OTTAWA — In this episode, former senior Mountie Garry Clement joins Sam Cooper to answer a question that should unsettle every Canadian: how does a figure like Ryan Wedding — an Olympic athlete from Coquitlam — end up becoming one of the most feared Sinaloa Cartel operatives in North America? The answer, Clement argues, has less to do with Wedding himself than with the country that made his rise possible.
Clement spent 34 years in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, including deep-cover undercover operations in British Columbia and an extraordinary posting to Hong Kong in the early 1990s, where he and immigration control officer Brian McAdam came face to face with the top tier of Chinese transnational crime — Stanley Ho, 14K Triad leadership and elite businessmen like Li Ka Shing, whose shipping entities were recently barred from the Panama Canal under US pressure — while watching Canadian diplomatic officials accept red envelopes of casino cash and look the other way. Clement watched a system designed to stop dirty money instead absorb it. He is now watching history repeat itself, at industrial scale.
On Wedding specifically, Clement is blunt: the former Olympian had the profile of every major trafficker he ever investigated — the ego, the drive, the early dabbling with no consequences, a prison stint that functioned as a graduate seminar in criminal networking. Wedding’s athletic psychology, Cooper suggests, may have been an accelerant rather than an anomaly — the same ruthless focus that puts an athlete on a podium, possibly the unbound ego of a sociopath that never faced correction while pushing boundaries in pot-permissive British Columbia at a young age, now applied without correction to a criminal enterprise.
One of the episode’s most arresting moments comes when Clement, a veteran of hundreds of undercover operations, describes buying three kilos of cocaine in the 1970s from a young woman who had rescheduled their meeting because she was singing in a church choir. She drove up alone, no protection, product on the front seat. “That’s how people that are really egotistical believe they’re untouchable,” he says. “Ryan Wedding was that magnified by a thousand.”
Cooper connects Wedding’s rise to a longer arc of institutional failure that Clement traces back decades: the dismantling of port policing in Vancouver in the early 1980s, which he says opened the door to Chinese-linked criminal control of the docks; the penetration of government databases by organized crime through corrupt officers; and an immigration system in Hong Kong that, Clement alleges, effectively sold Canadian passports to figures including Stanley Ho — who Jeffrey Epstein’s files, Cooper notes, identified as the boss of the Chinese mob. Clement says he was personally forbidden from interviewing Ho. Shortly afterward, Ho received what Clement flatly calls “a passport of convenience.”
The conversation turns to North Toronto — Willowdale, Thornhill, the corridor above Highway 401 — which Cooper identifies as a node of Iranian Revolutionary Guard money laundering, a claim he says has now been punctuated by recent shootings at a boxing gym and a synagogue. Clement recalls walking that stretch with Iranian currency trader sources in the 1990s, watching unregistered traders transfer money directly to Iranian banks while enforcement looked the other way.
The thread running through all of it, Clement argues, is the same: a country that repeatedly chose not to look. Not at the casinos. Not at the ports. Not at the politicians photographed beside organized crime figures — including, he says, a then-mayor of Vancouver standing with the father of the head of the Sun Yee On Triad Society, a photo that ran on the front page of the South China Morning Post the next morning. “They don’t do this because they want to be seen as in the hands of the politician,” Clement says. “They’re doing it because they want to earn credibility.”
