My jaw must have hit the floor.  Six years working for Daniel, and I thought I knew every angle he played.  But this? Recording JD Ruff with century-old equipment hidden in plain sight while I stood there like a deer in headlights?  The man wasn’t just ahead of the game – he’d written the rulebook.

“You recorded everything?” I managed, still processing the implications.

“Every word, every threat, every gold coin that bastard tried to use as leverage.” Daniel’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.  “The Valdorians swept for bugs, just as I expected.  But they were looking for digital devices, wireless signals, modern electronics.  They never thought to check a 1920s grandfather clock.”

I stared at the antique timepiece, suddenly seeing it in an entirely new light.  “How long have you been planning this?”

“Since the moment they first approached me six months ago.” Daniel carefully extracted the wax cylinder, handling it like precious cargo.  “They thought they were buying a Premier.  Instead, they just handed me everything I need to expose their entire North American operation.”

The weight of what he was saying hit me like a freight train.  “You’re going to release this publicly?”

“Through Sarah Chen, actually.” Daniel’s smile was razor-sharp.  “Your little encounter at the gas station?  That wasn’t an accident, Al. I’ve been feeding her information for weeks, building her story piece by piece.  She just needed confirmation that the meeting happened – which you provided perfectly.”

My head was spinning.  “You set me up?”

“I prepared you.  There’s a difference.” Daniel moved to the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines.  “Sarah needed to believe she was uncovering this story herself.  Investigative journalists are like that – they have to feel they’re hunting the truth, not being handed it.”

He pulled out a thick volume – “A History of Canadian Confederation” – and opened it to reveal a hollowed-out interior.  “The coins go here.  The recordings go to Sarah.  And by tomorrow morning, the Valdorian bribery scandal will be front-page news across the country.”

I watched him place the stolen gold coins into their literary hiding spot, my mind reeling with the elegant complexity of his plan.  “What about their 72-hour ultimatum?”

Daniel closed the book with a soft thud.  “They wanted silence, Al. Instead, they’re about to get the loudest political explosion Louise has seen in decades.”

The glacial lake outside reflected the afternoon sun, its surface no longer seeming deceptively calm but brilliantly clear – just like Daniel’s strategy.  I’d thought I was watching him play chess, but he’d been conducting an entire orchestra.

And somehow, I’d been playing first violin without even knowing the music.

“Now comes the fun part, extracting the audio and video from the wax cylinder and the 8mm film. Come with me Al, time is of the essence!” Daniel said as he carefully held the wax cylinder and gestured for me to grab the pinhole camera with the valuable reel of film inside. I followed him out of the cabin to an out-building behind the cabin, several metres into the woods.

As we walked up to it, I could see that it was once the cabin’s outhouse, before the water cistern and sceptic tank had been installed. I noted that there were no power lines running to it… buried, maybe? But I didn’t see any conduits coming up from the ground. Daniel unlatched the door and pulled open the door by the crescent moon cut-out, and sure enough it was a stinky old outhouse, dirty old toilet seat covering what was surely a gaping hole into a drop pit of unmentionables. I was aghast as I watched Daniel pull on a loose board below the seat, which tuned into a handle to lift it open, revealing the dark horror beneath it.

“You must be kidding!” I groaned, the smell filling my nostrils and causing my protest to get stuck in my throat.

“Awful, isn’t it? Only a brave, persistent investigator would attempt look further than the toilet seat. See? It’s only a picture of what you would expect to see deep down. The odour is real enough, mind you. Don’t ask me how it is kept fresh, so to speak,” Daniel said through pursed lips, trying hard to not breath in too deeply. “See, we have stairs heading down below. Hold your breath, if you have have to!”

Daniel headed down the wooden steps to a shallow basement below the outhouse, making sure the wax cylinder was perched safely on the fingertips of one hand. In the darkness ahead of him, he found a crevices in the brick foundation that contained a box of matches, opening it with one hand and held it up to me to grab one. “Here, strike it for me and lower it down so I can find the lantern.”

I did as Daniel asked and soon enough the lantern hanging on the basement’s ceiling was revealed and handed up to me to light. I put down the movie camera and lit the kerosene wick inside the glass covering and handed it back to Daniel to hang from the ceiling again. It lit up the space, showing an old phonograph and what appeared to be a photography development studio. Daniel headed over to the ancient music player and placed the cylinder in it, saying, “Put the film over there on the workbench, I will develop the film later, right now I want to make sure the audio is good. Otherwise, this whole plan is literally down the shitter.”

I laughed at this and inhaled a spider web nearby, resulting in a coughing fit. Daniel looked at me sharply, holding her finger to her mouth, asking, “Do you hear the phone ringing back in the cabin?”

Unable to hold back the tears or the coughing, I put down the movie camera on the workbench and sat on a woodent stool trying with all my might to stifle my chocking noises. Sure enough, the landline phone in the cabin could be heard ringing insistently.

“Oh lord, I hope it isn’t who I think it is! Quick, turn off the lantern and let’s head back up!” Daniel commanded. Catching my breath again, I blew out the lantern and headed back up the stairs, following Daniel who was swearing and bounding up two steps at a time. “Not now! Not her! Jesus Christ!”

Waiting for me to get out, Daniel closed the latrine behind me and ran out to the cabin, with me still wheezing not far behind him. He lunged at the black dial phone still ringing on the kitchen counter, and answered in the most calm, nonchalant way possible. “Hello? Premier Smythe here.” His face fell as the voice on the other end explained what was so important. “Thanks, Murphy,” Daniel breathed out loudly, trying to recapture his composure. He hung up the phone and looked at me, deeply irritated. “You won’t believe who is on their way here?”

I was going to say “Santa Clause”, but I could tell he was in no mood for any unfunny jokes at the moment. Outside the cabin, we could hear the low rumble of several large vehicles driving down the gravel road. Daniel looked at me, and said, “You know the drill, say nothing!” He glanced over to the old grandfather clock, and hurried over to close the opened panels where the movie camera and the wax cylinder were concealed. I noted that the time was just after 1:30pm and I picked up the hollowed-out book that was part of the plan to reveal the Valdorian scheming. Daniel emptied his pockets of a few more gold coins into the concealed space of the book (“Insurance,” Daniel muttered in response to my disappointed look) and I found a place to put it back on the bookshelf. I nodded, well aware of Daniel’s penchant to conceal secrets where everyone could see them, but his action of keeping a few of the coins on his person and then adding them to the hiding place puzzled me.

The sound of several large vehicles parking near the cabin filled our ears followed by the sounds of a dozen or so people getting out and spreading out around the cabin. Daniel straightened out his suit jacket and only had time for a short mortified look as he sniffed at it. I noted too my shirt was hinting at our visit to the outhouse as well, but I knew we didn’t have time to change, because both of us saw tall, fit men and women in dark suits and sunglasses crowd around the front of the cabin and line the path leading from the dock to the front door. Daniel went outside and grabbed my wrist to follow close by.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!” Daniel greeting the well-known entourage preparing for the impending visit. No one responded to the Premier and continued scanning the surrounding forest and lake. We looked down to the end of the pier, and noticed someone paddling towards it in a vintage bark-sided and sinew-bound canoe. I squinted at the paddler steadily heading towards them and knew in an instant who it was from the flowing platinum blonde hair reflecting the afternoon sun.

“Oh my god… it’s Prime Minister Justine Moreau,” I muttered. From behind us, a photographer pushed passed us to head down the pier, taking picture after picture of the spectacle approaching. The click-click-click of the camera shutter almost drowned out the sound of the paddle hitting the water and the canoe gliding up to the end of the dock.

“Are you getting the right light from the sun at this angle? Should I back out and try to come in again?” called out the young canoist in a confident voice full of self-absorption. The photographer made an enthusiastic thumbs up and helped the slender woman out of the canoe, in her perfect makeup and and tailored designer shirt and shorts, looking like a very chic forest ranger. Daniel and I stayed at the front of the cabin, partially to stay out of this spectacle performing before us and partially because of the stoney-faced entourage securing the Prime Minister’s arrival.

Justine surveyed her surroundings and looked delighted with what she saw, ignoring us completely. She lifted a backpack out of the canoe and opened it to find a Polaroid camera. She lifted up the camera in front of her and took a picture of herself with the lake and mountains behind her, making a cute face and holding up her fingers in the “rock on” sign. She took the picture that was ejected and held it in her mouth as she put back the camera, and then handed the backpack to the photographer.

Madame Prime Minister sauntered confidently down the dock, the canoe bobbing behind her. She flapped the developing picture in her one hand and held out her other hand to the Premier. I tried to take a step back in deference, but Daniel would not let go of my wrist, clenching it tighter.

“Welcome to Louise, Madame Prime Minister,” Daniel said coolly, putting out his hand to grab the proud owner of the shock of blonde hair flipped in front of him, almost brushing his face. Her perfume shouted “expensive” and “exclusive”, and made me a bit dizzy.

“Thank you Premier,” Ms. Moreau said and wrinkled her nose, adding, “I can’t say I’m a fan of your cologne…”

Daniel didn’t respond, but it didn’t matter, because Justine was now preoccupied with the picture she just took. “Ooh, that’s a nice one! You wouldn’t known that the shade of lipstick I chose perfectly matches the blue of the lake and green of the pine trees?” She flashed the grinning picture at us and then handed it to the photographer. “Copy this and send it out via Canada Post, of course,” she winked at Daniel, “to every one on my Instant Letter list and publish it on my personal page of Bookface magazine.” The photographer hurried off with the picture and the security detail around us tightened their formation. “I’d print a copy for everyone in the press corps at the PMO, but I get more traction sending them directly to my supporters.”

The pretty young thing then refocussed on Daniel, and her tone sharpened, “Now, Premier Smythe, let’s talk about this nasty business your doing with JD Ruff and the Valdorians.” In a low voice, her cheery glaze of a smile gone, she glowered, “I’ve had just about enough of your shenanigans.”

*** This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. ***