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"Where did you get such an insane idea?" Villon gave him a bemused look. "From you, of-course."
Sarveux's expression went blank.
Suddenly Villon began to laugh. "You really don't remember, do you?"
"Remember what?" Sarveux asked mechanically.
"In the hospital after the plane crash, your mind was confused from the anesthetic. You raved about Canada being in great peril if the wrong people discovered the vulnerability of the control booth at James Bay. You were vague on the meaning. But then you instructed Danielle to tell me to consult Max Roubaix, the long-dead garrote murderer."
Sarveux sat mute, his face unreadable.
"A damned clever riddle, considering it came from a scrambled brain," Villon continued. "It took me a while to figure the parallel between Roubaix's favorite weapon and an energy stranglehold. I thank you for that, Charles. You unwittingly showed me how to make the Americans dance to the mere flip of an electrical switch."
Sarveux sat in silence for a moment, then he looked up at Villon and said, "Not unwittingly."
Villon missed the point. "Pardon?"
"Danielle did not hear the raving of a delirious man. There was a great deal of pain, but my mind was clear when I told her I wanted you to consult Max Roubaix."
"Playing some sort of childish game, Charles?"
Sarveux ignored him. "A very old and dear friend said you would betray my trust and the faith the Canadian people had in you. I could not bring myself to believe you were a traitor, Henri. But I had to be sure. You took the bait and threatened the United States with energy blackmail. A grave mistake on your part, antagonizing a superpower in the next yard."
Villon's mouth tightened in an ugly grin. "So you think you know something. To hell with you and to hell with the United States. As long as Quebec controls the St. Lawrence River and the hydroelectricity from James Bay it will be we who dictate to them and western Canada for a change. The Americans' righteous and holy preaching has made them clowns in the eyes of the world. They sit smug in their stupid morality, caring only about their private assets and bank accounts. America is a fading power on the way out.
Inflation will finish their economic system. If they dare try and ram sanctions down Quebec's throat, we'll cut their circuits."
"Brave talk," said Sarveux. "But like so many others, you'll find that underestimating their resolve never pays. When their backs are to the wall, the Americans have a habit of coming out fighting."
"The guts have gone out of them," Villon sneered.
"You're a fool." Sarveux could not suppress the chill that ran through him. "For the good of Canada I will unmask and break you."
"You couldn't break a shop clerk," Villon mocked him.
"You haven't got a shred of solid evidence against me. No, Charles, soon the English-speaking bastards will kick you out of office, and I'll see to it you're not welcome in Quebec. It's about time you woke up to the fact that you're a man without a country." Villon rose and pulled a sealed envelope from his breast pocket and dropped it rudely in Sarveux's lap. "My resignation from the cabinet."
"Accepted," Sarveux said with grim finality.
Villon could not leave without one parting insult. "You're a pitiful creature, Charles. You haven't come to grips with it yet, but you have nothing left, not even your precious Danielle."
At the doorway Villon turned for a last look at Sarveux, expecting to see a man drowning in despair and defeat, his hopes and dreams shattered beyond repair.
Instead, he saw a man who was inexplicably smiling.
Villon went direct to his office in the Parliament building and began cleaning out his desk. He saw no purpose in waiting for morning and suffering through a multitude of goodbyes from men he neither respected nor liked.
His chief aide knocked and entered. "You have several messages-"
Villon waved a hand and cut him off. "I'm not interested. As of one hour ago I am no longer minister of internal affairs."
"There is one from Mr. Brian Shaw that sounded quite urgent. Also, General Simms has been personally trying to reach you."
"Yes, that North American Treaty affair," Villon said without looking up. "They're, probably begging for more men and equipment."
"Actually it's a request for our navy to escort the American ship off the wreckage of the Empress of Ireland."
"Fill out the necessary papers and sign my name to them. Then contact the commanding naval officer of the St. Lawrence District and have him carry out the request."
