24 SUSSEX DRIVE
...the Cold War never really ended it went underground and 'waited
morphing and reorganizing into something far more treacherous...
After WWII a secret elite in Stalin's Russian military devised a strategy to gain political control of the passive North American democracy - Canada. by 1975 the twenty-year-old ploy had been so effective, enough sleeper agents were living and working at all levels of Canadian society to launch the unprecedented coup - except for one element - a puppet prime minister. But with their 'puppet' identified by 1982 the target goes about her business as if she has complete freewill.
But when events Victoria Hamilton can neither understand nor explain begin to steer her previously well ordered life from local to national attention, initial frustration turns to alarm...
PROLOGUE
PRESS
RELEASE: October 6, 1998
Veteran Diplomat Works With
Milosevic In Hopes of Peace
BELGRADE, Yugoslavia – Amid rising
regional tensions, Balkans’ trouble shooter Richard Holbrooke and Yugoslavia
President Slobodan Milosevic concluded the first day of talks aimed at averting
threatened NATO air strikes, concluded without visible progress.
As NATO inched closer to military
action, Russia’s defense minister warned of a “retreat to Cold War” if Serbia
attacked.
David J. Lynch
USA TODAY
PRESS
RELEASE: February 9, 2000
Hackers Hit eBay, Buy.com, Amazon
PALO
ALTO, Calf. – In what appears to be a concerned campaign to bring major internet
sites to a halt, hackers on Tuesday attacked three of the nations’ most popular
command sites – eBay, Buy.com and Amazon.com – just one day after bringing
Yahoo to its knees.
CNN’s news site was knocked out for two hours, the
company said late Tuesday.
FBI
officials said the agency had not yet linked the latest cyber attacks, which
tap into powerful computers to
overload the Website with enormous amounts of junk data. But the FBI met
Tuesday with Yahoo after hackers crashed that site on Monday, and it will meet with other companies today.
Experts
cautioned that many sites could fall victim to the relatively easy assault.
Deborah
Solomon USA TODAY
PART
ONE
…TIME OF THE CAT…
Watching
intently
eyes fixed in stare,
the prey continues
its way
unaware.
Creeping
closer, closer
stalking then still,
the
leap,
the pounce,
the capture,
the kill.
s.t.b.
CHAPTER
1
Ottawa, Ontario, Canada
May 9, 1977
Stan
performed mental exercises to still his thudding heart. His throat burned as he
swallowed the bile that rose up from his churning stomach.
He hadn’t expected to feel this way when the go came. Of all the emotions Stan
anticipated to have when final orders eventually arrived – abject fear had not
been one of them.
He
was one of two men who emerged from opposite points of Major’s Hill Park. The late
spring sun had dipped low on the western horizon. At most there was perhaps
another forty-five minutes of daylight.
Both men were of medium height and
medium build. They were average in all of the outward trappings that made
Canada’s federal capital a sea of three piece suits.
Stan Harrow was fifty-nine years old
with flecks of grey showing in random patches in his curly brown hair. His dark
hazel eyes squinted against the setting sun.
He had been a Liberal Member of Parliament for
nineteen years representing a small northern riding in Ontario. Stan was
married with four sons. He owned a hardware store in the town of Carlton in the
riding he represented. Stan was a landed immigrant, orphaned at birth two years
after the First World War. His expertly forged identity papers stated his
foster parents had been Hungarian.
Bud Peterson, twelve years younger
than Stan, was a Conservative Member of Parliament for a small riding in rural
Saskatchewan. Bud was one of several caucus advisers who provided the analytical
information necessary for the official opposition party to function as a
watch-dog over the elected governing party.
Peterson came to Canada as a refugee
from Czechoslovakia with his uncle listed
as his only living relative. Bud was married with one daughter.
Stano Harrowitz and Ivan
Petrochensky had changed their names soon after settling in their adoptive
country. Stan’s English was technically perfect, but his accent was still
pronounced. Bud’s accent was only slightly perceivable.
The two men had slowly worked their
way toward the central fountain of the busy public park. Their meeting was to
appear as if by chance should anyone have noticed them.
“Bud good evening, good to see you outside
parliament’s halls.” Stan greeted Bud sincerely. “I find this park restful
after a hectic day.”
The two men shook hands firmly
“Well Stan Harrow,” Bud Peterson
greeted in return, “haven’t seen you in a while. Yes, this park is perfect. How
is your family?”
“The family is fine Bud thank you
for asking. Marian and the boys are all well. Jon, our eldest, graduates with
his degree in engineering in a few weeks. How is Mary and your daughter Gail?”
“Good, they’ll both try to join me
in Ottawa at the end of June.”
The men stood for a few moments more
making further small talk about the early warm spring as people sauntered by. As
if they too were taking a stroll to unwind from their day they walked with
purpose across the grass together, avoiding main paths lit by converted
nineteenth century gas lamps.
Isolated
from the possibility of being overheard, the polite conversation abruptly
ceased. They hadn’t had formal communication with each other since Bud first
came to Ottawa after winning the by-election in his riding two years before.
Stan understood why Bud had contacted him and
as this day approached he’d grown uneasy. Over the past three weeks his
galloping anxiety had not been caused by the excitement of finally breaking
away from so many decades of waiting – he knew it was dread.
Stan broke the silence first. “You have
heard from your uncle?”
“Yes finally.” Peterson stated
clearly eager. “We may begin the ‘go’ phase of Cat’s Paw - immediately.”
The men continued to meander slowly
through the park. They kept to the relative cover of trees and mature shrubs,
but took no particular route or direction.
Stan Harrow hadn’t realized until
that moment just how deeply he had slipped into his cover life, how soft and
complacent he’d become. If he wasn’t careful Bud would pick up on his conflict
then Stan would find himself in an exceptionally disastrous position.
Keeping his voice low and deliberate
to control his tone, Stan asked, “Does Peter, insist on checking all ridings
across the country or does he have a specific area in mind?”
“He’s ordered that we concentrate our
search in the west - British Columbia, Alberta and Saskatchewan. His criteria,
is someone in their late thirties or early forties from a small town or city
avoiding all densely populated urban areas. We need someone reasonably bright
and capable in order to be convincing, yet inexperienced enough to be influenced
and manipulated so effectively Canada elects a puppet prime minister taking
direction from Uncle Peter, via
Moscow.”
“Right. Well, we must have someone
like that here now newly elected, fresh, green and impressionable.”
“No.” Bud stopped walking and turned
to face Stan whose face was barely discernible in the diminishing park light. “Ignore
absolutely anyone who is here now. Lippeau still has a strong presence. What Uncle Peter has instructed to set in
place is a complete dark-horse, but someone who can appeal to the media so the
media makes our choice the people’s choice.”
“Viva freedom of the press.” Stan
chuckled. “It is so easy to get them to chase our butterflies.”
Bud grinned for a moment then is
expression was serious again. “Spider
wants a Conservative – and he wants a woman.”
The effect of Bud’s last word was
immediate. A look of unguarded astonishment swept over Stan’s face visible even
in their poorly lit surroundings. “A woman Prime Minister!”
“Yes. Five years from now a woman
could easily be accepted. Britain and India have already paved the way. With
five more years of arrogant Liberal faux pas floundering, voters could be frantic
to embrace someone else and relieved to pitch out Lippeau.”
Stan wasn’t entirely convinced. He
shook his head slowly. “So far, Uncle
Peter has been extremely lucky. But
this plan assumes the Liberals remain in power after the next election and that
Lippeau continues as leader of the Liberal Party to run again. That is a
magician’s reach even for someone as designing as Spider.”
“Have you forgotten how neatly his
first experimental dark-horse was elected? I agree with this strategy. Odds are
the Liberals will still be in power and so will Charles Lippeau. He is bored
with Parliament, but he is proud and craves both attention and control. His ego
is greater than his boredom. By 1983 we shall be ready.”
Bud continued. “When you consider our
present situation there are only two, maybe three men Lippeau respects in his
own cabinet, even in his entire party. The political victims he has cut down
fall like Christmas trees. Only a woman with natural charm and fascination of
her own could unseat him. Only a woman could throw Charles Lippeau
off-balance.”
Stan Harrow no longer looked at Bud
Peterson he looked beyond Bud over the tops of the maple trees in the direction
of Parliament Hill. His thoughts raced and churned examining the far reaching
effects of what he had been told, and then wondered what had not been told.
The plan was incredible, but
required chess-timing-skill. Peter Stanislov was a chess master. If any
military plotter could pull this off it was Spider.
In the spring of 1947, Spider sent his first wave of sleeper agents
to Canada to settle in specific locations. The agents who arrived as landed
immigrants were mixed with genuine refugees. Their instructions were to live
and work in each of the various regions in the vast open country taking
positions in every walk of life.
During the Second World War, eight perceptive
strategists in the Russian military resolved that Russia would one day be
viewed by the rest of the globe as not just a vast land mass - Russia would be the leading world super-power.
Geographic
position, political influence and natural resources, were essential to ensure
that Russia could evolve into a nation that surpassed even the Roman Empire in
scope and wealth for its time.
The eight men understood that if
Russia controlled Canada, then Russia controlled the entire strategic north. Domination
of Canada, brought the jurisdiction of a massive physical area that together
totaled 10,456,768 square miles of subsurface and surface minerals, resources
and water and then modern technology with the expertise Russia required to
develop its own vast, untapped natural resources. Canada’s location with its
generally benign culture and political climate, made it ideal for infiltration.
Children of wealthy families were
the next major objective. Often among the offspring of the rich was a
complacency that accompanied financial freedom. Spider sought those who lacked the hunger, the drive and the
purpose of being. He befriended those who could afford the luxury of time spent
in a succession of impractical, philosophical discussions.
Charles Andre Lippeau, an
academically brilliant, socially prominent and wealthy idealist, searching for
answers and direction to his life as so many of old money - had been a selected target.
But Lippeau had been only one of
many hundreds in three provinces across the country that Uncle Peter had singled out from the children of those listed on
the social registers of the financially renowned. They had been easy to find.
With notability came availability, particularly on the university campuses in
the late 1950s, the 1960s and early 1970s.
“A woman Prime Minister.” Harrow
repeated thoughtfully, his attention returned to Bud.
Bud nodded. “Someone who could be
trusted and beloved, almost like an angel of liberation.”
CHAPTER
2
Alberta, Western Canada
May 9, 1977
Visibility was poor, but Victoria
Hamilton knew the road well. Every turn and dip was as familiar as the layout
of her house.
Though the rural highway was just a
narrow two lane with almost nonexistent shoulders, Victoria still preferred
this isolated route home. The lighter traffic more than made up for pinched
passing room.
Regardless of the weather the drive
was always a National Geographic
photo through some of Alberta’s richest farm land. The tranquil, curving
parkland hills of wild poplar and birch dotted the countryside in random
patches enfolding tidy family farms preserved by several generations.
On this excursion however, the small
towns and orderly farms she loved so well passed unnoticed. Victoria’s mind
replayed the conversation she had earlier that afternoon with Tom Williamson.
Tom had been a childhood friend she had remained close to since their years in
elementary school. Tom had since become a lawyer and Victoria trusted him. She
was sure his information was accurate, but she struggled with her own limited
frame of reference.
Victoria had grown up in an
uncomplicated family, hadn’t encountered anyone who carefully plotted to swindle
others so the driving force that motivated deliberate deceit escaped her logic.
Nothing in her humble upbringing had prepared her for the facts Tom had
presented only two hours before in his office.
“Nothing I see here,” she had shuffled
through the pages of his summary, “strikes any target anywhere in my powers of
comprehension. Do people go into a trance, how could this happen?”
Tom had laughed shaking his head.
“Victoria, when I first went to law school I was green, gullible, naïve,
innocent, simple, a complete novice. I grew up in Red Deer, Alberta too.
Nothing here prepared either one of us for all of the folks out there” Tom pointed to a window, “who
hadn’t grown up as we had. There’s a
host of bent and wounded people in our world who do bent and wounded things to
go along with their scrambled personalities.”
He had paused for a moment to look
out of the office window by his desk to the rain soaked streets and cars splashing
below. “The fact that you find the very idea of a cheat in one of Whitecourt’s
civic positions astonishing – actually makes it possible for someone like that to
operate in the first place. They’re everywhere, but smaller communities can be
more vulnerable.”
“The vast majority of town citizens
are trusting.” He shrugged. “So guys like him quietly live among you ripping off
his fellow neighbors. Being a regular church
going family man completes his disguise. And make no mistake that is a
disguise.”
“So there it is. How you and your
editor plan to deal with this is something else again. You don’t have much of a
legal case as your situation stands now. You have suspicions, a few incidents
that don’t quite jive, a dubious background via hearsay and a contradiction in
advice.”
“This is ridiculous.” Victoria had
objected. “Rumors about Sparks have been whispered around at barbeques and
parties since David and I moved to Whitecourt three years ago. But that talk
intensified into a more open forum since January. People started writing
letters to the mayor and the newspaper protesting their mill-rate. I came to
you because at the moment we’ve nothing to justify the RCMP so we had a meeting
at the paper and decided to investigate to be rid of the man, or lay the talk to rest.”
Tom cautioned. “Good, since you
can’t fire your town manager without just-cause. Suspicion and annoying
property taxes aren’t just-cause. For the time being, obviously, someone likes
him or fears him or he couldn’t keep his present job. Have you considered that
a council member or the mayor may be a partner in his dealings? Granted the
population of Whitecourt is only five thousand people, but I find it difficult
to believe Warren Sparks operate for so long without the help of possibly
someone on staff within the town office or at least one elected council member
too.”
“As for the legal authority Sparks
quoted,” maintained Tom. “And the source you asked me to find, that was a bit
tricky. Sparks consulted with Whitecourt’s lawyers in Edmonton alright, but I
suspect only to cover his flank. However, he saw a second lawyer in Edmonton as
well. The name of the second lawyer was Greg Holden. Holden practices on
another floor in the very same office tower.”
“Reading the minutes you gave me from
the town meeting in question, indicates the legal advice Warren Sparks gave was
not wrong as much as it was misleading and calculating. There were three ways
council could have decided on that contract. Personally, I felt the Whitecourt
lawyers gave Sparks the best advice. However, from what I could glean after I
spoke to the town’s legal advisers then checked back to the minutes was - after
conferring with Whitecourt’s lawyers your Mr. Sparks immediately headed for
Holden’s office and asked for technical alternatives
to move around in. And he got’em.”
Tom opened the cover of Victoria’s
three-ring binder then turned to the second last entry in the book. “If you’ll
note, this portion of the minutes, right here. It quotes Warren Sparks as
saying – he “saw the town’s lawyers in
Edmonton” on such and such a day. Then he went on to state – “the legal advice he received led him to
favor Plan A” etcetera and etcetera.”
Tom closed the book. “There’s no
direct reference in the minutes where he verbally connects the legal advice he
got and gave to council as the same advice he actually received from the town’s
law firm. It’s only assumed and rightly
so by those attending the meeting. But the way Warren Sparks worded his report
he couldn’t be pinned down.”
Tom had studied Victoria as he
handed back the binder containing her copy of the 1976-1977 town council
minutes. He realized she was stymied, but he also realized she knew too much to
step away.
Victoria had taken the binder from
Tom then wrapped her arms around it as a form of shield, and with that she became
conscious of a slight shift. Somewhere in the yesterday of her life she heard a door close. Shaking off the odd
sensation she faced her childhood friend. “The man must be scary-smart.”
“He is that.” Tom had sighed. “But
if he’s redirecting funds away from town accounts I doubt he’s able to do that
completely alone.”
She had packed the binder back into
her canvas tote then walked to a corner office window. From the third floor office
above the second floor dentist, that was above the first floor shoe store - Victoria
saw out over the tops of lower store roofs to the boulevard of mountain ash and
spruce trees that grew along the cross streets of Gaetz and Ross.
“How did you discover the exact
advice that was given by the town lawyers to Warren Sparks? Isn’t that actually
privileged information?”
“It is.” When Tom had grinned she
remembered when he was twelve again. He got up from behind his desk and headed
for the coffee maker on a small table behind his office door. He had poured a
cup and held it up to Victoria, she shook her head. He sipped from the filled
cup. “But lawyers often confer with one another on various matters where
certain expertise is greater.”
“Using a hypothetical case I phoned
your town’s law firm, Downing, Sloan & Whitehead then gave Brian Whitehead
the background on a construction contract issue. I told him that I had a client who wished to vote intelligently on a contract question and
sought my advice. Since Downing, Sloan & Whitehead specialize in municipal
law my call to Whitehead was logical.”
“Brian admitted he had recently
given advice on a case similar to the one I described for another town. Brian
had no way of knowing I suspected which town he referred to, and since he named
neither the town nor the administrator involved he hadn’t divulged any
confidences.”
Half of Tom’s coffee went down as
one gulp. “To carry you, my client one
step further I have some strong advice for your town council. They need to be
more alert. They shouldn’t blindly take the word of one man then vote on
important civic issues on just that basis.”
“It’s clear your town manager runs
everything pretty much unsupervised with few if any checks or balances. With
that much freedom, weak character could easily create temptation of office. And
the council members are only doing half a job if they don’t read up on issues,
or consult independent advice to stay informed.”
“There are so many facets to our
laws,” cautioned Tom. “The wording of anything is key and this guy’s no fool as far as that goes. I doubt that time
and his ego are going to trip up this man. A change of mayor and at least a
third of the council members might disturb his cozy set up…”
“That’s another problem!” Victoria interrupted
lifting her shoulders in a gesture of futility. “There hasn’t been any
opposition to the mayor’s chair for five terms. And the exact situation holds
true for each of the council seats. The same old faces run then get elected
every time.”
“The town is small.’ Victoria
continued. “Every other person knows every other person. Half the population
was born and raised there. It’s no problem making friends they’re generous
people, but old loyalties run deep. I can well imagine what would happen if I
began making an issue of the casual attitude of town council as well as the
apathy that plagues local electorate.”
Tom had smiled again. “Too many
voters believe their job is done when they cast their vote. But apathy and the
misuse of public trust isn’t new, nor is it the exclusive problem of a small
town in northwestern Alberta. It’s flourished globally for a few thousand years
or so.”
Victoria had looked wearily into the
familiar blue eyes across the room. “I suddenly feel very tired. Like someone just
showed me the map of a fifty mile wilderness hike I must start – all up hill.”
“Aw yes, with every new level of knowledge comes more responsibility.”
Tom returned his cup to the table with the coffee maker. “Without intending to,
you’ve rubbed the genie-lamp and you can’t un-know, what-you-know. You’d like
to return to David and the girls and write your weekly column as you’ve done in
peace, but that’s changed. There’s just enough information to indicate something doesn’t make sense. Now you
and your editor are committed.”
Rain washed over her small VW Beetle
pushed by gusty winds that made steering along the narrow road an effort while
Tom’s words replayed in her memory as clearly as if she still stood in his
office. “Use your column Victoria,” Tom had urged. “Start gently at first, then
more persistently. Draw people out of their comfy chairs. Encourage other
residents to stand for local office. Fortunately you have a civic election coming
this fall so you have plenty of time to whip up stronger enthusiasm in the
coming term. Words are your tools. Make Warren Sparks start to squirm.”
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