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-one. Do you copy?”
    â€œGo ahead, S&R -one.”
    â€œYou’re going to want to see this, sir.”
    â€œWhat have you got?”
    Cole listened to the distant voices. He risked a glance around him and saw that both Rick and Derek were watching him. The FBI agent continued to watch the earth below.
    â€œWe’ve got something here about two miles from your position. There’s a gully that drops off toward Waterton Lake off Mount Boswell. We’ve got a body, sir.”
    â€œIdentification?”
    â€œTwo of the team are on site now. We’re on top. Hold on.”
    A long moment passed. Cole could feel his heart beating in his throat. He strained to hear the conversation in the headset over the din of the Black Hawk.
    â€œWhat have you got, S&R -one?” Special Agent McCallum sounded less jocular than when he was giving instructions to the hiking party.
    â€œMale, deceased, massive trauma to the back of the head. Looks like he fell. We’ve got recently disturbed talus and scree. They have a wallet. Hold. Okay, we’ve got possible ID . Foreman, Blake. We’ll have to confirm with the autopsy. Thirty-six years old, address is in Georgia, but the licence is expired.”
    â€œAlright, I’ll pass the word up here that we have our missing person. We’ll have Evidence Recovery on station in the next hour. You’re in a second crime scene, S&R -one.”

ELEVEN
    OTTAWA, ONTARIO. FEBRUARY 13.
    BY 8:00 AM BRIAN MARRIOTT was back at his office, digging. But digging for what? he asked himself, elbows on the desk, head in his hands. He picked up the phone and dialed the number of Rick Turcotte’s parliamentary office, but all he got was voice mail. Ministers and parliamentary secretaries usually huddled around 7:30 each morning, so it was likely Rick and his staff were in the minister’s office. Brian left a message.
    For the next hour he skulked around various parliamentary news­letter web pages and searched for anything he could find about today’s announcements. When his phone rang at 9:00 AM , he jumped. He snatched the receiver up. “Marriott, AEG .”
    â€œMr. Turcotte is holding for you,” said a woman’s voice.
    â€œPut him on, please.” There was a pause.
    â€œBrian, you called?”
    â€œMr. Secretary. Yes, I did. That was quite the reception last night.”
    â€œAre you pleased with the announcement? You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
    â€œI guess I’d like to read the full instructions for the regulatory review before I say one way or the other.”
    â€œWell, I can arrange to have them sent over, but it will have to wait until after today’s press conference. This government doesn’t want any leaks. Will you be there?”
    â€œI’m considering it.”
    â€œYou should be. This is good news for you.”
    â€œSo you say, Secretary.”
    â€œI do. I’ll see you there. I have to go, Brian. Eleven AM . Don’t be late.” Rick Turcotte hung up. Brian looked at the receiver in his hand and did the same.
    A moment later, the phone rang again. He thought it might be Turcotte calling back. It was Joe Firstlight from the Blackfeet Nation. Brian let out his breath. “Hi, Joe, how are things in big sky country this morning?”
    â€œCold and dry. We haven’t had any snow here in a month. Last winter we had record snow; this year, nothing.”
    â€œExtreme fluctuations in annual weather patterns are one of the consequences of climate change.”
    â€œIf this keeps up, we’re going to have to truck water in as early as June this year. Listen, you asked me to dig around about High Country Energy. I did. There’s some pretty testy people right now on the Blackfeet Council. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s happening—why we’ve been shut out, and why HCE has had the doors opened wide for them.”
    â€œDid you find out