SURROGACY IN CANADA

"Like a lot of things in this country, Mr. Tuello, surrogacy is federally defined, but provincially regulated. Far be it for me to remind you that it is you who's the guest up here."

This had been Ryan Wheeler's first visit to the American Consulate building in Toronto. As a Canadian, Wheeler simply had no cause otherwise to pay the place any mind.

Until now.

"What are you doing here?" Tuello asked. "You really believe you have a surrogacy claim on Noah Waterford?"

"I do," which Wheeler immediately corrected to, "we do." Lifting his briefcase, Wheeler added, "the forms I have here refer to the baby as 'Noah Wheeler', and I would appreciate it if you did, too."

Tuello tapped a few clicks on his laptop, careful that Wheeler could not see the files as they opened.

Tuello then said, "ok, I'm not a lawyer, I'm certainly not a Canadian family-lawyer, but I'll give you one thing," Tuello conceded. "If either Mrs. Waterford or the baby had remained in Quebec, surrogacy would be off the table."

"Which is why," Wheeler explained, "we had the two transferred to Toronto as soon as practical."

'The nerve of the guy,' Tuello thought. 'He thinks it was him who transferred the two Waterfords to Toronto from Montreal.' However, Tuello marveled at Wheeler's deftness. Not just his obvious networks, but his ability to mobilize bureaucracy. Typical Canadian. Canadians could teach Americans a lot about that, Tuello conceded.

Wheeler then spoke in an even more business-like manner, "that's neither here nor there anyway, our paperwork originated from here. Ontario. As it is, the compelling thing in Canada is that our arrangement with Mrs. Waterford was…. er, is not-for-profit."

Tuello became animated. "'Not-for-profit'!?" he exclaimed. "You built a fully stocked birthing suite in your home! You contracted with the Head of Obstetrics at the University of Toronto!"

"All not for profit," Wheeler said, smiling. "If you want I can show you the charitable receipt for our contribution to the University. That's 'no-for-profit' by definition, Mr. Tuello."

Tuello closed his laptop, folded his hands onto his lap, and made a bridge with his thumbs. "Look, Mr Wheeler," Tuello said leaning back in his chair, "what are you doing here? The United States plays no role in Mrs. Waterford's situation. For the baby, even less so."

Wheeler opened his briefcase and pulled out a single piece of paper. "In my business, Mr. Tuello, it's my job to put together often complex arrangements - corporate, government, what have you. When I'm told 'No', I just take that to mean that I have not yet got the right pieces of paper in the right order."

"I noticed, Mr. Wheeler," Tuello said. "Gilead has, as a result, made both you and your firm quite wealthy."

"We've done well, thank you for acknowledging." Wheeler lifted himself a bit on to his toes, "all of it legal, quite legal I assure you."

"So, what are you doing here!"

"It's simple, really. I just need you to acknowledge on this form, that when you released Mrs. Serena Joy Waterford from the ITWC Detention Centre, that she was - to the best of The United States' knowledge - released legally onto the streets of Toronto."

Tuello said, "you don't need me to acknowledge that. You need Canadian border services to acknowledge that."

"Oh, I will, Mr. Tuello, I will," Wheeler said. "And I will show them this paper with your signature on it. I think of it like putting enough mortar between the bricks to help the wall stand."

Tuello unclasped his hands, then reclasped them as he leaned forward, on top of his closed laptop.

Tuello said, "we know who you are, Mr. Wheeler."

Wheeler answered, "and I know who you are, Mr. Tuello."

Tuello insisted, "I find it hard to believe that the Province of Ontario recognizes a surrogacy agreement between you and Mrs. Waterford. Me, I was the one who told her - told her in detention - that she was pregnant. She said absolutely nothing, and there was no paper about it, none at all."

Wheeler said, "the 'paper' as you call it, it comes from New Gilead. It comes from well established Family Law in Gilead."

Tuello guffawed, "'Family Law'!? In Gilead? You have to be kidding me."

Wheeler said, "you need to get out more, Mr. Tuello. While the Prime Minister here said that there was no 'Sharia Law' in Canada, Canadian courts often take extra-national cultures into account to do with marriage, divorce, and child rearing. That's all Gilead claims, too. That its culture is to be respected."

"That's one hell of a test case, Mr. Wheeler," Tuello said. "I hope you have deep pockets to shepherd all that through the courts."

Ryan Wheeler just smiled. He then got Tuello's signature on the paper, to document Mrs. Waterford's release from detention, to her (then) legal presence in Canada - the streets of Toronto.

Wheeler then concluded, "it really is quite simple. Mrs. Waterford was and is, a citizen of Gilead. Gilead acknowledges a surrogacy agreement between me and Mrs. Waterford, Gilead acting legally according to their laws on her behalf."

"Face it, Tuello," Wheeler said, "Noah Wheeler is ours."

QUITE THE ABOUT FACE

Look, Ms. Osborne, all of this is odd. All of it. By your own admission, you and your husband, Mr. Bankole, you went into No Mans Land by your own volition.

Yes, yes, I have the flash drive. It's of enormous help to us - to The United States. I just don't know what it has to do with Mrs. Waterford's situation. We're guests in Canada, you and me. Of all people, you should know what someone can get away with (!) in No Mans Land, and that Canada doesn't really care what happens there.

I have! I have read up on surrogacy in Canada. Particularly here in Ontario. As long as it's not-for-profit….. yes, yes, yes, I get it. Gilead doesn't operate that way. We are caught between the UN's Rights of the Child, guaranteeing Statehood to people like Noah Waterford…. yes, yes, yes, and for lack of a court case covering it, Noah….. ah, er, whatever his surname turns out to be, that kid is at first blush a child of Gilead. That's who his mother is, that's who his father was. He was born In a territory last claimed by the old US State of Vermont, now acknowledged as more akin to the UN Buffer Zone in Cyprus or the Korean DMZ…..

Stop it, Ms. Osborne, just stop it. No, she doesn't want to talk with you. Mrs. Waterford thinks that you are the author of her current situation, that you snookered her.

Well, tell that to your husband! Mrs. Waterford knows that it was Mr. Bankole who notified Canadian border services, she knows that it was he who sicked them on to her, who arranged for the apprehension of the baby.

Well, you have to deal with your own husband. Take my advice. Yell at him if you need to, but he was just the starting gun.

Surprised!? You could say that. You are the last person, Ms. Osborne, the last one I would have expected to be advocating for that woman. 'Evil incarnate'!? Remember that? That's what you called her. Now you're saying that her rights need respecting?

It's probably none of your business, Ms. Osborne, but Mrs. Waterford, she's now practically singing the Star Spangled Banner. I'll be damned if she even knows the second verse!

UNEXPECTED CALLER

It had literally been weeks since Joseph Lawrence had sat down with a good book. Weeks since he could sit by the fire, sip his exceptional whisky, and leaf through the pages of an economics text.

This text had the added benefit of having nothing to do with 'nationalist economics', or even 'labour-based currencies'. If New Bethlehem was going to avoid being stillborn, Lawrence thought to himself, 'I'm going to have to brush up on the latest neo-liberal crap.' He said outloud, "if we're going to be doing business with the infidel outside our borders, we have to know how the economics will interface!"

When Lawrence had been back at the university - himself toadying for tenure - he'd read this stuff only for show. He'd only read it with an eye for how he was going to sneak his - as they called it - 'fascist funny-money policies' past the feminists on faculty.

It also didn't help him that he enjoyed pissing them off so much. He'd long since admitted it, that if the Sons of Jacob revolution had not come along, he'd now be flipping burgers at one of America's endless cathedrals to citizen capitalism. Burger joints.

So when his phone rang he was half tempted just to let the Guardian-operator down at dispatch take a message for him. Then it kept ringing and ringing.

So he took another slug of whisky, put the book down, got up and sauntered to his desk. As he got distance from the fire he thought that he was going to have to upgrade his home's furnace….

Sitting he picked up the phone, "Lawrence here."

The Guardian-operator said, "Commander, sir, I have a class one security call for you." 'Class one'? Lawrence immediately sat up. Last one he'd got like that, Fred Waterford had just been caught by the Canadians and High Commander Winslow had disappeared.

Lawrence opened the lower drawer on the left of his desk, reached in and flipped the required switch. "Okay, Commander, my light's now on. When the caller flips her switch, I won't be able to guide the call. When you're finished just hang….." and the Guardian's voice was cut off.

What a minute, Lawrence thought. 'Her' switch? Did they just elect some broad High Commander?

"Commander Lawrence, is that you?"

"Indeed, it is. With whom do I have this extraordinary pleasure?"

"It's Rose, Joseph. Rose Blaine."

Lawrence wished he had kept his whisky glass. "Rose," he answered, "it's good to hear from you, even at this late hour! How's Nick doing?"

After a brief silence at the other end, Blaine said, "he's who I want to talk about."

Lawrence smelled something no good. He had no idea if Blaine's young Wife had anything 'Serena Waterford' in her or on him. So he had better step lightly. 'I mean,' he thought, 'the lady just arranged for a secure call all by herself! Or had she?'

"I was just enjoying a good book, to get ready for bed," he said trying to keep to a neutral subject.

"It's also to do with you," she said in an almost undecipherable voice. "Nick, he may be coming to your place, maybe tonight. If not, hopefully the two of you can touch base at Chancery tomorrow."

Lawrence parroted, "hopefully?"

"My dad," Blaine said, "I just got off the phone with him. He was checking to see if I was okay."

"Alright…." Lawrence limply said letting the word linger, hating it when he was being informed of something that sounded ominous.

"High Commander Wharton…" Blaine continued.

".….. I know who he is, Rose," Lawrence interjected.

".…. he staved off another High Criminal Court of Gilead." She paused, "this one was to do with Nick. And you." She paused one more time. "Apparently dad got to the New Gilead Guardians in time. They were already on their way over here. And over there."

Lawrence sat feeling the cold of his office. He said, "well, I don't take visitors at this late hour. The Guardians probably know that."

Following the call, Lawrence sat at his desk. After a minute he got up and looked out the window, out to where his body-man was, outside leaning against the SUV calmly smoking a cigarette. All was calm. Lawrence briefly chuckled, that he could survive having a Martha's nest in his basement, survive losing 86 kids, but it would be New Bethlehem that would take him down.

Okay, okay. Warren Putnam had been executed in front of his Wife. There was that.