The Green Progression

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  “Without witnesses and without a body, that’s a little hard to prove.”

  “That’s right. You professionals leave no fingerprints, and you’re not about to look for a Congressman’s. So what are you going to do about Bang-Bang?”

  “Jack, I just told you. No witnesses, no body, and no evidence. What would you suggest we do?”

  McDarvid shook his head. “What about the uranium plant arrests? Can you tell me why the hell you’re dumping that on me?”

  “Oh, that’s a matter of record. You could look it up in several places, but I’ll save you the trouble. Names: Peter Andrewson, Tedor Jaenicke, and Graeme Deveau. They were part of a splinter group that left Ecology Now! They were the ones who tried to dump yellowcake in a stream outside the Fayettetown plant. Except someone tipped off someone.” There was a pause. “Amateur or not, Jack, you get results. Your clients should be pleased.”

  “Thanks, but I didn’t even know about your tip-off. As for the clients, they didn’t sound especially pleased.”

  “Well … your style is hard on the nerves. If you’re curious about Andrewson, try asking your partner. Oh, and one other thing, because I don’t want you to keep acting like you’re going to be shot. I checked into your boss’s death. He really was just in the wrong place. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Thanks, Eric.”

  “No problem. Keep in touch. I’m sure I’ll hear from you again.”

  McDarvid shivered as he recalled Eric’s last sentence. He looked out the window again. He didn’t really want to tell Jonnie, but the poor bastard had suffered enough from McDarvid’s blunders.

  Tiredly, he reached for the telephone again.

  “Yes?”

  “Jonnie? Could you come in?”

  “Yep. You sound like hell. Be right there.”

  McDarvid closed his eyes.

  He started in the chair as Jonnie closed the door.

  “Jack?”

  “Sorry.” McDarvid paused. “Hell, I’m sorry for a lot right now.”

  “Jack, Heidlinger would have let us go, anyway. Even if we win this one somehow.”

  “We did,” McDarvid announced. “A little while ago, someone from Environment called. I tried to reach you, but you weren’t in.”

  “I went downstairs for a sandwich,” Jonnie explained. “What happened? They decide on further comment? A little delay?”

  “No. They killed it. Officially, they withdrew it. The Secretary already signed the notice.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I just talked to Devenant. He wants to have lunch with us after that’s official. He didn’t seem too thrilled.”

  Jonnie shook his head slowly. “You don’t deliver, and they complain, and you do, and they don’t like it.”

  “They don’t like the price, I suspect.” McDarvid leaned back. “I talked to some friends. They indicated that I was a bungling amateur—”

  “Jack, what did you do for the CIA?”

  “Analysis … mostly.” McDarvid looked at the blank computer screen, then back at Jonnie. “Anyway, they informed me that we were responsible for the arrests at the processing plant—the yellowcake mess and a guy named Peter Andrewson; Killorin’s disappearance; the nutty environmental attorney who tried to nail me before the hearing; and the general disruption of the peace and tranquility of Washington. And they said that Larry was just in the wrong place.” McDarvid paused, then looked straight at Jonnie. “Just out of curiosity, did you know anything about this guy Andrewson?”

  “Not much. He used to be a friend of Veronica’s. I met him once, briefly.” Jonnie shrugged. “He seemed crazy.”

  McDarvid turned and looked toward the window.

  “What else?” Jonnie swallowed almost as he asked the question.

  “Oh, they confirmed my suspicion that Bang-Bang Richards is probably a Russian agent of some sort and that he probably did in Killorin.”

  “They … what?”

  “Not in so many words. It doesn’t work that way. But what can you do? Like the man said—no body, no evidence, no fingerprints. That’s what ties it all together.”

  “You just lost me.”

  “Simple. Why was the rule pulled?” McDarvid sat up in the chair and looked straight at Jonnie.

  “I don’t understand that.”

  “It makes perfect, screwy sense. We have one real issue. That’s the metals initiative. All right, people attack me in the Capitol; a committee counsel’s attempt to fry me backfires—again because of the metals initiative. Killorin, I think, went running for help—because of the metals initiative. Now, I don’t know exactly what wires you tripped, but Eric led me to believe that you created problems with the eco-terrorists and foreign sources—all tied to metals. Then, there’s the deal they tried to keep quiet about the JAFFE acquisition of Pherndahl-Elkins, again with a metals implication.” McDarvid paused to moisten his lips.

  “This was getting hot for someone—really hot, I think. How do you cool it off? Simple—remove the heat. Kill the metals initiative … at least for a couple of years. Bang-Bang dumped poor Jerry Killorin’s body somewhere off the coast from his fancy boat, talked to a few people, pulled a few strings, and Sam the Hammer calls the Secretary and politely suggests that the NPRM be pulled.”

  “But why?”

  “What exactly can we do now? We won. No more money from the client. No more evidence of screwball regulations—unless someone else hires us, and who else could provide the kind of detailed information we got from JAFFE?”

  Jonnie sat silently for a moment.

  “Well, what can we do?” asked McDarvid. “Write a book?”

  “Jack … you missed a couple of things,” Jonnie began slowly. “Maybe Devenant didn’t want us to be so successful this quickly. Maybe he wanted more things revealed.”

  “Shit … I didn’t think about that. But it fits. They want to stop all of those crazy regs, not because of the U.S., but because they don’t want other countries copying them.”

  “Exactly,” concurred Jonnie. “And whoever’s behind Richards told him to pull the plug before it could get any further.”

  “But that confirms who and what Richards is,” protested McDarvid.

  “You don’t think everyone in the CIA or wherever didn’t already know?”

  McDarvid sighed. “You’re probably right. We’re fucking amateurs, all right. They all know, and they play the game back and forth, and we just blew out all their tidy little agreements and understandings.”

  “You’re assuming we’re not part of those nice agreements. Do you think you could have gotten this far if your friends had really wanted to stop you?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” McDarvid admitted.

  “You—we—have a lot more freedom of action than they have. They couldn’t get us or ask us to initiate anything for them, but if they liked where we were heading, they might decide to hang on for the ride.” Jonnie paused and smiled wryly. “Not that it matters. We don’t still have a steady income for it, no matter what.”

  “Sorry, Jonnie.” McDarvid sighed again. “Didn’t mean to drag you in this deep.”

  “What’s done is done. Now what do we do?”

  “I guess we set up shop and hope that we can find enough clients who need information or regulatory assistance.” McDarvid looked out at the drizzle. “But I’m going home. It’s been a long day.”

  “Good night, Jack.” Jonnie opened the door.

  “Good night.”

  95

  “NO! I WON’T! NO…” The woman twisted in the sheets.

  “Veronica?” Jonnie touched her shoulder even as he turned toward her in the darkened bedroom.

  Outside, a siren wailed in the distance.

  “No.”

  “Veronica, wake up!” He shook her shoulder harder.

  “Whaa … what?”

  “You were having a nightmare.”

  Veronica rolled over onto her back, pulling her arms out from
under the flannel sheet and laying them alongside her otherwise uncovered body. Her breathing was still rapid.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Jonnie shook his head in the dimness, but did not protest, instead leaning over and lightly kissing her cheek. Then he took her hand and turned on his back, as close to her as he could, still gripping her fingers in his. “I’m here.”

  “I’m glad.” She squeezed his fingers in return.

  As he drifted back into sleep, he realized, abstractly, that Veronica’s eyes were wide open and that she still looked at the ceiling.

  He squeezed her fingers again and was rewarded with a gentle squeeze back.

  96

  “DEVENANT CALLED,” McDarvid announced. “Apologized profusely, but wanted to know if it were at all possible for us to meet him for lunch today. I took the liberty of saying yes.”

  “You’d deprive me of my half-smoke and chili?”

  “Guess you can get it at Dominique.”

  “French again,” observed Jonnie.

  “There aren’t any Corsican restaurants in D.C.—not that I know of, anyway.”

  “Why did he push for today?” asked Jonnie.

  “Something about a senior official being in town that he wanted us to meet,” responded McDarvid. “He was more enthusiastic today.”

  “They didn’t exactly seem pleased with your—our—methods.”

  “Skip the politeness, Jonnie. I tried to keep you out of it, but in the end, you’re in this boat because you worked with me and because you’re not a lawyer. I took us both out on a limb and sawed it off.”

  “You also stopped the metals initiative.”

  “Results don’t always count. Paying the mortgage does.”

  “How do you figure it?” Jonnie fingered the beard that seemed almost a third gray.

  “The new arrangement? Slow starvation. We’ll do fine for three to five months, but you don’t get the pickup work when you’re not next door, and that will drop off. The next receptionist will forget who we are. Heidlinger will continue to use us, but only for the dirty work—the kind of hardball that I’ve proved to have an aptitude for, but not much stomach.” McDarvid glanced down at his waist, where the trousers hung more loosely than in years.

  “Doesn’t sound like we have much in the way of options.”

  “Allyson asked if I would consider getting back into government.” McDarvid looked at the closed door behind Jonnie’s head, then at the clear blue later winter sky over Nineteenth Street.

  “You don’t sound exactly thrilled, Jack.”

  “I’m not. I only worked for fifteen years to get out of it. And my departures from … various places … were not exactly voluntary.”

  Jonnie shook his head slowly.

  McDarvid wondered what the younger man might be thinking.

  “You know,” Jonnie said as he took off his glasses and held them, “I think that family-loving men who hate violence are more dangerous than all the professionals in the world.” He grinned.

  “Right,” McDarvid snorted. “Now you’ll be telling me that George Ames doesn’t have the soul of a bookkeeper, but is an angel at heart.” He stood up and walked toward the door, reaching around it for his coat. “Let’s go.”

  “That’s a long walk.”

  “Who said we’re walking? The cab goes on the JAFFE bill.”

  “Meet you at the elevator.”

  McDarvid stopped at the front desk. Was it Mary Lou? “Mary Lou?”

  “Bobbi Lou,” corrected the round and painfully young face.

  “Jack McDarvid. I’ll be out for about two hours.”

  The new receptionist looked at the plastic board. She kept looking. McDarvid smiled. Finally, he reached over and pointed to his name.

  “Thank you, Mr. McDarvid. It’s so hard to learn everyone in the first week.”

  “Don’t worry.” He pushed open the glass doors, turning in time to see Jonnie repeating the same procedure with sweet Bobbi Lou.

  “Well,” McDarvid quipped as Jonnie joined him, “one thing doesn’t change. No one still knows who we are.”

  “That from a man who complained about his face appearing all over nightly news?”

  The elevator arrived, empty except for a UPS deliveryman and his dolly.

  “Yeah, the people I don’t want to know recognize me, and my own firm’s receptionist doesn’t.”

  “Not for long,” Jonnie reminded him.

  They rode the elevator down silently. Outside the building, the wind whipped papers along the gutters as the two men looked for a cab. Nineteenth Street was empty.

  McDarvid shook his head and motioned in the direction of Dupont Circle—toward the power truck and barricades blocking the entire street. Low gray clouds scudded overhead, making the wind feel even colder.

  “Go the other way,” suggested Jonnie.

  They walked down to the corner, still looking for a cab.

  They arrived at Dominique five minutes early.

  Devenant and a gray-haired and thinner man sat at a corner table. Both rose as the consultants approached.

  “Monsieur McDarvid, Monsieur Black—this is Gerard de-Hihn. He is the Senior Vice President of JAFFE International.”

  McDarvid inclined his head. “Pleased to meet you, Monsieur deHihn.”

  Jonnie echoed the greeting.

  “It is indeed my pleasure, my pleasure indeed.” The older man’s black eyes seemed to sparkle. “Please join us.”

  All four sat down.

  Devenant motioned to a waiter, who served red wine to everyone but McDarvid.

  McDarvid did not raise his eyebrows as he received a Perrier and lime. He had never shared a drink or meal with Devenant.

  “If you would like to order…”

  McDarvid nodded. Order, and then discuss the business of the day, such as exactly how much background work Devenant had done.

  “The house salad and the veal…”

  “Escargots, special soup, and the venison…”

  “Salad and the veal special,” McDarvid ordered.

  Devenant sipped from his goblet while the waiter collected the menus. Then he cleared his throat softly. “I spoke to Monsieur Heidlinger yesterday about your success with the metals initiative. He was rather … noncommittal. He mentioned the need for rather extensive legal work to prepare the chlorohydrobenzilate record for challenge.” The JAFFE executive smiled faintly, but his eyes remained unamused.

  McDarvid shrugged. “That’s the legal viewpoint. Sometimes it works.” He really didn’t care for the word games.

  “And you, Monsieur Black? What do you think?”

  “Lawyers like legal work,” Jonnie responded simply. “The more detached, the better.”

  “Why do you work there?”

  “Larry. Larry hired us because he said most lawyers were more interested in writing paper than in solving problems.”

  “Ah,” noted Gerard deHihn. “But with Monsieur Partello gone…”

  “Right,” agreed McDarvid. “They’re not exactly thrilled at working with us directly.” He squeezed the lime into the sparkling water.

  “That may present a problem … and an opportunity,” observed Devenant. “Have you thought of starting your own business?”

  McDarvid glanced at Jonnie. The younger man’s face remained politely interested.

  “It had crossed our minds,” McDarvid admitted. “We still do work that lawyers sometimes need, but they prefer … a certain insulation. As an independent consulting firm, we might be able to provide that.” He shrugged. “But it’s not cheap to set up even a small firm. You need space, equipment, supplies.”

  Devenant and deHihn looked at each other.

  “We do have the end suite, Gerard. It has its own entrance.”

  The older man nodded but said nothing.

  “The details … we may have to work them out.
We could supply two offices and a small space for a secretary, for perhaps a nominal fee. Occasional use of the conference room could be worked out. In return, would you consider a retainer arrangement? The retainer would be in addition to the space.”

  “For what sort of work?” asked Jonnie.

  Devenant provided an exaggerated Gallic shrug. “For the same sort of work you have been doing. We are interested in many regulatory issues, perhaps even more in the years ahead, and we have no great love of using lawyers when they are not necessary. Too expensive, and”—he paused—“too … indirect.”

  “They are also always reacting,” observed deHihn sourly.

  “Would this make us … part of the family?” asked Jonnie.

  McDarvid grinned briefly, thinking of the crystal candy dish resembling Corsica.

  “You are amused, Monsieur McDarvid?” asked Devenant blandly.

  “I just recall that beautiful crystal candy dish,” McDarvid answered just as blandly. “It’s just the sort that a grand aunt would send, except she wouldn’t shape it like Corsica.”

  This time Devenant grinned, his eyes following his mouth. “One must be careful with you, Monsieur McDarvid. You seem so bland, so, I believe the term is, WASPish. Yet you are a dangerous man.”

  “Me?” McDarvid shook his head. “I’m just a man who loves his wife and children and country.”

  “That,” observed deHihn, setting down his wineglass, “is precisely what makes you a very dangerous man. That is also why we would prefer to employ your services. Our interests coincide, and will doubtless do so for many years to come.”

  “You want to hire the policy papers and the talking? Or the other things I don’t intend to do again?” McDarvid kept his voice level.

  “Monsieur McDarvid, let us not kid one another.” Devenant’s voice remained amused. “You and Monsieur Black are, shall we say, reluctant idealists. You both will do what is necessary to preserve your families and the country you love. Nor should it be otherwise.” He lifted his glass. “To your new business and to our continued friendship.”

  McDarvid looked at Jonnie, then lifted his glass.

  After a moment, Jonnie lifted his glass.

  They both smiled.