As soon as Lindsey got back to the airport and cut the engine, she turned around and asked her customer for the camera. Luckily it was a good digital with a very expensive long range lens. She looked over all of the pictures carefully,and handed the camera back. "Thanks, Mrs. Pierce, those pictures will help when I contact the authorities."
"Call me Sharon," the customer said. "I'm a journalist for Maclean's Magazine. My husband Colin here, is the photographer. We were doing a piece on Vancouver Island. I guess we're going to get an even better story now, if the authorities let us do it."
"What authorities do you plan to contact, Lindsey? " Colin asked. "Uh, I guess the Air Transport Association of Canada?" Colin shook his head. "Umm, the RCMP, then, I guess., but I already called 911 from the air before we turned around. I warned them to wear Scott Air packs, and protective rubberized clothing. I imagine that every level of the police have already been contacted.
Sharon was already on her cell, scrolling through her address book. "I'm calling Premier Gordon Campbell. We did a feature on him a while back. He's the one who put in a request to our publishers to do an in depth piece on Vancouver Island. He'll know what to do, and who to call. This is clearly an act of terrorism. The feds will have to be involved from the get go."
The three of them climbed out of the Cessna, and Colin helped Lindsey tie it down inside the hangar. Sharon was talking animatedly on the cell, and gesturing wildly. She sat down on the cement floor and started fiddling with the phone and the camera.
She held them both up to her husband in frustration.
"Honey, can you patch the pictures through to the Premier? You know how technically challenged I am." Colin grinned and leaned down for the phone and camera, kissing her fondly on the top of her head as he did so. In a minute flat he had them hooked up, and started feeding the pictures through."We'd better get out of here," Lindsey warned the couple. "If the wind changes, we're toast.