UNDERCOVER - Dark Fire Data (Book 3)

Part 1 - Parliament Hill

It was the week before Christmas and all through the bus nothing was stirring . . . except for a click-click-clicking as Beryl assembled her Uzi automatic pistol. 

Beryl was one of Grandma's weird friends, a small, wrinkled woman with orange hair. She had overheard me asking Grandma if I could go see the Christmas decorations on Parliament Hill with Licia and Miguel and she had invited herself along as a body guard. 

 Grandma had thought that funny but she didn't know Beryl really was riding shotgun, with a 9 mm machine gun in her shopping bag. She had used it the week before, trying to protect me from an assailant, but she told us she wanted to check her beaver traps and was worried about the beavers counter attacking.

Luckily, we were the only passengers on the OC Transpo bus heading to Parliament Hill. Everyone else was sensibly shopping or at home wrapping Christmas presents. 

 Licia, Miguel and I had shared some weird adventures recently although we were unlikely friends. Licia was of Chinese descent with dark eyes, glasses and shoulder length black hair. Miguel claimed Irish, Spanish, Amerindian and African ancestors, which explained his dark skin and frizzy black hair. My northern European ancestry was evident from my pink, freckled skin, blue eyes and curly blond hair. 

 We were dressed like typical Canadian teenagers, blue jeans, sweaters and running shoes. Our only concessions, to the light snowfall and minus ten Celsius temperature, were our hooded parkas. 

 Beryl wore an unfashionable orange leather coat and a head scarf tied over a Ottawa Senators ball cap. She sat at the back of the bus and we pretended she was not with us. It was almost dark when the bus stopped at Bank and Wellington. I had never seen Canada's parliament buildings before, so Licia had decided it was the right time. We got off the bus opposite an imposing stone gateway with a large, ornate cast-iron gate. On the steep slope behind it, a grey stone edifice loomed up against a gloomy sky, the West Block. 

 Elaborate spires, topped with a cobweb of cast iron tracery, stabbed into the low scudding clouds. The federal government parking lot was covered in fresh snow unmarked by tire tracks. It was deserted except for a snow covered Royal Canadian Mounted Police cruiser and two red vans with ladders on top. Lettering on the side advertised Broad Band Bundles - digital TV - home telephone - Internet - wireless - 15% off. 

 'Typical,' Beryl huffed, 'the Mounties are all down at Tim Horton's scarfing Christmas donuts and the Broad Band bundlers are standing in for them instead of fixing cables. Oh, Canada, who's standing on guard for thee! Those Global Economy biker gangs could invade at any moment.'

'Surely not, ' Licia chuckled. 'It's Christmas.'

'Especially at Christmas,' Beryl snorted. 'They know the Royal Canadian Mounted Police will be down at Tim Horton's scarfing Christmas donuts.'

Beryl reached into her shopping bag to check her Uzi machine pistol. 'Do you really need that machine gun?' Miguel asked. 

 'Who do think stops the beavers from cutting down all the old growth trees on Parliament Hill?' Beryl replied.

'How can they get up here?' Licia asked.

Beryl laughed. 'They sneak up, by swimming under the ice and making a hole near the shore. That's where I put my traps, under the ice.'

We walked up the hill alongside a snow-topped stone wall, with iron spikes poking through the snow, to a pedestrian gate. Inside, was a vast snow-covered square almost surrounded by Victorian Gothic buildings with spires and green copper roofs. A floodlit red and white Canadian flag crackled from the top of the Peace Tower in the frigid north wind. Large trees, glittering like frozen fireworks, shimmered and sparkled in the wind. It looked like a multi-coloured constellation of stars had settled in their branches. 

 The grim, age-blackened stone walls of Parliament and the Peace Tower had been transformed into a fairy tale palace, wrapped in light like a gigantic gift with huge snowflake patterns. A carillon was playing Christmas carols.