The Cardinal Divide (13 page)

“I tell you that so you know I'm not just blowing smoke when I say that without the Buffalo Anthracite Mine, and that new one, the McLeod River project, there wouldn't be much left of this town. Mining is this town's past, it's certainly our present, and you better believe that mining is this town's future. We built Oracle on rocks and trees. We've got our share of oil and gas, but we're not swimming in the stuff like out around Drayton Valley, where they can get at it just under the surface. Here the oil is way down underground. And you've got to break a sweat to get at it. So there's not much incentive for the big companies to come this far into the foothills. But the coal, now that's another story.”

“What about the flagging markets for coal?”

“Ahh,” Smith said, waving a hand dismissively. “It comes and goes. I don't see the world using any less steel, do you? They need our coal to power the blast furnaces to make that stuff. There's always going to be a market. If not in Japan, then elsewhere. China and India are coming online as our biggest markets. We just have
to bide our time, be ready for the increased demand. And when it comes, I'll tell you, Oracle is going to be on the map. With that new mine, we'll be the coal capital of Canada!”

“But you've tried to dig at Cardinal Divide before, haven't you? It didn't turn out so well, as I recall.”

“That was on the other side, the side closest to Cadomin. This is a new project. I'm confident that it will happen. Things are different this time around.”

“Like what?”

“Well, we got that new manager for one. He's a real go-getter. The company brought him in from head office to make things happen. He is full steam ahead, let me tell you. Mike Barnes is not going to disappoint me. He's a fellow who gets things done.”

“You've been disappointed before?” asked Cole.

“Sure. When that last project got stalled, I was furious. We had it all planned. The timing was perfect. We were going to put this town on the map. That was six years ago. I had just taken over here at the Chamber and things were really starting to happen for me, for the town. But the goddamn feds got their hands in it and really messed things up. I got to tell you, when it comes to messing things up, just ask the federal government to get involved.

“This time things will be different. We're going full steam ahead, but we're taking a different tack. Smarter. Much, much smarter.”

Cole felt a wave of heat move through him. What did the man mean by that? He asked.

“Well, for one thing, we've put the enviros in their place this time around.” Smith winked, not smiling, and Cole wondered what the wink meant. “They haven't got a leg to stand on.”

“How do you mean?” asked an intently interested Cole Blackwater.

“Well, first off, the greens are hopelessly disorganized. All the rich national groups are off chasing polar bears and butterflies, and our little bunch of local tree huggers are just that. They don't know what they're up against. They don't know how serious this is. This is our town's future. A little band of housewives and hippies isn't going to stop this mine.” Cole wrote furiously.

“I understand they have some business people working with them.”

“Ahh,” said Smith dismissively, waving his hand and looking off to the side. “A couple of fellows who think that Oracle is going to be the next Canmore or something. They look south at a place like Canmore and think, hey, we can do that here. These folks think that because Canmore was a coal-mining town, and that it's there next to Banff, that there are somehow parallels.”

“You mean the world might come flocking to your door and send real estate prices sky high?” Cole asked.

“Oracle is no Canmore. In Canmore they have Banff just fifteen minutes down the road. And they had the Olympics to publicize how lovely their little town was for the whole world. We're too far from the mountains and there's no Olympic cross-country skiing to provide free global marketing for us. No, this town is a mining town, always has been, and that's the way it's going to stay. That's my plan.”

“What about this Dale van Stempvort character?” asked Cole. “He says he'll do anything to stop the mine.”

“That guy should be locked up,” said Smith, seriously, sitting forward and clasping his meaty hands together. “He's a menace to this community. He shouldn't be allowed to walk free.”

“You think he's dangerous?”

“Dangerous to the future of this town. Dangerous enough to blow up a gas well. He's going to kill someone with his antics one of these days.”

Cole pretended to review his notes. “You mentioned a plan for the town. What is it?”

“I've got lots of plans, and the ones for the town and the ones for David Smith are one and the same. First, we've got to get the McLeod River project approved. That's going to happen quickly. We've got that all worked out. Then the road and the rail line will be constructed. We're already in negotiations with the railway to develop a spur line, so that won't hold us up. After that it's only a matter of time before we start digging.” Smith was gleeful, his face wide with his toothy smile. “That will give this town a needed burst of economic activity. Lots of money, you understand, for housing, for infrastructure, for new business. We'll put this town on the map. And that's when the second part of my plan will come into effect.”

Cole raised his eyebrows.

“That's when I run for office.”

Cole smiled and nodded.

“Its no secret,” said Smith. “I ran for the Reform nomination eight years ago; lost by a few hundred votes. I was just a businessman back then. Now I'm the President of the Chamber of Commerce. I've been making the rounds of every town in this riding. I've got a great team in place: three local mayors, two reeves, and a pocketful of business people all backing me. The Conservative
MP
says he won't run again, and when he steps down, I'll step up. I'll be the Member of Parliament for this riding inside a couple of years, you mark my words,” said David Smith, pointing at Cole's notepad. “Hell, they might even make me Minister of Natural Resources. Now wouldn't that be a story?” He beamed. “Shop floor to Minister in charge of mines for all of Canada. And when I'm in Ottawa, I sure as shooting won't let red tape get in the way of projects like McLeod River. I'll have that process streamlined before you know it.

“Well, I'm getting ahead of myself,” he said, sitting back in his leather chair, the material creaking under his girth. “My point is that this town's future is the McLeod River Mine. I aim to do whatever I can to make sure it's a success. Nobody is going to get in the way this time around.”

Cole rose. “Well, you've been very helpful. I really appreciate your time.” He turned and looked around the room for the first time. Until now he had focused exclusively on Smith. The windows on one wall faced Main Street. Floor to ceiling shelves filled with books and trophies covered another wall. Cole walked over to examine them.

“Trap and target shooting's my thing. Relaxes me,” Smith said. His presence behind Cole was palpable. “I've won the Alberta Federation of Shooting Sports championship the last two years in a row. When I was young I won a national juniors title in trap. I almost went to the Olympics, you know. I busted my shoulder in the mill a long time ago, and can't move side to side as quick anymore,” Smith demonstrated. “But I'm steady as a rock, and can see for a mile.”

Cole looked at the impressive display of trophies.

“So you'll put me in this story of yours?” Smith asked, and reached out his hand.

“Sure will. I appreciate your time,” said Cole, shaking hands again. “
OK
if I keep in touch?”

Smith held on for a second. “Absolutely!” Then his voice dropped, “I'm going to do what it takes to make that mine a success, you hear?”

Was Smith merely driving home his point? Or was he making a new point altogether? A point aimed not at Cole Blackwater, freelance writer, but at Cole Blackwater, hired gun.

Cole Blackwater had plenty to think about on his drive to the Buffalo Anthracite Mine. Who double-crossed
ESC
o
G
? The
why
was simple; that was no mystery: to undermine the efforts of the grassroots conservation community. He was furious with himself for not seeing this sooner.

The mole damaged the group's element of surprise when he or she leaked the story to the press that activists were strategizing to fight the McLeod River Mine. To finger van Stempvort, and not the more reasonable Peggy McSorlie, as the ringleader and spokesperson was cunning. Whoever was behind the ploy knew that van Stempvort could be counted on for off-the-cuff remarks that would inflame the local community. It made Cole Blackwater's job a lot more difficult.

Cole drove his Toyota pickup over the gravel road marked Route 40 toward the existing Buffalo Anthracite Mine. He rode up and down rolling hills clad in fir and pine and spruce, the dark mantle of conifers decorated with highlights of brilliant green larch. Above the hills the sky was the kind of blue that Vancouverites quit their jobs for, and his truck kicked up a plume of dust that hung in the air like pollen on a summer's day. It was early afternoon. Though his meeting with Barnes, the mine manager, wasn't until five, he wanted to arrive early to have a look at the operation and clear his head.

Blackwater believed that his ill-conceived cover must have been blown, despite Richard T. Drewfeld's innocence of the matter. The more he thought about his meeting with David Smith, the more he was convinced that Smith knew who he was. He had done a good job at stringing Cole along, but there was something in his handshake that Cole could not put out of his mind. A warning.
Could that mean that Smith and Barnes were in collusion? Had they worked together to orchestrate the placement of the mole inside
ESC
o
G
? Perhaps the mole hadn't told the reporter that Cole was in town to stop the mine. Maybe that part of the story was being saved for the next leak.

Cole's mind raced, and as his thoughts consumed him, his foot got heavier and heavier, and his pickup fishtailed on loose gravel around a corner. He took his foot off the accelerator to control the skid. The truck straightened and in a moment Cole was back in the spring-green foothills, driving along this gravel road, more aware than before of the dangerous curves ahead.

There wouldn't be another leak. He had instructed Peggy to cut the planning team down to three or four trusted people. They would accelerate their time line. Instead of giving the mining company a month or more before their strategy was fully hatched, Blackwater would see to it that the little team executed their plans in the next two weeks. His blood flowed faster as he scanned his memory of the faces and names in the room during the planning session at the McSorlie farm.

Two pickup trucks roared past in the opposite direction. Gravel peppered his Toyota like machine gun fire. Dust obscured his vision and Cole drove blind on the unfamiliar road. Good thing he wasn't driving a rental. The drivers of the racing trucks were likely oil and gas field workers heading home after a day of surveying. The foothills south of Oracle were criss-crossed with seismic lines, the long, arrow-straight lines that divided the landscape into explorable segments of oil and natural gas. Shallow holes drilled at regular intervals along the seismic lines were packed with small explosive charges that sent shock waves into the earth when detonated. Ultra-sensitive geophones recorded the sound as it bounced off layers of rock, water, and pockets of oil or natural gas. The finished product was a map of the subsurface geology and hydrology interpreted by a geologist to determine where a company had a good chance of finding oil or gas.

Some people said that more forest was clearcut for oil and gas exploration and development than for timber in Alberta, though the oil and gas industry disputed that claim. And Alberta's timber industry itself had a voracious appetite. Tens of thousands of kilometres of seismic lines were cut annually, and twenty thousand
wells drilled each year. Cole slowed until the sky above reappeared. At night, or in bad weather, this section of highway would be downright dangerous, Cole contemplated.

He drove through the tiny hamlet of Cadomin, big enough for one store where Cole stopped for a Coke and a bag of Doritos. From there the road headed up into the foothills, where the snow-covered ramparts of the Rocky Mountains' Front Ranges rose beyond the forested domes of spruce and fir. The intense glare of midday relaxed now, and the hills reflected a softer glow. The bountiful spring light seeped like golden molasses over the folds of the earth. This afternoon's moment conjured memories of his childhood in Alberta's southern foothills. There the earth wore short, rough fescue, green in the spring and brown in the dry summer months. The foothills in the province's south were cloaked in aspen, stunted pines, and spruce on their leeward aspects; their windward slopes, which faced incessant western gales, were swept bare of anything taller than a yearling heifer. Toward the Cardinal Divide, they wore a thicker coat of pine and spruce forests that darkened their leeward aspects, while their domes were often peppered with wildflower gardens.

Cole marvelled at the spring light, how it set each tree into distinct relief. He was distracted enough that when the earth fell away in front of him, he gripped the steering wheel and veered reflexively, crossing the imaginary centre line on the gravel road. “Whoa, horse, take it easy,” he said, laughing shakily, and brought the Toyota back onto the right side of the road, where he slowed, then stopped on the shoulder. He sat, dust rising like smoke.

When his heart rate resumed a normal pace he stepped from the cab of his truck and walked around its nose to peer into the open pit of the Buffalo Anthracite Mine. The open-pit mine came within a hundred feet of the road and stretched back a kilometre toward the mountains. Entire hills disappeared into its maw. At its deepest, the mine burrowed several hundred feet into the earth, and at its most distant point rose several hundred feet up the side of another foothill. A haul road entered it at the far side, and massive Caterpillar dump trucks inched along the road, dwarfed to the size of real caterpillars by the expanse of the operation. The trucks' rumble and the loaders' growl were carried from the bottom
of the operation to his ears by a strong and consistent wind that rose off the Front Range peaks well beyond the mine.