from the fax.
“Detective John Cardinal, this is Calvin Squier. Detective Cardinal is with Algonquin Bay police. Mr. Squier is an intelligence officer with CSIS .”
Standing in the doorway in a sport coat and tie, the blond young man looked like a teenager trying on his father’s clothes. Nothing about him indicated he could take your gun away from you in a darkened cabin.
“Pleased to meet you,” Squier said, and put out a hand that was pale as a veal chop.
“Likewise,” Cardinal managed to say. He felt a blush rising from under his collar and travelling up his neck.
“Great job you did on the Windigo killer,” Squier said. “Read up on you this morning.”
“You’re with CSIS? ”
“Canadian Security Intelligence Service,” Musgrave said.
“I know who they are, thanks.”
“That’s right. I’ve been with them five years.”
“They must have hired you when you were nine.” Cardinal sat down on a sky-blue chair that creaked like a new shoe. He turned to Musgrave. “What’s the deal here?”
“I’ll let him tell you.”
Squier opened his briefcase and set a silvery laptop on the desk. He unfolded it so that the screen was visible to all of them and pushed a button; it sprang to life with a chime. He pulled a small object the size of a lipstick from his pocket and pointed. A graphic appeared, showing the command structure of NORAD —North American Aerospace Defence.
“As you may know,” Squier said, “ NORAD is a joint operation of the U.S. and Canada that was developed during the Cold War to keep us safe from Russian invaders.” He clicked his remote and the graphic changed to Joint Command Installations. “Each country built what they called a ground environment—basically a three-storey office building inside a mountain. The Americans have theirs at Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado. We have ours in Algonquin Bay, out by Trout Lake.”
“I grew up here,” Cardinal said. “You really don’t need to be telling me this.”
“I’d like to do this right, if you’ll just be patient,” Squier said. “Besides, Sergeant Musgrave didn’t grow up here.”
“Sergeant Musgrave would like to get on with it,” Musgrave said. “Assume we know about the CADS base.”
“Okay. The Cold War may be over, but the Canadian Air Defence System is still in place. There are still a hundred and fifty people inside that mountain. They still have their eyes on radar screens. And those radar screens still light up with any object coming into Canadian airspace.”
“They’re closing the place down, I heard,” Cardinal put in. “Algonquin Bay doesn’t even have an air base any more.”
“They may move it. But it’s not going to close, believe me.” A muffled twitter interrupted them. “Sorry,” Squier said, and reached into his jacket pocket. “Forgot to turn it off.”
He aimed the remote at the screen again and it changed to a radar readout. White objects shaped like planes throbbed in the upper right corner. “ CADS monitors all incoming traffic. This is just a simulation, of course, showing regular commercial traffic. With the end of the Cold War, the CADS base has found new things to do. They keep an eye out for drug flights, for example. Recently they were instrumental in stopping twenty million dollars’ worth of heroin, simply by relaying data on a suspicious Cessna to an RCMP drug squad.”
A click of the remote and the screen changed again. An object that did not look like a plane entered the screen from the upper left side. It glowed red and began to flash with a throaty beep. “Post–September 11, the most important part of the CADS mandate—at least as far as my outfit is concerned—is anti-terrorism. This could be anything from a hijacked aircraft to a rogue missile. That’s what we have on the screen now.”
“Simulated, of course,” Musgrave said pointedly.
“Oh, yes,” Squier said. “There’s no way on God’s green earth I could be walking around with a
“Detective John Cardinal, this is Calvin Squier. Detective Cardinal is with Algonquin Bay police. Mr. Squier is an intelligence officer with CSIS .”
Standing in the doorway in a sport coat and tie, the blond young man looked like a teenager trying on his father’s clothes. Nothing about him indicated he could take your gun away from you in a darkened cabin.
“Pleased to meet you,” Squier said, and put out a hand that was pale as a veal chop.
“Likewise,” Cardinal managed to say. He felt a blush rising from under his collar and travelling up his neck.
“Great job you did on the Windigo killer,” Squier said. “Read up on you this morning.”
“You’re with CSIS? ”
“Canadian Security Intelligence Service,” Musgrave said.
“I know who they are, thanks.”
“That’s right. I’ve been with them five years.”
“They must have hired you when you were nine.” Cardinal sat down on a sky-blue chair that creaked like a new shoe. He turned to Musgrave. “What’s the deal here?”
“I’ll let him tell you.”
Squier opened his briefcase and set a silvery laptop on the desk. He unfolded it so that the screen was visible to all of them and pushed a button; it sprang to life with a chime. He pulled a small object the size of a lipstick from his pocket and pointed. A graphic appeared, showing the command structure of NORAD —North American Aerospace Defence.
“As you may know,” Squier said, “ NORAD is a joint operation of the U.S. and Canada that was developed during the Cold War to keep us safe from Russian invaders.” He clicked his remote and the graphic changed to Joint Command Installations. “Each country built what they called a ground environment—basically a three-storey office building inside a mountain. The Americans have theirs at Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado. We have ours in Algonquin Bay, out by Trout Lake.”
“I grew up here,” Cardinal said. “You really don’t need to be telling me this.”
“I’d like to do this right, if you’ll just be patient,” Squier said. “Besides, Sergeant Musgrave didn’t grow up here.”
“Sergeant Musgrave would like to get on with it,” Musgrave said. “Assume we know about the CADS base.”
“Okay. The Cold War may be over, but the Canadian Air Defence System is still in place. There are still a hundred and fifty people inside that mountain. They still have their eyes on radar screens. And those radar screens still light up with any object coming into Canadian airspace.”
“They’re closing the place down, I heard,” Cardinal put in. “Algonquin Bay doesn’t even have an air base any more.”
“They may move it. But it’s not going to close, believe me.” A muffled twitter interrupted them. “Sorry,” Squier said, and reached into his jacket pocket. “Forgot to turn it off.”
He aimed the remote at the screen again and it changed to a radar readout. White objects shaped like planes throbbed in the upper right corner. “ CADS monitors all incoming traffic. This is just a simulation, of course, showing regular commercial traffic. With the end of the Cold War, the CADS base has found new things to do. They keep an eye out for drug flights, for example. Recently they were instrumental in stopping twenty million dollars’ worth of heroin, simply by relaying data on a suspicious Cessna to an RCMP drug squad.”
A click of the remote and the screen changed again. An object that did not look like a plane entered the screen from the upper left side. It glowed red and began to flash with a throaty beep. “Post–September 11, the most important part of the CADS mandate—at least as far as my outfit is concerned—is anti-terrorism. This could be anything from a hijacked aircraft to a rogue missile. That’s what we have on the screen now.”
“Simulated, of course,” Musgrave said pointedly.
“Oh, yes,” Squier said. “There’s no way on God’s green earth I could be walking around with a
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