Watershed

Chapter 19

Sheena had additional news: a single vehicle accident on the route that Colburn had driven last night had claimed the lives of two men. Names were not released; officials believed the vehicle had been speeding and the driver lost control. Another item was that Canada's national television and radio network had been ordered to stop all coverage of the Consumer Advocate campaign. Several top executive within the federal corporation had been fired.

Knight scoffed, “We've been receiving better coverage from the American channels here anyway. In the past three or four months the Yanks have really jumped on this campaign.”

Larkin looked at Colburn. “The feds are desperate. Maybe they will shut down your station, Dave.”

The publicity manager winced, “My network is private; I'm not affiliated with the government… but they did pay CBJT a whack of change over the past year and a half.”

“Conceivably, they may shut out private networks as well; federal government has content control.”

Knight interrupted, “The feds have no control over American broadcasting and borders are meaningless to airwaves; you can't stop the signal.”

“Well, out west, we're usually too far away to pick up broadcasts from south of forty-nine,” Karl said.

Sheena intervened, “Do you think they will ever release the names of the two who died in that car accident?”

Colburn shrugged and Cal Knight said, “They can't hide everything from everyone forever.” He reached for the telephone, “I'll make a few inquiries.”

Colburn engaged Larkin in a discussion as to the contents of his speech for the city's Chamber of Commerce. “Forget the normal platform,” he urged. “There will be plenty of media on hand; probably more than ever now that the government has slapped the hands of its own network. Now is the time to open the ball on these tax hikes. Let's hit the buggers hard before it's too late.”

Karl tried to veto this direction. “We've stirred up enough grief; one dead man is too many.”

Colburn, who had completely re-reversed his attitude of a few days ago, rebuked, “You didn't kill him.

“You didn't kill him, but if you don't act now, you may be next. Your only defense is an open attack. The media has to be stirred up to bring this into the light. Can't you see, the yellow bastards won't come out from the shadows? It's like guerrilla warfare. If you implicate them before they get you they'll be falling over themselves to make sure nothing actually does happen to you! You are safe on centre stage and it is where you have always belonged. I beg you, Karl, listen to me now. This is an area that I know better than you do.”

Larkin had never heard such desperate sincerity from anyone. The campaign manager's emotion struck a chord deep within.

Karl shrugged in resignation. “All right, maestro, you've named the tune, let's see who's going to dance….”

Mrs. Giroux sighed, set down the paper she had been perusing and rubbed tired eyes. She smiled at her husband, “There is a mountain of material here, dear.”

“The tough part is,” Stéphane Giroux looked up from the heap of documents he had been sorting through, “Is that it could all be a wild goose chase. I may be on the wrong track entirely, but this is all I have to go on. But, what is a common link between a twenty-four year old star hockey player from Philadelphia and a career building, thirty plus, female politician, from Toronto, killed more than a year apart?”

Iris Giroux moved to the sofa where her husband sat. She placed a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “You know you are on the right track, Stéphane, you are never wrong.”

The detective reached up and clasped the soft hand. He smiled ruefully, “Apparently I was wrong to go to the mayor.

“We have eliminated the obvious possible connection: romance. Adrian Quennell and Elizabeth Van der Weist had probably never even heard of one another, much less had an affair. Therefore, there could be no jealous third party. No, it is something else. We'll have to concentrate in that two year period when Quennell resided in Toronto. Addresses, schools, work, something must be a link, but it is so obscure we may need a microscope to pick it out.”

“We won't find it tonight,” Iris squeezed his hand, “so let's go to bed and hope the kids don't crawl in with us.”

“…and the latest tax hike is another nail in the national coffin. This irresponsible, habitual tapping of incomes, siphoning of dollars from all tax payers, whether corporate, business, or the salaried worker, offers nothing in return. This levy came with no explanation, no excuse, not even mention of what it was earmarked for. And the House voted unanimously! Why? Ladies and gentlemen, there is something akilter on Parliament Hill.

“The Consumers' Advocate, that is twenty-five million Canadians, have worked long and hard to push Canada's economic figures into black ink; to slow the recession and put our unemployed back to work. You are all business people, you know how to balance your own accounts and you cannot fail to realize the magnitude of the Advocate's success.”

Larkin smiled, “I would not have been invited here tonight if you thought otherwise.”

The orator spoke with forceful captivation, no tremor in the voice, no visible sign of the subsurface panic seeped through the outward calm. It was the first time he publicly denounced the government. Never, in all the hundreds of presentations, had he so deliberately sought to discredit, embarrass the nations' administration. Big City Chamber of Commerce members and guests were spell bound. The glorious voice, so captivating and entrancing when seeking support or during negotiation, held no candle to the thunderous presentation of Larkin on the attack.

Many individuals and organizations (occasionally quite large organizations) had ineffectually criticized governmental tax reforms and laws in the past, but never had there been anyone wielding this amount of power; the voice of the entire population stood behind Larkin and when they spoke, parliamentarians retreated to their last stronghold: Parliament Hill.

The repercussions of Larkin's speech were visible to the knowledgeable audience he now held. Tomorrow's newspapers would burn with this fiery outburst which the media themselves had fueled over the past several months.

Karl Larkin continued softly, the golden voice penetrating, possessing. “The Consumers' Advocate is totally opposed to the recent tax increases. Business and individuals can no longer support the disappearing billions of Canadian tax dollars. If the governments of this nation refuse to alter their spending tactics, we must contain their revenue source.”

The speaker left the podium to the sound of resounding applause. Larkin continued to hide his apprehension when he later circulated among the Chamber's guests. He tried to pick out Knight's private security but no one appeared out of place. Cal Knight had said, “The right people”; obviously they were. The select media in attendance shelled the young man with a battery of queries. Larkin could not answer questions about his future plans. He had none. He had no immediate plan either and he could not explain the sudden attack on government spending. Colburn hustled through the crowd, his face ghostly pale as he grasped Karl's sleeve and escorted the speaker to the hall foyer.

“You really opened the ball, Karl,” he panted. “Tomorrow will have Parliament knob buzzing like an ant hill on fire.”

Larkin expressed concern for his partner's obvious distress. “Dave, are you feeling okay? You appear as though someone stepped on your grave. You instigated this attack, it's too late for second thoughts.”

Colburn brushed a sleeved arm over sweaty visage. “…Just need some fresh air…let's step out for a bit.”

Worry for his partner's condition caused Karl to forget his own immediate danger as they crossed the lobby and exited the main entrance of the Centennial Hall. The agent inhaled a deep breath and eased toward the bright glow of the side lighting. The stout man was spun in a half circle and going down before Larkin heard the definite, barking crack of a rifle shot. Colburn collapsed on the wet pavement grasping an already blood soaked left shoulder.

“Hit the dirt!” he screamed to his shocked partner. Time lapse photography could have captured Larkin's paralyzed movements as Colburn gazed in suspended anguish.

“Roll under that car!” Colburn bellowed.

Karl skidded on the slippery concrete and squeezed against a parked vehicle. His eyes frantically searched for his injured friend and found him pinned tightly against another stationary auto. There was no sign of a sniper.

“How bad are you hit?” Karl gasped.

“Just a flesh wound,” Colburn gritted through clenched teeth. Then, to Larkin's astonishment, the wounded man flashed a pained grin.

The roar of an engine and whine of tires from across the street preceded the stampede of people from within the Centennial Building. Larkin leaped to his feet hoping to pick out an identifying mark, but the vehicle vanished in the heavy downtown traffic. Reaching his wounded companion, he helped Dave to a sitting position. Blood was dripping off his fingertips and the entire sleeve was soaked. .

“We've got to stop the bleeding!” Karl said, tearing the coat material to make a pad. A tall, angular woman pushed through the crowd. “I'm a doctor,” she announced and stepped forward to assist while others jostled for a ringside view. Karl turned to the group, “Call the police! Get an ambulance!”

Media personnel now hummed like hornets around a stick poked hive. “How did it happen? Did you see who did it? Which way did they go? Is he all right? Who is behind this?”

Larkin's head buzzed as he and the doctor applied pressure to the seeping gash in Colburn's arm. Though Colburn groaned in agony, he grasped the improvised bandage and with Karl's assistance, came to his feet.

Karl could not believe his eyes! The familiar pigeon chest puffed out farther than Larkin had ever seen it and the bullet-struck victim commenced a rather unsteady strut in front of the onlookers.

“They were after Karl!” Colburn said. “That shot barely missed him and caught me. Where are our law enforcement people tonight? This man's life is in danger. It is not the first attempt either. He requires police protection.”

Pain and shock led the promoter to incoherence as the police and ambulance arrived. Larkin rode in the emergency unit to the hospital. On arrival Colburn was rushed away to surgery. Karl phoned Cal Knight's residence to inform them of the shooting before they heard it on breaking news.

The police questioned a shaken Larkin, who had nothing to offer. He had scrambled under the parked vehicle before seeing anything. The shot originated across the street from the hall. The escape vehicle, a dark sedan, disappeared unidentified.

Cal Knight arrived at the hospital. He signaled discreetly to Larkin who imperceptibly acknowledged his recognition.

Karl spoke to the emergency doctor who treated his friend. “Not a serious injury,” the bespectacled, white-coated surgeon assured the younger man. “I put in five or six internal sutures and about ten on the outside. The arm will be sore and he will have to wear it up in a sling for a few weeks. We will keep him here tonight for observation; he's not a kid anymore.”

The physician then helped Larkin to slip away through a side exit, avoiding the reception area buzzing with reporters. From his vehicle, Cal Knight hailed Karl and the two escaped the hospital parking lot undetected.

“A close call?” Knight asked.

Larkin studied the driver in the dim glow cast by the street lights. “I'm not so sure that it was an assassination attempt….”

Knight smiled dourly, “Well, no one was killed, that's the main thing.”

The media exploded with double headline news: 'Consumers' Advocate Campaign Manager Shot'; 'Larkin Attacks Feds On Unfair Taxing'. The fact that Larkin could not be reached for comment increased the clamor. Had the orator gone into hiding? Were the feds responsible for the attack? Conjecture and surmise filled the void.

Dave Colburn, on release from the hospital, cheerfully responded to the dozen reporters and camera crews jockeying for position.

“At this time,” the publicity man announced, “we have no information regarding who is responsible for the vicious assault of last evening. Obviously, my colleague was the intended victim of an assassination attempt. The Consumers' Advocate is requesting a complete investigation and also demanding police protection for our campaign.”

A short reporter in a long coat squeezed forward. With a self-important air, he challenged, “Last night, you indicated that this is not the first attempt on Mr. Larkin's life. Could you expand on that please?”

Colburn briefly sketched the pursuit incident along the highway between Toronto and Ottawa. He did not give correct dates and made no mention of a third vehicle.

“Threats have been made, two attacks have failed. It is time for our law enforcement people to provide security for our citizens. If Larkin were a political figure, the army would have been called in before this.”

The agent could not escape the throng of media when he exited the hospital. A parade of vehicles followed his taxi. Colburn went to a hotel, booked in to a room and again faced the horde in the lobby. “Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot help you with the whereabouts of Mr. Larkin. Now, please, I have a bullet hole in my arm and I need rest.”

This did not deter the more avid of the paparazzi, but Colburn was able to elude them later in the afternoon. Through previous arrangement the campaign manager resurfaced at a residence where Larkin and Sheena had hurriedly been relocated. Cal Knight, for the time being, had vanished but the media had not.

Larkin waited at the door as Dave, with his left arm slung up near his chin, strutted brazenly down the walk. Colburn's taxi pulled away as a blue and white patrol car slowly idled past the house. Several occupied vehicles were parked along the street; two more cars rolled by with the drivers craning their necks for a look at the residence.

“Looks like we have company!” the agent grinned. “I took great pains to escape from the reporters and here they are ahead of me.”

“Sheena and I had a police escort for the last few blocks, I don't know who tipped them off.”

Colburn winked, “I told you the boys in blue would come to your rescue.”

Larkin did not share the humor. “They have brought the entire press along too. Come in before we are shot down by all those cameras.”

Once inside and the door closed behind them, Sheena and Karl unloaded their frustration on the injured Colburn. “Damn it, Dave, how could you attempt such a foolish stunt? You could just as easily have been killed!”

Colburn shrugged then winced from the pain. “I didn't overestimate the ability of my man, now don't you kids underestimate me. It will be awhile before the feds direct anymore attention your way, Karl. You're as free as a bird while those boys out there,” he indicated with a jerked thumb, “are keeping an eye on you. When the security is pulled off we will know orders have come down from higher up; then we'll start to worry.”

Larkin ushered his friend into the spartan sitting room and poured three drinks. “How's the shoulder today? he asked.

Colburn grimaced. “Stings like hell when I move it. I've had worse though.”

Sheena said, “You've had worse bullet wounds?”

“Yeah, it's said that trouble comes in threes. I always wondered when I'd take the third hit.”

Larkin, his hand shaking, passed the drink to the campaign manager. “Here, take this before I spill it. You've been shot twice before?”

“A North Korean nicked me during the war and I took a slug in the leg when we were doing a contract for that mining outfit I told you about.”

Larkin stared at his partner, “There is more to Dave Colburn than I would have guessed.”

The promoter simply raised his glass and said, “Well, here's to us; may there be no more bullet holes.”

“To us!” Karl and Sheena echoed.

Colburn looked around, “Decent little place you have here.”

“I'm a hostage again,” Sheena groaned. “This caged life is wearing me down. I'm wasting away.”

Larkin said, “You don't look wasted away to me.”

Colburn sipped the liquor then smacked his lips. “Boy, the country is humming today. Your tax war has really stirred the pot. Even the taxi driver was bouncing with excitement.”

Sheena flicked on the television and switched through the channels. Colburn and Larkin, hearing her gasp of astonishment, focused on the screen: A reporter standing in front of a small house was telling the world that Karl Larkin was taking refuge here!

“I'd like to open the curtain and hang a moon,” Larkin said.

“Let's go out for lunch,” said Colburn. “No reason to stay cooped up where everyone knows we are anyway. We can be assured of plenty of company, so less chance of danger. Besides, I am hungry, and,” he winked at Sheena, “we don't have to live like hostages.”

Larkin backed Colburn's high performance automobile from the single car garage. The trio proceeded along the snowy street with a parade of vehicles in tow. Upon their arrival at the selected restaurant, Colburn and his guests were seated in a semi private booth and treated to matchless hospitality and service. One overzealous reporter retreated when Larkin gently insisted upon privacy, promising a brief conference after lunch. While the injured Colburn sputtered and fumed, Sheena carved his dinner into bite sized pieces.

As promised, Larkin delivered a short speech then fielded another torrent of questions: “No, the police have made no arrests. Yes, the Consumers' Advocate intends to request a repeal of the recent increases in taxes, unemployment insurance premiums and pension plan contributions. Yes, we believe the department of finance will cooperate. Governments are, after all, the voice of the people.”

The short reporter, wearing the long coat, who had challenged Colburn earlier asked haughtily, “Why should parliament pay heed to The Advocate? They are the ones running this country.”

Larkin fixed the man with a steady gaze that made him shrivel. “The Consumers' Advocate does not make demands; it is the medium by which Canadians have their say. Arguably, politicians are people too, and while they may feel safe on a united front on Parliament Hill, each of them has a constituency he or she must return to. If an elected official fails to do the bidding of the constituents, that member loses the confidence of the people. Today, that confidence is not to be taken lightly.

“All levels of government in Canada must hear and address the demands of the people. Voters will no longer be forgotten or ignored until the next election campaign. Elected officials will represent the electorate… or… be replaced.”

Karl begged away from the press. Rejoining his friends, they vacated the dining establishment and motored back to their temporary quarters. The parade of vehicles followed. A uniformed police officer escorted the trio into the residence, cautioning reporters to remain at an acceptable distance.

Once safe inside and free of eaves droppers Colburn exclaimed, “That mini presentation to the media was just perfect, Karl. We'll keep throwing tidbits for now, but soon I will land a really large scale presentation.”

“How large is large scale?” Sheena asked.

“The most!” Dave blurted. “National coverage, throngs in attendance… the coup de grace!”

Larkin laughed. “Assuming we are still in one piece at that time, how will we preserve our hides afterward?”

Colburn did not return Karl's levity. “If you are still alive then, my friend, there won't be anything to worry about afterward.”

The attempted assassination of Karl Larkin disturbed Jamie Langston; the janitor felt a sense of propriety toward the orator. The drive-by shooting had, in Langston's opinion, been a bungled, hurried waste of time. The sniper must have been quite novice; he didn't even shoot the right person! However, there had been no opportunities to allow Jamie to make acquaintance either. Patience strained its leash, the next attempt may be successful and all the work put into the Larkin collection would have been for naught.

A possible solution came when Jamie learned that news media were aware of Larkin's address. It wouldn't be difficult to track down the famous man; Jamie had to act quickly before another killer got there first.

Patrol cars made regular circuits past the house where Larkin and his colleagues had taken refuge. News media hung around like ravens on a roadkill. No one payed any attention to the kid trudging along the dirty, sloppy snow-laden sidewalk lugging a violin case.

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