“My family have been carvers for generations. Totems evolved because the early Indians of the Northwest had no written language. Family histories and legends were preserved by carving symbols, usually animals, on red cedar trees.”
“Do they have religious significance?” asked Pitt.
Broadmoor shook his head. “They were never worshiped as icons of gods, but respected more as guardian spirits.”
“What are the symbols on this pole?”
“This is a mortuary pole, or what you might call a commemorative column. The pole is in honor of my uncle, who passed away last week. When I finish the carvings, they will illustrate his personal crest, which was an eagle and a bear, along with a traditional Haida figure of the deceased. After completion it will be erected, during a feast, at the corner of his widow’s house.”
“As a respected master carver, you must be booked up for many months in advance.”
Broadmoor shrugged modestly. “Almost two years.”
“Do you know why I’m here?” Pitt asked, and the abrupt question caught Broadmoor with the mallet raised to strike the fantail gouge.
The wood-carver laid his tools aside and motioned for Pitt to follow him to the edge of the harbor, where he stopped beside a small boathouse that extended into the water. He opened the doors and stepped inside. Two small craft floated within a U-shaped dock.
“Are you into Jet Skis?” asked Pitt.
Broadmoor smiled. “I believe the term is now watercraft.”
Pitt studied the pair of sleek Duo 300 WetJets by Mastercraft Boats. High-performance craft that could seat two people, they were vividly painted with Haida animal symbols. “They look like they can almost fly.”
“Over water, they do. I modified their engines to gain another fifteen horsepower. They move along at almost fifty knots.” Broadmoor suddenly changed the subject. “Ed Posey said you wanted to circle Kunghit Island with acoustic measuring equipment. I thought the watercraft might be an efficient means of conducting your project.”
“They’d be ideal. Unfortunately, my hydrophone gear was badly damaged when Stokes and I crashed. The only other avenue left open to me is to probe the mine itself.”
“What do you hope to discover?”
“The method of excavation Dorsett is using to retrieve the diamonds.”
Broadmoor picked up a pebble at the waterline and threw it far out into the deep green water. “The company has a small fleet of boats patrolling the waters around the island,” he said finally. “They’re armed and have been known to attack fishermen who venture too close.”
“It seems Canadian government officials didn’t tell me all I needed to know;” said Pitt, cursing Posey under his breath.
“I guess they figured since you were under their license to do field research, you wouldn’t be harassed by the mine’s security.”
“Your brother. Stokes mentioned the assault and burning of his boat.”
He pointed back toward the partially carved totem pole. “Did he also tell you they killed my uncle?”
Pitt shook his head slowly. “No. I’m sorry.”
“I found his body floating eight kilometers out to sea. He had lashed himself to a pair of fuel cans. The water was cold, and he died of exposure. All we ever found of his fishing boat was a piece of the wheelhouse.”
“You think Dorsett’s security people murdered him.”
“I know they murdered him,” Broadmoor said, anger in his eyes.
“What about the law?”
Broadmoor shook his head. “Inspector Stokes only represents a token investigative force. After Arthur Dorsett sent his prospecting geologists swarming all over the islands until they found the main diamond source on Kunghit, he used his power and wealth to literally take over the island from the government. Never mind that the Haida claim the island as tribal sacred ground. Now it is illegal for any of my people to set foot on the island without permission or to fish within four kilometers of its shore. We can be arrested by the Mounties who are paid to protect us.”
“I see why the mine’s chief of security has so little regard for the law.”
“Merchant, ‘Dapper John’ as he’s called,” Broadmoor said, pure hatred in his round face. “Lucky you escaped. Chances are you’d have simply disappeared. Many men have attempted to search for diamonds in and around the island. None were successful and none were ever seen again.”
“Has any of the diamond wealth gone to the Haida?” Pitt asked.
“So far we’ve been screwed,” answered Broadmoor. “Whether wealth from the diamonds will come to us has become more a legal than a political issue. We’ve negotiated for years in an attempt to get a piece of the action, but Dorsett’s attorneys have stalled us in the courts.”
“I can’t believe the Canadian government allows Arthur Dorsett to dictate to them.”
“The country’s economy is on the ropes, and the politicians close their eyes to payoffs and corruption while embracing any special interest that slips money into the treasury.” He paused and stared into Pitt’s eyes as if trying, to read something. “What is your interest, Mr. Pitt? Do you want to shut the mine down?”
Pitt nodded. “I do, providing I can prove their excavation is causing the acoustic plague responsible for the mass killing of humans and sea life.”
He looked at Pitt. “I will take you inside the mining property.”
Pitt considered the offer briefly. “You have a wife and children. No sense in risking two lives. Put me on the island and I’ll figure a way to get over the mound without being seen.”
“Can’t be done. Their security systems are state-of-the-art. A squirrel can’t get past them, as proven by their little bodies that litter the mound, along with those of hundreds of other animals that inhabited the island before Dorsett’s mining operation gutted what was once a beautiful environment. And then there are the Alsatian police dogs that can smell out a diamond-smuggling intruder at a hundred meters.”
“There’s always the tunnel.”
“You’ll never get through it alone.”
“Better that than your wife becoming another widow.”
“You don’t understand,” Broadmoor said patiently; his eyes burned with consuming flames of revenge. “The mine pays my tribal community to keep their kitchen stocked with fresh fish. Once a week my neighbors and I sail to Kunghit and deliver our catch. At the docks we load it on carts and transport the fish through the tunnel to the office of the head cook. He serves us breakfast, pays us in cash-not nearly what the catch is worth and then we leave. You’ve got black hair. You could pass for a Haida if you wear fisherman’s work clothes and keep your head down. The guards are more concerned with diamonds smuggled out of camp than fish coming in. Since we only deliver and take nothing, we’re not suspect.”
“Are there no good paying jobs for your people at the mine?”
Broadmoor shrugged. “To forget how to fish and hunt is to forget independence. The monies we make stocking their kitchen goes toward a new school for our children.”
“There’s a small problem. Dapper John Merchant. We’ve met and struck up a mutual dislike. He had a close look at my face.”
Broadmoor waved a hand airily. “Merchant recognizing you is not a problem. He’d never soil his expensive Italian shoes by hanging around the tunnel and kitchens. In this weather he seldom shows his face outside his office.”
“I won’t be able to gather much information from the kitchen help,” said Pitt. “Do you know any miners you can trust to describe the excavation procedures?”
“All the mine workers are Chinese, illegally brought in by criminal syndicates. None speak English. Your best hope is an old mining engineer who hates Dorsett Consolidated with a passion.”