The Green Progression

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “A favor?”

  “They asked the White House to withdraw DOJ objections to the JAFFE acquisition of that chipmaker.”

  “And now Mr. Murrill wants to know why we’re involved?”

  “It looks that way.” McDarvid looked at Jonnie and shrugged.

  “What do I tell him?”

  “The truth—that we were scoping out a new client and the potential problems.”

  “You sure he’ll be satisfied with that?”

  “No. But it’s the truth.”

  “When has that counted?”

  McDarvid shrugged again.

  39

  “FIRST, WE WERE GOING TO DEMAND MONITORING OF THE FENCE LINE, with some dust to get results. Now you’re talking about scattering yellowcake dust in the field outside the plant. It just isn’t a good idea.” Veronica looked around the deserted park, then at the dark clouds that promised cold rain or sleet.

  “Does that mean you’re not going through with it? Once you get started, you’ll be okay. You just need to work through it.” Peter, hunched inside his rawhide jacket, stared directly at her.

  “I’ll be all right, because I’m not going to do it.” The cold wind whipped through Veronica’s hair, creating an auburn cloud about her face, as she stood beside the backless stone bench. “I joined the movement to protect the environment, not to spread radioactive dust in a field outside a nuclear processing facility. They’ve already released enough radiation. We don’t need to spread any more. I mean, what if kids play in that field? That dust could give them cancer or kill them. That’s carrying things too far.”

  “Don’t be silly. This is a contaminated processing facility. You’re not spreading radiation. You’re stopping it. Don’t you want to help close a death factory that’s polluted the entire area with nuclear waste?”

  “That’s not the way.” Veronica swept her hair back away from her face. “You’ll destroy the movement, not the processing plant.”

  “No buts. Once the press finds out how much radiation is coming from that plant, public outrage will force the plant to close down. All we’re doing is helping a fat and lazy media discover the radiation they would have found years ago if they had any guts.”

  “You still don’t understand. It’s one thing to call attention to evil—even violently. It’s another to cause more pollution. It’s wrong to poison the land and the water. I’m not going to be like the people I want to stop.”

  “It’s that new guy you’re sleeping with, isn’t it? Black somebody.” The bearded man turned directly toward the woman. “He works for the polluters, and he’s turned you into one of them.”

  “Bullshit! Jonnie has nothing to do with this.”

  “I’m telling you. We’re not polluting; we’re putting an end to pollution. And you can’t chicken out.”

  “You can do it without me. Tedor can plant the dust. After all, he’s getting the yellowcake in the first place. Or you can do it yourself. If you think this is such a wonderful idea, why don’t you go scatter the dust?”

  “You are scared. If you were really so convinced this is wrong, you’d be talking to the police, not to me. You’d be telling them that a bunch of environmental zanies are going to dump radioactive dust outside a processing plant. Instead, you’re telling me how I can dump the dust without your help.”

  “I agreed with the original idea. Putting a trace of dust along the fence wouldn’t have hurt anyone. But you’re asking for trouble if you start playing around with that stuff. That’s your choice.”

  “I hope that’s not a threat, babe.” The man kicked a booted heel on the worn stone curbing by the leafless hedge.

  She shook her head.

  “Look, I can’t make you scatter the powder. But once we do, you’re into this right up to your gorgeous neck. Don’t think you can play the self-righteous bitch and walk away from this with clean hands. You’re as dirty as the rest of us.”

  “Fine. You think being dirty is the mark of a real environmentalist? I’ll dump your damned dust. I’ll dump it right in your fucking coffee. Maybe that’ll get the factory shut down. I can see the headline now. ‘Eco-Freak Dies from Radioactive Coffee—Thousands Converge to Shut Suspect Plant.’”

  “Hey, babe, you can dump the stuff or not. I don’t give a shit. But you better not put it in my coffee. It wouldn’t stop me; it would just make me angry. And you sure as shit don’t want me angry.” Peter stepped back. “Like you said. It’s your choice. Don’t forget it.”

  Veronica turned, not watching the man in the dirty rawhide jacket, and not looking back even though she could feel his eyes on her as she walked toward the Ecology Now! office.

  40

  “MR. BLACK?” The man who rose from the corner table at the Gateaux et Pain was thin-faced, young, and balding. The dark hair that he did retain was cut short over the ears, not quite military-short, but close.

  “Jonathon Black,” acknowledged the consultant, settling into the bench seat of the booth opposite the other.

  “Victor Murrill.” The other man sat down, his back against the high cushion of the booth, reaching inside the breast pocket of his dark blue suit. The red-and-silver-striped tie was almost rep, but not quite. “You might want to look at these before we proceed.” He extended a wallet-type folder of black leather.

  Jonnie perused the credentials identifying one Victor E. Murrill as belonging to the Department of Defense. He noted the three-quarter-profile photo and three white stripes on the red background before handing the folder back. “Could be real; I wouldn’t know.”

  Murrill gave Jonnie a skeptical look, replaced the wallet, and gestured toward a waiter. “Would you care for coffee?”

  “Just coffee. Black.”

  “Two coffees,” Murrill told the waiter in a cream and maroon jacket.

  “What did you want to know?” asked Jonnie as the waiter withdrew after filling both cups.

  “We were curious about the sudden interest in JAFFE.” Murrill smiled over the cup he had raised and held in two hands.

  “I would have thought there would have been a great deal of interest in JAFFE given the importance of the chip industry to U.S. high technology.”

  Murrill drank his coffee without responding.

  Jonnie followed his example, refusing to be intimidated by silence into saying more.

  Murrill set down his cup. “That’s the intriguing thing. You might find it interesting to know that there were only three filings protesting the acquisition. All three were legal boilerplate.” Murrill grinned. “At least, that’s what the counsel’s office told us.”

  “That does seem interesting,” Jonnie admitted. “Could one assume that the objections were from the largest U.S. firms?”

  Murrill shrugged. “They’re in the record. You’d be right in two out of three cases. The third is pretty big also.”

  Jonnie took another sip of the coffee, which was too weak for the prices charged by the Gateaux et Pain. “So why were my small inquiries so interesting? As I told you on the telephone, we needed some background information on a new client.”

  “Why didn’t you ask the client?”

  Jonnie shook his head slowly. “Consultants are supposed to know everything, including their clients. For our rates, you just can’t ask about a company’s background. You’re supposed to know it. Never mind that each of the Fortune 500 has a dozen subsidiaries and divisions that think the world revolves around them.”

  “I doubt that you would have had to go to Singapore to find out about JAFFE.”

  “You have been busy,” observed Jonnie, taking another sip of the weak coffee and glancing around the room. Only a handful of the booths and tables were taken, although all would be full by lunchtime with those from the White House and those who hoped to meet, lunch with, or merely observe those reputed to be on the inside.

  “We try to do our job,” answered Murrill blandly.

  Jonnie took another sip of the coffee, wishing Jack were the one at the t
able. McDarvid seemed more at home in reading through banalities. “So what did you want to tell me?”

  “Tell you? You’re just a consultant, and I’m just a government employee doing his job.” Murrill took another sip from the cup, his dark eyes traveling the room. “What was so interesting is that your inquiry came after everything was supposedly settled.”

  Jonnie shrugged. “I told you. We weren’t really even interested in the Pherndahl-Elkins acquisition. We got hired to do some regulatory work—that is what we do, you know—for JAFFE. We just started scoping out the job. That includes scoping out other impacts on the client. You don’t want to recommend a solution that might save one client operation and screw another.”

  “Are all consultants that conscientious?”

  “Hell, no. Just those that want to stay in business.” Jonnie was surprised that the DIA man actually smiled.

  “So you looked into the client and the regulatory situation. Why did it happen just as the acquisition issue was before Commerce and Justice?”

  “That’s when we got hired. The timing was theirs, not ours.”

  “You’ve made that clear, and that’s what we’ll report. Just coincidence. It sometimes happens in this business, but you never know…” The investigator shrugged again and drained the last coffee from the cup.

  Again, Jonnie waited, determined not to finish the other’s sentence for him. The silence dragged out.

  “So your work is strictly regulatory…” ventured Murrill, glancing across the room, then back to Jonnie. His fingers toyed with the delicate cup.

  “Pretty much, although we get into some financial analysis. The regulatory side is most of what we do.”

  “I would have expected that, somehow, having heard about Jack. It’s too bad that we can’t take more of an interest in environmental regulations, things like the metals initiative, but you know how it is. Unless the national security implications are clear, well, it’s not our ballpark. Even then…” Murrill’s eyes still did not quite meet Jonnie’s. He turned to face the consultant with a smile. “In any case, it’s been a pleasure to meet you, and I apologize for taking your time.”

  As Jonnie watched, Murrill nodded and slipped from the booth, leaving two dollar bills and two quarters on the off-white linen.

  As Murrill crossed the room, the waiter placed the check on the table. The total for the two coffees was five dollars. Jonnie took care of his coffee and the tip.

  41

  “JACK?”

  McDarvid looked up as Jonnie closed the door and plopped into the empty chair. He blinked, saved the document on the screen, and turned from the computer. “Yes?”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how it went? Or tell me what you were thinking about that we were going to talk about?”

  “Sorry … thinking about a lot of things.” He gestured toward the screen. “Moreland Reclamation.”

  “Is that still alive?”

  McDarvid grimaced. “Unfortunately, I appear to be a victim of my own success.”

  “Don’t tell me they bought it?”

  McDarvid grinned. “What other options did they have after the Inspector General’s report?” The grin faded. “What did Murrill want?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” McDarvid pulled at his chin, then glanced over his shoulder out the window at the early December grayness. “Are you sure?”

  Jonnie shrugged. “Sure sounded that way. Almost like a perfunctory review. You know, why did you make inquiries about JAFFE? Oh, for regulatory and background purposes? Thank you very much, and have a happy life.”

  “Then what did he tell you?”

  “How did you know?”

  “They never do anything like that without a purpose, especially off-site. It had to be either a warning or a tip.” McDarvid waited.

  “You sound like you know that business.”

  “You pick up a lot on the Hill,” McDarvid answered. “That’s the way they operate there.”

  “He really wanted to slip it in, but I made it hard on him.”

  McDarvid nodded. “They prefer to have you guess and let them confirm it.”

  Jonnie paused fractionally, then continued. “He made this funny statement about it was too bad that they couldn’t take more of an interest in environmental regulations, things like the metals initiative, but…” and Jonnie mimicked Murrill’s shrug, “unless the national security implications were clear, well, it wasn’t in their ballpark.”

  McDarvid slowly shook his head. “That’s not good. Not at all good.”

  “I got that impression. You want to tell me why?”

  “Two things. First, by the references to the newspaper stories, my contacts indicated that the Pherndahl-Elkins acquisition was part of a deal—or at least a deal forced by the French. We were clearly monitoring something associated with that nuclear test. According to Aviation Leakly, the O’Falleron is one of the Navy destroyers fitted with certain sophisticated monitoring gear. The ship shows up in the North Pacific when the Russians appear to be launching long-range tests—you’ve probably read about them. It could be coincidence, but just by linking the two, my … contacts indicated that it wasn’t. Now, Murrill makes this pointed reference to the metals initiative as not being in the defense orbit. That’s a clear sign that they’re worried and that they can’t do a damned thing about it.”

  “Which means that they think someone is mucking around with our regulatory rules?”

  “Yeah. But it’s awfully indirect. That’s one reason why this whole thing bothers me a lot.”

  “It bothers you? I’m the one they called.”

  McDarvid smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they know we’re both involved.”

  “That is so very reassuring.” Jonnie looked over the older man’s shoulder at the gray clouds in the December sky. “I don’t like it when Defense people say they can’t do anything…”

  “We have another problem,” McDarvid said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Devenant will be in next week, and Heidlinger wants us to brief him before the meeting.”

  “So what are we going to tell Devenant? That we’ve struck out on chlorohydrobenzilate, but that they won’t find out for a couple of months, and that even the White House spooks don’t want to act on the metals initiative?”

  McDarvid shrugged. “A little more tactfully. We’ll tell him that while we can’t be certain on the pesticides, it appears as though all the key decisions—risk assessments, health effects, you know the list—were made before they hired us. That’s unfortunately true. And it’s going to be hard to change any of those decisions at this stage. We’ve circulated the policy paper and the supplemental analyses, and we’ve made sure they’re part of the docket and the OMB record, and we’ll keep trying. It may be that Heidlinger and his crew will have to file on one of several grounds…”

  “Arbitrary and capricious again?” asked Jonnie sardonically.

  “Hopefully, something more procedural—like the fact that the Agency failed to conduct the true risk-balancing required by FIFRA.”

  “Well, Heidlinger will get some legal work, and we won’t get the sermon about remembering that this is a law firm, not a consulting firm.”

  “I don’t think I’ll tell Heidlinger about the chlorohydrobenzilate status until after we meet with Devenant.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “If we tell him now, he’ll take it for granted and start pushing for more legal emphasis on metals. Lawsuits won’t work there. That’s already clear.”

  “Will anything work?”

  McDarvid turned toward the window and the clouds. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. We just have to try.” He turned and slumped back into the chair, looking at Jonnie. “By the way, what did you get from the DARPA boys?” McDarvid’s head ached, and he was coming down with a cold.

  “Same as from Major Ruby at Space Comm. They like the papers and would be happy to have any more information we could supply. Y
es, they’re worried about the impact. No, they can’t say exactly what they’re doing.” Jonnie took off his glasses and held them in his hand for a moment.

  “What do they think about Japanese and German batteries for their satellites?”

  “They aren’t happy with anyone,” Jonnie said slowly. “They have quality-control problems with the major U.S. supplier. They’re leery of JAFFE, even if the plant is in Georgia, because they’re French, and because the French are building their own space program. They like the Japanese quality control, but not the attitude, or the Japanese grab for world market share. The Germans? Well, the Germans are telling them how to specify the batteries.”

  McDarvid looked through his own notes, then glanced at the blank blue of his computer screen. “Will any of them talk to DEP?”

  “Are you kidding? They’re not sure they even know who in the Pentagon should handle it.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say I couldn’t believe it.” McDarvid stood up, walked behind his chair, and put his hands on the back, leaning forward.

  “Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve got a real dumb question. How does DEP get away with it?”

  McDarvid laughed, a short harsh bark. “That took me almost the whole time I was there to figure out. It’s so damned simple. They don’t give the political appointees any choice.”

  “Run that one by me again.”

  McDarvid straightened up. “Take a chemical, any chemical. Every law but the pesticides act basically says that you have to protect human health and the environment. How do you figure out how to protect it from a chemical? First, you have to determine how much of something can hurt people. So you take the animal studies and calculate how much exposure to the chemical will kill the test animal. Then you extrapolate that back through models to get a dosage for people. Then you use the dosage and a projected level and duration of exposure to calculate an acceptable risk level. Right now, DEP says that a level of exposure that will result in more than a one-in-a-million chance of death is unacceptable.”