Chapter 12
Rick showed up at the appointed time-with the blindfolds. After a token effort at talking him out of the cloak-and-dagger routine, Ben and Christina submitted. As far as Ben was concerned, this was taking security measures way over the top, but Rick insisted.
The blindfolds were thick and black, perfect for keeping out all traces of light and clinging close to the face, eliminating that peephole down the line of the nose available with most blindfolds. Once they were securely vision impaired, Rick loaded them into the backseat of his Jeep. At least Ben assumed it was his Jeep. It could’ve been a San Francisco trolley car for all he could tell.
At first Ben attempted to keep track of the directions-first a right turn, then a left, drive for about a mile … but it was pointless. After ten minutes, he was hopelessly confused, and he’d been told it would be a good half hour before they arrived at the Green Rage camp. He couldn’t retrace their trail even if he wanted to. And honestly, why would he want to? If they didn’t want him there, he didn’t want to be there.
After fifteen minutes or so (he couldn’t see his watch), Ben sensed they were entering a different environment. He couldn’t explain exactly how he knew, but he knew. A difference in the climate, perhaps, but it was more than just temperature. There was something about the air itself-the thickness, the crispness. The smell. And the sounds-
“We’ve entered the forest,” Rick said. His voice came from the front of the Jeep, whipped back like the wind rushing in Ben’s face. “Another fifteen minutes or so and we’ll be at the camp.”
“I thought so,” Ben said. “Everything seemed different somehow.”
“You’ve entered a different world,” Rick answered. “You’ve left behind the artificial world of the city-concrete, smog, Burger King. You’ve entered the forest primeval-pure, natural, untouched. At least for the time being.”
Ben and Christina sat in silence as they rode the rest of the way. Time seemed to pass more slowly. Ben paid more attention; he soaked in the sweet scent of pine, the musty smell of the earth.
Eventually Rick brought the Jeep to a stop. As the engine died, Ben could hear the soft play of voices, not far away. And a million other sounds as welclass="underline" birds singing, the wind whistling through the trees, the chirp of the crickets, the mournful cry of the hoot owl.
“We’ve arrived.”
Ben felt the rise of his seat as Rick jumped out of the front. He felt fingers brushing against his face, and an instant later, he could see again.
Ben stepped off the Jeep and did a full circle, absorbing his new surroundings. The sun was setting, but he could still see clearly. It was green everywhere he looked, green and more green. They were surrounded by an enclosure of trees, tall pines that stretched up to infinity-or at any rate a good deal higher than Ben could see.
A row of small blue nylon tents nestled just inside the clearing. A stone circle told Ben where the campfire had been and would likely be again. There were a few boxes, shirts, plates, and other signs of humanity strewn about, but not many. It appeared to Ben that they had made a genuine effort to leave the area undisturbed.
“So this is the big secret terrorist camp?” Christina said. “How disappointing. I was expecting something out of a James Bond movie.”
Rick laughed. “We like to keep things simple. All we need is a base of operation, a place to stow our gear. Creature comforts we leave for someone else. Besides, it’s important that we be able to pack up and move at the drop of a hat. The logging company has people searching for us at all hours of the day. And that’s in addition to whatever Slade and the Cabal might be doing.”
The Cabal, Ben thought. Zak had told him about that, but he had suspected it might just be a fairy tale Zak cooked up to make his situation seem more dramatic. Or just a paranoid fantasy. Well, if it was, it was a shared fantasy.
“Let me introduce you to some of the rest of the group.” Ben saw people emerging from the edge of the forest or out of tents.
“You’ve met Maureen, of course.” Ben nodded in Maureen’s general direction. She looked just the same as before. It was possible she’d changed to a different flannel shirt, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Of course,” Ben said. “One never forgets one’s cellmates.”
“She’s our communications expert. Everything from ham radios to e-mail.”
Rick continued moving down the line. “And here’s another distaff member of the Green Rage team. Deirdre Oliphant. Excuse me, Dr. Deirdre Oliphant.”
Ben shook her hand. “A medical doctor?”
She shook her head. “A scientist.” If so, Ben thought she was about as unscientist-looking as anyone he had met in his life. She had long silky blonde hair and a tall hourglass figure that could easily have graced the cover of a fashion magazine. “I’m a dendrochronologist,” she explained.
“Oh,” Ben said. “Wonderful.” He shot a quick glance at Christina. “Should I pretend I know what that means?”
Deirdre laughed. “It’s really very simple. I study trees. My speciality is determining their ages.”
Christina nodded. “Counting their rings and all that?”
“Exactly. Except that it’s a little more complicated than that, especially with the older trees. We have to use other techniques, like extracting core samples, to date trees without cutting them down.”
“Is this speciality greatly in demand?” Ben asked.
“It is with us,” Maureen interjected. “It’s crucial to our work. We can occasionally get government support for preserving old-growth trees.”
“You wouldn’t believe how old some of these trees are,” Deirdre explained. “Beyond these pines is a dense forest of cedars that go back hundreds of years. Of course, there are redwoods in California that go back thousands of years, but for cedars, five hundred years is awesome. Can you imagine? These trees were here when Beethoven was taking piano lessons.”
“Impressive.”
“My holy grail is to find a cedar larger than the current recordholder in Forks, a town a few hours south of here. If I can find that, it could save the forest.”
Ben gazed about, awed by the thought of the living history all around him. It went back to what he was feeling before. Even though he couldn’t explain it, he had a sense of tranquility, of timelessness. Of constancy through the ages.
“The next fellow in line,” Rick continued, “the one doing the Santa Claus impression, is Doc Potter. I think we mentioned him before. He’s our medic and the senior member of the team.”
Ben shook hands with the gentleman, who sported a bushy snow-white beard. Ben guessed him to be in his mid-fifties, considerably older than the rest of the group.
“I’d like to think people whose only goal is preserving forests wouldn’t need a medic,” Doc said. He had an open, avuncular manner that Ben liked immediately. “But experience has proven that we do. This is the seventh Green Rage team I’ve been part of.”
“It must be exciting work,” Christina said.
“Yes, it’s exciting.” He glanced at his compatriots. “Sometimes it’s a wee bit too exciting. You may have heard about the incident in Oregon a few years back. Loggers came in the night, grabbed some environmentalists, dragged them out of their tents. Beat them up pretty badly. And by the time they got to a hospital, one of them had bled to death. Since then, we’ve always had a medic with every away team.”
“Sounds like what you need is a pack of thugs or attack dogs.”
“Don’t think we haven’t considered it,” Rick said. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t keep dogs out here. And Slade has all the thugs.” He took another step down the line. “Let me make a couple more introductions, then we’ll give you a rest. This is the lovely Molly Evans.”
Ben thought Rick’s manner altered as he came into Molly’s presence, although he would be pressed to explain just how. Molly had short bobbed brown hair and a clean honest look. Which pleased him since, if he recalled correctly, she was going to be his ace alibi witness. “You were out in the forest with Zak the night of the murder.”