My name is Frank Grayling. I live in this small apartment at the western end of the fourth largest city in North America. Not a terribly important detail given the nature of the facts I am about to set down here. But should this document fall into the wrong hands before I kick off, it might turn out to be of some significance. And I might as well get it out in the open right off the bat. I, dear future reader, am a CSIS operant and have been for several years now. I live in this crummy little pad, right next to one of the largest parks in Toronto, not because I actually want to, but because I am paid to live in it. Seriously, who the hell would live in a run-down dump like this if they didn't have to? Nobody. That's who. I'm not nobody but I'm as close as you can get to being invisible without actually completely disappearing. Right off the face of the planet, I mean. And this apartment? It's a dump. A real dive. Not as much of a dump as some of the joints I've lived in. And it's not actually as bad as I'm making it out to be. I've lived in some pretty crummy places over the years, spying on one group of miscreants or another. And compared to those places, this apartment is sort of like paradise. Sort of. It has hot and cold running water and that's more than can be said for a lot places. Istanbul? That was a real dead end, go nowhere, nothing much happening kind of scene. Compared to that, living in this little apartment is paradise. But by North America standards, it's a dump and that's all there is to it. I'm not really supposed to tell anyone anything about myself, the nature of what I do being so secretive and all, but I've got to tell somebody about what's been happening or I'll go bat-shit crazy.
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