The Glacier Gallows (22 page)

“I didn't know Brian really well, but we were starting to do more work together. Just a few months before this hike, we started a new program that Cool-it! and
AEG
were partnering on.”

“Really?”

“We were making a big push for alternative energy to power new tar-sands refineries and to be the beneficiary of a royalty tax to be placed on all tar-sands products.”

“Do you have time for coffee?”

Jessica looked at her companion. “Mind if I take fifteen?”

“This might take longer than that,” Nancy said.

“TELL ME MORE
about this plan,” said Nancy. They sat outside the Convention Centre; Burrard Inlet glistened in the afternoon sun. They had cups of coffee in their hands.

“The idea is that tar-sands profits should be used to do two things,” said Jessica. “First, they should be invested in renewable energy in situ. Right now, one of the biggest complaints we have about the tar sands is that we have to burn four units of cleaner natural-gas energy to make five units of dirty bitumen-based energy. It's a tremendous waste. And the natural-gas sector can't keep up with the growth. So we proposed that all new tar-sands operations should have renewable energy in place to run the refineries.

“The second part was more, shall we say . . . audacious? We wanted the government to tax the profits from the tar sands, heavily, and invest it in the development of a long-term transition from a petroleum-based society to a renewable-energy-based society.”

“You really think
this
government would tax the petroleum sector?”

Jessica laughed. “God no! But they won't be in office forever. I hope. And we might get them to do little things, like invest in new research and development under the guise of providing money to the
R&D
sections of the big oil companies.”

“What about nuclear?”

“Nuclear is not renewable. And it isn't clean.”

“There's a big debate about that.”

“There is. But we'd agreed that nuclear wasn't an option. That was one of the things Brian was looking into before, well . . .”

“Before he was killed.”

“That's right.”

“What exactly was he looking into?”

“The Minister of Natural Resources had just announced that the government was going to consider nuclear as an
alternative
energy source. With the regulatory hurdles cleared, it paved the way to build a nuclear power plant in the Athabasca delta.”

“Does Atomic Power Canada have a lock on that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, would the process be open for tender?”

“Atomic Power Canada is the only player in Canada. It was privatized a few years back, but it still has strong ties with the government.”

“It might be the only player in Canada, but this is a global market, isn't it?” asked Nancy. Jessica was silent. “Who else builds nuclear power plants, Jessica?”

“Well, the United States does. Russia. France. India. And of course China.”

“And with the exception of Russia and India, those other countries, they have interests in the tar sands, don't they?”

“Huge interests. The Americans have pumped
billions
into bitumen. France's national energy company recently bought a massive player. And of course China's national energy company is gobbling up every player that it can.”

“Do you think it would be a stretch for one of those players to also try and build a nuclear plant?”

“I don't know. But it's a very serious discussion.”

“I really appreciate your time.” Nancy stood. She felt a sense of urgency. She wondered just how serious the discussion was.

GLACIER NATIONAL PARK, MONTANA. SEPTEMBER 9.

COLE AND WALTER LOOKED AT
the wreckage of their camp. “Where are we going to go?” said Cole. “It's almost eight o'clock. It will be dark soon.”

“Cole, I think whoever did this is trying to flush us out into the open. We're sitting ducks here.”

“But Walter, we don't have any food, no water. I don't even have a headlamp; mine was in the tent.” Cole sounded panicky.

“I've got enough Power Bars in my bag to get us through the night. I've also got water—at least, enough to last us until we find some on the trail. And I've got a headlamp in my bag. We're okay.”

Cole looked around at the open plateau. As the sun set, the whole earth looked like it had been smeared with blood. What had been a peaceful alpine paradise that morning felt forbidding and dangerous. “Alright. Where to?”

“Down.”

Cole drew a deep breath. “But where? Listen, if this were my set-up, I'd be waiting along the route by Crypt Lake.” He sounded calmer.

“Yeah, you're right. Hell, we might have nearly sprung their trap this afternoon.”

“How else do we get down?”

“The way
you
came up when you were with Derek McGrath and his guides. The way you came up with Brian. It's a good route. We can do it in the dark.”

“With one headlamp?”

“We'll go slow.”

“It's a hell of a long way. It was a four-day hike, remember?”

“That's to get all the way to Many Glacier. But we can get to the Belly River a lot faster. From there it's a simple walk out to the border and Highway 6.”

“I'm sure the authorities will be happy to see me.”

“You brought your passport, didn't you?”

“It was in the tent.”

“That might complicate things.”

THEY WALKED ALL
night. Cole felt as if he had a target on his back. Walter only turned his headlamp on when they were in steep terrain or crossing a talus slope. They tried his iPhone from time to time to see if they could get a cell signal but to no avail. Around midnight the moon rose, and by 4:00
AM
, Cole, though dog-tired, had grown accustomed to the faint light and could see where he was going. By sunrise he was tripping on every second step.

“Let's rest here,” said Walter. They were walking through thick brush at the junction of two branches of the Belly River.

“Where are we?”

“We're about an hour or two from the main stem of the middle fork of the Belly River. From there it's about four hours to the road. We're in Canada right now. I think you can stop worrying about your passport.”

“How can you tell?”

“The trees here are more polite. Plus we just walked through a little clear-cut. That was the border.”

“Not much difference from one side to the other, is there?”

“That's the whole reason the International Peace Park is so important.”

“I'm going to sleep under that tree. You think it's safe?”

“Oh yeah. I think that tree is perfectly safe.”

“You know—”

“Get some rest. I'm too wired to sleep right now. I'll wake you up in a couple of hours. We should be in Waterton for supper.”

THEY HITCHED A
ride with a family of tourists into Waterton and collected Walter's truck from the boat ramp at Waterton Lake, then drove immediately to the Thirsty Bear Saloon. They ordered a pitcher of beer, a double order of buffalo wings, and hamburgers with fries. Cole looked over his shoulder throughout the meal.

“We're okay here,” Walter said. He drank deeply from his glass of beer.

“Maybe.” Cole, eating wings and licking his fingers, continued to watch the tourists.

“Do you want to call the
RCMP
?” asked Walter.

“I don't know. Inspector Reimer's had it in for me since the whole mess in Oracle two years ago.”

Walter drank the rest of his glass of beer. “I know someone in the
RCMP
forensics lab. I went through investigative-procedure class with him when I did my law-enforcement training a few years back. I can call and see if I still have any pull.”

“Do it. I think the more we keep this out of the spotlight, the better.”

“Alright. I'll call first thing in the morning. We can courier the baggie to Ottawa from Claresholm. You can arrange to meet Reimer there if that's what you decide to do.”

They drove back through the dark to the Porcupine Hills. Dorothy Blackwater was awake when they got in, but they didn't tell her what they had found or about their ransacked camp.

Cole noticed, however, that Walter locked the door to the house, something he had never done before. “I couldn't remember if we put the locks on that door,” he said when he saw Cole looking at him.

Walter waited for Cole to go to bed before he went to the basement and unlocked the gun cabinet. He took out his 12-gauge Remington shotgun, removed the trigger lock, and took down a case of shells.

VANCOUVER, BC. SEPTEMBER 9.

“WHAT HAVE YOU GOT FOR
today's story budget?” asked Frank Pesh. He leaned over the divider that separated Nancy Webber's cubicle from a hundred others.

Nancy looked up from her computer. She had a page open about nuclear power and the tar sands. It was the kind of thing she would have chalked up to conspiracy-theory talk before her meeting with Jessica Winters. “Nothing yet. I'm just getting back up to speed.”

“Tomorrow, this time”—Frank tapped his watch—“I want twelve inches. Time to get back in the game, Nancy.”

Nancy watched him walk to his office. She turned back to her computer and continued to read. She was about to pick up the phone to start making calls on the Vancouver municipal election primaries when her cell rang. She answered.

“Nancy, its Nik Stanos calling.”

“Nicolas, how are you?”

“I'm fine. Listen, I'm calling about the Freedom of Information request I put in on your behalf.”

“Didn't get much, did we?”

“Just the opposite. We got a lot. I mean, a
lot
. About ten thousand pages.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they do this sometimes. Rather than stonewalling, they try to drown you. There's a room in a federal building across the river in Gatineau that is pretty much full of files.”

“Have you looked at them?”

“Only long enough to know that this is a bigger job than I signed on for. I just don't have the time.”

“This could be big.”

“How?”

“I don't know yet. But there's something going on. First Cabinet doesn't impose its usual controls on an extradition request, and now I think Natural Resources Canada is opening up the nuclear power industry to foreign markets. Somehow this is all connected, and the answer might be in that stack of paper.”

Nancy could hear Stanos breathing on the other end of the phone. “Can you come out here?” he asked finally. “You could pay a student to go through this mess. It would be about a week's work. Or you could use that money and get on a plane and come here yourself and see what you've got. I'll give you one day of my time, on the house, for old times' sake. I made a lot of dough off you when you were at the
Globe
.”

Nancy tapped her fingers on her desk. “Sure,” she said after a moment. “I'll be there on Monday.”

“I'll set something up for Tuesday, then.”

Nancy hung up the phone. She looked toward Frank Pesh's office. “What's one more week?” she said out loud.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” NANCY
was walking along Burrard Street toward her English Bay apartment.

Cole told her the story. “I called this morning and left a message for Reimer. I'm going to try and meet her in Claresholm. Perry said that he would come down for the conversation if I could set it up.”

“I got a call from Nicolas Stanos, in Ottawa,” and Nancy explained.

“If you find something, you could use it to confront the minister. Parliament is set to resume this week. This could be big news.”

“I thought of that. Pesh gave me a week to run with this. With pay.”

“Ms. Write Your Own Ticket these days, aren't you?”

“Why don't you come to Ottawa? It would be like old times.”

“Are you kidding me? The old times got both of us fired. It took you and me four years to see eye to eye again.”

“Okay, it would be
better
than old times. Think about it, Cole.”

“Alright.”

“And think about Ottawa.”

“I always am.”

CLARESHOLM, ALBERTA. SEPTEMBER 11.

PERRY GILBERT, COLE, AND WALTER
Blackwater sat in Roy's Place with Inspector Reimer.

Perry spoke first. “The purpose of this meeting is to ascertain the status of your investigation into the attempted murder of my client, and your ongoing investigation into the murders of five other people. In exchange for this information, we're prepared to share information that has come to light in the past week.”

Reimer cleared her throat. “As I told you before, this is a joint investigation between the
RCMP
and the
FBI
. There is very little we can tell you, Mr. Blackwater. I'm here because you told me you had information that might be helpful.”

“This is a two-way street.”

“You're doing your thing again, aren't you?”

“What
thing
is that, Inspector?”

“You're playing private eye.”

“Goddamned right I am!” Cole said. “Someone has got to figure out what led to Brian's murder.”

“We're closing in.”

“No you're not, or you wouldn't be here.”

Reimer started to stand.

“We went back to the crime scene,” said Walter. Reimer sat back down. He told her their story.

“We've been over that site with a fine-tooth comb.
RCMP
,
FBI
, and the National Park Service Special Investigator,” said Reimer.