So it
was inevitable that one day my door would be kicked open and two men in plain
clothes but military haircuts, obviously CSIS, burst into my office with right
hands under the left side of their jackets, “just in case”.
“Are you
Rick O’Shea? Are you aware you may have committed treason?”.
“I am indeed
Rick O’Shea. I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“If you
don’t cooperate you may just disappear. We ask the questions; you give us
answers or as they say in the movies, ‘vee haf vays uff making you talk’.
“We
tracked a phone to the sewer in front of your office. We have reason to believe
the owner of that phone gave you a flash drive with confidential information on
it which instead of turning it over to the authorities, you forwarded the
material to The Globe and Mail.
“Fortunately,
we have people on the inside who caught the material before it reached anyone else,
or it would have created a national crisis.”
(What?
Ottawa paid off a Quebec engineering firm again? That is hardly earth-shaking
news.) That wild guess flashed through my mind.
“Why
blame me? I admit a woman came in here in a panic. I didn’t ask who she was or
what her business was. The less I know, the better. She must have found my name
in the phone book, no idea. She wanted a passport to get her out of the country
and a burner phone. She paid well. I got both for her and she left. I never
even look inside the passport. I went with her to the airport but never got out
of the taxi. If she had a flash drive maybe she sent the contents over her
burner phone. I know nothing about it”.
“Except
Pete Picket said you bought two burner phones, Smart Ass”. And he told us the
name in the passport”.
“Since
you seem to know everything, why are you bothering me?” These guys made me seem
like an amateur. How did they find out about Pete “The Fence” Picket? I was beginning
to think I needed to find a store that sells paddles ASAP, as I seemed to be
without one.
“The
woman, Kryztyna Agnieszka is her real name, works for a foreign agency,
International Democracy Union, bent on influencing the Canadian federal
election, shifting it to the extreme right. The information she gave you was
forged but would have checked out. Publishing it in the Globe and Mail would
have given it credibility and it would have brought down the government. No one
with any sense believes anything in the National Post.
She must
have figured you as a patsy that would buy her story, though she was right in
that we were after her. Maybe you should check some of your clients out before
you do the gallant knight routine. She must have paid you well from the looks
of the Scotch you are drinking. Even better than how Matt Gaetz likes his
whiskey – 12 years old and mixed up with coke.”
“So now
what happens?”. I was wishing I hadn’t lied about the second burner. Lying to
cops is bad. Lying to spooks is worse. My butt gripped the chair so tight that
if they took me, the chair would come with me.
“Nothing.
You got lucky. Also maybe find a better line of work. Something you are more suited
for. I’d give you a suggestion, but you might be insulted.”
After
they left, I thought long and hard about my life of sin, over the rest of my
Scotch. Maybe I should become a TV preacher. Wear my collar backwards but not
my pants. I could put a coat hanger in my mouth, smile like Joel Osteen, rake
in millions from the rubes and live in a mansion the size of Windsor Castle.
About 10:30 there was a gentle knock on my door. . .
 |
| Thanks, She Who Seeks |
