Manitou Canyon (24 page)

“And we know how that turned out,” Stephen said. “When big money's involved, the interests of Indians never matter.”

Jenny swept the mouse and tapped one of the other articles the browser had brought up. There was another photograph of Aaron Commanda along with a headline that read,
FIRST NATIONS CHIEF JAILED IN PROTEST
.
Jenny scanned it. “He's the traditional leader of the White Woman Lake Odawa, a small, unaffiliated band who
occupy an off-reserve settlement called Saint Gervais in the Ontario bush.” Jenny paused a moment in thought. “Saint Gervais. I've seen that name before.”

“The protest didn't work,” Daniel said. “Think about the flooding in Aunt Leah's vision. Does it mean they're going to blow up the dam?”

“I need to get on the phone to the authorities up there,” Dross said.

Henry touched Rainy's arm. “We must go north.”

C
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46

T
hey'd sat for over an hour in the floatplane. In the west, the sky had darkened again with a swift-moving overcast.

“More fucking clouds,” Indigo said. “November. I hate this month.”

Cork understood, but the last thing he was about to do was agree with Indigo on anything. He held his tongue.

“Spirit's at the heart of everything?” Cork said to Lindsay.

“The best gift my grandfather ever gave me, those words, that belief. They saved me from the poison of that snakebite, they really did. And in a lot of ways since. I thought they might help Bird.”

Indigo looked at his watch. “What's taking them so long?”

“He was in pretty bad shape,” Lindsay said. “A couple of aspirin aren't going to do the trick.”

“That kid should've known what he was getting himself into. One soldier doesn't hold up the brigade.”

“You military?” Cork asked.

“Shut up” was the answer he got.

He gave it another shot. “You're First Nations. So what's your band?”

Indigo considered before responding. “Musqueam.”

“Vancouver,” Cork said.

Indigo seemed surprised that Cork knew this.

“Urban Indian,” Cork said. “Ever go camping in the North Shore Mountains?”

“I was too busy beating up smart-ass white guys.”

“Beautiful, those mountains.”

“I did all my camping out in Kandahar,” Indigo said.

“Afghanistan,” Cork said. “What'd you do in the service?”

“Learned how to kill a guy like you a hundred different ways.”

“So, nothing of much use in civilian life.”

Indigo smiled. “It's coming in pretty handy these days.”

Cork glanced at Lindsay Harris, who was taking in the exchange with a look of concern. She gave her head a faint shake, telling him, he figured, to cool it. He understood her fear and he shared it.

“What are you here for?” Mrs. Gray asked. She gave Indigo the same sour look she'd been giving Cork from the beginning.

“To do a job. Just like you.”

“I know what my job is. What's yours?”

“I'm what you might call a facilitator.”

“Of what?”

“Anything,” he said with a shrug. “Everything.”

“We don't need a facilitator. We've done pretty good on our own.”

“You're two days late getting out of that wilderness. And one of you didn't come back,” Indigo pointed out.

“His doing.” She tilted her head so that her chin pointed toward Cork.

Indigo looked at his watch again.

“For an Indian, you're kind of impatient,” Cork said.

“And you're kind of talkative. How about you zip it for a while.”

“Here comes Cheval,” Mrs. Gray said.

“It's about time.”

They watched the pilot slowly make his way along the crescent of the beach. He walked with his hands in his back pockets, and Cork thought his lips were puckered, as if he might be whistling. He mounted a pontoon, opened the door, and slipped into his seat behind the controls.

“It's going to be a while,” he said.

“We don't have a while,” Indigo said. “We need to get going.”

“We wait for Aaron. And Bird, if the doc lets him go.”

Indigo reached to the shoulder holster beneath his jacket and pulled out the Glock again. “I said we need to get going.”

Cheval glanced at the weapon and shrugged. “Like I told you, you shoot me, who's going to fly the plane?” He nodded toward the buildings of the small village. “And the sound of it'll get you a lot of unwanted attention from the folks in Gordonville.”

Indigo reached to a pocket inside his coat, drew out a suppressor, and carefully screwed it into the barrel. He turned in his seat and leveled the Glock on Cork's chest.

“Get going or I shoot him.”

Cheval gave another shrug, peered through the window, and craned his neck to scan the sky where the clouds were mounting. “I don't know him. He's nothing to me.”

“Go ahead,” Mrs. Gray said. “Shoot him.”

Indigo seemed to consider the woman's advice, but didn't take it.

“Okay, how about this?” the woman suggested. “If you don't fly out now, Cheval, Mr. Indigo here will shoot Aaron when he comes back. Bird, too, if he's with him. We've got the Harris girl. We don't need them anymore.”

“You'd kill them for a few extra minutes?” Cheval stared at her as if in shock.

Indigo nodded and smiled. “I like that idea.”

Cheval said, “You do that, there's no way I fly this plane.”

Indigo pointed the gun at the pilot's forehead. “Then I shoot you, too, and I just move on to the next job. This is all nothing to me. It's not my river you're trying to save.”

Cork was pretty sure Indigo wasn't bluffing. Cheval must have decided the same thing. He said, “All right, we leave. But Aaron's liable to kill you when he gets to the lodge.”

“If we finish this operation, he'll be forgiving. If not, we'll see who kills who.”

Indigo slid from his seat and stepped outside the plane. “Mrs.
Gray, you ride up front with Cheval. I'll ride in back, keep our two guests covered.”

When the woman was seated, Indigo untied the line that tethered the Beaver to the sign on the beach and stowed the rope. He shoved the plane away from shore, leaped onto a pontoon, and climbed inside behind Cork and Lindsay Harris. The engine kicked over and the propeller chugged into motion. Cheval turned the plane toward the long flat of the lake, began his run, and lifted off.

They flew for twenty minutes toward the swift gathering of clouds, following the canyon and the river that had created it.

“Enjoy the view,” the pilot said. “Weather report is for snow. These clouds.” He pointed west, where much of the landscape was already obscured. “Could be heavy, they say.”

“The sooner we get this business behind us, the better,” Indigo said.

“There it is.” Cheval pointed to the right.

Below, out his window, Cork saw a steep curve of concrete at the end of the canyon. The dam there reminded him of a long fingernail that tapered down to the river. Though not particularly broad, the dam rose to an enormous height and completely blocked the entrance to the canyon. Behind it lay a lake, narrow and serpentine, that sent out little legs like a centipede into the surrounding hills. At the base of the dam stood the great block of the power station. Heavy wires had been strung on transmission towers that climbed the canyon wall and marched away among the hills to the northwest along a broad, cleared swath through the forest that resembled an endless, disfiguring scar.

“It's filling up,” the pilot said. “Not long before the level will be high enough to start running water through the turbines.”

“Just get us to the lodge,” Indigo said and once more consulted his watch.

In another ten minutes, they dropped again, this time over a very large lake that was only a stone's throw from the Manitou River. Along the shoreline in the distance, Cork could see a small gathering of houses and other structures, a little village. Cheval
brought the Beaver down onto the water and nosed it toward an inlet far from the village. Dark clouds had already eaten the sky above the lake, and the surface of the water reflected the color of charred wood. Against a solid wall of pines at the end of the inlet stood a log construction that Cork thought was probably a hunting or fishing lodge. Flanking it on either side were several small cabins. A long dock ran from the lodge onto the lake. As the floatplane approached, two men came out, walked onto the dock, and stood waiting. One of the men cradled a rifle.

Cheval cut the engine and eased the plane near enough to the dock that the man without a rifle was able to jump onto a pontoon. He took the tether rope, leaped back to the dock, drew the plane in, and secured the rope to a pylon.

Indigo leaned forward, between Cork and Lindsay. “End of the line,” he said.

C
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“I
t's Canada,” Dross said. “Another country. I have no jurisdiction there. I can't just up and go, and I can't sanction you going either.”

Earlier, the sheriff had pulled up a map of Ontario on the computer in her office, and they'd gathered around her desk and located the dam in a remote area of the province, along the Manitou River. She'd phoned Thunder Bay, an RCMP officer named Lanny Russo, with whom she'd worked on another cross-border case. Rainy and the others had listened as Dross explained the circumstances and her concerns.

“I know it's only speculation, Lanny, but if it's true, it could be catastrophic.” Dross had closed her eyes and listened. “No, no real evidence of any kind, only what I've told you.” She listened some more. “Yeah, I understand. Thanks.” She'd hung up. “He'd like to have more than our speculations to go on, but he said he'll check it out and get back to me. He couldn't promise anything.”

That's when Daniel had made his own call, to Bud Bowers. The pilot had agreed immediately to fly them across the border, even if it got him into hot water. Anything, if it might help Cork.

“We're not looking for your approval, Marsha,” Daniel said. “If the guy you've contacted sends the cavalry, great. But we all know how slow an official response can be. It could be too late. For Cork and Lindsay and John Harris. And look what's downriver from that dam. Gordonville, a town of several hundred people. If somehow the Manitou Canyon Dam goes, those folks are in real
trouble. Remember Aunt Leah's vision? All those fish dying, fish with human faces?”

“What are you going to do? Fly to the dam and wait?”

“Fly to White Woman Lake, to Saint Gervais, and find Aaron Commanda.”

Rainy could see how the situation twisted Dross.

“All right,” the sheriff finally said. “But I'm going to let Lanny know about this, give the RCMP a head's-up. Have Bowers stay in contact. I'll give him a frequency. If I get word of anything, I'll let you know.” She turned a sharp eye on Trevor Harris, who'd joined them after the interview with Trudeau. “But you, you're not going anywhere. I've got a comfortable cell for you until this is over.”

Harris made no complaint and, in fact, seemed relieved.

* * *

Rose had picked up Waaboo from preschool. He was hungry—­always hungry—and she'd made him a grilled cheese sandwich and poured him milk. He sat at the kitchen table, feet dangling, feeding Trixie a little bit of his sandwich now and again, when he thought Rose wasn't looking.

“Bennie said Baa-baa is a rock, Aunt Rose.”

“A rock? Bennie said that?”

“He said his dad did. I told him that was stupid.”

Rose had just finished buttering and seasoning a chicken she intended to bake for dinner that night. She washed her hands clean, went to the little guy. “A rock? You're sure that's what he said?”

Waaboo's eyes went to the ceiling, as if he were looking for an answer there. “Baa-baa is stone-cold. That's what he said.”

She smiled and kissed the top of his head. “Your grandfather isn't a stone, little rabbit. I think he's mostly heart.”

Waaboo's face scrunched up. “Like a valentine with arms and legs?”

“Like a valentine full of love,” she said.

Waaboo seemed satisfied and slipped Trixie another morsel.

The kitchen door swung open, and a flurry of bodies entered,
the O'Connor children, plus Henry, Rainy, and Daniel. They brought in the cold from outside, and Rose could feel a furious purpose coming off them as well.

“Canada, Aunt Rose,” Stephen said without preamble. “We're on our way to Canada.”

She didn't ask why, just said, “Do you want something to eat before you go?”

“Sandwiches,” Stephen said. “We'll take them with us.”

Jenny went to her son and gave him a hug.

Waaboo said, “Baa-baa isn't a cold rock.”

The others stopped whatever they were doing.

Jenny said, “What do you mean?”

“Baa-baa is just a big heart. Isn't he, Aunt Rose?”

Jenny knelt and smiled. “You're absolutely right, little guy.”

Henry sat at the table, and as Rose worked on whipping up tuna salad for the sandwiches, she listened to the old man talk to the child.

“Some people are a big heart,” the old Mide said. “Do you know what else a person may be?”

Waaboo chewed his grilled cheese sandwich and thought about that. “A big mouth. That's what Mick calls Miss LaRue at school.”

The old Mide laughed. “A person is also a spirit, little rabbit.”

“Like a ghost? I was a ghost for Halloween.”

“Did people see you?”

“I was in a sheet. So, yeah.”

Jenny said, “I didn't have a lot of time to be creative this year.”

“A spirit is something you cannot see,” Henry said to Waaboo.

“Then how do you know it's there?”

“It shows itself in how a person acts toward others.”

“David Brady hits everybody on the playground. Is he a mean spirit?”

“Maybe just a confused spirit,” the old man offered. “What kind of spirit are you?”

Waaboo laughed, as if it was a goofy question. “A rabbit. I like to hop and play.”

“A rabbit is a good spirit to be,” the old man agreed.

Waaboo looked at his mother. “Are you going to Canada?”

“I'm staying here with you and Aunt Rose.”

Stephen had left the kitchen, but he returned now with a small backpack.

“Are you going to Canada, Uncle Stephen?” Waaboo asked.

“Yes, I am.” Stephen put the pack on the table and looked inside, checking the contents.

“What for?”

“We're bringing your grandpa back.”

“Can I go?”

“Not this time, rabbit.”

Waaboo studied his uncle. “You're a wolf.”

Stephen smiled at him and waited.

“A good wolf.” Waaboo looked at Henry. “You're an owl.” He looked at his mother. “A mama bear.” To Daniel: “A lion.” To Rainy: “A flower garden.” And finally to Rose: “A big warm ocean.”

“Why Canada?” Rose asked as she filled the pack with the sandwiches she'd made.

“We're pretty sure that's where Dad and Lindsay Harris have been taken,” Stephen said. “We're flying up. Jenny can explain it.”

“You're going, too, Henry?” Rose asked. She didn't say it, but she thought that for a man of his age, something like this seemed awfully unwise.

“I did not give them a choice,” the old Mide said. “I have come too far on this hunt to be left behind.”

Jenny pulled Daniel aside. She whispered something to him, something loving and reassuring, Rose figured, then kissed him and let him go.

They threw on their coats, and as they headed to the door, Jenny took the old Mide by the arm and said quietly, “Don't let harm come to you, Henry. Or to them.”

“A clear head is the best companion of a strong heart. I will remember this and help them remember, too.”

When they'd gone, Jenny and Rose stood together in the cold draft that had come in through the opened door.

Rose whispered, “God go with them.”

Behind them, Waaboo said,
“Majimanidoog.”

The women turned.

“Majimanidoog?”
Rose asked.

“An Ojibwe word,” Jenny explained. “It means ‘evil spirits.' Devils.” She went to her son and sat beside him. “Why did you say that?”

“Some people are devils,” Waaboo said. “Maybe devils took Baa-baa.”

He ate one last bite of his grilled cheese sandwich and fed the rest to Trixie.