Spiked

by Randall Denley

  “When did the surveillance end?”

  “A couple of months before she died. We had everything we needed.”

  “So nothing close to the time of her death, then?”

  “No, unfortunately. You think Champagne was involved in that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Are you going to be able to use this?”

  I thought for a moment. I was certainly going to use it, but not in exactly the way that Gail wanted. This was my leverage to pressure Champagne and find out what had really happened to Mae. At this point, I didn’t care too much about the fate of slippery Sonny Sandhu and his charming wife.

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  “That’s great. How soon? Ben has some other witnesses he can call, but he will want to bring on Champagne this week.”

  “All right. I can work with that. It will take a couple of days. A story like this will have to be lawyered.”

  “You see a problem with getting this in the paper?”

  “No. I think that everyone will agree that it’s a pressing matter of national interest. I’ll have to talk to my editor, see how he wants to approach it.”

  “I was hoping you could just run with what you have in your column. You get to write whatever you want, don’t you?”

  “Usually, but it won’t be quite that simple here. This PI willing to talk?”

  “I will make sure that he is. His contact info is in the file.”

  I considered warning Gail about the attack on Suzy and the fact that there were players in this story beyond Luc Champagne. Serious players. The problem was, I didn’t trust her. I had gotten what I could from her without having to give up anything in return. I was satisfied with that deal.

  Gail Rakic was a big girl. She was going to have to take care of herself. I needed to tell Colin about the Champagne development and arrange to see my new friend the minister. He wasn’t going to enjoy our next interview quite as much as he had the first.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  I was working from the hotel room Monday morning, starting to outline what I knew about the Mae Wang story so far. I was wearing my best out-of-office outfit, a pair of fuzzy red and black plaid fleece pants and a washed-out black Oxford T-shirt that used to belong to Colin. I had a full pot of coffee from room service and I was trying to focus on the story, not think about what had happened yesterday with Colin. And then again, last night. I had a gift for making my life complex. Now that I was both living and working out of the Chateau Laurier, it was as if we were married and running a home business. Fortunately, he had gone into the office for the day. That would give me time to think, or not think, whichever was best.

  Then my work cell rang. I had left it on in case Gail Rakic called back. I saw that it was the U.S. Embassy. For an expatriate American, a call from the embassy is unlikely to be something good. My first thought was IRS hounding me for tax paperwork. Then, I thought about the Adirondacks. Months had gone by and I had heard nothing official about the somewhat murky end of events down there. I wasn’t guilty of anything, probably, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be grilled by U.S. officialdom.

  I was tempted to let it go to voice mail, but if it was anything serious they wouldn’t be put off that easily.

  A smooth voice, hint of a New York accent, said, “Hello Ms. Redner. This is Don Platt. I’m the cultural attaché here at the U.S. Embassy.”

  The guy’s name sounded vaguely familiar, but I didn’t know any embassy people and I hoped to keep it that way.

  “We’ve got some big events coming here at the embassy this summer and I’m reaching out to prominent Ottawa journalists to raise awareness, maybe get some coverage.”

  “Not sure who gave you my name, Mr. Platt, but you’d be better off calling the arts editor. I write a crime column.” I thought it was a good way to get rid of him, considering that the arts editor had taken a buyout in the last round of staff reductions.

  “Yeah, I’m aware of that, but I’ve got a problem. Maybe you can help me out. The ambassador’s wife is a real nut about culture, which is great, of course, but she wants to see that I’ve talked to a wide range of journalists here in Ottawa. In fact, she reads your stuff and asked that I call you specifically.”

  That was almost certainly a lie, but now I was growing more interested in what Don Platt really wanted. I decided to play hard to get. “Well, isn’t that nice? I wish I could help, but I’m awfully busy.”

  “I can imagine. Here’s the thing. One event in particular I think might interest you. It’s a Chinese event, actually.”

  Now he had my attention. “Chinese? Isn’t that a little outside your scope?”

  “My job here at the embassy requires me to keep a close eye on the whole cultural scene, ma’am.”

  I was certain at this point that Don Platt’s real job had nothing to do with culture, assuming his real name was even Don Platt. I remembered what Farrell had said about a security agency being involved in the Mae Wang affair. I thought maybe I was about to find out which one.

  “As it turns out, I do have an interest in Chinese culture,” I said.

  “I thought you might. You have time to get a coffee this morning, maybe some place down in the Market, close to the embassy?”

  “I could do that. Time and place?”

  “How about Planet Coffee, say 10:30?”

  I looked at my watch. It was 9:15. That would give me plenty of time to make myself presentable and get to the coffee shop, which was only a couple of blocks away.

  “OK. I’ll see you then. How will I recognize you?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll recognize you.”

  Platt hung up and left me wondering. Would he recognize me because he had seen my picture on my column or simply Googled me? It was the most likely explanation, but then I wondered if he and whichever agency he really represented had bugged my apartment, my computer or my phone. Maybe I would ask him, see what he had to say.

  For just a minute, I wondered about the wisdom of going alone after what had happened to Suzy, but I was sure Don Platt wasn’t going to abduct me from a Byward Market coffee shop. I settled for sending Colin a text.

  I got to the coffee shop a few minutes early to scope it out, see if there were any suspicious-looking men wearing earpieces and pretending to read the newspaper. If there were, I didn’t spot them. The coffee shop was one of those places that favoured a modern industrial look with plenty of exposed pipes on the ceiling. I got a large, dark coffee and took a table in front of a wall mural of a whale.

  When Don Platt came through the door, the pieces began to fall into place. I knew his name was familiar. Platt was one of the two assholes who had tried to hit on Gail Rakic and me in the bar the other night. He was the tall, handsome one who looked like a slightly aging underwear model. If I had any doubt at all, it was dispelled by the appearance of his sidekick, Chip something or other. Guy was all shiny and pink with a military-style blond brush cut. Definitely the guy from the bar, but I had the idea I had seen him before that, too. Both wore dark suits and red ties, but Chip’s looked like a 46 stout while Platt’s was a well-draped 42.

  Pretending to look at my phone, I snapped a couple of quick shots of them. No doubt they were the kind of people who wouldn’t be real keen to get their pictures in the paper.

  The two spies, if that’s what they were, noticed me over by the whale and Platt waved like we were old friends. I didn’t think he would have that misapprehension for long.

  I stood when they approached, but didn’t offer to shake Platt’s outstretched hand. I checked his knuckles for cuts and bruises, to see if he had maybe beaten a woman lately. Nothing, but the other man kept his hands in his pants pockets, as if he was being casual.

  “Ms. Redner?” Platt said. “Good of you to see us on such short notice. This is my colleague, Chip Leggett.”

  “How could I forget? The two lonesome, horny guys who were in town for some kind of plumbing convention, right?”

  Legget
t reddened a bit but Platt just shrugged. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “So how long have you been following me around?

  “Let’s not get the wrong idea here,” Platt said. He reached into his suit jacket and withdrew a slim black leather case and presented me with a business card that claimed he was, in fact, Don Platt and that he was a cultural attaché with the U.S. Embassy. Leggett handed me a similar card claiming that he was a trade attaché. Naturally, I wasn’t buying any of it.

  Leggett and Platt sat and I did the same.

  “We’re here on official business,” Platt said.

  “That’s a pleasant change. Why don’t we get right to it? What can you tell me about this interesting Chinese event?”

  Platt looked at Leggett, then Leggett nodded and began to speak. Maybe Leggett was the boss after all and Platt was just the door opener.

  “Here’s the thing, Kris. I hope you don’t mind if I call you Kris.”

  “Not at all, Chip. What’s that short for anyway? Chester?”

  “No, Charles,” he said, scarcely missing a beat. “Now, part of our duty as consular officers is to look out for the interests of Americans here in Canada. That’s the context we’re acting in today.”

  “Really? You want to look out for me?”

  “We do. It has come to our attention that you have been making inquiries about the death of a Chinese Embassy employee called Mae Wang.”

  “And how is that of concern to you, Chip?”

  “Well, naturally we and our colleagues pay a lot of attention to the other embassies, especially countries like China. Between us, this Mae Wang story is dangerous. One person has already died, of course. I can’t tell you today that the Chinese are definitely responsible, but I’m sure you can draw your own conclusions. I’m thinking of your personal safety here.”

  “That’s very sweet of you Chip, but I’m sure I will be fine.” In fact, I wasn’t so sure, not after what happened to Suzy, but Chip seemed more like a threat than a saviour.

  “There are other considerations as well, and I’m going to appeal to your sense of patriotism here. This is a complex and convoluted situation. It’s the kind of thing where inaccurate or premature journalistic coverage could give a false impression and harm American interests.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

  “Glad to hear you say so.”

  “Of course, I don’t intend to write a story that is inaccurate or premature. In fact, I think coverage of her death is long overdue.”

  “Perhaps,” Leggett said, “but let me bring in another factor. When we were doing a little background research on you, we came across some really interesting events that took place last fall in the Adirondacks. I’m sure you are familiar with the death of Senator Lowell Osborne?”

  “Yes, tragic. I understand he was a great American.”

  “Possibly so, but it’s your own involvement in his death that interests us.”

  I had been waiting months for the other shoe to drop. I wasn’t responsible for Osborne’s death, but it wouldn’t be difficult to make it look as if I was. I shrugged as if this was all of no consequence to me. “That’s interesting, but I wasn’t involved in his death. Now, tell me boys, what agency do you really work for?”

  “Does it matter? Let’s be clear. We have the ability to make your life very difficult.”

  At that, Platt leaned forward with a menacing look. “We’re doing you a favour here, Kris. Stay away from the Mae Wang story before you step in a deep, dark hole full of shit.”

  “So is that what you were trying to say when you killed my dog?”

  Leggett and Platt exchanged a look of surprise.

  “Sorry to hear about your dog,” Leggett said, “but whatever happened had nothing to do with us.”

  “If you say so.” I noticed that Leggett had kept his hands below the table. “Tell me Chip, how are your hands?”

  “My hands aren’t your problem,” Leggett said. “We’re here to give you some friendly advice. If you don’t want to take it, that’s on you.”

  Then another piece of the puzzle fell into place. I knew Leggett’s face was familiar, but not just because I had seen him in the bar. I was looking at Mr. Thursday, the fat guy in the bad winter hat with the big earflaps.

  “Say Chip, changing the subject slightly. It gets brutally cold here in the winter. Did you, by any chance, happen to get one of those warm hats with the earflaps?”

  Now I had thrown Chip off his game. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said. “I have a warm hat. So what? What’s that got to do with any of this?”

  “It’s not the hat so much as the fact that you were seen entering Mae Wang’s apartment building every Thursday night for weeks, wearing that goofy hat. It really is unforgettable.”

  “Who the hell are you working with?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Doesn’t matter, but I have a feeling you’re going to find out soon.”

  “We’re done here,” Leggett said. “When it hits the fan, don’t say we didn’t warn you.’

  I felt like I had just gotten a lot closer to the truth about Mae Wang, but the picture still wasn’t clear. There was a burning American interest in her death, but what the hell was it?

  THIRTY-NINE

  As I walked back to the Chateau, I sent texts to Mike Reilly, Colin and Farrell. The message to each was the same. Developments, hotel, ASAP.

  The morning was sunny and fresh in that way that only May can be. In the Market, vendors were arranging their displays of flowers and vegetables, chatting in French, getting ready for the day. In the midst of the cheery normalcy, I had my own personal storm cloud. Every time I found out more about the Mae Wang story, it became more confusing, the truth more opaque. Clearly there was a U.S. government involvement. Had Leggett and Platt killed her, or did they only want to prevent me from finding out who had? The Chinese were inevitably part of the story. Luc Champagne was no innocent bystander and the way the Mounties were smothering the investigation suggested that someone in government knew the truth. Then there was Gail Rakic. The things she was telling me were true, but only the fragments of the truth she wanted me to see.

  When I got back to the room, Mike and Suzy were already there. Suzy still looked as if she had been hit by a truck, but her hair was washed and dried in some semblance of her normal look. Mike must have done that. She wore jeans and a baggy Carleton University sweatshirt. Reilly’s suit coat was draped across the back of the desk chair, looking as rumpled as he was. Reilly looked like he had been up all night and the bruise on his face had grown darker. I hadn’t really bought his story about tripping over a tree root, but it wasn’t my business.

  “So, developments,” Mike said. “What’s up?”

  “Let’s wait a few minutes for the others. Suzy, how are you feeling?”

  “Like my head was put in a blender. Tell me we’re getting closer to the guys who did this.”

  “I think so.”

  I ordered more coffee from room service and by the time it arrived, so had Farrell. Unlike Reilly, Farrell looked fresh and fired up. To my surprise, he wore a suit which was dark, expensive and well cut. He appeared to be a man with an interesting number of layers. Maybe some time I would get to find out what they were.

  Colin was just five minutes behind. As soon as he stepped into the room, he took charge. It had been a long time since I had seen him so energized.

  “Right then. Kris, why don’t you bring us up to date, then we will hear what the others have to add.”

  “I got a surprise call this morning from a guy with the U.S. Embassy. Don Platt. Wanted to meet, tell me something important about what he called a Chinese cultural event.”

  “Those pricks always speak in code,” Farrell said. “What did Platt say he did at the embassy?”

  “Cultural attaché.”

  “Right, so he will be CIA. Anyone with him?”

  “A guy who called himself Chip Leggett. Said he was a trade a
ttaché.”

  “Almost inevitably the CIA station chief. That’s their usual official job title. Did Leggett do most of the talking?”

  “Yes. Their initial pitch was that they were concerned for my safety, worried that I might be stumbling into a dangerous situation with the Mae Wang story.”

  “No shit,” Suzy said.

  “That didn’t work, so then they appealed to my patriotism. I don’t have any, so then they went with threats. Mike, Farrell, without getting into it too deeply, there was a bit of a situation in the Adirondacks last fall that they could use to make my life difficult. Colin knows all about it.”

  “Should we be worried about that?” Farrell asked.

  “I’m not.”

  “Good. How did you leave it with them?”

  “I gave them a bit of their own back. I noticed that Leggett was keeping his hands in his pockets. I asked him what was up with that, but he wouldn’t answer. He looked nervous, though. I think he’s the guy who attacked Suzy.”

  “Where do I find these guys?” Reilly said.

  “Not yet, Mike. I haven’t gotten to the best part. Everyone remember Mr. Thursday? It’s Chip Leggett. He all but confirmed it. And get this, these same two guys braced me in the Red Feather when I was there with Gail Rakic. I think they’ve had me under surveillance.”

  “No doubt about that,” Farrell said.

  “Leggett wasn’t too pleased when I told him I recognized him from surveillance of our own.”

  “Did he ask who was involved?”

  “He did. I told him that he’d likely be meeting them soon.”

  “You’re fucking right,” Reilly said.

  “Very good,” Colin said. “I feel like we are really starting to get somewhere. The other side is reacting, feeling the pressure. Reilly, Farrell, what do you have to add?”

  “I got my hands on the security vetting for Champagne,” Farrell said. “Squeaky clean. Nothing about China whatsoever, although I know CSIS has been keeping a watchful eye on politicians whose ties to enemy countries are a little too close. Champagne’s not on the list.”