Uprising. Douglas L. Bland
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.”
DAY FOUR
Wednesday, September 1
Wednesday, September 1, 0900 hours
Air Canada Flight 8565, Montreal to Winnipeg
The flight out of Montreal was routine enough – a cursory once-over at the gate by bored inspectors more interested in their communal gossip than their dull jobs, a bad seat, and no in-flight meal. Alex always asked for a window seat on the right side of the aircraft when he travelled west. It was a three-hour trip over some of the most beautiful land in the world, especially as the aircraft sailed out high over Lake Superior’s wondrous blue waters framed in grey granite dressed in autumn’s red and yellow forests.
Alex dozed uneasily for the last thirty minutes of the flight. The thump of the landing gear locking into position brought him back abruptly to the world of metal and machines and bitter politics. He tightened his seat belt and watched the farms and fields slip under the wing as the aircraft pulled into a tight southerly turn, dropped over the Perimeter Highway and landed slickly on the windy runway. He followed the other passengers off the plane, through Gate T, and down the stairs into the lobby. Alex retrieved his suitcase, headed outside, and joined the taxi queue.
When his cab came, he got the door himself, settled into the backseat, and told the scarlet-turbaned Sikh driver, “The Occidental Hotel, Main Street, please.”
The cabbie hesitated. “The Occidental? Are you sure, sir? Have you been here before? It’s not in a very fancy place – kind of a beat-up area for a hotel, really.”
“Yeah, well, business is tough in Ottawa these days,” Alex replied, deliberately lying about where he was coming from, as he’d been instructed to, in order to cover his tracks. “We’re saving money this month.”
The cabbie shrugged, pulled away from the airport, and cut out on to Wellington Street. “Most of our visitors from Ottawa go to the best places.” He paused for the traffic and grinned at Alex in his rear-view mirror. “Can you still tip?”
Alex smiled back. “Oh, sure – special rates, though.”
The taxi turned down Flight Road to Sargent Avenue directly to the inner city. The driver cut across Cumberland, manoeuvred though heavy traffic out on to Main Street, and pulled up on Logan, stopping in front of a run-down, three-storey building, the famously infamous Occidental Hotel.
“Here you go, sir. Are you sure I can’t take you somewhere else?”
“No, this is fine.” Alex looked at the meter