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It was Boisvert, speaking in his rapid and very formal English.

“I must inform you,” he said, “that the Department of the Solicitor General for the Province of Quebec has reviewed the situation and decided we cannot release the tape recorded threats. We are unwilling to negotiate with terrorists. There is also a question of national security. Given the political climate in the province today, we cannot be sure that hearing an appeal of this sort might not create acts of public disorder.

“We are retaining the tape recording for further investigation, but we cannot allow it to be broadcast for public consumption at this time. In the event you were to make any attempt to take to the airwaves yourself this evening, and reveal the contents of the tape, I must inform you, your stations have been notified of our decision, and warned that any contravention of our decision will result in an immediate and very strong complaint to the CRTC.

“We cannot, of course, prevent you from approaching the press with a story, but we must advise you, if you do that, we will do everything possible to blunt the effects of anything you might claim. As you are very aware, we have sufficient evidence to create doubt as to the actual events. If necessary, we are prepared to voice our suspicions concerning your role in all of this. Furthermore...”

A truck was roaring in Grant’s head. He heard himself screaming.

“You little bastard. They’ll kill my daughter. They’ll rape her. You’ve got to let us go to air with that recording. If she were one of yours, you wouldn’t think twice. You negotiated for Cross. You negotiated for Laporte. If you could negotiate with the FLQ and play their wild ramblings on the radio in 1970, why can’t you do it now?” Boisvert merely grunted and hung up the phone.

“He’s not going to get away with this,” he stormed at Carol, after briefly explaining the conversation. He was shaking with rage. “I’m going right to the top. Right to the prime minister.”

But the prime minister, well aware of what was happening, had no intention of talking to Grant Henry. Nor, as it turned out, did members of the cabinet, all of whom had either already made arrangements to be unavailable to him and the press, or were in the process of doing so.

It was almost six pm when Grant finally gave up trying to reach someone with the authority to order release of the tape. From the dozens of frantic calls he’d made to Ottawa and Quebec City, he had received only sympathetic, regretful excuses why there was nothing anyone could do. A decision had been made at the highest level of the Quebec government was the explanation and no one was prepared to challenge it.

Charron tried to placate Grant. “They aren’t going to touch your daughter Mr. Henry,” Charron said. “It would do too much damage to their cause.” Grant had thanked him, wishing desperately he could believe him.