by David Dun
When they had moved up the ridge, the helicopter approached.
"Stay here," she told Denny, and went to the car trunk. She set the briefcase inside and rapidly began counting out ten packets of $10,000 dollars each. The money was all in $100 bills. It took her only a couple of minutes. She paid no attention to the leather pocket in the lid of the briefcase nor the bulge at its center. In a rush she closed the lid the instant she put her portion in a nylon bag in the trunk.
A man dressed in black and wearing a ski mask stepped from the copter. Since he made no move to approach her, she ran to him, wanting at this point to make the transfer and get out of the area. As she approached, she saw an automatic weapon with a silencer clutched in the man's hand. She handed him the briefcase, and with a quick nod he jumped in the chopper. Immediately it pulled up steeply and was gone over the hill, leaving nothing but the mountain quiet.
It was midafternoon and Dan hadn't found anything. They were parked on an old log-landing dark with stirred earth and woody debris, green with naturally sprouting redwood and Douglas fir. The fir loved the bare mineral soil and the sunlight in the man-made clearing. Above them, perhaps 1,000 feet, the hilltop loomed lush with spring grasses and dark with black oak. Below them the hillside fell away in a sea of young redwoods and mixed conifers interspersed with black oak, tan oak, and madrona.
The mountainside redwoods below them, about three years old, had sprung from stumps left from recent logging. Now mere babies, they eventually would obscure everything around them. Stretching below them in a giant bowl grew an old-growth redwood forest-the Highlands.
Dan's receiver had five channels and spindly fold-out antennae. The channel selected had been correct for the animal collar in the briefcase when he experimented with it. There was no reason to try the other channels, but he did so anyway. With the first click on another channel, the receiver gave a very faint beep. The needle barely registered. He switched it back to the briefcase channel.
At that moment they heard the whine of a jet helicopter, then saw it flying low over the trees. The receiver picked up a stronger signal apparently emanating from the copter; then after perhaps thirty seconds, and as the copter was still coming closer, the signal died.
"Damn," he said aloud. "I'm sure I got a signal from that helicopter, but as it got closer, it disappeared."
"It looked to me like it might be coming down," Maria said. "But where would it land over there?"
"It's hard to believe they could land. Maybe the signal was coming from something else."
Dan switched back to the other channel and once again got a faint signal.
"There," she said.
"It's not even the right channel," he said. "You stay here. I'll go down and check things out."
"Wait a minute. I heard your call with Hutchin. If you got a signal, that was it. You were supposed to call him."
"Do you see a phone booth? Besides, this probably isn't the signal. I told you I changed channels."
"That helicopter was the right channel?"
"Yeah, but it could be long gone."
"I think we should let Hutchin know what's happening."
Privately, Dan had thought the helicopter was landing. "We can't do that from here."
"Then we'll drive back."
"You drive. I'm going down that hill."
White particles of dust and pollen hung in the rays of the sun. Heavy forest scents of musty humus and the sweeter odor of jasmine permeated the air. There was a barely visible animal trail leading into the woods.
"I'm going with you" Maria said.
"No way. You'd slow me down. Stay right here in the car."
"It's a free country. I can walk where I want. As far as slowing you down…" She looked him up and down. "That's ridiculous."
"All right." He paused to search for words. "But don't complain and don't ask me to turn around every five minutes."
"You're a boor." Her expression said "asshole." Tension stretched the air as she stood with her hands on her hips. After a time of silence she let out amp; deep breath.''We're overdoing it here. Let me be the first to apologize. I'm… well… sorry for being so… whatever."
"Stubborn. You're sorry for being so irrationally stubborn. And for tagging along."
He grinned and she allowed a small smile.
"If I were a man, would I be 'tagging along'? I said I would be the first to apologize."
"And you did it very well, very well indeed. With a little coaching."
She shook her head. "You are really something else."
"Try to overlook it."
"If we're going to go chasing into these woods, wouldn't it make sense if I knew what you know?"
"Yeah, well, I've got this little problem known as attorney-client privilege."
Strangely, though, he found himself wishing he could tell her exactly what had happened, and why.
4
At the turn of the last century, the wealthiest man in Nolo County was William Carson. Across the street from his mansion, he built a bank to contain his fortune. A hundred years later, William Carson's bank had become the Hutchin Office Building, home to the law firm that employed Dan Young. The front entry of the two-story building was flanked by whitewashed wooden pillars; a balustrade surrounded the lip of the flat roof. Inside, the building looked like a Victorian library. Beautifully restored paneling, crown molding, plinth blocks, ornate cast-iron doors, and heavy wooden window-frames completed the traditional look. With walls made of heavy stone blocks, the building had a cathedrallike sense of integrity and permanence.
On that evening a week ago, Dan had arrived at the office a full fifty minutes early, wondering what could be so incredibly important that Jeb Otran would summon him and Hutchin to a 10:00 p.m. meeting. Not that Dan was about to complain. The intrigue alone was worth it.
Jeb Otran owned more than anyone else Dan was ever likely to meet: a million acres of timberland, a dozen sawmills, woodworking facilities, huge electrical power plants, fleets of trucks, banks, and mortgage companies. Nobody really knew what it was all worth. But there was more to Otran than his money. Otran was a regular Horatio Alger- from humble beginnings he'd created a financial empire, pulling himself up by his bootstraps the whole way.
William Hutchin arrived almost immediately. Hutchin was a broad man, wide in the shoulders, girth, the face, and in the span of his hands. His six-foot figure, which was topped with a wild mop of silver-gray hair, combined with his booming voice to give him an imposing manner known to everyone in town. He had been with Otran for much of his ride to the top; his firm had been representing Otran for nearly thirty years. Dan had gradually established a strong personal bond with Otran as Hutchin slowed down his personal activity, involved now only in the more weighty matters. Dan handled all the cases and had the day-to-day contact.
After acknowledging one another, Dan and Hutchin walked into the foyer. Moments later, Otran's gray sedan pulled to the curb and Otran, a sinewy, square-jawed man, joined them.
"Evening, gentlemen," Otran said. "Strange time for a meeting, but it's a strange topic."
Hutchin led them directly to the library, a windowless room whose walls were covered by row upon row of thick law tomes. They sat around a large, polished rosewood conference table, well-lit beneath overhead brass lamps covered with green frosted-glass shades.
Hutchin, much to Dan's surprise, said nothing. Instead, he looked at Otran expectantly. Finally Otran cleared his throat and spoke slowly, thoughtfully, as though there was more to say than could easily be said, making it all the more important that he find just the right words.
''Even though it's the middle of the night, and hush-hush, this is not Watergate. Nothing illegal. But it's about as peculiar as Watergate." He looked at Dan. "I guess we might as well plunge right in. I need someone to deliver a bunch of money to the enviros. A hell of a lot of money."
Dan tried not to look shocked.
"It's not as bad as it sounds." Otran smiled. "It's to
fund a campaign to convince the government to purchase the Highlands. It's supposed to lead to a government land purchase. The government won't buy it unless there's imminent peril to the trees and a big uproar. Needless to say, the enviros don't want cutting. They'll create the uproar if we plan to cut." Otran paused. "Are you with me so far?"
"But what does Metco say?" Dan referred to an owner of about one half of the acreage of the Highlands Forest.
"Oh, they've got to be cagey. Officially they plan to cut the trees. Hell, they're processing harvest plans right now. But they're sick to death of the bad publicity. They want to sell their whole four thousand acres to the government, declare the world safe, and go on growing and cutting their trees. In fact, Metco would like to sell to me. As for us, we can't log the land we own next to the Highlands. I get calls from Senator Cansfield weekly, begging me not to log anywhere near the Highlands. Says it should be a buffer for the murrelet bird. Metco would have to go right through us to log the Highlands. The senator begs me not to let them, but I've told her they've got an easement."
''So that's the reason we're giving money to the enviros?"
"Well, then there's Amada. The Japanese at first were dead set against giving any money to the enviros and really didn't seem at all anxious to sell. But when Metco got determined to go ahead and fund the enviros' campaign Amada turned on a dime with no explanation and wanted to be the biggest contributor. That I can't figure. Now they're actually the driving force to give money to the enviros. A full half of the money is theirs and the rest is divided up between ten different timberland owners. But they'd rather we deliver it. The Japanese are very discreet."
"Why would they care what happens to the Highlands?"
"It's three thousand acres of prime old-growth redwood, really the other half of the Highlands Forest. Maybe they worry about their own logging. If you can't grow and cut trees, the land is worthless. It's remote, steep, and they claim they'd like to sell it to the government. I said we ought to hire our own lobbyists, but they say the government never does anything we want. It's better coming from the enviros, and they'll help pay the bill. I hate it. But all the timber owners try to cooperate on this enviro stuff, so I said I'd take care of it. Don't know how much these guys want to give in the end. Plenty the first time, though. Five hundred thousand."
Dan's jaw dropped.
"Are you with me so far?"
Dan nodded. A few minutes ago the world had been simpler. It was the Wildflower Coalitions of the world against industry. Industry was usually right, and he knew which side he was on.
''A long time ago, I became acquainted with Patty McCafferty. She was out to save the world back then-just like now. Wasn't practical then, either. But Patty McCafferty is a woman that will set you to thinking. She used to talk up a storm. Talked about having some poetry in your life." Otran chuckled and shook his head. "You got any poetry in your life?"
"When I meet Poetry, I'll let you know." That got Dan a smile from Otran.
"I hope you find her," Otran said, just a tinge more serious. "Anyway, Patty's hell on this forest and will do just about anything to save it. She wants the government to buy it. And for the moment, that makes us buddies. We just want the whole thing to go away so we can all go back to logging without all the publicity. And damn regulations. People get so excited because these trees are so big and so old. It's like a spotlight on us. Really, I don't think there's any way to appease these nuts. They're never happy. But some of the political types will lay off for a while if they can declare victory. Politicians love to feel like they solved a problem."
This lash-up between McCafferty and industry sounded to Dan like the alliance from hell.
"Now I suppose you don't have to be told that it would be politically embarrassing for us to make a large public donation to Patty McCafferty. Especially me."
Dan and Hutchin laughed out loud. Barroom remarks, sly winks at the pub, blaring horns on the street, screamed epithets, the finger-all these and more would await the timberman who gave solace to the enviros, much less cold, hard cash. The grassroots timber support would never appreciate the subtlety of the politics. They were still producing bumper stickers like: earth first, we'll log the rest of the planets later.
"We want to give some money to her attorneys, but I can't have the money traceable to me or the rest of 'em in any way," Otran said. "And the Japanese, who are putting up half of it…" Otran rolled his eyes. "They'd do that hara-kiri thing if it became public. This is all attorney-client privilege, right?"
Dan nodded.
"Absolutely." Hutchin's big voice filled the room.
"Let me get this straight," Dan said. "You want to give a half million in cash to the same people who participate in demonstrations outside your mills?"
"Yes. Do you think that's a problem?"
"If it gets out, people may think it's bribery-"
"It won't get out," Hutchin cut in. "And it's not against the law to make anonymous donations. I know how you must feel, but sometimes in this life, the whores lie down with the saints."
Dan thought for a moment. ''So it's a no-strings-attached gift to the enviros."
"Yep," Otran said. "And it's mostly Japanese money."
"But how do we know they'll use it like we intend?"
"Let's not worry about that," said Hutchin. "That's Jeb's worry. Our job's to get the money delivered and to do it carefully. Very carefully." He paused before continuing. "You'll be dealing with Maria Fischer. I'm sure you two will become buddies the way things are going."
"You're okay with this?" Otran asked.
"It's worth a good stiff drink," replied Dan. "But no, I have no problem with it. Indigestion maybe, but no problem."
"When you decide how you're going to deliver this, call me. Only Amada cares how we do it, so I'll have to call them."
Dan left wondering who were the saints and who the whores in this little scenario.
5
The hill was steep through the second-growth trees, but it leveled out after four hundred yards or so when they came to the edge of the old growth. The trees stood like inscrutable old men guarding their prehistoric past, the larger specimens some ten feet in diameter. They formed the upper story of the forest. Below them were smaller redwood trees, stunted under the canopy. In places there was a second layer of shorter trees. These were hemlock-graceful evergreens with drooping tops, not as large as the redwood giants but adapted by nature for growing in the shade. Underneath them were the broad-leaves, tan oak, black oak, and where it was wet enough, alder. These wide-leaf species reached out for every ray of sun that might slip past the upper layers.
''If industry is giving us money, they must have something to gain by it." It was the first thing she'd said since they began their descent. Dan had to admire her persistence.
"I guess."
"Well, do you know?"
"Look, if I could spill my guts"-he gave her an appreciative look, he hoped without any disrespect-"you'd be the logical choice."
"You know you're sexist."
He stopped. "Where I come from, I was paying you a compliment-not making a pass."
They looked at each other.
"Do you have any serious complaints about my compliments?" he asked.
Without answering, she walked on.
They were in the old growth now. A thick layer of clover grew like green carpet over the forest floor. There was little sign of wildlife under these massive trees although Dan supposed their noisy passage through the fern and wild rhododendron would scare into hiding whatever was present. They walked where they could, taking the path of least resistance until they came to something odd: no trespassing signs nailed to the trees at forty-foot intervals.
"I wonder if this is Metco or Amada land," he said.
"No way to even guess without a compass and a map. Even then I doubt we'd figure it out."
"Don't you guys go on spy missions to guesstimate who owns what?"
"Those 'spy mission
s,' as you call them, are overrated," she said. "We look from the air more than the ground."
They walked quickly as they talked, weaving in and out of head-high ferns, clawing their way through brush, all the time marveling at the trees, whose massive trunks seemed to belong in a land of giants.
"What's this?" Dan was eyeing a fallen tree with a no trespassing sign nailed at its center.
"Somebody has cut off the limbs."
"Which makes it impossible to climb over…" They began walking alongside it, thinking they would go around. Quickly they came to another no trespassing sign. "These guys are serious," he said.
After a good one hundred feet they came to a second tree, lying parallel with the first, so that as the first began to taper to six or seven feet in diameter, a second thick log began.
"This is outrageous," she said. "This was done deliberately. How did somebody get a permit to cut these trees?"
"They don't need a permit if they're not selling them or making lumber of them."
"You're right," she said. "It's one of the many flaws in the system."
"It's a token gesture to private property rights."
After a similar distance they came to yet another fallen tree.
"It's like someone was building a barrier," she said. "Help me look for a thick branch we can bring over."
She began looking for a piece of wood; Dan followed her.
"Every second that goes by, I become more convinced that maybe that chopper did land out here in the woods," he said.
"So you think somehow-"
"I don't know what to think. If you'd told me that this would be out here, I'd have thought you were nuts," he said.
"Let's climb over this and find out what's going on."
''I've heard you're quite the Alaskan wilderness woman."
"Yeah? Where did you hear that?"
"In the courthouse hallway, where the news is on time every time."
"Same place I heard you've been a very unhappy man ever since your wife died."
"You heard I drink too much."