Dan leaned in close.
“You have been tapping my phone. That is a federal offence. Keep your nose out of my business or I’ll break your fucking neck. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
Simon glanced around the office. “You realize you are threatening me in front of a roomful of witnesses.”
Dan glanced around at the faces staring in open curiosity. These were the people, he knew, who would be front and centre during mass disruptions at any G12 convention. They’d be directly involved in attacks at the protests or, if not hands-on, then ready to report any goings-on. They would know their legal rights to a T and be as quick to use the law against anyone who stood in their way as they were to flaunt and disrupt it. A hotbed of rebellion and anarchy in the making. And more power to them, Dan thought. Just not on my turf.
“That’s so you know I’m serious.”
Simon shook his head. “Your allegations aside, instead of castigating me you should be co-operating with me.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t you wonder why Tony Moran disappeared? Ask yourself: what’s the man’s weakness? Answer: his husband.”
“So?”
“A little convenient that he disappeared right before an election, don’t you think?”
“How?”
“Dan, please. Tell me you don’t still think John Wilkens’s death was suicide.” When Dan didn’t contradict him, Simon relented. “Come with me.”
Dan followed him to a small, private interview room. All eyes were on them as they made their way across the office. Dan wondered what Simon’s co-workers made of Simon. His grandfather’s reputation would not have done him much good here. Though groundbreaking in his day, Simon Bradley Sr. was old world and, therefore, status quo. Dan bet that this crew was against anything that smacked of hierarchy and privilege. Here Simon would have to prove his mettle. Dan felt a grain of respect for him. He looked again: he was just a kid, really. A kid with a big ambition to do better than his forebears. But there was danger in hubris.
Simon closed the door and gestured to a chair. Dan sat.
“It’s a simple matter here at the Scene,” Simon said proudly, nodding toward the outer office. “We’re the little guy. We’re independent. You may be aware that nearly all the news generated in North America is owned by one of six major news sources: News Corp, Viacom, CBS —”
“Spare me the lecture. I know the stats.”
Simon looked disconcerted. No doubt he was used to being the expert when it came to radicalism. We the free-thinking …
“Okay, then. You’ll also know that apart from small independents like us, there are only a few people who decide what actually becomes news. That’s why our work is important. We go against the grain of what’s considered acceptable for public consumption. We dig in the dirt that others avoid.”
“Some call it muckraking,” Dan reminded him.
“I disagree. It’s only after we expose anything of interest that the larger papers barge in with their muscle and money and try to take over. It’s the David-and-Goliath syndrome. In this case, I’ve found what I believe to be a verifiable breach of just about every law and rule of government you can imagine. Politics is dirty business.”
“‘Power, corruption, and lies.’ Isn’t that what they say? So, why has no one else barged in until now?”
“Because John Wilkens’s so-called ‘suicide’ stole the headlines. No one bothered to keep digging. No one but me. A year ago he was raising hell over a possible cover-up that turned out to be true, then he’s suddenly accused of padding an expense account to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars. John was already a very wealthy man. It didn’t make sense.”
“As you said, politics is dirty business.”
“Ask yourself who benefits most from Wilkens’s death.”
“His life insurance beneficiaries. That’s probably his wife.”
Simon shook his head sadly, as though the answer disappointed him. “I don’t mean financially. Who benefits politically?”
“You tell me.”
Simon looked past Dan’s shoulder, out the window where his colleagues had their noses buried in computer screens. “The night John Wilkens died, he called me.”
Simon held up a hand when he saw Dan’s skeptical look.
“True. I swear. He was going to tell me what he knew about goings-on behind the scenes at Queen’s Park. He never showed up. I didn’t believe it when his death was declared a suicide two days later. I still don’t believe it.” He paused. “So ask yourself — who benefits?”
Dan shook his head.
“His opposition in government, that’s who.”
“Alec Henderson?”
“Yes, him. Wilkens was a rising star. He was becoming too well known and too powerful for them to ignore. If his allegations came out, it would have ruined Henderson.”
“Oh, come on! You can’t expect me to believe he was killed so Henderson could win the next election. That’s fucking ridiculous.”
“No. I’m saying he was killed him because he found out something that would have brought the whole government down. The cover-up was far more extensive than anyone knew. First the missing emails and now the hard drives wiped clean. What’s next? You can’t find what doesn’t exist. But John found something. I think he found a paper trail. And I think it leads back to Alec Henderson.”
“So?”
“Listen, I pored over most of the emails that were made public. There were thousands.”
“And what did you find?”
Simon smirked. “Nothing. It’s not what’s there, but what’s not there. Who’s not named. As you said earlier, the premier and the energy minister conveniently retired from politics. But who didn’t get fingered? Who is still in politics? That’s what I want to know.”
He glanced out the window at his virtuous, truth-chasing colleagues again. Never give your scoop away.
“John knew that someone had cost the province millions of dollars. Henderson worked on that portfolio as an adviser. He was tough and ambitious. He was trying to make his mark. Then along comes the scandal to the tune of nine hundred and fifty million dollars, and he goes quiet. Right after the premier resigns, there’s an election. Lo and behold, Henderson gets a seat and he’s whisked over to educational reforms and comes up all shiny and new. Just like Mr. Clean. Someone obviously had plans for him.”
“Then why not just expose it and be done with it?”
“John was trying to, but they smeared him to make sure no one would listen to him. First it was a cover-up, then it was a frame. And then it was murder. There is a force out there, whether it’s a man, a woman, or a group of people, who believe they can manipulate the way politics are run in this country. I can’t prove it yet, but I will. And Tony Moran is going to lead me to it.”
“Why Tony?”
“Because Tony has been in contact with the Magus.” He paused, looking like the cat who swallowed the mouse who ate the cheese. “And I have been in touch with Tony.”
“You spoke with Tony?”
“Yes. Twice.”
Dan thought of the text exchange on Tony’s cellphone. “Where is he?”
“He won’t tell me. He phones only when he thinks it’s safe to talk. He’s afraid of the Magus.”
Dan shook his head. Will had warned him about this sort of thing. Scandal-mongering, ludicrous conspiracy theories. “It’s too far-fetched. If this were the U.S., I might believe it, but this —”
“But this is Canada. Yes, I know. And we’re all wide-eyed and innocent. But we are next door to the biggest, most manipulative power broker in the world. Okay, except maybe for China. Who knows where this shit ultimately leads? But it still stinks. Think about it — are we going to stay naïve and foolish forever? It’s time Canadians woke up to the political realities of the twenty-first century. It’s time we started choosing
our allies a lot more carefully than we’ve been doing. Peacekeepers of the World be damned. These are major powers, and there are people out there who are not going to let us be led down what they see as the wrong path. Do you really think none of those countries have considered our size, our resources, our proximity to the U.S.? Get real. You’re the one who’s dreaming, if you think I’m making this stuff up.”
“Where’s your proof?”
“I don’t have it. Not yet.” Simon shook his head. “Think about it. We know China has been spying on us for years. North Korea, Russia, too. It’s in all the papers, not just the Scene. Provincial politics is the testing grounds in Canada. We’re one step from federal politics, the people who run this country. There’s a federal election coming up. My guess is that Henderson is going to be running for a seat in parliament.”
“What does that prove?”
“Just think about it. Who is the most powerful person in the country?”
“The prime minister.”
“Wrong.” Simon shook his head. “The most powerful person in the country is the person who stands beside the prime minister. The chief of staff. The one who whispers in the prime minister’s ear about the way things should be run. I think Alec Henderson wants to be that person, and I’m convinced someone has chosen to make it happen for him.”
Dan considered this. “You realize you sound like a crazy person?”
“I admit it sounds crazy even to me, and I’ve been dealing with this crap for a decade now.” He glanced at the window where his colleagues were diligently fact-checking and cold-calling. “In any case, I’ve heard a rumour.”
“A rumour?”
“We’ll call it that for now.”
“Between gentlemen, as it were?”
“Forget about gentlemen. Between you and me, I think politicians are fucking arseholes. But it’s the faces behind the scenes I don’t trust. They’re smart. They stay out of the spotlight, where the glare could expose every move they make.”
“You seem to enjoy the spotlight, Mr. Bradley.”
He snickered. “True, but as long as I’m still standing in it all is well. The moment I disappear you should start looking for whoever is behind a missing nine hundred and fifty million or so.” Simon leaned his chin on his fist. “The thing is, Dan, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t believe what I’m telling you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Meaning?”
“Your friend Will Parker knows a lot more than he lets on.”
Dan’s eyebrows rose. “That’s his job. I’ve known Will a long time and he’s one of the good guys; he’s on our side. If he were twenty years younger, he’d be working here with your lot.”
Simon shrugged. “Nevertheless, there are forces at work in Queen’s Park making things happen behind the scenes in ways we can only guess at. So, please, I’m begging you. I know your reputation and I know I can trust you. Give me a chance to prove the same thing to you in return.”
“Would you trust someone who bugged your phone calls?”
For once, Simon had the decency to look embarrassed. He rallied quickly. “I can help you find Tony Moran.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Dan opened the door and went out, bypassing a roomful of eager young people doing their best not to stare.
He stepped out into the street and looked around at the bustling crowds, the swirling traffic. Everywhere, people were going about their daily business, earning money to better their lives, heading out for coffee or to lunch assignations, meeting up with colleagues, worrying about picking up the dry cleaning and getting home on time to feed the kids. He, on the other hand, was concerned with phone taps and allegations of criminal conspiracy and government corruption on a world order.
And the day had just begun.
Eighteen
Guns and Flowers
Dan’s next stop was Chinatown, an address on Spadina Avenue. Nestled between the stands of flowers, fresh fruit, and vegetables was the entrance to L.B. Electronics. They were, as Dan knew, the best retailer for the modern criminal, great and small. With the right word spoken in a tongue known only to a select few, tucked away in a security-proof basement could be found illegal DVDs, counterfeit software, cable TV decoders, radar scanners, lock-picking tools, wire-tapping devices, traffic signal changers, GPS jammers, odometer modifiers, and — best of all, in Dan’s estimation — untraceable pay-as-you-go cellphones.
After perusing a few options, he selected a small Asian-built model devoid of English lettering, pulled out a wad of bills, and walked out a happier man. The airwaves were free and clear once again. At least for the moment.
He cursed, upon reaching his car, to find a bright yellow invitation to contribute to the city’s overpaid parking division tucked neatly beneath his windshield wiper and thought yet again that if there were a way to dispense with personal vehicles — like moving to a country with no roads — he would seriously consider it. No, nothing was really free and clear.
He got in, pushing the ticket to the back of the glove compartment along with all the other unpaid slips, and unwrapped his new toy. Unlike so many other cell users whose memories of simple things like numbers and addresses had faded, he could still recall all the contacts he regularly dialed. He felt triumphant, like a virtuous holdout from the digital age. A Wi-Fi mutineer, an AI rebel, an analog saint. Maybe even the second coming of Walden. Then he turned on his cell and dialed.
Not alarming Donny was sometimes a game and sometimes an occupational necessity, one he practised often, for his long-suffering friend had a habit of worrying and then nagging him unnecessarily.
“You’re lucky I picked up. I’d pretty much given up answering unknown numbers.”
“No need. You’re a married man now.”
“There’s always radio-show giveaways. And to what do we owe the pleasure of this exchange?”
“I’d like you to use this new number for the next little while,” Dan replied. He could hear his friend’s thoughts humming over the line.
“Why?”
“I lost my cellphone.”
“So, if I am to use this number just for the next little while, should I conclude that you expect to find your old cellphone?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“I smell a rat. But I will obey your wishes till I am otherwise advised.”
“Thank you. One day when we reach the Promised Land all your good deeds will be rewarded.”
“I’ve been to Provincetown. And believe me, nothing is free.”
When Dan stopped in at Queen’s Park in the afternoon, Simon Bradley’s allegations were still running through his mind like a virus in a fresh bloodstream. He hadn’t quite formulated a plan of action, but he knew something would present itself. He called Peter Hansen to ask permission to speak to Alec Henderson, trying to frame the questions he’d like to ask about Tony. Peter snorted at the suggestion.
“Absolutely not. You can’t disturb the minister.”
“It might be helpful if I could talk to him, just to see if he has any thoughts —”
“No. The option is closed.”
“Just a few words. This isn’t a parliamentary debate. I’m not tabling a bill.”
“Dan, just forget it. I can’t have you upsetting the minister. He has a very heavy schedule today.”
He hung up.
Dan walked over to the reception desk. A sign announced the next tour starting at 2:15. Dan checked his watch — it was just getting on to two o’clock. He could wait.
When the guide saw him, she smiled. “Back again?”
“I couldn’t resist. Your tour was compelling.”
“Thank you!” She beamed, his own best pal.
He was prepared to do his disappearing act again, but in fact he didn’t have to. Outside the council chambers, a c
rowd of reporters had gathered. Cameras, microphones. Something was brewing. Dan could tell his guide was particularly excited today.
He leaned over to her. “What’s the scoop?”
Her eyes darted around. “I’m not supposed to say.”
“I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
That was all it took to loosen her tongue. “A minister is announcing his resignation today.”
“Who?”
“Alec Henderson, the minister of educational reforms.”
“Resigning?”
“You’ll see.”
A moment later the door opened and out came Henderson in a casual three-piece. The reporters tensed, moving in for the right angle. Where once they would all have been men, today more than half were women, all jockeying for position with an elbow here and a foot there, as yesterday’s friendly weather girl went shoulder to shoulder with men who looked more like dissolute linebackers.
The minister held up a hand in greeting, appealing to the reporters like an old friend, despite the fact that any of them would have turned on him for a headline scoop. Once they had quieted down, the minister of educational reforms blithely announced his resignation from the provincial cabinet. He would stay on, however, to see the controversial sex-ed bill through.
“And after that?” someone cued him, like the straight man in a comedy team.
“After that I will be running for a seat in the federal election, which we all know is going to come up sometime next year.”
There was a smattering of applause from a handful of men and women from Alec’s inner office, who looked as though they would willingly support a campaign for a marathon sled race around the north pole if he’d announced that.
The minister looked around for more questioners. Dan held up his hand.
“Yes. Over there.”
“Is there any news on Tony Moran, the missing husband of your special assistant?”
Henderson’s face took on a look of regret. “Unfortunately, not yet, but we are still hopeful that Tony will be found safe. It’s been a trying time for my assistant, Peter Hansen, and all of us. We’re a close-knit group. I’ve got a personal promise from the chief of police that he is doing everything in his power to find Tony.”
The God Game Page 15