[20:00 September 6, 2002]
"It's a Saturday night, Monaghan. What the hell are you doing here?"
She started at the voice, jumping into the air and nearly dropping the folder of papers she had been reading through. "I could be asking you the same question," she retorted. She blushed as she recognized who was standing at her door.
"But I got to you first," McKenna responded, wandering into the office. He was dressed casually, wearing flannel slacks and a shirt with no tie. "So, now you can explain to me what you're doing here on a Saturday night, in your old office to boot." There was a folder tucked beneath McKenna's arm, but Monaghan knew that it was only an excuse for him to be here, prowling around.
She sighed at his last comment, looking around the cluttered office. There were boxes neatly stacked by the far wall, waiting to be moved out and the area behind the desk was piled with the boxes of the person waiting to move in. "Well, at the moment, I don't really seem to have an office of my own. Deputy…" she stopped, correcting herself, "Minister Seidel hasn't moved his things out of my office yet."
McKenna set his jaw and moved a box of files off of the chair so that he could take a seat. "Don't let him give you any trouble," he commanded, loking as though he would have like to put a fist through something. "Cabinet solidarity is the only thing keeping me from kicking him back to the furthest backbench I can find."
"Sir?" she queried, raising an eyebrow at him.
"He's pulled every dirty trick in the book since Marc DuRocher first started thinking about retiring. Actually, I'm pretty sure that he's added a few new tricks to the book in that time," he reflected angrily. His usually calm hazel eyes were almost snapping with anger, an emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. "I feel sorry for his deputy minister. You know that it's their worst nightmare to be assigned a rogue minister, someone with an agenda of their own?"
"Yes, sir," she answered. McKenna looked as though he had settled in to stay for a while.
"So," he commented, leaning back in his chair as if to emphasize the point, "what was so important that it couldn't wait for Monday morning?" His sharp eyes were dwelling on her; they were the eyes of a man who had spent his entire life in the political arena.
"The whole mess in the Middle East seems about ready to implode on itself, again," she answered, reaching up a hand to rub her forehead just above her eyes. "And that, as I'm sure you know, is the Cole's Notes version."
"I see why you didn't want to wit until Monday," McKenna responded, standing to go and leave her to get on with her work. "I'll be at home after I finish up around here." He didn't say what he was finishing up. And without another word, he was off, striding briskly into the hall.
"Morceau's in his office," she called helpfully out after him.
A grin broke out on his face and he changed directions so that he was headed towards the Minister of National Defence's office. It was difficult to make an unannounced approach to the office, but Morceau was so involved in whatever he was reading that he didn't notice when McKenna eased himself down into a chair.
"Don't you know that weekends are supposed to be for doing things other than working?" McKenna demanded quietly.
Morceau's reaction was far less dramatic than Monaghan's had been. His years in the military had trained him not to startle easily. "Apparently you don't know that either, sir," he answered politely, lifting his reading glasses off his nose and placing them on the desk before him. His blue gaze was piercing and amused at the same time.
"That's already been pointed out to me a few times tonight," McKenna replied with a good-natured chuckle. "And I'm pretty sure my wife will point it out again when I finally make my way back home."
"My fiancée will give me the same speech when I get home," Morceau sighed, visibly more at ease now than he had been at the last individual meeting he had had with McKenna. "We were supposed to be gong over wedding plans this evening, but…" He shrugged, letting his voice trail off.
"But you went and got yourself appointed to Cabinet?" McKenna finished. Morceau nodded, running a hand over his blonde crew cut. "Have you set a date yet?" McKenna asked.
"We're not going to decide anything for a few more months. It's a second marriage for both of us and we've already waited for the three years. We won't have a big ceremony and a little longer won't kill us." He dropped his eyes down to the cluttered top of his desk and admitted, "I'd rather be going over the details of the newest Star Wars system than pouring over bridal magazines with Suzanne and her daughter."
"I don't know if they call this one Star Wars," McKenna pointed out.
"No one's come up with a catchier name yet, sir."
McKenna laughed again, pushing himself to his feet. "You know if there's anyone else around I can go terrorise? Security said there were at least five of you still working."
"Monaghan," Morceau answered immediately.
"Who do you think sent me to you?"
Morceau shook his head, a knowing smile springing to his face. "Should have known."
"Have a good weekend, Jacques."
"Merci, monsieur le premier minister. And I think William Brickhill might still be around."
With the little encouragement that gave him, McKenna was off down the hall again. It was rare for ministers to be there at this time on a Saturday night unless there was something that required their urgent attention. Most did their work from home or waited until Monday.
The door to Brickhill's office was pulled almost closed, as if he were trying to avoid visitors. And knowing Brickhill, that was exactly what he was trying to do. McKenna listened for a second, not hearing anything from inside, but able to see through the frosted glass pane that the light was on. Knocking wasn't as much fun as startling someone, but sometimes he wasn't given much choice in the matter.
As McKenna was raising his hand to knock, Brickhill's gruff voice rang out from inside the office. "Come."
"It almost sounds like you were expecting me," McKenna commented, pushing the door open. Brickhill had dispensed with both jacket and tie and was sitting with his feet propped up on the desk before him. If he were at home, he would look exactly the same way, except he would perhaps have a cigar clenched tightly between his teeth.
"What are you doing here, sir?" Brickhill asked, tagging the sir on as a deliberate afterthought. But unlike Seidel, Brickhill meant no malice. Another holdover from the DuRocher administration, he had cut his political teeth with McKenna. Although McKenna was eight years younger, the two had been elected in the same year, appointed as secretaries of state in the same department together, moved up to Cabinet in the same shuffle; if the term were used in politics, the two would have been called friends.
"Just making the rounds. Scaring the new ministers, you know, the usual Saturday night fun. What froze over that made you decide to come in on a Saturday night when you weren't expressly required by the Crown to be here?"
"Wanted to make sure Monaghan hadn't screwed International Co-operation completely into the ground," he answered bluntly. "The damage seems to be reparable." In other words, she had done a pretty good job. Brickhill never hesitated to speak his mind, whether it was pleasant of not. But he was sparing with any praise and it usually seemed to come in the form of a slap across the face. "Why you couldn't have farmed the damn thing off on some Secretary of State is beyond me."
"I asked you if you wanted it. I seem to recall your answer was 'I don't have anything better to do'," McKenna shot back.
Brickhill shrugged, leaning further back in his chair and tucking his hands behind his silver head, interlocking his fingers. "Your point?"
"How you managed to get yourself elected six times I'll never know," McKenna sighed, shaking his head and turning for the door.
"I'm still baffled that the country hasn't run aground with you at the helm," Brickhill growled back. "And you might want to make sure your regular passport is renewed for December. The god-damn Americans still aren't taking our diplomatic ones."
McKenna rolled his eyes. "At least they seem to be aware of the fact that we exist. It's a good thing we've got this state visit coming up; we've got more than a few issues to work out."
"You'd better be making good and damn sure that those rookies you pulled up are doing their bloody jobs. Or you're going to be one David facing a hell of a Goliath without even a slingshot."
"You know, Brickhill," McKenna commented on his way out the door. "You're just lucky that Trudeau broadened the definition of Parliamentary language."
"Damn straight."
"I'll see you on Monday."