The Cardinal Divide Read Online Free PDF

Stevens opened his mouth to talk but Cole silenced him with a grimace.
    â€œSave it, Dusty,” he said. “I’ll call Jeremy, but I’m telling you right now, I’d rather work for the little Aboriginal band or the community of ranchers that the coal bed methane or miningcompany is going to screw over than try to make sure Wild Rose uses the world ‘sustainability’ enough times in the Environmental Assessment.”
    The three men stood awkwardly a moment. Then Martin said earnestly, “We’ve got to try, Cole.”
    â€œI know,” said Cole. “God, don’t I know it? And I don’t blame you guys, really. Maybe I’m just jealous.”
    â€œLook, Cole,” said Stevens, “we do what we can. Hell, if it wasn’t Marty and me doing this, some bastard who comes straight out of the Forest Products Association would be doing it.”
    â€œIs that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?” asked Cole.
    â€œNo, that’s the way it is,” said Stevens.
    â€œWhat about Sarah?” asked Middlemarch more seriously. “You’ve got to think of her.”
    Cole Blackwater sighed and his shoulders slouched noticeably. “There is that,” he admitted.
    â€œLook on the bright side,” said Martin, draining his glass and setting it on the bar. “There is no shortage of work in this biz, only a shortage of work as a holy crusader. Sooner or later even the great Cole Blackwater will have to cozy up to a corporate client.”
    â€œOr the fucking Liberal government,” grinned Stevens.
    That set the three of them laughing. Finally, his face still pressed into a grin, Blackwater said, “I’ve no illusions, boys. My white knight days are long passed. But today marks the beginning of a new era, though which era I’m not quite certain.”
    The bartender set up a new round of ale for Dusty and Cole, with Martin opting for a soda water, explaining that he had a race on Sunday. The three men hoisted their glasses.
    â€œTo the good fight,” said Martin. “May there always be one!”
    â€œFor the sake of my mortgage, let there always be lost souls to wage them,” agreed Dusty Stevens.
    Cole Blackwater drank deeply from his pint, but said nothing. He was thinking about the slip of paper stuck in his pocket with the phone number of one lost soul he needed to telephone.
    It was just after ten o’clock when Cole stepped out of the elevator and slouched to his office door. He found his keys and tried invain to poke them in the lock. Finally the keys found their mark, the tumblers turned, and he pushed the door open, stumbled, and groped for the light.
    He flopped onto Mary’s chair, his head spinning. From his littered pocket he extracted the phone number and focused, then snatched the receiver from its cradle and punched in the numbers.
    It rang. Rang again. Rang again. He was preparing his message in his head when a female voice answered: “Hello.”
    â€œI’m looking for Peggy McSorlie,” said Cole.
    â€œThis is she.”
    â€œIt’s Cole Blackwater calling, Peggy.”
    Her voice was just as Cole Blackwater remembered it. They had met face to face only once, on a lobbying trip she had made to Ottawa, but they had talked dozens of times on the telephone. He knew her phone voice far better than he knew her in person. In a big country you developed that sort of relationship – the conference call friendship, he called it.
    â€œHi, Cole, thanks for calling. I’ve just got the boys home from basketball. They’re having a snack. I can chat now.”
    â€œI’m sorry to call so late,” he said.
    â€œIt’s fine. Like I said, it’s good timing. He heard her shuffling something, likely groceries or bags of sweaty teenage laundry.
    â€œWhat was it that you thought I might be able to help with?”
    â€œWhere to start?”
    â€œThe