The Glacier Gallows (7 page)

Brian laughed. “The day I'm Cole Blackwater's boss is the day the Earth stops spinning around the sun. Look, I hope it isn't too late to call.”

“It's okay. I'm at Nancy's. We were just about to eat dinner.”

“I can call back.”

“It's alright. I've got a minute. It's late where you are. What's going on?”

“I need some advice. I need to know how to handle something political.”

“You're asking me? You're the Ottawa insider.”

“I'm on the outs. I just got bagged, to use your vernacular. I need to know what Blackwater would do.”

“Now you're really in trouble. Tell me what happened.”

Brian Marriott took five minutes to explain his meeting with Rick Turcotte and then the announcement at the reception by the minister. Cole listened and then said, “And you think this presser tomorrow will be a lot of smoke and mirrors to cover up something nefarious.”

“I don't know. All my political alarm bells are warning me that this is a trap. But I just don't know what the trap is. Do you think I should go?”

“Yes. I think so. Why not? Just make sure that you don't bite the hook.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, when I was doing Hill stuff, ministers would invite us enviros to the meeting or announcement and throw us a few bones. For you, it's going to be a review of the rules around renewable power generation. I wouldn't be surprised if the minister made some kind of announcement that said renewable energy had to be considered for all federal power-generation projects. We've been pushing for that, right?”

“That's right.”

“So that's the bone. But you say carbon sequestration will be in the mix too?”

“Yes.”

“So what else?”

“That's the thing . . . I just don't know.”

“What have they been wanting to do but haven't been able to yet?”

“Build a pipeline to China.”

“Yes. So maybe there will be something in there about reviewing all energy-related projects. Or maybe something about infrastructure. Do you know if the Minister of Industry will be there?”

“I don't know. I'll check.”

“He might throw in something about climate-change technology. This government is all about building stuff.”

“I don't know . . .” Marriott said again.

“Brian?”

“Yeah?”

“You faded out on me.”

“Cole, I think I got what I need. This has been helpful.”

“Okay, I think I just felt the Earth slip on its orbit.” Cole laughed.

Brian didn't hear him. He hung up the phone without saying goodbye. He
knew
what the minister would sneak into the regulatory review.

BRIAN STEPPED OUT
of the West Block and looked up at the Peace Tower. He pulled on his gloves. When he heard his name called, he turned with a start.

“Didn't mean to scare ya.” A man walked down the steps behind him.

“Hi, Charles.”

Charles Wendell was dressed in a down coat and clownish wool hat. “Evening, Brian.”

“Were you at this thing with the minister?”

“I was incognito.”

“Surprised the minister sent you an invite.”

“Well, he didn't. The dippers had an extra pass and gave it to me.”

“You work for the New Democrats now?”

“Nope, still with Green Earth. One of the
MP
s—the environment critic—lets me use her office. Her staffer couldn't go to the reception, so I got the invite. What did you think?” Charles asked.

Brian turned to look back at the Peace Tower. “I don't know what to think.”

“I do. It's a load of bullshit, Brian. That jackass Canning is hosing us. He's going to tie us up in a regulatory review for the next year, promising more access for wind and solar while he pushes through the largest expansion of the tar sands in history. He'll approve new pipelines and let his pals frack the hell out of
BC
, Alberta, and Saskatchewan.”

Brian sighed. “We need to open the market for renewable energy.”

“Sure, but not while they ram the tar sands down our throats.”

“What would you do?”

“Shut that shit down. I know the moderates want to use tar sands royalties to fund the development of solar and wind. Don't get in bed with the enemy, man. If we go there, we can't turn back. We take millions, maybe billions, of dollars from the tar sands players and we may as well marry them. It will be impossible to criticize them if we're taking their cash.”

“We need to fund the transition.” Brian had snow settling on his hair.

“Taxes, man, good old-fashioned taxes.”

“From this government?”

“You see, the problem is that so long as guys like you—with your suit and tie and party credentials—go to receptions and sit in the front row at press conferences, this government can get away with this shit. I know you don't like to hear this, but you're undermining the movement.”

“What movement is that?”

“The environmental movement.”

“I didn't know it was a movement. I thought it was a business.”

“You see? That's the kind of shit I mean. You're just in your role at
AEG
to make this government look good, and while you're doing it, you'll marginalize the real environmentalists.”

“As always, Charles, this has been fun. As long as you don't have any solutions, only objections, I'm going to head home. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.”

“Oh, I have solutions, Brian. When someone bags you on the Hill, you bag them back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“
You
got bagged tonight. So did I. So did the environmental movement. I'm going to bag the minister back.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Remember that little off-the-cuff remark about locking up the enviros?”

“Yeah, the minister sounded like he'd had a glass of wine or two . . .”

Charles pulled out his iPhone and touched the screen. A video of the minister offering to lock up environmentalists appeared on the screen. “It's already on YouTube. Twelve hundred twenty-one views in the last thirty minutes. It will be on
CTV
and
CBC
news by now. I emailed it to every reporter on the Hill.”

“You're kidding me.”

“Nope. This is how you play ball, Brian. If you can't play ball, then get off the field.”

“Listen, Charles. I'm not here to play ball or bag people or score cheap political points. I'm here to get something done. I want to make a difference.”

“And I want to beat these fuckers, Brian. Nobody in the movement thinks that
you're
here to make a difference. You're just trying to sidetrack us with talk of wind power. The real game is seizing power. The only way that's going to happen is if we can defeat these bastards in the next election. This video will help.”

“Does the minister know you posted it?”

“Well, it's posted anonymously. No sense blowing my cover and getting the dippers in trouble. And if he doesn't know it's online, he will soon. What are you going to do, call him?”

“If you wanted to make the planet better, Charles, you would have put that in your pocket and asked for a meeting instead.”

“That might work when you've got political and financial connections, Brian. But right now we have neither, so we use what we got.”

“Good night, Charles.” Brian pulled his collar up and dusted the snow off his hair. He could sense that Charles Wendell was watching him as he walked away.

GLACIER NATIONAL PARK, MONTANA. JULY 10.

THEY WERE HERDED LIKE CATTLE
into the kitchen area of the camp while the investigating officers held a conference. Nine people in total—the seven remaining hikers and two guides—sat in what little shade the kitchen shelter provided, nibbling on trail mix and dried apples, watching as the
RCMP
,
FBI
, and Canadian and
US
parks agents formed a tight circle. In the last two hours, the superintendents of both Waterton Lakes and Glacier National Parks had arrived, as had the district commander of the
RCMP
from Lethbridge and the
FBI
special agent in charge, all the way from Salt Lake City. The mountaintop was starting to feel very crowded as four different helicopters and two separate search and rescue teams combed the rocky plateau for some sign of the missing guide Blake Foreman.

Cole sat next to the lead guide. “Derek,” he whispered. “What the hell is going on with your man Foreman?”

“I have no idea,” Derek whispered back.

“Is it like him to just up and go walkabout?” Cole asked.

“I don't know.” Cole shot him a troubled look, and Derek continued. “I met Blake in the Two Medicine Grill last week. He looked the part. Hell, he looked like me. He had his papers from the Association of Mountain Guides, so I hired him.”

Cole looked toward the confab of law-enforcement officers. His brother, Walter, was standing behind his park superintendent, listening. Walter looked at Cole, and their eyes locked a minute. Something in Walter's eyes made Cole shiver despite the heat. At that moment, the discussion broke up and the special agent in charge walked back toward a waiting helicopter; its rotor blades began to spin. The noise and dust forced several of the weary hikers to cover both ears and eyes. When the bird was airborne, Special Agent Steven McCallum approached the group.

“Ladies and gentleman, we've done all we can with you here. It's hot, and you must be worn out from the day's events. Unfortunately, we still have need of your insights into this case, so we're going to be transferring you to Browning, where we can conduct proper interviews. If everything goes as planned, you'll stay the night in Browning, where we have secured a block of rooms, and in the morning we will arrange for your transportation home. I ask that you continue to remain silent about this case. There may be media in Browning, thanks to our thumb-happy journalist.” McCallum looked at Tara Sinclair. “I also ask that you refrain from discussing this situation among yourselves. Understood? Questions?”

Tara put her hand up. “Under what authority are you holding us?”

“You are material witnesses in a murder investigation, and under
US
law we can transport you to a facility for questioning. Before further questioning, you'll be read your Miranda warnings. You'll each have the option of delaying your statements until we can bring in some lawyers from Choteau or Great Falls.”

“What about our gear?” asked Derek.

“Your personal items will be carefully packaged and transported to Browning. The
FBI
may remove some of these items for forensic testing at a facility of our choosing. You may take your phones with you. I'm sure some of you are anxious to reach your family members.”

Cole Blackwater put up his hand, feeling very much like a fourth-grader. “What about Blake Foreman?”

“We have two teams of four search-and-rescue technicians currently at work. We also have teams working in Waterton Townsite, at Many Glacier, and at East Glacier. Now, we have the first Black Hawk inbound and it can take your entire complement plus two of our agents, so let's get ready to fly, shall we?” Listening to the agent, Cole couldn't help feeling like he was going on a sightseeing tour. A moment later, the heavy
thock
of the helicopter shook the earth and came into view.

“Alright, keep your heads low,” shouted the agent as he led the group single file toward the Black Hawk. They piled in, Cole arriving last. He took another look back toward the camp where his brother and other law-enforcement officers huddled together.

“Alright, I'll be seeing some of you in Browning tonight,” said McCallum. “Agent Walker here will be your chaperone. He'll see to your lodging and a meal and to the provision of a lawyer should any of you want it before making your statement.” With that McCallum smiled and slid the heavy door shut. The helicopter lifted off, and Cole pressed his face to the window to watch as the world below slowly receded. They circled the camp once, and Cole could see both the
RCMP
and
FBI
forensics teams beginning to work on the tents of the hiking party.

Near the edge of the cliff, the
RCMP
had set up a portable tent, twelve feet by twelve feet. There was a diesel generator next to it. Cole guessed that the tent was there to keep the murder scene from being further eroded by the elements. He noticed that two agents were working their way backward from the tent to the campsite. One of the agents had a dog that was examining each rock.

The Black Hawk started east, and Cole's view of the camp vanished. Now he was looking out over the vast, flat expanse of the mountaintop, its long, wide ridge dropping steeply to the north and Crypt Lake. The
FBI
agent sitting with the hikers crowded into the back of the bird reached up and put on a headset that was hanging above him. Cole looked over his shoulder and saw another headset, and he casually reached up and put them on. He glanced at the agent, but he didn't seem to be paying attention to Cole. Cole looked out the starboard window, watching the mountains slip past.

Static filled the headset, and Cole winced. “Agent McCallum, this is
S&R
-one. Do you copy?”

“Go ahead,
S&R
-one.”

“You're going to want to see this, sir.”

“What have you got?”

Cole listened to the distant voices. He risked a glance around him and saw that both Rick and Derek were watching him. The
FBI
agent continued to watch the earth below.

“We've got something here about two miles from your position. There's a gully that drops off toward Waterton Lake off Mount Boswell. We've got a body, sir.”