Deadline (48 page)

“Minister,” said Jack. “Sophie and I think you should hear us out before you reach any decisions before your future.”

He resumed his presentation. “This is a recent picture of the SinoGaz site near Fort McMurray, Alberta,” he said. The screen showed a picture of a scrubby spruce forest being cleared by bulldozers.

“Cabinet, as you know, approved the takeover of PanPetroDev and overruled the federal-provincial environmental review panel to allow this project to proceed.”

Next an image of Rena Redcloud filled the screen.

“This is Rena Redcloud,” he said. “She was a prostitute who was murdered by this man on August 13, 2008.” An image of Ling Chi Wi came up. “Ling Chi Wi was a SinoGaz executive who was sent to Canada to make the project happen. He was killed in custody in Edmonton on August 29, 2008. In the course of the investigation into the killing, RCMP officers uncovered an exchange of emails.” The screen filled with PDFs of the emails. “These emails are from someone familiar with the cabinet discussions about the SinoGaz project. They appear to have been written either by a member of cabinet or a very senior official in the Privy Council Office. They are detailed and show an intimate knowledge of the innermost workings of the highest level of government. They were retrieved from the Deleted Items box of Mr. Wi’s email account.”

Jack clicked to the next image. More emails appeared. “These emails, Wi’s replies, contain details of wire transfers to a numbered account in a Panamanian bank. In total, we have records of about $1 million in transfers.”

Next to show was a single letter. “This is a PDF of a letter from Hotmail, in Seattle, to Sgt. Earl Gushue, the investigating officer on the case,” said Jack. “It identifies the ISPs that accessed the Hotmail account. There are three locations. Two were Internet cafes in Ottawa. One was an Internet cafe in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia.”

An audio file opened. “This is part of a longer recording between me and Dave Cochrane, who, I think you know, works as chief of staff to Jim Donahoe. I made the recording yesterday. Cochrane acknowledges that Donahoe is aware of the emails.”

He hit play and Cochrane’s voice said, “He knows of an email exchange between someone with cabinet-level access to Mr. Wi. I didn’t know anything about this, but CSIS does, and the prime minister’s office does, and it is well above my pay grade, and yours, and you had better tread very carefully.” Jack stopped the recording. “After uncovering this apparent connection to Mr. Donahoe, Sergeant Gushue of the Fort McMurray RCMP detachment reported it up the chain of command. Wheeler and Dupré visited him and Constable Brecker in Fort McMurray and took over the investigation, telling them it had national security implications. Wheeler and Dupré were both subsequently promoted to Ottawa. Mr. Donahoe, as you know, was public safety minister at the time. I don’t know if he was really communicating with Mr. Wi at the behest of CSIS, as Mr. Cochrane suggested, but I think somebody, such as the current public safety minister, for example, should find out.”

Sophie cleared her throat and pushed herself away from the wall. “So, you see, minister, you need to deal with this, and with Wheeler and Dupré. You really can’t afford to resign today. If Donahoe spied for the Chinese, he wouldn’t be an appropriate prime minister, would he?”

Mowat looked at her, and then at Jack. He leaned forward, his shoulders hunched, and thought for a long minute.

“Mr. Macdonald. Are you willing to share all this evidence with me, with the government?”

Jack cleared his throat. “Under certain circumstances,” he said. “Yes.”

Mowat leaned back in his chair. “Sophie, I need you to do me a favour now. I want you to go have a chat with Claude, fill him in, give him the broad strokes. We need to figure out how exposed we are.” He turned back to Jack. “And I will have a chat with Mr. Macdonald here.”

Dupré wouldn’t say anything except: “You’re making a big mistake.”

He said it several times during the short drive to the station when they asked him what he was doing in Macdonald’s apartment.

Zwicker intercepted them in the lobby as they were about to take him downstairs to be fingerprinted and photographed.

“Take him to Interview Room Number 2,” he said. “We need to talk. You can process him later.” In the elevator on the way up, Dupré whistled “Three Blind Mice.”

They left him in cuffs in the interview room, locked the door, asked a uniform to watch him and rode up to the fourth floor. Zwicker took the evidence bags holding the pistol, silencer and BlackBerry, and all three walked back to his office, where Wheeler was waiting. Zwicker tossed the evidence baggies on his desk.

“Deputy Commissioner Wheeler, you’ve met detectives Ashton and Flanagan,” he said. “I wanted them to sit in our meeting. They have just apprehended Inspector Dupré, as you know, in the act of committing a break and enter.”

Wheeler glowered at them. “I think it would be better if we met alone,” he said.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think,” said Zwicker. “Excuse my French. But these two have been working their holes off to investigate the attempted murder of Ed Sawatski, the shooting of Miko Wamala, who has diplomatic status, and now we have a break and enter. Inspector Dupré is a person of interest in these investigations, and he has refused to co-operate with our officers. When they apprehended him today he had a pistol with a silencer – which is a prohibited firearm, as you know. Why would Inspector Dupré be carrying a silencer, deputy commissioner?”

Wheeler looked at Zwicker and sighed. “This is a national security investigation,” he said. “We went over this yesterday. We have launched an investigation to make certain that the appropriate procedures were followed.”

Flanagan’s laugh sounded like a bark.

“Detective Sergeant Flanagan finds that amusing, Deputy Commissioner Wheeler,” said Zwicker. “So do I. We all find it amusing, and also confusing. What was Inspector Dupré doing with this cell phone? Where was he on the night that Sawatski was drowned? Why does he have a silencer?”

Wheeler said nothing. Zwicker got to his feet. “In the course of what kind of national security investigation would an inspector, an inspector with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, have cause to have in his possession a silencer?” he asked.

Wheeler glared at him.

“Maybe it is evidence,” said Zwicker. “That might explain it. Maybe Inspector Dupré apprehended the man who shot Miko Wamala. Is that right Deputy Commissioner? That would explain it. I wonder if that’s right. I wonder if we test this pistol if we will find a match with the slugs we pulled out of the canal.” He started to laugh. “I bet that’s what we’re going to find. I am willing to bet my two saggy old balls that we’re gonna get a match. So what I’m fucking wondering, you bag of shit, is where’s the suspect? What kind of deputy commissioner of the Royal Canadian Cocksucking Mounted Police would keep the suspect from us, the officers with jurisdiction over the case?”

He turned to Ashton. “Detective Sergeant Ashton,” he said. “Where do you think the suspect is?”

“Sergeant, I believe he’s in Interview Room Number 2,” she said.

“Thank you, Detective Sergeant,” he said.

Wheeler stood up. “I think this exchange might better take place at a higher level,” he said, and walked out.

Zwicker walked over and slammed the door shut as hard as he could then sat down behind his desk.

“You want to stick around?” he said to Ashton and Flanagan. “The chief will call soon.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “I should actually call him,” he said. “Maybe you should leave, now that I think of it.”

Ashton and Flanagan got up to go.

“Good work, you two,” he said. “Excellent work. I’m proud of you.”

He spoke again when they got to the door. “Bottom line here, just between us, I’ll likely have to let them spring the Mountie, at least until we get the ballistics results, but there’s no fucking way I’m letting them have the gun or the phone.”

Ashton and Flanagan looked at each other and Ashton cleared her throat to speak. “Thanks, boss,” she said.

“They can have my fucking badge first,” said Zwicker.

Mowat folded his hands in front of him and smiled brightly at Jack. “You’ve been through the ringer, young man, and come out the other side no worse for wear,” he said.

“I don’t know about that,” said Jack. “I don’t have a job, for example.”

“How long have you been a reporter?” said Mowat.

“Five years”

“Well, you’ve certainly got quite a story on your hands now. Several stories, in fact. Huge stories. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” said Jack. “Yours alone would be explosive, no doubt. I keep thinking of the headline: Sex Tape Blackmail Linked to Drowning.’”

Mowat chewed that over, the ghost of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

“It would be quite a thing,” he said at last, and pushed himself to his feet and walked toward the window. He pulled up one of the blinds, and winter sunshine filled the room. He stood for a while, looking at the frozen Ottawa River, across to Parliament Hill, where the Maple Leaf atop the Peace Tower whipped in the wind.

“So the police likely have the BlackBerry now?”

“Yes,” said Jack. “But they don’t have the password.”

“Are there any other copies of the video?”

“Not to my knowledge,” said Jack. “Just the one on the BlackBerry and the one on this laptop. One with Sophie’s lawyer.”

Mowat walked back to his desk. “So what are your plans now? Back to journalism?”

“I’m not sure,” said Jack. “I think this story would be hard to tell, in many ways. There are a lot of national security implications. I’m not sure what to do. In fact, I’ve been thinking about a change.”

Mowat smiled. “Really?”

“Yes, minister,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about politics.”

Mowat laughed. “You want to come over to the dark side? Well you wouldn’t be the first reporter to do that. Are you interested in communications work?”

“Well,” he said. “No. Not exactly.”

He inhaled, puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. He felt himself blushing.

“Sir, in April, Senator Barry retires,” he said. “It will be the first Senate vacancy the new prime minister will fill.”

Mowat furrowed his brow. “Senator Barry,” he said, searching his mind. “Senator Barry.”

He walked to the window again and looked out across the river.

“How old are you Jack?” he asked.

“I turn thirty next month, sir.”

“Are you a conservative?” he asked, turning so his back was to the window, gesturing with his hands. “Philosophically, I mean. I know as a journalist you have been non-partisan, but what are your political views, on a personal level?”

“I would describe myself as a small-c conservative,” Jack said. “But I’m not the type to seek publicity for my views. I’m more of a low-profile type.”

“I see,” said Mowat. “You like to stay below the radar, eh?”

“That’s right,” said Jack. “I’m interested in public service, but I’m not the type to seek the limelight.”

Mowat nodded, as if deciding something.

“You know,” he said, “the next prime minister would be lucky to have a fellow like you working for him in the Senate. And you could be a valuable addition to my campaign team. I think I’d like you to spend some time with Claude, see if we could use your research skills, behind the scenes, on the campaign, maybe in our Toronto operation. What do you think about that? How about we fly you out there tonight? Put you up in the Royal York?”

“That’s a very appealing offer,” said Jack. “And at the end of the campaign?”

Mowat went back behind the desk and again laced his fingers together and stared at Jack.

“I could see you as a senator, but I have to tell you, Jack, people will wonder why I’m appointing you,” he said. “You see the problem, do you?”

Jack nodded. “It won’t make sense to them.”

“That’s the kind of thing we need Claude to handle,” said Mowat. “It’s a delicate problem and he’s got a deft touch with delicate problems. I rely on him greatly.”

He stared until Jack grew uncomfortable. “I understand, sir,” he said.

Mowat scowled suddenly and so fiercely that it made Jack start.