Chapter 1

It was a boringly normal flight, like hundreds of others that I had taken. There was no turbulence that was out of the normal, there were no storms and no lightning, the departure was on time and we landed within a few minutes of the scheduled time.

Even now, thinking back on the flight, it seemed no different than hundreds of other flights I had taken before. But that flight from Memphis to Toronto, that exceptionally mundane flight, where nothing seemed out of the ordinary was the beginning of my new life. And it all started as we arrived at Pearson Airport in Toronto.

Maybe I should start my tale there, with what happened as I stepped off the plane.

I was distracted by the flight attendant as I turned the corner to step off the plane. I had been upgraded to first class, a fairly routine occurrence for a frequent flier like I was, and the seat beside me was empty so I had plenty of room to stretch out. I had been in the first row, so I was the first to get off the airplane.

The looks that the flight attendant had been giving me the whole flight left little to the imagination. Her voice, the sultry undertone when she had offered me a drink and “Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir” made it clear that all I needed to do was ask. And while it was tempting, I was already a member of the mile-high club and I needed to focus on the business meetings that I had planned for the rest of the day. As I exited the plane, she handed me a card with her name and phone number written on it.

So, while busy trying to extricate myself from that situation, I didn’t see the gate agent standing just at the exit of the plane. And so, of course, I walked right into her, stumbled, tripped, and dropped my bag, causing papers to scatter across the jet bridge.

“Oh my God!” I heard her exclaim as I landed on the ground, “Watch where you are-”

I heard the pause, if a pause could be audible, and the sharp intake of breath. Then she was kneeling beside me.

“Oh sir, please forgive me, I didn’t know you were coming out. No one told me to expect you yet.”

I just nodded, having no idea what she was talking about and not knowing what else to do. I just started to gather up my belongings so I could get out of the way of the people behind me.

Apparently, that wasn’t the right thing to do.

“Oh Sir, please let me do that for you,” the woman cried out and began to carefully gather the few papers and cords that were scattered and blowing around the jet bridge. I watched, somewhat stupefied as she carefully neatened them and handed them back to me with her head bowed. I took them and stuffed them into my bag, noticing that she appeared to be shaking as she stood there, staring down at the ground.

With everything restored, I stood to clear the jet bridge, cognizant that I was holding up the line of those waiting to disembark. I turned to apologize, but there was no one in the door.

The woman, who was dressed in an airline uniform, had taken my bag and proceeded up the jet bridge, so I turned and hurried after her, not wanting my bag to disappear from my sight.

“I’ll take that now, thank you,” I said to the woman when I caught up with her, reaching to take my bag.

“I’m happy to carry your bag for you, sir,” she replied.

“Thank you, but I’ve got it.”

“As you wish, sir,” she replied and meekly handed the bag to me and stepped back, head still cast down and looking at the ground.

She appeared to be Japanese, so I wrote off her deference to her Asian culture, but that was only the beginning.

As I neared the end of the jet bridge, the door was opened by a gentleman who seemed to bow as he opened the door. I nodded to the man and walked out, looking up to figure out where I was and which way to baggage claim. It took a couple of moments to realize that it was very quiet in the terminal, and there weren’t any people waiting for flights. It appeared as though the terminal was empty save for the airport staff.

It was then I noticed the four police officers standing to the side. They appeared to be dressed in the full uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. When one of them noted I was looking their way, she walked over to me.

“Sir, we’re ready to go anytime you are. We didn’t have much time to prepare, so we’ll need to walk quickly if you don’t mind,” she said in a lovely Irish accent.

“Am I in trouble or something?” I asked, not sure what was going on and why there were police waiting for me when I exited the airplane.

She laughed softly, “I can only imagine the kind of trouble you can get into, Sir, but I’d like to get going to keep your exposure limited.”

Not knowing what else to do I nodded, and as if telepathically, the other officers gathered around me and we started walking down the corridor.

“Why is the terminal so empty?” I asked.

“We directed the plane to an unused portion of the terminal to keep your exposure limited,” the same female officer replied.

When we neared the end of the corridor, I noticed that we were headed for the normal exit and not the immigration corridor. Normally, the regular exit is blocked so you have to go through immigration.

“Umm,” I stammered, “Don’t we need to go through immigration?”

“We’ve alerted them that you have arrived,” she replied.

Before I could object further, we were whisked through the door by additional guards who were waiting there, quickly closing the door behind us and then falling into the formation.

As we moved along the walkway that overlooked the baggage claim area, I noted the masses of people that were gathered below, all of them looking up at me as I walked through, cheering and yelling as I went along. There were a few flashes from cameras in the crowd and what looked like a television camera set up to capture the scene.

I was starting to feel a bit like a celebrity, but I was just a normal guy from Memphis, Tennessee. This wasn’t my first trip to Canada, but I was certain that visitors weren’t treated like this, and my company was far too small to garner this kind of attention.

Soon enough we were through the terminal and another officer was standing near the exit with my suitcase. Then I was hustled through the door and into a limousine that was waiting there.

It wasn’t until we were on the road and headed downtown that I finally got my wits about me and wanted to ask some questions. The problem, was that there was no one to ask. There was just the driver and his English was a bit difficult to understand.

Instead, I spent the time trying to recall what had happened along the way. Replaying the flight over and over in my head, and the way the gate attendant had reacted when I bumped into her. Even the short glimpse of the crowd outside the airport was mind-boggling. It appeared that there were reporters there with cameras and microphones.

And even now, there was a convoy of cars taking me into the city, two motorcycle escorts, and three black cars in addition to mine. I wasn’t sure that the prime minister got this same level of protection.

All too soon, we were pulling up in front of the Fairmont Royal York in downtown Toronto. The ongoing work on Union Station made the traffic around Front Street a mess usually, but police corridors had the whole area blocked off. However, replacing the cars and clustered all around the entrance, was a throng of reporters. Cameras were running, flashes were going off like crazy, and microphones were all pointed toward the car. A small corridor was being maintained by police leading into the hotel and I noticed a red carpet, literally a new red carpet, that led the way into the hotel.

“Well, I guess everyone knows I am here,” I muttered sarcastically.

“Oh, yes, yes sir,” replied the limo driver, “It was on the radio and everything.” It was the best English he had spoken the entire trip.

And then the door was opened and the cacophony of the press poured through the door.

The dash to get inside the hotel was a blur. It was a mad mass of humanity screaming questions and yelling my name. Up until then, I had harbored the hope that this was all just a case of mistaken identity but when strangers are yelling your name and sticking cameras and microphones in your face, that illusion quickly disappears as an option.

When I got into the hotel, I was escorted directly to the elevator. The doors closed with just me and the hotel manager, and I found I had to ask, “I take it we are heading directly to the room?”

“Of course, Sir, the airline called as soon as you landed and we have our best suite available for you.”

“But do you know who I am?” I asked, finally just asking the question that seemed too obvious to ask.

“Yes sir, I would bet that everyone knows who you are!”

“And why is that?” I asked, trying to get a straight answer to what had happened to me.

This question appeared to fluster the poor gentleman and he stammered for a bit before his reply, “Because you are Tim Dekker”

I took pity on the hotel manager and quit asking him questions, for which he seemed eternally grateful. A moment later, the doors opened and we were on the top floor of the hotel and the royal suite was open and waiting for me. There was a line of staff at the door, and as we neared, they bowed their heads and refused to make eye contact.

I expected the manager to introduce them, but instead, we walked straight by them and into the suite. I noted that they filed in silently behind us, save for two security-looking types who remained at their post by the door.

I noticed my suitcase was already in the room and sat by the closet. One of the housekeepers walked over to it and started to unpack it, carefully hanging clothes in the closet and folding others into drawers. I just hoped that my clothes were clean and there were no holes in my socks.

The rest of the staff went about their work in the suite while the manager showed me around. And while he didn’t introduce the staff, I noted what they were there to do. For instance, in addition to my housekeeper who was unpacking my clothes and putting them away, I had a full-time butler who would assist me in getting what I needed and a chef. Two security guards were posted full-time, and I had been assigned a personal secretary, whom I was informed, would be available to travel with me should I so desire.

When we were done with the tour of the suite, the manager turned to me. “We are so honored that you have chosen to stay with us on your visit to Canada. Please do let me know if you need anything at all.”

Once I found a moment to myself, sequestered away in the study of the hotel suite, I decided to call my assistant to see if I could figure out what was happening to me.

“Mister Dekker’s office,” she answered the phone as she always did, and I released a deep breath that I didn’t realize that I had been holding.

“Mary, it’s me, Tim.”

“Oh, yes sir. It’s so good to hear from you. What can I do for you, sir?”

I paused, as Mary never called me sir.

“I was just calling to get an update on my meetings tomorrow here in Toronto. Have there been any changes or updates I should be aware of?”

There was an uncomfortable pause and I wondered if Mary was still on the line, but then she spoke just as I was about to speak.

“Those meetings were all canceled some time ago. I apologize that I didn’t let you know sooner. All of the contracts have been signed off and work is well underway.”

“Seriously, even the Atkins account?”

“Yes, they were one of the first to send in their contract. It seems that you have nothing on your calendar for the next few weeks so enjoy your time in Canada!”

“Doesn’t James want me back in the office?” I asked, somewhat stunned. James was a longtime friend, but he could be a bit of a slavedriver. I worked because I wanted to, but James and I still tried to set an example for the other employees.

“No, not at all. We were all so glad to hear from you that he told me to tell you to take as much time as you need. So, enjoy your time and we’ll see you later. But please do call on me if you need anything, anything at all,” she added.

“But has there been any news about me, or anything else going on I should be aware of?” I asked, growing somewhat desperate for information given how even Mary was treating me.

“I’m not sure what you mean, but we were all so happy to hear you arrived in Toronto! Call if you need anything at all. It is so good to hear from you.”

I sighed and thought about pressing her for more details, but I was fairly certain that I wouldn’t learn any more than I already had. I quickly ended our conversation and tried to think of other ways of figuring out what was happening.

I stepped out of the study and found the butler standing just beside the door.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Would it be possible to get a newspaper?” I asked.

“Certainly sir, which would you prefer? We have the Globe and Mail, the Star, and the National Post.”

“Can I get one of each?” I replied, figuring that the more information I had, the better off I would be.

“Of course, sir, I’ll return in just a moment.”

Before I could return to the study for some solitude, I noticed a young woman standing beside me.

“Can I offer you something to drink or perhaps a small snack before dinner?” she asked.

I looked down at my wrist, realizing that I had left my watch on the desk in the study. I figured it was early afternoon, despite the fact that it felt like an eternity since I left Memphis.

“Yes, please, I’ll have a bourbon and coke. Perhaps that will help me understand what is going on here!”

“Of course, sir, I have Knob Creek as I believe that is your favorite brand?”

I nodded and she quietly scampered from the room. I noticed that she was quite cute as she hurried away, but my musings were disrupted by the return of the butler with the day’s newspapers.

“I also brought an iPad so you could read the latest news online and most of these papers were printed this morning before you arrived,” he added as he handed me the papers.

I turned my attention to the newspapers which were of no help whatsoever. They had gone to press last night and I hadn’t arrived until mid-morning. I threw the papers down in disgust and turned to pick up the iPad to see if there was anything online about my arrival.