Out of Time

by David Klass

  THIRTY-ONE

  Just before midnight, Green Man left the Jeep in the shelter of the oaks and walked down to the perimeter fence. He wore night-vision goggles to negotiate the rocky terrain near the butte and then took them off and was guided by the glare of the oil field in front of him. The approach to the fence was initially dark and quiet, but when he got close, the bright lights from the rigs illuminated his steps, and he heard the steady background growl of diesel engines and the endless hissing of gas-burning flares.

  It was midnight—the hour when he would strike. Hanson Oil Field—lit up and roaring—looked like something out of a science-fiction horror film. The pace and scale of the operation was shocking, frightening, and unearthly. The ground trembled with the pulse and drone of the machines, and an acrid sulfur smell hung in the air. It was a violent rape of the biosphere—its surface, its bedrock and water table, and, most worryingly, its atmosphere—and it went on unceasingly.

  He reached the fence and stood outside the mesh, beneath the razor wire. Fracking had come a long way from the Civil War veteran who first sent explosives down into holes. As an environmentalist, Green Man was horrified at the damage being inflicted, but the trained mechanical engineer in him was fascinated by the giant machines working in perfect tandem to suck oil and gas out of the deep shale. Now that he could see hydraulic fracking close up, and smell it and taste it, he knew that he had chosen the right final target. What they were doing was deeply harmful to an already possibly doomed planet, and it was only going to get worse.

  More than a hundred new wells were being drilled across America every day, and virtually all of them were for hydraulic fracking. The company engineers and chemists were busy experimenting with new drilling methods and more potent brews of toxic chemicals to find even more powerful ways of splitting deep rock shelves apart. A constant ramping up in the number of drilling rigs meant ever more methane, leaking up into an atmosphere that was already choked with greenhouse gases as the earth warmed beneath. It had to be stopped soon, and the world had to be warned. He would take this final great risk, and then he would vanish.

  He imagined himself in three weeks in the cold and dark river, and then climbing out on the bank with the hulking flowback tanks all around him. He pictured that fateful moment when he would set several time fuses and the destruction of the field would be inevitable. The clustered flowback tanks would go up one after the other like a great firecracker ribbon. The giant fireball above him would turn night into day as he swam away in the Kildeer, racing to make it out alive.

  The yellow and crimson flares flickering nearby were mesmerizing, and as Green Man watched them, his mind drifted from his own mission to Sharon, and to Gus and Kim, and to what their future might hold if he made it back alive. It would be traumatic to leave everything they had known. When he had made his own first break, it had been a time of great sorrow. There were people who loved him whom he could never contact again, and allowing them to think that he had died had been a betrayal. But it had been necessary, and Green Man knew the upcoming break was also necessary. He and Sharon had planned it for years, and now they were ready.

  If they succeeded, he relished the idea of his family spending time together in a new and beautiful place. Eventually the kids would come to understand what their father had done and the need for such life-changing personal sacrifice. That thought led Green Man to recall Julie and the conversation they had had on Riverside Drive and the way she had looked at him as she realized who he might be. It had been mad to tell her, and yet he didn’t regret it, and the memory of that dramatic encounter was so distracting that he didn’t hear the footsteps till a flashlight beam clicked on and pinioned him. “Hey, you—what are you doing there?”

  “Just minding my own business,” Green Man said, holding his hand up in front of his face as if the beam was bothering his eyes.

  “And what exactly is your business here?” It was a man inside the fence, walking the perimeter alone. Peering back up the flashlight beam, Green Man could see that he was dark-skinned and in his sixties, short and powerfully built. He was wearing a security guard uniform, with a gun on his belt.

  “I’m looking for work, and I thought you guys might be hiring. And would you mind not pointing that at my eyes?” Green Man knew he looked the part of a roughneck—his clothes and boots were right, and why shouldn’t he be here checking out an oil field where he might apply for a job?

  “We’re not hiring anyone in the middle of the night,” the guard told him a little skeptically, “and you’re on company land.” He stepped closer and directed the beam at Green Man’s face. There was something peculiar about the intense way the man kept staring at him. Green Man kept his arms up, as if shielding his eyes from the light. “I know you,” the guard said with deep certainty. “I’ve seen your face before.”

  If Green Man had had a gun, he would have shot him. But the combat knife wasn’t much help when they were on opposite sides of the fence. “I doubt that,” Green Man said. “I’m not from around here.”

  “Neither am I,” the guard said. “And I never forget a face. Who are you? What’s your name? Don’t move.”

  Green Man abruptly turned his back and began to walk quickly away. The beam of light stabbed at him and followed him through the darkness, and so did the guard’s warning voice: “Stop. Stop right there. Don’t make me shoot you.”

  Green Man doubted the guard would shoot him in the back, when he hadn’t broken any law. Still, as he hurried away, he could almost feel a gun being raised and pointed at him. It would be a leg shot, and something told him the guard wouldn’t miss. If he ran, that would prompt the shot for sure. So he resisted the urge to flee. Instead, he walked steadily away from the fence, never looking back.

  “I’m telling you to stop,” the guard shouted out again. “Goddamn it, STOP!” Then Green Man heard the security guard calling for help on his radio, and that told him the man had decided not to shoot. When Green Man was two hundred yards from the fence, he allowed himself to break into a jog. Soon he was all-out sprinting.

  By the time he reached the Jeep, he was sweating and gasping for breath. Below him he saw several security vehicles speeding toward the section of fence where he had been standing, and powerful searchlights already sweeping the nearby flats. He switched on the Jeep and drove in the opposite direction with the lights off, using the night-vision goggles to navigate, bumping over unseen rocks, heading away from the Hanson field as swiftly as he dared.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Sharon was surprised to hear the husky voice of Sergeant Dolan at the gate intercom, apologizing for dropping by unexpectedly and asking if she could spare him twenty minutes. Fear flashed and then quickly subsided, and she said, “Sure, Ted,” and buzzed the gate open. She wished that Mitch was home to help deal with whatever was coming, and at the same time she was glad he was in Texas. Ted was a family friend and a bit of a simpleton, and he’d always had a thing for her that he did a bad job of hiding. She was sure she could manage him. As the police cruiser came up the driveway Sharon stepped outside the kitchen door and waved.

  He climbed out of his car and said quickly, “Don’t worry, Sharon, it’s nothing about the kids or school or anything like that.”

  “Oh, thank God,” she said. “I mean, I didn’t think, but still. . . .”

  “It’s the times we live in.” He walked closer, large and ungainly, in his late twenties but with something of the gruff and awkward loner teenager still clinging to him. “First thing everyone thinks when they see us drive up is that there’s something wrong at school. Is Mitch home?”

  She’d been gardening and was wearing tan shorts and a black scoop-necked tank top, and she could feel that he didn’t know where to look when he looked at her. “He’s away on a business trip. He’ll be back in two days. Can it wait till then?”

  “It’d be better to talk now, if you can spare me a few minutes. Sorr
y to come without calling. I was close and near the end of my shift, so I thought I’d swing by. The FBI wants us to get back to them quick, so why not just take care of this?”

  “The FBI?” she repeated. “It sounds like maybe you’d better come in.”

  She led him into the kitchen, and the screen door swung shut behind him. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I have a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge.”

  He took his hands out of his pockets but didn’t know what to do with them. He stuck them behind his back and then pulled them out, and she saw that he now held a pad, a black pen, and some sort of printout. “That sounds good, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble at all,” she said, and turned her back on him to get the pitcher out of the fridge. While she was turned away, so that he couldn’t see her face, she asked in a steady voice, “So what is this about the FBI?”

  “Just some crazy stuff,” he told her. “They want us to talk to everyone in town who owns a black van. This is my third time today I’m explaining this, and it still doesn’t make much sense, but they want answers right away.”

  She poured the tea and carried it over to him. “And what does the FBI have against black vans?”

  He reached for the glass, and their fingers brushed. He jerked away quickly, so that a little iced tea sloshed out onto the tile floor. “Sorry.”

  “It’s no problem,” she told him. “Enjoy.” She knelt and wiped up the spill with a paper towel, while he sipped and tried not to look at her bending over.

  “Thank you, Sharon. That really hits the spot.” He opened his pad. “The thing is, Green Man apparently drives a black van.”

  She let that register for a second, as if it was surprising news. “Green Man as in the terrorist who blew up that dam and killed those poor children?”

  “That’s the nutcase I’m talking about. They want us to check out all the vans in town and ask the owners a few questions.”

  She balled up the paper towel and tossed it in the trash. “Okay then, sit down and fire away.”

  They sat at the kitchen table, where she had fed Gus and Kim breakfast two hours before, and he said apologetically, “Forgive me, I didn’t come up with these.”

  “It’s important that the FBI get the answers they need. Go ahead and ask me anything.”

  He tapped the top of the printout with the point of his pen. “Have you or your husband ever been arrested?”

  She allowed a smile and chuckled. “Not that I remember.”

  “Of course you haven’t. I mean, I know you and Mitch real well. I feel kinda silly doing this.”

  “Just keep on and we’ll get through it.”

  “Have either of you ever belonged to a radical environmental group?”

  She thought about it. “When I was in college I used to get calendars from the Sierra Club with different animals for different months.”

  “Yeah, those are cute. I remember my mom had one with penguins. Do you have any registered guns?”

  “Mitch hunts.”

  “Deer?”

  “He never has much luck.”

  “Does he wear gloves when he hunts?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess he probably does when he’s field dressing game. Not that there’s a lot to dress. Sometimes he gets a few birds.”

  “Sorry to ask, but could you show me his hunting stuff later?”

  “I’ll show you whatever you need to see.”

  “Thanks. Almost done. How many cars do you guys have, total?”

  “Three. Mitch has his Jeep. I have my Accord. And we have the van.”

  “That’s an eight-year-old Ford Transit, right? If you don’t mind my asking, why is it registered to you?”

  “Because I drive it mostly. It sounds like you’ve been checking up on us.”

  “They sent us details about all the vans. What do you use it for?”

  “Antiquing. For the bigger pieces.”

  Ted looked up from his pad and glanced around the kitchen at the vases, plates, and paintings. “It’s really beautiful stuff.”

  “Thanks. They’re not worth much, but it’s fun to collect, and every once in a while I find something good. Do you want to see his hunting stuff now?”

  “Just a few more questions. Do either of you drive the van out of state?”

  She hesitated as if she needed to think about it. “Maybe once in a while. I go to a few big antique shows in Ohio, and Gus’s soccer team played in a tournament in South Bend. Mitch drove five of the boys, and they had a ball.”

  “I’ll bet. But you don’t drive it across country?”

  “Never.”

  “Did you repaint it or do any bodywork on it or take any stickers off it in the last six months?”

  “No, it mostly just sits in the garage, and sometimes the kids use it for their hide-and-seek.”

  “I bet Gus does more hiding than seeking.”

  Sharon laughed. “He’s getting less lazy.”

  “They grow up fast. Pretty soon he’s going to be chasing girls.” Again, Ted didn’t seem to know where to look, and then for a long and uncomfortable moment their eyes met.

  “I think there might be one he likes,” Sharon said, “but he would never tell me.”

  He closed his pad and stood up. “I’ll need to take a look at it, if you don’t mind.”

  “The van?”

  “Yeah, they want us to take some pictures.”

  “Do you want to see the hunting stuff first? It’s in the basement.”

  “Sure.” He started following her and then stopped. “Hey, I know that spot. It’s the Mosley River, maybe ten miles out of town. I caught a bass right there.”

  They stood before the landscape. “Mitch likes the shape of that apple tree.”

  “No kidding, he painted it? I didn’t know he was an artist.”

  She instantly regretted saying it, but there was no way to take it back. “I wouldn’t call Mitch an artist. He just fools around with it.”

  “I think it’s really good. How long has he been painting?”

  “Oh, it’s just kind of an off-and-on hobby he’s done since high school,” she said. “Come, let me show you his hunting stuff.”

  The basement was cool and dark. She flicked on a light and led the way down the narrow steps. The main room held a Ping-Pong table and some old toys.

  “I bet the kids are great since they have their own table,” Ted said.

  “It’s kind of hard to tell. A lot of the time when they play each other there’s more yelling than playing.” She led him through a door that opened to a smaller room, and over to the gun safe. For two nervous seconds she blanked on the combination and then it came to her. She twisted the dial three times, and the door opened.

  He peered inside at the gun rack and studied the rifle and shotgun and neatly stacked ammo. She was standing next to him, and while he pretended to examine the guns, she sensed that he was keenly aware that their bodies were almost touching. His uniform shirt was rolled up to show his pumped-up biceps, and she could smell his perspiration.

  For a wild instant Sharon wondered if she should seduce him. It was something she knew that she could do. They were all alone in the semi-dark basement. It would throw him wildly off-balance, and he would probably forget all about the checklist for the FBI. Mitch would forgive her and tell her she had done the right thing. After all, Mitch had killed innocent people to accomplish his goals. He wouldn’t hold a meaningless onetime physical act against her. Or she could do it and just not tell Mitch, and it would be a justifiable secret.

  She resolutely moved a few inches closer to him. Her hair brushed his shoulder, and he glanced at her and then back at the guns. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Something deep inside he
r recoiled from the idea of touching him, of being that intimate with him, and she stepped back and the moment passed.

  “Fine,” he said, breathing just a little heavily, standing away from the gun safe and letting her close and lock it. “Where’s his hunting gear?”

  Sharon led him over to a nearby closet. She opened the door and turned on the light for him and this time stood several steps away. He studied the orange hat and the two hunting jackets. His eyes ran over side shelves holding thermals, camouflage pants, and socks and boots, and they lingered on several packages of gloves. Each held a dozen pairs of wrist-length heavy-duty latex sportsman’s gloves for field dressing game. “Those are the only gloves he takes hunting?”

  “They’re the only ones I’ve ever seen. Do you want to see the van now?”

  “Sure,” he said, and he made a quick note on the pad and then glanced awkwardly down at his pants as if to make sure his fly was fully zipped. “Let’s go.”

  She led him back up the stairs and down a short hallway to the door to the garage. Mitch’s gray Jeep and her silver Accord Hybrid were parked side by side. “So wherever Mitch is traveling now, I guess he didn’t need his car?”

  “He’s in New York for business.”

  “Must be nice. I’ve never been.”

  “He’d better remember to bring back something for the kids.”

  “And for you. You deserve something nice.”

  She looked back at him, and this time his gaze was fixed—he was looking right at her breasts. She looked back at him steadily, and when she spoke, her voice was calm and flat: “You said you needed some pictures of the van?”

  Ted exhaled, nodded, and walked over to it. The black van was parked on the far side of the garage. He circled it and said, “You guys keep it clean.”

  “You should see it when Mitch comes back from hunting.”

  “Looks like there’s something in the back.”