“Don’t worry, sir, no environmental disasters of note.” The aide smiled. “Just a brief report from the Pacific Forestry Centre in British Columbia that I thought you should take a look at. One of our field ecologists has reported unusually high levels of acidity in the waters off Kitimat.”

“Kitimat, you say?” the minister asked, suddenly stiffening.

“Yes. You were just there visiting a carbon waste facility, weren’t you?”

Jameson nodded as he grabbed the file and quickly scanned the report. He visibly relaxed after studying a small map of the area. “The results were found some sixty miles from Kitimat, along the Inside Passage. There are no industrial facilities anywhere near that area. It was probably an error in the sampling. You know how we get false reports all the time,” he said with a reassuring look. He calmly closed the file and slid it to the side of his desk without interest.

“Shouldn’t we call the B.C. office and have them re-sample the water?”

Jameson exhaled slowly. “Yes, that would be the prudent thing to do,” he said quietly. “Call them on Monday and request another test. No sense in getting excited unless they can duplicate the results.”

The aide nodded in consent but stood rooted in front of the desk. Jameson gave him a fatherly look.

“Why don’t you clear out of here, Steven? Go take that fiancée of yours out to dinner. I hear there’s a great new bistro that just opened on the riverfront.”

“You don’t pay me enough to dine there.” The aide grinned. “But I’ll take you up on the early exit. Have a great weekend, sir, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

Jameson watched the aide leave his office and waited as the sound of his footsteps faded down the hallway. Then he grabbed the file and read through the report details. The acidity results didn’t appear to have any correlation to Goyette’s facility, but a feeling in Jameson’s stomach told him otherwise. He was in too deep to get crossways with Goyette now, he thought, as the instinct for self-preservation took over. He picked up the telephone and quickly punched a number by memory, grinding his teeth in anxiety as the line rang three times. A woman’s voice finally answered, her tone feminine but efficient.

“Terra Green Industries. May I help you?”

“Resources Minister Jameson,” he replied brusquely. “Calling for Mitchell Goyette.”

Chapter 18

18

DIRK AND SUMMER QUIETLY SHOVED THEIR BOAT away from the municipal dock and drifted into the harbor. When the current had pushed them out of view of the dock, Dirk started the engine and guided them slowly down the channel. The sky overhead had partially cleared, allowing a splash of starlight to strike the water as the midnight hour was consumed. The bellow from a bay-front honky-tonk provided the only competing sound as they motored slowly away from town.