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In the spring of 1997, William Boyle, a microbiologist at Amgen Inc., a drug company based near Los Angeles, placed a telephone call to Dr. Josef Penninger, an immunologist at the firm's Toronto offshoot, the Amgen Research Institute.

When the Qureish, King Hussein's private jet, touched down at Amman airport, the Jordanian monarch was not at his usual place in the pilot's seat. He lay instead on a bed in the back of the plane, racked by fever, exhausted by the long flight.

A day after his Newfoundland Liberals returned to power, Brian Tobin was still smiling.

David Kent is in a combative mood. Seated at the desk in his book-lined corner office, the 48-year-old president of Random House Canada, a Toronto-based publisher, is taking calls and returning messages from business associates and journalists.

Even Lucien Bouchard's glowering presence could not entirely sour the mood. In announcing a deal to overhaul the way Ottawa and the provinces work together on social programs, Prime Minister Jean Chrétien spoke proudly of "a new departure.

"I wasn't sure if he was running for leader of the party or president of Cuba," one Liberal backbencher whispered as Finance Minister Paul Martin wrapped up his one-hour, 20-minute budget speech to Parliament last week.

Caroline Armstrong is, in her own words, "an extremely organized person" - some might consider her a bit obsessive. Call it what you will, her attention to detail served her well during a 19-year career in customer service with Canadian Airlines.

After nearly a quarter of a century, the people of tiny, impoverished East Timor finally had the chance to say what future they wanted - independence, or staying a part of Indonesia. As a phenomenal 98.

The grandfatherly American with thinning hair who addressed cancer scientists in a Montreal hotel earlier this month did not look like someone about to set off an international media frenzy. Dr.

On the Falls Road in the western precincts of Belfast, right in the heart of the city's Roman Catholic strongholds, there is an exclusive watering hole with a singularly appropriate name. They call the place the Felons' Club.

From the moment he first stood in the House of Commons in 1993 as a rookie MP and cabinet minister, Allan Rock claimed to be repulsed by the Kabuki ritual of parliamentary Question Period.

Long before New Brunswick Liberal cabinet minister Camille Thériault formally announced his bid for his party's - and the province's - top job on Jan. 26, his leadership ambitions were a badly kept secret.

Even before the polls opened, the telltale signs of seismic change began to drift across Northern Ireland's rolling green hills.

The man is clearly frightened. Insisting on anonymity, he lowers his voice and lets loose a stream of criticism. As one of Canada's largest sellers of desktop computers, he rails against the "massive power" of Microsoft Corp.

With the exception of Nova Scotia, every province has tabled its 1998-1999 budget.

When the news finally came, hundreds of students occupying Jakarta's sprawling parliament complex wept, hugged and chanted: "He's gone, he's gone." They had brazenly defied the army, vowing not to leave until Indonesian president Suharto resigned. In the end, the old general gave way.

For good or ill, the City of Halifax seems inextricably linked to the tragic April 14, 1912, sinking of the RMS Titanic, which saw 1,522 souls succumb to icy Atlantic waters.

Despite how it may seem some days as the public tunes into the debate over health-care funding, governments in Canada have not turned off the tap. Canadians spent an estimated $76.6 billion on health care in 1997, up from $75.

The backroom boy is in. So is the dark horse. As expected, Hugh Segal, the consummate Tory fixer, announced his run for the federal party leadership last week, followed in short order by Brian Pallister, the former Manitoba cabinet minister.

They are a strange pair in many ways, these two Quebecers of different generations who share the conviction that their province belongs in Canada. Politics has never been a science for Jean Chrétien. He has forged his remarkable political career by following the call of his heart and his gut.