Veronique stood and embraced Garance, then stepped back. “Ah j'y crois pas—quelle horreur!”
Garance held a finger to her mouth and shook her head. Checking to see that Kassim was not within hearing distance, she spoke in rapid English. “Callum… Veronique, have you been to La Balise?”
Veronique nodded, tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe it. What… Who? … Horrible.” She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “I wasn’t sure you would know to find me here—you must have seen my note?”
Garance nodded yes and reached for Veronique’s Lebanese coffee. She took a sip of the strong liquid. Setting the cup back on the table she leaned forward and whispered, “We both need to disappear until I can find some help.” She glanced up as Kassim passed by the kitchen doorway, then continued. “I am certain that HighTower is involved in this. You know the piece I’ve been investigating—the refugee deaths?”
Veronique nodded, “Yes, I sent you a report about another outbreak in the Marshall Islands yesterday, remember?”
“Ah! That’s correct—shit. Well, I started digging deeper into it all last weekend. HighTower is not only connected, but I believe that they may have started it all—released something. There’s a laboratory in Hong Kong that is part of this—Callum was researching it as a separate story. I think he must have found something that linked the two of them—that’s why he’s dead. HighTower is definitely the key to all of this.”
Veronique tore at the napkin in front of her. “Garance, how did they trace you? Will they know how to find us…here?”
“I have no idea. Christoph warned me about this, I should have listened.”
“I’m so frightened—I don’t dare go back to University. Where do we go now?”
Garance looked through the windows like a hunted animal. “Listen to me. I have some money, it’s not much… Can you get yourself to Vienna? I don’t think your chip will raise alarms yet. But you should go tonight—you mustn’t wait.
“Vienna? I don’t…”
“Shhh—I can reach Christoph through the dark web. They can’t track us there. He will meet you at a place called ‘KontactKaffe’…it’s a strip club in Landstraße. I’ll send you details on this,” Garance handed Veronique a burner. “It’s old, and only has enough juice to last for one or two calls. Don’t use it—just wait for my text. You won’t recognize the number, but it will be the only message you’ll receive.”
“A strip club?”
“Don’t judge. He owns it… makes a good cover for his real profession.” Garance leaned in close to Veronique and whispered, “He’s one of the very best hackers in the world right now—trust me.”
“Will I hear from you again?”
“Yes—I’ll be able to reach Christoph, like I said… but not until I’m sure that I am safe.”
“Where are you going, Garance?” Veronique reached for her coworker’s hand. “You’re injured—you need to get those cuts taken care of.”
“Oui, oui—yes, I will. Look here’s the cash—it’s all I have for now.” Seeing the look on Veronique’s face she added, “Don’t worry, I too have certain hacking abilities of my own from a …former career.” She smiled at her colleague’s reaction. “Listen, I’m going to try to locate a scientist that went missing from this Hong Kong laboratory. He will have answers to our questions—I’m positive about this. I’ll reach out to Christoph once I’m in.” She rose from her seat and grimaced as the pain returned. Together, they walked out of Al Ajani’s and stopped at the corner of the building. Garance extended her hand, saying, “Best of luck. Christoph will take good care of you. He’s unique—you know, brilliant, paranoid… But decent. C'est un type bien. And Veronique—be sure to remove your chip the moment you get there. Christoph will help.”
Veronique nodded and gave her a weak smile. “Merci… Bon courage, Garance.”
Garance pulled up her collar. She shoved her hands deep in her pockets and limped into the hollow darkness.
19 Council of Elders
The Greenwood. Jul 22. 2033
[Coordinates Unknown]
Monk perched on a cedar branch a dozen feet above the fire pit. In his beak was a twig with several small, sap-filled cones. He studied the unsuspecting group of people who worked below. As Ooligan passed underneath the bird’s range, he stretched his neck and shook his head, dropping his projectiles on the top of her head. Startled, Ooligan brushed the cones from her hair and looked up into the cedar tree. The raven croaked loudly and hid behind the trunk, peering down at his adversary’s location.
“Don’t think I’m not onto your little game. I’ve got my eye on you, buddy.” Oolie picked up a piece of bark and chucked it at the bird. Monk clucked, let out a throaty croak and hopped to a higher branch to peck at another cluster of sticky cones.
“That bird is ornery today,” Ooligan said.
Dot rested her elbows on the lip of the soon-to-be canoe, watching intently as a Tsimshian boy helped his father layer the cedar bark and fallen twigs across the bottom of the carved log. The boy patted down the final layer and then pointed to the bucket that lay on its side near the stream. “You can start to bring the water over now.” Dot ran to the bucket and dipped it in the brook. The water was clear and icy cold and she felt thirsty as it sloshed around in the pail. Wading back and forth with her buckets, Dot lifted them over the sill of the hollowed log to cover the foliage in water. The boy’s grandparents tended the fire where dozens of rocks glowed in the embers. As the water level covered the mat of greenery, the grandfather shoveled the hot stones out of the fire pit and deposited them into the water. A hissing plume of white steam skyrocketed out of the 400-year old tree. Dot inhaled deeply as the aroma of wet cedar surrounded her. Ooligan and Táan drug a tarp over to the log and unfolded the coarse canvas. Over the course of the next two hours, more and more fiery red stones were piled into the carcass until the water boiled. Finally, the tarp was pulled over the top of the canoe and weighted down with beams to expand its hull shape.
Dot and Oolie continued to pour water over the tarp as Táan and the boy pounded wooden spreaders firmly into place. When all was complete, they sat together on a fallen tree and took stock of their handiwork. Ooligan unwrapped a loaf of sourdough bread and tore it into pieces. The boy’s grandmother brought a jug of tea over to them and said, “Chin'an gheli.”
Táan accepted the jar from the old woman’s hands and smiled. “You’re welcome. We’re honored to have helped.”
A cedar cone plopped into Oolie’s lap and she shook her head. “Dot, I think your stupid raven has a crush on me—he’s been flirting all morning,” she pulled a chunk of crust from her bread and tossed it on the ground near her feet. A flash of inky-black feathers signaled Monk’s arrival as he swooped down and grabbed the bread en route to a large stump. The raven hopped onto the handle of a carving adze and placed the crust at his feet.
Táan slid off the log and stretched out on the grass. “I think I’m gonna need a nap.” He closed his eyes and flung out his arms. Breaking the heel off the loaf of bread, Dot held it above Táan’s left ear. Monk immediately took her meaning—and took the bread as well; landing with a thud on the young man’s forehead. “Damn! Monk—not cool! Not cool at all!” Táan rolled over, covering his head as the bird flapped away from his flailing arms. Ooligan laughed and tried to coax the raven back with more bread. Monk turned away, looking toward the woods as Reba and Adili appeared.
Reba paused at the canoe to speak with the family as Adili approached. Taking a seat on the grass, he asked, “How did the steaming go this morning?”
“It went without a hitch, there are a ton of rocks in that hollow log right now,” Táan replied, handing Adili a section of bread.
Reba joined them and commented, “Some of those stones have been used to steam the Tsimshian’s canoes for more than a hundred years.” She looked at the row of vessels lining the riverbank. “We have several canoes from the Tlingits and an Inuit baida
rka as well. Were you able to find any of these boats that might work for Dot’s idea?”
Ooligan pointed to a three-person baidarka near the end of the row. She walked with the chief over toward the boats as she spoke. “The consensus seems to be that this one has not only the space, but a strong enough frame to support masts and sails.” Táan and Adili rose and followed the two women. Dot stayed on the log and watched the others confer. It had not been her intention to interject herself into the council’s plan—in fact, during the past week she’d begun to enjoy her free time. She had begun teaching Lilu-ye how to sail, had foraged salal berries with Ruby Awaa and was helping her neighbors construct a cob house. Dot had no desire to be drawn back into sobering discussions about secret missions and weaponized enzymes. And yet, for some unknown reason, she had offered her advice on rigging a sail… And now here she was, smack dab in the middle of the intrigue again. Why can’t you leave well enough alone? You should’ve let the important people figure these things out. Dot shook her head wishing she’d never accepted Reba’s invitation to the meeting.
Three days ago, the elders had gathered once again in the council house. This time, the chamber had been lit with vintage kerosene lamps. Remnants of late afternoon sun had filtered through the roof’s opening and a warm beam of light angled onto the floor. Dot squinted her eyes and watched shimmering dust particles bounce against each other inside the radiance as Skaukw addressed the council. This gathering was much larger than the previous time; on this occasion, the elders were joined by a dozen members of the community as well as the Greenwood’s fetchers. Táan and Kim sat beside her near the sidelines. Altogether, there were nearly forty participants in attendance, all eager to learn what would be done about the fugitive scientist and his mysterious research. At first, the meeting focused with logistics of eluding HighTower patrols. Many of those in attendance were familiar with the security precautions that had been put in place along the Canadian and United States inland borders. It was clear, even to the newcomers, that a land crossing would be far too risky. Kim’s broken leg and ribs were also a consideration, as his mobility would continue to be hampered for several weeks. Dot listened as they described the terrain and conditions between their coastal island and the faraway city of New Seattle. She conjured images from her childhood of the Northwest cities. Her only true metropolitan experience had been a trip with her parents to Portland, Oregon. Her memories were that of glassy skyscrapers and towering bridges. And—for a moment—she envisioned her parent’s in the front seat, heard silly sing-song voices… “This old man, he played three, he played knick-knack on my knee…” The crisscrossed framework as they drove over the Willamette River. But she was a child back then, and her memories were clouded in a fog of nostalgia. Dot put the recollections aside, they caused too much sadness and anxiety. Instead, she recalled the landmarks of what had once been old Seattle: The Space Needle, the Great Wheel and, of course the Ballard Locks, where ships transited on their way to the inland lakes. Her father often regaled her with tales of the lock chambers from his days on tugs… but then, it’s best not to delve back into father’s stories.
The sound of Kim’s voice brought Dot back to the matters at hand. The scientist responded to a question from one of the elders. Dot noticed that Kim’s voice was much stronger now, his movements more fluid. He answered loud enough for the entire room to hear, “No, I am not familiar with New Seattle. I’ve only been to the city once before—shortly after the quake. At that time, everything was under construction or in transition from the old city. I couldn’t find my way without help from someone familiar with the city.”
“Is there anyone here who has been to the United States since the Tyee?” asked Reba.
Ooligan snickered. “We’re all just a bunch of renegades living in the boonies. I don’t think there’s anyone here who’s even been to the city of Vancouver.”
Reba looked around the group and asked, “Does anyone know anything about the states—that is, besides our invalid scientist who’s traveled there long ago?” Táan shot a sideways look at Dot with his raised-eyebrow expression and nudged her with his elbow. She turned and scowled. This wasn’t her affair. It wasn’t her responsibility to rescue the scientist any longer. She nudged him back and brushed her flattened hand over her palm, finished—enough.
Kim coughed and half-heartedly raised his hand to catch Reba’s attention. She looked toward him and smiled, “Feel free to speak out Mr. Chen, you don’t have to wait to be called upon here.”
“Ah, thank you, Skaukw. I wanted to say that my sister and her family live in Vancouver—a suburb near the airport called Richmond. Perhaps we could contact them and ask for help? My nephew is a computer sciences student at the university in BC—he might have connections in the States.”
Reba glanced at Adili and shrugged. Adili nodded in response, saying, “We have code speakers in the Squamish Nation—south of Vancouver. Ruby and I will make some inquiries this afternoon.”
“Please do.”
Ruby Awaa rose from her seat. “Of course, we will place the calls, but we need assurances that they can be trusted. Our friends from the Squamish tribe will be reluctant to involve outsiders.”
Kim rolled his chair forward to address Ruby Awaa. “My sister’s family are good people and they are citizens, not illegals,” Kim replied.
“You mistake me, Mr. Chen. I do not refer to their nationality, that makes no difference… What I’m saying is, all citizens who are not First Nations people are considered outsiders.” She leaned upon her cane as she found her seat once more.
Adili smiled and added, “Do not fear, Kim. If a Maasai from Kenya can be brought into the First People’s network, then your family can be accepted as well.”
Reba nodded and continued the discussion. “We will get the necessary information from Mr. Chen so that you may place the calls. Meanwhile, we’re left with the decision of how to get you down to New Seattle—and who among us should go with you.”
Kai stood up and addressed his wife. “Skaukw, I’d like to volunteer to lead the party.”
Reba acknowledged her husband’s offer with a faint smile. “Thank you Kai, but as I’ve mentioned previously, our concerns are not as much for the strength of paddlers but for secrecy of their arrival.”
Asa raised his hand and called out, “I can pass as a natural-born resident of New Seattle—just look at this complexion!” He brandished his freckled forearm and was met with laughter from his fetcher cohorts.
Ooligan snorted, “Skin that pale would draw all the boats in the Salish Sea—they’d mistake it for an SOS beacon or some such thing!”
“Now, lassie—don’t you go disrespecting a fine Scottish highland pedigree.”
Reba waved her hand to bring order. “I appreciate your gesture, Asa—but I think that it would be wise to select from the non-felons for this mission.”
Táan, Kim and Dot turned to stare at the mention of “felon.” Noticing their surprise, Asa smiled, “Well, those Mossies fetch a pretty fair price on the black market. Suit y’self.”
“Regardless Asa, your talents are of more use to us in the Greenwood. However, your sentiments are noted,” Reba smiled.
“How many canoes are we talking here?” Ooligan asked. “I mean, if secrecy is your goal, we can’t take a whole fleet.”
“Precisely,” Reba said. “We need to plan for easily maneuverable, fast vessels—with as few people as possible. Those people should have believable alibis for traveling in the south parts of the Salish Sea. There aren’t many of us who can come up with plausible reasons, are there?” She glanced at Dot and Táan as she finished.
Kai frowned and shook his head, “You’ll need some hard out strong paddlers if you want to make New Seattle before the weather turns. I reckon there’s about 500 nautical miles between here and the Duwamish River—what used to be the old city. That’s about 25 days with mint paddlers, fast boats and no layovers. My ol’ mate Adili and I
could do it, but…”
Dot nudged Táan’s leg and folded her hands into a fan shape, then cupped them together, rocking them up and down as a boat would move through the water. Táan nodded, understanding her meaning. He caught Reba’s attention and said, “Not if you sailed the downwind portions—you’d move faster and save on man power.”
Reba squinted. “Explain.”
Táan cleared his throat and spoke up, “By fixing a sail rig to your kayak, you could get a boost from the wind. It would add at least ten or more miles a day.”
Leaning forward, Kai asked, “Aye, but how could you put a mast onto a kayak’s deck? It’s not strong enough to bear the force.”
Dot shook her head and closing her hands, placed one on top of the other, fingers to thumbs—creating a tube. Táan looked at what she demonstrated and replied, “If you attached a hollow base that the mast could be stepped into, then it would hold up. Dot can show you how to do it much better than I could explain it.”
All eyes turned to the unspeaking girl on the sidelines. Reba smiled and said, “I’m not surprised.”
The council discussions lasted for some time, and it was well past dinnertime before Skaukw adjourned the meeting. “I’ll have to consider who among us would be most suitable for the journey. It might take several days to reach a decision—but then, we have much to accomplish before anyone could set out.” And with that, the assembly broke apart, the participants returning to their dwellings. Much had been discussed and much more needed to be decided, but it was enough to determine that they could help Kim journey to New Seattle.
The chamber emptied and Kai and Reba remained behind to extinguish the kerosene lamps. Dot and Táan pushed Kim’s wheelchair through the vined arches and Kai waved goodnight as they withdrew. Turning to Reba, he commented, “You know who you’re sending on this mission already, don’t you?”
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