Max knew what was coming. “I don’t have much influence up here, Mr. President.”
“They don’t trust us, do they?”
“No, sir. They don’t.”
“I don’t blame them. Not a damned bit. But I am willing to give my personal assurance that they will be amply compensated for giving up their rights to Johnson’s Ridge.”
“You want me to tell them that?”
“Please. But I also need you to try to persuade them to see our side of this problem. I need you to convince them to give this up, Max. The only thing that can come out of this if they persist is to get themselves killed. Now please, I need your help.”
“Why me, Mr. President? Why didn’t you call Chairman Walker? Or Dr. Cannon?”
“Walker’s mind is made up. Dr. Cannon may be too young to have much influence over a group of Indians. You understand what I mean. I’ll be honest with you, Max. We’ve looked at the profiles of the people up there with you, and you seemed to us to be most open to reason.”
Max took a deep breath. He was the weak link. “I’ll tell them,” he said. “May I ask you something?”
“Go ahead, Max. Ask anything. Anything at all.”
“There’s a rumor here that the government intends to destroy the Roundhouse. Will you give me your word there’s no truth to it?”
Max could hear breathing on the other end. Then: “Max, we wouldn’t do that.”
“Your word, Mr. President?”
“Max. I can promise generous compensation.”
“What’s he saying?” whispered April.
Max shook his head.
“I don’t think that’s enough, Mr. President.”
“Max, you can help. Talk to them.”
“They won’t listen to me. Anyhow, I think they’re right.”
The long silence at the other end drew out until Max wondered if the president was still there. “You know, Max,” he said at last, “if there’s bloodshed, you’ll have to live the rest of your life knowing you could have prevented it.” Max could visualize him, a little man who looked somehow as if he should be running the neighborhood print shop. “I feel sorry for you, son. Well, you do what you have to, and I respect that. But stay on the line, okay? They’ll give you a number so you can get through if you change your mind. If we can get out of this peacefully, I’d be pleased to have you up to the White House.”
Then he was gone, and Max copied down the number and handed it to Adam. Without looking at it, Adam tore it into small pieces. He opened the door and gave it to the wind. And it occurred to Max that the only person who thought that Max Collingwood was going to stay with the Sioux was the president of the United States.
The white Ben at Ten news van rolled east across the prairie, bound for Johnson’s Ridge. Carole could barely contain her excitement. She kept replaying the interview in her mind, relishing the drama. She will stay with her brothers to defend her land. And, at the end, her own closing line, From the Sioux reservation at Devil’s Lake, this is Carole Jensen for NBC News.
And it wasn’t over. Robert Bazell was coming, but in the meantime she would be the network’s voice on the front line. She hoped that Bazell’s plane would get socked in somewhere.
Carole fell back against her seat and let the sheer joy of the moment surge through her.
They passed through the Pembina Mountains, and turned north again on Route 32. After a while they saw the emerald glow in the sky.
Police were steering traffic into a detour. Carole showed her credentials and got waved on. Ahead, at the turnoff to the access road, blinking lights and the white glare of TV lamps spilled onto the highway. Cars and vans were parked on the shoulder on both sides of the two-lane. Chang slowed down and pulled in beside an CNN van.
A cluster of media people had gathered at the access point. An old battered Ford was at the center of attention. She recognized Walker immediately. He had got out of the car and was talking to a deputy. Other police officers were trying without much success to keep the journalists at a distance.
“Set up, Chang,” she said, punching in the studio’s number on her cellular phone.
“Carole?” said her producer. “I was about to call you.”
“We’re here.”
“Okay. Walker just came down off the mountain. CNN and ABC are already on with it. He’s apparently going to make a statement.”
Carole was out of the car and on the move. Chang came around the other side, shouldering his gear.
“We’re doing the intro now,” said the voice from the studio. “Switch to you in twenty seconds.”
“Son of a bitch,” said Carole, throwing a quick look at her partner. “Chang, you ready?”
They got into the group of journalists, pushed and jostled their way forward until they could manage a decent shot of the proceedings. Walker looked frail and old. The police officers were uncomfortable with the turmoil and losing patience. A woman wearing a U.S. marshal pocket bullion was having an animated conversation with Chief Doutable. Carole was good at lip-reading, and she caught enough of the conversation to understand that she was telling the police chief to let something happen.
The reporters pushed forward, and the entire scene was awash in bright lights and stark shadows.
The deputy caught a signal from Doutable and backed away. Several hands thrust microphones toward the Ford. How did the Indians feel about being evicted? Would the Sioux fight? Were the Sioux hiding something? Was it true about the Visitor?
“No,” he said, “we are not hiding anything.” He climbed up onto the hillside, where everyone could see him. “My name is James Walker. I am the chairman of the tribal council.”
“Then what’s the big secret?” shouted someone in back.
Walker looked puzzled. “There is no secret. We have willingly shared the wilderness world with all who came to look. But the Roundhouse is on our land.”
The reporters grew quiet.
“It may be,” Walker continued, “that the road to the stars crosses this ridge. Some people are disturbed by the discoveries made here. They fear them. And we know that when change comes, no one is more adamant in holding on to the past than those in power. They know change is inevitable, but they would, if they could, parcel it out in measured pieces. Grain for chickens.
“We are told by your government,” he continued, “that we must leave. If we do not comply, we will be turned out. And those who have the temerity to remain on their own land are threatened with jail. Or worse. I would ask you, if these persons can seize our property because they are afraid, whose property is safe? If they can lay hands on our future, whose future is secure?”
(Producer’s voice: “Great, Carole. The guy is great! Try to get an exclusive interview when it’s over.”)
“This will not be the first time we have been called on to defend our land with our blood. But I would speak directly to the president of the United States.” Chang moved in. “Mr. President, only you have the power to stop this. The people who will die tonight, on both sides, are innocent. And they are idealistic, or they would not be confronting each other. They are the best that we have, willing to sacrifice themselves for a cause dictated by older men. Stop it while you can.”
Tom Lasker’s ID had done him no good at the roadblock, and he had been turned away without explanation, just like the hordes of tourists. His first reaction was to use the cellular phone to call Max, but he got only a busy signal, the kind of rasping two-tone that usually indicates a trunk line is down.
He had been listening to the news accounts, and he knew about the ultimatum. It had not seriously hit home until now, however, that there was going to be shooting and that people might get killed.