Snow Job Read Online Free Page A

granted a minister’s permit, eventually got citizenship under his original name, Abzal Erzhan. He lives in the Montreal area. We intend, with the help of the RCMP, to keep a vigilant eye on him.”
    “Excellent work, Gerry.” Finnerty led a round of applause.

    Dear Hank and the Canora all-girls band
,
    Hi guys, we had to break away from our tour for two days, but found our roots here (sort of) in the Caucasus in Georgia. I think we located the farm where Great-granddad was born, but maybe that was the local tourist office trying to be nice. No other Svetlikoffs in the neighbourhood, they say Stalin moved all the Doukhobors out. People are nice here. They drink a lot. On to Uzbekistan next
.
    I hope Mom settled in okay. Hi Mom! Don’t let the girls get away with murder. Lockup is ten except weekends. Cassie, Katie, Jessie, don’t be making heavy demands on your grandma and dad. Running out of room. Love from me and Auntie Maxine and Cousin Ivy. (I’m still surrounded by girls! Help!)
    Jill XOXO

3

    I t was warm now, at noon, but Arthur had risen to the sparkle of frost on lawns, an unseasonable October cold snap. The maples on Wellington Street had been nipped too, a blood-red spatter on outer leaves. Maybe it wasn’t unseasonable — this was Ottawa, the Canadian Shield. In brief but glorious amends for the coming winter, he would have a month of beauty, the famed turning of the leaves, a spectacle denied the West Coast. Today, even the Gothic turrets of the Centre Block and the Peace Tower were shining verdigris bright under the midday sun. But the regal effect of these spires rising from manicured lawns and coddled flowerbeds was marred by the scruffy picketers marching in a loop below the steps.
    Arthur guiltily avoided them, the Poverty Action Coalition — he was in a dark suit, they might mistake him for an elected member, harangue him, get pushy: there had been acts of violence as the economy bottomed out and unemployment lines grew. A smaller group of protesters, an environmental group, held signs exhorting “Stop Trawling Now!” and declaring “Finnerty Is a Bottom-Feeder.”
    The prime minister’s family owned a fleet of ocean trawlers. He claimed to have sold his interest but remained a pet target for Greenpeacers and Sea Shepherds. P.M. for not quite a year since his predecessor resigned after being caught covering up bribes bythe late, disgraced justice minister. Won the Conservative leadership as everybody’s third choice.
    Arthur passed through the portals — as an M.P.’s spouse, he had security credentials — and proceeded into the cathedral-like rotunda with its high vaulted ceiling. Clerks, pages, recorders, and interpreters scooted about, priming themselves for the afternoon sitting. He mounted the staircase to the Commons foyer, the scrum zone, where reporters circled like wolves, waiting for prey, a junior minister who might return limping after a kneecapping in Question Period. A couple of M.P.s were being interviewed, others avoiding comment but preening for the cameras as they headed through the members’ doorways.
    Reporters waved and smiled at Arthur, who was a personage here, a hoary old sage, all the more quotable since the publishing house of McClelland & Stewart announced it had bought the rights to his life and times — a biographer was already on the job. Arthur had given up trying to persuade them his surname was properly pronounced Beechem, as anglicized centuries ago. But here, at the dividing line between French and English Canada,
Beau-champ
reigned, as in beautiful field.
    The press had eagerly followed Hamish McCoy’s trial, found much hilarity in it. Meanly, during post-trial interviews, Arthur hadn’t denied speculation that the sculpture was intended as a sardonic take on the prime minister.
    A correspondent for
Le Devoir
sidled up. “Why do we have the honour today, M. Beauchamp?”
    Arthur explained that Margaret had got on today’s list for Question Period