Harry stepped into the back of the presidential hybrid limo. What chaos! He held his device on the ready for any call, scrambling to judge the situation. “André, what time is it? In Ottawa?”
The next play had to be good.
“Okay, André get me through to Harold Heine.”
“And Paul, call the Prime Minister’s pilot. Tell him we will be flying out, now.”
“Sure thing,” Paul nodded.
Of one thing Harry was sure. He would never, could never allow this craziness to happen, not to his boys. Not on his watch.
He slumped back in his seat, wanting so bad to be somewhere else. But he had to get a conversation going.