So tell me, what’s this about CanacGold drilling?”
“They want to start exploratory drilling next week to confirm the size of the deposit.”
“There goes our theory about nothing happening until next spring. What are we going to do?”
“I think we can still buy ourselves some time. As long as we deny them access.”
I thought his tactic made sense. The Fishing Camp offered the only truck access to the lake. Most of the Echo Lake shoreline was either too far from a road or too steep to permit the off-loading of heavy mining equipment.
And then I understood why Gareth wanted to buy my land. My property had the only other possible access point, a low marshy area that stretched from the main road to Echo Lake, which could easily be filled in to make a road wide enough for truck access.
Damn him. The nerve of him to think I would so easily do his bidding. But he was right. The old me would’ve eventually sold it to him. Well, he’d shot his bolt, so to speak. From this point onwards, I wouldn’t even let him and his CanacGold buddies breathe on my land, let alone run their trucks over it.
Eric and I sat for a few more minutes, discussing what more we could do to stop CanacGold. Other than continuing to pursue the island’s ownership, we decided some lobbying of politicians was in order. Eric knew some people he could call upon. I had Carrie, an old school friend, now a parliamentarian in Ottawa. I promised to phone her the minute I returned home.
We were about to go our separate ways, when John-Joe approached, looking worried.
“Eric, what do you want me to do about Louis’s boat?” he asked, pulling the brim of his orange cap further down his forehead. He flashed me a Tom Cruise smile, which seemed to say I was okay.
“Nothing that I’m aware of. Can’t we just leave it for Tommy to take it away?”
“That’s the problem. Tommy said he can’t get to it for a couple of days. I can’t wait that long. It’s in the way.”
“Move it then.”
“Can’t. Tommy locked it to the dock with a chain.”
Curious at the mention of Tommy’s name, I asked, “When was that?”
John-Joe replied, “Can’t say exactly. Boat’s been there almost a week. I suppose it was last Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, surprised by his answer. Last Thursday, the day Tommy caught me peering through the windows of his house looking for his mother, he told me he was just returning home from a trip.
John-Joe repositioned his hat, bringing the brim down till it almost covered his eyes, then he answered. “Yup, had to be. Caused me a shit load of problems with that big fishing party we had Wednesday morning, eh?”
So Tommy had been lying to me from the beginning to protect his mother. He’d used the boat to take her to some isolated location on Echo Lake. She would be well hidden anywhere on the uninhabited shore, but still within easy reach of food and supplies. Whispers Island was even a possibility. That would explain the footprints on the beach, two sets arriving, only one leaving. But with CanacGold intent on moving in, would the island remain such a good hiding place?
I turned to Eric to ask if he or Tommy had already thought of this, but he was fast disappearing into the main lodge. Just as well, I thought. I wasn’t sure how to bring this up delicately, without revealing that I knew where they were hiding Marie. Besides, it probably wasn’t a real concern, as long as we could stop CanacGold from moving their equipment onto the island.
Deciding it could wait, I shoved my canoe into the water and headed towards the cliffs of Three Deer Point. When I reached home, I phoned Carrie, who didn’t hesitate to offer to help stop CanacGold. She suggested that if I didn’t mind the long drive to Ottawa, I could meet her on Monday at her parliamentary office.
TWENTY-ONE
The Peace Tower clock on Parliament Hill was striking noon when I entered Carrie’s suite of tiny offices tucked into a back corner of the West Block. Cramped and narrow, her office looked more like a broom closet, which it probably once was when the number of people required to govern the country was considerably less than today. Since Carrie was still tied up in a committee meeting, her assistant gave me a security badge and told me to wait for her at the parliamentary restaurant.
Carrie Zbrowski, a good friend since university days, had gone the political route after graduation and was now a full-fledged Member of Parliament. Although she didn’t represent my specific electoral riding, she did represent another Quebec riding, and a powerful one at that. I figured she would know someone who could make CanacGold’s pursuit difficult, if not stop them altogether.
I made my way through the throngs of gawking tourists towards the Gothic arches of the Centre Block’s main entrance. After flashing my badge at the guards, I headed along the stone corridor towards the House of Commons, past the watching eyes of yesterdays’ Prime Ministers, and was stopped by a loud and blinding media scrum intent on cornering the current Prime Minister in the Commons foyer. With a few forceful elbow jabs, I squeezed my way past, climbed up several flights of stairs, to where the restaurant was hidden far from public view above the House of Commons.
I quickly scanned the long and very full room for Carrie’s familiar face, but the marble columns, which support a line of Paladin dome ceilings, obstructed much of my view. The House had obviously broken early for lunch. Crammed with assorted politicians, journalists and various hangers-on, the restaurant was a bustle of craning necks, planted smiles and waving hands. A few I recognized as people I’d met through Carrie, but most were faces seen through the glare of television lights or peering out from black and white print. All the treasured alcoves were occupied, their inhabitants engrossed in tête-à-tête conversations.
Thankfully, Carrie’s assistant had made a reservation. The maitre d’ led me through the congestion to an empty table next to one of the marble columns supporting the domed ceiling. While I waited for Carrie, I immersed myself in the pulse of the current rulers. Today it was a low rumble of muted conversations and clattering dishes. There was an undercurrent of tense anticipation, perhaps a reflection of some key vote that was scheduled in the House for later today.
Signalled by a turning of heads, Carrie arrived. Looking every inch the sober politician, she was dressed in a dark grey worsted suit, the pale yellow of her silk blouse providing a softening contrast to her deep brown hair. The life of the parliamentarian obviously suited her. She had a confident, in-control manner that blended well with the friendly, outgoing aura of her personality.
With her life extremely busy and mine in retreat, we had not been together since the night we’d celebrated my divorce. Deciding I wouldn’t bore her with my woes over Gareth, I plunged into the subject of CanacGold the minute we finished greeting each other.
“So, Carrie, can you stop them?” I asked optimistically.
“Well, Meg, as I told you on the phone, CanacGold’s in bed with almost every politician in this city.” she replied, glancing over the menu infamous for its country club meals at luncheon counter prices.
“Hopefully not with you,” I conjectured.
“What? Me? Get out of here. But, now that you mention it, the CanacGold CEO does have potential.”
“He
