Part 14 (2/2)
”What a terrible ordeal,” Loren said to Pitt as they left the room and walked down the brightly lit hospital corridor to the elevator. ”I'm so glad she is going to be all right.”
When all she got from Pitt was a slight nod in reply, she looked into his green eyes. They had a faraway look, one she had seen on many occasions, usually when Pitt was struggling to track down a lost s.h.i.+pwreck or decipher the mystery of some ancient doc.u.ments.
”Where are you?” she finally prodded him.
”Lunch,” he replied cryptically.
”Lunch? ”
”What time do most people eat lunch?” he asked.
She looked at him oddly. ”Eleven-thirty to one, I suppose, for whatever that is worth.”
”I walked into the building just prior to the explosion. The time was ten-fifteen, and our friend Bob was already having lunch,” he said with a skeptical tone. ”And I'm pretty sure I saw him standing across the street looking like a spectator after the ambulance left with Lisa. He didn't seem to show much concern that his coworker might be dead.”
”He was probably in a state of shock. You were probably in a state of shock, for that matter. And maybe he's one of those guys that goes to work at five in the morning, so he'd hungry for lunch by ten.” She gave him a skeptical look. ”You'll have to do better than that,” she added, shaking her head.
”I suppose you are right,” he said, grabbing her hand as they walked out of the hospital's front door. ”Who am I to argue with a politician?”
17
ARTHUR JAMESON WAS TIDYING UP HIS MAHOGANY desk when an aide knocked on the open door and walked in. The s.p.a.cious but conservatively decorated office of the natural resources minister commanded an impressive view of Ottawa from its twenty-first-floor perch in the Sir William Logan Building, and the aide couldn't help but peek out the window as he approached the minister's desk. Seated in a high-back leather chair, Jameson peered from the aide to an antique grandfather clock that was ticking toward four o'clock. Hopes of escaping the bureaucracy early vanished with the aide's approaching footsteps.
”Yes, Steven,” the minister said, welcoming the twenty-something aide who faintly resembled Jim Carrey. ”What do you have to sour my weekend?”
”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 Pa.s.sage. 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 rea.s.suring 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 resample 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 fiancee 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.
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