The Green Progression

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  The Congressman dodged the heavy man’s rush.

  Killorin grabbed the ornate and pointed letter opener from beside the desk pen set and turned. His breathing was heavy and irregular, and pushed the odor of stale alcohol toward the older man.

  “Jerry, just get out of here.”

  “Bullshit! I’m not going under those lights. You get me off.”

  “I’ll fix the I.G. investigation.” The older man edged toward the bookcase. “Just don’t say anything.”

  “Bastard!” Killorin lifted the paper knife. The blade glinted in the light from the desk lamp as he lunged again. “Sure you will. Like you fixed everything else.”

  The Congressman stepped back, but grasped the slim marble statuette from the bookcase as he twisted away from the slower-moving bureaucrat.

  “… force you…” Killorin’s breath rasped as he jabbed the sharp pointed opener toward the tall man. He rushed again.

  The Congressman dodged as he raised his arm, then brought the statuette down sharply.

  The tall man stood for a moment, looking at the still-breathing figure twitching on the heavy carpet. The twitching stopped, but Killorin did not move. Shortly, the older man levered the unconscious man onto his back, noting the caved-in temple.

  “Idiot.”

  He picked up the heavy chunk of marble that had snapped off when the statue’s base had connected with Killorin’s temple. He placed both pieces on the desk. “Damned idiot…” He shook his head again as he headed for the kitchen.

  He returned with a plastic trash bag, edging the white plastic over the other’s face. Then he went back to the kitchen.

  When he returned a few minutes later, after packaging the statue pieces and making the other arrangements, Killorin was no longer breathing—either because of the blow to the temple or the plastic bag.

  The Congressman shook his head. He still had a long night ahead. Too bad it wasn’t Thursday, but Killorin’s body would keep overnight—tucked away in the spare closet. And there wasn’t much else he could do. Not now.

  “Idiot…”

  76

  THE SILVER CONTINENTAL, although far from new, purred smoothly across the Route 50 bridge over Assawoman Bay and toward the dark shapes of the hibernating boardwalk structures. After two left turns and passing the White Marlin Club, the car pulled up to the Sommerset Street marina.

  The silver-haired driver opened the door and got out, stretching his arms and broad shoulders. Then he closed the door and opened the one behind the driver’s seat, extracting a small soft-sided gray suitcase.

  “Evenin’, Congressman,” a voice called from the end of the pier.

  “Good evening, Haley.”

  “You taking her out tonight?”

  “I’m crazy, but not that crazy. It’s been a long week. First I’ll get some sleep. Then, in the morning…” The hawk-nosed man smiled and shrugged. “Then we’ll see. I’m thinking of going out to the Canyon and bringing back some red ocean crabs, maybe even a few lobsters.”

  “You’re crazy,” agreed the gray-haired watchman who ambled toward the Continental. “That’s a trip, even with your boat—just for crabs. Even if they are red crabs.”

  “It is a trip, but it has one advantage.” The Congressman headed toward the pier, swinging the case.

  “Oh?”

  “There aren’t any lobbyists out there, and no angry constituents.”

  “You’ve said that before. Guess you mean it.” The watchman paused. “Can’t leave the car here.”

  “I know. I have some heavy stuff, staples, cooler, special bait for the crabs, in the trunk. I’m going to get the dolly.”

  “I think I got one in the shed.”

  “Don’t worry, Haley. I keep one on board. It comes in handy, like when I had that party last fall.” The Congressman paused by the cruiser, looking at the builder’s nameplate—Egg Harbor. He touched the side of the thirty-six-foot Constituent Service, then vaulted aboard.

  After setting the suitcase down, he eased the gangway into place and opened the cabin.

  “Better be getting back, Congressman.”

  “It’s good to see you, Haley. I’ll move the car as soon as I get the stuff out of the trunk.”

  “That’s no problem, just so long as I know.” The watchman shuffled back along the pier.

  In time, the silver-haired man trundled a dolly back toward the Continental. The trunk opened soundlessly. Inside were two square House of Representatives file boxes, a cooler, and a large canvas bag more than half the width of the trunk.

  He placed the heavier file box on the dolly. Then he reached for the bulky canvas.

  After setting the waterproof canvas bag over the file box, he adjusted it. The ends still almost touched the concrete, and one side brushed the South Carolina license plate that read: “MC-8.”

  After easing the dolly backward, he pushed it slowly onto the pier.

  “Need some help?” offered the guard.

  “No. This is the heaviest part. One more trip, and I should be done. Then I’ll get the car out of the way.”

  “No hurry. No hurry. Not this time of night.”

  The hawk-nosed man had to struggle to drag the sack across the gangway and onto the cruiser under the dim lights of the pier.

  77

  ANDREW CORELLIAN EASED INTO THE CHAIR across the desk from Esther Saliers. “So … what’s my surprise?”

  The grin was almost incongruous above the dark gray suit with thin red and purple stripes, the pale blue shirt, and the tie with matching stripes.

  “Andrew! You haven’t been here two minutes. And you were twelve minutes late to begin with. Didn’t anyone ever teach you the art of polite conversation? I’m almost tempted not to give you the cake I made.” A broad smile followed Esther’s mock reproach.

  “I can’t help it. I like surprises.” The grin faded, and the sandy-haired man’s voice lowered. “I was kidding about the cake, though. I really didn’t mean for you to go to all that work.”

  “Now you tell me.” The division chief smiled shyly. “It is nice to have someone to bake for. With Derik gone, and Keri rushing around, I just don’t have that much reason to do a lot of cooking. And if I cook”—she gestured toward her midsection—“I eat more than I can exercise off. It’s hard. Puttering around in the kitchen was one of my few ways of relaxing, and Derik … well, he liked desserts.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  She waved his words away. “I’m glad you could come, even if the brown bag routine isn’t up to the standard lobbyist’s lunch.”

  Corellian held up a hand. “I’m not complaining. It’s not often I get to have lunch and have a chance to learn something new.” He paused. “You know, it is surprising that someone with your interests and abilities hasn’t gotten more involved with an environmental group or something.”

  “Oh, a lot of people here do. Pete down the hall spends weekends replanting marsh grasses in Chesapeake Bay. But that’s not what I’m interested in, not for relaxation. That’s the nice thing about cooking. It gives me a chance to be creative and forget about work. I can only think about cancerous mice for so long without going crazy. And … oh, never mind. Here, since you asked for your surprise…” Esther reached under her desk and retrieved a large Hecht’s shopping bag. “I hoped Keri would be able to come down to the office today, but she just couldn’t make it. So … with you being out of town next week, I get to play delivery person.”

  The sandy-haired man took the bag and placed it on his lap, carefully extracting the heavy blue sweatshirt with the gold lettering. “Oh, this is the classy kind. I can really use this. I jog before work. I have a tattered warm-up shirt, but it’s not nearly as classy as one from Emory.”

  “Keri was hoping you would like it. She brought it back from her weekend down there. We hoped that the extra large would be right. There’s also a card that goes with the shirt.” Esther produced a small sealed envelope.

  Corellian took the
envelope, then carefully folded the sweatshirt and replaced it in the plastic shopping bag, before setting the bag on the institutional gray carpet by his chair. “Thank you. For Keri. She’s a thoughtful girl. I can’t remember anyone giving me something just because I was the bearer of good news.”

  Esther looked down at the desk blotter for a moment, then raised her eyes. “I’d like to see if the three of us can have lunch together before she leaves. You think we could squeeze that into your busy schedule sometime in the next five months?”

  “For such an offer, with two lovely ladies, how could I possibly refuse?” The grin faded—slightly. “I also brought something for you.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that you could bake.” Esther gave a sly smile.

  “Not exactly. Actually, I’m returning the two studies you lent me. I now know more about chlorobenzohydrilate than I ever wanted to know.” He set the two sheaves of paper on the desk.

  “Chlorohydrobenzilate,” corrected Esther automatically.

  “Except how to pronounce it.”

  “Now you have an idea of what I have to put up with every day.” Esther lifted her brown bag. “I do have to eat at some point, because I’ve got another meeting at two-thirty.”

  The executive retrieved his brown bag. “This time I actually fixed it.”

  “Really? Peanut butter and jelly?”

  “Ham and cheese on rye, with hot mustard and lettuce.”

  Esther shook her head.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” continued Corellian as he carefully folded the brown bag and laid out the sandwich. “My head was swimming before I was through the summary of the first study.” He stopped, then looked at her. “Is this stuff as dangerous as it sounds to me?”

  “You should be a little careful when you read those studies.” The Pesticides official pursed her lips. “Especially the mouse studies. Some species, like the black three ‘F’ mice, are so sensitive. They’re bred to get cancer. I mean, if you feed them cheese for a bedtime snack and overcrowd them in the slightest, half are going to have tumors by morning. The other thing you have to watch is the exposure levels. Too many studies tend to assume that there is no difference between a low exposure over a long period of time and a high exposure over a short time frame. Since either the mice are going to die or the researcher’s funding will run out before too long, they tend to feed them pretty high doses.”

  “Well,” mumbled the sandy-haired man as he finished a bite of sandwich, “I’m no scientist. But they kept mentioning that it was at least a probable human carcinogen at very low exposure levels.”

  “Any pesticide is dangerous,” explained Esther. “It is a poison. But until genetic engineering or some other advance allows for the safe control of insects and other plant blights, we have to allow some chemicals.”

  “Are you going to do something about chloro…” Corellian motioned with both hands as if he were about to clap them.

  “Chlorohydrobenzilate. The draft PD has already been issued, which offers a choice between highly restrictive uses or actual cancellation of the registration. We’re still taking comments, but there’s certainly enough evidence in the docket—well, I can’t really say more right now. Our job is to summarize the latest scientific submissions and provide a short analysis for the Assistant Secretary.”

  The sandy-haired man took a large bite from his sandwich, then followed it with a careful swig from the bottle of natural soda.

  Buzzzzz …

  She grabbed the receiver reluctantly. “Health Effects, Saliers.”

  “Ms. Saliers? Mr. Metron’s office called. Your two-thirty has been moved up to two. He has to meet with the Assistant Secretary at three.”

  “Fine. I’ll be there.” She replaced the receiver, shaking her head.

  “Is there a problem?” asked the Lao executive.

  “No. A meeting moved up a few minutes. Nothing serious.” She lifted a forkful of salad from the plastic bowl, then paused. “Sometimes it seems that the meetings have meetings.”

  “I think that’s true everywhere now.” Corellian took another swig of the soda. “We were talking about safety. Now, I don’t claim to know much about risk analysis or health standards. But I think I can read, and after reading through those studies, I wouldn’t want my kids to eat anything with that stuff on it. Is it really worth taking any sort of chance? Even a small one?”

  Esther continued with her salad before responding. “You’re probably right, in this case.” She smiled wryly. “Although Keri’s probably a little too old to be affected by trace quantities.”

  “Still…”

  “There’s one nice thing about FIFRA. We do have to balance risk, but it does allow us to be as stringent as necessary.” She took another bite of salad.

  Corellian finished the last of the sandwich, but waited for her to continue.

  “People complain about government service, but the job does have some benefits more important than any bonus check.” She sipped from her mug.

  “I know what you mean. Although I could probably have made more if I had gone into sales, I like my job. As silly as it sounds, I really think I’m doing good, at least more good than by selling another computer.”

  “That’s not silly at all. I just hope that when Keri’s done with her education, she remembers there is more to life than buying BMWs.”

  “She will,” affirmed the computer executive. “I read all her materials when reviewing the scholarship grant. Besides, if she weren’t thoughtful, she never would have sent me this.” Corellian raised the bag.

  Esther looked at her watch. “I’m going to have to leave pretty soon.”

  “So soon? I didn’t even get to say how much I agreed with those studies. At least, I think I did, if I read all the eight-syllable words right.”

  Esther shook her head. “I understand your feelings. But I wouldn’t worry about where we’re coming out on this one. That’s all I can really say, and perhaps that’s too much.” She paused, and smiled again. “Give me a call when you get back. I’d like to arrange lunch for the three of us. I know Keri does want to thank you in person. And since we never got to the cheesecake, why don’t you take it with you?”

  Corellian grinned. “I’d say that I really shouldn’t, but that wouldn’t be the truth. So I’ll just say thanks.” He rose from the chair, bag in hand, and gathered up the plastic cake carrier Esther had laid on the desk. “And I will give you a call. I’m looking forward to meeting Keri in person.”

  “She’d like that. After all, it’s not always that you get to meet the person who made your dreams come true.”

  “It’s not like that at all,” protested Corellian.

  “Maybe not, but close enough.”

  Corellian shook his head slightly as he left.

  78

  THE SILVER-HAIRED CONGRESSMAN poured the cold beer into the mug of the woman on his right. “There you go, Anne. It goes nicely with the crab.” He moved to the glass of the man beside her.

  “I’ve never seen crab like this before.” The voice came from one side of the table set for six. “What is it, Matt?”

  “It’s red ocean crab. They’re sort of like Dungeness crabs. Some people consider them a delicacy, but I certainly won’t be offended if you don’t like them. I might eat yours, though, if you don’t want any.” Behind him, in the picture window, the lights of Washington glittered across the river.

  “Where do you get them?” asked the white-haired woman to the left of the momentarily empty chair at the head of the table.

  “You have to get them specially, Sarah. I caught these over the weekend. I thought you might like something different.” The silver-haired man finished filling the mugs and sat down.

  “You caught them? I’m impressed. Aren’t you, George?” asked the white-haired woman. She turned to her husband, a tanned and graying man in a blue blazer.

  George laughed. “Anything Matt does is done in style, even catching crabs.”

  �
��Where do you catch them?” asked the dark-haired Anne, raising a ringless left hand to her goblet.

  “The only place I know is in the Baltimore Canyon.” The silver-haired man sipped from his own goblet.

  “That’s a far ride, even in that high-powered boat of yours,” commented the other man.

  “It is. But there’s no telephone on board, and no stack of correspondence to look at.”

  Both other men laughed. The white-haired woman and the gray-haired woman at the end of the table exchanged knowing glances.

  “Does it take special equipment or special kinds of bait?” asked Anne, her eyes on the silver-haired man next to her.

  “The equipment’s a little different. Bait’s bait. Raw meat does just fine.” The silver-haired man nodded, thinking about the heavy canvas bag and its contents. At least, in the end, Jerry had been good for something in the environment.

  “Those look like sharp claws.”

  “They are, but they’re also quite tasty.” He picked up the crackers. “You eat them just like a blue claw. Let me show you.” Then he turned to the other two Congressmen and their wives. “Dig in. And don’t worry about being sloppy. There’s no neat way to enjoy crabs.”

  “Matt’s dinners are so relaxing, and he’s such a good cook. Especially for a single man.”

  79

  THE ATTORNEY PICKED UP THE TELEPHONE, tapping in the numbers.

  “Standards and Regs.”

  “This is Ray Thomas. Is Jerry in yet?”

  “Ah … well … no … Mr. Thomas.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach him for almost a week. He doesn’t answer his home number. Where is he?”

  “Well … you’ll have to talk to Angelique. Just a minute.”

  Thomas’ fingers drummed on the desk.

  “This is Angelique. May I help you?”

  “Ray Thomas at Ecology Now! Is something wrong with Jerry? I’m a friend, and no one knows where he is.”

  “Oh?”

  “Angelique, please cut the crap. Barbara—his ex-wife, if you don’t know—hasn’t heard from him in weeks. He hasn’t been seen in his condo since last Tuesday. His … other friends don’t know where he is.”