She stood and breathed and wondered if a person could drown in such a heavy fog. She shivered and momentarily wondered again what she was doing there.
Then she saw the figure appear from the mist at the far end of the dock. At first it was merely the outline of a man, heavyset but moving lightly, arms swinging at his sides. Then the figure took form. Dark, curly hair. Heavy slicker pulled up around his neck. Jeans. Face emerging from the gloom of the fog. Cole Blackwater walked toward her from out of the miasma of the darkening day.
20
The long journey back to Port Hardy gave Archie Ravenwing plenty of time to think about his encounter in Fan Tan Alley the night before. He opened his battered leather briefcase and looked around the tiny airplane to see if he recognized anyone. Then he hefted the inch-thick envelope out and put the briefcase between his feet on the floor. He opened the envelope again. Of course, when he had returned from Fan Tan Alley he had briefly glanced at the stack of paper, but exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep with the reading light on, the papers scattered across his chest and blankets.
In his dreams he revisited the encounter.
“Who are you?”
“I’m a friend. On the inside.”
“Why all this deep throat stuff?”
The man laughed. “Yeah, pretty dramatic.”
“Really, why?”
“You’ll see when you read this.” The man handed him a thick envelope.
Archie took it. “They’ll be able to trace this back to you, won’t they? I heard that they can trace things to photocopiers or individual printers now.”
“It won’t matter.”
“You’ll get fired.”
“We’ve got whistleblower protection.”
“Why me? Why not the media?”
“You’ve got the complete picture. I only have pieces. You’d never get this from Freedom of Information. This is the stuff that’s always blacked out.”
“How’d you get it?”
“Best that I not say.”
“Stolen?”
“Liberated.”
“Does this have anything to do with the First Nation’s economic agreement that’s going to be announced?”
The man looked around him, as if the alley had ears. “I think the minister is in the dark. I think he’s walking into a trap.”
“What do you mean, trap?”
“I think he’s in the dark about what’s going on up in the Broughton.”
“Lance Grey is running the table?”
“Yeah, and he’s really just a pawn in the game that Stoboltz is playing.”
“And now they have Greg First Eagle.”
“And others….”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“From the North Salish?”
“I don’t think so. Other bands up the coast. They’re running the whole trap line.”
Archie shook his head. “Can’t someone get to the minister before he walks into this mess with both feet?”
“We’re trying. But Lance Grey has built a wall around the minister. Nobody from the department can get in. Nobody inside that office gets out.”
“What next?” asked Archie, his breath joining with the mist in the dark alley.
“You do your thing. Get all your information together. Find out what is really going on at Jeopardy Rock. The department is in the dark. Find out, and blow the lid off it. We’ll try to prevent the minister from going down with the ship, but it might be too late for that.”
“Thank you,” said Archie, extending his hand.
“Don’t mention it.” The man walked quickly down the alley, into the mist, disappearing into the night.
He read through the pages, carefully placing them on his lap when he was done. They were deeply incriminating. They fell into two categories, as far as Archie could see. The first category was results of testing that Stoboltz Aquaculture had been accumulating over the last year about sea lice on both wild Pacific and farmed Atlantic salmon. Here was the complete data set that Archie and Cassandra Petrel had been looking for. It showed that the test site, which was only labelled as Jeopardy Rock, had escalating concentrations of sea lice on both the wild and farmed fish. In some cases the concentrations on wild pink and coho smolts were more than one hundred times higher than the samples Cassandra and Archie had taken.
Archie put the papers down and looked out the window. On the left side of the plane the peaks of Strathcona Park rose up, the wild heart of Vancouver Island. Mount Red Pillar, Mount Rousseau, Mount McBride, and Elkhorne Mountain, all beneath a deep blanket of late winter snow. He watched the mountains slip past, watched the propeller of the turboprop aircraft whirl, watched the clouds scud across the western sky.
How was it possible that Stoboltz was finding concentrations of sea lice one hundred times higher than what he was finding? He had been up Nickol Pass toward Tribune Channel just two weeks ago, and while the number of sea lice found on the early migrators alarmed him, they had been nowhere near what Stoboltz was finding. And how was it that Stoboltz was able to send these samples to the Ministry of Agriculture without being called on the carpet before the minister? The only explanation could be that Lance Grey was keeping both the department and the minister in the dark.
The second category was equally damning. It contained a sheath of correspondence between Lance Grey, Erik Nilsson, and Darvin Thurlow. There were hard copies of dozens of emails chronicling a conspiracy of silence around the sampling of sea lice. It was almost with glee that Darvin Thurlow reported in one email that “we are nearly at the anticipated level of infection, with the sea lice occurring on 77% of the smolts sampled, and covering more than 68% of body mass. At this rate of parasitic growth, we should reach 99% by late spring of next year, in time for the main migration.”
Another email, from Lance Grey to Erik Nilsson and Darvin Thurlow stated, “I am concerned with the rate of growth at this point. We had agreed to reach 99% much sooner. Continuing with this work for another year will raise suspicions. Technicians at the u vic lab will begin to question the results if we’re not careful.”
In a note dated late in the fall, Grey noted, “I think that you’ve gotten sloppy. I got a call from Ravenwing. He and Petrel got hold of some of your results. You had better speed up your work. We can’t keep a lid on this forever.”
A note from Erik Nilsson to Lance Grey, dated only two weeks before, said, “Our patience is running thin, Lance. We’ve been waiting for an injection of cash from your office to continue with our work at Jeopardy Rock for more than a month. We agreed, from the outset, that while we would undertake the salmon and sea lice development, you would bankroll some of the costs. Your announcement on the opportunities fund is long overdue.”
For the duration of the flight, Archie Ravenwing pondered the succession of correspondence. The collusion between Stoboltz Aquaculture and the minister’s office was occurring on multiple levels. Archie felt his heart beating. His hands were sweating.
If the sea lice from the samples were now in the general population of Knight Inlet and Tribune Channel, the odds that this season or the next would be the last for wild salmon in that region were very good.
It was bad enough that Stoboltz had discovered this epidemic, but instead of trying to control the outbreak, Lance Grey seemed to be egging it on. Archie could not fathom what Grey stood to gain from this course of action. Worse still, in Archie’s eyes, was Stoboltz’s demand that taxpayers’ money be directed to their coffers, under the guise of a First Nations Opportunity Fund, to pay for the so-called research they were undertaking at Jeopardy Rock.
The first thing he did when he landed in Port Hardy was call Cassandra Petrel.
It took Archie the rest of the day to get back to Port Lostcoast — a ride down the island with his son Jacob, and then the long boat trip into the mouth of the archipelago to Parish Island. It was well past dark when he arrived in the harbour. But before heading home, he walked to Cassa
ndra’s boat and knocked on the wooden gunwales. There were lights on inside, and he could hear her in the galley. He stepped onto the deck of the boat and knocked on the heavy wooden door at the mouth of the companionway.
Cassandra opened it and invited him in. The cabin was warm and inviting as usual. “Did you have time to eat, Archie?”
“I haven’t had much since breakfast.”
“I’ll fix you something,” she said. “Tea?”
“That would be great.”
Archie stood, the briefcase in his hands.
“You sounded excited on the phone. What happened with your meeting with the minister?”
“He wasn’t there. I met with Lance Grey.”
“Surely that didn’t get you all worked up?”
Archie grinned. “A meeting with Lance Grey gets my blood pressure up, but no, it’s this, Cassandra. Look.” He took the envelope from his briefcase and showed her. The kettle boiled and she poured water into the teapot.
“This is sampling data,” Cassandra said. “Genetics. Survival rates. Infection rates. And lots of it. It looks similar to the material the lab sent us last fall. But it looks like the complete data set.”
“It is, and it’s worse. Much worse. Cassandra, there appears to be some kind of outbreak at Jeopardy Rock.”
She looked at the documents spread out on the tiny counter beside the stove while she stirred salmon and scallops together with green onions, garlic, mushrooms, and leeks. The aroma was delicious in the small cabin. Archie sat down suddenly, feeling his strength give out.
“This doesn’t make sense, Archie. None at all. In human terms, this would be pandemic levels. They are finding enough sea lice on these smolts to sink a submarine. Not only is the rate of infection higher than anything I’ve ever seen, but so is the mortality rate. These sea lice are not only more numerous, but capable of killing young adults. They are no longer just killing smolts, but fish early in the adult years. This is unbelievable. Up until now we only had to worry about sea lice killing juveniles —”
“As if that wasn’t bad enough,” said Archie, helping himself to tea.
“Right. But now fish that are two, three, four years old are susceptible to being taken down by these little bastards.” Cassandra Petrel read while she put the fish and vegetables on a plate with some leftover rice. She handed it to Archie. “I hope this will be okay,” she said.
Archie smiled at her, then picked up a fork and ate, making grateful sounds between mouthfuls. “What I don’t get,” he said, taking a breath, “is the sampling location. Can you make sense of that?”
Cassandra flipped through the pages. She went back to look at a few pages near the beginning. “If I didn’t know better,” she said, putting the pages down and looking at Archie through her reading glasses, “I’d say they weren’t sampling in the open ocean at all.”
Archie made a face, his cheeks bulging with food.
“Look,” she said, pointing to a set of boxes at the top of one of the forms. “The only location given for all of the samples is Jeopardy Rock. That’s it. No gps reading. No longs and lats. Nothing.”
“What are you saying, Cassandra?”
“I’m guessing. I’m not saying anything.”
“What are you guessing then?”
“I’m guessing — no, wildly speculating — that the conditions creating these levels of infestation aren’t in the open ocean at all.
I’m guessing they’re in the pens at Jeopardy Rock. I’m guessing they’re manufactured conditions.”
When Archie Ravenwing stepped from the deck of Cassandra Petrel’s boat, the moon was up and casting its gentle light across the harbour, on the tiny town of Port Lostcoast. He was bone weary, but strangely energized at the same time. Just yesterday morning he had felt the heavy hand of defeat on his shoulder, pushing him down. He felt as though there was no place for him to get a hold of the massive beast that was both government and industry working in collusion to destroy what he loved.
Now, strangely, he felt hope. He had friends on the inside. He had growing confidence that the minister himself wasn’t necessarily involved, but merely ignorant. It made the problem more manageable to know that when Archie did blow the lid off this debacle he would have backup. He walked along the dock toward the dirt road that wound its way up to the bluff house. He felt the familiar shame for his past mistakes. It would be his price to pay when he took down the cabal of crooks. Archie Ravenwing certainly had his regrets. He was sorry that the media’s coverage of his own wrongdoing might diminish the pain he could inflict on his enemies. He was sorry that Grace and First Moon and other innocent bystanders would pay a heavy price for his mistakes, too. And he felt shame for the pain he would cause his people. But he knew he could not dwell on that now.
He would come clean. When he blew the lid off the Stoboltz/ Jeopardy Rock conspiracy, he would turn himself over to the RCMP for fraud and throw himself at the feet of the courts. The image brought a smile to his face. He wondered if anybody actually threw themselves on the floor to beg. It would make for good tv.
He stepped lively along the dock, absorbed in his own thoughts, when he heard someone call to him. “Hey Archie, that you?” It was Darren First Moon.
Archie waved to him. Darren’s little boat was moored two slips from Cassandra Petrel’s boat.
“Come on over, Archie, I got a beer for you.”
“Not tonight, Darren. I’m beat,” he said into the night.
“I saw you come in awhile back. You’ve been over talking with the doc a long time. What’s up, Archie?”
Archie sighed and walked over to where Darren was standing on the bow of his boat. “Do you want a beer, Archie?” Darren asked when he drew near.
“Not tonight, Moon, I’m wiped out. Just flew up from Victoria. Didn’t get much shut-eye last night. I’m calling it a day.”
“Okay, next time, hey? So listen, what’s up for the spring?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, are we heading out or not?”
“I guess that’s up to the dfo people, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I’m just wondering. I got bills to pay and all.”
“Don’t we all, don’t we all.”
“Yeah, but you know, my kids are still at home, hey, Archie?
I’m just trying to take care of the family.”
“If the DFO people say the season is open, then we’re going. Just like always, Darren. You can count on that.”
“I’m just worried is all. I got to look out for the little ones, you know —”
“What can I say, Moon? At the very worst, there’ll be a sport fishing season. We’re always good for a few dozen trips with tourists.”
Darren took a deep breath. “Archie, you know I got a lot of respect for you. You’ve been really good to me. Really good. Took a chance on me when nobody else around here would.”
“You’ve earned my trust, Moon. You’ve pulled your weight. I never cut you any slack.”
“I know. But you didn’t have to. When I got out of the pen, not many would have given me the break you did. I mean, I’d been inside since I was sixteen.” The big man laughed. “Grew up in there, pretty much. Ten years on and off. Nearly half my life, up to that point.”
“That was ten years ago, Darren. It’s water under the bridge. You’re a good man. You have a good family. Two beautiful kids. Soon three! You’re looking out for them. You’re a good father.”
“That’s what I mean to tell you, Archie. I got to look out for the kids.”
“What are you saying?”
“I got to get a permanent job. I can’t live this way. It’s killing me —”
“I understand. It’s killing us all.”
“I’ve got an offer, Archie.”
“Hey, great, with one of the big outfits?”
“No. It’s not fishing. Everybody is feeling the pinch. No —”
“You’re not going to the big island are you? Taking a job in a canne
ry? God, Moon.”
“I’m taking a job with Stoboltz.”
These words hit Archie Ravenwing like a cold slap across his face. He closed his eyes and drew the cool Pacific air into him.
“I know that you hate them, Archie, but what can I do? I got debts, you know. I got bills to pay. And they offered me good work.”
Archie opened his eyes. The clear night sky shone with stars. The moon, nearly full, sat fat in the sky, kissing the harbour with white light.
“Archie, come on, say something.”
“There’s nothing to say, Moon.”
“Damn it, Archie. You got to understand, I got debts. I got bills to pay.” Darren First Moon buried his hands in the pockets of his orange slicker.
“We’ve all got bills, Darren. We get by.”
“Easy for you to say, living up on the bluff, looking out at the town. Easy for you to say with your new deck and new addition to your place. You don’t have any bills for all that, do you?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“I’ve been hearing things….”
“What are you saying?”
“I’ve been talking to Greg White Eagle. He’s told me what you done.”
Archie blew a cord of mist into the night air.
“Pretty easy to be all high and mighty, Archie, when you yourself are dipping into the kitty, hey?”
“That was a mistake, and I aim to come clean on that.”
“Yeah, well, don’t go looking down your nose at everybody else for doing an honest day’s work when you’re stealing money from the band. That’s fraud. So just don’t do it, Archie.”
Archie Ravenwing felt his heart in his throat. He said: “Stoboltz is up to no good, Darren.”
“Come off it, Archie. I’m not listening to any more of your conspiracy theories.”
“It’s not a theory, and I don’t know who else you’ve been listening to these days. I’ve got proof, Darren, that Stoboltz is up to something and the government is in on it, too. I’m going to blow the lid off their whole racket. I’m going to sink those fuckers.”
The Darkening Archipelago Page 20