by Les W Kuzyk
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Tamanna pushed end on her device, letting her breath out slowly.
“So?” Vince came over. “We expand our story?”
“No, well possibly.” Her eyebrows creased. “Remember I told you I would never walk through the doors of any totally shit COP meeting again? Ever? Well, we may be flying out with these gentlemen tonight. So if that happens, and then only outside Nigerien airspace.” She looked at him. “If all that comes about, then we’ll have another look.”
“Look at what?”
She took a breath. “Piss it!” She looked directly into his eyes. “Right, look Vince, we never told any HICCC contractor, so you’re the first to know. The Sahel countries are not the only artificial volcanoes on the go. Sulphur balloons are releasing across all High Impact countries. Tonight.”
Vince’s jaw dropped, a deep cave hollow swirling into place. Back and forth in his head, car crashes resonated to the rhythm of a cuckoo clock—this couldn’t be real—they were so fucked. He had known, he should have known. Oh Christ. They were going global, and that would include the mid-ocean release. Tami had been clear; that was the only way to get a Green Sahara. Fuck! He somehow knew this might happen, no, would happen.
He dug deep into the internal churn, Okay, decision made! He took a deep breath…fuck it! Oilfield dead, he had a career beyond negotiating, he would bring real voice to Alberta, he would tell the world—he would do anything he could for this HICCC. And for his daughter Annalise.