Dirosa said, "Just what we were hoping for."
Even when she was pleased, Faillo had a tough, abrupt quality. "Londecker found somebody to read the tests?"
"It's going on right now. The guy who paid for them. But I can't figure out his angle."
As Faillo got her briefcase out of the van, she said, "Does it matter?"
Margaret Faillo was thinking, A long way to come just for this, but it's worth it.
All Connie's idea, too. The girl was quick on her feet-she'd make a great department head.
Back at the table, Faillo stared blankly at Londecker's ingratiating "I've got something to tell you" grin and took the seat beside him, wanting to hear a little herself before she finally pulled the plug.
Listened to the speaker conclude the reading of what she already knew was a long list of toxins-Connie had showed the report to her before giving it to Londecker-then listened as Dr. Ford suggested, quite reasonably, that the contaminants may have been introduced into the Mango water system as a result of dredging for Cypress Gate Estates, plus the fertilization-extermination cycles of the region's scores of golf courses and tens of thousands of lawns.
"An additional source," the man said, "may be posions used in the state's own melaleuca extermination program. As you may know, the state imported the melaleuca tree back in-"
Faillo didn't like the direction of that, so she cut him off. "Excuse me, I was unable to hear the beginning of your statement."
Beside her, Londecker could hardly contain himself. "The water Mr. Gatrell is selling? Dr. Ford just read a report from a state-accredited lab certifying that the water is contaminated. Dangerously high levels of-"
"You let him read that into the record?"
Faillo could see Londecker puzzling over the tone in her voice. "Well, of course. I felt Mr. Gatrell was seeking an advantage, trying to inflate the price of his land-"
Even when Lemar Flowers yelled, "That's supposition and hearsay!" Faillo kept her eyes locked on Londecker. She said, "Do you realize what you've done?"
The man standing before the table was still speaking: "In view of these test results, I would like-as a concerned citizen-to make certain that your department already has funds set aside to restore the water to its original uncontaminated state… as it must do, by law, when condemning or annexing private property."
Londecker said, "What!"
Behind Ford, Gatrell was on his feet, poking at his attorney, yelling, "I told you he was almost smart as me! Didn't I tell you? Hot damn, Duke, kick him right in the ass!"
Faillo stood and said loudly, "I'd like to call a five-minute recess while I discuss a few things with Mr. Londecker."
Alex Londecker felt a little dizzy listening to Faillo. So dry, he couldn't make spit form in his mouth. He told her, "I know what the law is. We've done projects before where we had to clean up water."
"Ah! So you've already budgeted for it?"
"No, I'm just saying-"
"You're talking a hundred thousand dollars. Maybe a quarter million. For a project this small? Do you want to try to justify that before the legislature? I don't think they'll want to listen to you, Alex. Not after they watch tonight's news."
"But we could just plug the spring. Cement it in-"
"Like that little Dade County project? Or Warm Mineral Springs? We had the money allocated in advance. Plus, we did it quietly. Here, we'd get national headlines: 'Fountain of Youth Asphalted!' Jesus Christ, Alex!"
He had never heard Faillo swear before. "The way you say it… you're making it sound like-"
"Oh, quit stammering. You went into this thing blind. You didn't have your environmental census finished-"
"The crew disappeared!"
"Then you should have postponed the meeting! Then to allow that report to be read publicly, my God. Who do you think issued the permits for Cypress Gate Estates? The state! You didn't see the television cameras?"
"Now wait a minute! Using the water analysis was Connie's idea-"
Dirosa hadn't said a word until then; just stood their smirking. But now she jumped right in. "Hold it, Londecker. This is your project. You get all the credit. Remember?"
"I don't think I received a single memo advising me of Connie's participation, Alex." Faillo at him again.
"But she did!"
In a deadly cold voice, Faillo said, "Maybe if you had spent more time keeping me informed, and less time writing letters to my friends at Equality and Compliance, you wouldn't be in the mess your in."
Oh, God. That explained it.
In a small voice, Londecker said, "I'm sorry, Ms. Faillo. I mean it. I wasn't thinking at the time."
"You're going to be sorrier, Alex. You know what that old man did to you? Gatrell? He got you looking so hard in one direction that you never realized he was coming from the other. He blind-sided you, Alex. He pulled a switch-a switch, you dumb ass. And you fell for it. With this on your record, I don't think I'll have any problem from Equality and Compliance in Hiring. Or the personnel department, for that matter." Faillo closed her briefcase firmly, a knuckle-cracking sound. "I'll make it official when we get back to Tallahasse, Mr. Londecker, but be advised that you have two weeks' notice. You're terminated. Now"-she straightened her jacket and brushed her black hair back-"I have to go make a statement to those people. Tell them the state is withdrawing from the project." She smiled at Connie Dirosa just a little before adding, "For a year or two, anyway."
TWENTY
William Bambridge said to Chuck Fleet, "Why are all those people standing on shore? You think they're expecting us?"
Fleet sat on a plank at the stern of the old man's sloop-rigged pulling boat, one hand on the tiller, the other on the daggerboard, hoping he could steer this final reach into Mango without running aground yet again, ripping the daggerboard out of its lashing. "Is the Captain awake? He had that delivery to make. Maybe he told the whole town."
From the windy bay, the village of Mango was a pale break in the darker rim of mangrove islands: coconut palms, a few houses, a brown rind of beach. People lined the water, milling on what must have been a road. There were tables and chairs set up, and lots of cars. Like some kind of meeting.
Bambridge had torn his shirt into rags-there wasn't much left of it, anyway-and now he reached outboard to soak a piece, then used it as a compress. Henry Short lay with his head in Bambridge's lap, eyes closed, brown skin looking gray in the sunlight, a deep gash on his forehead, more cuts on his hands, his arms, and a bad one in his side. For the last four hours, he had been bleeding through his rag bandages; now the water in the lapstrake bilge was iron red.
"Captain? Can you hear me, Captain? We're almost there! Hang on for a few more minutes. We'll get help."
The old man moaned softly, his breathing quick and shallow. The first part of the trip, Henry Short had been able to rally enough energy to rise up and point out the route to Fleet; describe to him the cuts he had to make, the oyster bars and sandbars to avoid. But in the last hour, he had lapsed into a kind of concentrated silence, as if he needed to focus all his energy on just staying alive.
To Fleet, Bambridge mouthed the words I think he's dying.
A voice from the bilge: "Good. I hope he does die. It'll be easier for all of us. Like when a burglar breaks into your house, you're better off killing him."
Charles Herbott talking. He lay with his belly flat against the ribs of the boat, hands and feet wrapped with rope, then pulled tightly together, so he resembled a man less than he did cargo, all soiled and blood-streaked, packed for lifting. "You guys need to come around to my way of thinking. It's not too late."