He clicked back on the photo of Stevens’ cabinet, standing with frozen smiles in Rideau Hall.
“It is very possible that Dupré was acting on the instructions of one of the members of cabinet,” he said. “Ed Sawatski worked for Jim Donahoe. He handled natural resources files, including oil sands files.” He zoomed in on Donahoe’s face. “Donahoe, the justice minister, could be the guy. It doesn’t look good for him right now, but funny things happen in leadership races, and he could be prime minister in three months.”
He moved the cursor over to Greg Mowat.
“Or Mowat could become prime minister,” he said. “As public safety minister, he could easily be directing Dupré or Wheeler.” He zoomed out. “Or it could be any one of the people in this picture, or maybe, maybe, one of their senior staff members, although I doubt it.”
He clicked another tab, and came back to the picture of Gushue and Brecker posing with a group of children.
“If you let me see the file,” he said, “nobody will be able to assume that I got it from you. They might wonder, but it could also be someone else in the Fort Mac detachment, or here in Ottawa, or they might think it’s Brecker.” He leaned back in his chair. “Brecker has nothing to lose. He likely has hard feelings about the force, or at least people might think that.”
Gushue looked overwhelmed. She slumped in her chair.
“Mrs. Gushue,” he said. “Please show me the file. I swear that I won’t do anything until we talk again, and you’ve had a chance to think it over, but if I know what it is I can talk to a friend of mine at the Globe and see if they’re willing to run a story.”
“You wouldn’t run it in the Telegram?” she asked.
Jack shook his head. “They suspended me,” he said. “And they have been burned already. This story is too big for them. I would go to my friend Dennis Burkley at the Globe. I would ask for a double byline, and let them check everything I’ve done. It would be up to you whether you meet with Dennis or not. You might prefer not to, so that only me and maybe a very senior editor at the Globe would know your identity. If I had a copy of the file they might not even insist on knowing where I got it.”
“Would they agree to go with the story?” she said.
“A story showing that a member of the cabinet sold secrets to a Chinese oil company?” he said. “I think they would have to go with it. It’s the kind of story reporters spend their careers hoping to uncover.”
“And you undertake not to do anything unless I give you the okay?” she said. “And to never reveal who showed you the file?”
Jack looked at her soberly. “I undertake to not go with the story unless I have your okay,” he said. “And I further undertake to never reveal who showed me the file, without explicit instructions from you.”
Gushue got to her feet and headed for the hallway. She stopped and looked back at him.
“I have a feeling somehow I might regret this,” she said. “But I’ll show it to you.”
Jack sighed with relief. “I don’t think you’ll regret it. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t.”
She came back in a few minutes with a manila folder. She sat down on the couch and held it in her lap.
“As I think I told you before, my husband never brought anything home that he shouldn’t have,” she said. “Except this once.”
She put the folder on the table and held her hand on it. “He loved being a Mountie. He loved the uniform. He loved the history.” She laughed. “I think he actually liked the rule book. He liked knowing it and following it and, I guess, he liked the way that it made things clear. Some of the guys would complain about the rules, but Earl would tell them they should have gone to law school if they wanted to be judges. So I was shocked when I found this in his papers. There’s a letter in there, signed by him, that explicitly states that the whole file is all covered by the national security provisions of the Security of Information Act.”
She tapped her finger on the file. “The letter says that he understood it would be a violation of the law to disclose anything about the investigation. So I find it very surprising that he brought the file home. He would have had to smuggle it out of the office.”
“Perhaps he wanted to protect himself,” said Jack.
Gushue turned quickly to him and her cheeks coloured. “My husband was not one to cover his arse,” she said. “More’s the pity, but that was not his way. No. No, sir. He brought this home, I’m convinced, because he had misgivings.” She pushed the folder toward him. “That’s the reason why I’m agreeing to show it to you. My husband and I were very close, but he never spoke to me about this. I felt, at times, after he was promoted, that something was bothering him. But he never talked to me about it. So now I want to know why he did what he did.”
Jack smiled at her. “I can tell how much you miss him.”
She shot him a sharp look and got to her feet.
“Never mind that, boy,” she said. “I’m going to make us both some tea while you look through the file.”
As soon as she left the room, Jack reached into his laptop bag, pulled out his digital camera, and, as quickly as he could, photographed each page of the file. His hands shook.
He was reading quietly when she came back with the tea tray.
Fred Murphy liked to get his makeup done before any guests arrived, so he could sit in his office and go through his script for the show while they were awkwardly waiting with one another in the windowless makeup room, partisan foes making small talk or working their cell phones and ignoring one another.
Godin knew that Murphy was in his office, so he left Pinsent in the makeup chair and walked through the cubicle farm. He knocked on the door frame.
“Jim, how are you?” said Murphy, looking up from his computer. He had a white bib tucked into the collar of his shirt to keep the foundation on his neck from staining his shirt collar.
“Good, Fred,” said Godin, leaning in the doorway. “How about you?”
Murphy turned back to his computer, typing last-minute notes to the script put together by his young producer.
“Good, Jim,” he said. “Just finishing the damn script.”
“Look, I know how busy you are before the show,” said Godin. “But I want to have a quiet chat later.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the memory stick that Charbonneau had given him. “I have something for you. Something on the Meech II thing.”
“Sure, Jim,” said Murphy, looking up again from his keyboard. “Let’s have a coffee after the show.” He looked up and smiled. Godin thanked him and left.
Sunday Politics didn’t have the best ratings, but it did far better than anything else on the dial in Canada at noon on Sunday, and it was important to Murphy. During the week, political reporters were lucky to get a two-minute story on the nightly news. For an hour every Sunday, Murphy was able to go deeper and explain two or three stories thoroughly, and that mattered, whatever the ratings, because the politicians, staffers and journalists who made Canadian politics function all tuned in. Murphy was dedicated to making it count.
This week, the show was going to hit the Meech II thing hard. It was the first action in what was so far an undeclared leadership contest between Mowat and Donahoe.
Murphy had covered the Meech Lake accord, the Charlottetown accord and the referendum that followed, and he wouldn’t let anyone tell him that Donahoe’s position wasn’t news. He knew that the issue made the average person’s eyes glaze over, but once again he was watching a politician who had been foolish enough to open a Pandora’s box by suggesting to Quebecers that the federal government would find some way of recognizing their desires in the Constitution. Murphy found it hard to believe that Donahoe was serious about that, but if the guy wanted to be prime minister, he shouldn’t be able to say one thing behind closed doors in Montreal and another in Toronto, and he certainly shouldn’t be able to get away with lying about it. Murphy was looking forward to pinning him down.
Jack
took a cab home, dropped off his luggage while the taxi waited, and then went to Dunn’s, a smoked meat sandwich shop on Elgin Street, not far from the NTV studio. He asked the waitress if he could sit near a TV, and if he could change the channel from hockey to NTV.
She didn’t look impressed, but she let him set up camp in the back corner, under a TV.
He ordered bacon and eggs and watched Sunday Politics.
Murphy had both Donahoe and Mowat on the show, Mowat from NTV’s Toronto studio, Donahoe sitting next to Murphy in Ottawa.
“So,” Murphy started. “Mr. Donahoe was good enough to tell us this week that he is considering applying for a pretty big job, leader of the Conservative Party of Canada, a job that carries with it the office of the prime minister of Canada. How about you, Mr. Mowat? So far you haven’t said whether you’re interested in the job. Here’s your chance to let us know. How about it?”
Mowat smiled into the camera. “Well, Fred, I hope you know I’m not being coy.” He chuckled. “This is not an easy decision to make. Anyone who following the news this week got some insight into the pressure this puts on your family life. I think entering a political race is like jumping in a swimming hole. You better make sure you really want to get wet, because you can’t change your mind once you’re in the air.”
“And you can’t look for rocks in the water from the air,” said Murphy, who didn’t give Mowat a chance to respond before asking his next question.
“Mr. Donahoe, you told voters this week that you’re trying to make up your mind about whether to run, but then you hit a pretty big rock. NTV’s Ellen Simms had a story this week where it looked like you were telling Quebec Tories one thing behind closed doors and some else thing publicly. Here’s your chance to clear it up. Do you believe in opening the Constitution to recognize Quebec’s distinctiveness?”
Donahoe smiled. “Fred, I’ve been in politics for long enough to know that some questions have no simple or right answer,” he said. “The short answer is no, I don’t believe that we should reopen the Constitution, but I also don’t think we should be slamming the door on those Quebecers who have a legitimate desire to renew the federation. I’d like to point out that my comments have been taken out of context and distorted, and I’d also like to note that I was secretly recorded at a private meeting –” Murphy interrupted him. “Hold up there, Mr. Donahoe. I’ve heard the clip. We can play it again and let viewers decide what you actually said.”
Donahoe wore a sour-looking smile. “Well, if you want to, go ahead, but I’m not really sure you want to be focusing on a secret recording of a private meeting when there are a lot of issues out there, really important issues, that voters would rather hear about.”
The screen was filled with the English translation of Donahoe’s comments, superimposed over his face while the French audio clip played. Donahoe looked pained. He actually squirmed in his chair.
“How about it, Mr. Donahoe?” said Murphy. “Do you stand by those comments? Do you have a secret plan to renegotiate the Constitution with Quebec? That seems to be what you’re saying.”
Donahoe struggled to smile. “No, Fred, I have no secret plan. Not at all. No. Fred, this comment has been distorted and twisted. There is no secret plan here, but what we really should be talking about are the issues that Canadians are telling me they’re concerned about. They are talking about crime, taxes, the economy, not this constitutional arcana.”
Murphy turned to Mowat.
“How about you, Mr. Mowat?” he said. “Do you think the government should reopen the Constitution?”
Mowat looked somber. “No, Fred. Jim is right to say that we should never slam the door shut on Quebecers and their aspirations, but I can tell you that I don’t think the way to address those concerns is through the Constitution. We’ve been down that road, and it was a bit bumpy. I wasn’t surprised this week to hear Mr. Tremblay accusing us all of being a bunch of bad apples. He’s a separatist, and we can expect that kind of thing from him. But I was surprised to hear Mr. Pinsent say that we should consider opening the Constitution. I think that’s unbelievably reckless, and I think it should give voters pause. Let the Liberals go down that path if they like. I think the Conservatives should make it clear what we stand for and what we don’t.”
Murphy smiled. “Mr. Donahoe, do you agree?” he asked.
Donahoe wore a sickly smile. “Sure, Fred,” he said. “I think Mr. Mowat is right on this. We don’t need to get mixed up in this kind of divisive question.”
The camera cut to Murphy. “I think we’ve just watched someone swallow himself whole here folks,” he said. “When we come back, our political panel handicaps the race for the Tory leadership.”
Jack jammed a piece of toast in his mouth, put a twenty-dollar bill under his plate and walked quickly through the empty streets to the entrance of the big glass building where NTV had its studios. He waited there, leaning against a pillar across the street, smoking a cigarette. When Dave Cochrane and Jim Donahoe stepped outside, Jack crossed the street, calling out. “Mr. Donahoe,” he said. “I have a question for you, sir.”
Donahoe had a scowl on his face, and his mood wasn’t improved by seeing Jack.
He kept walking. Jack ran to catch up with the two men, then walked beside them, his recorder extended. Cochrane tried to get between Jack and Donahoe.
“Who are you working for?” he asked. “Why don’t you call the office tomorrow and we’ll have a talk then.”
Jack walked faster and stepped around Cochrane, putting his recorder in Donahoe’s face. Cochrane’s face was fixed in a scowl, with his eyes on his car ahead – a silver Toyota Camry.
“Sir, did you sell cabinet secrets to SinoGaz?” Jack asked. “Did you send emails to Ling Cho Wi? Did you receive payment from him in a Panama bank?”
Donahoe’s face twisted as Jack spoke, and he stopped and turned to him, as if to speak. Cochrane stepped between them and steered Donahoe toward the car.
“Sir, I have the emails,” said Jack, as the men got into the Camry. “I need to ask you about this.”
He stood on the snowy sidewalk. “I need answers,” he bellowed. “I have the emails.”
The car took off down the empty street, spinning its wheels, sending jets of snow flying. Jack switched off his recorder and stood on the sidewalk, breathing heavily, his body shaking.
The car stopped halfway up the block and reversed toward Jack. Cochrane rolled down the window. Jack could see Donahoe staring straight ahead.
“Jack, meet me in the Bridgehead in fifteen minutes,” he said. “Okay?”
Jack nodded.
“We need to talk,” said Cochrane.
Fred Murphy was picking up an Americano and a cappuccino at the counter of the coffee shop when Jack came in the door, rubbing his hands against the cold. Murphy took the coffees over to a corner table, where Godin was waiting for him.
“That kid Macdonald just came in,” he said, nodding to the doorway. “The guy who messed up that Mowat story.”
“Jack?” said Godin. “I thought he moved back to Newfoundland.”
“He’s right over there.”
“I’m going to go say hi,” said Godin, getting up.
He walked over and slapped Jack on the back. “Hey Jack. You’re back in town? I thought you moved to Newfoundland.”
“I’m back for a few days anyway.”
“Did you get a job?”
“No,” said Jack. “Haven’t started looking yet. I’m not sure I smell good to employers after that Mowat thing.”
“Email me if I can help,” said Godin. “You’re a good reporter and you deserve another chance.”
“Thanks,” said Jack. “Maybe you can help me figure out how I got fucked.”
Back at the table, Godin sat across from Murphy.
“I’d like to know what happened with that Mowat story,” he said. “There’s no way that kid forged that police report.”
Murphy emptied two packets of sugar into his
coffee. “It would’ve been pretty stupid of him. But it was pretty stupid to go with the story without checking it.”
“Yeah,” said Godin. “But sometimes there’s more to the news than meets the eye.” He pulled a memory stick from his pocket and put it in on the table in front of Murphy. “This is a recording here of Donahoe’s Meech II speech,” he said.
Murphy picked it up. “We already have one of those. We’ve been running it for days.”
“I know,” said Godin. “Tell me, do you know the source of it? Would it happen to be Ismael Balusi?”
Murphy smiled at him. “You know I never discuss my sources.”
Godin smiled back. “Well, this recording is different from the one that you played on the air. In this recording, Donahoe brings up the idea of Meech II only to say that’s not what he would do.” Murphy placed the stick back on the table and nudged it away with a finger.
“Listen to it. You’ll find that someone edited the version they gave you to make Donahoe look bad,” said Godin. “I have reason to believe that Balusi did it to fuck Donahoe coming out of the gate.”
Murphy pursed his lips. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but hasn’t Pinsent’s position been that we should do a Meech II? He keeps attacking Mowat for rejecting the idea out of hand.”
Godin laughed. “I’m not here on behalf of my guy,” he said. “Look, Greg Mowat is headed for 24 Sussex. I doubt very much that Pinsent will ever get there. If you ever quote me saying that, I’ll wring your neck, but it’s true. Greg Mowat, on the other hand, will likely be prime minister in a matter of months. I find him scary. If I’m right, someone working on his behalf ratfucked Donahoe, who I think is a decent politician, and would probably be a good prime minister, for a Tory. I’m giving you this because I don’t think that’s the way our politics ought to work.”
Murphy leaned forward and spun the memory stick while he thought.
“Have you given this recording to anyone else?” he said after a moment.
“No,” said Godin. “And I don’t plan to, not without talking to you anyway.”
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