These problems faded as Claire considered again her current position. Someone on the Kingston was trying to sabotage her career by making false allegations about her conduct directly to her boss. Even her new-found power wasn’t enough to shield her from harassment.
And Captain Hall had taken away what mattered most to her.
She stared at the phone that wasn’t ringing and thought about her future — once sunny and warm, now clouding over, threatened by an imminent gale that was beginning to shred her self-confidence, leaving only a pile of self-doubt.
SEVENTEEN
DANIEL JOLTED OUT OF A DEEP SLEEP. The clock on the night table glowed four something. In the darkness, he heard only his own startled breathing and the buzz of the fridge from the kitchen. He grasped at fragments of his dream. Before Emily. The beginning. Ten years ago. A steaming June afternoon.
He remembered being exhausted that day, struggling to focus as he stuffed the final papers into his briefcase and thought about his flight to Tokyo. He had worked two long years at Duhamel, McWhirter & Lin, supporting complex business negotiations between Canadian manufacturers, their Chinese production companies, and the Chinese government. In spite of his best professional efforts, for every entrepreneur who had succeeded at negotiating low-cost manufacturing of their products in this country, ten others had failed, whimpering all the way home, with their corporate tails between their legs.
His office occupied the southwest corner on the thirty-fifth floor of a spanking new tower a few blocks east of the high-end Wangfujing shopping district in Beijing. As with most things there, it looked good on the outside, but he never quite trusted the workmanship. He expected to arrive one morning to see the office reduced to a pile of rubble.
On the very few days when pollution didn’t smear the air with grey and a taste like death and dust, he could see a vast swath of the giant metropolis at his feet. It gave him a sense of power, a feeling of control over his destiny — even in this country, bursting with the energy of a billion people.
He had second thoughts about grabbing the bottle of Glenmorangie. The twenty-five-year-old single malt was a present from Jean-Philippe, his unofficial second employer at the Canadian embassy: thanks for a job well done. His job there as trade attaché wasn’t complete fiction; he did indeed deal with trade issues between companies.
He decided he had earned the bottle, so he snatched it. As he turned away from the floor-to-ceiling window, he saw his whole life squeezed into four cardboard boxes stacked in the corner near the door. Each had a sticker with the company logo, his name, and his new address at company headquarters in Montreal. His overseas tour of duty, a requirement of all mid-level executives, was over; it was time to come back home for his pick of more senior assignments.
Wang Jie, his department’s secretary, leaned his head into the open doorway. He was always dressed in the best Italian suits despite a local Chinese salary. “Taxi here, Da-ni-er.”
Daniel said, “Xie xie,” patted the top box to reassure it that they would soon see each other again, placed the bottle in his briefcase, and picked it up.
He shook hands with everyone in his group on his way out. Everyone smiled. He thought they liked working with each other. They had appreciated his speech at a local restaurant a few hours earlier. He had spoken of friendship and cultural ties. He had even tried his hand at a few lame xiangsheng Smothers Brothers–style puns in Mandarin with one of the local vice-presidents who had the right sense of humour. They laughed on cue at the requisite punchlines and tossed scattered compliments afterward about how much his Chinese had improved in his two years in Beijing. He was proud of his progress with such a challenging language. But, as he listened to his colleagues, he stepped outside himself for just a moment, watched his performance, and wondered if he was just playing a part in a play that someone else had written.
A gleaming black Mercedes SL sedan with tinted windows and, thank God, air conditioning waited in front of the main doors to the office tower. His name was written in Chinese characters on a small card, held by a driver dressed in an immaculate dark suit and tie. He nodded to the driver, who opened the door. He slid in and looked forward to shutting out China for an hour or so. He fell asleep instantly.
He awoke with a start as the door opened to reveal the human maelstrom that was the Beijing airport. He thanked the driver, got out with his briefcase, and grabbed his carry-on bag.
His platinum points card allowed him to short-circuit the check-in and security clearance process. His feet were resting on a footstool in the Japan Airlines business lounge less than thirty minutes after exiting the taxi.
With a glass of California Merlot in hand, he wondered what he was returning home to. Montreal was the last place he wanted to be. No one would greet him at the airport. Acquaintances had drifted away because he hadn’t had the energy to maintain contact. He had somehow fine-tuned the ability to corrode any relationship over the years. There was no one left in the city he could call a friend. He would go to his assigned hotel. The company would help him find an apartment or a house. Maybe a house in Westmount. But he would be less conspicuous with a small apartment in NDG, Montreal West, or the West Island.
But something was pulling him back, unseen but powerful, like a gravitational force, drawing him into the orbit of something he didn’t understand.
It wasn’t family. He had no wife, no children, no family to speak of. The trauma of the shocking loss of his parents lingered. At first, he hungered to exact revenge on the scammer, the trusted financial planner who stole his parents’ life savings. The police said it was an accident on Autoroute 15. Fresh snow. Dim evening light. Driving too fast. But Daniel knew better. They had had enough humiliation. Decided to check out. Together. Rage burned like acid. He had stood alone, abandoned, and helpless.
Fate soon bounded his life on two sides. He initially trusted the judicial system to punish the so-called financial expert. After an interminable process, the guilty was sentenced to five years. Now Daniel knew the value of his parents’ lives. There was nothing he could do. He didn’t want to be around when the criminal was released. A future of happy memories vanished in one terrible night. He vowed to find a way to leave the city. With no siblings to share mourning, he had refocused his grief into an unassailable personal drive. He was sure that it was the intense pressure of his later careers that interfered with any attempt at forming lasting relationships with women.
So why am I returning to Montreal?
It wasn’t his age. Thirty-five wasn’t too old. He sensed that there was much yet to be done before he reached the apogee of his career. He was one of the younger vice-presidents of the company, and his career seemed assured now that he had finished his tour in the Far East, with results that even the CEO had called “spectacular.” He had been promised his choice of plum assignments. But surprisingly, the thought left him feeling empty. Something that he had chased throughout his career was right in front of him, and with his colleagues egging him on, encouraging but jealous, he thought about pushing it all away. His path seemed to lie elsewhere, like a star, distant, bright, but not ready to reveal what lay beyond its glare.
Why am I going back?
Maybe it was a desire to simplify his life. He had worked two careers simultaneously, and that effort had taken its toll. Not satisfied with helping Canadian companies succeed in the world’s soon-to-be number one market, within three months of arriving in China he had taken on another position. He had accepted an invitation to attend a soirée at the Canadian embassy. There, he had met Jean-Philippe, an attaché who shared stories of tempestuous Montreal weather, crumbling infrastructure, sparkling culture, and city corruption. At the end of the evening, the attaché had made an interesting proposal.
In the airport lounge, the screen above the row of wine, whisky, and brandy bottles flashed the upcoming departures. Flight JL 22 to Tokyo Haneda was now delayed two hours. He was stuck. Normally, he would spend the time in the business lounge, put
ting the finishing touches on a presentation, double-checking financial figures to present on behalf of the Canadian client, or calling to confirm restaurant reservations necessary to seal a deal. But this trip existed only to move him twelve time zones back home. With a special stop just for him. He would spend two days at his favourite onsen spa just outside the ski resort of Hakuba: to relax, get a massage, and celebrate the conclusion of his tenure in Asia.
Even being this tired and having nothing official to occupy his time, his brain craved some problem to work on, some target to follow, and he had little experience with shutting off. He scanned the lounge for something, anything, of interest. CCTV, the official Chinese state broadcaster, blared from one wall-sized television, while NHK from Japan and BBC were on the others. The room filled up fast with middle-aged men, outfitted in identical dark suit + white shirt + tie combinations, drinking glasses of their favourite booze, talking on their phones, or reading newspapers. Available seats disappeared fast. The one to his left was soon occupied by a woman, something rare in this neck of the business woods.
She was a tall, wavy-haired brunette. But with his wine glass now empty, he didn’t notice how the glow from the TVs lit up her eyes, emphasized her smooth cheekbones, or showed how pretty she was. He also forgot how he excelled at incomplete relationships.
“Hi.” He tried English first.
She responded immediately. “Hi.”
Now what?
“My name is Daniel.”
She seemed to be debating whether or not to tell him her real name. “Vanessa.”
“Hi, Vanessa. Are you coming or going?”
She looked puzzled. “Excuse me?”
“Are you coming back home or going away from home?”
“Back home.” With the few words she had spoken, he had detected an Aussie accent, or something related.
“Where’s that?”
The answer must have been complex. She paused before she answered. “Sydney. I live there now. But home is Auckland.”
“And what kind of work do you do?” Seemed like a good question to ask a single Kiwi wahine in a Japan Airlines business lounge.
“I’m in advertising. I’m a manager for a marketing company.”
He said nothing more, to see if she would want to continue the conversation. He didn’t have to wait long. “And you?”
“I am, or I was, a business consultant here in Beijing.”
“You were? What happened? Nothing bad I trust.”
“No. My assignment here is complete, and I’m on my way back home. Two years in this country is enough.”
“I can’t even imagine. I’ve only been here for two weeks and I’m overwhelmed. Where’s home?”
“Canada. And what brought you to China?”
“I had meetings in Beijing. Tried to get a contract to market Maotai in Australia.”
“Were you successful?”
“Sort of. Got one contract signed, but the second one will require another trip in a month or so. It’s so far to go. I don’t know how many more of these trips I have in me.”
His tiredness evaporated, replaced by adrenalin, urgency, and a complete focus on her. Her eyes that sparkled like miniature galaxies.
“Are you on the flight to Haneda, too?”
She flashed a smile. “Yes. I’m taking the flight out of Narita to Sydney tomorrow night.”
They would have never crossed paths if the flight hadn’t been delayed. For a moment, Daniel ignored his training, soaked deep in science and rationality, and believed in fate; this had not been a chance meeting, but had been somehow preordained. They sat twelve rows apart on the short flight to Tokyo and met again at the baggage claim where she heaved a large, pink, indestructible-looking bag from the carousel.
They had drinks and dinner at the hotel restaurant.
Dinner became room service in her room the morning after.
Vanessa didn’t learn about Daniel’s second vocation until just before the wedding. She didn’t react well. In retrospect, Daniel wondered if it was a harbinger of the rocky relationship to come.
“You’re a spy?” she said, eyes wide in shock.
He tried to calm her, sensing the betrayal in her voice. “Not a spy. I helped out from time to time. I just told some people at the embassy about what I was doing at work.”
“And did your work include Chinese companies?”
“Of course. I collected information that could pose a commercial or security threat to my country.”
“Does that include me?” She pointed at herself for emphasis.
He looked at the floor for a second before returning his gaze to her. “I did have to report that I wanted to marry you.”
“You asked their permission?” Now her hands were high in the air.
“It sounds worse when you say it like that. You’re not Canadian. You’re a foreign national. They didn’t like that.”
“So they won’t let you marry me? Is that what this conversation is about? Two days before our wedding?”
“I took them out of the discussion.” He held her shoulders with his hands, staring directly into her eyes. “I quit.”
She paused before responding, the tension gone. “You can leave, just like that?”
“I had a short-term contract. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I was tired of the training. The boot camp. The paranoia. The terrible choices.” He held her tight. “It prevents you from forming close relationships.”
Three months after their first encounter, they married. They held a bare bones ceremony in the Church of the Good Shepherd on Lake Tekapo, New Zealand. As the sun peeked through the windows of the church, her father couldn’t hold back his tears, while her mother sat stoically, chanting about the need to start a family close to home. Naturally, his side of the church was empty.
She was the best transaction he’d ever completed. She gave him new purpose. He took a leave of absence from the firm so he and Vanessa could spend their first year together in Australia. Their time became a whirring kaleidoscope of adventures: tramping in the Outback, lounging on various beaches on the weekends. He even tried Vegemite. Prolonged separation from the constant red-line pace of the consulting and intelligence worlds forced him to question his earlier choices. He had more money than he knew what to do with, but work had left him with a hollow feeling inside, questioning why he was doing it at all. Now his life had a reason. He would build a life with Vanessa.
Returning to school was her idea. He convinced her to try out the sub-Arctic climate of Canada’s main party city. It worked well for the first few years. She quickly found a marketing job with Cossette, working with some of their American clients. But the sunny lifestyle grew stormy after Emily was born on a crisp March afternoon. After graduating with his doctorate in business administration, Daniel found work on the East Coast as a junior professor. But Vanessa was through with an unstable expat life. She had other plans, and divorce soon followed. Daniel moved without them, leaving the only family he had left in Montreal. He returned every other weekend, but raising an infant alone in a foreign city was too much for Vanessa. Daniel’s irregular visits to the apartment triggered more fights with her, leaving Emily crying at the far end of the hallway.
Now, in his Halifax apartment, with starlight dimly shining through his bedroom window, he sat at the edge of his bed, remembering the last, precious Technicolor image of his dissolving family. As he wondered what they were doing now, Daniel let a tear trickle down his cheek. He was down to a family of one for the second time.
EIGHTEEN
LARCH BELIEVED HE WAS a cautious man. He thought this trait had allowed him to live much longer than his professional colleagues. “Leave no trace” wasn’t just a good motto; it was environmentally friendly, too. He returned his rental car, took a cab to the Delta Barrington Hotel downtown, and registered with an official-looking British passport under the name Mitchell Gant.
His faint English accent impressed the tall, dark-haired beauty at c
heck-in. She smiled and he smiled back, careful not to indulge in any flirtation. He didn’t want to be remembered by anyone. The receptionist was certainly attractive, but he wasn’t there to pursue women. It would be unprofessional. And Sandrine would not be pleased. At least until he bought her some guilt jewellery at the duty-free on the way back home.
A small envelope was waiting for him at check-in. He tucked it into his jacket pocket and strode to the elevator. After examining his room, he looked out the window at a view of the harbour; Dartmouth was barely visible in the fog. He had packed enough clothes for three days, plenty of time for his new assignment. He thought he might even be done tonight, depending on his luck.
Time to check for any updates on his assignment. He opened the envelope. It contained only a SIM card. He took out his Samsung smartphone and swapped his SIM card with the new one, snapping the case closed. With his phone in hand, he walked back to reception and asked the clerk for the nearest internet café. She was a bit puzzled, since the hotel offered free Wi-Fi, but she pointed to a café in the mall next to the hotel. He thanked her with his best imitation of Prince William (or Basil Fawlty, he couldn’t be sure).
The problem with hotel internet was that he had to identify himself. He had to give his name and room number. Anonymity was more assured if he used the internet in the café next door in the Historic Properties Mall. He nursed a small coffee and logged in to the open Wi-Fi and checked a Gmail account with a long, seemingly haphazard combination of letters and numbers. Yes, three draft mails had been written less than an hour ago.
The first email was short. 12:00. Ash.
The second one said Meet today. Birch.
The third email had no subject. It contained only an address and a time.
NINETEEN
THE SLANTED LIGHT of another frosty morning streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Larch felt a weak heat on his face. He waited in a café across the street from a small condo on Barrington Street, in the heart of downtown Halifax, and only a few blocks from the Westin. Commuters rushed along the sidewalk, leaving moments of conversations in discrete puffs rising in the air. The target should have arrived by now. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time.
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