Landslide - Desmond Bagley

DESMOND BAGLEY

Landslide

COPYRIGHT

HARPER

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Collins 1967

Copyright © Brockhurst Publications 1967

Desmond Bagley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008211165

Ebook Edition © January 2017 ISBN 9780008211448

Version: 2016-11-23

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Landslide

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

DEDICATION

For Philip Joseph and all good booksellers

ONE

I was tired when I got off the bus at Fort Farrell. No matter how soft the suspension of the bus and how comfortable the seat you still feel as though youve been sitting on a sack of rocks for a few hours, so I was tired and not very impressed by my first view of Fort Farrell The Biggest Little City in the North-Eastern Interior or so the sign said at the city limits. Someone must have forgotten Dawson Creek.

This was the end of the line for the bus and it didnt stay long. I got off, nobody got on, and it turned and wheeled away back towards the Peace River and Fort St John, back towards civilization. The population of Fort Farrell had been increased by one temporarily.

It was mid-afternoon and I had time to do the one bit of business that would decide if I stayed in this backwoods metropolis, so instead of looking for a hotel I checked my bag at the depot and asked where I could find the Matterson Building. The little fat guy who appeared to be the factotum around the depot looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and tittered. You must be a stranger round here.

Seeing I just got off the bus it may be possible, I conceded. I wanted to get information, not to give it.

He grunted and the twinkle disappeared. Its on King Street; you cant miss it unless youre blind, he said curtly. He was another of those cracker-barrel characters who think theyve got the franchise on wisecracks small towns are full of them. To hell with him! I was in no mood for making friends, although I would have to try to influence people pretty soon.

High Street was the main drag, running as straight as though it had been drawn by a rule. Not only was it the main street but it was practically the only street of Fort Farrell pop. 1,806 plus one. There was the usual line of false-fronted buildings trying to look bigger than they were and holding the commercial enterprises by which the locals tried to make an honest dollar the gas stations and auto dealers, a grocery that called itself a supermarket, a barbers shop, Paris Modes selling womens fripperies, a store selling fishing tackle and hunting gear. I noticed that the name of Matterson came up with monotonous regularity and concluded that Matterson was a big pumpkin in Fort Farrell.

Ahead was surely the only real, honest-to-God building in the town: an eight-storeyed giant which, I was sure, must be the Matterson Building. Feeling hopeful for the first time, I quickened my pace, but slowed again as High Street widened into a small square, green with cropped lawns and shady with trees. In the middle of the square was a bronze statue of a man in uniform, which at first I thought was the war memorial; but it turned out to be the founding father of the city one William J. Farrell, a lieutenant of the Royal Corps of Engineers. Pioneers, O Pioneers the guy was long since dead and the sightless eyes of his effigy stared blindly down false-fronted High Street while the irreverent birds made messes in his uniform cap.

Then I stared unbelievingly at the name of the square while an icy shudder crawled down my spine. Trinavant Park stood on the intersection of High Street and Farrell Street and the name, dredged out from a forgotten past, hit me like a blow in the belly. I was still shaken when I reached the Matterson Building.

Howard Matterson was a hard man to see. I smoked three cigarettes in his outer office while I studied the pneumatic charms of his secretary and thought about the name of Trinavant. It was not so common a name that it cropped up in my life with any regularity; in fact, I had come across it only once before and in circumstances I preferred not to remember. You might say that a Trinavant had changed my life, but whether he had changed it for better or worse there was no means of knowing. Once again I debated the advisability of staying in Fort Farrell, but a thin wallet and an empty belly can put up a powerful argument so I decided to stick around and see what Matterson had to offer.

Suddenly and without warning Mattersons secretary said, Mr Matterson will see you now. There had been no telephone call or ring of bell and I smiled sourly. So he was one of those, was he? One of the guys who exercised his power by saying, Keep Boyd waiting for half an hour, Miss So-and-so, then send him in, with the private thought Thatll show the guy who is boss around here. But maybe I was misjudging him maybe he really was busy.

He was a big, fleshy man with a florid face and, to my surprise, not any older than me say, about thirty-three. Going by the extensive use of his name in Fort Farrell, I had expected an older man; a young man doesnt usually have time to build an empire, even a small one. He was broad and beefy but tending to run to fat, judging by the heaviness of his jowls and the folds about his neck, yet big as he was I topped him by a couple of inches. Im not exactly a midget.

He stood up behind his desk and extended his hand. Glad to meet you, Mr Boyd. Don Halsbach has said a lot of nice things about you.

So he ought, I thought; considering I found him a fortune. Then I was busy coping with Mattersons knuckle-cracking grip. I mashed his fingers together hard to prove I was as big a he-man as he was and he grinned at me. Okay, take a seat, he said, releasing my hand. Ill fill you in on the deal. Its pretty routine.

I sat down and accepted a cigarette from the box he pushed across the desk. Theres just one thing, I said. I wouldnt want to fool you, Mr Matterson. This hasnt got to be a long job. I want to get clear of it by the spring thaw.

He nodded. I know. Don told me about that he said you want to get back to the North-West Territories for the summer. Do you think youll make any money at that kind of geology?

Other people have, I said. There have been lots of good strikes made. I think theres more metal in the ground up there than we dream of and all we have to do is to find it.

He grinned at me. We meaning you. Then he shook his head. Youre in advance of your time, Boyd. The North-West isnt ready for development yet. Whats the use of making a big strike in the middle of a wilderness when it would cost millions in development?

I shrugged. If the strike is big enough the money will be there.

Maybe, Matterson said noncommittally. Anyway, from what Don told me, you want a short-term job so you can get a grubstake together in order to go back. Is that it?

Just about.

All right, were your boys. This is the situation. The Matterson Corporation has a lot of faith in the potentialities of this section of British Columbia and were in development up to our necks. We run a lot of interlinked operations logging-centred mostly like pulp for paper, plywood, manufactured lumber and so on. Were going to build a newsprint plant and were making extensions to our plywood plants. But theres one thing were short of and thats power specifically electrical power.

He leaned back in his chair. Now we could run a pipeline to the natural gas fields around Dawson Creek, pipe in the gas and use it to fuel a power station, but it would cost a lot of money and wed be paying for the gas for evermore. If we did that the gas suppliers would have a hammerlock on us and would want to muscle in with their surplus money to buy a slice of what weve got and theyd be able to do it, too, because theyd control our power. He stared at me. We dont want to give away slices we want the whole goddam pie and this is how we do it.

He waved at a map on the wall. British Columbia is rich in water power but for the most part its undeveloped we get 1,500,000 kilowatts out of a possible 22,000,000. Up here in the North-East there are a possible 5,000,000 kilowatts without a single generating set to make the juice. Thats a hell of a lot of power going to waste.

I said, Theyre building the Portage Mountain Dam on the Peace River.

Matterson snorted. Thatll take years and we cant wait for the Government to build a billion-dollar dam we need the power now. So that is what we do. Were going to build our own dam not a big one but big enough for us and for any likely expansion in the foreseeable future. We have a site staked out and we have Government blessing. What we want you to do is to see we dont make one of those mistakes for which well kick ourselves afterwards. We dont want to flood twenty square miles of valley only to find weve buried the richest copper strike in Canada under a hundred feet of water. This area has never been really checked over by a geologist and we want you to give it a thorough going-over before we build the dam. Can you do it?

Seems easy enough from where Im sitting, I said. Id like to see it on a map.

Matterson gave a satisfied nod and picked up the telephone. Bring in the maps of the Kinoxi area, Fred. He turned to me. Were not in the mining business but wed hate to pass up a chance. He rubbed his chin reflectively. Ive been thinking for some time we ought to do a geological survey of our holdings it could pay off. If you do a good job here you might be in line for the contract.

Ill think about it, I said coolly. I never liked to be tied down.

A man came in carrying a roll of maps. He looked more like a banker than J. P. Morgan correctly dressed and natty in a conservative business suit. His face was thin and expressionless and his eyes were a cold, pale blue. Matterson said, Thanks, Fred, as he took the maps. This is Mr Boyd, the geologist were thinking of hiring. Fred Donner, one of our executives.

Pleased to meet you, I said. Donner nodded curtly and turned to Matterson who was unrolling the maps. National Concrete want to talk turkey about a contract.

Stall them, said Matterson. We dont sign a thing until Boyd has done his job. He looked up at me. Here it is. The Kinoxi is a tributary of the Kwadacha which flows into the Finlay and so into the Peace River. Here, theres an escarpment and the Kinoxi goes over in a series of rapids and riffles, and just behind the escarpment is a valley. His hand chopped down on the map. We put the dam here to flood the valley and get a good and permanent head of water and we put the powerhouse at the bottom of the escarpment that gives us a good fall. The survey teams tells us that the water will back up the valley for about ten miles, with an average width of two miles. Thatll be a new lake Lake Matterson.

Thats a lot of water, I observed.

It wont be very deep, said Matterson. So we figure we can get away with a low cost dam. He stabbed his finger down. Its up to you to tell us if were losing out on anything in those twenty square miles.