“One in a million?”
“It varies from one in ten thousand to one in one hundred million. But even that figure is crazy.”
“It is crazy—I mean if you exposed the whole population to something at that level, you’d get two hundred and fifty deaths over … what … thirty years? And nobody gets exposed like that.”
McDarvid snorted. “Try to explain to people that cars kill forty thousand people a year. That’s one point two million people over thirty years—a risk almost five thousand times greater than the unacceptable chemical risks. But even the one-in-a-million number is exaggerated. That’s because they base the risk assessments on the most sensitive animal species, and then they extrapolate that to the most sensitive human beings, and then they assume that those people are exposed every moment of their lives for thirty to seventy years. I won’t go into the other factors, but they’re just as biased.
“Now, when the risk assessment comes up saying that a chemical will kill thirty percent of the work force, what does a political appointee do? If he questions the science, then he’s a political hack. If he questions the cost for theoretically saving a few lives, then he’s a heartless tool of the industrialists. But the agency—the department—is producing risk assessments that say that entire work forces will die, which is sort of strange when some of these chemicals have been used for forty years and no one has actually traced any statistically significant numbers of deaths, except from coal mines and asbestos. Or smoking and radon. Not from the workplace, despite all the rhetoric. Yes, maybe a handful of deaths here or there, but nothing on any scale. And that’s even considering some plants that didn’t even come close to meeting current standards.”
“Jack, that can’t—”
“It is. You can check the math yourself.” McDarvid rummaged through the stuffed credenza, finally extracting a folder. “There.”
Jonnie looked at the bulging stack of paper. “Thanks. I think.”
“Anyway, what happens is that whatever low-level scientist or section chief sets the risk levels in effect determines whether the chemical is regulated or not.”
Jonnie looked at the folder again.
“So.” McDarvid shrugged, winced, and rubbed his forehead. “If you want to change something, it’s a hell of a lot easier to work from the bottom. Except in this case, we’re too damned late.”
Jonnie stood up. “I’m due over at Commerce.”
“I thought you didn’t like late afternoon appointments.”
“There’s no point in leaving early. Veronica’s out of town. They sent her to some little godforsaken place to investigate the success a strip-mining firm had in restoring wetlands they had previously destroyed.” Jonnie shrugged. “Besides, this person doesn’t like to meet in the light of day.”
“Good luck with whatever it is.”
“Thanks.”
42
VERONICA PERCHED ON THE STOOL BY THE TELEPHONE. She wore the red flannel shirt that Jonnie had admired on their first picnic. Her eyes flickered for a moment toward the telephone, then toward the plate and the baklava with the honey dripping out.
Jonnie took a large bite from the pastry, trying not to get the flaky edges and walnuts all over everything. “Mmmmm…”
Veronica set her fork beside the plate as she finished her single bite. She looked at the baklava again. “Is there any food you don’t like?”
He paused, wondering at the seriousness of her tone. “Some. I usually pass on turnip custard unless I’m really hungry.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Really? You’ve never complained about my dessert preferences before.”
“Oh, Jonnie…” Veronica shook her head. “Somehow, I don’t feel like joking about food tonight.”
“I could help you with some software.”
A momentary smile flitted across her face. “You’re impossible.”
“No. Merely rather difficult.”
She stood up and walked to the cabinet. There she pulled out the box of waxed paper and tore off a section, carefully replacing the paper before walking back to her stool, where she stood and began to wrap her baklava.
“You didn’t like it?”
“It was … fine … I don’t know. Maybe it was too rich for me tonight. Maybe it was the movie. I just don’t feel hungry.”
Jonnie frowned. What would the movie have to do with anything? They’d only gone to a rerelease of an old sixties movie he’d wanted to see for a while—The Manchurian Candidate. A brainwashed candidate for Vice President and a planned assassination of the presidential candidate—the film techniques had been good, but the plot? Hardly realistic. Jack’s scenario of foreign interests using regulations as a weapon was more plausible. “The movie? I thought it would be a change-of-pace flick.”
“I’m sorry.” Veronica’s voice didn’t sound sorry.
Jonnie got the hint and finished his baklava. “Maybe I’d better be going.” He carried the plate to the sink and rinsed it off, then opened the dishwasher door and slipped it onto the bottom rack.
He tried not to wince at the sound of the dishwasher door slamming. He hadn’t meant to shut it that hard.
Veronica stood by her stool, almost as if she had not heard the noise.
Jonnie paused. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I just have a few things to think about. I shouldn’t have agreed to go, but it sounded like a nice spur-of-the-moment idea.”
“I still don’t like turnip custard.”
Veronica grinned faintly. “Actually, I’m glad, but not tonight.”
“Okay.” He extracted his faded parka from the minuscule cupboard that passed for a hall closet and pulled it on.
“Jonnie?”
He turned, and her lips brushed his cheek as she gave him a hug.
“I’m sorry.”
“I understand.”
“No, you probably don’t. But that’s my problem, not yours.” She squeezed him again and stepped away. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he repeated. At the moment, there was nothing else to say. So he didn’t, instead stepping through the doorway into the darkness.
His steps clicked on the concrete, and his breath was white in the below-freezing air. His eyes passed over Veronica’s battered Chevette and across the parking area. Perhaps one third of the spaces were filled—not surprisingly for so early in the evening.
Two tries and the engine caught, but the GTO shuddered in protest at the early winter chill, and the wind whistled through the no longer tight convertible top as Jonnie pulled out of the parking lot.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed nothing behind him as he turned onto the street—nothing except clouds of not exactly pristine GTO exhaust gases steaming in the December night.
Jonnie didn’t want to be in the car. Veronica’s apartment was a lot warmer, or had been, until the issue of food had come up.
What was bothering her?
He pushed the accelerator down. With any luck, he might actually get home before eleven, not that he really wanted to be there, either. And he’d be halfway home before the GTO’s heater made much headway in warming the cold vinyl seats.
43
“… APPRECIATE YOUR CONFIDENCE AND YOUR SUPPORT … continuing to marshal the full resources of the firm behind both these efforts … the weight of environmental law…” Behind the gold wire-rimmed glasses, Heidlinger, overflowing his semitailored charcoal pinstripe and overwhelming the red power tie that only emphasized his girth, droned on.
McDarvid had never thought he’d miss Larry at a client meeting, but Heidlinger was making it painfully clear why he did. Even the pastel watercolors of Washington—the Supreme Court building, the old Library of Congress building, and the Taft Carillon—seemed a shade yellow.
McDarvid glanced toward Pierre Devenant, again wearing a double-breasted, dark blue chalk stripe with wide lapels, with a pale pearl-rose tie that accentuated his tailored look.
D
evenant’s eyes met McDarvid’s, then passed back to the senior partner. He cleared his throat, softly interrupting Heidlinger. “We at JAFFE do understand the considerable efforts you have made, and I personally appreciate the weekly reports from Messieurs McDarvid and Black.”
Beside McDarvid, Jonnie shifted his weight ever so slightly.
“As they have indicated, the metals initiative has become more important than we had anticipated. We have circulated the policy paper widely within JAFFE, even to our headquarters, and parts of it have been translated and reprinted, with attribution, of course”—Devenant nodded toward the two consultants—“both within the company’s journal and in several other publications. The reaction was most favorable, and that is one reason why we feel confident in continuing our work with Messieurs McDarvid and Black.” Devenant flashed a smile at Heidlinger, who swallowed.
“Thank you,” murmured McDarvid.
“Not to thank me, but your own excellent work.”
McDarvid could see Jonnie struggling to keep a blank expression.
“We are wondering, however, what might be the next steps we could anticipate in your efforts.”
“Well,” McDarvid began quickly, in order to ensure that Heidlinger did not attempt to start in on the legal paperwork that paid so much and did so little, “the next steps are to follow up with each affected government agency. Basically, we’ll take the key elements of the big paper, plus any specific facts we have or can develop from your people, and create a short one- or two-page summary. For example, take DOD. We know that the remnants of the space laser program—used to be called the Star Wars crew—have some specific concerns about the need to obtain rechargeable batteries from U.S.-based suppliers. Under the metals initiative nickel-cadmium batteries won’t be manufactured in the U.S. So we point out in simple bottom-line terms that the metals initiative means they have to buy batteries for secret U.S. satellites from Japan or perhaps from Germany. There is also the issue of satellite construction and fabrication of other defense-related equipment.” McDarvid paused. “Jonnie, here, is the one who tries to develop some specific numbers for each department or agency.”
“All numbers are suspect,” added Jonnie, “but we usually can relate them to each office’s own budgets or costs.”
Devenant nodded again. “I see. How long might this take?”
“That’s hard to say. A couple of weeks for the individual papers—”
“At the same time,” interrupted Heidlinger, “we need to begin tying the matter in these submissions into the overall legal strategy.”
“I see,” Devenant repeated. “You were saying about the individual papers, Mr. McDarvid?”
“After we run the papers by you, we see the key decision-makers. They’ve all seen, or at least received, the big policy paper. The individual papers are both a reminder and a targeted short impact statement for them, with recommended steps for them to take.”
“And do they take these steps?” asked Devenant.
McDarvid laughed softly. “We hope they do. In the past, some have, and some haven’t. That’s why we try to reach as many as possible, showing how each has a direct interest and recommending a set of actions that they have the power to undertake. In some cases, it might just be a phone call. In others, they have real power to request a change or a review. Now, that’s an oversimplification…”
“I understand … enough.” Devenant moistened his lips. “And you hope … what?”
McDarvid shrugged. “We want to kill the whole NPRM—the proposed rule. That probably won’t happen. DEP almost never withdraws a proposal. Sometimes, but not often. But if there’s a lot of opposition, they often just quietly let it be known that nothing will happen and commission a study or say that they’re waiting for further data.”
“Even a significant delay would be helpful—”
“That’s why…” began Heidlinger.
Devenant continued speaking, as if he had not even heard the senior attorney, “—and it appears as though you have already created some potential for delay.”
“We hope so,” McDarvid responded.
“That is good.” Devenant stood. “I appreciate much the time you have spent and the work you have done. I wish I could remain longer, but my director will be arriving shortly on the Concorde and expects me to meet with him.”
McDarvid and Jonnie both had risen; Heidlinger struggled from his chair.
“You are fortunate to have such conscientious associates, Monsieur Heidlinger.” Devenant turned to the two men. “If you should need the slightest of information, please do not hesitate to let me know—even if it seems insignificant.” Devenant’s eyes flickered to Jonnie, then back to McDarvid. He half raised a hand. “Good day, good day.” Devenant was gone with the last of his words.
McDarvid reached down and picked up the thin folder he had brought to the meeting, then turned toward Jonnie.
“Just a moment.”
McDarvid turned to face Heidlinger. He did not sit down. Neither did Jonnie.
“You two are here for one reason, and that reason is to support the law firm. We are not a consulting firm. We are a law firm. We do legal work. Consulting is fine, but”—Heidlinger paused before completing the sentence that even Larry had used—“it doesn’t help if it doesn’t lead to legal work.”
McDarvid nodded. “I understand. There should be a fair amount on the chlorohydrobenzilate issue. That’s gone too far for the kind of work we do, and I’d be happy to draft a note to Devenant recommending stepping up the purely legal efforts. That ought to wait a day or two, though.”
Heidlinger nodded. “What about the metals?”
“That’s another question. It’s too early to tell.” McDarvid hoped he wasn’t too transparent.
“You don’t think much of our chances there?”
“Not unless things change. It’s very … political.”
“All right.” Heidlinger waddled around the pedestal table. “So long as you remember this is a law firm.”
As they walked from the conference room, Jonnie glanced at McDarvid. “He was pretty abrupt with Heidlinger.”
“He never said a harsh word.”
“That’s what I mean. He never acknowledged a single thing he said.”
McDarvid closed the door of his office. “I like this less and less.”
“You and me both.”
McDarvid took off his coat and hung it on the hanger behind the door. “Devenant knows what’s going on. Most of it, anyway.”
“I thought so, too. Especially when he suggested that we ask him for the minor information. Do you think Heidlinger understood that?”
“Yes and no. Lawyers get paid for rephrasing what the client tells them. In his book, he wouldn’t have found it at all unusual.” McDarvid looked out on the handful of overcoated men and women walking down Nineteenth Street, his back to Jonnie.
“Jack?”
“Yes?” McDarvid did not turn.
“Oh, never mind. What are you going to do now?”
McDarvid took a deep breath and turned. “Got to write up that letter suggesting it’s time for the big legal push on chlorohydrobenzilate.”
“At least, Heidlinger will be happy. It will let him start the junior associates writing their endless briefs.”
“Wonderful,” mumbled McDarvid as the younger man left. “Just wonderful. All of U.S. heavy industry and all the high-tech initiatives are being buried or bought, and we don’t know who or why, and Heidlinger thinks about how many law briefs he can have the firm write.”
44
“MR. BLACK? There’s a Mr. Alvarez on the line for you. He won’t say who he’s with.”
“Put him through, please.” Jonnie slipped a folder from his briefcase and eased it into the only clear space on his desk, pulling the stack of papers out and laying them on top of the empty folder. “Hey, Snake! How’s it going?”
“Don’t ask, man. It’s best you don’t know.”
“Lisa again
, huh?” Jonnie asked sympathetically.
“I told you not to ask. That woman, she’s so crazy about me it drives me crazy. Then she won’t see me, which makes me crazier.”
“Crazy isn’t going to help the timetable.”
“C’mon. Have I ever let you down? I’m calling with good news. I spent most of yesterday on the phone with one of Lao’s techs in Texas. We worked out that bug in the communications protocol, the one that prevented the local server from acknowledging field inquiries. I spent last night pasting things together and this morning on testing. Everything’s go.”
“I just got the notice from Lao on the BIOS update. In fact I’ve got it right here.” Jonnie’s eyes dropped to the Lao Systems Technical Update Notice. “Was that the problem?”
“No. I read through the documentation, and the update apparently fixes a problem so obscure I haven’t found it yet. This one we finally traced to some software parameters. Did you read through the entire tech notice?”
“Are you kidding? Half of it was in hex—not exactly my strong point. I just looked at the version number and the shipping date.”
“Jonnie, Jonnie, how am I ever going to make a programmer out of you?” Snake paused. “Anyway, everything’s go.”
“Great. Looks like I’m going to owe you that case of beer, after all. Is there anything for me to look at now? I could come over in a couple of hours.”
“Hours? You got to be kidding. Two weeks, maybe a little more, call it early January. I’ve spent so much time on this bug that I haven’t finished the inquiry screens. But it’s going to work, just the way you designed it.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Man, you haven’t heard it from me. When I say so, it works.”
“Good. I’ll be glad when we can wrap it up.”
“Then what are you going to do? We won’t be spending any more money on subcontractors once the project’s finished.”
“Give me more credit than that. When has any consultant declared a project finished?”
“You should be doing this full-time.”
The Green Progression Page 16