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picking up a minor scoop in the bedroom of the Conservative party whip, he decided to invite her for lunch, planning to take her temperature, size her up better, and, most of all, let her know that he was damned pleased with her work, very impressed, let her know that he was 100 per cent behind her. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was the only approach he thought might be helpful – to let her know that he had her back. Maybe, over time, this positive reinforcement would take the edge off her frantic ambition. Maybe he could show her how he worked, how he developed relationships with sources, over decades, always playing it honest. Not nice, but honest. He would put the knife in if he had to, but he would put it in the belly, not the back, explaining calmly why he had to do it as he slid it in. It was the story. Nothing could get in the way of the story. It was business, and the smart ones understood that, and the stupid ones usually didn’t know much of anything anyway. He thought that if she could learn how the long game was played, he might be able to come to trust her.
    “How the hell are you, superstar?” he said as she settled in. “What do you know?”
    She gave him the big smile, the heartbreaker, and plopped a BlackBerry and an iPhone on the table in front of her.
    “I’m great,” she said, giving her shoulders a little shimmy. “You know, chasing stories, breaking hearts, having fun.”
    He laughed and it crossed his mind that maybe he worried about her too much.
    “Take it easy on them, kid,” he said. “You don’t have to kill every fucking fish the first time you go to the lake.”
    They laughed together.
    “Reminds me of a joke,” he said. “It’s a bit, uh, spicy, but with your permission.”
    “My favourite kind,” she said, and smiled as if she meant it.
    “Well, there’s an old buffalo and a young buffalo up at the top of a bluff in Saskatchewan,” he said. “And what do they see? A herd of lovely buffalo cows, real beauties, chewing on the grass, looking pretty as buffalo cows can look. Real hotties, eh. The young buffalo gets all excited, he starts prancing on the spot. The old buffalo turns to him, says ‘What are you getting so excited about, young fellow?’ The young buffalo looks up at him, says, ‘Look at all them beautiful cows down there! Just look at them. Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s run down there and fuck one of them!’ ”
    He smiled, getting ready for the punchline, when her BlackBerry rang, its screen flashed. Murphy could read the upside-down call display: Ismael Balusi.
    She grimaced, showing her perfect teeth.
    “Oh my God,” she said. “Sorry. Shit. I really have to take this. It could be big. Excuse me.”
    She got up from the table and he watched her walk away, talking, gesturing with her free hand.
    She looked nervous when she came back two minutes later. She took a long drink of wine.
    “I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’m really sorry. I just got a tip, a big story.”
    He put on his game face.
    “What’s the story?” he said.
    “I’ve promised to hold it until 2 p.m.,” she said and looked at her watch. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t say a word to anybody.”
    She stared at him.
    “It’s big,” she said.
    He scowled.
    “All right,” he said. “I promise, goddamn it. What is it?”
    She drained her wine.
    “Stevens is quitting,” she said. “He’s announcing it today.”

2 – PINs and needles
    I SMAEL B ALUSI STROLLED out of Stevens’s suite of offices on the second floor of the Centre Block just before 2 p.m. and the start of Question Period. He looked down over the stone railing into the foyer of the House of Commons and watched as Ellen Simms and a cameraman set themselves up in front of the elaborately carved wooden doors that lead to the chamber. Simms shooed away a print reporter who was standing in the background of her shot and started a live stand-up. Balusi slipped back into his office to