Ranger: As the crow divines

Sarge, Cpl.,

I write to you from a pub in the hinterlands. I have but one question today. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

My return flight home was uneventful. But on my return to base I am afraid something went horribly wrong. After parting ways with my unit, I found myself in a cab on my way into the Toronto city center. It was late at night and I had just started to relax after seeing the bilingual highway signs, when I noted the driver sweating profusely. When I asked to stop off at the Queen’s Quay briefly, he pretended not to hear me until I made it perfectly clear that I was not making a request. From there things only got worse. He took me down to the docks, but the moment the car stopped, I heard the crash of metal on metal.

I was able to get away from the car in a confused few seconds, and to hide myself fairly well. I can’t say as much for the cab driver. Since Guiana, it has become clear to me that someone has managed to track my movements, living a parallel life. I was at first unsure of whether it was one or more of Mercerier’s men, but I have slowly come to the realization that their involvement is unlikely. That left two possibilities, one of which was only revealed to me last week. My suspicions regarding who killed Deseilligny have been largely confirmed. The papers I discovered and sent back to Calrissian confirmed a base of operations in Nunavut which Mercerier and his men have also been surveiling with great interest. I will not say more before I know where the balance of power lies. The Metis cab driver was a little too obvious a touch, I think.

Compounding my frustration, I am not sure why we have not been told of this new treachery. I note that the two of you have not written in some time and can only assume you are alive and well. I did not want to believe Ottawa was involved, but learned yesterday that my apartment was turned over by someone from the Military Police Branch. After all, the state possesses a monopoly on the legitimate use of violence. But how sloppy, sending an errand boy. It would explain the urgency of the post I have received since Mexico.

I will follow up on Toynbee, but make no plans to return home until after the fog has lifted. There is still hope.

Tempus fugit,

Ranger