Watershed

Chapter 9

Karl and Sheena treasured the precious time spent at the acreage. Only a light skiff of snow covered the ground and the temperature held at freezing during the day. Wind was elsewhere. The sky was azure. Sheena treasured the quietude as the couple toured Karl's premises. No intrusive vehicular noise passed within hearing. Occasionally a passenger jet droned high overhead leaving a line of wispy white vapour marking its trail. There were no visitors and only a few telephone calls.

Neither Sheena nor Karl cared to break the spell; they abstained from a trip to Chesterton for supplies. Larkin's refrigerator contained no fresh produce so the couple subsisted mainly on the meager cache in the bachelor's freezer; for the remainder, they lived on love.

Saturday night, Karl drew a small sofa close to the hearth of the handsome stone fireplace that took up an entire wall of the living room and the amative couple shared a perfect evening in front of a crackling fire.

Karl put his arm around Sheena and pulled her close. He could smell the fragrance of her hair and feel the warmth of her body.” I could grow used to this,” he whispered softly.

Sheena rested her head on Karl's chest. She could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and felt the inner strength. She had never known anyone like Karl Larkin; sometimes he seemed invincible….

Sheena shuddered and said, “I'm worried, Karl. Some of that mail we read today had serious implications; one was a blatant threat.”

Jerry Holt kept an eye on the acreage during the orator's absence. He checked the water and made sure that electrical appliances and furnace were running. The farmer also collected Karl's mail at the post office. A large sack of letters had awaited Karl's return and together the couple had filtered through the barrage of correspondence. The majority of the letters were thank-yous for previous appearances, invitations to speak or congratulations and suggestions. One missive, in a plain brown manila envelope with no return address and a Toronto post-mark, read in bold print:

Keep your mouth shut or we'll shut it for you.

“Don't worry about that,” Karl tried to dismiss the subject. “Most likely it was sent by some attention starved nut case.”

“But the letter said 'we!' That suggests more than one person behind it. And besides, who could you have singled out in Toronto? You haven't made any individual enemies that far away,” Sheena persisted.

Karl stood up and slowly paced the room. A frown creased his handsome face. “I suppose it could be Agra-line. Certain individuals within that organization are aware that Hal Reid has been investigating their chemical production. They would be premature in making threats though. We haven't singled them out publicly. My comments have been fairly general as far as the agricultural chemical manufacturers are concerned. I do intend to meet with Agra-line and a few of the other big names later on, but they aren't aware of that.”

He waved a hand in couldn't-care-less fashion. “I'm not about to lose any sleep over an unsigned letter. There are hundreds of weirdos out there that crave this publicity I could well do without.”

Sheena arose and came to Karl, “Please be careful. I worry about you.”

The threatening letter did not cross Larkin's mind again until he received a call from Hal Reid three days later.

Seated in Dave Colburn's CJBT office, Karl responded to the secretary's “Karl Larkin, line two.”

“Karl, this is Hal,” the voice sounded breathless. “I've dug up a few fresh bones and uncovered another helping of scraps from Agra-line.”

Sensing the urgency in the investigator's tone, Karl interjected, “Are you O.K., Hal?”

“Yeah… yeah, I'm all right… for now. It might a good time to back off though. These fellows have more to hide than over-priced chemicals. They've got a bee in their bonnet and they don't want us, or anyone else, snooping around… at all!”

“We aren't particularly interested in their illicit activities, if that is what you are alluding to; crime investigation isn't our platform.” Larkin paused, then chuckled, “I'll admit, it would make life even more interesting ?don't throw out any tidbits? but, as I said before, we need to prove that there is an unnecessarily high markup on certain pesticides and herbicides. Then we'll insist upon a price reduction. If we are refused, the farmers can decide the future of Agra-line's chemical division.”

Reid said, “We definitely have sufficient information to approach them for that concern. I found an interesting bit of material that… er… somehow escaped the paper shredder.”

“Give me what you've got. Maybe we can reason with Agra-line without a public outcry.”

“You owe me a bonus for this detective action, Karl. I had to sacrifice my virtue to get access to the top floor.”

Hal Reid's perseverance, digging in the 'trash bins' of Agra-line's executive, unearthed a highly confidential sheaf of financial statements and documents. Following a close perusal, Reid drew two conclusions: Agriculturalists and pharmacies were not the only users of chemicals produced or distributed by Agra-line and Revenue Canada would raise their collective eyebrows if they were privy to the financial records. For confirmation of the latter, the investigator hired the resources of a trusted accountant.

Larkin firmly refused to become involved with the company's alleged illicit dealings stating again that criminal investigation would not be a part of the consumer fight.

“Can you fly back tonight?” Karl asked his digger. “We'll break down those financial reports and extract only what we need for our campaign. I'd like to have a proposal for Agra-line before the new year. We may be too late to benefit those farmers who need a tax deduction before year end, but the majority will appreciate any positive movement.”

Hal Reid had a previous engagement ?a further sacrifice of his virtue? but assured Karl that he would catch the red-eye and be in the office at CBJT late afternoon the next day. He added, “From a quick estimate, I'd say we can net the tractor-boys an easy 25% cut on Agra-line chemicals.

“Thanks, Hal.” Larkin replaced the receiver. The investigator's words left him ill at ease: Maybe Agra-line really had sent that threat.

Hamilton Sturgess, manager of Agra-line Chemicals' Toronto office, failed to conceal his irritation when Karl Larkin called.

“Yes, Larkin. I've heard of you,” he said.

Ignoring the lukewarm response, Larkin tried a softening approach. “I'd really appreciate a chance to meet and discuss product prices your company controls.”

“We're on a tight budget here, Larkin. I would advise you, for your own good, to keep your nose out of our affairs.”

“Your affairs,” Larkin said, “are none of my concern. I am interested in the customers of your agricultural division. I'm trying to establish an acceptable pricing policy that, in the long term, will benefit you as well as the farmers. Surely you don't desire a purchasing freeze on your product?”

“You can go to hell!” the belligerent businessman exploded. “We don't care a cold damn about your puny charade. Besides, the farming industry is small potatoes for us. I'm warning you again. Keep your damn nose out of our business!”

Karl heard the receiver crash down and the hum of dial tone resume.

More amused than shocked Larkin replaced his own handset, then softly drummed his fingers on the desk as thoughts coursed through his keen mind.

He had an outline of prices charged by other chemical companies in Canada: no significant difference existed throughout a wide range of similar products. Given the opportunity to ad-lib and exercise 'gentle coercion' Karl believed he could negotiate a fairer deal through these sources. Also, because the remaining companies combined did not enjoy as large a slice of the pie as Agra-line, they may be receptive to an increase in sales. Larkin surmised that a certain envy must exist for those in the shadow of the huge conglomerate.

The orator doubted Hamilton Sturgess would reconsider his position and Karl thought it prudent to contact the smaller chemical manufacturers immediately, before Agra-line had an opportunity to strengthen any reputed alliance. If the companies all followed Agra-line's example, Larkin's campaign would have no foundation for negotiation.

Consulting his personal notes, he reached again for the telephone.

Larkin's opportunity to launch an offensive against Agra-line's farm chemical sales came sooner than he expected. The Canadian Cereal Grain Authority (CCGA) requested the orator's presence at their annual convention in Ottawa.

The symposium was an extravagant event traditionally attended by members of all major farm organizations: grain terminal and railhead executives, representatives of federal and provincial departments of agriculture, commodity experts, import/export wizards, farm implement manufacturers, and just about anyone associated with the agriculture industry except those who actually knew the difference between a combine and a cultivator. It offered Karl the ideal venue to plead his case against over-pricing of herbicide, pesticide and fertilizer.

David Colburn beamed more than usual as he slapped Karl on the back.

“Boy, this is theeee chance you have been waiting for! Once you wag that silver tongue of yours at this convention, all the farmers in Canada will be behind you. There will be enough coverage to put you in competition with the Pope!”

Larkin listened, an amused grin on his face. The sponsor's exuberance no longer troubled the young orator. Both men had nurtured a healthy mutual respect which evolved into a genuine friendship and Karl realized, without Colburn's help, he would be back in Chesterton counting eggs for Mitch the grocer.

“How much support would I gain if I were to start with a tirade against freight subsidies, government assistance, or, perhaps, CCGA itself?”

Colburn's smile faded. “You wouldn't open that can of worms for that particular audience…would you?”

Larkin soothed the older man. “Well, you know I don't agree with robbing Peter to pay Paul; sort of goes against the grain. However, it would be prudent to avoid that issue at this time with the hope of minimizing or eliminating the need in the future. If a farmer can save ten thousand dollars in costs, that may eventually translate into a break for the taxpayer.”

Colburn brightened. “Speaking of taxpayers, do you have anyone checking up on the feds? Maybe we should expose a few examples of the flagrant mismanagement of our tax dollars.”

Dave often pitched the idea of using federal government waste to gain popularity for the campaign. Larkin usually dodged. He said, “I had hoped to keep politics and bureaucrats out of the program. The way I see it, we can have no political affiliation or we lose support. Any negative comment directed to a particular party will certainly be misconstrued….”

“But taxes are the biggest rip off of all!” Colburn protested. “It will gain us tons of publicity.”

Larkin winced, recalling his ongoing struggle with Hamilton Sturgess and the entire Agra-line corporation, “Publicity isn't always in my best interest!”

Karl's argument was lost as Dave Colburn assumed his pigeon-chested strut and Karl could lip sync the words he knew were forthcoming. “Publicity, coverage, fame! It's everything! So what if a few people are agitated? Conflict creates renown. We have gone from a shrunken subcolumn near the classifieds to front page headlines! National networks pay, 'The Consumers' Advocate Inc.' a ton of money to broadcast your words, your voice.

“I'm telling you, Karl Larkin, my boy…Now is the time to poke a stick in the hornets' nest. Those jokers presume to represent the people. We'll expose a few instances of pocket lining, just to keep them on their toes!”

Cool gray eyes dammed the verbal flood. “I'll not be party to individual harassment of MP's and MLA's. Don't forget: people in glass houses….”

Dave Colburn said, “Yeah, yeah, and people in stone houses shouldn't throw glass….

“But,” he argued, “we have the vehicle? the power ?to eradicate patronization and vote buying, to install democracy in it purest form.”

Larkin gave up, “I will have our diggers check out a couple of select government funded programs. Maybe we should… encourage… our politicians to exercise caution in their spending. It seems to me that every tax payer could be given an accounting of how their dollars are spent.”

The older man appeared satisfied with the compromise, “We'll dig up enough embarrassment in general terms without homing in on particular individuals… But just once, I would like to have the feds under my thumb and watch 'em squirm instead of them putting the screws to me, especially around tax time.”

Karl laughed at his partner. “I'll just bet you squirm at tax time!”

Hours later, the orator reviewed the conversation he had had with Colburn. The promoter's tone had held the slightest trace of… of what? When he said 'power'; was it eagerness? excitement? maybe a hidden hunger? Karl shook his head; he read too much into small details.

However, the ripple Larkin started had been gathering momentum. It was approaching avalanche proportions but, Karl felt, under control. As the campaign swept along, gathering energy, would power skim to the top? Would Larkin let that power overwhelm him? What would Dave Colburn do if he were in Karl's shoes?

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