AT THIRTY-ONE THOUSAND FEET over Saskatchewan, the ride was smooth. The Yes campaign’s Bombardier Global 5000 soared over the world, leaving everything behind as it flew swiftly forward. Into the future, Garth thought. With a strong tailwind, it would be a six-hour flight from Edmonton to Halifax. It was insulting that the premier didn’t trust him to finish the job. But he would finish it, and he would demonstrate how valuable he was to the new government-in-waiting. Direct, decisive action would make him the perfect defence minister. And after a respectful period, leader.
His official cellphone buzzed with a text message from Brewster.
Why does the RCMP want to talk to you?
No idea.
What did you do?
What did you tell them?
It better not affect the campaign.
I don’t know what you mean.
I told them you were flying out East.
Yes.
Don’t fuck it up.
Garth swore at the blue sky out the window. He tossed his phone onto the neighbouring seat. His other, non-official cellphone buzzed immediately. He grabbed it as if it were a weapon. Larch.
Waiting for target. Have leverage. Will advise when target terminated. Instructions?
Garth thought for a few moments. Decisive action. Direct. The answer was simple.
No loose ends. Do it now.
Five hours to landing and to some good news.