Climatized

by Sally Fernandez

  “Where are you?” Jax sounded tense, as though he had been sitting by the phone for days, waiting impatiently for her to call.

  “I’m at Capannelle—I just arrived—are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’ve been worried sick about you. Thank God you arrived safely.”

  “You needn’t worry. Stanton planned everything to a T. I arrived without a hitch.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Of course I am. Why?”

  “I thought it was in your best interest that I—never mind.” He quickly reverted to another topic. “I’m still waiting for a call back from Harold Doiron.”

  Max thought Jax was acting rather strangely but chalked it up to his concern for her. “What about Dennis Avery? Did you hear from him?”

  “I did, and it was a rather interesting conversation. Let me grab my notes.”

  Max sat patiently waiting for Jax to resume the conversation. She could hear papers shuffling in the background. In the meantime, she checked her phone to see if Noble had called. “Aw, why haven’t you called?”

  “Did you say something?”

  “Yes, to myself. And Jax, remember I’m six hours ahead of you and it’s been a long flight.”

  “I’ll make this quick. First, Avery told me that Jonas had asked for time off to work on a special project with a group of scientists.”

  “I think we have a pretty good guess who they are.”

  “Jonas wouldn’t tell Avery exactly who the scientists are or what the project was about, other than to say it would blow the heat out of the global-warming theory. Avery did acknowledge that Jonas sounded troubled as though he was almost afraid to provide any additional information. In fact, he himself seemed quite distraught over the death of Jonas, but I also got a sense it was in part due to the loss of what Jonas’ scientific findings may have revealed.”

  “Very interesting. Then Avery must have had an inkling as to what Jonas was up to?”

  “I thought the same and probed a bit further. That’s when I got quite an earful. We already knew that Avery offered scientific evidence that humans emitting CO2 into the atmosphere have little effect on climate change. But he told me that by studying the physical evidence from two millennia of recorded history, he posits that climate naturally cycles between warm and cold. And argues that a 1,500-year solar-driven cycle is what controls the earth’s climate.”

  “Jonas was obviously aware of Avery’s position. Perhaps he set out to provide the added proof.”

  “Everything points to that being the case because he mentioned specifically that the climate models are ineffective in measuring huge correlated variables such as clouds and shifts in ocean currents.”

  “Claus worked with the climate models. That cinches it. Claus and Jonas must have been working together.” Max was beginning to concoct her own theory. “I trust there’s more?”

  “Yes, Avery talked about something called the Pacific Decadal Oscillation and how the Pacific Ocean currents experience huge shifts in temperature. He cited an example how the Gulf of Alaska and the Columbia River actually reversed their population of salmon due to the shift in water temperatures. I found it quite intriguing.”

  “Wait a minute. I just read something online in The Conversation about the Atlantic Ocean entering into a cool phase. It was called the Atlantic Multidecadal Oscillation. The article detailed how it could potentially threaten drought and consequent famine to some parts of the world but would also mean fewer hurricanes hitting the U.S.”

  “So there is no such thing as ideal climate. Bummer!”

  “I guess, Jax, it depends on where your sun shines.”

  “Cute, but get this. In spite of all the hoopla from the parched-earth society, Avery explained that climate has historically been most stable during the global warming phases. He said it’s during the ‘little ice ages’ defined by periods of long winters and short summers that we can expect to be plagued with more floods, droughts, famines, and storms. Reading from my scribbled notes, his exact words are ‘they ask society to renounce most of its use of fossil fuel-generated energy and accept radical reductions in food production, health technologies, and standards of living to save the planet.’ He emphasized that ‘science is the process of developing theories and testing them against observations until they are proven true or false.’”

  “It didn’t bode well for Galileo,” Max quipped.

  “What, now, you’re a mind reader? Avery also mentioned Galileo. He said, ‘he may have been the only man of his day who believed Earth revolved around the sun, but he was right!’ Avery reasoned that absent proof that CO2 is emitted into the atmosphere at dangerous levels, public policy should not be focused on ‘banning autos and air conditioners,’ but focus on adaptation. Frankly, he’s stumped as to why humans armed with air conditioning fear global warming. He told me that history, science, and our own instincts tell us that cold is more frightening than warmth. He believes the climate event that deserves our real attention is the next Big Ice Age.”

  “Is it time to get my furs out of storage?”

  “No, you’ve got some time. It’s thousands of years away. Although Avery believes it will be a time when human knowledge and high-tech farming will be most needed. On the other hand, he reasons that a warming trend produces a more stable climate, crucial for farming. From my conversation, he’s apparently confounded as to why the public is panicking over what he calls ‘the finest climate the planet has known in all its millions of years.’”

  Max absorbed most of what Jax had revealed and she was beginning to formulate her own opinions, but that never stopped her from playing the devil’s advocate. “How can Avery be so sure that manmade CO2 emissions have only a negligible effect on global warming?”

  “Actually, I asked him that same question. He cited six shortcomings of the Greenhouse Theory.”

  “Can you give me the short answer?”

  “Patience, Max, this is cool stuff.”

  “Jax!”

  “You win. You can read it when you get home if you’re so inclined.”

  “The way this is shaping up I may never discuss the weather again. Did he say anything else that may help us solve this case?”

  “One final point. He seemed most dismayed that despite the evidence, the intelligentsia and leaders from around the world continue to spout the dangers of CO2 emissions.”

  “Hey Jax, you’re pretty good at this scientific mumbo jumbo.” Max was impressed.

  “Forgetting the dogma I received during my crash course, somehow this information got three smart guys killed. Max, the pieces of the puzzle are all there. I just haven’t put them together.”

  “We discussed earlier how extremely profitable it has become to say the earth is warming to a dangerous level.”

  “You’re on your Gore kick again! I can feel it.”

  “No, I’m not. But you have to conclude that someone or some group has an amazing ability to blag and figured out how to convince humanity that it’s responsible for global warming. You can always count on the guilt-factor setting in and the lemmings to follow the usual mania. Savonarola comes to mind!”

  “Max, you’re being cynical.”

  “Call me skeptical, but Bret Stephens made a similar, more articulate statement in an op-ed he authored. One sec. Let me look it up.” Max held her smartphone in front of her and searched for the article on her browser. “Still there?”

  “Waiting breathlessly.”

  “Here it is. Now it’s my turn to dazzle. In the Wall Street Journal’s op-ed page, Stephens wrote a column titled “Liberalism’s Imaginary Enemies,” where he referred to global warming as a cottage industry. He writes about how its survival is dependent on being believed. He stated, ‘because mindless repetition has a way of making things nearly true, and because dramatic crises require drastic and all-encompassing solutions. Besides, the thinking goes, falsehood and exaggeration can serve a purpose if it induces virtuous behavior.’”

 
; “I think Avery would agree that statement hit the ball out of the park.”

  “Hold on! There’s more, and this is a real tongue-twister. Stephens said, ‘Dramatic crises for which evidence tends to be anecdotal, subjective, invisible, tendentious and sometimes fabricated are trumpeted on the basis of incompetently designed studies, poorly understood statistics, or semantic legerdemain.’”

  “Man! One thing for sure—this case is mindboggling.”

  Max felt the same frustration that she sensed Jax was feeling. “Then maybe it’s time to follow the old adage and follow the money,” she suggested. “Senator Erog now comes to mind.”

  “There’s no denying that a cozy relationship exists between the global-warming proponents and those doling out extraordinary sums of taxpayer dollars. Whether it comes directly from appropriations or from grant money parceled out from government agencies, it all comes from the same pot.”

  “However you slice and dice it, governments should not be in the business of promoting scientific research to fit a narrative. It’s apparent that much of the public is being blindly led down a path of presumed evidence. Not sure where this will lead us, but go back and check out Erog more thoroughly. He’s probably only the puppet, but I’d like to know who’s pulling his strings.”

  “I’ll get right on it! But to punctuate your last point, I recall an article I read recently in the National Review written by Henry Payne. He said, ‘with a clear public-policy outcome in mind, the government/foundation gravy train is a much greater threat to scientific integrity.’”

  “Jax, from what we learned about this case thus far—that was also a home run. I think Stephens and Payne are sharing the same bat. But give Erog another once-over and check out his connection to the IPCC.” Max checked her time. “I gotta go. It’s cocktail hour.”

  “By all means don’t let me keep you from your libation.”

  “Seriously, this may be my first opportunity to spot Maieli. I have to keep him safe and find out what the hell is going on. You have to find the killer and prove Spark didn’t commit suicide. Let’s keep our focus.”

  “Got it. Stay safe. And Max, please keep me posted.”

  “You too. Let me know if you hear from Doiron.”

  Max pulled herself together and managed to hobble outside to the terrace. The fresh air was intoxicating despite the unseasonably warm October evening. She marveled at the stunning hillside as the sun sat low in the sky, assuring a spectacular sunset. The thought of a perfect film set entered her mind. After taking in the view a moment longer, she headed toward an empty chair off to one side. Once seated as comfortably as possible, she began perusing the myriad of guests milling about, sipping from their wine glasses, waiting for the colorful hue to disappear over the horizon.

  First, Max eyed the couple in the opposite corner and decided that given their age differences and their overly caressive moves, his companion was not his wife. There was another couple, each one holding a wine glass in one hand and a smartphone in the other. Little conversation was taking place. Definitely married, she thought. Two other couples were standing nearby chatting in English, but one couple spoke with French accents, the other with a German inflection. Standing next to the wall bordering the terrace stood a rather tall man by himself. He seemed to be looking out toward the vineyards. She was able to catch only a glimpse of his profile, but she couldn’t help wonder whether he was Maieli.

  Just then a young woman walked out onto the terrace carrying a tray of glasses and a bottle of wine to offer the guests refills or fresh glasses for the new arrivals. Following directly behind her was another tall, slender gentleman. Max tried not to stare, but she began to wonder whether he might be Maieli. As he walked over in her direction, she breathed in deeply to ready herself. But after closer inspection she concluded he was much younger, although he bore a resemblance to the fourth man in the faded photo Jax had emailed her—the one he found in the yearbook for École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne.

  “Signorina Ford, my name is Manuele Verdelli.”

  “How do you know who I am?” Max instinctively went on guard.

  Manuele realized that he must have startled his guest. He pointed to Max’s cast and smiled, quickly adding, “I’m the sales manager of Capannelle. I was the one who received the call from Major Stanton asking me to make the arrangements for your stay. I hope they’re satisfactory?”

  Max relaxed, forcing a smile. “Yes. I’ve already met Valentina; she’s charming. And thank you for the special accommodations.”

  “You’re most welcome, but it was Valentina who volunteered to help with your meals. But please don’t hesitate to let me know if there is anything else we can do to make you more comfortable.” Manuele nodded farewell and then left to circulate among the other guests.

  As soon he departed, the woman serving wine appeared. “Signorina, would you care for a glass of chardonnay?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  As the woman handed Max the glass of wine oohs and aahs began to emanate from the guests. They sun was about to set. Then as quickly as the pinkish-orange glow disappeared below the horizon, the guests and the woman dispersed as well. Max sat alone. No Maieli. Only a full glass of wine. She decided to steal the solitary moment, her first in days, to enjoy the fresh air, the refreshing beverage, and the reflective thoughts. The time appeared to drift by seamlessly until she glanced at her watch. After one last sip of her wine, Max edged herself out of the chair and shuffled back to the main house. She would, regrettably, have to wait for another chance to meet Maieli.

  When Max entered the living room, Valentina promptly appeared around the corner with a tray. “Tonight I can offer you tagliatelle Bolognese,” she announced in a chipper voice. “Then perhaps a grilled chicken breast with rosemary and roasted potatoes?”

  Max suspected it was a rhetorical question. But she was more than happy with the selection, given her last meal was a horrid array of breakfast foods on the flight over. “It sounds delish. Valentina, I know you are giving up time to take care of me. I really do appreciate the attentive service.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Signorina. I’ll leave you with a glass of our chardonnay and some parmigiano to start. With your meal I will pour an exceptional 2010 Chianti I hope you will enjoy.” Valentina placed the tray of cheese and the glass of wine on the table and then left to prepare dinner.

  Max sipped the wine and picked at the cheese as she thought You gotta love Italians. They don’t ask if you want wine. They simply describe the wine they are serving. I could get used to this lifestyle. Promptly at seven o’clock her dinner was delivered. Without difficulty, the sumptuous meal and additional glass of wine went down easily, but Max soon found herself fighting to keep awake. She gladly called it a night, wanting to be rested and ready to scan the guests once again at breakfast. She needed to find Antonio Maieli—and soon.

  Chapter 27

  COLORE DEL SOLE

  Max took her first whack at trying to get ready by herself, including her first shower in days. As anticipated, it took longer than usual but she managed. She had hoped to spot Maieli at breakfast and decided to take the time needed not to look like a war casualty. The fact that she was famished helped to move things along. After one last glance in the mirror she readied herself and headed off on her mission.

  When Max walked through the tasting room she eyed an empty seat at the end of the enormous table in the adjacent dining room. Valentina had explained earlier that the 17th-century convent table was precisely 20 feet long. That morning it was beautifully laid out with place settings for each of the guests. Max was somewhat dismayed to discover that many had already eaten and departed. But a few remained. Preoccupied as she scanned the remaining guests, she neglected to see the one step going into the room. One of her crutches hit at the wrong angle and she began to stumble forward. Fortunately, one of the guests swooped in and caught her before she was about to land on all fours.

  “Signorina, are you okay?” t
he gentleman asked with a mild Italian accent.

  “Yes, yes, thank you. I’m still getting accustomed to these wretched things.” Max held up the guilty crutch, signaling the incident as no big deal. “Please don’t let me disturb you,” she said, giving the kind gentleman a way out.

  “Va bene, ciao,” he said and returned to his seat at the table.

  Could that be Antonio Maieli? Then she noticed two other gentlemen seated at the opposite end of the table, one looking vaguely familiar. She managed to ease into her chair and then focused on the two of them. Fortunately, she was not too far from earshot. Minutes later Giuliana the chef arrived to take Max’s breakfast order. After responding “yes” to almost everything that was offered, Max sat back and sipped her coffee. Trying to be unobtrusive, she managed to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place at the end of the table.

  When Giuliana returned with an assortment of fruits and pastries, Max whispered, “Excuse me, but I’ve forgotten that gentleman’s name?”

  “Si, Signore Antonio Di Stefano,” she replied.

  “Yes, of course, Di Stefano. And the gentleman he is with?”

  “Simone Monciatti, il enologist.”

  “Ah, your winemaker. Thank you.”

  Giuliana retreated to the kitchen, thinking nothing of the guest’s inquisitiveness.

  Max’s interest, however, was piqued straightaway. Continuing to appear disinterested, she only heard sporadic statements as she listened in on their conversation. But she clearly heard Simone say something about cambiando il colore del sole. Relying on her rusty Spanish and knowing that many words were similar in Italian, Max concluded that they were talking about the color of the sun changing. Just my luck. They both happen to be speaking fluent Italian.