking, and dressed in a thin grey wind breaker and sandy khakis.

“Quite inspirational reading all those names,” the man said, still staring into the street.

“Both inspirational and humbling,” Adam replied.

“Oh, good,” the man replied, a note of relief in his voice. “That’s over with, then. You’re right on time. Forgive me, but these passwords and phrases are a just little too cold war for me.” He laughed quietly. “But necessary, I suppose. These are difficult times. You’re Adam, I presume?”

Adam nodded his assent.

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“This is likely the only time we’ll meet, Adam. I’m an agent for CSIS, Canadian Security Intelligence Service. Obviously, it would be extremely damaging to both our governments if our mutual involvement in a covert CIA extraction, in effect a black op, in our country, ever leaked out. So, you understand, our contact must be kept to an absolute minimum?”

Still staring at the monument, Adam replied, “No worries there, my friend. We just appreciate your co-operation ... even if given grudgingly,” he added, not un-kindly.

The CSIS agent chuckled. “Yeah, but with your CIA’s recent track record of exposures, renditions, Wiki leaks and so on ... well, you know, we worry. Not to cast aspersions on your great country, our very good neighbour, you understand? We’ve had our share of scandal up here, too. Politically, we just can’t afford any more em-barrassment. The media and the public would crucify us.”

“I get it ... I do,” said Adam, “but that’s out of my hands. What goes on in Washington is not within my very limited sphere of influence,” he laughed.

“Nor is Ottawa in mine,” the CSIS agent chuckled.

Both men stopped talking, as a young woman pushing a stroller walked by.

After she had passed, the conversation continued. “Right,” the man got down to business. “Thanks for taking on this mission at such short notice. Did your people provide you with a back story?”

“Yeah, but fairly sketchy. The rest was left up to me, it being a rush job. I read up as much as I could on this general area, lifestyle and so on. Did you know Can-adians are remarkably like Americans ... at least superficially?” Adam laughed. “Thank God for Google. I only got this assignment three days ago and had to move fast. By sheer dumb luck, the very first night I came ashore, I slept in an old house being restored for posterity. When I woke up and went outside, I found myself in a group of locals who assumed I was part of the restoration crew. I had to think fast and, maybe stupidly, confided in a woman that I had faked my own death, and left my family to avoid some pretty crooked and rough former business partners, took my dad’s kayak and paddled 40 kilometres to get here.”

The CSIS man rolled his eyes. “And she actually bought that?” The man sound-ed incredulous.

“Yeah, it seems so,” Adam said, a bit sheepishly. “I had to think fast and it’s

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what I came up with. But she’s very sweet and, I think, pretty naïve ... trusting ... y’know? She seemed to believe me. In retrospect, I guess it does sound fairly lame, doesn‘t it? Anyway, to pad it out a bit, I added some local colour.

“I told her that when I was a kid, I spent time with my grandparents on a farm in north Oshawa, nearer to Port Perry. Anyway, it won’t be long before I’m gone again so they won’t find out it’s all a fabrication. At least I hope not.”

The CSIS agent took on a more sombre tone. “Did you read in the paper today that your kayak has been found?”

“What ... really ... already?” Adam sounded genuinely shocked. Two nights be-fore, the night he had approached the Whitby shore, even though he knew it would be a long, cold swim, he had scuttled the kayak at least 500 metres from shore and figured it would drift far away from the Whitby area. Maybe he should have holed it. In a calmer tone, he continued, “Well, that fits with my cover story, at least. Only one person, Susan Kennedy, knows my back story. I doubt she has had a chance to tell anyone else yet. I just have to divert any suspicion for a couple of weeks, that’s all.”

“Are you staying somewhere?”

“Yeah, with the woman I mentioned, Sue Kennedy ... she’s a widow ... took me in last night. She has a house in a subdivision a couple of klicks southwest of here, down by the lake. Lynde Shores, I think it’s called. Lovely, kind woman, really. She has a teenaged son, a real nice kid. Taken a shine to me, he has. Truth be told, I like him, too. And her ...”, he added. “I really don’t feel good about deceiving them or involving them. They’ve both embraced me wholeheartedly, taken me in, fed me, even clothed me. They sure live up to the stereotypes we Americans have about Canadians being warm, trusting, friendly and oh so polite.” he smiled then sighed ruefully. “No, I feel pretty shabby, if you want to know the truth.” Adam shoved his hands into his back pockets, looked at his shoes and rocked on his heels.

“Oh, I sympathize entirely, son,” replied the CSIS agent. “Never liked under-cover work myself, for that very same reason. Got out as soon as I could. Still, we’re in a nasty, thankless business. Sometimes I wonder why I still do it, but it’s all I know how to do, so ..,” he trailed off.

Adam thought he heard regret in the agent’s voice. There was a brief, awkward silence between the two.

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“Uh, it might be nothing but I may have an unforeseen problem,” stammered Adam, changing the subject.

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Well, I noticed that Sue has an equestrian trophy in her basement inscribed with her father-in-law’s name, Patrick Kennedy. It might sound far-fetched but, when I was in the police academy in New York City, you know, before the CIA re-cruited me, we had a visiting riding instructor. Police all need basic riding training with horses since a lot of park patrols and riot control operations are on horseback. Well, the riding instructor’s name was Patrick Kennedy and he was a Canadian. He was a champ and had a great reputation so was hired by the force on contract. I have a sinking feeling it’s the same man. I mean, what are the odds? I spent con-siderable time with him in small group exercises. I think he might still know me on sight.”

“Hmmm, could well be, Adam, but, if it is the same man, what are the chances of running into him? Pretty small, I’d say. You’re only here for a couple of weeks so I wouldn’t worry too much about it, but keep your guard up. Make sure he doesn’t see you. It wouldn’t pay to have your cover blown. Now, I think we should get on with this.

“Your package is a former Serb national, Yuri Jovanovich. Make no mistake. He can be a very nasty piece of work. Ruthless. He fought for the Serbians, in the conflict with Croatia. Ugly war, as they all are, I guess. Terrible atrocities on both sides, truth be told. Jovanovich was believed to have orchestrated what amounts to ethnic cleansing, genocide, against the Croats and is purported to be responsible for ordering the liquidation of thousands. Croatia wants him back to stand trial for war crimes. Not long after the war, he slipped away and immigrated to Canada. He is here in Whitby living as an ordinary businessman, under his real name, mind you. Manages a local supermarket. His alleged past is no secret, though. It was quite a big deal in the national news here about 10 years ago. Headlines screamed, ‘Alleged War Criminal Lives Amongst Us’ ... y’know, that sort of thing? Canadian courts have been unable to prosecute him. Seems potential witnesses either clammed up when push came to shove or quietly dropped off the face of the earth, possibly mur-dered, though again, there is no proof, at least none that will stick.

“Croatia has no extradition treaty with Canada but they want him badly in Zagreb. Two new, purportedly solid witnesses in Croatia have come forward and will testify, provided that they are afforded witness protection. The United States

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and Canada, as well, are keen to co-operate with the new Croatian government and, of course, that’s where you and I come in, Adam. If he is as bad as the Croatian gov-ernment says he is, this guy probably has no conscience. But he is crafty, war-hard-ened, can be extremely dangerous and, from what we know, appears to be as guilty as sin, though all of the evidence we have seen comes from Croatian sources alone.

“Grain of salt and all that but ... ours is not to reason why ... et cetera, et cet-era.”

Adam smiled at the Canadian agent’s obviously jaded impression of their chosen profession.

“We also think he is able to draw on a cadre of local Serbs, men we know who served in that war against Croatia and took up residence in this area after the war. Really tough, battle-tested characters, too. Possibly armed. Definitely dangerous. Your job is to observe Jovanovich for several days, find out what his routines are and decide the best time and place to extract him. You will, of course, need to rent a car. In fact, a van or SUV would be better for keeping him secluded, if it becomes necessary to keep him longer than a day, and then, transporting him unobserved. There are several rental agencies in town. Depending on your window of opportun-ity, you may even have to grab him early and hold him for a couple of days until the rendezvous. Adam, it is vital we get him within this time frame. There is pretty solid intel that Jovanovich got wind of these new witnesses and is planning to flee to the Caribbean island of St. Thomas before the end of June. The island has no extradition treaty with either Canada or Croatia. It would be much more difficult extracting him from there. Could take years and years.

“At the rendezvous point on Whitby beach, under cover of darkness, two CIA agents in a Zodiac will meet you on shore. They will transport Jovanovich and you to the mini-sub which will be holding position about two klicks offshore. You’ll board the sub, cross Lake Ontario to the American side and disembark near a dis-used U.S. air force base where a CIA Lear jet will fly Jovanovich to Croatia. You will be debriefed right at the airfield. I’m afraid this assignment might not be easy, Adam. You will need to proceed with extreme caution. By all accounts, he’s a real vicious SOB.

“I will leave a key on this bench which you will pick up after I leave. There is a safety deposit box across the street in the Bank of Commerce, which is open Sun-day afternoon. I presume you have rudimentary false ID with you?” Adam nod-ded. “The box contains a dossier with a recent photo of Jovanovich, pertinent bio-

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graphical details and his current address. Also, you will find your comprehensive false identity papers, among them: birth certificate, SIN card, Ontario health card, Ontario driver’s licence, high school and college transcripts ... it was no easy task manufacturing them on such short notice, let me tell you.”

Adam couldn’t help smiling again at the agent’s thinly disguised rants.

“Make sure you are very familiar with them ... $3,000 Canadian, all in twen-ties ... wouldn’t do to wave around denominations greater than that ... two pairs of handcuffs, and a standard police issue, Glock G30S .45 calibre pistol with 30 rounds of ammunition, which I hope you don’t have to use. We frown on gun play in Can-ada, y’know?” he smiled. “You should have enough cash to secure anything else you might need. Remember. You must be at the rendezvous point on the beach at 0400 hours, Sunday, June fourteenth, exactly two weeks from today. You’re pretty much on your own now. If you absolutely must contact me ... well ... see the big stone right behind this bench? Leave a note under it if you have to. I will check it daily. As you know, there is absolute deniability in this operation. Both your side and ours will disavow any knowledge of you, if you‘re apprehended. Good luck, son, and be careful,” he said.

Without so much as a glance at Adam, the CSIS agent got up from the bench, strolled nonchalantly down Dundas Street, then vanished up a side street.

As he watched the CSIS agent walk away, Adam absently rubbed the scar on his temple. He was determined that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes as he did on his last extraction.

“So when’s Adam coming back?” asked Tim. “I like him. He’s cool. He knows about X-Box, PlayStation, iTunes, rap music and stuff, Mom. Even science.” Tim and Sue were sitting on the porch, just enjoying each other’s company on a lovely, sunny Sunday afternoon.

“Oh, he said he’d be back at five, in about an hour,” She smiled at her son. It did her heart good to see him so happy. “Hey, did you know that Adam has a bit of a history with horses, just like your granddad and your father ... .and you, of course? He used to stay with his grandparents near Windfields Farms.”

“Really? That’s soooo cool.” Tim couldn’t believe his luck. He was proud of his grandfather and his father and had become just as fanatical about horses as they were.

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“Yes, Adam says he used to live next to the farm where Northern Dancer was stabled. As a boy, he’d go over and pet him and feed him.”

Tim looked at his mother quizzically. “Northern Dancer? Couldn’t be,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Northern Dancer was Canada’s most famous racehorse, Mom, and yeah, he was stabled at Windfields Farms here, but when his racing career end-ed, he was moved to Windfields farms in Maryland in 1969 for siring. Everybody knows that.”

Well, I didn’t, Sue thought.

Tim continued, “He made even more millions for the owners as a stud. Did you know that a ton of winning racehorses today are descendants of Northern Dan-cer or at least are part of his bloodline? Anyway, he never came back. He died there. He was brought back and buried here, though, at Windfields, where he was born. If Adam was a little kid in the 60’s, Mum, when Northern Dancer lived there, he would have to be in his 50s now, wouldn’t he? How old do you think he is?”

Sue’s eyes glazed over. A lump had formed in her throat. Her heart thudded in her chest. She mumbled, distractedly, “Uh ... uh, I dunno, Tim. Thirty-five maybe?”

“Right. You must have heard him wrong, Mom. Must have.” Tim didn’t seem concerned.

“Yeah”, said Sue, in a faraway voice. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach. “You’re right, Tim. I, uh, I must have heard him wrong.”

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5 Setting Up

Gord Lee

Adam stepped over to the bench and picked up the key. Gazing across the street at the bank, he thought to himself, it’s decision time. I’m not exactly dressed or set up to wander into the bank, identify myself and bring out a Glock .45 and a stack of paper and cash from a safety deposit box. A little difficult to conceal a weapon wearing borrowed jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt. With a sheepish grin on his face and in a silent undertone to himself, he said: “It isn’t the best attire to be doing your banking in -- especially a gun withdrawal. Even if it is a quiet Sunday afternoon.”

Silently, his mind was working overtime. Leisurely, he walked along Dundas Street in a westerly direction, back to the Four Corners. Whitby This Week had thrown a little curve at him. Reading the local newspaper would be a Sunday ritual for most households over their morning coffee or lunch. He was certain that Sue would have seen the headlines and read the followup article. A conversation was

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sure to be initiated when he got back to the house. Perhaps, it’s time to move on, he thought. The situation could get a little too complicated and might bring pos-sible endangerment to such a nice family. But, on second thought, it was the perfect deflection for the task at hand; comfortable, convenient accommodations, unlikely suspicions from his target and a great looking landlord, to boot.

Before he knew it, he had turned south on Brock. As he passed by the strip of stores on the east side, he noticed a sign across the window of a small retail shop – LEASE EXPIRED – EVERYTHING ON SALE – UP TO 60% OFF. Looking through the window then, entering the store, he went directly to a small display of backpacks. Under his breath, he murmured: “That’s exactly what I need.” Browsing through the aisles, he picked up a couple of shirts and a pair of loose-fitting cargo pants.

In the fitting room, as he dropped his jeans to the floor, he reached for a small band that was strapped around his leg, high on the thigh. Tucked away in this con-cealed waterproof micro pouch were a few Canadian $20s and his duplicate iden-tity card. He would need the I.D. card to get him through the bank staff and to the vault. Removing two $20s and the I.D., he strapped the pouch back on his leg, tried on the cargo pants, took a look in the mirror, then quickly changed back to the jeans and headed to the cashier.

“These are great, what do I owe you?”

Surprisingly, he got all four items: backpack, two shirts and the cargo pants for just over $30, tax included. Out on the street again, he took off briskly, around the corner and headed toward the CIBC.

The bank was reasonably busy for a Sunday afternoon. At the courtesy desk he passed his identity card to the attendant and requested access to his safety deposit box. The customer service clerk was a young lady, cute as a button -- nicely dressed in a blue belted cotton blouse which loosely overhung a pair of black tights and ac-cented her high-cut black leather boots.

On the left upper part of her blouse was a CIBC name tag and in bold print it stated: ‘Hello! My name is Sharon Pond’. On the right collar of the blouse was a yellow plastic daffodil. Not the typical, mature business-type person you nor-mally see in a bank. She looked to be about 18 years of age. It didn’t appear that she knew what to do next. Adam’s profession made him very observant of people: their demeanour, their attire, how they handled conversations. A number of years

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of undercover assignments gave him the tools and experience to profile people. He felt he was pretty good at it. Adam watched her closely as she picked up the phone and connected to another party. In a short time and a limited telephone conversa-tion, she hung up the receiver; looked straight at Adam and replied: “Someone will be right with you, Mr. Zedesky. Please have a seat.” As Adam sat down at the side of her desk, he struck up a conversation.

“So, Sharon Pond, how did you get so lucky to be working on a beautiful Sun-day afternoon?”

“I’m a student at Durham College, taking business admin. And this is a co-op placement for me. So, I get all the weekends and one night a week, until eight.”

“No time for a boyfriend, Sharon?”

“Not just yet, sir,” she chuckled. “I haven’t found my Sir Galahad, but ... lots of time for that. The good news is classes are out in one week, my co-op assignment will be finished and the bank just offered me a part-time summer job –- a paying job; this is a freebie. I can’t wait to actually get paid to work.”

“Sounds great, Sharon. When you get that first paycheque, I’ll be around for lunch -- you’re buying.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Most of my money is going right to my mother, I owe her big time. I’ll be brown-bagging my lunch all summer, I think. But, I will share my sandwich with you.”

They both had a little chuckle and as they spoke, a tall gentleman in a dark grey, expensive-looking business suit approached Sharon’s desk. He was wearing a light grey shirt with a burgundy tie and shiny black dress shoes. He nodded to Adam in a friendly way and picked up the I.D. card. Adam nodded back as he stood up and offered a “Hi there.” Under his breath, Adam said to himself: “Now, there’s a banker dude -- sharp suit, probably wearing Canali or Hugo Boss threads.”

The gentleman in the suit eyeballed the photo card, looked up at Adam and extended his right hand.

“Mr. Zedesky? I’m Robert Hunter. Let me give you back your I.D. and I will take you to the vault. Are you placing something in your deposit box, today sir?”

Adam stood up, extended his hand to Mr. Hunter and chose to ignore the question. As he walked past Sharon’s desk he cordially commented:

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“Good luck, Sharon, and by the way, you look great behind the desk. You will make a great banker.”

Sharon smiled, acknowledged his comments and turned toward an approach-ing customer.

“Sorry, Robert, I was in conversation with the nice young lady you have on the service desk. And, you get her for free. That’s awesome.”

“Well, not for long, sir. Sharon’s a student and is our summer replacement for the front-line tellers. As of next week, she is on the payroll until September.”

“That’s great. I’m sure she needs the job, taking college courses and all. Look after her -- she may come back and be your boss someday.”

“You got that right, sir,” Mr. Hunter acknowledged. “You just never know, do you?”

Mr. Hunter’s initial question regarding the safety deposit box just got lost in the conversation. Adam was OK with that; the less conversation, the better.

As Adam and Mr. Hunter went through the counter entrance and into the vault, the banker dude stepped up to the wall of metal grey deposit boxes, turned to find the correct box and said:

“So, Mr. Zedesky, my key will open the vault cover door and then, I will step out while you open your personal box with your key. Just call out or, come and get me when you are finished and your box will be closed and locked again. There is a desk and chair right over there, if you need to sit for a minute to conduct your busi-ness. On your departure, you need to sign the vault control sheet at the door. It re-quires signature, date, time in and time out. It is now 12:32.”

As Mr. Hunter proceeded to open the face cover, Adam couldn’t help but scan the entire vault. It looked like several hundred deposit boxes were contained in the walls. His thought process was trying to fathom how much of a fortune was hidden behind locked boxes in this vault. Secret monies, jewelry, family heirlooms, stocks, bonds and, perhaps, the odd gun; you just never know.

It didn’t take long to key his box and get it over to the desk. Top centre in the metal box was a cloth shopping bag, presumably for carrying the box’s contents out of the bank, unobserved. Didn’t really need the backpack, he thought, but it looks

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less conspicuous than a grown man carrying a shopping bag like a lady’s purse. Be-neath the bag was a terry cloth towel, wrapped tightly around a bulky, solid mass. No need to guess what that was. Adam grabbed his backpack from his shoulder; quickly placed the wrapped-up towel on the bottom, below his new clothes, then sorted and dumped the remaining contents into the bag. All the documents, the money, the rounds of ammunition and the two pair of handcuffs got tucked away. He couldn’t get out of there soon enough. Closing his backpack, throwing it over his shoulder and quickly moving to the vault, he slid the box back in place, turned the key as he called for Mr. Hunter.

“We’re done here, Robert. Where do I sign?”

“Right here, Mr. Zedesky: date, times and signature; I will lock the cover door.”

Adam scribbled his signature, A. Zedesky, 05/31/15 – 12:32 p.m., in – 12:40 p.m., out. Then he headed to the exit door.

As he stepped through the swinging door at the bank counter, Mr. Hunter caught up with him and inquired: “Any other banking I can help you with today, sir?”

“No thanks, Robert, I’m good. We will see you again. Soon, I’m sure.”

“Thanks for being a CIBC customer, Mr. Zedesky. Have a great afternoon.”

Quickly, Adam headed to the main doors and onto the street. As he passed the courtesy desk, he waved and shouted, “See you, Sharon, good luck with your sum-mer job.”

Sharon waved and smiled but before she could say ‘Thanks’ or ‘Goodbye’, Adam was out the door. He couldn’t get out of there soon enough; not the best place to be hanging around with a Glock in his possession.

Hustling across Dundas Street toward Brock, he headed south. The window sign on the Thai-Asian restaurant, just around the corner caught his eye: Lunch Specials $7.99, the sign read. That works for me, he said to himself. Gives me a chance to sort through these documents and have a little lunch.

Entering the restaurant, he picked a booth at the far back corner. While waiting for lunch, Adam tried to rearrange the contents of his backpack: One hundred and fifty $20 bills wasn’t the easiest bundle to stick in his

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pants pocket, especially jeans; probably would fit better in the new cargo pants, he was thinking. Why didn’t the CSIS agent pack it a little thinner with a few $100 bills? Well, he supposed, hundreds might draw unwanted attention to him. Also, ATMs only doled out $20s. Made sense. Less con-spicuous, he supposed. The gun was a concern, also -- he needed to get that secured, as well. While he was waiting for his lunch to come, he took the time to peruse all the documents from the deposit box. His belongings had him raised in the west, central area of Toronto and graduating from Vaughan Road Academy. Further documents gave him a college gradua-tion certificate from Humber College, the Centre for Trades and Technology. Accordingly, he had taken a three-year course in construction and home renovations. That’s cool, he thought. Adam fancied himself as pretty handy with tools.

Aside from the scholastic achievements documented, Adam took some time to study the photo of his target. Characterizing the black and white photo of Yuri Jovanovich, he guessed his age to be in the 35-to-40 range -- definitely had a Euro-pean look to him: dark hair, though not much of it, square jaw. The photo of Yuri caught him with a sort of scowl on his face, not the most pleasant attribute. Being what it was, Adam now had a good handle on his own new identity and his target’s facial features, even if there was more or less facial hair today. Tomorrow, he would seek him out and set a plan in motion.

Lunch was pretty good for eight bucks. Two bucks for a tip and he was out the door within the hour. Heading southbound on Brock Street, he would take the lei-surely walk back to Sue’s place. At a slow pace, taking in the neighbourhood as he walked, arrival at Sue’s house should be around 3 to 3:15 p.m.

The Kennedy house faced east. On days like today, the morning sun found the front porch and as it rose in the sky westward, it kept their backyard and patio warm and comfortable. Great for dinner barbecues on their back deck.

Sue was having a most enjoyable day. Initially concerned over the abandoned kayak article in the paper and the Northern Dancer conversation with Adam, she had decided to put that out of her mind. Perhaps, when Adam returned, she would take it up with him. But, for now, the sunlight and brunch on the front porch with Tim and his school friend, Nora, had been very pleasant. There were not too many days Tim hung around with his mother, even if most of his attention was focused

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on his guest. So busy these kids are, with school and sports, friends and home-work; it’s nice to spend a day together. Brunch and conversation with the two teens consumed a couple of hours. Tim and Nora both had a keen interest in the sci-ences. They talked about collectively coming up with a project and entering the Intel International Science Fair, open to high school students worldwide. Mr. Brad-ley had called them both aside in class and made the suggestion, telling them to put their heads together and come up with an idea. If their project had merit, the school would sponsor them and provide a $300 research budget to get them started and entered. This was exciting conversation for Sue.

“Tim, why didn’t you tell me before? This is great for both of you. Have you got some ideas?”

“We’re working on it, Mom. Maybe we will find a cure for the common cold. A 19-year-old from Romania won last year’s prize and a 17-year-old from Louisiana also got a full scholarship. Mr. Bradley told us to take the weekend to think about it and he would talk more with us on Monday. And, Mom, Adam told us this mor-ning, that gunpowder was discovered by Chinese alchemists and scientists long before the thirteenth century. Maybe we could study gunpowder?”

“Gunpowder? Timothy Kennedy, there will be no gunpowder in this house or garage, I can tell you. What does Adam know about gunpowder? Better that you and Nora study the recent concerns for the demise of the honeybee or something other than gunpowder.”

“Hey Mom, we were just talking. Are you renting Adam our basement to live in?”

“No, Tim. I am not renting out our basement to anyone. Adam is just here for a few days, volunteering his time with us on the Lynde House. At least, I think that’s what his plan is. He was a great help yesterday. I just offered him a place to stay for helping us with the project. But, if he is an expert on gunpowder, his stay may come to an end, and very abruptly,” she laughed.

Tim stood up, motioned to Nora to join him and then they both headed for the garage. On his way down the front steps, he turned back to his mother and re-plied:

“That’s cool, Mom -- he’s a nice guy. I like him. And, Mom, Nora and I won’t be studying gunpowder, it was just conversation. We are going to cure cancer or something like that. Mr. Bradley gave us a couple of ideas and we have a couple of

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our own. See you later, Mom.”

Weekend conversations with her son were truly a premium. Sue knew all about raising a teenager. You had to grab what information you could, whenever it became available. They have bigger agendas than sitting with Mom all day. Nora, it seems, as well as her Tim, had a good head on her shoulders. Her son, the spitting image of his dad, kept her confident university was in his long-range plans. Thank goodness that her late husband’s life insurance had provided for his future educa-tion. Just keeping him on track would be her future goal.

Sue got up from her chair to head inside. As she turned to the doorway, Nora shouted back to her from the garage door,

“Thanks for brunch, Mrs. Kennedy. I’ll see you before I go home.”

Acknowledging Nora’s comment and then turning to the street, she noticed Adam just coming around the corner. “What the heck is he carrying on his back?” she said, under her breath. “More than he left the house with, that’s for sure.”

Just as she was watching him heading her way, Vicky’s Durango pulled up at the curb. The passenger window went down and Vicky hollered: “Hey, girlfriend. Where’s that hunk you’re hanging out with? Oops, sorry ... I just noticed him com-ing down the street.”

Sue scampered down the steps towards the SUV. “Vicky, Tim is here, in the garage -- be careful what you say. You are terrible.” Laughing as she got to the pas-senger window, she continued: “Didn’t you know? This is my new temporary bed and breakfast for the homeless.”

“Ooh! Sue. I like that -- bed and breakfast. Be careful, girl. Anyway, I’m going for a few groceries. Sure you don’t need anything? They close at five on Sunday, so I’m on the move.”

Sue was at the passenger door by then. As she leaned forward, her head through the passenger side window, her eyes widened and she let out a yelp.

“Wow! Victoria Stevenson, you are SO! BAD! Shopping in a peach see-through blouse and a push-up bra? You’re not on the move girl, you’re on the prowl.”

Both women giggled and Vicky came back with: “Well, you’ve been out of circulation for a while. Remember, sweetie, sometimes you just have to set the

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table.”

Adam had reached the house by then and joined Sue on the passenger side of the Vicky’s SUV, just in time to hear Sue finish her comments: “You’re not going shopping, you’re going Yuri hunting.”

Adam was about to greet the girls, but his vocal cords froze. What did he just hear?

“Hi Adam,” Vicky greeted him. “What are you packing?” His reply, just as Sue also greeted him, got stuck in his mouth.

“Hi, ladies. Bought a couple of things in town. Two shirts, a pair of cargo pants ... even had lunch and didn’t spend forty bucks. Didn’t shop at Whitby’s Holt Ren-frew but, did get a couple of clear-out bargains.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten to our Holt Renfrew, Adam. It is way over by the Kendalwood Plaza, a long walk from here. Has a different name, though. We call it Value Village.”

“That’s cute, Sue. You’re sharp as a tack today,” replied Vicky.

“Hey girls, heard you mention a hunting trip when I got to the truck. What’s Yuri hunting?”

“Oh Adam, Vicky is chasing down a new hunk. He manages the independent supermarket on Brock Street. It’s Yuri something -- don’t think she has the handle on his last name, yet.”

“I do, Sue. I’m way past the name stage. Yuri Jovanovich, how’s that for a han-dle?”

Adam was stunned hearing this. After a couple of seconds, he replied: “Sounds kind of Slavic or, perhaps Serbian.”

“Yes, something like that. But I got to go. See you all later.”

“Hey, Vicky. We are barbecuing in a little while, why don’t you join us? As a matter of fact, the chicken is from Yuri’s store -- bring him along, if you want. If he doesn’t want to eat the chicken he sells, then we will know not to shop there. No, seriously. I would love to have you or both of you for a barbecue. There is lots of food and it’s a great night to sit outside and have a glass of wine and a few laughs. And meet your new love interest.”

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“We’re not at the love stage, yet ... I don’t think,” said Vicky, smiling. “Haven’t even formally dated, just sort of talked every day for a couple of weeks. I do really, really like him, though. But, hey. That’s really great, Sue. I will come for sure and hopefully, you will see the both of us. The store closes at five and he has to eat somewhere. So, I’ll work on him to join us. I’ll tell him you’re a regular customer in his store. If he doesn’t come for dinner, you will stop shopping there. That should convince him.”

Adam’s mind was racing. He was deciphering what had just taken place. As the Durango pulled away from the curb, he and Sue walked to the front of the house. Possibly, he would be spending the evening with his target. Casual conversation with Yuri over dinner may be a good starting point and give him a little insight, he was thinking.

“So, show me your new duds, Adam. Whitby’s a shopper’s paradise, eh?”

“Sure is, Sue. Just let me go downstairs and clean up. Then, I will model my new cargo pants and ensemble. Well, it’s not much of an ensemble -- bargain base-ment pants and shirt. But, it will do.”

“I’ll be on the deck, Adam, getting the barbecue ready.”

Adam hustled down the stairs and into the bedroom. The gun, the handcuffs and all the cash were primary on his mind. He had to get those things out of the backpack and hidden. For now, he shoved a pile of $20s into his new pants. No idea how much. Then, he tucked the balance and everything else under the mat-tress, spreading it out so as not to create an obvious rise or bulge. Before tucking the photo away, he took another look and murmured to himself, “So Mr. Yuri, the evening is possibly going to be quite interesting -- I hope you join us for dinner.” Tucking the photo under the mattress, he knew he would have to quickly find an-other hiding spot, particularly for the gun and handcuffs. They wouldn’t be much good to him in a time of need, tucked away in the basement. And, if Sue came down and changed the bed clothes, that would be a crisis.

After a quick wash, he changed into the cargo pants and one of his new shirts then, tucking the money deep into a side leg pocket, he headed upstairs, anxiously anticipating the evening ahead. Was Yuri going to show up? How could he discour-age Vicky from getting involved with this guy? The evening was going to be very interesting, he thought. Opening the kitchen door and stepping out on the deck, he shouted:

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“Hey Sue, What do you think? Am I stylish enough for the cover of Esquire?”

Turning towards him, Sue remarked: “You look great, Adam. But, if you are featured on the cover of Esquire, you may have to shed the shirt. Hey Adam, I poured you a glass of wine; hope you like Merlot? Come sit over here, I want to show you the headlines in today’s paper.”

“Yes, I was going to mention that -- haven’t read the story, but saw the headline over the shoulder of someone in the restaurant, while I was having lunch. Couldn’t find a copy of the paper on the way back here. Let me read it, please.”

Sue handed Adam his glass of wine and the paper then leaned back in her chair, took a sip from her Merlot and waited for him to read the article.

“Wow, Sue. I hadn’t planned on the police getting involved. Thought the kayak would drift out into the middle of the lake, not into shore close by. It looks like they are waiting for a response from someone. They will probably just wait a couple of days to see if they hear anything or somebody comes forward, missing a kayak.

“Here’s what I think I will do, Sue ... if it’s still an unsolved issue in a couple of days and the press continues to cover it, I will go to the police station and clear it up. In the meantime, if it’s OK with you, I would like to stay under the radar for awhile, just to see if the mystery goes away. It looks like the police possibly think it fell off a larger boat and just drifted ashore. Anyway, I will clear it up if it’s still an issue by mid-week. Hey, this is a nice wine, Sue. Along with your many talents, you must be a connoisseur of fine wines, as well.”

Adam was doing everything he could to win Sue’s approval on his kayak plan. He very much wanted her to be comfortable around him and not create any suspi-cion.

“I’m OK with the kayak issue, Adam. You can clear it up if and when you see fit to do so. But the wine? I’m not an expert. I usually just buy what someone else recommends or, I read about in the paper. This bottle is from the Magnotta store in Scarborough. It’s a nice Ontario red, nothing special.

“Hey Adam, I was falling asleep when you were talking about Northern Dan-cer last night. That was a great horse, eh?”

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Gord Lee is an active volunteer and community supporter in Clarington. Semi-retired, he cur-rently manages the Clarington Farmers’ Market during the summer months. As a writing hobby-ist, his selection to participate in this publication brings him closer to his ultimate goal of being a published author. Currently working on his own feature transcript, Gord and his wife Shirley have lived in the Village of Newcastle for the past 25 years.

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6 Yuri

Adam Sikora

Sue regretted the question as soon as she blurted it out, but she couldn’t help herself. Tim had planted the seed in her mind. Even if his “fact-checking” had been off the cuff, she trusted her son and his smarts enough to know it was probably ac-curate. Why would Adam lie? More importantly, why would he feel the need to lie to her?

“Umm, yeah ... yep, one of my all-time faves for sure.”

Adam clearly saw Sue had something in mind by going there but wouldn’t bite. Damn. This was espionage 101. No matter how well you’ve been briefed or pre-pared, always be ready to deal with the unforeseen elements you may encounter in the field. The problem was, this time it was an obstacle Adam had put there himself. A reflexive embellishment that he was about to be questioned on. By breaking an-other rule, allowing himself to get too comfortable in his operational environment, Adam’s guard was down and he was totally unprepared for this.

“So back at Windfields ...”

Here it came. Sue desperately wanted to write this tangent off with a “never mind” and change the subject. Maybe Adam had his reasons for bending the truth, and in all honesty it was something that didn’t directly hurt her. This bubble of a glimpse at new happiness -- for both herself and Tim came out of nowhere. Was it worth pursuing this and possibly ruining it? But as great as he’d been, Adam was still a virtual stranger who Sue was allowing to stay under the same roof as her only child. Wasn’t it her duty as the protector of this household to satisfactorily investi-gate even the smallest cause for suspicion?

“Oh, right -- when I lived near there ...?”

Adam braced himself for a split-second decision. Would he continue the charade or should he just break down and tell Sue the truth? She had been more open-minded than most would be with his kayak alibi and any budding attraction aside, Adam felt good about Sue. Another x-factor any agent needed to survive was a good instinct on deciding who they could trust and Adam had no doubts here. But this wasn’t a game. Adam had arrived in this quiet town and inserted himself

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into the life of an innocent family to extract a stone-cold killer. Sharing any more information would immediately put them in more danger no matter how receptive they might be. A mission compromised by one detail, one thread. It was the ’03 op all over again. This time, horses would be the culprit. First, the bad omen as Adam spotted that old trophy and now about to get burned on a back story he could have filled out a hundred different ways.

“Hey, guys. Anybody else starving? Let’s fire up that bad boy.”

Standing in the doorway from the kitchen to the deck was Vicky, with an arm-load of groceries.

“I brought some stuff for salad ... and some company.”

Behind Vicky stood a taller man, in his early 40’s but obviously fit. He radiated intensity, with deep brown eyes and a closely shaved head, hardly lessened by the tight-lipped smiled on his face, a smile almost seemingly forced.

“Hello. I’m Yuri. Hope I’m not intruding, but Vicky here was insisting I’d be losing a good customer if I didn’t come by. She practically dragged me straight from the store,” he smiled.

It was true, Yuri was still in his work clothes; he hadn’t even had a chance to loosen his tie or remove his name tag. Yuri proffered a bottle of wine he had been holding in his hands. Despite Vicky’s haste in shanghaiing him, Yuri made her stop at the LCBO so he could be a good guest and avoid the discourtesy of showing up empty-handed.

“To add to whatever you’re having. I hope you like it.”

“We will, thank you very much.”

Wow, thought Sue. A $60 bottle of red for a casual barbecue drop-in? What kind of high roller was this guy? Sure he managed a business, but there is doing well and then there is doing well. But what the hell, good cheer was good cheer so what was the point of worrying about it? Just accept and enjoy.

The next hour went great, with all four in high energy and great spirits. Yuri had made it clear off the top that he wouldn’t be able to stay long. As Vicky had thrust this excursion upon him, he needed to go back to the store and “take care of some store-related matters.” Not necessarily a bad thing, as some social occasions can overrun their expiry dates and painfully ebb away, instead of ending on a high

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note. The women did most of the chatting, as both men were relatively new to this setting and each other. But each held his own and took turns charming the table, utilizing social skills from past lives that preserved them as individuals, often under much more perilous circumstances.

The women headed off to the kitchen, so Sue could pack Vicky some leftovers before heading out with Yuri and taking him back to the store, leaving the men alone together for the first time that evening. Adam had been in subject assessment mode from the moment they were officially introduced. Even if he couldn’t allow himself to like his quarry, based on his history and on job principle, Adam might be forced to admit that Yuri could be described as ‘likeable’. Adam was trying to settle on one of three options: was Yuri that good an actor, had he genuinely put his past behind him, or, was he operating on a different, higher level, where he could easily switch on and off between “civilian” mode and whatever other guises he needed to assume while conducting any ‘business’? No matter. Adam easily grounded himself with the reminder that this man was a stone-cold killer who needed to pay for the irrevocable atrocities he had committed.

“So, just passing through, or do you think you’ll be staying awhile?”

“Originally, I’d have said no, but the place kind of grows on you ... but I guess you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“Hmmm ... yes.”

In that instant, the dynamic between the two men changed. Imperceptible to most, it was clear as day to a man with Adam’s observational training.

“I’d better round Vicky up or I’ll never get out of here.”

As Yuri excused himself to the kitchen, questions raced through Adam’s mind. What did he do to set Yuri off? Could Yuri somehow see through his cover? That was impossible. They had just met. Or had this brief taste of the suburban simple life made Adam sloppy?

After goodbyes were said and Adam helped Sue with the cleanup, he asked to step out for a walk, to clear his head a bit. With Adam showing a predilection for wanting some solitude, Sue thought nothing of it, telling him to go ahead and take his time. In reality, it needed to be companion-free time so he could figure out his next move. In whatever way he originally saw the mission playing out, Adam knew he had to ramp up his schedule due to two lingering considerations. The first was

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the kayak issue. He had told Sue he would clear things up with the authorities if the matter didn’t fade away on its own, but that was to placate her, with no real in-tention of following through. Adam knew coming forward in a situation like this would automatically attract media attention, a definite no-no if trying to maintain a low profile for this op. Adam chuckled ... a move like that would even blow the cov-er story he fed Sue. What man possibly in fear of his life would blatantly announce his presence back in the world to his pursuers? It would be like painting a bulls-eye on his back. Second, was the fact that since Adam was now known to Yuri, he no longer had the luxury of the extraction being a random strike. Time was saved in hunting Yuri down, but if the uneasy feeling Adam got after dinner was any indica-tion, now there might be an even smaller window to mobilize if Yuri sensed every-thing was not what it appeared to be.

As Adam approached the house, he decided to keep going when he saw in his periphery a large pickup he had noticed a half-hour ago. It was hard not to see the blue F-150. Was the driver’s business in this neighbourhood at the same time just a coincidence? As a training reflex, to take a precautionary measure, Adam pro-ceeded to the parkette a block over and grabbed a seat on the bench. He could see the truck quietly pull over to a curb 20 metres back. It was definitely there for him. Without sunglasses to stare through or binoculars for a closer look, Adam could only sneak a quick indirect glance, but it told him a lot. The big, burly man behind the wheel let his left arm rest on the sill of the open window.

Adam could make out the markings of a large tattoo on the man’s bicep. From his studies of and, indeed, operations in that region, he could identify it as Serbian military. Now Adam faced another imminent choice. Should he head inside and re-group for a new strategy that accounted for active continuous engagement; or take the bull by the horns and surprise this stalker with a direct confrontation? It would force everything into the open, but it would allow Adam to stay on the offensive and keep the conflict out of Sue’s home.

“Hey Adam ... what are you doing here?” came a voice behind him.

“Hi, Adam.” Then another ... a female voice.

It was Tim and Nora, each carrying some boxes overflowing with various stray items on their way back to the Kennedy house.

“Just grabbing a little fresh air ... where were you guys? You missed a great din-ner.”

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“After some of the great science fair ideas you gave us this morning, we’ve spent all day hunting for supplies and just lost track of the time. We grabbed all this cool stuff from Nora’s uncle’s garage. Can you believe it? It was all just gonna get thrown out.”

With the kids on the scene, the decision was made for Adam. There would be no confrontation tonight.

“Well, I hope you didn’t fill up somewhere else. There’s a ton of leftovers. Here, let me help you with that.”

Adam grabbed a box and started to lead Tim and Nora home. Maybe this was all for the best, Adam thought. After all, having him followed didn’t necessarily mean Yuri knew who he was; maybe this was Yuri’s own precautionary measure. After all, he couldn’t have avoided capture for more than 10 years by being sloppy, could he?

It was a brief report.

“No, Yuri. He just went for a walk in the neighbourhood and ran into that woman’s son, and his girlfriend, I think. No, I don’t think he saw me. I stayed in position for another hour and left when I was sure it looked like he was in for the night. I can continue tomorrow if you like. Yes, sir. Goodnight.”

Yuri hung up his phone and pondered. His personal survival policy had al-ways been to flee at the first sign of trouble and leave a minimal trail. Directly elim-inating a potential problem might end up attracting even bigger attention. But this was different. This was fate. Yuri remembered his final conversation with Branko Katsarov, his good friend and mentor. Branko was in a safe house dying of a fatal wound incurred in a losing struggle with a knife. A foreign agent had tried to ap-prehend him, but lost the element of surprise. In the ensuing fight, Branko was stabbed in the stomach, too deep to hope for recovery. Branko only managed to es-cape with a surprise final counter-move when his opponent thought he was down, a last slash and stab to the agent’s shoulder. Serious enough to require immediate attention, this allowed Branko to get away to the safe house and share his final tale with Yuri. Yuri remembered his friend’s dying wish for vengeance on the agent who killed him.

An agent who would have a scar above his right temple, where he cut him. Yuri didn’t believe in coincidences. A stranger arriving under dubious circum-stances with that telltale mark had to be more than coincidence. Now after all these

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years, Yuri would perhaps be able to honour a friend’s wish. The hunted would play some cat-and-mouse of his own.

Adam Sikora is a Toronto-based writer born in Oshawa, proudly remaining strongly connected to his hometown through family and friends. Adam has written for various media, including plays for the Toronto Fringe and Driftwood’s Trafalgar 24 along with contributing to GeekHard’s web-site (www.geekhardshow.com) with his All Along the Watchtower column.

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7 Adam’s Deception

Jonathan O’Mara

“... Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”

-- William Blake

High above, in the cloudless Whitby sky, the red-tailed hawk soared, going on its appointed rounds, dagger-like talons and cruelly-hooked beak at the ready, searching for prey far below. It did what it must always do. It could do nothing more. It could do nothing less.

It was turning into an unusually soft, gentle, mild spring in sleepy old Whit-by, the kind of spring more suited to picturesque Devon in the south of England, rather than to a town smack in the middle of the harsh North American continent. Oh, there was the odd shower in the early morning but that just served to keep the immaculately kept lawns green and the tulips, daffodils and pansies in vigorous bloom. Children played happily in the streets while moms and dads sat watching on their porches after work, conversing with neighbours and sipping cooling drinks in the hazy evenings of the lengthening days. For most residents, life was unfolding as it should but beneath that bucolic exterior, for some at least, life was rather more complicated.

Sue Kennedy’s new house guest, Adam “Z”, found himself growing more and more fond of Sue and her son, and fond of the town he had found himself in only a short week before. Often, he would go for long solitary walks but always made time to sit on the front stoop, talking and laughing with Sue until darkness set in, only to continue their conversations indoors. One night, they even engaged in a bit of kara-

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oke with Tim and Nora. When the teens went out that night, Sue and Adam shared a glass of wine and danced to mellow music on a jazz radio station, catching each other’s eye from time to time and smiling. As they waltzed around the living room, Adam’s arm around her waist, pulling her close to him, Sue could feel the strength in him, coiled in that hard body, while Adam revelled in her softness, her delicacy, the subtle, sweet fragrance of her perfume. Sparks flew between them. At the end of that perfect evening together, they exchanged a chaste kiss before retiring to their separate beds. Sue felt positively giddy that night. Adam was happy, too, but inwardly cursing himself for becoming so involved but ... damned if it didn’t feel so right. He could easily imagine a life with this fabulous woman.

Coming in one night from a long walk, Adam had narrowly missed an en-counter with Sue’s father-in-law, who had dropped by for an unscheduled visit to his daughter-in-law. Catching a glimpse of him under the porch light, Adam could see that he was indeed the same man who had taught him how to ride a horse, years ago in New York City.

Luckily, neither Sue nor her father-in-law had seen Adam, who kept walking past the house on the far side of the street, head down and away, taking advantage of the darkness. Adam waited a full 10 minutes after Patrick Kennedy drove away before coming into the house.

“Oh, Adam. There you are. Darn,” said Sue. “You just missed my father-in-law. He dropped by on his way to the airport for a business trip. I hadn’t expected him. Darn. I wish you could have met him. I know he’d like you.” she said, disappointed. “Well, if you’re here next time he comes for a visit, you have to be sure to meet him. You’d like him, too. I just know you would.”

In actual fact, Adam had liked Sue’s father-in-law when they worked together several years ago. But he couldn’t afford to meet him again now, of course. That was too close for comfort, he thought. The gods had favoured Adam this time.

Sunday, June 7, 2015

Seven days had passed since the Sunday Adam had met with the CSIS agent and had, completely unexpectedly, encountered his target, Yuri Jovanovich, at Sue’s barbecue. Surprisingly, the fellow had seemed charming, likeable even. Annoyingly so. Although he was sure that Yuri had noticed something about Adam that had aroused his suspicions, Adam began to feel rather more relaxed with the passage of the relatively uneventful, ensuing days. Uneventful, except for spotting, from time

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to time, the same pickup driven by the burly Serb he had noticed a week before. Well, let him look, Adam thought. Through idle chat with Vicky, who turned up at Sue’s fairly regularly now and who was at the house renovation again on the week-end, Adam had gleaned quite a bit of info on Yuri: his habits, his home, his rou-tines, even his character.

“Adam, Yuri is such a sweetheart. Like you. He’s so kind and generous. And such a gentleman. He says he even wants a family. Can you imagine?” Vicky had seemed so pleased, it almost hurt Adam to think of the letdown she would get when she found out exactly who Yuri was.

Because of that, Adam didn’t have to shadow Yuri immediately, which was fortuitous, considering that he himself was being watched. It seemed that Vicky had taken a real shine to the strapping Yuri with the Old World charm. She seemed de-lighted that Adam and Yuri had seemed to “hit it off ”.

“Oh, Yuri talked about you non-stop after the barbecue, Adam. Wanted to know all about you. Naturally, I couldn’t tell him much, just that you’d recently ar-rived here. I think he really, really likes you. He seemed so interested,” she gushed.

Yeah, I’ll just bet he was interested, thought Adam. If she only knew.

Adam would have to make his move soon. He hoped that acting normally would allay any suspicions Yuri might have about him. Daily reports of Adam’s movements that the burly Serb sent to Yuri were filled with banalities. Adam hoped his mundane behaviour would be disarming and the surveillance would stop. And stop it did.

On Monday, June 8, the ubiquitous “stakeout” vehicle was nowhere to be seen. Just to be sure, Adam continued to be the model boarder for Tuesday and Wed-nesday, mowing the lawn for Sue, helping Tim and Nora with their science project, taking long walks by the lake. By Thursday, Adam was sure that Yuri had decided that Adam was not a threat to him. Now was the time. Adam had to make his move if he was to be at the rendezvous point by Sunday. He went ahead and rented a big, black Cadillac Escalade, plenty big enough to contain his target. He parked it up the street from Sue’s. Wouldn’t do to have too many questions.

Yuri hesitated. He was loath to act precipitously, particularly when Adam did not seem to be doing anything remotely like surveilling him or sneaking off into the night. What if that scar was simply the result of a childhood accident? Plenty of people would have scars in that same place. Well, wouldn’t they? Would he be pre-

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pared to eliminate any young man with that kind of scar whom he encountered ... just to be sure? Ridiculous, he thought. Was he just being careful or was paranoia setting in? An element of doubt crept into Yuri’s mind. Doubt can be dangerous but he had to remember, this was not Serbia but Canada. Aside from that initial unwanted bad publicity and lengthy interrogation he had endured upon his arrival here, he had lived peacefully, contentedly in Whitby for 10 years. If he were going to be grabbed, why now? Why not any time over the past 10 years? There had been witnesses before and no one had tried to hustle him over to Croatia back then. Even with the fresh intelligence he had received a couple of weeks before, about several new witnesses, surely it would take some time to mount an extraction operation and by then he’d be long gone.

Furthermore, what would happen if he acted rashly and killed Adam? (The very idea nauseated him. Could he even do it? It had been so long since those days of madness during that conflict. So much blood, so much killing in that damnable war. He had fervently hoped that was all behind him.) Even if he hid the body, he reckoned that Adam’s sudden disappearance would certainly cause Sue Kennedy to go to the police. Her friends would be interviewed, Vicky included, and Vicky could lead straight back to him, a man once accused of war crimes. No, he wouldn’t act rashly, he decided. It would only be a very little while before he could leave Can-ada and fly to St. Thomas, to relative safety. He had saved meticulously over the past 10 years for just such a quick exit and had amassed a good $60,000, held securely in a bank in the Cayman Islands ... a nest egg in case he needed to set himself up anew. In a poor country, that amount of money was equal to 10 times that amount in Canada, in purchasing power. Yes, he would be well set. His house was rented, so he had no capital tied up in that. Since the war, Yuri had become a cautious man and lived his life accordingly. He would stay alert. He would not draw attention to himself. Yuri asked his big Serb friend to end the surveillance on Adam and, in-stead, asked him to stay close to his own house, maintaining vigilance all the while. No time to get careless when freedom was so close.

Friday, June 12, 2015

Adam was helping Sue clear the table from Thursday’s dinner. Tim was at Nora’s house working on their project, armed with a little extra knowledge gleaned from his mother’s new house guest.

Sue was still basking in the glow of her and Adam’s impromptu dance evening. Everything was turning out so well. She couldn’t allow herself to be entirely happy,

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though, until she had cleared up a few things. She had been lost in thought all even-ing, debating with herself. She had to get it over with, and she knew it.

“Adam,” Sue said, hesitantly, placing a stack of dirty dishes in the sink. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” She knew she had been acting just a little dis-tant all evening and was sure Adam had noticed.

Adam felt a flush, his face turned beet red, a rush of adrenalin coursing through his body. Oh, no, he thought. Is this the moment of truth?

Sue went on, “Adam, Tim says that Northern Dancer was only at Windfields Farms in the 60s, so ... I was wondering how you could have visited him so often when he was there. I mean, you’re only in your mid-30s, right? Were you mistaken about the identity of the horse?” There. She had said it. She sorely hoped he would say he had been mistaken but she wanted the truth and she wanted it now. If she were to go any further with this man, all doubt had to be cleared up. But she hadn’t finished. “Also, Adam, now that I’m on the subject of ..,” she chuckled, “... uncer-tainties, I find it hard to reconcile what I know of you with the fact that you’d leave your family at the mercy of your criminal former partners. I mean, I’m not stupid, Adam. Were you ever going to go back to your family or remain dead to them? Alarm bells went off immediately for me but I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Then Tim brought to my attention that your Northern Dancer en-counters must be a mistake. Now ... I hate to say it, Adam, but I’m not so sure about some of the things you said. And I want to be sure about you. Lots of things don’t add up.” She cleared her throat and looked at the floor. Adam said nothing.

“I confess, Adam, that ever since you arrived, you have impressed me no end. You’re kind, caring, gentle and intelligent. Oh, I know what you must be thinking,” she shuffled her feet, still looking down. “... but I’m no school girl ... though I know what a ‘crush’ is ... I must admit, although it’s only been a week and a half ... yes, an intensive one at that, since we have lived in each other’s pockets all this time, it’s really more like as if we had been going on once-a-week dates for six months ... I feel a real attraction, a fondness, a sort of kinship with you. I think we have a chem-istry. Now, I may be way off base, but I think you like me, too. A girl knows these things.” She looked up and smiled coyly, then went on, “I just think, Adam, that if there is to be any kind of a future between you and me, then ...” she hesitated, “... then, I have to know the complete truth about you.”

Adam was gobsmacked. How had he underestimated this woman? So forth-right. So courageous. This woman who he had come to like so much, admire, re-

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spect and, yes, been so strongly physically attracted to? Perhaps that attraction clouded his judgment. Apparently, he thought ruefully, it hadn’t clouded hers. Should he fabricate more lies? Should he tell the truth and possibly jeopardize his mission? He ached for this woman. His clandestine profession had not allowed for any intimate, meaningful relationships up until now but ... well, this woman was worth it. He trusted her.

He was so tired of deceit, so very, very tired ...

And so ... he dove in ... head first.

Adam cleared his throat and took a deep breath to regain his composure. Distractedly, he put down a dish on the counter. He cleared his throat. “Well, Sue, perhaps we had better sit down.” Adam felt disembodied and walked, stiffly, jerkily even, over to the couch in the adjacent living room.

Sue, suspecting the worst, followed and sat down, but at the other side of the couch from Adam, a distancing gesture that did not go unnoticed.

Adam could feel his heart beating in his throat. He looked directly into her eyes and began. “Sue, you’re right. I do like you very, very much. You and Tim have trusted me, taken me in, given me shelter, food and even clothing. We have had wonderful conversations and even a few dances,” he smiled, “and for that, I am so grateful. I have had a wonderful time here. It has been eating me up having to de-ceive you.”

Sue’s eyes widened perceptibly and her mouth fell open.

With those words, Adam knew there was no turning back. He took a deep breath. “Sue, I lied to you.”

Sue sucked in her breath, shuddered and turned away from him. A huge sob wracked her body and, unbidden, a torrent of tears rolled down her pretty face.

“Oh, Adam. Oh, Adam ... no, no, no,” she wailed, heartbroken. She couldn’t look at him.

Adam sidled over to her and put his hand on her shoulder, ever so gently. “Sue. Please. Let me explain ... please,” he pleaded.

She turned to him with doleful eyes, mascara running down her beautiful, her incomparable face. He had hurt her deeply, betrayed her and their blossoming romance. Adam felt two feet tall. At that moment, he realized he was in love with

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Sue Kennedy. Deeply, irretrievably in love with this delicate, lovely, trusting, angelic woman.

“Sue, here is the truth. I am not a Canadian. I am an American. I’m an agent for the United States Central Intelligence Agency. You know ... the CIA?” he clari-fied, in the unlikely event Sue hadn’t heard of it. “Sue,” he continued, “there is an alleged Serbian war criminal living here in Whitby. I was sent here covertly, trans-ported to the Canadian side from a mini sub in Lake Ontario and put into a kayak to land here in Whitby. Since this is a deep undercover operation, there can be no record of me entering or leaving Canada for .. er ... for political reasons.” He couldn’t believe he was letting this civilian in on top secret information, knowledge of which could scuttle the mission and land him in prison. He was breaking every rule in the book. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, then forged ahead.

“Your government knows about this and is helping me, though they would deny it if I were captured. My job is to extract the Serb and send him to Croatia to face trial. Sue,” he said, earnestly, “ I didn’t mean to get involved with you and Tim. Or even Vicky, but that’s just the way things worked out.”

Sue shot back, “Vicky? What do you mean Vicky? What has she got to do with this?”

Adam looked away, “Sue, Vicky’s new boyfriend? Yuri Jovanovich? Well ... he is my target.”

Sue felt as though she had been punched in the solar plexus. She couldn’t catch her breath. She was incredulous. International intrigue here in Whitby? Sleepy, quiet Whitby? In her house? In Vicky’s house? What had they done to deserve this? Who was this man she thought she knew? Then it dawned on her. If what Adam had just told her were true, and the gravity of his tone told her it was, then she, her only son, her precious son, and her friend could be in danger.

Immediately, she became choked with anger, her motherly instinct to protect her child aroused and, momentarily, was incapable of speech. After a few seconds, Sue took a deep breath. Her voice became cold, her face, steely. She turned her gaze upon Adam.

“You,” she barked. “How dare you put me and my son in danger? My friend, too. How dare you. We trusted you.” Then slowly and deliberately, “Get ... your ... things... “ then screamed, “... and get out of my house.”

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Once again, she lost her composure and began crying, her body shaking. She looked so beaten, so pathetic, so fragile. Instinctively, Adam reached for her, took her in his strong arms, and held her tightly. He felt her melt, collapse into his body. Still sobbing, Sue looked up, took his face in both hands, and kissed him passion-ately, over and over and over again, alternately crying, “No, no, no, no. Why, Adam? How could you do this to us? Everything was so perfect. So perfect ...” She buried her face in his shoulder. Abruptly, she disengaged herself, wiping away her tears, with the back of her hand,

“You used me. You used us. Get out, Adam. Go. Now.” Sue stood up, gave him a last, lingering, tearful look, turned, then ran upstairs to her bedroom, her muffled sobs still audible.

For a few moments, Adam sat motionless on the couch, trying to process what had just happened. He could still feel the wetness of her tears on his cheek, still taste the sweetness of her lips. His breath came in short, rapid bursts. He knew he had entered unfamiliar territory. How could he act professionally when he had broken the cardinal rule of undercover operatives -- ‘don’t get emotionally involved’. To hell with that, he thought. He was human. Perhaps giving 10 years of his life to the CIA was enough. Didn’t he deserve a modicum of happiness as well, a quantum of solace? Well, didn’t he? Adam stood up and straightened his shirt. Must put this aside, he thought. I have a job to do. With that, he scribbled a brief note and left it where Sue would find it, on the dashboard of her car. Beside it, he placed a thick en-velope. He went into the basement, put the Glock, the handcuffs and several extra rounds into his cargo pants’ pockets, packed his few clothing items in his knapsack, went upstairs, then opened the side door, being sure to close it softly behind him.

Adam would have to move fast. Sue had reacted badly. Well, what had he ex-pected? Really now? Had he expected her to say something like, “Oh, no worries, Adam. Thanks for telling me that you’re a secret agent on a dangerous mission, all the while living in my house with me and my only son. That clears all that up. Would you like some biscuits with your tea?”

Really? Was that what he expected? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I’ve been so stupid, he thought. What if Sue rang Vicky and told her everything? Would Vicky warn Yuri? Too many variables. Time was of the essence. It was now or never. Adam ran down the street to where he had parked his Escalade, threw his gear onto the pas-senger seat, carefully removed his loaded Glock pistol and laid it on the seat beside him. He took Yuri’s dossier out of his knapsack, looked up his address, punched it

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into the car’s GPS, then drove directly to Yuri’s house.

As he approached his target’s modest bungalow, (God, he’s planted peonies out front), Adam could see that same vehicle that had dogged him daily for the past week, with the same moose of a man behind the wheel, his ham-hock of an arm resting on the door frame of the pickup’s open window. Adam parked almost dir-ectly behind the pickup, grabbed the Glock, and strode purposefully to the driver’s window of the Serb’s vehicle. Assuming the car behind him was just a friend of a neighbour parking on the street, the Serb was taken completely unaware. The last thing he expected was an agent approaching out in the open like that. The Serb’s jaw dropped at the cold feel of a pistol pushed up hard against his temple. He dared not move his head but could now see the possessor of the weapon quite clearly in his sideview mirror. He cursed himself.

“All right, Tiny ... hands on the wheel where I can see them!” The Serb obliged. “Very good. OK. Open the door slowly, then put your hands on your head.” Meekly, the Serb complied. “Now,” Adam continued, his pistol now pressed up against the small of the Serb’s back,” you’re going to lower your hands, then we’re going to walk very calmly up to Yuri’s house, you’re going to knock, announce yourself, tell him you need the toilet, and we will both walk right in. You got that, chum?”

Instinctively, from the steel in his captor’s voice, not to mention the grey steel of the muzzle pressed against his spine, the Serb knew that this guy meant business. He nodded. After all, his mother didn’t raise any fools. Obediently, he marched ahead of Adam to the front door. The big Serb knocked and called out. Adam stood to one side.

“Yuri, it’s me,” called the Serb. “I need to use the washroom.”

A knowing chuckle from behind the door, then it opened. “Sergei, if you didn’t drink so much vodka, you wouldn’t ...” Yuri’s voice was cut off in mid sentence as Adam shoved the Serb into him, entering the vestibule and slamming the door be-hind him.

“All right, both of you!” With two steady hands, Adam levelled the Glock at them. “Hands on your heads and sit on the couch!” Adam commanded.

“Damn! Damn! Damn! I knew it! I knew it! That scar on your temple! I was right! I should have taken you out!” yelled Yuri.

“Save it, Mack, and sit down!” barked Adam. Involuntarily, he rubbed the scar

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on his temple. So that’s how he recognized me. “We’re going to be cozy for the next couple of days until I can ship you out of here.”

Suddenly, from the bedroom, “Honey? Yuri? Who are you talking to? Do we have company? Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we make it a par ...”, her voice trailed off, as she entered the living room. There stood Vicky dressed in a very becoming, canary yellow tank top and white jeans. At a glance, she took in the scene: Yuri and his friend seated on the couch, hands on heads, Adam standing in front of them with a very big handgun trained on them.

“Adam .... wha ...?” she stammered.

“God, Vicky ... God!” Adam was taken completely by surprise. He hadn’t counted on this. “God! Sorry, love, but now I’m afraid you’ll have to join your friends on the couch.”

“B-b-but ...” Vicky stammered, at a loss for words.

“Now!” he barked. Vicky jumped at his staccato command, then quickly went over to the couch, and sat beside Yuri, hands on head. This just gets worse and worse, thought Adam.

“Adam ... honey ... what are you doing?” asked Vicky, very confused and more than a little afraid.

“C’mon, Yuri,” Adam taunted, “Why don’t you tell Vicky here what you’ve been up to in the old country.” Yuri looked away.

“All right, sunshine, don’t want to tell her? I’ll fill her in then.“ Adam turned his gaze to Vicky. “Your boyfriend here,” he motioned to Yuri with his pistol, “has been a very, very bad boy, it seems. He’s wanted back in Croatia for war crimes. I’m a CIA agent sent to extract him.”

Vicky’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. She glanced back and forth be-tween Adam and Yuri, a quizzical look on her face. It was easy to see she was hav-ing a hard time absorbing all this. Well, of course she was, Adam thought.

“Oh ... that’s interesting. CIA agent. That’s interesting,” she repeated, in a far-away voice. Vicky seemed to be mulling over this new information. “Explains a lot of things ... but, Adam, you don’t understand. You see, Yuri and I are going to leave for St. Thomas tomorrow for a long vacation,” she said, as if that would make a dif-ference. “We have the tickets and everything.” Now she just seemed annoyed, petu-

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lant even. If she had stamped her feet, Adam wouldn’t have been surprised.

She must be in shock, thought Adam. She is not realizing the gravity here. He had a gun on them for pity’s sake. “Vicky! Are you not hearing me? This is serious! He’s a war criminal! You still want to go away with him?” he said, incredulously. “He’s a murderer, fergawdsake!”

“Yeah? Says who? You?” Vicky countered, visibly bristling. “I’ve never met a better, kinder gentleman in my life. I don’t believe you, Adam ... whatever-your-name-is. Not for a millisecond.”

All the while, Yuri sat expressionless on the couch. Finally, hands still on his head, he fixed Adam with his gaze. “Young man ... Adam? May I call you Adam?” Yuri spoke with a thick Slavic accent but his English was impeccable. “You strike me as an intelligent fellow. I knew that when we met and chatted at Susan’s bar-becue last week, a lovely woman, by the way,” he said, obviously trying to make a connection with this intense fellow holding a gun on him, a fellow about to upset his world entirely. He went on. “We both know that the victors write the his-tory books, don’t we?” His question was meant to be rhetorical. “One man’s war criminal is another man’s patriot. For example, young Adam ... how would you cat-egorize your much-admired President Truman who dropped two atomic bombs on Japan at the end of the Second World War, killing hundreds of thousands of inno-cent Japanese? A patriot? As an American, perhaps you would. I understand that. His decision ended the war in the Pacific, after all. To the Japanese, however, he was, and still is, a war criminal. What about the Western leaders who recently sanc-tioned a bogus war on Iraq, resulting in the deaths of thousands of civilians? Patri-ots? Perhaps. Iraqis see George Bush, Donald Rumsfeld, Dick Cheney, Tony Blair and the rest of the alliance as war criminals. Are they wrong? By the expression on your face, I see that you think they are? Then, why didn’t Canada join in on the invasion of Iraq, post 9/11? The Canadians knew it was wrong, trumped up, that’s why!”

Yuri’s voice was steadily rising in pitch. “In my home country, Serbia, everyone I ever loved ... my wife, all of my children ... my little, innocent children, for God’s sake!” tears welled in his eyes, “... my two brothers, their families and my own par-ents were killed by the Croats. Yes, it is true ... I killed many, many Croats after that, but I was a soldier, intent on victory. It was war. War is evil, by its very nature. I admit there was some vengeance in my heart as well, but deliberate genocide? Who says so? The victors, that’s who,” he spat. “I am not a monster! I was a very success-

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ful commander, sure, with many victories to my credit, victories that necessarily resulted in many deaths ... but I am no more a war criminal than countless Brit-ish, Canadians and Americans and, yes, Germans who dropped bombs on cities in the Second World war. Hundreds of thousands of innocents were killed ... on both sides! So, after our rotten little war was finally over, I fled all that. I had a bellyful of bloodshed and hatred. I have found a good, peaceful life here in Whitby, in Can-ada, a peaceful country. I abide by the law. The Canadian courts tried to convict me but failed. They imply that I intimidated or even had witnesses killed. Not true! The witnesses were unreliable and I know positively that some were even plants by the Croats. So where is their proof? You know where? Eh? They have none! That’s where! This move to try me is entirely political, the prerogative of the victor!”

Yuri went on, adopting an almost pleading tone, “I pay taxes here. I have a business, a home, friends. I have finally found my Vicky, a good woman to love.” He looked over at Vicky and smiled. “Who are you to tear me away from all this? Who?”

“Look,” said Adam, sighing loudly, “I am not your judge, your jury or your executioner. I am just a foot soldier and have a job to do and I’m doing it. You’re coming with me and you’re going to face the music in Croatia, so get used to it. Now shut up!” Vicky started to cry.

Yuri laughed, mockingly. Feigning a German accent, “I vas yust following ze orders, mein herr! That excuse didn’t work for the Nazi Adolph Eichmann who sent countless Jews to the gas chambers, ‘following orders’ as he claimed, and it doesn’t work for you, my fine young friend. Your orders do not absolve you of guilt. You can do the right thing here, Adam,” using his name again, hoping to gain intim-acy with his captor. “Know what they’ll do to me in Croatia? Do you? You’ve seen this played out before. They will give me a show trial, further humiliate me and my countrymen, then they will execute me in a very public way. And for what? Justice? Pfah! Don’t make me laugh,” he hissed.

Adam stood silently. No one else spoke. Then, “Vicky, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to hold you until the rendezvous time, which is two days from now. Can’t be helped.”

Vicky resumed sobbing, putting her hands over her eyes.

“Hands back on your head, Vicky!” yelled Adam, making Vicky jump.

Adam extracted the two pairs of handcuffs from his deep cargo pants’ pocket and ordered the men onto the floor. “Sit on the floor and put your right hands on

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your left feet. Vicky! Get over here and cuff these two, right wrists to left ankles. Now!” he snapped.

Vicky, startled, lowered her hands, then complied, cuffing the two men. With the Glock still trained on them, Adam checked that the handcuffs were secure.

Leaving them on the floor in full view, Adam went into the kitchen, beckoning Vicky to join him. She came in but was visibly trembling. “Vicky, I am so sorry for involving you in this. I had no idea you were here. Things were spiralling out of my control and I had to move fast. It’ll all be over soon and you can get on your way. Why don’t you make everyone some coffee and maybe some food? I’d do it my-self,” he said, managing a weak smile, “but I have to keep this gun in my hand.“ He laughed feebly.

Vicky didn’t see the humour ... but went ahead and started some coffee and began making sandwiches. The mere act of engaging in a normal activity seemed to calm her.

“Adam,” she said, conversationally, “you heard what Yuri said? Makes a lot of sense to me. Heck, my own grandfather flew a bomber in the infamous Dresden raid, fire-bombing the city, killing thousands of innocent civilians ... men, women and children. It was merely a revenge raid by the Allies, of no strategic importance at all, a really shameful chapter in our history. Granddad was a really nice man, Adam. A war criminal? To some, maybe ... but he got medals for that raid. I don’t pretend to understand it. I’m no judge, but life is never that cut and dried, is it? Someone once said that war is institutionalized madness, where participants enter into an agreed state of temporary insanity. I agree. War is insane. War begets insan-ity. Adam, Yuri lost everyone he ever loved! His tiny, helpless children. Everyone! He was left with nothing, no one! Think about it! How would you feel? What would you have done?”

“Stop it, Vicky, just stop it! I have a mission to complete.” She is trying to con-fuse me, he thought.

Feeling bolder, Vicky continued, “Mission to complete?” she sneered, drawing the words out mockingly. “Oh, sure, never mind that you will ruin my life, Yuri’s life and possibly Sue’s and Tim’s. She loves you, you know?”

Adam froze, then felt his heart leap in his chest. “Wha-a-a-at?” he stammered. Regaining his composure, he sniffed, “She hardly knows me.”

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“Oh, she knows you, all right. That girl’s nose is infallible. She is the best judge of character I have ever seen. She loves you. Make no mistake. She as good as told me. Forget all this, Adam. You two could have a beautiful life together.” Vicky was playing the succubus role for all she was worth and she could see it was having an effect.

“Please, Vicky. Stop it.” Adam sounded tired. “Just go in and feed those guys, OK? Remember. I can see everything from here.” Adam slumped into a kitchen chair, feeling very exhausted. His head was spinning. His mind kept going back to Sue, her tears, how he had wounded her so deeply, the lingering sensation of her soft lips on his. “A beautiful life together ...” That’s what Vicky had said they could have. He glanced over as Vicky was feeding a sandwich to Yuri. They were exchan-ging glances with each other, loving glances, in spite of their precarious predica-ment. Adam couldn’t reconcile this with the man he was briefed about, the man he had spent a pleasant afternoon with at Sue’s barbecue, the man who planted peonies, who obviously loved Vicky, the man who was ... his target. Yuri seemed to feel the same way about Vicky as he, himself, did about Sue. Could a genocidal psychopath, a man devoid of empathy and emotion, have ordinary feelings like he did? Was Yuri really an unfeeling, murderous lunatic ... or was he just a soldier, an officer, as he claimed, like so many others before him, caught up in another obscene war, being set up by the Croats and his own government for political purposes, for a show trial? Was it the victor’s version of events that Adam had been fed, as Yuri suggested? Didn’t he, himself, often question the validity, the rightness of some of the things he had had to do for his country? Hadn’t he killed men as well and ques-tioned the motives? Was he any better than Yuri, his causes more just? His govern-ment ... was it always right? Hadn’t he walked away from some missions feeling sick to his stomach, feeling guilty about what he had done, what he had been ordered to do? Was this going to be another one of them? How long could he keep doing this? How many lives had he been instrumental in ruining, unjustly? Adam shook his head and deliberately put such thoughts out of his mind.

The night wore on. Yuri and his super-sized sidekick were, of necessity, curled up in fetal positions on the floor, finally sleeping. Vicky was asleep on the couch. I can’t stay awake for nearly 50 hours, thought Adam. But he had to. He couldn’t let his guard down or sleep. He got up and quietly wandered around the room. Some-thing on the vestibule table, by the front door, caught his eye. Coming closer, he realized it was two economy airline tickets to St. Thomas, purchased under a for-eign name that Adam didn’t recognize. But one ticket had Vicky’s name on it. The

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plane was leaving tomorrow at 1300 hrs. One o’clock in the afternoon from Pearson International Airport, in Toronto. Twelve hours from now. Good grief. He would have missed him anyway if he had waited until late Saturday afternoon to snatch him. Yuri was leaving well before anyone had expected him to. Adam was tired. So very, very tired. And heartsick. Oh, to hell with it. He made a decision.

Early morning sunlight broke through the front blinds at six o’clock. The men on the floor were stirring while Vicky squinted against the light streaming through the window.

“Vicky, take this key and unlock those cuffs, please.” She did.

“OK, get up, both of you!” Adam ordered.

Thinking they were going to be led to the washroom, all three were astonished when Adam said, “I see your plane leaves Toronto in seven hours for St. Thomas. Vicky, I want Yuri and you to be on that plane.” Adam turned to Yuri with raised eyebrows, “Yuri, I assume you have a forged passport and ID under a different name, that name on the ticket? Your real name will certainly be on a no-fly list at the airport.”

Yuri returned, nonchalantly, “Yes. Of course I do. Actually, I have several forged passports.” Again, Vicky’s face registered disbelief.

Adam continued, “Yuri, I will release your friend here ... Sergei, is it? ... with the proviso that I never lay eyes on him again. I won’t judge you, Yuri. You might be as guilty as sin but, then again, maybe there is some truth in what you said. I don’t know. Grabbing you will most likely send you to your death and I am not prepared to be instrumental in that, if there’s even a small chance you are innocent of the charges and it seems you might be. Vicky made a very good case for you last night, so you can thank her, not me. God knows there’s enough cruelty and pain in this world. I don’t want to add to that.”

Unbidden, tears welled up in Yuri’s eyes. His relief was palpable. His world had gone from certain death ... to life in the tropics with a beautiful woman. “I ... I ... I ... don’t know what to say.” he stammered. “Thank you, Adam. Thank you. You are a very good man. I sensed that when we first met at Susan Kennedy’s house. I know that you are the agent who killed one of my best men and I had sworn revenge on the man who did that.” Vicky’s eyebrows shot up. “Now, I see that you are as much a victim of your country as I am of mine. Now, I am in your debt. I wish you happi-ness also.”

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Vicky hugged Yuri and smiled broadly at Adam.

“Never mind that,” Adam snapped. “Get your luggage together and get the hell out of here, before I change my mind. You might still be extracted but I won’t be the one to do it. I’ll just tell my handlers I missed the window and you left the country before I could get to you. A check with the airline will show you left the country ahead of when we thought you would ... but I can’t guarantee the Croats or my gov-ernment won’t try to get to you in St. Thomas, though it’s a lot trickier to do it from there. Who knows? Maybe they’ll just give up.” Adam shot them a half smile.

Vicky came over, put her hand on Adam’s arm, then hugged him. “Thank you, Adam, thank you so much for giving Yuri ... and me ... another chance ...go find Sue ... and be happy,” she whispered in his ear.

Adam kissed her lightly on the cheek. Go find Sue? Fat chance she’d have me now, he thought.

With that, Adam turned on his heel, pocketed his gun and cuffs, opened the door and strode purposefully to his Escalade. A huge feeling of relief washed over him. For him, the killing, the guilt, the doubt, had stopped. He still had to make that rendezvous, tell the agents the bad news, be debriefed, then ... disappear. It was high time this spy came in from the cold. He still had one more thing to do, though. He drove to the Whitby Cenotaph and put a note under the rock for the CSIS agent. He had seemed a sympathetic sort, a man who had also become cynical after years of deceit and lost opportunities of his own. Perhaps he would look the other way when Adam asserted that he intended to retain his false Canadian identity. It was his only hope for a decent future. His mind at rest, the tension gone, Adam drove to the Canadiana Motel on Dundas Street and procured a room for two nights. He checked in, dropped his knapsack on the floor, fell onto the bed and was asleep al-most instantly.

Sue had been up most of the night crying into her pillow. She couldn’t wrap her head around what had happened in the preceding few hours. She arose from bed, still groggy and, on auto pilot, went to the bathroom and dabbed at her swol-len eyes with a wet, cold facecloth and proceeded to prepare herself for work. Life must go on. She got dressed, left a note for Tim, didn’t bother with breakfast, went to the garage, got into her car, started the engine .. then noticed a folded piece of paper and an envelope on the dash. On the outside of the envelope was written, “For Tim”. Sue opened it. It was stuffed ... bulging with $20 bills. There must be a couple of thousand dollars here, she thought, bewildered. The piece of paper had

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“Susan” written on it. She opened it and read:

Dearest Susan,

I know what a shock this was for you and for that, I will be eternally sorry. I am leaving now so please don’t worry. You and Tim won’t be in any danger. I will try to make this up to you some day. Please do not think ill of me. I couldn’t bear that. Thank you for taking me into your home and your life so unreservedly. Thank you for a beautiful, idyllic two weeks. Please take the cash and put it towards Tim’s education.

I love you, Susan Kennedy. I love you.

You’ll always be in my heart. Always.

Yours, Adam

Letting the note float to the car mat, Sue burst into tears. Collapsing onto the steering wheel, burying her face in her arms, she sobbed uncontrollably.

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Adam’s Deception: Epilogue

The morning sun hung like a spotlight in the sky, bathing the shore and turn-ing the sand white.

Susan Kennedy sat alone on a bench, her fingers clutching the note from Adam, now wrinkled and tearstained. She had read it a thousand times since he left.

“I love you, Susan Kennedy. I love you.”

She had read that line a thousand times, too. Her heart ached and she missed him terribly, despite his betrayal. After he left, she quickly came to the realization that she was deeply in love as well.

She looked up at the pastel sky, heard the keening of a hawk soaring above, and looked out over the water.

She didn’t know it, but the bench upon which she sat was barely 100 metres from where Adam first set foot in Whitby the month before.

His departure was as abrupt and upsetting as his arrival, and all of the promise their short time together held was dashed.

‘I’m strong,’ she thought to herself. ‘I survived my husband’s death, I raised a good son, and I made a new life for myself. I can get through this, too.’

She glanced down at the note one final time, lifted her arm, opened her palm and watched as the breeze picked it up and took it away. There, she thought. It’s done.

She pressed a hand to her lips to suppress a final, quiet sob, looking out over the short bluff and across the lake. The water and the sky met at the horizon, a thin line separating the two.

She leaned forward as if to get up, then sat back again, the power and weight of Adam’s letter too much to bear.

‘I love you, Susan Kennedy. I love you.’

She sighed and stood, her eyes still on the horizon, her thoughts finally settled.

She had Tim to think about, and whatever future they would make together as

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a family.

She would get through it. Again.

She turned to the gravel path and stepped on it with a soft crunch. It was a familiar route, one that would take her where she most needed to be: home.

“I love you too, Adam. I love you too.”

Adam’s Deception

Credits and Notes Putting together a book written by several different authors was quite a chal-lenge for us, although it was immensely rewarding.

We couldn’t have done it without the cheerful participation of many residents from across Durham Region who submitted chapters, or sent us ideas, or added their own interesting twists to the tale.

We’d like to thank those authors whose works were chosen for the book -- Jonathan O’Mara, Laurie Ball, Carolyn Palmer, Gord Lee and Adam Sikora -- but also those who continued to express interest throughout most of the past year.

Several participants must be acknowledged for sending us excellent chapters, even though the judges chose to go with other story ideas as they were submitted throughout the year. Still others deserve thanks for expressing interest and sending us their story outlines, thoughts and character overviews.

Collectively, and with our thanks: Linda Walton, Len Ling, Diane Doherty, Margaret Clayton, Donna M. Ulrich, Peter Cluff, Dwight Jenkins, Lisa-Marie Des-roches, Anthony Skanes, Mark Stanisz, Laura Kelly, Bernie Gotham, Purabi Das, Joseph Williamson, Dan Rossi, Trish Clark and Robert Schmidt.

It was extremely gratifying to see the story come together, featuring familiar local settings, entirely created by different citizen contributors.

We hope you enjoy ‘Adam’s Deception’ as much as we enjoyed the creative pro-cess that brought it all together.

Adam’s Deception

Steve Houston is an editor with Metroland Media Group Ltd.’s Durham Region Division.

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About the authors

Jonathan O’Mara is a former school teacher, living in Whitby with wife, Shirley. He enjoys astrono-my, fishing, hiking, gardening, writing and plays guitar in a local rock n’ roll band, Four Cats and a Chick. Jonathan holds B.A. and B.Ed. degrees from the University of Toronto and a Masters degree from Niagara University in New York.

Laurie Ball has lived and worked in Durham Region for 38 years. She is retired from a varied teach-ing career that included preschool, elementary, secondary and online teacher education through Queen’s University. She is now thoroughly enjoying her grandchildren and activities for seniors.

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Carolyn Palmer was born in Jamaica and now calls Oshawa home. She is bilingual, speaking both French and English fluently. Carolyn is a self-proclaimed foodie and nap connoisseur. She’s a hard worker with a knack for building strategic partnerships. Her varied career path has led her to her current role in public relations in the not-for-profit sector.

Gord Lee is an active volunteer and community supporter in Clarington. Semi-retired, he cur-rently manages the Clarington Farmers’ Market during the summer months. As a writing hobby-ist, his selection to participate in this publication brings him closer to his ultimate goal of being a published author. Currently working on his own feature transcript, Gord and his wife Shirley have lived in the Village of Newcastle for the past 25 years.

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Adam Sikora is a Toronto-based writer born in Oshawa, proudly remaining strongly connected to his hometown through family and friends. Adam has written for various media, including plays for the Toronto Fringe and Driftwood’s Trafalgar 24 and contributing to GeekHard’s website (www.geekhardshow.com) with his All Along the Watchtower column.

Adam’s Deception

Copyright Notice

© Metroland Media Group Ltd.

Durham Region division.

All rights reserved

865 Farewell St.,

Oshawa, ON

L1H 6N8

Publisher: Tim Whittaker

Editor-in-Chief: Joanne Burghardt

Managing Editor: Mike Johnston

Publication Editor: Steve Houston

TITLE: Adam’s Deception

ISBN:

ePub 978-1-927696-38-5

Mobi 978-1-927696-39-2

PDF 978-1-927696-40-8

Look for future e-reports at durhamregion.com

Adam’s Deception

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