Sharpe knew that he had put a foot wrong when he warned the new PM about the threat from China. It was not just the hacking directly into government computers, but the organized attempt to take over resource industries and infiltrate defence corporations. The PM would hear none of it. He was a great fan of the Chinese. Loved their culture. Closer ties were required. Nothing could be said or done that might cause offence to prickly Chinese billionaires or their despotic government. Not incidentally, those Chinese billionaires who were here to enrich themselves and their cronies back home were among some of the Liberal Party’s more generous donors.
Sharpe knew better than most that the world was filled with governments that were cruel, corrupt and despotic. One still had to do business with some of them, but surely with eyes wide open. In his view, Canada’s new attitude to the Chinese was simply foolish.
Speaking of fools, only one would believe the tale his replacement had offered the PMO. The Chinese themselves were responsible for the young woman’s death, so the story went, and this was a Chinese matter best left alone. Not bloody likely. Not when Mae Wang was really Zhao Mei and her father was the famous dissident lawyer, Zhao Yang.
How Mei had come to work at the embassy in Ottawa was still a matter of some speculation, but it was a pattern with which Sharpe was familiar. Young women were used as pawns to ensnare powerful Westerners, to get their secrets in the bedroom or through blackmail. The regime could have found a loyal comrade for the work, but so much the better to choose the daughter of a dissident, increasing their leverage with him in the process. No doubt Zhao Yang still held many secrets that his government wanted to know.
Sharpe opened the drawer of the small walnut table beside his favourite leather wing chair and withdrew his pipe. Smoking his brier had been a habit he had been forced to give up while Janet was alive, but now that she was gone he could do as he pleased. He took a pinch of G.L. Pease Maltese Falcon and tamped it in the bowl. He lit the pipe with a wooden match, then charred the tobacco on top while puffing until it was evenly lit. He watched with satisfaction as a cloud of smoke drifted toward the room’s 12-foot ceiling. Sharpe always felt that he thought most clearly when in a haze of tobacco smoke. It was irrational, he knew, uncharacteristically so. Back in his government days, he had enjoyed lighting up at interdepartmental meetings to see who had the balls to complain. Few did.
Sharpe contemplated his options. It really was an expansive buffet.
The simplest course of action would be a well-placed call to one of the handful of influential journalists still employed on Parliament Hill. Were all that he had learned ever to become public, the prime minister would be forced to resign and the government would collapse. Even in this age of low expectations for political leaders, some errors were intolerable. The whole chain of events would be delightful.
Of course, he needn’t be so dramatic. Even a quiet word to one of his connections would set off an internal storm that would put the PM under great pressure.
Knowing what he now did, Sharpe could offer to save the day in exchange for getting his old position back, but then he’d have to work for the pack of idiots that purported to run the country. While the vindication would be sweet, it would be a poor way to spend his remaining years.
The problem with any of these approaches was, that once the story was out, his leverage and control were gone. Perhaps the best thing was to sit back for now, savour what lay ahead for those he loathed, and wait for the pot to come to a boil.
Poor Derek Hall. He seemed a decent enough fellow. Miles out of his depth, of course. Sharpe hoped the lad kept a fire extinguisher in his office. He was going to need it.
THIRTY-ONE
An Uber pulled up in front of my building at 7 p.m. sharp, just as Colin had promised. Before I had even reached the shiny black Toyota Camry, he had leaped out to hold the door open for me. He even took my hand as I slid into the grey leather seat. Colin could be charming when he wanted to be. I had to give him that. He looked pretty good in what I recognized as his best black suit, with a white shirt and a red and grey tie in a subtle pattern. His grey hair, although still longish, had been freshly cut and judging by the pink glow on his cheeks he had had either a professional shave or a stiff shot of scotch. He had a look of pleasure that I tried hard to match.
As Colin settled himself on the seat beside me, he said, “Great dress. I’ve never seen that one before.”
“I’m afraid it’s a loaner. One of Caroline’s.”
“Ah, I see.”
When Colin had invited me to a “dressy function,” I had panicked. I had scanned my jammed closet, hoping that if I stared long enough something appropriate would present itself. Fat chance. Dressy and function were two words I worked hard to avoid and my limited wardrobe reflected it.
Fortunately, my friend Caroline was a glamorous CBC TV type who probably attended galas and soirées all the time. She had left her fancy clothes in the closet of the second bedroom and we were about the same size, although that was like saying that a new car and a 15-year-old version of the same model were about the same.
Caroline had a bright green thing that had caught my eye, if only because it would look so garish with my red hair. Unfortunately, it had a plunging neckline and when you plunged below my neck, there was really nothing to see. She actually had six of what I think real women call “little black dresses.” The third one fit like it didn’t belong to someone else. The neck came up to my collarbone and the skirt to my knees. It would do.
The small, girlie part of my brain liked that Colin approved of the dress. I had even shaved my legs and put on a pair of stay-up stockings that I hoped would live up to their name. I drew the line at pantyhose. I noticed Colin’s gaze drifting to my legs. I knew he would be speculating on whether those were stockings. He shared the English fascination with hosiery and if I told him what they were I knew it would drive him mad with lust.
Nothing could be farther from my intention. When I had phoned Colin on Friday night on the burner phone, he had surprised me with a social invitation that I really couldn’t refuse. I hadn’t thought there was such a thing.
He had been invited to an evening in honour of the Chinese ambassador at Global Affairs headquarters on Sussex. The host was none other than the intriguing Luc Champagne. As Colin had suggested, it would be a great opportunity for us to scope the man out, maybe even ask a rude question or two. The presence of the Chinese ambassador was a bonus, although I didn’t expect that I would be able to get within 20 feet of him, imagining him to be constantly surrounded by burly men with dark suits and earpieces.
As the Uber worked its way up Elgin toward Sussex, Colin said, “I’m confident that we can get a few minutes with Champagne. He enjoys using the media as a mirror to reflect his glory.”
“Gee, I guess I should have bought sunglasses. Good idea, though. Maybe we can separate him from his handlers and talking points. It will be interesting to get a feel for this guy, after all I keep hearing about him from others.”
“I thought you’d be pleased,” Colin said, brushing his fingers lightly across the back of my hand.
I knew that in his mind, this was some kind of date, an opportunity to use his legendary charm to draw me back into his orbit. It wasn’t the time to burst his bubble.
“What about the ambassador?” I said. “Any chance of a chat with him?”
“Perhaps. I hear he’s a very friendly chap. One simply has to put to one side that he’s a mouthpiece for a cruel and corrupt regime.”
“Maybe I’ll ask him out for a drink.”
Colin regarded me with a look of shock, then realized I was joking.
“Right, very droll. Seriously though, I wouldn’t say anything to raise a red flag with him, given the nature of your investigation.”
“You know me, Colin. I’m the soul of discretion.”
“I do know you. That’s why I am urging caution. Perhaps in a quieter moment, you can bring me up to date on developments.”
“Of course. And you can fill me on what Suzy has learned. She won’t return my calls.”
“Nor mine. Curious.”
Now I was worried. If Suzy had gone off the radar it almost certainly meant that she had found something big and I wouldn’t hear from her again until she had it all neatly tied up. I knew working with her had been a mistake. Not that I had any choice.
The car moved slowly around the National War Memorial, then passed the stately Chateau Laurier before turning left on Sussex. The street was lined with Victorian buildings that housed stores struggling to pay high rents imposed by their government landlord. They weren’t the kind of places where I could afford to shop. The incongruous U.S. Embassy, a modern fortress in the heart of downtown, loomed over the street. Its mass of glass and concrete was a blot on the historic ByWard Market neighbourhood but, when it came to Canada, Americans usually got what they wanted. Although I was born in the United States, I had long passed the point where the sight of the Stars and Stripes made me want to salute.
“How long do you think this thing is likely to go on?” I asked Colin.
“Why, do you have plans for afterward?”
“No,” I said, then quickly realized that he would think I was suggesting that we make some. “Just things to catch up on.”
“Well, let’s see how long it holds our attention, then.”
The Uber pulled up in front of the Lester B. Pearson Building, an artifact from the 1970s that looked like a layer cake composed of brown concrete and glass. The driveway in front of the building was jammed with black limousines with red diplomatic plates. Bored chauffeurs in dark uniforms lounged beside their cars, smoking cigarettes.
As we entered the lobby, a security man with close-cropped hair and the build of a weightlifter checked our names and ID against the guest list. It seemed a minimal precaution for a social event that no doubt involved a flock of ambassadors. A uniformed RCMP officer and a young woman from Global Affairs escorted us to the elevator that would take us to the reception.
Colin leaned into me and said, “Time to paste on your smile.”
I did as instructed, but it was annoying to be told to smile. People had been doing that all my life. I had never quite understood the value of grinning like an idiot, but apparently it was sociallyexpected behaviour.
We rode up to the ninth floor, then the elevator door opened on to a large room with expansive views out across the Ottawa River to the Gatineau Hills and back across the city itself. Ottawa was a remarkably flat place, so even a modest building had great vistas.
“Right, here we go then,” Colin said.
Little knots of people clustered together, drinks in hand, just like every other boring social event to which I had ever been dragged. The difference here was that some had chosen colourful national costumes, especially the diplomats from Africa, who had turned out in force. Eager to curry favour with the Chinese, I was sure. I was no expert on international affairs, but from what I had read, the Chinese were in the process of colonizing Africa. I hoped it went better for them than it had for the Europeans.
Colin glided effortlessly from group to group, shaking hands and introducing me to people with complex names that I forgot instantly. I had never known much about this part of his life, having refused to attend these kinds of affairs when we were together.
As we drifted away from a cluster of Africans and headed towards a flock of Scandinavians, I said, “You actually like this sort of thing, don’t you?”
“Well, like might be a strong term, but I’m accustomed to it. In my foreign correspondent days, parties like this were prime places to make connections and pick up useful gossip.”
I hoped that he wasn’t going to start repeating his foreign correspondent stories. He had been to several war zones, but I had heard all of his tales. Besides, I knew he had often used the stories of his hairy-chested past to get the pants off young reporters. That wasn’t going to work with me.
“Do you see Champagne?” I asked.
“I spotted him earlier over near the bar, in the far corner. Surrounded by sycophants at the moment, I’m afraid.”
“I guess we will have to wait for the crowd to thin. Speaking of the bar, any chance you might be able to fetch me a drink?”
“Of course. Scotch, rocks?”
“Yes. Better make it a double.”
I watched Colin elbow his way to the bar, wondering if ambassadors ever thought about the undernourished people at home as they scarfed down hors d’oeuvres and free drinks. I was pretty sure I knew the answer.
I noticed a long balcony that offered not only a great view, but a chance to get away from the bulk of the diplomatic crowd. I headed for it before I could be cornered by some lonely diplomatic representative who would expect me to make small talk. I was confident that Colin would find me easily enough.
The sun was just setting, creating a silver glint on the Ottawa River and leaving the Gatineau Hills in a purple gloom. Streetlights emitted their artificial glow in a grid spreading out to the horizon. I had just leaned forward on the metal railing, hoping for a few minutes of silence, when I detected a presence at my left elbow and a male voice said, “Fantastic view, isn’t it?”
I turned and was surprised to see Li Jintao, the Chinese ambassador to Canada. No flunkies, no security guards, just a middle-aged guy with a touch of grey in his hair and a black suit, white shirt, no tie.
“Ambassador Li,” I said, hoping that was the correct form of address. “I thought you would be in the main room, surrounded by admirers.”
Li laughed, then surprised me again by picking up my sarcastic tone. “Oh yes, China has many admirers. Everyone wants something.”
He must have assumed that I was some diplomat’s wife. Who was I to contradict him? What I really wanted to do was ask him what he knew about Mae Wang. Maybe even ask if he had ordered her murder, but that wouldn’t be very strategic. Instead, I said, “Lots of politics in diplomacy.” It seemed a safe guess.
“Yes. That is certainly true. I came out here to get a short break from it. You?”
“The same.”
“Fantastic weather we are having. Very similar to Beijing at this time of year. I got in my first round of golf today.”
“Oh yes. Where did you play?”
I couldn’t imagine spending even 10 minutes whacking at a little ball with sticks and couldn’t have named a single local golf course, but I did know that it took only a few encouraging words or phrases to get men to describe their various triumphs.
“Royal Ottawa. I am a member there. I finished eight over par. A little off my regular score, but not bad for a first game.”
I had no idea if eight over par was good, but the ambassador seemed to think so, so I agreed. “Oh, well done. I’m glad you are enjoying your time here.”
“It is a fine posting. Canada is an important friend of China.”
More like a witless vassal state according to my research, but I supposed it was all a matter of perspective. I settled for a noncommittal nod and said, “Glad to hear that Ambassador Li.”
“Please, call me Jin. And you are?”
“Kris Redner.” I felt I was safe in assuming that he didn’t follow crime in the Ottawa Citizen.
Jin leaned in a little closer and said, “I am having a few people back to the embassy for drinks after the party. Perhaps you would like to join me?”
“What a thoughtful offer. I’m afraid my date and I have other plans, though,” I said. Where the hell was Colin anyway? The ambassador was hitting on me and I needed rescuing before I said something undiplomatic.
“Ah, that is unfortunate. Perhaps another time?”
Before I could answer, Colin appeared carrying two scotches.
“I see you have met Ambassador Li. How are you this evening ambassador?”
“Ah, you are with this young lady then, Colin. Very fortunate for you.”
I took my drink, then snuggled up against Colin to show him what a
pair of lovebirds we were.
The ambassador shook Colin’s hand, then said, “I really must get back. It is a party for me, after all.”
The ambassador gave me a slight bow, then presented me with his card. It was a heavily embossed thing in red and gold that read Li Jintao Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the People’s Republic of China to Canada. It was quite a mouthful. I wondered what kinds of titles they gave the people who were really important.
As the ambassador walked back into the party, Colin said, “That was a surprise.”
“No kidding. First he talked about the weather and his golf game, then he invited me back to the embassy for drinks after the party.”
“Really? So much for the perception that the Chinese always take the oblique approach.”
“Oh bugger off, and don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not surprised at all. Well, perhaps surprised that I have the same taste in women as the Chinese ambassador.
“You didn’t mention Mae Wang, I hope.”
“No, I’m not that stupid.” No point in telling him the thought had crossed my mind.
I began to steer Colin back into the main room. His taste in women wasn’t a topic I had any interest in discussing. “Let’s get back to the party. See if we can find Champagne,”
“All right,” he said, sounding reluctant. “It is rather pleasant out here.”
“True, but we’re on a mission, remember?”
“Of course. Let’s go brace our man.”
Meeting Luc Champagne proved easier than I would have imagined. As soon as we were back in the main room, I spotted him shaking hands with a tall African couple, then sneaking a quick glance at his watch as they walked away. He was no more than 15 feet away. If I were quick, I could nab him before someone else did.
“Let me do this,” I said to Colin. “You hang back.”
“But surely . . . ”
“I know men.”
Colin merged into the crowd and I walked up to Champagne with a big smile and a look that said he should be glad to meet me. I hoped the little black dress would do its job again.
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