Murphy nodded and put the stick in his pocket. “Thank you for bringing it to me. If you’re right, we have a problem on our hands, the kind of thing I might have to handle very delicately.”
“I can imagine,” said Godin.
Murphy took a sip of his cappuccino. “I don’t think I have to tell you that if I find out that NTV has been manipulated into running lies, I’ll do what I can to get to the bottom of it and expose it.”
“No,” said Godin. “You don’t have to tell me that.”
Murphy nodded over his shoulder. “There’s Donahoe’s man there, having a chat with Macdonald.”
Godin looked over his shoulder.
“I wonder what they’re talking about,” he said.
Cochrane was all business. He sat down across from Jack and leaned toward him, speaking low, looking out the window.
“I have a few things to tell you, but first I have some questions. First off, are you recording this?”
“No,” said Jack.
“Okay,” said Cochrane. “Second, do you agree to talk on deep background? I want to talk to you but I don’t want to be quoted in any way. If you eventually go with a story, you can’t mention this conversation at all. Agreed?”
“All right,” Jack said. “I agree to treat this conversation as deep background.”
“Now, who are you working for? I understand that you are suspended. Has that suspension been lifted?”
“No,” said Jack. “I am pursuing this story as a freelancer. I have, as I think you know, some significant information. I anticipate that I will find someone to publish the information. I will contact you again after I’ve made an agreement with a media organization.”
“So, you have to shop the story?”
“Yeah. You could put it that way.”
“That makes all of this more difficult. My boss is concerned that people could easily get the wrong impression about this. He thinks you likely have the wrong impression, and the consequences of that misunderstanding are significant. That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re afraid I’ll go blabbing around town.”
“I’m afraid you’ll spread a bullshit story.”
“Is it bullshit? I have read the emails.”
“What emails? Who are they from? What do they say?”
Jack pursed his lips. “I think it would be unwise for me to go into detail at this time,” he said. “That’s the kind of conversation we should have after I have arranged for publication.”
“That makes this difficult,” said Cochrane. He laughed, a short angry burst. “You have some half-baked accusations, which I don’t think I have to tell you are defamatory, and you want us to respond without knowing what documentary evidence you have? I’m not sure I should even be sitting here with you.”
Jack’s face coloured. He leaned forward and spoke quietly but quickly. “Why are you sitting here, then? You’re here because your boss needed you to talk to me, because he knows what I have. Don’t fuck with me, Dave. I’m not letting anyone bully me. I’ve been put through the fucking wringer in the past week, and I’m not playing games with you. I have evidence that suggests your boss was selling secrets to the fucking Chinese. As a journalist, as a Canadian, I have a clear responsibility to get to the bottom of it.”
Cochrane sat back and laughed. “Okay. Whatever. So, do you want to know what I have to say, or not? How about if it kills your story?”
“Yes, I do. What have you got?”
“Okay,” said Cochrane. “I had no idea what you were talking about when you approached us on the street, but the boss did. Once we got in the car, he told me to set up this meeting. He said, and I quote, ‘That kid doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s getting into.’ ”
Jack nodded for him to continue.
“He says he knows of an email exchange between someone with cabinet-level access to Mr. Wi. I didn’t know anything about this, but CSIS does, and the prime minister’s office does, and it is well above my pay grade, and yours, and you had better tread very carefully.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No. I’m not threatening you. I’m just telling you that certain elements of our national security apparatus will be very concerned that you have top-secret information. The minister’s responsibility is clear. He has to inform them. Their responsibility is clear. They have to try to figure out who knows what. And my minister asked me to make it clear to you that you can only have the wrong idea about the meaning of the emails.”
Jack glared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s say,” said Cochrane with a small smile, “just as an example, that a member of a foreign intelligence service tried to induce a senior official in the government of Canada to provide certain information. In a circumstance like that, the Canadian security services might ask that a Canadian official provide a false story, as an information-gathering technique.”
Jack frowned and shifted in his chair. “Are you saying that Donahoe sent the emails with the knowledge of CSIS?”
“That is a strong possibility.”
“That might be an even more interesting story,” Jack said. “If someone wanted to tell me that on the record.”
Cochrane spoke sternly. “If a public office holder spoke about such an exchange, he would be in violation of the Security of Information Act. So any story would just unfairly smear a faithful servant of the Crown. You might be able to live with that, but I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Jack thought for a moment.
“Listen,” he said, his anger rising. “I started investigating this story after someone tried to kill Ed Sawatski. I don’t want to talk about it, but the same people who tried to kill Ed are also after me. I have no idea why. I have evidence that they are Mounties, but I don’t know if they are acting on behalf of the government.” Cochrane looked genuinely surprised. “They planted a fake story with me that was calculated to damage Greg Mowat’s campaign. I’m not going to just accept your word that Donahoe had nothing to do with it. I may be fucking stupid, but I’m not that fucking stupid.”
Jack spoke slowly to stop his voice shaking. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, who’s doing what, but I do know that when I start publishing what I have, the truth will come out. I don’t have to nail down every detail before I publish. I’m a reporter, not a judge.”
Cochrane started to say something then stopped and looked around. He stood up. “Let’s go for a walk.”
They bundled up and walked down Sparks Street toward the war memorial. The freezing wind whipped at their faces and they walked side by side hunched over, without looking at each other.
“Listen to me,” said Cochrane. “If you think my guy had anything to do with what happened to Sawatski, you’re fucking crazy.”
“Well, somebody tried to kill him,” said Jack. “You got any idea who?”
Cochrane stopped but Jack didn’t notice for a moment and kept walking. He turned back and they faced each other on the sidewalk. The wind broke on Jack’s back and twisted at his coat.
“Listen,” said Cochrane. “I don’t know that anyone tried to kill Sawatski, but even if it is true, Donahoe wouldn’t be at the top of my list of suspects. I’d start with the guy who was fucking Sawatski’s girlfriend.”
Jack glared at him. “Who was fucking Sophie?”
Cochrane stared at him, blinking in the cold wind. “I’m not a gossip.”
“Who?” growled Jack. “Who’s fucking Sophie?”
Cochrane set his chin. “Not the minister of justice.”
“Who? Another minister? What? Mowat?”
“No comment. Okay?”
Jack turned into the wind and let it tear at his face for a moment. He turned back to Cochrane. “Do you have reason to believe that Mowat tried to kill Sawatski?”
Cochrane shook his head. “Look, no,” he said. “But I know that my guy wasn’t banging her. And someone else was. If I was looking for a suspect, that’s where I’d star
t.”
“How do you know that Mowat was banging her?”
“I don’t have proof. But we have pretty good reason to believe. We have all Ed’s emails and PINs, you know.” He looked up and down the empty street. “I shouldn’t be telling you this shit. If anyone finds out I did, I’ll be out on my ass.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Jack said. “I won’t tell anybody. I’m going to ask Sophie. She and I are pretty good friends. I won’t tell her where I heard it.”
“Don’t even tell her you’ve been talking to me,” said Cochrane. “She’s a smart cookie. She might guess I told you.”
Jack nodded. “I’ve got to track her down first,” he said. “She’s been ignoring my messages.”
“She has a new phone,” said Cochrane. He pulled out his BlackBerry. “I’m not going to email it to you,” he said. “I don’t want any email exchanges with you, at all. I’ll tell you her number.”
Jack pulled out his BlackBerry, took off his gloves and typed Sophie’s number into his address book. “Give me your cell number as well,” he said.
Cochrane recited his number. Jack’s fingers got cold as he typed.
“I want you to tell me what you find out,” Cochrane said. “Christ, I must have rocks in my head to trust you. You haven’t got much to lose, have you?”
Jack laughed. “You’re right about that. Look, somebody tried to ruin me. Fuck. They did ruin me. I’ll be lucky to get a job taking obits in Goose Bay. I don’t have anything to lose, but I have a lot to gain. I’m looking for a story, a really good story, something so good that I can get back in the game. I thought I had it until we sat down for a coffee.”
“And now you’re not sure?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure. I believe you, though. I might be wrong, but I don’t think you would be helping me, even a little bit, if you thought your boss had anything to do with what happened to Ed.”
“That wouldn’t make sense, would it?”
“I don’t think it would. And it’s possible the same people who are fucking me over are fucking you over too.”
Cochrane nodded. “It’s possible. Look, I’ve got to go. You won’t do anything with the SinoGaz story without talking to me?”
“No,” said Jack. “I have one guy to talk to, a reporter, but I’m going to swear him to secrecy before I say a word. And I won’t tell him anything about who might have sent the emails unless I have some pretty good assurances. So don’t worry. I’m not going to go shooting off my mouth about this shit.”
“That’s all I can ask,” said Cochrane. He nodded at Jack’s phone. “Call me if you want to talk to me. No names. No emails.”
“All right,” said Jack. “Now I need to talk to Sophie.”
Jack went into the heated Royal Bank machine kiosk nearby and called Sophie.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Where are you? Are you in Newfoundland?”
“I didn’t go there. I went somewhere else, and I learned some things. I have to see you.”
Sophie was quiet.
“I learned some things that might have to do with Ed,” he said. “And with you. It’s really important that I see you.”
He heard a rustling, like she had covered the phone with her hand, and the muffled sound of her voice, talking to somebody else. He waited.
“I don’t know, Jack,” she said. “Look, this is a very difficult situation for me right now. My lawyer has told me not to discuss Ed’s case with anyone. And anyway, I’m going skating right now.”
“You’re going on the canal?”
“Yes, I’m supposed to be meeting Marie-Hélène,” she said. “Look, let me think about it and call you later, okay? I should probably talk to my lawyer. I got to go. I hope you’re okay. Okay. Bye.”
Jack tried to call her back, but it rang through to her voice mail.
10 – On thick ice
JACK JOGGED TO the canal, head down, into the wind, his boots squeaking on the packed snow, across the triangular plaza where the massive war memorial stood against the grey, freezing sky, to the bridge over the locks. He glanced up at the Chateau Laurier. It was so cold that the steam pouring out of the chimneys atop the hotel was twisting in frantic, swirling plumes. It had started to snow, but the flakes were small and hard, like pellets, and stung his face.
Jack waited for a pause in the traffic, jogged across Elgin Street and down the slippery concrete stairs to the canal, south of the bridge and the locks. Where only a week before the canal had still been liquid, now it was frozen solid, and filled with skaters in parkas. Along one wall, a row of low, temporary cabins had already been erected on the ice. One sold hot chocolate and Beaver Tails – hot, deep-fried pastries covered in sugar. Another rented skates. Jack skittered across the ice on his boots and waited impatiently behind a young francophone couple who didn’t know what sizes they took and acted as though they had all the time in the world.
After they got their skates, Jack thrust his Visa card at the kid behind the counter and got size ten skates. He sat down on a bench, tore off his boots and pulled on the skates, his cold fingers tightening the laces. He stashed his boots under the bench and took off south down the canal, skating quickly, bent at the waist, hands locked behind his back, kicking his feet out behind him, weaving around the families and couples moving slowly on the rough ice.
Jack skated along the west side, looking for Sophie at the canal entrances near her apartment. He slowed down when he got to the entrance nearest Cooper Street, scanning the crowds, looking for two girls among the crowds of skaters.
He pulled his BlackBerry out and tried to call her but it rang through to voice mail again. He started south again, moving fast, keeping his head up, his eyes scanning the hundreds of people huddled against the cold on the canal. The snow was coming down heavily and hard. Jack wasn’t properly dressed for a cold skate, and he was sweating under his clothes from the exertion, while his head and hands and feet were becoming numb.
He skated down to Dows Lake, where the canal opens up to a broad rink, and a dozen people were playing hockey. Jack skated past them, then turned and skated back north again, in the direction of the bridge. He was halfway back when he caught sight of them. They were moving slowly, chatting to each other. Jack knew Sophie at once. She was wearing her Kanuk parka, with a fur hat and a thick green wool scarf bundled around her neck. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. She skated gracefully, holding her stride to keep pace with Marie-Hélène, who was not a good skater.
Jack slowed to keep pace with them, straining to hear their conversation, but the wind was too strong. He caught his breath, then skated up beside them.
“Sophie,” he said.
She started when she turned and spied him.
“Jack,” she cried. “Oh my God. What are you doing here?”
She stopped, and so did Jack and Marie-Hélène, the two women looking at him with surprise as the wind and snow whirled around them.
“I need to talk to you,” said Jack. “I need to talk to you about Ed.”
Sophie’s eyes darted back and forth. The wind pulled at the wisps of her hair peeking out from under her hat. “I can’t,” she said. “Jack. I’m sorry, but my lawyer says I can’t talk to anybody about it.”
Marie-Hélène pushed herself between the two of them, trying to keep Jack away from Sophie with her stout body. She was unsteady on her skates.
“You’d better go,” she said. “Sophie doesn’t want to talk to you. Leave her alone.”
Jack ignored her. “Do you know a big scary guy with a scar on his eyebrow?”
Sophie just stared at him.
“They tried to kill me, Sophie,” he said.
Marie-Hélène pulled Sophie away and they started to skate. Sophie looked over her shoulder at Jack.
“I’ll talk to my lawyer and call you,” she said.
He skated beside them. “He’ll tell you not to talk to me,” he said. “We need to
talk. They will kill me.”
Marie-Hélène started to speak to Sophie rapidly in French. Jack couldn’t understand what she was saying. She skated faster, her legs pumping, trying to pull Sophie away. Jack easily kept pace with them. Ahead of them, there were four young people skating together – two young black men teetering unsteadily on their skates, their legs straight, first-time skaters, each clutching a white girl. Students, Jack assumed. They were all laughing. Jack and Sophie and Marie-Hélène had to slow down to avoid running into them.
Jack skated around Marie-Hélène and approached Sophie from the other side.
“You need to tell me what you know,” he said, grabbing her arm. “They are going to fucking kill me like they tried to kill Ed. What’s wrong with you? You don’t give a fuck?”
Marie-Hélène launched herself at him then, putting her mittened hands on his arm and shoving him away from Sophie. “Va chier!” she said. “Get the fuck away from her! Leave us alone.”
Caught off balance, Jack tried to pull away from Marie-Hélène. His skate caught in a hole in the uneven ice and he fell hard, banging his knee and sprawling forward. At the same moment, one of the black students in front of him crashed to the ice, clutching his arm.
As Jack pulled himself to his feet, he saw blood on the snow under the black student. His friends saw it too, and froze in their tracks, their laughter dying. One of the girls screamed. The man’s eyes bulged out and he gritted his teeth as he twisted onto his backside to try to get to his feet. He noticed the stain on the snow, then looked down in horror at his hand, which was covered in blood dripping down from inside his coat sleeve.
Marie-Hélène and Sophie turned when the girl cried out. They took in the fallen student, Jack scrambling back to his feet and a third figure – wearing a black parka and balaclava – standing behind the fallen men on his skates. His hand was straight in front of him, holding a pistol with a long black silencer on the end. It was pointed at Jack.
Sophie screamed, a high, piercing cry of fear and alarm, and it startled the man as he fired again, so the shot went just wide of Jack, hitting the snowy ice beside him. Jack turned at Sophie’s scream, and saw the man aiming at him, and saw the muzzle jerk as he fired. He thought he’d been hit in the shoulder, but quickly realized it was only an ice splinter sent flying by the bullet.
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