The Back of the Turtle (36 page)

DORIAN SHOULD HAVE BEEN TIRED. HE HADN’T GOTTEN ANY
sleep, but by the time he arrived at the office, he felt positively electric. The nausea and the pain were gone, and for the moment he was able to imagine a future that did not include doctors and hospitals.

The condo papers would be signed later in the week, and, as soon as everything cleared, he planned to move in. No sense wasting time. He’d put the Queen’s Quay condo on the market immediately. There would be some legal issues, but he wouldn’t deal with them until Olivia returned from Orlando.

If she did return.

And he had stopped off at Royal de Versailles, had bought the Jaeger, to celebrate his new life.

“A very fine watch,” Kip had said, when Dorian got into the back seat.

“Yes, it is.” Dorian slipped the Rolex off his wrist and weighed it in his hand. “What kind of watch do you have?”

“A dependable watch.” Kip had held out his arm. “Very inexpensive. Very accurate. It runs on solar energy. No winding. No batteries.”

“Have you ever wanted to own a Rolex?”

“A Rolex?” Kip had grinned. “What would I do with a watch such as that.”

“What if someone gave you a Rolex?”

Kip filled the car with laughter.

“You are a funny fellow,” he told Dorian. “Very funny indeed. I must watch you very carefully.”

WINTER
was waiting for him by the elevators in the garage.

“Good news would be appreciated.”

“Someone tried to kill the prime minister.”

Dorian waited to see if Winter had decided to start his day off with a joke.

“Half an hour ago,” said Winter. “It’s all over the news. CNN, Fox, CBC, CBS, NBC, ABC.”

“Shot?”

“A knife.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Wounded,” said Winter. “Not serious.”

Dorian waited for the doors to close. “Have PR send flowers.”

“Already done.”

“And the Athabasca?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?”

“The prime minister is the only thing on the networks.”

“Kali Creek? Dr. Quinn? GreenSweep?”

“All gone,” said Winter.

As soon as Dorian arrived at his office, he turned on the television.

“White male. Middle-class. From Northern Ontario.” Winter worked her tablet. “No word yet on why he did it.”

Dorian flipped through the major channels.

CNN was airing an interview with an expert on combat knives, who was describing how such a knife, in the hands of a skilled assailant, could be as deadly as any firearm. CBC was showing images of the outside of a restaurant, just blocks from Parliament Hill, where the attack had occurred.

“The blogs are the same,” said Winter.

“God bless the media.”

“Amen,” said Winter.

“Stock prices?”

“On the rise.”

“What do you think?” said Dorian. “Quite the
deus ex machina
.”

“Yes,” said Winter. “It certainly is.”

Dorian stuck out his wrist. “I bought a new watch.”

“Very handsome.”

“And a condo. They’re sending the paperwork over this afternoon.”

“Mrs. Asher called,” said Winter. “Several times.”

Dorian relaxed in his chair. He couldn’t get over how marvellous he felt. “Anything else?”

“Two items,” said Winter. “I did a search for the word “Kousoulas.”

“And?”

“It appears to be a proper name.”

“But?”

“I found a D.G. Kousoulas who wrote a number of books on geopolitics, but he’s dead.” Winter consulted her tablet. “I was
also able to locate a photographer, a veterinarian, a media consultant, an account executive, a lawyer, and a basketball player.”

“Quinn circled that name in stars. It must mean something.”

“That would seem to be a valid assumption.”

“Keep looking.” Dorian checked the Jaeger against the clock on the wall. The clock was two minutes fast. “What’s the second item?”

“The
Anguis.
”

“Again?”

“Another possible sighting,” said Winter. “Three weeks ago. Off the coast of Northern California.”

Dorian sat back and folded his hands across his stomach. “It’s at the bottom of the ocean.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can feel it in my bones.”

Dorian swivelled about so he could see through all the glass partitions at once.

“We need to do something about the tank in the lobby.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s fill it with fish. Lots of colour. Something to perk the place up.”

“Salt water?”

“And maybe a turtle.”

Winter straightened her glasses. “I’ll talk to Maintenance today.”

Dorian touched his pocket. “Tell me,” he asked Winter, as she got to the doorway. “Have you ever wanted to own a Rolex?”

CRISP LOWERED THE TRAILER HITCH ONTO THE BALL OF HIS
truck. “And where will I be mooring Master Gabriel?”

“Near me, I guess,” said Mara.

“Near enough for the eye,” said Crisp, “or for the conversation?”

“Conversation,” said Mara. “But no closer.”

Soldier sat down outside the door to the trailer and began whining.

“Master Dog appears to have a concern,” said Crisp.

Gabriel squatted down and rubbed Soldier’s neck. “He’s nothing but concerns.”

“Someone must do the job.” Crisp set the chains. “Carry the valuables what might break, and I’ll drag the rest ashore.”

Soldier whined louder and scratched at the door.

“He wants in,” said Mara.

Gabriel looked at the dog. “He can’t ride in the trailer.”

“Why not?” Mara opened the door, and Soldier quickly pushed past her. “He seems to know how to take care of himself.”

“All he does is sleep and fart.”

“Dangerous thing,” Crisp shouted back, “to argue with a woman what’s smarter than oneself.”

Gabriel was about to say something to Crisp about sexism and clichés, when Soldier popped out of the trailer, a stuffed dog in his mouth.

Mara arched her eyebrows. “Didn’t take you for the cuddly-toy type.”

Soldier dropped the dog at Mara’s feet and stood poised at the ready.

“Long time back.”

“Girlfriend?”

Gabriel nudged the stuffed dog with his foot. “I bought it for Lilly.”

Mara picked up the dog and shook it gently, so that its ears flopped up and down. “Now that’s a story I want to hear.”

Soldier began whining again, more loudly this time, his body trembling as though he were going to shake himself apart.

Mara smiled. “I think he wants the puppy.”

Gabriel shrugged.

“So, we’re set, are we,” said Crisp, popping up from behind the truck and climbing into the driver’s seat. “It’s the trail for the two of ye and the road for me.”

The trailer groaned and snapped as Crisp dragged it off the pad. Soldier carefully took the puppy in his mouth and followed the truck as it headed to the reserve.

“It’s a nice day,” said Mara. “Why don’t we take our time.”

“Sure.”

“And you can tell me the story of the stuffed puppy.”

Gabriel checked the horizon. No fog. No ship. No enormous waves.

“Where do you want me to begin?”

“Start where all stories start.”

“All right,” said Gabriel. “There was a woman who lived in a sky world. And she was curious.”

THE ATHABASCA WAS MONTHS IN THE PUBLIC’S REAR-VIEW
mirror now, and, while there was the occasional outcry over new studies that documented the continuing damage to the Mackenzie and the Arctic, the newspapers had consigned such revelations to the back pages of the “Life and Arts” section.

The networks ignored them altogether.

The prime minister continued to be front-page news, the attack, the stitches in his arm, his return to the House. A month after the incident, he played in a celebrity golf tournament, where he had swung his driver with vigour for the television cameras and the supermarket tabloids.

It had taken most of that time for Domidion’s share prices to recover. But recover they did. Olivia had finally returned from Orlando. With a tennis pro. A younger man. It had been such a cliché that Dorian would have put it on his Facebook page.

If he had had such a thing.

The tennis pro lasted exactly two months. Olivia put the Bridle Path house up for sale and moved to Vancouver. It was strange, but Dorian didn’t miss her, didn’t miss being married, whatever that meant.

What had they seen in each other? Thank goodness they had never had children.

He wasn’t sure he liked being alone, but he was enjoying his new life at the Hermes. He especially appreciated having a private elevator. Each time he stepped inside and slid his security key into the card reader, he felt valuable, as though he were being put away in a vault for safekeeping.

Even the hospital procedure had not been as bad as he had imagined. But the results had been inconclusive. That was the word Toshi had used. “Inconclusive.”

“We’ll continue to monitor the situation,” Toshi had told him. “What situation is that?”

“We’ll probably want to do another biopsy.”

After he was discharged, Dorian stopped off at Rosen’s, and Robert helped him with three new suits, a casual jacket in dark teal, and a cashmere overcoat.

DORIAN
looked up to see Winter on her way to his office. Today, she was wearing a dark charcoal wool skirt and jacket with a silver-on-silver silk blouse. Elegant and efficient. He wasn’t going to ask, but he was curious what she might say if he were to suggest a drink after work.

“Good morning, Winter.”

“Good morning, Mr. Asher.”

“Good news would be appreciated.”

“Six items,” said Winter. “The Zebras have begun releasing the confidential health records of Toronto’s top business leaders.”

“Mine?”

“Not so far.”

“Should I be insulted?”

“Second. Uruguay’s General Assembly has voted to ban all Domidion agricultural products.”

“Again?” Dorian shook his head. “What’s three?”

“The pipeline.”

“More delays?”

“We’re encountering stiff opposition from local communities and First Nations.”

Dorian wondered if the knife attack was going to serve the prime minister in the next election. People tended to be partial to wounded heroes.

“Have a word with Legal,” said Dorian. “Let them know we’re displeased.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Next?”

“Dr. Quinn and Dr. Thicke,” said Winter. “We’ve still not been able to locate Dr. Quinn. Nor have we found the mother or sister.”

“Does the Board feel we need to find Q at this point?”

“No.”

“Then let’s not bother.” Dorian rubbed his eyes. “And Thicke?”

“Dr. Thicke has submitted his resignation and is taking a position with Syngenta.”

“The Swiss conglomerate? They’re a competitor.”

“Yes,” said Winter, “they are.”

“Doesn’t Thicke’s contract contain a non-competition clause?”

“It does,” said Winter. “Should we enforce it?”

“God, no,” said Dorian. “With any luck, Thicke might set Syngenta’s research back a few years. What’s the last item?”

Winter tapped her tablet and handed it to Dorian. “This was taken by a passenger on a cruise ship.”

The image was a low-resolution photograph of a dark ship with rust stains running down its sides, sitting low in the water.

“We’ve had the photograph enhanced. It’s the
Anguis.
”

“What’s that?” Dorian squinted at the screen. “The white smear near the bow.”

“According to the reports, the
Anguis
scraped the side of the cruise ship.”

He and Olivia had taken a cruise once. Seventeen days across the Atlantic, from Barcelona to Miami, with stops in Málaga, Cádiz, Gibraltar, Agadir, Lanzarote, Tenerife, and La Palma. There had been an outbreak of an intestinal virus, and the ship had been put under a sanitation regime that consisted of staff members spraying copious amounts of bleach on handrails, tables, and the insides of all the elevators.

He and Olivia had gone to two floor shows and left in the middle of the second one when a large man in a tuxedo began singing “Send in the Clowns.” There had been a daily art auction where you could buy art no one wanted, a casino that was designed to depress the most ardent gambler, and several wine-tasting events where the vintages had arrived in plastic sacks.

And the food.

Everywhere you turned there had been food.

By the time they had reached the Azores, Dorian was prepared to kill someone to get off the ship. On that trip, he would have given anything to have been hit by a garbage scow.

“Damage?”

“Minimal,” said Winter. “According to the passenger postings on Facebook and Twitter, it was all quite exciting.”

“And the
Anguis
?”

Winter took the tablet from Dorian and ran a finger across the screen. “The captain of the cruise ship gave the authorities a projected course for the
Anguis.
”

“The Gulf of St. Lawrence?”

Winter nodded. “If it stays on course.”

Dorian put his head in his hands and squeezed his temples. “So, it’s coming home.”

“It would appear.”

“I don’t suppose we can just sink it.”

And for the second time that Dorian could remember, Winter smiled.

CRISP AND SOLDIER LOUNGED IN THE SAND AND WATCHED
Sonny run up and down the beach. The boy had Gabriel’s jacket on. It was too big for him, and, when he moved, it flapped about his thin body like a great set of wings.

“Easy, lad,” Crisp called out. “Ye mustn’t scare them.”

Each day since Big Red had laid her eggs in the sand, Crisp had brought Sonny to the beach to check on the nest. The boy would sit in the sand for hours, banging the drum, singing his turtle-bone song.

“The boy has scant talent for melodic renderings,” Crisp told Soldier, “but he has a honeyed heart, and on that account we needs put up with the excruciations.”

THE
ocean had come back first. On the days when Crisp swam out to the horizon, he found more and more signs of life. Small fish darting about the seaweed, urchins and anemones huddling together, crabs and starfish patrolling the rocks and sandy bottom, larger fish moving in from the depths.

Early one morning, Crisp had spotted movement in a kelp
bed just off shore. “Look, lad,” he said, grabbing Sonny and turning him about, “that be an otter!”

The birds were not far behind, the gulls leading the way. Noisy and combative creatures they were, ready to take all sides in an argument. And later the oyster catchers, the petrels, the sandpipers, the grebes, and the scoters.

Last week, the ravens had returned in force, forever unsympathetic.

And now the turtles were hatching. It had started in the night, and, when Crisp and Sonny had reached the nest early that morning, the baby turtles were already making their run to the sea. Sonny had been unable to contain himself. He ran back and forth between the nest and the surf, banging the drum and yelling encouragements.

Crisp sat in the sand and watched Sonny dance in the air and walk on the water. “Easy, lad,” he yelled to no avail.

Back and forth Sonny went, his arms flying, the jacket flapping, the drum floating over his head like a balloon.

Go turtles!

CRISP
had dragged the trailer onto the reserve, set it behind Mara’s house so as to keep the two of them close without blocking the view. And he had watched her coax the story out of Gabriel piece by piece, and so far, he had heard little in the telling to recommend the man.

Crisp and the dog had spent many a night debating the prospects for that relationship, with nothing to show for their
time but the argument itself. It was Lilly that had brought them together, the sister and friend that Gabriel and Mara shared, and there was no particular promise in that bond.

Kindness perhaps. Even affection.

Crisp had seen a spark or two, but nothing bright enough to kindle combustion.

Soldier had been more optimistic.

But then dogs were known to favour happy endings.

SONNY
stood in the surf, the jacket rattling in the wind, as he drummed the last of the turtles into the water.

Crisp stroked the dog’s neck. “Look after the lad,” he said, “for our Gabriel don’t need ye anymore.”

Soldier rolled up against Crisp’s leg and began licking at his paw.

“Aye, Master Dog,” said Crisp, and he leaned back, enjoying the sound of the waves on the beach, and the warmth of the sun on his face. “I am well.”