CTV NEWS SAID THE CROWD exceeded twenty thousand. The Calgary Saddledome was bursting at the seams for one of the final rallies of the campaign. But the premier paced the green room, usually reserved for Keith Urban or other musicians waiting to go on stage, with his arms crossed, staring at the floor while Garth stood in silence. Premier Brewster stopped and turned to face his employee.
“What the fuck have you been up to, Garth?”
“We’re —”
Brewster jabbed his finger at Garth. “We’re fuckin’ five points behind, and you seem to have lost focus. We’re here to win. But we’re not winning right now. Your job is to make sure that we win while I prepare the post-referendum details.”
“We will win.”
“Don’t bullshit me. You’ve been sloppy.”
“Who says?”
“I just watched it. The interview on TV. You adlibbed, didn’t you?”
“It was an ambush.”
“Of course, you moron. I know how this game is played. I’ve been doing this for years. You fell into an easy trap. You just fuckin’ wanted to antagonize them.” He paced in a circle once, twice, then he stopped, turned to face Garth, and pointed his finger at him. “We’re bleeding support because of your bozo eruption.” He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at the ceiling in frustration. “Jesus. Finland?”
“Law number three —”
“You just make this crap up, don’t you? The way you said it made it sound like we want to create our own country.”
“We do.”
“No, we don’t. We’ll do it if we have to, but it’s definitely not our first choice.”
Garth froze. He hadn’t expected the premier to deny their quest for nationhood. They had dreamed about it together for a decade. He hadn’t hesitated when Brewster phoned him for help. He’d gladly resigned from the Prime Minister’s Office to take a place by his side. But now he saw something new and disturbing on the premier’s face. It looked like hesitation. “Of course we do. You’re not getting squeamish now? So close to victory?”
“I know what I’m doing, Garth. Alberta as an independent country is a moronic idea. We’re landlocked and no one’s on our side. B.C. and the territories hate us, Saskatchewan can’t do much to help, and Montana doesn’t give a damn what happens. Get real. What we need is bargaining strength against the Feds. But now you have the media saying we want to separate. Like we’re another fuckin’ Parti Québécois. Davison was right. He warned me about hiring you. He told me of your work in his PMO. Your fringe group is sloppy. And you’re a bit of a whiner, too.”
“Our AIM brothers got the job done.”
Brewster stretched his back. “Not this time. We won’t whine our way out of Confederation. I’ve got a full house of supporters out there.” He pointed toward the stage below in the centre of the arena. “I don’t want your goose-stepping goons scaring people away. We’re down to the wire, and I think you’re drifting off-message.”
“I’ve made the message clearer.”
“Stick to my message. I’m the only one who gets to improvise. Not you. I pay you to manage expectations, not create new ones because you’re pissed off.”
Garth’s shock morphed into an anger he could barely control. The premier’s attitude was insulting, and Garth was realizing the premier’s true problem: he was beginning to lose his nerve now that pressure was increasing and the poll numbers no longer predicted a big win. Garth grimaced as he remembered his strategic plan. At least a new and independent Alberta would be ready to defend itself. And, if necessary, he would have the power base to take command when the premier displayed weakness.
Brewster said, “You do know what we’ll do when we win?”
“I want a country. I expect to be well rewarded for my service.”
“You’ll get your fucking Cabinet post.”
“I want to be minister of defence.”
“Yeah, yeah, but we have more trouble ahead between now and your new job title.”
“I’ve made contingency plans. No problem.”
“Yes, a problem. First, we have to negotiate with the Americans. Otherwise, they’ll just roll over us. Our oil will help guarantee that they have enough for at least a generation, even if there are problems with the Saudis or Iran or Venezuela. We could become their fifty-first state. I’ll become governor. We’ll have two senators and a dozen or so congressmen. But do you know what will happen if we lose this referendum?”
“You’ll still be premier. Still in power.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll be powerless. Embarrassed. I’ll join a long list of political rejects. Losers. I’ll become just a curious historical footnote. I’ll be ridiculed by schoolchildren for generations of Canadian history classes.” Brewster leaned closer. “I guarantee that it will be far worse for you. This is not going to happen. We are not going to lose. And definitely not because of you getting careless in front of the media. I want a five-point shift in our favour by Saturday night.”
Garth shook with brittle tension.
“How do you plan to fix it?” Brewster pressed closer until he was almost nose to nose with Garth.
Garth smelled the stench of steak and stale beer from the premier’s mouth, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t say a word. He knew the question was rhetorical.
“I’ll tell you. Time to play hardball. Our message has become compromised. You compromised it. We need to focus the voters’ attention on the other side. I want negative headlines about the No side. I want something spectacular. I want it far away from here. And I want it clear that the No side is behind it. Got it?”
Brewster didn’t wait for Garth to acknowledge his demand. He spun around with extra flair, as if he sported a long black cape, and left, leaving the door ajar.
Garth nodded slowly to himself. Now he knew what he should be scared of. He had his focus back. He saw new headlines materialize in his mind, and he knew what to do. He grabbed his cellphone and punched in Ash’s number. It was time for Plan B.