Exceptional Circumstances. James Bartleman
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with Burump that morning other than his warning about Longshaft. “I am light and Longshaft is darkness,” he said. “He came out of the war convinced that man was intrinsically evil, whereas I emerged believing in the inherent goodness of people. He believes in original sin and need for redemption, and I don’t. He sees evidence of communist conspiracies all over the world, and I don’t. He believes it’s acceptable to work with dictators and repressive governments, and I don’t. He was a junior officer in Prague in 1948 when the communists staged their coup and murdered the democratically elected prime minister — that turned him into a cold warrior. He was ambassador in Cuba during the missile crisis and thinks Canada could have done more to support the Americans. He thinks the Cubans sent Lee Harvey Oswald to kill President Kennedy in Dallas. He’s more comfortable working with the RCMP, the CIA, and the SIS than with colleagues like me in the Department. I’m a great supporter of the United Nations and all it stands for, and he’s not. He trusts few people, and I trust everybody and hope they trust me. Now what else can I tell you?”
I have never liked it when people spoke about friends or acquaintances behind their backs. There’s something hypocritical about it. Once again I shifted my attention to the framed photographs.
“I could go on and on all day,” Burump said, poking me to make me pay attention. “I’m sorry, Dear Boy, but you absolutely must listen to what I’m saying. I’m telling you these things about Longshaft to warn you. He and his staff carry out hush-hush and not always pretty things out of his suite of offices on the ninth floor. Even though he’s a fanatic, he has the ear of the prime minister, and most members of the Department are afraid of him. If you’re offered a position in the Department, he’ll try to recruit you and draw you into his web of intrigues. So be careful and come work for me. Together we’ll do great things.”
Soon afterwards, I was on the ninth floor trying to convince a suspicious guard, sitting at a desk in front of a closed steel door, that the Director General of Security and Intelligence, just thirty minutes before, had asked me to drop by to see him.
“Mr. Longshaft doesn’t invite people to just drop by to see him,” he said. “His visitors always need appointments.”
“Why don’t you call his office and find out,” I said, handing him my driver’s licence as proof of identity.
After taking a telephone from its place on the wall, he kept his eyes on me as he talked to someone inside Longshaft’s sanctuary. He then smiled, handed back my license and resumed reading the morning newspaper. A few minutes later, the door opened to reveal a woman of uncertain age who looked me over carefully and beckoned me to follow her. She then scuttled ahead through a warren of deserted corridors lined with closed doors, like a mother superior leading a novice through a convent of nuns, until we reached a large door covered with deep green felt. After pushing it open, she told me not to take up too much of the boss’s time, and motioned for me to go in.
Longshaft, who was reading a file on a desk otherwise devoid of papers and documents, looked up and said, “Oh, it’s you, Cadotte. You took your time. Come take a seat at my desk. I liked the way you handled yourself Friday afternoon,” he said, not waiting for me to sit down. “Especially the way you dealt with the issues of moral costs, exceptional circumstances, and the national interest.”
“I don’t think Mr. Hunter was impressed with my views on Vietnam,” I said after sitting down.
“He’s worn out, waiting to die. His opinion doesn’t matter.”
“Mr. Burump didn’t seem to appreciate them either.”
“You’ve just come from his office and I’m sure he gave you an earful about the Department’s mission to spread Canadian values around the world. He probably didn’t say we have never practiced at home what we preach abroad. We make speeches at the United Nations condemning colonialism but never mention the way we treat the Indians.”
“Or the Métis.”
“Or the Métis. Nobody remembers their contribution in the war.” He then smiled and said, “There were a handful of Indian and Métis soldiers in the battalion I commanded in Normandy in 1944. They were mean, ruthless sons-of-bitches. Not afraid of spilling blood, but absolutely dependable and fearless. Whenever there was a tough job to be done, I always picked them.”
“I take it you’d like Canada to follow a more hard-headed approach to the world in its foreign policy.”
“If it was up to me, I’d pull Canada out the United Nations. It’s just a talk shop for Third World lovers anyway. I’d kill the aid program — it sends our hard-earned money abroad to be wasted. I’d put more money into the military — it’s ridiculously weak. I’d spend more on trade promotion, and strengthen our ties with the United States, NATO, and the governments of South America.”
“Anything else?”
“A lot of people in the Department, led by your friend Burump, think I’m a cold-war warrior who sees communists under every bed, but I know what I’m talking about.”
“Is Canada the target of any sort of communist conspiracy?”
“We Canadians are confronted with two levels of threat. The first is existential. The West, led by the United States, is fighting to hold the line against the Soviets and its friends around the world, including Cuba, in this hemisphere. The second isn’t existential but worrying just the same. I’m talking here about the FLQ and its escalating campaign of bombings, bank robberies, and murders in Quebec.”
“Are the two linked?”
“They are. As we talk, the Cubans are supporting terrorist groups trying to seize power in almost every country of Latin America. If they succeed, the Soviets will obtain bases in our backyard to threaten us with its nuclear weapons. And the FLQ will gain supporters to help it in its campaign to seize power in Quebec.”
In my naïveté, I agreed with Longshaft’s explanation, and told him so before asking what Canada could do to counter the threat.
“I’m convinced our first priority must be to help the United States combat the terrorists in Latin America. The free world must meet force with force. When pro-Cuban guerrilla groups pop up in the cities and countryside, we should stamp them out.”
“Why don’t we try pumping development assistance into these places to create jobs, deliver health care, and build roads and schools and the like to deal with the roots of unrest? Wouldn’t that be that be more effective?”
“That’s been tried but it’s never worked — takes too long and there’s too much corruption.”
“What about the morality of it all?”
“Just last Friday you agreed that, in exceptional circumstances, the usual rules of ethical conduct could be changed, didn’t you?”
“I did, but I came to that conclusion on logical grounds, not on moral ones.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
I didn’t press the point. Instead, I asked him how fighting terrorism in Latin America would help us combat the FLQ in Canada.
“The Americans know a lot about Cuban support for revolution in Latin America. They share that information with us. But they don’t know much about FLQ ties to the terrorist groups themselves. Or if they do, they’re not giving it to us.”
The subject interested me and I asked him what Canada was doing to find out more.
“At the moment, we’re getting ourselves organized. We’ve set up an Interdepartmental Task Force on International Terrorism to monitor developments and handle crises as they come along. One of the things I’m doing is posting hand-picked Foreign Service officer recruits to our embassies in the region to be our eyes and ears and report back on their findings. In your case, after a couple of years training at headquarters, you’re going to Colombia.”
“Does that mean I’m getting a job offer?”
Longshaft