The High Road (26 page)

I looked all around, expecting to find him bobbing in the frigid black water. Then my eyes caught movement above. Two legs dangled from the iron girders under which we’d just passed. Angus was actually climbing up into the bridge’s superstructure and I was actually beginning my first solo flight in
Baddeck 1
. I gaped behind me as Angus rooted around among the steel and iron, standing on a girder now, looking closely at bends and joints, and pocketing a few stray objects he’d found. By this time, I had passed beneath the bridge and emerged on the other side, still standing up in the cockpit. Angus popped his head below the girders and signalled that I should return for him. I just waved back to him in a bon voyage kind of way. I figured I’d stop when I ran out of gas. Angus beckoned more frantically and I finally snapped out of my bewilderment.

Fortunately, I’d sat next to Angus and watched him fly the hovercraft several times in the recent past, including that very
morning. Unfortunately, I’d retained absolutely nothing from my close observation. But I did understand the basic operating principles of the garden-variety steering wheel. By then, I was well clear of the bridge and still puttering along about as fast as an exhausted slug. So, tapping into unknown reserves of calm and courage that are often available in moments of crisis, at least according to
Reader’s Digest
, I dropped into the driver’s seat, gripped the wheel, and turned. Responding to my decisive action,
Baddeck 1
cut a slow arc in the ice and swirling water. Actually, I made two complete circuits, as I forgot to release the wheel the first time around. On the third pass, at what I judged to be just the right moment, I eased off on the helm with a heart surgeon’s touch to straighten my course. I set my bearing for the dangling boots of Angus McLintock. His timing was perfect as he let go of the bridge beam and dropped back into
Baddeck 1
, feet first. His aim was somewhat shy of perfect, scoring a direct hit on my dreams of future fatherhood.

We made it to shore without incident, or rather without further incident, and Angus let the hovercraft settle on the ice at the foot of Parliament Hill. I said nothing, preferring to wait for my voice to return to its normal register. The Library of Parliament rose above us as we made our way up the embankment. We ditched our winter gear in our Centre Block office, and just made it to the Leader’s door by 8:00. In the outer office, a team of young political assistants was already packing boxes in anticipation of the move into the Prime Minister’s Office. The PMO. Yes, the PMO.

The Prime Minister Elect (PME) leapt to his feet as we appeared in the doorway.

“Angus my man, congratulations on another upset victory,” he opened. “It’s wonderful news.”

Angus stepped forward to shake his hand.

“I thank you, sir. And my congratulations to you. It feels a wee bit different than it did winning my first election, but this time, I’m actually pleased with the outcome.”

“Well, you should be. Winning C-P again was an important part of our national triumph.”

The Prime Minister Elect was dressed casually and looked tired. Bradley Stanton was in jeans and looked strung out on caffeine or something even stronger. It was a typical post-election look. He slouched in his chair and said nothing.

“And Daniel, you ran a great campaign. I knew we could count on you,” effused the PME. “Defeating Flamethrower Fox is no easy feat.”

I nodded and shook his hand, too.

“Thanks,” I replied. “How does it feel to be the Prime Minister-in-waiting?”

“I’m not allowing myself to go there yet, we’ve more important things to do right now. Have a seat.”

I’m pretty good at following simple instructions so I sat down with Angus next to me on the couch across from the PME and Bradley, who both sat in badly upholstered easy chairs. Time to get down to business.

“You saw the bridge on your way in, no doubt.”

We nodded.

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours since we won the election. I haven’t yet decided on a Cabinet. We don’t even know when the PM will step down and I’ll be sworn in. But I want to send a signal to Canadians that there’s been a changing of the guard. I want them to know that we’ll act quickly and decisively when the situation demands it. Well, the collapse of a major arterial bridge, one that’s supposedly maintained by the federal government, demands quick action. I’ve already spoken to the Prime Minister, and he’s quite happy to cede responsibility for the investigation over to the government-in-waiting, where it rightly belongs. So it’s our show from the start.” He stopped to take a breath.

“I’ve also already spoken to the Deputy Minister over at Infrastructure Canada, and she’s offered her resignation. Tempting though it was to accept it, we don’t even know what went on out there, so I sent her back to work for the time being.
Besides, I’m not yet sworn in as PM so I couldn’t accept it anyway.”

Angus and I nodded.

“So here’s what I’d like to do, and what I’d like to announce later this morning to the gaggle of reporters camped out on the Ottawa side of the bridge.” He paused and looked directly at Angus. “You’re an experienced engineer with a national profile. I want you to dig into what exactly happened, what caused the collapse, and what should be done to prevent such a thing from ever happening again. It’s a miracle no one was killed. I want you, Angus, to get to the bottom of this and report back to me within thirty days.” He paused again, as if trying to figure out what Angus was thinking. “You’ve got the credentials. Your stock is high right now. Canadians trust you. I’m asking if you will take this on?”

Angus didn’t respond immediately. He nodded slightly as he held the PME’s gaze. Then he leaned forward, closing the gap between them, to rest his elbows on his thighs.

“Aye, I’ll do it. My engineer’s instincts have been twitchin’ since I heard the news, so I’d have looked into it whether you asked me to or not,” said Angus. “But I have one stipulation to place on the table if our report is to be the official word on the fallen bridge.”

Bradley cocked his head at this and sat up, ready to pounce.

“I see. Well, let’s hear it then,” said the PME.

Angus looked once at me before speaking.

“Our report will be publicly released, in its entirety, at the same time as we submit it to you,” Angus declared. “In other words, I’m to report to Canadians, not just to the Prime Minister. ’Tis how it should be and how it will be if we’re to undertake this.”

“Out of the question!” Bradley interjected. “We need to control this situation for the good of the party and the new government. Who knows what you’re going to find. No way. If it ever goes public, we’ll be releasing it from this office, on our own schedule.”

Bradley was still talking as Angus rose. I followed his lead and stood up, too.

“Well then, I’m sure you’ll find someone else to look into it, but I’ll not do it,” Angus said as he turned towards the door.

“I accept the condition,” said the Prime Minister Elect from his chair where he sat with his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“I strongly advise against this. We’re a minority governme …” Bradley started.

“Oh, put Machiavelli back in his cage, Bradley. We need to do this,” interrupted the PME before he turned back to face us. “Angus, I accept. But I at least want a general sense of your findings before it hits the streets. And I’ll need you to provide a big-picture briefing for Cabinet before you go public with the report, maybe even to caucus, too. This will allow us some time to plan and respond more thoughtfully when it is released.”

Angus looked at me and I nodded.

“Very well,” replied Angus. “Would you have a pen and piece of paper I could use?”

Bradley just fumed and glared at me as the Prime Minister Elect handed over a yellow newsprint pad and a cheap House of Commons ballpoint. Angus scrunched closer to me so I’d be able to read what he wrote. He scrawled a few sentences, signed and dated it, then turned the paper around to face the PME.

“I’d thank you, sir, to sign next to my name,” Angus prodded.

“And this mandate must be included in the news release that announces the McLintock Commission,” I added for good measure. Angus nodded his assent.

The PME read the lines, then signed and dated it. Bradley
stood up and left. So I wrote the PME’s remarks. It brought back memories, not all of them happy.

An hour and a half later, Angus stood next to the Prime Minister Elect on Sussex Drive, with what was left of the Alexandra Bridge as their backdrop. Angus still wore his heavy boots, but one of the PME’s newly arrived security officers donated his black trench coat so that Angus didn’t have to appear before the nation in his snowmobile suit. Tough to be credible wearing a one-piece snowsuit.

From my vantage point standing off to the left, I counted fourteen reporters and six cameras. Bradley Stanton was still sulking in his office, but a communications staffer was there to run the show. She stepped up to the single microphone I’d helped to arrange. This wasn’t to be a scrum, but a more formal announcement, with the journalists plugging into a multifeed box for the audio.

“Good morning, everyone. As you probably know by now, the Prime Minister Elect will make a short statement about the Alexandra Bridge and then will take questions along with Angus McLintock, MP for Cumberland-Prescott.”

She stood aside and the man of the hour took his place at the mike.

“Good morning. I’m sorry that we’ve had to forego the traditional post-election sleep-in but clearly fate and this bridge had other plans for us today. Very early this morning, with little warning, the Alexandra Bridge broke apart from its moorings and fell into the river below. We do not yet know how or why the bridge failed, but we count our blessings that no one was injured. This bridge is operated and maintained under federal authority through Infrastructure Canada. So this is
our
problem now. This morning I’ve spoken to the Prime Minister, and although I have not yet been sworn in, nor have I assembled a Cabinet, this incident demands a swift response. The Prime Minister has ceded authority to me to initiate action.” He paused and motioned for Angus to step a little closer to the limelight.

“I have directed Angus McLintock, MP for Cumberland-Prescott and a professor of engineering at the University of Ottawa, to undertake an immediate and thorough investigation into the cause of this collapse and to recommend appropriate measures to prevent future infrastructure failures. I’ve asked Angus to release his findings at the same time as he submits his report to me to signal a new transparency in government to which I am committed. Pending unforeseen circumstances, his investigation will be completed by February 26.”

The PME then motioned with his hand to open the floor for questions.

“Angus, just what exactly happened here at 2:41 this morning?” a reporter from CBC Television asked.

“Well, we know exactly what happened at 2:41 this morning. The blessed bridge gave up the ghost and pulled away from its pilings,” Angus replied. “What we don’t know, and what I aim to discover, is why. The
why
is always more important than the
what
.”

For most of the fifteen minutes of back and forth that ensued before the communications staffer shut it down, not a single question went to the Prime Minister Elect. Finally, a
Montreal Gazette
reporter asked him, now that he was about to become Prime Minister, what his plans were for bringing Quebec back to the constitutional table.

The PME switched back into campaign mode and delivered his response by rote.

“While it’s early days, we promised in the campaign to reach out to Quebecers, to forge new partnerships, and to redress past inequities. We pledged to build new bridges from Ottawa to Quebec, and that’s just what we’re going to do.”

I could tell by the pacing of his last phrase that he’d realized too late what he’d just said. He closed his mouth, grimaced once, and walked back to his car.

I hoped Angus realized that I hadn’t written that line.

——

I spent the afternoon in the Parliamentary Library learning about the history of the Alexandra Bridge while Angus clambered about the broken span, spending as much time examining the parts that remained intact as he did the twisted wreckage. I’d also spent some time with very cooperative officials from Infrastructure Canada and I’d spoken to the two police officers who were first on the scene when the bridge started to make funny noises. I thought I’d learned a lot in a few hours.

In the fading light of the afternoon, Angus and I made the return trip to Cumberland in
Baddeck 1
. A rare east wind made the journey much colder than the morning’s. My face was numb by the time we finally got the boathouse doors closed. Lindsay was teaching an evening class and would not be back from the campus until after 10:30. So I made a batch of Kraft Dinner and watched the news.

The PME’s dumb bridge remark was played over and over, up and down the dial. A couple of the camera operators had the presence of mind to shift the focus from the Prime Minister Elect to the broken bridge carcass behind his left shoulder, as his metaphor fell to the ground like a lead ingot. As I suspected, there was also plenty of footage of Angus and me in
Baddeck 1
under the bridge. I was able to see just how I’d ended up by myself in the hovercraft. Angus simply reached up and hoisted himself into the steel maze while I looked the other way. It was actually quite funny, twelve hours later. I turned off the TV and headed up to see Angus.

“So what do we know?” Angus asked after wiping the chess board with me in three consecutive games. He looked quite content, as most anyone would after playing chess with me.