“It’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Am I required to leave, or can I stay?”
“Stay? You want to stay here? You nuts? What the hell. Stay all night if you get off on it. Live here if you’re as stupid as you look. Just don’t be late tomorrow morning.”
An hour later, Baxter was done. He issued the completion report and was about to leave when he stopped. This was a good chance to explore his new office. Keeping up his efficiency rating meant he’d never be able to do so in the day.
Beside the washroom was a shower stall, its walls stained copper-brown, its floor coated with a dust fuzz that had once been mildew before it dried. He turned the handle of the shower. At first, nothing happened except for a gurgling sound from pipes and valves protesting the need to work. A few bursts of brown water spat from the shower head. When it began to flow, he held his hand under the water. It was cold. Whatever connection there once had been to a water heater had dissolved, but it was water, and the more it ran, the clearer it became.
Toward the rear of the office, he found an unused storage room. There was an empty filing cabinet which, along with the rest of the room, was covered with a layer of dust. He was about to leave when the thought struck him that he could live here. This room was deserted. He could sleep on a futon and hide it behind the filing cabinet during the day. The cabinet made a serviceable chest of drawers. He could shower at the office, cold though it might be, eat at nearby cafés, do his laundry at the laundromat, and say to hell with paying rent. The end of the month was coming up and this room, cramped, airless, dim as it was, was no worse than the slum he was paying for.
And as for his efficiency rating, since there was nothing else to do in the evenings, he was about to blow the lid off that.
ELWOOD TRAYNOR WELCOMED Robert Crane to the office of the environmental group Sentinels of the Earth. The sounds of traffic in downtown Los Angeles filtered through the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows even here on the twentieth floor. Traynor said, “Mr. Crane, I’m delighted you could visit us. It’s always a pleasure to meet one of our native brothers. We’re excited about your court victory. It’s a great day for you and your friends at the Coanth First Nation. We’ve followed the case. You were an integral part of the legal team.”
“Thank you, Mr. Traynor. I was on the team, but it was Marnie Shelton’s show. She’s a top lawyer. We couldn’t have afforded her without your financial backing. She wasn’t cheap.”
“I’m glad we could help. You know that protecting the environment against the destruction caused by fossil fuels is one of the main reasons the Sentinels of the Earth exists. It’s an ongoing battle. We cherish our occasional victories.”
“Thank you, but why did you invite me here? Why not Chief Samuels? The media know him. He’d be the best choice for publicity.”
“Publicity? Mr. Crane, you should know we avoid publicity. Part of our agreement to fund your court battle was that we must remain anonymous.”
“Okay, but that still doesn’t answer my question. Why did you ask me here?”
Traynor studied the man opposite him. “Do you know what Chief Samuels is doing now with respect to Central Railway?”
“Doing now? What do you mean?”
“It’s a simple question, Mr. Crane. Do you know what Chief Samuels intends to do with Central Railway?”
Crane looked puzzled. “Well, he intends to stop it shipping coal across our lands.”
Traynor put two photos on the desk. “What do you make of this?”
Crane said, “What the hell is Sam doing at Central Railway.” The second photo was taken through a plate glass window. “Sam is shaking hands with the CEO of Central. What’s going on?”
“You didn’t know about this?”
“Did I know Sam was going to meet with the railway? Of course not. We never do that. We only contact them through our lawyers. What the hell is he up to?”
Traynor pulled a sheet of paper from the file. The paper was crumpled, the residue of coffee staining it. “One of our people got this out of a dumpster behind Central’s office.”
Crane studied it, his face darkening. “That bastard.”
“We agree. It seems Chief Samuels has negotiated a tariff that would allow Central to pay to transport the coal across the Coanth traditional territory. We also suspect he’s doing this to pad his personal bank account. We can’t prove anything from this, but we’re sure he’s been able to set aside a substantial stipend for himself.”
Crane slammed his fist on the table and powered up from his chair. “We have to stop him. This is criminal.”
“What’s criminal? That he’s allowing the railway to operate coal trains or that he’s taking a chunk of the revenue for himself?”
“Both. It’s bad enough that he’s taking money for himself, but allowing the coal trains? The idea of these obscene shipments violates everything the Coanth stands for. We cherish the earth. We abhor these monstrous machines that rip it apart in the name of money. This must end.”
“We agree. What do you suggest?”
“Chief Samuels has to go. A new chief can stop this tariff.”
“How do you propose to get rid of Chief Samuels?”
Crane’s face darkened. “I’d love to get him alone in the forest, but that is not our way. We need to elect a new chief.”
“Again, we agree. And we have an ideal candidate.”
“Who?” Traynor smiled at Crane. Crane gaped. “Me? Are you thinking of me? I’m not a leader.”
“To the contrary. We’ve watched you. We’ve received reports of your work on the legal committee. We believe you’d make a worthy chief.”
“But even a small election like ours needs organizing. That takes money. I don’t have any of that.”
“We do.”
“You would support me?”
“If you’re willing. We will finance your campaign, and we’ll provide a campaign strategist. Between her and these pictures, you’re a shoo-in.” Especially with the other embarrassing information we’ll invent on Samuels.
“What do you want in return?”
“Nothing you wouldn’t already provide. No coal shipments across Coanth lands. Ever.”
“I’ll do better than that. We’ll shut down the railway completely as punishment for trying to bribe a chief. We’ll rip up their tracks. They’ll never operate again, no matter what they’re carrying.”
Traynor extended his hand. “Mr. Crane, it’s been a pleasure to meet someone as dedicated to preserving the environment as we are. May I be the first to say congratulations, Chief Crane.” He picked up a phone. “Send her in.”
A young woman entered the room. “Mr. Crane, I’m Linda Prager, your new campaign advisor. Come with me, and let’s begin planning how we’re going to make you the next chief.”
Alone in his office, Traynor dialed a number. “Kurt, it’s done. The coal shipments from the Tsu-Wat are over. There’s no way for them to get their coal to tidewater.”
He nodded. “Yeah, Kurt. That does mean you can jack up the price for your coal. That is, as long as the natives here in the States don’t block your trains.”
He laughed. “No problem, Kurt. Thanks again for financing this court case and for your generous contribution to our cause.” He smiled.
THE FORTIETH-FLOOR boardroom of Vivace Petroleum offered a view of downtown Houston and the Gulf of Mexico in the distance. But the directors of the company weren’t interested in the view. The chairman said, “Our next agenda item is the proposal to approve the start of production drilling in the Covendon formation in northern Alberta. Jake, this is your baby.”
Jacob Abbott, CEO of Vivace Petroleum’s Canadian division, sat for a minute, his eyes resting on a document. “You all know how much I’ve fought for this. The Covendon formation is massive. Our engineers estimate that it contains over half a billion barrels of reserves. And it’s accessible. Getting in equipment and building a construction site would be easy.”