Spiked

by Randall Denley

  “Please, take a seat,” Champagne said, motioning me towards the red leather chairs in front of his desk. I took one and he took the other, sitting, then leaning forward as if he was about to give me his most rapt attention. Maybe he was, considering.

  “So, the situation with the Chinese girl,” he began. “Very tragic. I did have my chief of staff look into it, as I promised. I am afraid that she came up with nothing that would support the rather colourful headline in today’s paper. Although, to be fair, the woman might well have been a Chinese spy. Many embassy employees are.”

  I opened my biggest black leather purse and took out my notebook, then switched on the record function of my phone. I needed the big purse to carry the PI’s file on Champagne, but it was too soon to play that card. “I assume we are on the record,” I said.

  “If you wish. You can certainly quote me on what I just told you. I could perhaps give you some additional insight if we were speaking more informally.”

  I paused as if giving his offer careful consideration. My goal was to back him into a corner, not get a bland quote for the next day’s paper. I closed my notebook and made sure he could see that I had stopped recording. The second phone, in my purse, was still recording, of course.

  “All right, let’s be informal,” I said.

  Champagne poured us each a cup of coffee. He took his black. I went with two creams.

  “Perhaps I can start by asking you a question,” he said. “What is your ultimate goal here? I know you are a thorough journalist and you have been working on this Mae Wang story for some time. And yet, your article in the paper today establishes only the most basic facts.”

  “True, but it’s more than has come out so far.”

  “Clearly you think that I have more knowledge of this matter than I have led you to believe.”

  “That would be an accurate perception.”

  “Mind if I ask why?”

  I didn’t like the fact that he was trying to turn the tables and interview me, but if it was a way of drawing him out, I was prepared to accept it.

  “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  “Do we?”

  I decided it was time to lay some trump cards on the table. I didn’t want to play verbal ping pong with Champagne. I reached into my purse and took out the PI file, then set it on the coffee table between us as if it contained the most important documents in the world. I opened it just enough to show him that its contents were substantial and withdrew a picture I had placed on the top of the file. I passed it to him. He glanced at it quickly and shrugged.

  “I think you will recognize yourself in that picture. It is a part of a series showing you entering Mae’s apartment building every Tuesday night for several months. I have another set that shows you leaving Wednesday morning.”

  “And what does that prove? Many people live in that building, including you. I could have been visiting anyone.”

  “True, but you weren’t. You were ‘visiting’ Mae Wang.”

  “And how could you possibly determine that?”

  “Audio tapes. Does the phrase ‘Harder, Luc, harder,’ sound familiar at all?”

  Champagne leaned back in his chair and exhaled loudly. The interview clearly wasn’t going quite as he had hoped. Not that I had gleaned one useful piece of information from him, but I felt like I had him on the ropes.

  Champagne looked at me with probing blue eyes, as if weighing a decision. Then he said, “Yes, there is obviously more to the story, as you know, but it’s not what you think.”

  “So what, you and Mae Wang were doing crossword puzzles and she was urging you to concentrate harder?”

  “This is not a matter for levity,” he snapped, with the first flash of anger I had seen. That was a good sign. I was rattling him.

  “No, it isn’t. That’s why I don’t appreciate you trying to sell me a bullshit story.”

  The way I figured it, Champagne now had two choices. He could throw me out or give me a more plausible story than what he had come up with so far.

  It didn’t take the man of action long to decide. “All right, come with me,” he said. “Leave the notebook, the phone and the purse here.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. I was sure Champagne’s nosy assistant would be poking through my stuff the minute I left the office.

  “Your choice,” he said, “but there can be no written or recorded version of what I am about to tell you.”

  Now I had to make the choice. I locked my phone. Fortunately I had brought a fresh notebook, not the one with important notes in it. I put them both in the purse, surreptitiously shutting off the second phone as I did so.

  “Lead on,” I said.

  We went down a short corridor to a room with a heavy carved oak door. Champagne entered first. No gentlemanly ushering in this time. I saw a small, non-descript meeting room, its walls lined with grey fabric. A scarred wooden table was surrounded by 10 leather office chairs. Some weak morning sun did little to add cheer to the gloomy little room.

  As Champagne shut the door behind us, I said, “What’s so special about this place?”

  “This is the room where I receive all my security briefings from the national agencies. It’s lead-lined. No communications get in or out.”

  “OK, but I left all my stuff back in your office. You think I’m wearing a wire or something?”

  “No, I don’t, but in my world, one always has to assume someone is listening. This is for your ears only.”

  Too bad for him that he wasn’t as sharp when he was visiting Mae Wang. I could see where he wouldn’t have anticipated a PI bugging the apartment, but surely he should have assumed the Chinese would have done so.

  Settling himself in one of the chairs, he said, “Consider what I am about to tell you as an appeal to your journalistic integrity. I find myself in an exceptionally difficult position. If I say nothing, I expect your next story will be something to the effect of Minister Shared Love Nest With Chinese Spy. If I tell you what is really going on, you will see that the truth is something quite different. Should you publish it, of course I will deny every detail, but my hope is that you will use your judgment. Canada’s interests are at stake here.”

  It was the second time in two days that someone had appealed to my patriotism. I suppose it was the downside of dual citizenship. I had some strong views on official manipulators wrapping themselves in the flag, but it didn’t seem the time to share them. Instead, I nodded encouragingly.

  “I met Mae Wang a little over a year ago on my first official visit to Beijing. It was at an event for Chinese business leaders. Mostly gangsters, I’m sure, but my job was to listen politely all the same. Mae had been assigned to me as a liaison by the Chinese government.

  “I remember the evening vividly. The meeting took place in a large hall, draped with Chinese flags. Imagine more than 100 business types in dark suits, all pushing forward, eager to present their business cards and make the case for why they ought to be allowed to buy up whatever parts of Canada they liked. I had an interpreter from the embassy on my right side, an eager young chap who was able to convey my bland assurances with just the right level of enthusiasm. To my left was Mae. Her function was to quickly inform me of who the next businessman was, and what he wanted. She wore a red dress that really set off her skin and dark hair. She was the only woman in the room, you understand, but she would have stood out in any crowd.

  “I had expected some kind of stiff, official biographies, but she kept me amused with little asides about the men I was meeting and anecdotes about who they had stabbed in the back to get to the top. I found her intriguing. She suggested we have a drink after the event was over and naturally, I agreed.”

  I silently applauded his commendable eagerness to learn even more about the backgrounds of Chinese business leaders.

  “Before I had left, CSIS had thoroughly briefed me on what to expect. I was to assume that I would be under constant observation and that the only safe pla
ce to speak my mind was in the embassy itself. They also warned me that I might be approached by a woman working for the Ministry of State Security. It is standard operating procedure. The honey trap, they call it. The Chinese have long employed it to put foreign diplomats or businessmen in compromising positions to gain leverage on them.”

  “And apparently it works.”

  Champagne held up his finger to stop my interruption and fixed me with that persuasive blue-eyed gaze. “But not with me. I was fully prepared and assumed from the outset that Mae had a role beyond liaison for a business group.”

  “But you went for a drink with her anyway. Maybe that was a mistake.”

  “Perhaps, looking back, but not at the time. We shared a rather nice Chateau Margaux and, after a couple of glasses, she dropped the pretence of her official cover. She told me about her imprisoned father and how the security agency had coerced her into her role. I assume you are aware of that?”

  “Of Zhao Yang, yes I am.”

  “Good. I assumed you would have figured that out. Mae asked for my help in getting her father freed. I explained that there was really nothing I could do, since Zhao was a Chinese citizen, but she was tearful and insistent. I promised to look into his case once I got back to Ottawa.”

  “And did you?”

  “I did have staff gather the details of his case, but it didn’t seem an area where we wanted to expend any of our good will.”

  “All right, so how did Mae end up in Ottawa?”

  “She led her ministry handlers to believe that she had made a fruitful connection with me over the bottle of wine. She told them that I was susceptible and sympathetic, perhaps a person who could be brought under her influence. I knew nothing of this until later, of course.

  “The next time I saw her was at a Chinese Embassy reception here, three months later. She was acting as an interpreter. I remembered her immediately and took the opportunity to speak to her alone near the end of the event, to find out the status of her father. Nothing had changed and she was afraid that his health was failing. He had not even had a day in court and she doubted he would ever get one.

  “She was desperate and explained that I was her last hope.” With an embarrassed shrug, he said, “I’m afraid that I have a weakness for women who want me to be their white knight. In fact, trade talks with China had progressed since I met Mae last. They wanted quite a lot from us, but the problem was the Chinese human rights record. That makes it difficult for the PM with certain elements in the party. I knew it would be advantageous if the Chinese could make a goodwill gesture on that front. It was possible that Zhao Yang could have been part of that. I was at least willing to try.”

  “So you started meeting with Mae about her father?”

  “That’s right. Given her role as a would-be Mata Hari, such meetings would only be allowed by the Chinese if they believed that she was making progress in seducing me. We knew her apartment was under embassy surveillance, so we had to put on a bit of a show. At first, I will admit that I saw it as a pleasurable reward for trying to do the right thing.

  “As time went on, I began to develop feelings for Mae. That’s when I decided to put a stop to it.

  “Now, in retrospect I should have reported all of this to CSIS, but I believed that I could handle the situation. I was working on getting Mae refugee status and a Canadian passport. Did you know the foreign minister can issue a passport to anyone on his sole authority?”

  “I did not.”

  “The problem remained the situation of her father. I could get her out, but probably only at the cost of his life. That was a bargain she was not prepared to make.”

  “So you had done all you could?”

  “That was the situation at my final meeting with Mae.”

  “And now both Mae and her father are dead. Do you know what happened?”

  “I do not, in either case. I wish I did. When I learned of her death, I asked the RCMP to investigate as a priority.”

  “Did you? Would it surprise you to know that my sources say the Mounties are doing nothing at all? In fact, they are preventing the city police from doing their job.”

  “I am disappointed to hear that. I was informed that her death was a tragic suicide.”

  “Not according to the coroner.”

  “You are giving me new information here. I can press for more detail.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got that base covered.”

  I leaned back and give Luc Champagne an appraising look. He returned it with a smile and the sort of look of eagerness a school kid would have when he was convinced he was about to get an A+ on his report. I decided to let him sweat for a minute, but I had to admit his story seemed plausible, if convenient.

  Finally, I said, “So you’re the hero?”

  “I’m sure you will agree that the term hero would be an overstatement. I let my heart get in the way of my head. I hoped to help Mae, but I failed completely. I can’t tell you how bad all of that makes me feel.”

  “All right. Let’s assume that everything you have told me is true.” It certainly wasn’t an assumption I was making, not yet. “What do you expect me to do?”

  Champagne opened his arms in an expansive gesture. “My fate is in your hands. I have told you what I did and why I did it. I had no bad intentions, but I made a grave misjudgment when I decided that I could finesse this for Mae. I accept responsibility for that, but even if I deny everything I have said, and you have no proof of any of it, you know as well as I that any story that suggests the Canadian foreign minister was sleeping with a woman who was, indeed, a Chinese spy, will destroy me, strike a fatal blow to the government and weaken the trust our allies have in Canada. You have to ask yourself if bringing me down is worth the broader repercussions.”

  I hadn’t expected what Champagne would have me believe was a full confession. Was it true? And how would I ever really know?

  “I appreciate you being so forthcoming,” I said. “It’s certainly a complex situation, as you say. Not quite what I expected. I will have to discuss this with my editor.”

  “As I told you when we first met, I am not the man that people might take me for at first glance.”

  I had to give him credit for a confounding performance. He had not denied a single accusation, but he had put it all in a context that was a mix of self-deprecation and noble motivation. He told the story naturally, too, not like something he had rehearsed. Really, to whom would he have confessed all of this? It astounded me that he had told me as much as he did.

  It was all either an artful lie or a pre-emptive masterstroke. Right now, I wasn’t sure which, and I didn’t know how I was going to find out.

  Champagne looked at his watch. “I have a briefing coming up shortly. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

  I took my cue and stood to leave. I turned at the door to ask one final question. My experience was that subjects let down their guard once they thought the formal interview was over.

  “Just one loose end we didn’t touch on. I was braced yesterday by a couple of guys from the American embassy. Claimed to be attachés for trade and culture. They have taken a real interest in this Mae Wang situation, and they suggested that I shouldn’t. Know anything about that?”

  Champagne appeared genuinely nonplussed. “The bloody Americans are always sticking their noses in our affairs. Think they run the world. Nothing they do surprises me, but this is the first I have heard of their interest in this situation.”

  Now he looked worried. Despite all his efforts at containment, maybe that damage with the allies had already been done.

  “OK. If you hear anything, will you let me know?”

  “Of course, of course,” he said, smiling as if I had asked him to undertake some easy and pleasant task. It was the first false note he had struck all morning.

  FORTY-TWO

  When I got back to the hotel, I was surprised to see Colin in the room. His grey suit coat was draped across the back of a chair and he s
at at the desk, pounding on the keys of his laptop. He wore a white dress shirt, but no tie. When I closed the door, he turned and smiled. In the midst of all the stress and chaos, a happy man, I realized. Maybe I was doing something right.

  “I thought you’d be out at Baxter,” I said.

  “Too many interruptions in the newsroom.” Then he stood and hugged me, followed by a light kiss on the cheek. He was right about the distractions in the newsroom, but I was sure that he was staying close to protect me. After what happened to Suzy, I wasn’t going to argue.

  “Where is everyone else?” I asked.

  “Suzy is in the other suite. Sleeping, I believe. Mike and that Farrell chap have gone out to, as they put it, ‘interview’ those two fellows from the embassy.”

  “Well, good luck with that. I don’t think they will get anything out of them.”

  “I didn’t get the impression that it was going to be our kind of an interview. Farrell was carrying that heavy kit bag when they left.”

  “I hope we’re not getting them into some kind of serious trouble. Those guys are CIA.”

  “Farrell and Reilly seem like the kind of chaps who can take care of themselves.”

  “They do, but I’m worried that I’ve drawn Mike into something that will ruin his police career.”

  “At his age, I doubt he cares about that. One does reach a certain point, you know, where doing the right thing is more important than protecting your place on the ladder.”

  “You’re probably right. It’s just that I’ve already hurt too many people by drawing them into my crusades.”

  “Nothing that happened in the Adirondacks was your fault.”

  I disagreed. I thought that everything that happened was my fault. If I had stayed home and minded my business, several people would still be alive today. But then, that had never been my style, and some of them deserved to be dead.

  “So what did our friend the minister have to say? Deny, deny, deny?”

  I collapsed into the big, soft couch and shook my head. “Actually, just the opposite.”

  I recounted for Colin the story that Champagne had spun for me. Then I said, “I had better get all of that down. He wouldn’t let me record or take any notes.”