Final Finesse

by Karna Small Bodman

  “But,” Samantha tried to interrupt.

  “No buts, Samantha. You’ve never had to deal with the National Applications Office. That’s the place that gives access to satellite imagery. It’s designed for domestic emergency response, security, things like that. Not to babysit some company’s property. Get real and follow the rules for once!” he bellowed.

  The director glanced around the room again. The other deputies looked somewhat taken aback by his outburst. He immediately lowered his voice and added, “Samantha works hard, but sometimes she needs to contain her enthusiasm.”

  Samantha didn’t want to contain anything. She felt her own temper rising. Yes, and when I was a kid I never colored within the lines either. She studied her colleagues and didn’t see any potential allies among the other deputies, only faces shifting back and forth between her and Greg. It felt like some surreal tennis game, and she had just lost match point.

  After her discussion with Tripp last night, she knew his company was all over this problem. They would be sweeping through their buildings, warehouses, offices, checking emails and phone logs, trying to find any possible connection between their employees and their equipment, or loss of equipment, and the disastrous blow-ups that now had left thousands of their customers in freezing conditions as the winter storms continued to rage in several states.

  Samantha wondered how many more people would try to stay in their homes. How many more hospitals, nursing homes, hospices, schools, factories would have to stay closed and for how long before they got the lines repaired and the gas flowing again.

  Worst of all, she wondered how many more explosions it would take before bureaucrats like Gregory Barnes woke up and realized that they had a real crisis on their hands, and it could get real ugly if they sat on their hands right now.

  She sat there in complete frustration as Greg moved on to his next issue. Some nuclear components had been confiscated from a ship off the West Coast. Since her portfolio included nuclear as well as energy issues, Samantha was forced to pay attention, take notes and put aside her plea for help.

  Back in her own office suite, Samantha paused at Joan’s desk and said, “Those staff meetings are like drawing on Etch-a-sketch.”

  Her assistant looked up from her computer, “What do you mean?”

  “Just when I think I’ve got a good idea and a good design, Greg comes along and shakes the box.”

  “Oh Jeez. Again? What was it this time?”

  “I want to use our domestic satellites to watch for any kind of strange activity around GeoGlobal’s gas lines.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” Joan said.

  “Not to Greg. He’s afraid of objections from Congress, lawsuits, bureaucratic hassles, and all of that.”

  “So how are we going to pre-empt another attack, if there is one, I mean?”

  “Exactly!” Samantha let out an exasperated breath. “He treats me like the energizer bunny or robo-cop or something.”

  “Sorry I don’t follow that one,” Joan said.

  “I mean, I stand up there, and Greg just knocks me down.”

  “But hey, the whole point is that you always bounce back.”

  “It just seems like it’s getting harder and harder.” Samantha glanced down at Joan’s desk. “So what’s this?”

  “Oh, it’s a memo from the East Wing. They’re planning a welcoming ceremony for the president of Iceland, and they can never find enough Icelanders to make it a decent photo op. So they’ve invited the support staff to be in the audience.”

  “In this weather?” Samantha asked.

  “It’s colder in Iceland, so I guess his entourage won’t mind. By the way, I haven’t seen any briefing papers on this visit. Do we have any big issues with Iceland?”

  “Not that I know of,” Samantha said. “No national security threats anyway. In fact, the only issue I’ve seen in news about Iceland recently is that their president wanted to ban pineapple from Pizza. He said fruit didn’t belong on top.”

  Joan burst out laughing. “Did we tell the White House chef, though I doubt he’d be serving pizza in the Oval Office anyway.”

  “Right you are. More like Arctic char,” Samantha suggested. “And speaking about chilly things, I’m certainly getting the cold shoulder from my boss. Well, I already told you he wants me to back off on the gas line disasters. But, I just can’t.”

  Samantha went to her own desk and wondered whether she should call another meeting of her Crisis Action Team when Joan buzzed her. “Mr. Princeton on line one.”

  Samantha grabbed the phone. “Tripp?”

  “Hi Samantha. I’ve been waiting to get hold of you. Figured your staff meeting would be over by now. Look, there’s a hell of a lot going on right now. But first, I wanted to say … about last night …”

  She held her breath. What would he say? Would he hint that it was some kind of mistake? Something too much, too soon? Would he figure out a way to back off for a while now that he won the race, so to speak? She tried to push her doubts away, wondering why women seemed to have second thoughts after a night of incredible sex with a great guy, especially after a first night like last night. “Yes?” she asked tentatively.

  “You were terrific, and I just want you to know that.”

  She let out a breath. She hadn’t even realized she was holding it. “Thanks. I could say the same for you. It’s been a while, and I …”

  “Let’s not try to analyze it. Just wanted to call and tell you that. Well, that and a bunch of other things. Another crisis, I’m afraid.”

  “What?”

  “Just had a call from operations, and there’s been another huge pressure drop on our southern Missouri line.”

  “Oh no. Was it another attack?”

  “Looks like it might be. I’m on hold right now. I just dialed your number from my cell while they’re checking it out. Can you hang on for a minute?”

  “Sure.” She pressed the phone tight to her ear, straining to hear what was going on in Tripp’s office. She heard his voice and then suddenly she heard him shout, “Jesus! Are you sure? My God! Our people are on the way? Okay. Get back to me.”

  “Samantha. It’s another explosion,” Tripp blurted into the phone. “It’s bad. Really bad. I don’t have all the details, but I should have more pretty soon. Can you believe this? Three in three states?”

  “Have your people figured out anything about the pigs or any reports from the inspections? Anything at all?”

  “They’re working on that. But it takes time. They’re doing a complete inventory and our security people are all over the emails, logs, maintenance reports, everything. They say the home office looks like another Hurricane Harvey hit it.”

  “I’ve got to get our people more involved,” Samantha said. “I’ve got a Crisis Action Team monitoring things, but we have to kick this into high gear around here.”

  “I wish you would,” Tripp said in an agitated voice. “We could use any help you can give us. Oh, and now with this, well, can you imagine what the hearings are going to be like tomorrow?”

  “They’re set for tomorrow? For sure?” She asked.

  “That’s the word. With this latest attack, I’m sure our CEO will try to get a delay so we can gather more evidence. But you know the Hill.”

  “Absolutely. If there’s a headline to be had, they want their names in it.”

  “You got that one right. And there’s one more thing.”

  “More?” she asked.

  “And this is really a bummer. I’ve got to leave for Venezuela.”

  She felt her entire mood heading south along with his travel plan. He was leaving her. And right in the middle of a huge crisis. A crisis on her watch and in her department. “When?”

  “Tonight. Well, late tonight out of Dulles. Look, with all that’s going on, I’ll be in pretty bad shape by the end of the day. But I still want to see you before I go. I’ll have to pack and all, but still …”

  She thought for a mom
ent and made a suggestion. “I could pick up something for dinner and bring it to your place, and we could talk while you pack. I mean, maybe that would help your schedule. What do you think?”

  “I’d think you were an angel,” he said. “Are you sure? Your staff must be going crazy too, right.”

  She thought about Greg and his constant objections to her constant warnings. “Well, they will now. I’m sure of that. But about tonight, what say I drive over there around 7:30 or so. I know where Turnberry Towers is. I can see it from my place, remember?”

  “I remember everything I’ve seen at your place,” he said in a soft tone. “Oh, wait. Quick. Do you have a TV set in your office?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Turn it on. Fox News. Right now.”

  She reached for the remote and flicked on the small set perched on a bookcase along the wall. The news anchor was saying, “And this just in to our newsroom. A massive explosion in southwest Missouri set off a giant fireball that ignited a series of buildings and tank cars in the vicinity. Our correspondent, Keneesha Jackson, is on the scene and has details.”

  Samantha stared at the screen and sat upright when she saw flames shooting several stories high, engulfing factories and what looked like box cars on a nearby siding. “This massive fire near Interstate 44 in southwest Missouri is believed to have been started when a gas line feeding into this industrial complex exploded a short while ago. Three maintenance workers who had been on the overnight shift were just pronounced dead at the scene while several others have been taken to a nearby hospital. Local firemen continue to battle the blaze, but their efforts are being hampered by high winds and freezing temperatures. The names of those killed and injured in the fire are being withheld pending notification of next of kin. This is Keneesha Jackson reporting for Fox News.”

  “Three killed?” Samantha practically shouted into the phone.

  “This is the biggest God-damn nightmare I could imagine,” Tripp said. “Look, I gotta go. Phones are going wacko. See what you can do. And hopefully, we’ll hook up tonight. Call me from your cell when you’re on your way over, okay?”

  “Will do.” Samantha shoved the phone down, bolted up from her chair and raced into Greg’s office.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CAPITOL HILL–FRIDAY MORNING

  Harry Walker scurried down the stone hallway of the Senate Hart Office Building. He passed several offices, all with walls of glass overlooking a 90-foot-high atrium lined with trees planted in black pots that matched the gigantic black iron sculpture in the center. The contraption was called “Mountains and Clouds” and featured a collection of jagged pieces of steel over fifty feet high topped with floating bits of aluminum that were said to represent clouds.

  He had heard that the cloud apparatus weighed over two tons, and he always worried that the darn thing would come crashing down one day. The weird colossus was painted jet black. He didn’t think it looked anything like real mountains or real clouds. He thought it kind of looked like a bunch of medieval monks had hacked up the starship enterprise. Instead of tearing down statues of real people from our own history, he always wished they’d tear down that thing.

  Harry continued down the hall until he came to the office of Cassidy Jenkins, the senator from Oregon. As chairman of the Energy and Natural Resources Committee, she had turned out to be his nemesis on a whole host of issues. He knew she was beholden to her environmentalist supporters who kept pushing for a ban on oil and gas drilling and an increase in support for most anything else.

  As the senior senator from the state of Oklahoma, Harry didn’t feel beholden to anybody, but he was sure he knew a damn sight more about the oil and gas business than she did. Right now he was fuming about her plans for tomorrow’s hearing. He figured a little personal diplomacy might stave off the worst. He barged inside.

  “Good afternoon, Senator Walker,” the receptionist chirped. “Senator Jenkins is expecting you. Please go right in.” Of course he would go right in. What else did he ever do? He opened the door to an office with a navy blue and gold rug on the floor, a blue and gold couch along the back wall, and two gold wingback chairs in front of a massive mahogany desk. Behind the desk were two flags, an American flag on the left and the flag of the state of Oregon on the right.

  “Hello, Harry. Glad you stopped by. Guess we should go over plans for the big hearing,” Cassidy Jenkins said as she swiveled her leather chair around to face him. Wearing a black and white striped blouse, the petite woman with mouse brown hair looked like a cross between a small Dalmatian and an overage cheerleader. But Harry always thought she was cheering for the wrong team.

  He sat down in one of the gold chairs. Figure she’s just got left wing chairs in here, he mused to himself. “Right you are Cas. I think we need a slight postponement. And as I look at your lineup of witnesses, I’m concerned.”

  “Concerned about what?” she asked and added “this time,” under her breath.

  “It looks to me like you might try to use this dog and pony show to rake our boys over the coals instead of trying to figure out how to stop obvious acts of sabotage to our energy supplies.”

  “Rake your boys over the coals? Is that how you see my efforts to rein in the enormous profits that your boys are making these days? We may have someone trying to sabotage those lines, but all that’s doing is driving up the price of natural gas which means higher profits for your boys.”

  “All it’s doing? People have been killed, Cas. People are freezing and dying in my state. More have died in neighboring states, and all you think about is the price of natural gas?”

  “Look, Harry, I might consider somewhat of a delay, but the hearing will give us all a chance to quiz the head of GeoGlobal along with two other companies. They can tell us what happened to their lines. And if it really is sabotage, well, that’s a job for the FBI and local law enforcement. Our job is to ensure an adequate energy supply for the entire country. And it doesn’t look to me like your gas buddies are able to provide it, now does it?” she asked.

  “You know darn well that a loss of supply will drive up energy prices. Look at what happened after Hurricane Harvey shut down all those rigs in the Gulf along with the refineries. We need cushions for those kinds of disasters. Our boys have been breaking their backs trying to drill for oil and gas all over the world as well as increasing their fracking to meet the demand now that China is importing more of it. It would be nice if we could drill more right here as well.”

  “Breaking their backs now? I’d call it breaking the banks,” she said with a wave of her hand. “The piggy banks of their customers. In fact, I’m recommending legislation that would repeal $18 billion in tax incentives and use that money for solar, wind and ethanol production.”

  “More ethanol?” he snorted. “Give me a break. We’ve had this discussion before. You know full well that it takes almost as much energy to produce a gallon of ethanol as the energy that comes out the other end. It’s been driving up the price of food. And, by the way, when your people talk about global warming, well, this whole ethanol fiasco is adding to the problem with farmers taking down forests and planting corn. But if you really wanted more ethanol in this country, you’d vote to get rid of the tariffs. We could buy ethanol cheaper from Brazil than we can produce it here. But no, too many members in the Senate are more concerned about the farm vote, so you keep out the imports. You know this, Cas. Why in the world are you still pushing this nonsense?”

  “It’s not nonsense. It works.” She sat up and glanced at her watch. “Look, I’ve got some constituents coming in here in a few minutes. Let me just say that I’ve taken note of your position. You’ll have ample opportunities to question the CEO’s.”

  Harry started to get up as well. “Fine. But I want to say that what we ought to be doing now is figuring out how to help our own producers, especially when it looks like we may have a new bunch of eco-terrorists on our hands.”

  “Who said anything about eco-terroris
ts?” she demanded.

  “So we don’t know for sure. But let’s try to find out who’s blowing up our lines before they blow up any more of our people.”

  He headed for the door and added in a softer tone, “Let’s just try to work together for once.” And with that, he turned and headed out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE WHITE HOUSE—FRIDAY MORNING

  Gregory Barnes strode through the West Wing reception area and down the short hallway to the office of the national security advisor. Ken Cosgrove had summoned him to a meeting, and he wasn’t sure why. He slicked his hair back and walked up to the secretary’s desk. “I’ve got a meeting with Ken,” he said, though he was sure that Wilma, the ever-efficient assistant, knew all about it.

  “Yes, Mr. Barnes. Let me see if he’s free.” She picked up her phone and buzzed her boss. “Mr. Barnes to see you, sir.” She nodded and replaced the hand set. “You may go in now.”

  Greg opened the tall mahogany door and walked into the large corner office with windows on two sides, a wall of bookshelves to the left, a desk in front of the far wall and a small round conference table with four chairs in the right hand corner.

  Ken came around his desk and motioned for Greg to sit down at the table. The usually unflappable NSC advisor looked somewhat distracted today as he pulled up a chair and tossed a series of memos on the table.

  “I wanted to talk to you about these three pipeline explosions,” Ken said. “The president is extremely concerned. We’re being besieged by members of Congress from all over the country, not only Oklahoma, Kansas, and Missouri. Now it seems that every member of the House and Senate energy committees, homeland security committee, and even the foreign relations committee thinks he might know who’s attacking our energy supplies. It ranges from Al Qaeda, of course, to Mexican rebels to Islamic groups from Trinidad, Tobago, and Guyana.”