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DAY THREE

Tuesday, August 31

Tuesday, August 31, 0530 hours

Radisson, on the La Grande Rivière

Will woke early, as always. He checked his e-mail messages, sent to him through a clandestine address – an “electronic letter drop” that allowed for contact between Will and the NPA. It was used to pass low-grade security information, but even so, the computer was never out of his sight. “Hot messages” went by cellphone, which were sometimes used only once. The plan required that Will be noticed by the police and the Canadian Security Intelligence Service and the electronic Communications Security Establishment. But if the decoy was to succeed, the authorities would have to work for their information, and Will’s e-mail connections, multiple cellphones, and odd movements around Radisson were part of that lure.

He headed downstairs for his usual spartan breakfast of porridge, brown bread, and black coffee. Afterwards, Will loaded his pickup and drove out of town at 0624, exactly at sunrise, for another look at the approaches to the generating facilities. Part way there, he turned off the main road for a thorough check of an unassuming little cross-country dirt trail that in a few days, by his estimation of the Council’s plans, would be central to his assault plan, and his secret reaction plan if things went off the rails during the La Grande operation. Satisfied that his recce had given him a complete feel for the ground, Will swung the truck around and headed out of town south on Highway 109 towards Matagami.

It was time to check the Movement’s Radisson-Montreal operation, organizationally independent of the Robert-Bourassa scheme but an integral part of the James Bay campaign as a whole. Will drove south in the low early morning sunlight to meet the leaders who would put the highway part of the grand plan into action.

The basic idea was to lure “reaction forces” towards the James Bay complex, then trap them on the highway so they could not be used for other purposes. Several patrols or cells would independently stake out sections of the northern 600 kilometres of the 1,400-kilometre Radisson-Montreal highway, demolish structures, and harass police and military convoys on that road to cause confusion and delay any rescue of Radisson. Ideally, police and military commanders would send an initial force towards Radisson. Will’s units would then trap it on the way to the La Grande by means of demolitions placed on or near the roadway before and behind it, and subject it to harassing fire, causing the police and military to send another force to rescue the first one. Small native units would then simply repeat the tactic, trapping the rescue unit itself on another, more southerly section of the road. Eventually the army’s rescue of Radisson would become a mission to rescue the rescuers: a series of traps sure to draw in ever larger numbers of the troops and helicopters that neither the police nor the Canadian Forces had in abundance.

It was a tactic that had been used with great effect in the Vietnam wars, and Will had studied it carefully. The Viet Minh had used it against the French, and the Viet Cong used it a decade later against the Americans. Will would create for the Canadian Forces their own “street without joy” in the forests of Quebec. Operations of this type required only a few conditions: an isolated target valued by political or military leaders, a single overland route through difficult terrain between the target and the rescue force, and skilled teams of hit-and-run ambush and harassing squads to attack the rescuers from the shadows. The James Bay power complex and single access highway offered the ideal geographic situation, and now the social and military situations were right as well.

As Will drove south through the rough, rocky terrain, he automatically noted useful tactical positions and solved tactical problems, a field soldier’s habit. The land provided many good ambush locations but overall it was far from ideal. Too much of the terrain was bare rock, devoid of useful cover. And while clever camouflage might overcome this disadvantage in static positions, once a unit moved, or was forced to move, it would be almost fully exposed, especially to air attack. Even at night, the army, with its Light Armoured Vehicle III – the LAV III of Afghan fame, capable of all-weather, day and night surveillance – and its helicopters and infantry patrols with night-viewing scopes, would make short work of anyone caught in the open. Yet the surrounding terrain left police and army units little choice but to fight their way along the road. Properly placed demolition of key stretches would hold them up. But harassing fire was also essential, and for that, careful selection of attack sites in this barren country was critical to success.

At around 0920, Will stopped his truck on a small bridge on Highway 109. Stepping out, he walked to the railing, looked over, and checked the structure. An ideal spot for demolition, much harder to repair than a mere hole in the road. But a hard target, he thought, one that would take a lot of explosive or very careful … A smart “thwack” on an adjacent pond startled Will and drew his attention to his unknowing allies, a pair of beavers swimming directly away from the dam they had constructed just upstream from the target bridge. The pond stored hundreds of tons of water. An expertly released, extremely sudden flash flood would sweep this bridge away in moments – the beavers’ revenge on man’s slaughter of their ancestors for hats, and the people’s revenge, using the white man’s dull national symbol.

And Will had his human experts at his disposal too. Experts to handle this dam – and others like it – in the cells he would visit that day, former soldiers and construction workers who were thoroughly familiar with explosives. All along the road to Radisson, bridges meant streams and streams usually meant beavers. In some places they’d have to use less efficient means, but in literally dozens of places, Will’s demo-teams could blow dams before and behind military convoys, washing away bridges and roads, trapping them in both directions. All this havoc with just a few dozen kilos of plastic explosives.

Simply flooding the roadway, without an accompanying firefight or even a smashed bridge, would pose a significant tactical problem for any convoy hurrying along a single road to James Bay. As soon as a couple of vehicles tried to cross a flooded road and fell into craters previously blown then hidden by the water from a destroyed dam, or were blown up on mines hidden in the water, the whole expedition would slow to a crawl. Commanders would begin to call forward engineers to check each flooded section. “Mine fright,” a psychological phenomenon, would cause soldiers to creep slowly forward, fearful that their next step would be their last: expecting to have your balls blown up your ass does that to people, even to the female soldiers of the modern Canadian Forces. Will gazed at the stream as his mind wandered south along the road and forward in time watching his plan unfold.

The sudden approach of a fast truck heading north brought Will sharply back to the present. As it sped across the bridge and down the road, Will noticed the whip antennas that marked it as a police or game warden patrol, probably sent to spy on his journey. Or not. Perhaps he was overly cautious. But this was no time to get careless. He hurried back to his rented truck, stowed his binoculars under the seat, checked his map, and started down the road to his first rendezvous as the dust from the other truck receded in his rear-view mirror.

Will made four stops that day, as far south as the road off the highway to Waskaganish. Each time, he visited cell leaders who were unaware of the others’ instructions or even, supposedly, their identities. In a community like this, though, it wasn’t hard to guess who else was likely to be a committed militant. But it didn’t matter now, so there was no point worrying about it. In any case, his instructions at each stop were the same: “Get your people ready. Watch for a courier who’ll come by with cases of explosives, C4, fuses, detonators, detonating-cord, and small arms and weapons. He’ll know who you are but be ready to be approached. When the courier arrives,” he told each leader, “so will a small team, four or five guys. You take them wherever they want to go. Ask no questions, make no arguments.”

Then he gave each road patrol leader a set of cellphones, codes, and maps. Finally, he gave them all a pep talk and, in case it didn’t take, a veiled threat about what happens to traitors. “Last year a cell leader went over to the other side; they promised protection and money. He didn’t get the protection and his widow didn’t get the money. You know, boys, you can’t trust whitey or the frogs.”

Tuesday, August 31, 0600 hours

Akwesasne First Nations Reserve

Alex too was up early, relieved that his nap had turned out to be a full night’s sleep. They hadn’t summoned him at midnight or some such stunt to keep him off balance. But now someone was banging on the door. “Come on, captain, you’re wanted in the Complex.”

“The Complex” sat within a sprawl of trailers, vans, and makeshift huts, surrounded by a high wire fence – all set aside from the usual band residents and partially hidden on the far eastern section of the St. Regis, the American portion of the Akwesasne Reserve close to the Canada-United States border. The compound provided a secure headquarters and logistical base for the Movement and its leaders.

Akwesasne was a logical base for the Movement, Alex thought, and had obviously been chosen with care. Alex remembered details from an intelligence briefing he had attended during an internal security training exercise. Some 13,000 Mohawks lived in Akwesasne, a huge tract of land on the banks of the St. Lawrence River near Cornwall, Ontario, and about 150 kilometres west of Montreal. The reserve had gained notoriety with both the civil and military authorities because of the numerous illegal activities supposedly given cover by the fact it was, in the report author’s words, a “jurisdictional nightmare.” Straddling the international boundary between Canada and the United States, and governed under laws, agreements, and customs of these nations as well as the provinces of Ontario and Quebec, and the state of New York, the reserve was felt by many police and military leaders to be almost lawless. That this territorial maze was all subordinated to the Mohawk Council of Akwesasne, an elected council of twelve district chiefs and a grand chief, was considered by the report’s author to be a further black mark against it, and another reason why the reserve was deemed the very antithesis of the Canadian ideal of “peace, order, and good government.”

To be fair, Alex had to admit that the governing structure of the reserve was complex. Every aspect of life on the reserve was subject to negotiation and deliberation by all these governmental and bureaucratic bodies. The complexity of Akwesasne administration was illustrated by the fact that the security and policing of this small community could involve five legally separate police services: the reserve’s own Mohawk Police Services, the RCMP, the Ontario Provincial Police, the Sûreté du Québec, and the New York State Police, not to mention other American federal police and security agencies.

As a result of this “jurisdictional nightmare,” the reserve did attract criminals and criminal gangs, native and non-native, who saw it as an ungoverned space where overlapping judicial and police responsibilities provided room to manoeuvre. While most of the permanent residents of Akwesasne were peaceful, law-abiding citizens interested only in making an honest living and providing for their families and children within a society based in Mohawk traditions, over the years, Akwesasne had hosted drug, gun, and human smugglers. The illicit tobacco trade, Alex knew, was big business on the reserve too.

Although the conditions at Akwesasne provided the Movement with a safe haven and an environment where the organization could work and grow in relative safety from Canadian and American authorities, Molly Grace was determined to eventually sweep from every reserve in Canada all forms of corruption and gangsterism. For the moment, however, the security she needed required a few uneasy alliances with unsavoury characters. It was simply a burden the Movement would have to carry for now. Nevertheless, at Akwesasne, Molly and her enforcers were tolerated by the residents because she kept these “allies” outside the reserve, provided money and protection to the community and its many legitimate businesses, and backed up the Mohawk Police Services in their running battles with criminal gangs.

But Akwesasne’s home on both sides of the international boundary offered an added bonus over any other Canadian reserve – almost unhindered movement across the border, and uncomplicated access to American aboriginal leaders and their rich and secure communities across the United States.

* * *

Alex opened the door a crack. “Right out. Just have to wash the soap off and dress.”

The stunned kid had disappeared at some point during the night. Now, the dim light of the half-dawn showed only the outline of the big guy who had escorted him to the hut the night before, the one Alex had tentatively pegged as a warrant officer.

“Okay,” said the voice. “But hurry up.”

Alex quickly splashed water from the sink and improvised a sponge bath, dabbing his joints with soap and wiping off most of the water with paper towels and his dirty T-shirt. He dressed and grabbed his small pack. He felt alert and refreshed, though hardly clean.

As he walked out the door the “warrant officer” snatched the pack and threw it back into the hut.

“Hey,” Alex protested, “never separate a soldier from his kit.” Then he added, as casually as he could, “That’s the rule, right, warrant officer?”

His escort smirked. “Nice try, captain, but this is a need-to-know place.”

They walked across the compound, into the Quonset hut, and down a long hall towards – Alex had no idea what. By the time he passed through a second short hall into a second inner hut, his eyes had adjusted to the dull light. The various sections of the building were, he correctly assumed, separated by narrow spaces between their walls to guard against penetration by electronic-seeking satellites and direction finders.

The long, narrow inside hut was divided into small working areas, separated by standard movable partitions of different colours for different functions. But the deceptively simple layout hid a sophisticated computerized command and control capability. Every computer connected to the Internet or to the specially constructed secret First Nations network, which was protected by a sophisticated high-security firewall. The cables leading to external access points in the village were buried in deep, shielded concrete conduits. Alert armed guards kept the separate staffs from wandering into the most vital areas, especially the code room in the communications centre far down the corridor in the heart of the compound.

This inner area – nicknamed the Complex, after the NORAD command post in Colorado – was at the heart of First Nations Movement. And this morning the staff was fully alert and very active. Alex was taken down another tight side corridor, past a cramped meeting room. Before the door could be hastily slammed in his face, he recognized a few senior chiefs of the First Nations Assembly. His escort opened another door farther down the corridor and directed him inside.

Alex stopped uncertainly inside the doorway. Instead of hushed darkness and a dozen people hunched over flickering screens, the space was bright, nearly empty, and very ordinary-looking, like an unimportant conference room. A thirty-something man in practical outdoor clothes stood at the front of the room behind a two-metre-long folding table, with papers and a map spread out before him. He put his steaming coffee mug on the makeshift desk and waved Alex to a chair in front.

“Morning, Alex. I’m Bill Whitefish, chief of staff to the First Nations Movement.” He extended his hand, and then sat down. “Take a seat. Hope you got some rest. Coffee?”

“No, thanks,” Alex replied, before turning to move his chair. He stopped in surprise. Behind him, in the far corner of the room, a woman sat silently in an armchair, legs crossed, her lap filled with files, looking him over with unsettling intensity. She wasn’t much older than Alex. Dressed in cords and a rose-patterned shirt, she was slim, conventionally attractive, and, judging by her brown complexion, high cheekbones, and long, silky, braided hair hanging over her left shoulder, obviously native – probably Cree, Alex thought. She said nothing and pointed to the chair. Alex sat down, uncomfortably aware of those large, black eyes burning through the back of his head straight into his mind.

Bill Whitefish didn’t introduce her. Instead, without preamble, he said, “That was good work at Petawawa, just as we expected when you were assigned to the mission.”

Alex mumbled, “Thanks … my young people did well … I hope they’re being treated properly …” He resisted the urge to turn to the woman in the corner. Disquieting as her stare was from behind, it wouldn’t improve things to look her in the eye, at least not now.

“Don’t worry about them. They’ll be fine, and thanks to your training, useful in the future as well. Amazing what a bit of pride and purpose can do to these supposedly wild kids, don’t you think?”

Whitefish turned, uncovered a whiteboard behind his table, and pointed to a sparse organization chart. “Later today we’ll talk to you about another mission we have for you. But first, it’s time you got to know the details of the organization that’s directing this campaign. What I’m going to tell you is for your ears only. Many others know some of the details, only a few know the full extent of our operation, and fewer still know who knows. Even the fact that you have been briefed is a secret. I know that you understand from your special ops background that there are government security clearances above top secret that are themselves a secret. So, assume the same thing here. What you learn this morning is not for gossip and not to be discussed with anyone. Got it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. Let me begin with the bare-bones details of the Native People’s Movement, the NPM, and how we’ve built it up, especially after the government-inspired violence on and after the June Days of Protest some time ago. You remember that disaster?”

“Yes, sir.” Alex couldn’t help reverting to army subordinate-superior language in these situations. “I remember it, of course. That’s why I’m here.”

“Alex, just call me Bill. Anyway, we began to organize the NPM in detail once we understood that a serious conflict with the government was inevitable, since the government had repudiated the land settlement and national sovereignty deals we thought were cast in stone. We understood that a nationalist movement needed to be created. The NPM and its tactics are modelled on other successful ‘people’s revolts,’ such as those in Algeria, Vietnam, and the ANC in South Africa, for instance. I think you’re more than familiar with these histories?”

“I am, certainly – a major topic in my degree program and a long-time interest in any case. I assume T.E. Lawrence and his revolt in the desert is a major source of ideas too?”

“He is the central source,” said a voice from the back of the room. “Go on, Bill.”

“The NPM is composed of the Native People’s Council, the NPC, and the Native People’s Army, the NPA. We also have a Central Committee …” Bill’s eyes raised to the back of the room; he hesitated, then continued. “We will talk, perhaps, about the Committee later … The NPC is composed of a select group of chiefs and some elders who represent regions across the country. They provide advice and counsel for the Movement as a whole.

“Early on, we adopted organizational structures taken from modern militant organizations and created as well a sophisticated, secret, business-like organization. We are very careful, and successful so far as we know, in cloaking our operations behind groups and governing agencies legitimately associated with the aboriginal community.”

“On the reserves and so on?”

“Indeed, a member of a legitimate organization or a reserve might be at the same time a leader of a local revolutionary cell, and a band chief might be a member of the NPC, and one or both might be part of some federal negotiations task force, especially if we can convince, by whatever means, federal politicians to let us join or run such task forces and inquiries.

“These crossovers make it difficult for the government and law enforcement agencies to take any sort of action against us without risking trouble. It’s a situation we exploit with some skill … and ruthlessness, if I might say so.

“The Council is supported by three main offices. The Information and Intelligence Authority, or IIA, provides clandestine control over the First Nations’ Radio and Television Network, the First Nations’ Internet Service, and the Aboriginal Media Relations Association. Its job is to bolster native self-awareness and the community’s sense of grievance and to deflect any criticisms of any native initiative or organization by playing on ‘white guilt’ and so on.

“We also send delegates to academic meetings and public events to beat the guilt drum and castigate anyone, especially politicians or academics, who dares criticize or raise doubts about native claims, rights, or activities.”

“Bill, I assume this unit is related to some type of intelligence operations,” Alex said. “Without it you’d be flying in the dark and very vulnerable.”

“Of course. The Movement’s intelligence unit, our second major unit, collects, analyses, collates, and disseminates intelligence within our organization. It employs a score of analysts – mostly former soldiers and police officers loyal to the cause – housed in a couple of innocuous-looking offices in Ottawa and Winnipeg, hidden within legitimate establishments operated by the native community. Its counter-intelligence wing works to prevent federal investigations of native governments and funding programs or any intrusive inquiries of any kind. It also develops ‘sources’ within the federal and provincial governments and within all the federal political parties.”

“Within the political parties? Isn’t that risky?”

“Well, it can be except when individuals and parties need money, if you see what I mean.”

Alex nodded in disbelief.

“Our third main unit, Alex, is the Reconciliation Authority – the RA. Its public aim is to prompt reconciliation between native and non-native Canadians. Its real duty is to maintain and track the maze of legal battles and challenges to land and other claims made by the native community against Canada. It also clandestinely collects information, including records of ownership of farmland across the country, especially on the Prairies. We’re building up a record of all the rulings involving native people, and who made them, in municipal, provincial, and federal courts and tribunals. We’re in effect building a reconciliation invoice of the price to be extracted from Canadians in the future for their decisions and actions in the past.”

“All very costly, obviously. How can you raise such money without the RCMP seeing it?”

“Well, we do it mostly in the open. Our Financial Unit manages three distinct streams of revenue. The first is public money. Government grants of all sorts, available in surprisingly large quantities, flow into the native community every year under incredibly lax controls. Most of the money is spent as intended, but we ‘tax’ a portion of it.”

“Don’t chiefs and others complain when your taxman shows up?”

“Some do from time to time, but they all eventually listen to reason after a visit or two.

“The second, and indirect, source of funding comes from smuggling. Drug and cigarette smugglers, native and otherwise, might not be sympathetic to the Movement. But they are willing and able to pay for our sophisticated intelligence information; if that doesn’t interest them, our threats to betray them to the authorities always help us to reach a settlement with them. They would rather do business than fight us. The payout, though dirty, is highly lucrative.

“The third major source of funding may surprise you. We obtain substantial contributions from online operations. Sort of like political parties, seal lovers, and religious groups, we generate money from well-intentioned Canadians and from hundreds of people in other countries who are eager to support ‘oppressed Canadian aboriginal people’. And since the beginning of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, we have also received large donations from ‘sources’ in those regions.”

“Why would they send you money, Bill? I doubt, from my experiences in the region, that anyone, even the educated elites, cares a rat’s ass about our problems.”

“Perhaps not, Alex. But I think some people in the region who oppose your ‘educated elites’ would rather have our soldiers occupied in Canada and not wandering around opposing them in theirs.

“That’s the tip of the iceberg, Alex. The Movement is large, active, and ambitious, and its funding base is considerable as well. We can turn on the tap, so to speak, whenever we need to by making ‘requests’ from politicians, large and small, and from officials, judges, police, customs agents and criminals on both sides of the Canada/U.S. border. Once touched by occasional payoffs and bribes or girl or boyfriends, we own them. They provide influence and information on demand as well. They’re what we call ‘the insurance.’”

The picture Bill Whitefish gave Alex left the soldier impressed, but at the same time uneasy. Even he had his prejudices. These guys obviously understood the theory, but could their followers manage an operation of this scale, sophistication, and seriousness. They were after all, just reserve Indians.

“Any questions?” Bill asked.

“Well, yeah,” Alex stammered. “Lots, mostly details: how many people; where are we strong and weak; can I count on the young leaders; how does what we did last night fit the grand strategy, if, with respect, there is one. Things like that.” He took a deep breath, then took the plunge. “Where is it all going? What’s our endgame?”

The woman at the back of the room spoke up. “We can cover those matters later, much later in some cases. Today, we’re situating you for the next operation and for a leadership role in it. Go on, Bill.”

Alex turned from Whitefish to the woman, then back to Whitefish. Whatever they were up to, it was happening fast and he was in too deep to back out now.

“Okay, Alex,” Bill went on, “let me put the Native People’s Army – the NPA, the armed wing of the Movement – on the board. It’s not so much an army as an idea. And the idea is simple – get lots of armed people concentrated in important areas, overcome the defences of Canada, especially where the Canadian Forces are weak, then stay there. The NPA is based on several related objectives: maintenance of an irregular armed force with reasonable levels of internal unity and discipline; the development of full-time combat commanders and leaders; the establishment of high skills in low-level tactics and technical capabilities; subversion of the police and the Canadian Forces; and the destruction of the Canadian army’s public image as ‘peacekeepers.’

“The crucial effort over the past three years has been to create in the minds of our people the belief that their army is just that, their army – an organization they can identify with and a source of communal pride. ‘People’s army, people’s war,’ that’s the traditional revolutionary battle cry …”

“Vo Nguyên Giap, the Vietnamese general,” Alex interrupted.

Again Bill glanced at the back of the room. “Right you are, so I’m told. In any case, for some time the ‘warrior society’ has worked hard to gain credibility within the community, and I think we’ve had some success in becoming the legitimate protector of native people and their rights and traditional claims in the eyes of the people. When the intifada erupts, our people won’t hesitate to identify our cause with theirs.

“Once things start, of course, it’s crucial that the NPA doesn’t melt away in the face of trouble. You know, Alex, how overstretched the Canadian army is, but you know it’s a professional force. When and where its soldiers manage to get into action, they will perform effectively, and our guys have to be ready for that. That’s why we knew we had to find sufficient competent, experienced combat leaders to train the kids and hold them together when the shooting starts – ”

Alex looked at him sharply and Whitefish quickly corrected himself. “I mean, if shooting starts. Again, we looked to the federal government for unsuspecting assistance. First, we quietly encouraged young people who were beginning to see how things really were to keep their mouths shut and enlist, especially in officer training programs. Their job, as deep moles, wasn’t just to learn the ways of warfare but to build their own connections to natives otherwise enrolled in the armed forces. As a bonus, as they progressed in rank and responsibility, they gained knowledge and access to government secrets and establishments, very useful during the raids this week.

“This strategy worked splendidly. The Canadian Forces, including the reserves, the militia, provided a steady stream of leaders to meet the Committee’s needs. The government was eager to enrol native people in the armed forces, not just because they had long been a source of good soldiers, but to satisfy the demand for racial integration, multiculturalism, and diversity. We took full advantage of that. The leadership problem in the NPA has slowly sorted itself out as patriots arrived from the regular Canadian Forces and as native enrolment in the militia increased.

“Our training programs for those who haven’t been in the Canadian Forces are not particularly sophisticated, but they don’t need to be. We’ve got a small cadre, mostly former regular soldiers like yourself, trained to use explosives, lay mines, and build and destroy field obstacles, and perform basic field staff duties. Ordinary members only need to learn how to operate in small tactical units, employ basic small arms such as rifles and hand grenades, use radio communications systems, read maps, do as they’re told, and not panic in the face of trouble. Instilling discipline was a major issue and, again, it’s the regular members of the Canadian Forces who provided the way forward. They understand training, and the kids respect them. You know that; you were one of them and the team you trained did just fine. I’ll leave it there.”

“Thanks, Bill, the briefing was helpful. In fact, the simple force you described also describes the Taliban that I – we – fought and the Canadian Forces continues to fight in Afghanistan. And we all know how much trouble they were and still are.”

Bill looked to the back of the room. “Molly?”

Molly Grace had watched Alex carefully during the briefing. She had a peculiar talent for seeing right inside people, and although she knew a great deal about him from the files, in the flesh he impressed her even more. She sensed the sureness with which he absorbed information and admired his poise in alien circumstances. Molly’s aptitude for evaluating others was accompanied, perhaps even caused, by a failure of empathy; she rarely liked those she met, even those she admired, but she had an unerring ability to know when she had found someone useful to the cause, and she had a keen sense of how best to enlist their sympathy and support.

She stood up, walked to the front of the room, and balanced herself on the table’s front edge directly before Alex. “I wouldn’t normally say much more than Bill has just said, but I want you to fully understand how things work here and the reality of the Movement.

“Bill told you that the Native People’s Movement is directed by the Council. That’s not necessarily untrue, but it’s not the whole story. I’m going to take you into my confidence, mainly because we are going to give you a great deal of authority and you may find yourself in a situation where some local chief, some member of the People’s Council, might try to override what I have told you to do. I’m telling you this, Alex, because I can see what sort of man you are and because I think you appreciate the importance of discretion.

“The Council in fact provides me with a community consensus-building device, no more. It serves to involve some chiefs in decisions and that involvement commits them to supporting those decisions. Most of the chiefs know the outline of the strategic plan, but sometimes their knowledge isn’t always … shall we say, complete.

“All revolutionary organizations depend for success on a few dedicated leaders. The Movement’s plans, actions, and vital information are in the hands of the very small, secret vanguard, the Central Committee, those very few leaders who founded the First Nations’ Movement.

“The Central Committee needs the first nations chiefs for one reason and one reason only – our people know them and trust them. They think the chiefs are in charge of everything and so they go along. We may be leading a popular movement, but we can’t leave the revolution in the hands of the chiefs: it would fail if we trusted them to act.”

Molly shifted around and began to pace the room, speaking as much to the walls as to Alex. “The Central Committee never intended to trust the revolution to those co-opted, high-living sell-outs in Ottawa, the First Nations Federation leaders. That’s why the Committee is in touch with some of the best, the firmest, young men and women in the organized youth groups, community governing councils, and healing circles across the land. These special young people are our eyes and ears, and sometimes our hands, in the communities, the essential link between our strategy and our ability to act.

“They communicate with the Central Committee, with me, indirectly by a specially devised system of procedures and rules of contact. For the most part, they wait for instructions and carry on ‘legitimate’ programs, but they keep their eyes open for real or potential opposition, traitors, weaklings, the dissolute, provide information to their Committee contact, and keep the people focused on the real causes of their problems: the white man’s oppression and the government’s hypocrisy.

“Discipline within the cells is strict. And when they have to, cell leaders take decisive action in their communities. Mostly they use persuasion, but sometimes, I’ll be honest, they also use punishment, such as withholding band benefits and privileges or even expelling individuals from the reserve. Our access to resources, including taxing traditional trade outside the white man’s control, is also useful with some of our less resolute brothers and sisters. The point to remember is that the Central Committee is, as they say, ‘the vanguard of this revolution.’

“If we had time, which we don’t, I would take you in to see the People’s Council in action down the hall. They’re definitely in touch with the problems of the people, and in their hearts they know the solutions. It’s just a matter of keeping them from getting panicky about media reports of a ‘native uprising.’

“Okay, Alex, that’s enough for now. Bill will show you around and give you more immediate instructions for the next phase. You’re going to Winnipeg. We’ll talk later. Thanks for last night’s work.” Molly scooped up her papers and turned to leave.

Captain Gabriel, officer and gentleman, stepped forward to open the door and put out his hand. “Molly Grace, I assume? A pleasure to meet you. I wasn’t sure you were real, but you certainly are that.”

Molly recoiled, slightly wary of the unexpected courtesy and the obvious test. His actions were gracious, but her exit was softly blocked. She looked into Alex’s eyes, and as she held out a hand, her voice lost its commanding edge. “You’ll go far in this effort, Alex. I’m depending on you to work for the people. Lead and they’ll follow you.”

Tuesday, August 31, 1838 hours

Radisson

After a long day on the road, Will circled back to Radisson and his hotel late that night. As he pulled in, he saw Bob Ignace leaning against the side of his patrol truck in the parking lot.

“How’s the fishing, Boucanier?” Ignace called out as he walked towards the vehicle. “Never knew you were much of a fisherman. Take some lessons in the army? Doesn’t look like your rods even got out of the cases.”

“Never had to take any lessons, Bob. Don’t you know, we traditional natives have a natural sense about these things. Why, we can catch fish without a line and a hook, just call them out of the water and they jump into the boat. Isn’t that what we tell the government inquiries?”

Will collected his kit and walked towards the hotel.

“Real smartass, Will. Tell me, since when have you been so interested in beaver ponds?”

Will paused, then without reply or turning around, walked on. Mission accomplished so far. He was getting out there and being seen. That was his prime directive, as they say in TV-land.

Tuesday, August 31, 1915 hours

Akwesasne: The Complex

It had been a long day for Alex too. He left the command centre with his head buzzing from a day of information and rhetoric. Molly Grace had grabbed his heart and his imagination, as she did with most people.

Alex’s immediate instructions from Bill Whitefish were clear and simple, yet extremely puzzling. “Go to the stores building, get dressed and outfitted. A driver will take you by car to Trudeau Airport in Montreal. Stay at the Best Western Hotel there, and stay in your room, order room service. On Wednesday morning, use the ticket you’ll be given and fly to Winnipeg, and there take a taxi to the Occidental Hotel on Main Street.”

“Winnipeg? I thought I was here to fight.”

“Someone will meet you there and take you to Sam Stevenson. I believe you know him.”

“Colonel Sam Stevenson! I certainly know him. Everyone in the army knows Sam Steele – that’s what the soldiers call him.”

“He’ll give you your next orders. Have a good trip.”

Bill Whitefish shook his hand and walked away without another word.

Looking back at the day, Alex admitted to himself that he was a bit confused and more than a little suspicious of the various people he had met in the group. The most obvious question was: could these civvies actually plan and conduct the operation they had just outlined for him? But his bigger concern was: could Molly and her sidekick, Bill Whitefish, be trusted?

Tuesday August 31, 1900 hours

Ottawa: NDHQ, Thirteenth Floor, Conference Room C

General Bishop had deliberately chosen Conference Room C, a room just big enough that he could frankly brief Minister of National Defence Jim Riley without the inconvenience of too many of the minister’s political staff or his own staff officers around to inhibit the discussion. It was precisely 1900 hours as the CDS held the door for the minister to enter the room first.

The Intelligence Centre director, Colonel Ed Conway, stood at the lectern ready to deliver the first part of the briefing. He waited while the principals found seats and for General Bishop to introduce the topic – it was the CDS’s show all the way.

Andy Bishop was a tall, thin man with dark hair cropped close over a narrow face and long nose. It was difficult to imagine how he’d ever squeezed his frame into the cockpit of a fighter plane. But he had, and was by reputation a superb pilot as well as a proven creative tactical commander. In January 2010 he commanded the Commonwealth Humanitarian Intervention Force, CHIF, deployed to Zimbabwe under a UN “responsibility to protect” mandate issued by the Commonwealth leaders. He personally conceived and directed the strategy that destroyed Zimbabwe’s air force in two days, eliminated its army’s combat capability in seven, and put a Commonwealth “Save the People” directorship in place immediately afterwards. His reward was the thanks of Parliament, promotion to full general, and appointment as CDS.

General Bishop was also the first CDS in the history of the Canadian Forces to earn a Ph.D., having studied law and international relations at Queen’s University, Kingston, and at Oxford. But he wasn’t a people person. He was considered a cold fish by almost everyone, except intensely intellectual officers like himself. While he was not well known by the rank and file, he was greatly admired by the young, “new model” fighting officer corps he led. No matter his aloofness, nobody disputed his ethical principles or his orders once he had made a decision. The new Canadian Forces Headquarters he had established was, as another Canadian general officer in another era had demanded, “a small, thinking headquarters devoid of administrative detail.”

The CDS would listen carefully to briefings and discussions but cut in quickly if they wandered from the point or glossed over crucial issues, and he was notoriously impatient if his incisive queries elicited vagueness. He trusted only a few staff officers – “Bishop’s brats” as outsiders referred to them, though only out of earshot – chosen because they were well-educated and experienced in the field and at sea. They knew they could speak bluntly with Bishop; “frank unto the Kaiser” was the norm. They knew also that whenever the chief fell quiet or seemed unresponsive it was a good idea to keep quiet as well. Inexperienced officers, even senior ones, had been stiffly rebuked for interrupting the man while he was thinking over a question or situation. Thus Colonel Ed Conway, a senior “brat” who had followed the general through several positions, stood silently waiting for the CDS to speak.

Finally, after Jim Riley had settled into his chair, General Bishop poured himself a glass of water, finished adjusting his glasses, and got ready to speak.

“Minister, this evening we are going to put in a larger context our assessment of the raids we experienced on Sunday night. I want you to think in terms of vulnerabilities, not threats. The native people, if they’re well organized – and we’ll speak to this point during this briefing – are situated in bands and on reserves that sit astride the east-west lines of communications and transportation on which Canada’s national economy depends. They sit next door to most of the major sources for our resource industries and on the north-south lines that take them to the industrial bases in Ontario, Quebec, and B.C. They also sit astride the oil, natural gas, and hydro lines that fuel southern Canada and a good deal of the United States.

“Northern Quebec and the James Bay power generation facilities are particularly vulnerable. The transmission lines from the facilities run south for nearly 1,000 kilometres. They are not only undefended but probably indefensible. On the Prairies, the natural gas and oil pipelines are the great vulnerability. The above-ground lines and transfer stations that keep things flowing are all unprotected. A few kilos of explosives, a mere fraction of what was stolen in the raids this week, would put them all out of action. The natives don’t have to control the entire territory to cripple Canada. They just have to make raids on the isolated lines from the safety of reserves.

“Minister, the threat we face from the native population may be small in the sense that they can’t seize and hold major cities or even towns. But our vulnerability to the threat they could pose is extremely high. In risk management terms, our economy, freedom to travel, and relations with the United States are in the hands of actors we can’t control.

“Moreover, we have few ways to redress the threats or to substitute other things to diminish our vulnerability. We have thousands of what we call vital points to protect and very few people and resources to protect them. If, for instance, we were to stand still, guarding pipelines, the natives could attack other targets. If we were to try to chase them around, they could blend into the reserves and the peaceful population, and strike when we go somewhere else.

“In most of the scenarios we have constructed from the intelligence we have about what radical native leaders might be contemplating, we are in very big trouble. And as you will hear in these briefings, the opportunities we have left open for someone to attempt something dramatic are frighteningly large. This evening, over the next couple of hours, we’re going to paint these vulnerabilities in bright colours.”

Bishop left his assessments hanging before the minister’s eyes, then he continued.

“Minister, I will make a few more comments, and then two of my senior officers will review the data for you. These remarks and briefings are intended to add some flesh to the image of the barebones vulnerability I just presented to you. We must assume after Sunday’s raids that the facts and figures to follow – once the framework for the hypothetical threat – are now the framework for the probable future for Canada over the next several months.”

General Bishop stepped towards the centre of the room, clasped his hands criss-cross at his waist, and again turned and faced Riley.

“Minister, an examination of the statistics for the native population in Canada reveals two general trends. First, there is an unprecedented growth in population on reserves. Second, despite this fact, and contrary to some media reports and public opinion, social conditions and health and welfare on some reserves are stable and even improving. Which is good news, of course. However, many investigators are worried that in the middle distance, rapid population growth and worsening social services are on a collision course. As you may know, minister, scholars warn us that revolutions often occur when conditions are improving and people’s expectations of a better future are suddenly dashed.”

Conway smiled to himself. He very much doubted that Riley knew any such thing, even though it was a concept particularly germane to Canada’s present situation. But then, Canadian ministers of national defence tend not to know much about warfare, international relations, or history. But it didn’t help to embarrass them – thus Bishop’s tactful attempt to guide the minister through the fundamentals of revolutionary warfare.

“In the near future,” Bishop continued, “the open question is whether the improvements in current standards of living can continue fast enough to avert a security challenge to the government of Canada, especially from the rapidly growing and increasingly frustrated young male population on reserves. Analysts who have applied the Canadian circumstances to models of, as they say, ‘perceptions of disaffection’ in so-called failed states, in the Horn of Africa for instance, conclude that the young members of the native community in Canada are a dangerously fertile ground for recruitment by radical leaders within that community. The concern here is not militant protest, minister. The possibility of a large-scale revolt by native people against Canada is, according to these models, very possible.”

Riley broke in irritably. “Models, African failed states, surely this is just academic mumbling. We’ve got programs, comprehensive negotiations, we know they – ”

“I’m afraid not, minister,” the CDS interrupted quietly but firmly. “It’s true that we’re paid to take such notions seriously and be prepared for the worst while others hope for the best. But Sunday’s raids and Molly Grace’s television tape strongly suggest that the analysts’ scenario is in fact very serious, plausible, and immediate, not some theoretical case concocted by defence academics.”

“Well, I don’t sympathize with these attitudes. Our government provides billions in cash and support to the First Nations and their chiefs every year.”

“Indeed you do, minister. And that brings me to something else very serious, plausible, and immediate. Over the years, Canadian governments have deliberately created something approaching a parallel government within Canada run by native leaders. True, it is a reasonable way to work with the more responsible and moderate elements to improve conditions without provoking accusations of paternalism and trampling of the right to self-government.

“The problem is that, if these leaders fail to deliver or are found wanting, as seems the case in some regions, then this organization, this parallel government, is ripe for a coup staged by any well-organized native leader. Put simply, the official native leaders, the ones who get invited to Rideau Hall and to federal-provincial meetings, are extremely vulnerable, and the radicals wouldn’t have to create a governing structure from scratch under difficult conditions, just take over the one we’ve built for them.”

“Sure, yes, you’re right,” Riley acknowledged. “But the dilemma for the federal government is that it has to support someone, even ineffective leaders, even ones compromised in the eyes of residents on reserves, or risk the collapse of years of policy built with these leaders. We can’t just throw out the whole framework for national policy.”

“I understand the situation, minister, but the entire hollow structure that governments have created is highly vulnerable to an internal radical takeover.” Bishop raised a hand to fend off an interruption from Riley. “If such a thing were to occur, it would likely come from someone within the middle ranks of the community, from some generally unknown radical chief, for instance.

“The chiefs and grand chiefs aren’t likely to be the leaders – they’ve got too much going for them to take such risks. As you may know, minister, rebellions and revolutions are rarely directed from the comfortable bunch at the top of the hierarchy.” In a flicker of the wit familiar only to his close associates, Bishop added, gesturing around the room, “That’s why I always have to watch the colonels.”

Riley smiled. “You should see it in my profession.”

“Indeed, minister. Actually, I have.” He paused. “I’ll ask Colonel Conway to flesh out these thoughts with some detail of the facts we face today. This briefing is complex and longer than most, minister, but it can’t be avoided if you’re to get a good sense of the seriousness of the situation. As I said earlier in your office, we’ve been building this file with the RCMP and CSIS for years, but your colleagues on both sides of the House would have none of it. It’s time you got the whole picture.”

Ed Conway looked up from his notes, waited for the CDS to sit down, and then focused on Jim Riley. “Minister, the Native People’s Army, the NPA, is a formidable force, deeply embedded in the native community, especially in the reserves. It is secretive, secure, and very difficult to penetrate by ordinary intelligence means. The force is lightly armed, although after last night’s raids it has added significant capabilities to its arsenal. The NPA, in any case, has for a long time had access to, and possession of, heavy weapons on the reserves in Quebec and eastern Ontario, but the RCMP hasn’t been allowed to confiscate them.”

Conway paused just long enough to let Riley absorb that message then continued. “We believe that many leaders have had professional training in the Canadian Forces regular and reserves, and in U.S. Army units, including airborne battalions and special forces units. In fact, the American forces have been more successful in recruiting Canadian natives than we have over the years. We have tried to track the natives recruited by the Americans, but it is difficult to do, and in any case, the effort, though we thought it was clandestine, was challenged last year before the Privacy Commissioner by the Council of Native Leaders and the government lost the case.

“Our problem, minister, isn’t just that a significant paramilitary force has been assembled on the reserves. The problem is more profound. So now I’d like to run briefly through the main issues relating to the native population.” He glanced towards one of the two screens just behind his lectern as if to direct the minster to his slides.

“The aboriginal population of Canada – North American Indian, Inuit, and Métis – numbers nearly 1.2 million people – four per cent of the Canadian population. And it’s growing very rapidly. Between 1996 and 2006 the aboriginal community grew by forty-seven per cent, six times faster than the non-aboriginal Canadian population.

“According to the 2006 census, approximately 700,000 people identify themselves as North American Indians and most identify themselves with one of 615 First Nations. This Indian community is expected to increase to 730,000 individuals by 2021, but the statistics are a bit dated and some scholars and policy analysts think the population is already larger than measured and will increase more dramatically by 2012.

“Approximately forty per cent of the population live on one of the 2,720 reserves of vastly different sizes that are scattered across Canada. The strongest concentrations, more than forty-eight per cent of the total Indian population, live on reserves in Manitoba and Saskatchewan.

“In 2006, the median age in the national Indian population was twenty-five. In other words, exactly half the population is older and half is younger than twenty-five. The norm in the general Canadian population is forty. The on-reserve population is very young – thirty-four per cent are children under fourteen years of age.

“Although there are exceptions, as you know, the majority of the natives on reserves live in miserable conditions, are poorly educated, and have few employment opportunities on and near the reserves. The 55,000 young people between fifteen and twenty-four years of age – that’s a full twenty per cent of the on-reserve population – present a looming problem for education and health and employment planners everywhere, but it’s greatest in the Prairie provinces. They present also a significant potential threat to national security and public safety.

“Now let me turn to the other segment, the off-reserve Indians, who represent some sixty per cent of the total Indian population. Off-reserve aboriginals include individuals residing on non-reserve rural land and individuals residing in Canadian cities. Of these two groups, the populations in cities make up the largest concentrations of native people anywhere in Canada, on or off reserves.

“Winnipeg, for example, contains more than 26,000 First Nations people and Vancouver and Edmonton each have more than 20,000 within their boundaries. In the smaller cities on the Prairies, the concentrations are even greater. In Thompson, Manitoba, and in Prince Albert and North Battleford, Saskatchewan, for example, fifteen to thirty per cent of the total population is Indian. These figures, of course, are dynamic, but the trend is toward increasing concentrations of these large urban, generally young populations in identifiable sections of the cities. Again, minister, the figures are not always trustworthy, especially in this case as many of the young people don’t exactly take to filling in census forms and so on. So we’re guessing about how many kids are in the urban populations.

“The problem of disaffected youth, both with natives and non-natives, is related to poverty and lack of education; however, these issues are of particular concern in the native population. As you well understand, there is a strong correlation between success in school and future employment. School enrolment for all natives between the ages of six and sixteen has remained stable at around eighty-six per cent since 1990. However, high school graduation rates on reserves remain low.

“For instance, on Manitoba reserves, only thirty per cent of aboriginals between twenty and twenty-four have completed high school. Among Canadians generally – including off-reserve natives – eighty-four per cent of the same cohort have completed high school. The general failure of young people on reserves to finish high school has an inevitable negative impact on their individual lives, of course. But it also has a cumulative wasting effect on the reserve community. Failure in school leads to failure in the work place, which leads to frustration and grievances, which leads to security vulnerabilities for the individual, the community, and the nation. It’s no exaggeration in the context of on-reserve natives to speak of a ‘lost generation’ or more realistically about an unrecoverable, lost society.”

Ed Conway took a breath. “Gentlemen,” he said, “there is some cautionary good news in the data. Post-secondary enrolment rates remain low as well, but show marked improvement from historic figures. Today, the number possessing post-secondary degrees has increased dramatically.”

“At least,” Riley put in, “they offer role models for youth.”

“Unfortunately, minister, while the data does show that these people are better off in many ways, it shows also that better-educated natives don’t just leave the reserves but they tend to live outside urban aboriginal communities once they have completed their studies. That out-migration, in turn, leaves the worse-off, the uneducated young people, perhaps the most aggrieved, on the reserves and in the inner-city slums. It creates unbalanced communities, at least by Canadian standards.

“Sir, the employment figures support these general observations. Unemployment for on-reserve Indians remains far higher than the rest of the population, at 27.6 per cent. The unemployment rate of off-reserve Indians is markedly lower but, at 16.5 per cent, still over twice the general figure. The unemployment rate for fifteen- to twenty-four-year-olds, the most vulnerable group for radical propaganda and recruitment and therefore the main security concern for the Canadian Forces and the police, is 40.1 per cent on-reserve, against 9.2 per cent national average. This is indeed a worrying fact as native leaders have repeatedly pointed out over the years.

“Minister, General Bishop, that concludes my portion of the briefing.”

As Riley began to lift his hand the CDS cut in quickly. “If you agree, minister, I suggest we go right into the next briefing. I’ve asked Colonel Ian Dobson, the Director of the National Defence Operations Centre, to cover the criminal native gangs aspects of this situation for you. Then we can move to your office to handle any questions and consider our planning options.”

Riley reached for his water glass. “Sure, fine, whatever you suggest. It’s a lot of information at once. And it’s not good news, you know, especially the way you guys think of things – what’s the old saw? For soldiers, nothing is ever safe enough.”

Riley took a drink and turned towards the next briefing officer. Bishop’s lean jaw clenched perceptibly.

Ian Dobson adjusted his reading glasses and took his classified notes from a folder. “Minister, there is another series of details you need to know. They’re related, as General Bishop suggested, to the sometimes conflicted relationship between NPA and native gangs, or what officials term Aboriginal-Based Organized Crime, ABOC.”

Riley nodded, relieved by the change of topic, even to this unpleasant subject.

“The Canadian Criminal Intelligence Service reported recently that native gangs are a serious, growing threat to Canadian society. They are young, armed, and ruthless. They differ in structure from region to region: more like conventional organized crime in the East, especially along the Ontario/Quebec/U.S. borders, where the main business is smuggling.

“In the West,” Dobson continued as a new PowerPoint presentation appeared on the screen, “they’re typical violent street gangs of young men attracted by excitement and a sense of belonging, likely to work for organized crime groups in a kind of adjunct and subordinate relationship. In Alberta the main gangs – the Red Alert, the Indian Posse, and the Alberta Warriors – are based mainly in Edmonton and Calgary. In Saskatchewan, the Native Syndicate has control of the action in Regina while the Indian Posse works out of Saskatoon. And in Manitoba, the main gangs are the Manitoba Warriors, the Indian Posse, and the Native Syndicate. They are – ”

Riley interrupted. “Are these gangs with the same names part of a bigger organization, like say the Hells Angels? When I was in the Manitoba government, the gangs were a bother, but not the national security threat you seem to be suggesting here.”

“The gangs, minister, are loosely related, but very much locally controlled. They work together to transport drugs and weapons for instance, but they are territorial.”

“Thank you, please go on.”

“The gangs are recruited from local populations, thus tending to be band- or clan-oriented, which increases their appeal to young people and their internal cohesion and loyalty. Recruiters target young people drifting into the cities, and others in community centres and correctional institutions – police refer to the jails as gangland community colleges. Of course, the recruiters are active on the reserves.

“In every province except Newfoundland, gangs are expanding into smaller towns and recruiting more aggressively, creating successor generations of members. Expansion, competition for ‘trade’ and new members, and a general sense that they are untouchable due to the, uh, political optics of aboriginal issues, is increasing the number of incidents and the level of violent behaviour, and it is spilling over into peaceful, settled communities. Police, courts, and jails are struggling to address the problem. In most provinces, but especially in the West, many prisons are dominated by native gangs and cults. They are very dangerous places.

“The gangs have typically been motivated by the usual factors: money, status, and inter-gang power struggles. They are fed by drug- and gun-running profits, prostitution of white and native boys and girls, petty crimes, ‘debt collections,’ and intimidation – ‘tax collection’ it’s called on the street. Until recently there has been little sign of any political motives or orientation in the West, but some officials suggest that this fact may be changing.

“In the East, the gangs are more entrepreneurial and actually run large networks of drug, booze, tobacco, and firearms smuggling; they also launder money on a significant scale. And, like the reserves in the West, they provide tax-fraud havens for these and other illegal activities.

“Nevertheless, minister, the NPA and our own security forces may be running behind the actual development of some of these gangs. They may be reaching a stage of evolution, so to speak, where they will challenge both organizations.” Dobson flipped to a new set of charts and maps.

“There are strong indications that some of the gangs are evolving into political organizations. That’s to say, they’re beginning to take an interest in political power as a way to advance their interests.”

“You mean,” Riley interjected, “they’re bribing politicians and so on?”

“Yes, they do that, of course, but what is happening is that gang leaders are using their so-called street smarts to build alliances with other gangs, and in the case of the native gangs, to organize gang territories under a type of congress of leaders from various gangs. These, what some investigators call ‘third-generation gangs,’ work together to divide market shares and to dominate larger and larger territories. In cities such as Winnipeg, these third-generation gangs may already be in existence.”

Jim Riley, unfailingly sensitive to matters connected with his riding, pointed to the slide. “Are there concrete examples where this is occurring? You have Winnipeg on your map. I know we have gang problems in Winnipeg. Are you suggesting we have, what did you call them, third-generation gangs there?”

“Yes, sir. These gangs now have virtually total control in several areas of the country – or at least ungoverned or contested spaces in many areas. In Ontario, the bands along Lake Ontario east to the Quebec border have a strong grip on the reserves in the area and are expanding into the rural community. The same is true in Quebec, especially along the St. Lawrence and near Montreal. The reserves in the north of most provinces are fast coming under gang political control and we can see this in the voting patterns for some chiefs – many are gang-related or supported, and voting is rigged more or less.

“Minister, many gang leaders have become popular figures. They dole out just enough cash and benefits to satisfy the poor native community – kind of bread and circuses – and ‘tax’ the legitimate native businesses in the zone, but not so much as to cause them to shut down. Every day they dig themselves into stronger positions.”

Riley took a sip of water, set his glass down carefully, took a deep breath. “Well, that’s a lot of info for one meeting. Look, we’ve created a sprawling bureaucracy to chase these Islamist terrorists, wild Indian kids, and the motorcycle gangs – I mean, Christ, we have the Department of Public Safety, how many people work in that maze? We have threat centres, cyber centres, operations centres, critical infrastructure protection centres, federal-provincial municipal conferences of ministers, Canada-wide policy networks. We just got rid of the gun registry, we have people in hazmat suits all over the place … yet you guys are still painting a picture of wide-scale insecurity …”

The CDS started to speak, but Riley waved him off.

“General, I know something about business and organization – might seem boring to you guys, but if I have a competitor who is fast and agile like this NPM and these gangs, I sure as hell wouldn’t build a big blundering organization to beat him. That’s what we have in Ottawa, battalions of committees – bureaucracy, public bureaucracy. People chasing budgets when they should be chasing bandits. How on earth is a big whole-of-government organization going to outpace an adroit, decentralized bunch like we are up against?

“As I said, that’s an impressive load of data; all that about the native demographics and such. But how can you be sure of the outcome? What makes you sure we are facing a threat of any scale? I mean, the raids were certainly serious, ominous even, but … a threat to the nation?”

The room fell silent. Everyone knew that only General Bishop could respond.

“Minister,” he began, “I have a great deal of sympathy for your point of view. My worry is that very few national leaders, or opinion makers, or members of the courts, seem willing to accept the central notion that as a first principle a liberal democracy has the right to defend itself against anti-democratic elements in its midst. So, minister, we do what we can within the limits our culture and democratic ways spell out for us. But I believe the evidence and this week’s events more than suggest that we are indeed facing a national security threat that for whatever reasons is being encouraged and directed by elements in our aboriginal community. I know also that if the native community actively joined such a movement, we do not have the military or police forces to address a nation-wide insurrection.”

Riley chose not to pursue the argument. “Well, I hope you’re wrong, General Bishop.”

Andy Bishop paused and looked Jim Riley in the eye. “Let me be absolutely clear, minister. You and the government will know exactly what we know, starting with this briefing. I expect directions from the government that are clear and appropriate. I want you to carry that message to the prime minister or I will take it to him myself. I apologize for my bluntness, James, but this is a damn mess and it’s going to get a lot worse.”

Jim Riley swallowed hard, twice, then stepped up and extended his hand to Bishop, “Thanks, Andy. I appreciate your bluntness. I promise you that I’ll speak directly and frankly to the prime minister and impress on him the seriousness of the situation. I am sure he’ll want to hear from you directly in short order; I’ll make sure he does.”

The minister of national defence looked around the room. “One thing I want you and your officers to understand, general. I’m a Canadian too, and more to the point, one of the places you’re talking about – Manitoba’s Inter-Lakes region – that’s my home and has been my family’s home for generations. No one’s going to drive us off our land anytime soon. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can speak with the PMO.”