The Emissary

by Patricia Cori

  He snapped his fingers at her dismissively, and ordered her to go get him a cup of coffee. She did her best to eavesdrop as she closed the door behind her, lingering just a moment more than she needed to, in the hallway outside his office, listening in on Mat’s side of the conversation.

  Jamie said, “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Anderson, but I can’t even get a flight to Sydney at the moment, much less Houston. Not sure you’re getting my drift, here. I seem to be stuck down here for the time being.”

  “I sure am. But I think you’re missing my drift. I don’t fly commercial myself, can’t be bothered,” he replied. “I can have the company jet on its way within hours. Painless. You’ll have the whole plane and crew to yourself, VIP all the way. All I’m asking from you is a chance to talk to you about a little business proposal I have in mind. Now how in the world can you say ‘no’ to that, Miss Jamie? How can you say ‘no’ to that?”

  Jamie just stood there, speechless.

  He waited for a reply. “Miss Hastings, I am not a man who gives up easily.”

  As she listened to the tempting offer from the Oil Man on one ear, on the other she was still being bombarded by the irritating, repeating recording, which kept drumming home the automaton message that no human being was available to help her get on a flight home. How hard a choice was this to make: praying to get squeezed into a seat on some oversold transpacific flight back home, or flying home on a luxurious private corporate jet, like royalty, with a quick detour through Texas? She rested the phone connected to the airline on the end table. The voice of the recording kept repeating the message, “Your call will be answered by the next available agent,” but it never was.

  “Let me guess,” she told Mat, “you heard of my work in Lahore, right?”

  “Yes, yes, I have. It’s clearly something I find extraordinarily interesting; I won’t be tryin’ to hide that for a minute. But it’s a whole lot more than that, I assure you. I just need a chance to talk to you in person. That’s what I’m asking for. That’s all I’m asking you for at this moment.”

  “Mr. Anderson, I have got to be in San Francisco by Wednesday. Can you make that happen?”

  Mat grinned. “Can I? Miss Jamie, all I need is just a few hours of your time and then I’ll fly you anywhere you need to go—door-to-door—first class all the way. You sure as hell do have my word on that.”

  Jamie took the other phone to her other ear for a last time—still the recording droned on. She slammed it down in frustration. “Okay, Mat Anderson, your offer is gratefully accepted.” How could she refuse? Jamie figured if he was willing to spend the kind of money it would take to get the company’s plane all the way down to New Zealand to pick her up, surely she could at least give him a few hours of her time, and do dinner.

  “Now that is the answer I was hoping for! That is right friendly of you, Miss Jamie. I am putting things into motion as we speak. You just lie back and wait for my secretary to call you, in the next hour or so, with all the details. Have a drink on me in the meantime,” he said, “and when you wake up tomorrow, we will be there.”

  Louise came in with his coffee, and Mat instructed her to get his flight captain on the line—pronto.

  “Alrighty—I’ve got a plane to get moving, so I’m signing off for now,” he said. “And please—call me Mat. I like to be on a first-name basis with my business partners.”

  “Whoa, Mat. I’m not agreeing to anything more than your very generous flight home and dinner,” she said, cautiously. “But, I will admit … you’ve certainly got my curiosity. I’ll be there, with an open mind,” Jamie replied, and then she fell back onto the bed, tired but relieved, letting herself be taken to this appointment with destiny, in style, and knowing, at the very core level, that it was going to be important.

  “That’s all I’m asking,” Mat said, his voice trailing off with orders for his secretary, as he cut the call.

  After she hung up with Mat, she asked for clarity about what he was all about and what he really wanted from her. In her mind’s eye, all she could see was whales swimming everywhere around her—singing their haunting melodies and calling out, like sirens to ancient mariners, for help. It was clear that whatever was unfolding had to do with them, and that her new mission, which seemed to be managed from a higher plane, had some reason to detour through Dixieland on her way home.

  While packing up the last of the last of her vacation, Jamie heard from Mat’s secretary, who confirmed all the coordinates of her journey. The limousine would be there for her at 1:00 p.m. the next day. She would be driven to the airport in Christchurch, a short ride from the resort, where she would board at a private terminal. Upon arrival in Houston, she would be escorted to the company’s presidential suite at the Four Seasons Hotel, where she would be met by Mr. Anderson for dinner at 7:00 p.m., and then flown by private jet to San Francisco the following morning.

  “Mr. Anderson’s personal chef will be serving you on board,” Louise said. “Do you have any special food preferences?”

  Jamie grinned. This had to be some kind of proposal to be getting such red carpet treatment: something really huge. “I’m a vegetarian,” she replied.

  “I will convey that to our chef, thank you,” Louise replied, officiously, adding, “We look forward to hosting you in Houston.”

  Louise hung up with Jamie and then sent a text message to the chef to prepare a strictly vegetarian menu aboard the flight. “What’s with San Francisco?” Louise pondered, “… all those burned-out hippies. Damned vegetarian do-gooders … they think they’re gonna fix the world by not eatin’ a hamburger?” She pulled an emery board out of the desk drawer and retouched one of her pearl pink lacquered nails, filing the chipped edge. “Good Lordy! Who the hell is this bimbo, anyway, and what has that man got in mind now?”

  Jamie luxuriated in the presidential cabin aboard USOIL’s extraordinary private jet like a diva—loving every minute of it, but wondering where the strings were attached. She was well aware of the chimera of wealth, and how easily one could become lost in pursuit of castles in the sky, and here she was … soaring over the Pacific Ocean in one. Sipping a glass of vintage Dom Pérignon, she giggled at the thought of it, reminding herself to keep a clear head, stay objective, and exercise caution when she touched ground. She had only committed to hearing Mat Anderson’s proposal—nothing more, nothing less—and then she was heading home to get to work for the whales and dolphins.

  She took another sip of champagne and then lay back drowsily into the plush pillows, dozing off—thoughts of them guiding her way into the dreamtime. Deep in slumber—flying above and away from the tragic hour of their death—she dreamed her way back to the beach, where she was lying up close to the great mother whale. They were so close, she could feel her heart beating, pulsing through Jamie’s sleeping body, and then, slowly failing, like the last ticking of a clock, unwound.

  As she and the whale gazed into each other’s eyes anew, a voice spoke out, ringing clear and powerful through the dreamscape. “Help us,” the whale was saying, “before we leave you.”

  And then, there was silence—cold and lifeless, like long, icy shadows cast of the hollow light of winter—calling her back from the dream.

  Jamie awoke with a lingering sense of grief and emotion that bridged the sleeping brain to her conscious mind, pervading the waking process, but from it she gleaned a clear idea of what she had to do. She was going home to set up a foundation for psychic investigation into what was causing the Cetaceans to die in mass suicides, like the one she had just lived through.

  How could Earth, the great mother to all living beings here, be so cruel as to trick her mightiest into beaching themselves on her shores, where certain death awaited them? Why would the all-powerful, living oceans cast their gentle giants out and then pull back their great tides, empty-handed, unwilling to carry the mighty whales safely home, into the womb of the deep? What other forces were at play? Where was the disconnect?

  How could there
be Divine Order in such a travesty of nature?

  These were the questions that tormented Jamie’s soul, and yet they served as clear pathways to answers she needed to find. Somehow, she reckoned, Mat Anderson and his big project had to figure, on the way to that truth. Big Oil, ocean ecology, and whale protection—what an unlikely trinity. How possibly could either one of them make that improbable combination work to fit the interests of the whole? She was intrigued at the thought there might be a way, but deep down inside, at the gut level, she knew that there was something truly “bad news” about this Mat character: something deep and dark and ugly, hidden behind the facade.

  5

  Oil and Water

  The presidential suite at the hotel was luxury in overdrive—pure, understated elegance. Mat Anderson clearly knew how to make a statement, about this Jamie had no doubt whatsoever. He was proving himself to be the king of Southern hospitality, and he definitely lived up to his promise of pure VIP treatment, door-to-door. She was duly impressed.

  A most exquisite bouquet of her favorite flowers—irises, baby pink roses, and daffodils—filled the dining room table with her colors: the colors of Spring. How he could have known these were her absolutely favorite flowers she didn’t know … but she was sure it was no accident.

  The refined decor smacked of old money and had a distinctive male feel to it, with its dark leather couches and high-end rustic antique furniture. Everything was exquisite—and expensive. A subtle scent of sweet tobacco permeated the lounge—no doubt emanating from the suite’s own cigar room, off the living room. All things considered, the men of the world were still, primarily, the ones holding the big money strings. Surely a few sheiks and their entourages had been hosted there before her. She knew that opulence was all part of the OPEC theater, and laying it on was part of the deal-making game, in which all the key players were constantly trying to outdo each other. The stakes were too high not to. She was not the least bit interested in getting caught up in it, but it was undeniably pleasant enjoying a taste of it—Texas style.

  Within minutes of being escorted to the suite, the phone rang. It was Louise, calling to formalize Jamie’s arrival at the hotel and officially welcoming her, on the part of her boss.

  Jamie thanked her, as she fumbled with her purse, trying to tip the bellman. He refused, politely, and closed the door behind him. Tips, extras, flowers: USOIL saw to all the details.

  “You’ve got the whole day to enjoy the spa if you like … everything is already signed to the room, so you just enjoy yourself. It’s all been arranged for you.” It was clear that Louise managed all the VIP hospitality details for Mat. “I took the liberty of scheduling you in for a hot stone massage at noon. The spa is always booked up in advance.”

  Jamie was a bit overwhelmed, having not even had a chance to set her bag down. “Oh, okay, thanks,” she replied. “I think I can make that!”

  “It’s just a miracle to get someone in at the last minute, but you just let them know if y’all are not up for it.”

  Jamie thanked Louise for the gesture and assured her she would definitely not cancel.

  “Mr. Anderson will be there for you at seven this evening to escort you to dinner. Enjoy your day!” Louise said, attempting to sound cheery and efficient, but the sharpness of her resentment and a touch of pure female jealousy clipped her words just enough for Jamie to know she was not that welcome at all.

  At 7:00 p.m. sharp, Jamie stepped out of the elevator, looking poised and relaxed, after a day of self-indulgent spa treatments at Houston’s finest. She cut such a striking figure, her unpretentious beauty radiating light around her—a rare and indefinable essence that simply commanded attention whenever she entered a room. More than her physical beauty was this mystical quality about her, as if she were aglow from the inside out. Her eyes, warm and embracing, were like lighthouses, in a sea of vacuous faces passing in the night. Her presence was disarming and she had this very magical quality about her. Everywhere she went, people noticed—both men and women alike.

  Even though she’d never before set eyes on him, Jamie walked right up to Mat, who was at the front desk, on the house phone. He had his back to her, yet she intuitively knew it was he. He could feel a presence from across the room but, when he turned to see who was approaching, he was amazed to see Jamie walking straight towards him. It was not that often that someone could catch him off guard. In fact, it was just about next to impossible.

  “Mat Anderson?” she asked, stretching her hand out to greet him.

  Mat was visibly taken aback. “Well now, that is impressive, I have to say.” They shook hands. “I mean, wowee. I guess there aren’t too many women who can walk up to strange men in hotels like you can.” He bit his lip, knowing how the comment could easily have been interpreted as a real insult and he hadn’t meant it to be. “What I mean is, it must be nice bein’ able to just cut through formalities and all that.”

  “It is,” Jamie said, feeling quietly pleased that she had managed to catch him with his guard down, and fumbling. It was a great way to begin the evening’s negotiations, which were bound to be forthcoming, sometime closer to cocktails than dinner.

  “Well, then, let’s have a drink to no formalities between us,” he said, motioning towards the restaurant. “I actually reserved dinner here tonight—it’s one of my favorite places … best Italian food in town, and I know the chef personally.” He placed his hand gently on Jamie’s back and guided her towards the restaurant entrance, where the maitre d’ welcomed him by name and immediately escorted them to a private dining room.

  As they were being seated, Mat said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t ever talk business in a crowded room. The walls have ears … I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

  Jamie was thinking, “Oh, honey, if only you knew!”

  He waved over the waiter. “A bottle of your finest.” He then turned his attention to Jamie. “I want to thank you for accepting my invitation, for starters.”

  Jamie thanked him back. In all fairness, he was the one jumping through all the hoops to make the meeting happen. All she’d done was to accept his more than gracious hospitality.

  The waiter returned with a bottle of vintage Cristal, popped the cork, and poured. Mat tasted the champagne, and nodded his approval, before the waiter poured for Jamie. He set the bottle in the ice bucket, and walked away, discreetly.

  Mat proposed a toast to their “mutually beneficial union,” and the conversation was off and running.

  “I hope my crew took good care of you on the way over.”

  “I almost didn’t want to get off the plane,” she replied. “Thank you, Mat. That was a very generous thing to do.”

  “That’s fine. My pleasure. We aim to please.” He took his cell phone from his pocket, opened the back casing, and removed the battery before placing it on the table in front of him. “So I guess by now you have fully understood that I have something very important I need to discuss with you.”

  “I guess!” Jamie answered, sipping the world’s finest champagne from a beautiful Waterford cut crystal flute. One thing was certain—whatever he planned to talk about, he definitely did not want anyone else in on it.

  “I’m not good at small talk, so excuse me if I cut right to it here. I have got to tell you, Miss Jamie, I have never in my life heard of anything like what you did for them Pakis, out there in the desert. I could barely believe it when I first heard about it—when I was, shall we say, investigating y’all.”

  Jamie sat back in her chair, placing her glass back down on the table, feeling suddenly defensive. “And to what do I owe the honor of being investigated by the CEO of USOIL, Mr. Mat?”

  “Hell’s bells, lady … finding three wells out there in the desert—that makes you an extremely valuable commodity. Extremely valuable. I can’t understand at all how you did it, and I can’t even understand how you managed to walk away from it!” Mat raised his glass. “Here’s to you, Jamie Hastings! You have g
ot to be some kind of remarkable.”

  Jamie raised a glass back. “Cheers to you, my curious and generous host.” Inside, she was thinking, “Good god. Oil, oil, oil. Where will it all end?”

  “You just have the most remarkable track record—it’s some story to a guy like me,” he said. “Why, you have actually made me a believer, and that is no easy feat, let me tell you.”

  Guarded, Jamie simply said, “Thank you.” Listening to Mat and watching his body language, she couldn’t help comparing him to the bumbling George Bush Jr., reminding herself that under the clownish veneer that he presented to the world, Bush was a ruthless oil man himself—all of them members of the same “club elite.” Maybe some giant machine just cut and pasted them all out of the same mold.

  “But wow … three wells out there in Pakistan. That is just this side of unbelievable! How in the hell did you manage to get out of there, once you struck gold for those greedy bastards?”

  Jamie was becoming annoyed with Mat’s probing and the emerging racist edge to his talk. “After locating that first site, I was asked to stay and, to my client’s utter amazement, I found another two.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “And they just let you go?”

  “What a strange question—of course they ‘let’ me go. I finished what I had gone to do and left. Why would that surprise you?”

  Mat realized he was pushing, and that she already had her back up. “Sorry—I do have experience with my colleagues over there. I just find it surprising that they let you slip out of their hands like that.”

  She felt uncomfortable at the idea that he would even think she could be held against her will. “Well, for starters, the psychic faculty can’t be forced. They knew that I was tapped out, after finding those sites, and I can tell you that they were more than satisfied with what they got.”

  “Well, they sure as hell should have been, with three brand-new wells to pump—man oh man! That is utterly out of this world.”