“But a blog isn’t a news story,” Jon said a bit halfheartedly.
“Of course not. But most readers don’t care much anymore. If you’re transparent, that’s what matters. They only want to know the motives and agenda behind a story. They want to know that it’s a real effort, not propaganda.”
A door slammed behind them. Kirk Baldwin and one of the ship’s crew members came toward them. The wind was starting to pick up.
“Captain says we need to get inside,” Kirk told them. “A storm’s coming on. The winds could be strong, like hurricane force.”
“Seriously?” Jon asked. “Will we still get to the site in the morning?”
Kirk nodded. “He says we will. They’re not planning to stop. There’s no point sitting out here when the winds hit. We might as well keep moving forward, cutting ice as we go.”
Jon squinted out over the deck of the cutter. It was now so dark that they could barely see each other in the dim light from the deck. “You know, that’s one of the things I want to get into when we get to the spill site. I mean, look at this weather—high winds, ice everywhere, pitch-black dark at night earlier and earlier as we head into winter . . .”
“Not to mention that no one knows what oil does to the species like beluga whales that mostly hang out in the Arctic and have never had to contend with oil in their water,” Sean added. “And what that then does to the rest of the food web.”
“Right, there’s the food web question we haven’t answered yet,” Jon said.
“And don’t forget the methane hydrates everyone is all gung ho to start drilling for here in the Arctic and a few other places. If we thought oil spills were bad, imagine what might happen if you guess wrong about that sort of drilling.”
“Exactly! And what happens when one of those massive hurricanes comes rolling through here right about the time the oil spill occurs—”
Kirk held up a hand as if he was sure this could go on all night if he didn’t step in. “Careful.” He laughed. “Doesn’t sound like you’re being an objective reporter here. There’s that 200-page oil spill and restoration manual that the Arctic Council put out before the eight countries in it gave the big ol’ thumbs-up to deepwater exploration in the Arctic—”
“Which is a worthless piece of you-know-what.” Jon scowled. “Booms and skimmers don’t work in ice. And if I’m not mistaken, I’m seeing and hearing a whole bunch of ice all around us. Plus don’t forget what happens when oil gets up under the ice as it forms.”
“No, Jon, tell us,” Kirk said wryly.
“It just hangs there! You can’t get at it. You can’t recover it. Seriously, it could be years and years before anyone gets at any of that type of spilled oil. Who the heck knows where it might go, how much of each marine species it might kill in a pristine environment that’s never had to absorb this sort of toxic shock to the ecosystem? I mean, come on! Didn’t anyone think this stuff through beforehand?”
Sean reached out and gave his friend a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t get all wound up, Jon. We aren’t even there yet. You’ve got miles to go and lots of notebooks to fill up before getting to all that. So let’s move inside. Tomorrow will be a big day.”
That night Sean shot an email to Elizabeth:
On my way. What a weird mix we are. A reporter, a die-hard Green Justicer, and me—whatever I am. ETA, don’t know.
He worried when he didn’t get a response, even hours later. Then he shook it off. Of course Elizabeth would be head over heels into her project.
NEW YORK CITY
Sometimes he wondered if he was going crazy. The guy had said he’d get paid for the gig, right?
And he was bad off. He needed some meds.
He’d been scared of his shadow ever since the bombing was announced. Sure, he’d done some crazy and bad things in his life, but he’d never bombed anybody before.
But you didn’t know what was in that backpack, he told himself.
Yeah, right, like anybody would believe you.
He needed to disappear—get out of the city.
But first he needed that money.
29
Will couldn’t get the Polar Bear Bomber or his suspicions out of his mind. So he mentioned them to Laura.
“Mmm,” she said, “you’ve got a point there. But that would mean . . .” She drew in a breath.
“Yes, that Sandstrom and his cronies committed a criminal act to try to save his hide. I’m not a fan of Sandstrom’s, but I still can’t imagine him going that far.”
She lifted a dark eyebrow. “Seriously? You’ve never seen anybody make a bad decision when they were squeezed?”
He sighed. “You’re right, as usual. I’ve seen even really good people cave under pressure and do things they’d never normally do.” He gazed unseeing at the wall.
“Speaking of things people would never normally do . . .”
He jerked his head toward her. She frowned at him with that you-better-pay-attention look. “What do you mean?”
“Right before you got home, your mom called. She was definitely not herself. Went on and on about what your dad was saying . . . about Kiki trying to talk you into running.”
“Dad called me too. I didn’t tell him, but the word still got around somehow. Dad knows everybody. He insisted again it was time to take the bull by the horns and turn the country around, and that I was the one to do it.” Will scratched his head in frustration. “I told him Kiki and I had just talked. Nothing else.”
“Well, your mom seems to think it’s a done deal. And she seemed really worried. There was a tone I’ve never heard in her voice. Worry for you, yes, but something more. Fear, maybe?”
“Why would Mom be afraid of me making a run in politics?” Will asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m only telling you what I heard. Something’s up. And I aim to find out.”
Now he chuckled. “Good luck with that. Mom married into the Worthington family. She’s a keeper of more secrets in the highest levels of society than you could ever imagine. You won’t be able to worm anything out of her until she’s ready to give it up.”
“Maybe not,” Laura said with a determined tilt of her chin. “But I certainly plan to try.”
30
THE ARCTIC OCEAN
The bright sunshine was deceiving. The night had been bitterly cold, and the wind was fast approaching hurricane strength. The captain of the Russian cutter ordered everyone to stay off the deck while he navigated his way through the last remaining miles to the American Frontier platform.
Sean and Kirk sat in the mess hall while the ship made its final approach. The wind still howled outside the ship, but at least the grating crunching of ice had gone away as they’d managed to sail into ice-free waters. Now they were moving along at a decent clip.
“Should we be nervous?” Sean asked. He hadn’t been able to sleep during the night. It wasn’t that he was worried. It was exactly the opposite. He felt a bit like a pirate—ready for a fight, though what that would look like was anyone’s guess. “Do you think anyone will approach us?”
“Who would that be?” Kirk asked.
“Don’t they have a Navy ship out here?”
“Yeah, and what might they object to?”
“Stop answering my questions with another question!” Sean shot back.
“And why—oh, never mind.” Kirk grinned. “Seriously, though, I can’t imagine why anyone would keep us away from the platform.”
“Maybe because we have no reason to be here?” Sean threw in.
“We may not have any reason, but we certainly have a right.”
The mess door slammed open, and Jon stuck his head in. “We’ve got company,” he said, out of breath. “I was up on deck. That cutter—the Navy ship—is headed our way.”
Kirk bolted from his seat. Sean wasn’t far behind.
They took the stairs to the deck three at a time. Half the sailors and the captain were out on deck when they got there.
<
br /> “Whoa,” Jon exclaimed as they spotted the USS Cantor. “I’ve been on the Healy, the ship the Coast Guard operates on behalf of NSF. But this?” His eyes widened. “It’s gotta be three times bigger than that.”
Kirk whistled. “Looks like it can cut through even the thickest ice too.”
Both the Russian ship and the USS Cantor slowed their engines as they approached each other and then came to a halt 100 feet or so apart.
Sean peered out over the horizon, trying to spot the American Frontier platform. But they were clearly some distance from it, because all he could see was water and floating chunks of ice in front of them.
“Wow, that’s a mother of a ship,” Kirk whispered to Sean and Jon. The Russian crew shuffled uneasily on the deck. To Sean, this had the feel of a confrontation. The Navy ship had clearly positioned itself in their path. But what did it mean?
Everyone stood awkwardly on the deck of the Russian ship for what seemed like an eternity. All waited for something—a signal about what kind of play was about to happen. From his vantage point, Sean could see that the crew aboard the Cantor was also mostly standing around waiting.
“Maybe they don’t have our mobile number,” Sean joked.
Jon kept his gaze focused on the Cantor. “They have it. My guess is that they’re waiting to see if we’re going to try to move past them, and then they’ll react. If we just sit here, they might simply wait as well.”
“Well, that seems silly,” Sean said. “Not to mention a big time waster.”
He could have dealt easily with yelling and chaos on both sides. After all, he was used to being in the middle of the standoffs and wars between his big brother and little sister. He’d somehow become the family peacemaker over the years. But this? Nothing was happening. The two ships were merely staring each other down. Neither side had stated their position verbally, so there was nothing to mediate. No decision to reach. Nowhere to go. Talk about frustrating.
“Look at it from their perspective,” Jon reasoned. “We’re in international waters. This is a Russian-flagged ship. The Russians have as much right to sail these waters as the Americans. It’s not like they’re going to stop us if we choose to go by, or fire a shot across our bow, so to speak.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Sean asked. “Let’s tell the captain to move.”
“No!” Kirk said forcefully. “Not now—not yet. We don’t want to provoke an international incident if we don’t have to.”
“So what then?” Sean crossed his arms and leaned on the ship’s railing.
Kirk didn’t say anything further. He turned and walked over to the captain. They talked briefly, then left for the comm center. When Kirk returned about five minutes later, he wore a grim expression.
“I think we’re at a standoff for the time being,” he announced to Sean and Jon. “I had the captain call them, explain that we were here not under a Russian flag but as part of a research mission for a US-based nonprofit organization. The captain told them of our intention to sail to the site of the spill for research purposes.”
“Great,” Sean said. “So why aren’t we moving in that direction?”
“Because,” Kirk answered, “they then told us that they were operating under the parameters outlined in the Arctic Council oil spill recovery plan. Until they’d secured the safety of the area, no other ships were allowed in. That recovery plan, he told our captain, carried the full force and weight of the eight signatory nations on the Arctic Council, and Russia is one of those. The Cantor captain said we could get by only if one of the eight nations granted us permission to sail on and join in the recovery efforts, even if it was only for research. Otherwise, no go. Boys, we need to round up a letter of permission from one of those eight countries. Otherwise, the Cantor is going to hold us here—for our own safety, they say.”
“Safety!” Sean almost shouted. “There’s no safety problem, except maybe to the marine life in the area.”
Kirk exhaled heavily. “Maybe so, but there’s not much we can do about it at this point. We need a letter from someone. Any ideas?”
“Don’t look at me.” Jon shook his head. “I’m just a reporter.”
Sean really hated this kind of regulatory game playing. But if there was one thing he’d learned in life, it was that sometimes you had to play within the rules—up to a point.
That night Sean emailed Elizabeth.
It’s the standoff at the O.K. Corral. We’re simply standing here facing each other with guns drawn, and nobody will let us in the saloon.
I really, really hate Westerns. Especially when they happen in real life.
31
NEW YORK CITY
It certainly helped to have connections in high places, Will mused the next morning. And Drew was the king of that. This time his information came from the highest of circles in the NSA.
“Know that Fact Sheet President Rich put out about the AF oil spill?” Drew said over the phone. “Well, he’d hoped it had at least some semblance of the truth, especially since Sandstrom had contributed heavily to his presidential campaign. Word is, though, the president was not in a good mood when he got off the phone with Sandstrom, who’s still in the Arctic. The spill isn’t contained, and they can’t even identify where all the oil is coming from. Top that off with a winter storm moving into the area . . .”
“Of course, we already knew some of that from Sean,” Will replied.
Drew laughed softly. “Let’s just say I bet President Rich wishes he could replay the day the CEQ warned him against allowing any sort of deep drilling in the Arctic until we had better oil recovery and containment options. He brushed them off. Now this mess is going to haunt him all the way through his reelection.”
“Unless, of course, he makes it someone else’s problem.”
“You got it,” Drew said. “Seems there are only two good things about the whole situation. One—the platform hasn’t fallen into the ocean yet. And two—unlike BP, there are no deaths . . . at least not yet.”
“So what’s Sandstrom’s next move?”
“He and the White House have to convince the public that the spill can be contained and managed and it’s not really a big deal. So they’re going to make a big show of either fixing the subsea structure or capping the well, recovering the oil, and providing help and money for any Inuit villages that suffered a bit of hardship from the spill.”
Will blew out an exasperated breath. “You and I both know that spilled oil isn’t something anyone can do anything about. So you’re saying the real battle isn’t the oil cleanup. It’s a public relations one.”
“That’s what I’m saying. It’s a brilliant, tough, risky ploy, but if there are no eyewitnesses, it’ll work. It isn’t like the media is going to fly up to the Arctic and report from the scene of the crime, so to speak.”
Will had to admit, Sandstrom’s crazy genius made a lot of sense.
“But here’s the sticky part,” Drew said. “Sandstrom told the president that there was a fly in the ointment. That one of the Worthingtons—the one who’s on the board of directors for a bunch of the greenies—was on board the Green Justice ship that’s now facing off with AF in the Arctic. Not only that, but the Worthingtons paid for it.”
Once again Sean had put himself in the middle of a disaster waiting to happen. Will hadn’t heard from him yet about the face-off.
Drew continued. “The president wanted to know how that squared with the Worthingtons’ shares in AF . . . and in your interest in Sandstrom’s job.”
So what Drew predicted—the drawing of the Worthington siblings in to the line of fire—was already happening.
“That’s just the press spinning their usual guesses. Not really—”
“The truth isn’t what matters here,” Drew said. “It’s what people believe based on what the press says. Anyway, Sandstrom gave you a compliment. He said you were mostly a straight shooter but a bit too aggressive for his tastes. He’s worried that your efforts to come
after him will gain some traction. If they do, he said, and I quote”—there was a sudden rustling of papers in the background— “‘Then I’ll have to make some moves I already have in motion.’”
Will frowned. “What moves? Did he say?”
“No. But he said something rather odd. That the Worthingtons have never exactly been able to control Sean. That he’s a bit mysterious and does his own thing. And that it’s going to get him in trouble one of these days, like maybe right now. ‘We’re monitoring that situation closely,’ Sandstrom said.”
What does that mean? Will’s thoughts raced. If his brother was in the middle of the Arctic, in an explosive situation because Sandstrom was worried about Will taking over his job . . .
“You know our family has never been especially political. We haven’t made a run for the White House in six generations,” Will said. “And nobody’s ever made a bid in New York.”
“Yes, but with your wealth and connections, you could be formidable if you ever engaged in any meaningful way, either financially or as a candidate yourself.” Drew laughed. “President Rich just told Sandstrom in a not-so-nice tone to let sleeping dogs lie—in this case, the Kennedys, he said.”
It wasn’t the first time anyone had compared the Worthingtons to the Kennedys. Will brushed the comment off. He was used to it by now.
“Sandstrom clearly thinks he’s got the situation covered, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said the Green Justice ship can’t get anywhere close to the platform or the spill without a letter from one of the eight nations that are part of the Arctic Council and signed the oil spill recovery plan. As of right now, the council has authorized the American military to keep the site secure. So no ships except AF’s are getting anywhere near the spill, at least for the foreseeable future. Especially since Sandstrom claimed direct access through AF’s government and regulatory relations office to every member of the council.”
A Perfect Ambition Page 14