Max had lost all hope of making anybody see reason. To him, Adam Sky and his people, who had once seemed so rational, had been transformed into a band of fanatics who were ruled by ghosts of lost battles and ancient hatreds. The prospect of telling a federal court and a police force to kiss off was utterly foreign to Max’s nature.
Walker seemed cheerful enough when they caught up with him.
“Chairman,” April said with her voice fluttering, “don’t do this. You can stop it.”
Walker smiled warmly at her. “Are you still here?” he asked.
The wind ripped across the escarpment and hammered against the building. “We don’t want to leave you here.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” he said. “But you can’t stay.” The exchange caused Max’s pulse to miss a beat. He had no intention of getting caught in the crossfire.
“There’s no reason to do this,” April said. “It won’t change the result.”
Walker stared at her. “Don’t be too sure.” He looked away, up at the moon, which was in its third quarter, and then out over the river valley, dark except for the distant pools of light at Fort Moxie and its border station.
“You can fight this in the courts,” said Max. “I would think you’d have a good chance of getting it back. But if you put up an armed resistance—”
Something in the old man’s eyes brought Max to a stop.
“What?” said April. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“I have no idea what you mean, young lady.” But he couldn’t quite get the coyness out of his voice.
“What?” she said. “You’ve got the place mined? What is it?”
The helicopter was back. It rolled across the center of the escarpment.
Walker looked at his watch.
“The rational way is through the courts,” she said. “Why aren’t you going through the courts?”
The question hit home, and Walker simply waved it away. He didn’t want to talk anymore. Wanted her to leave.
“Why?” she asked. “Why won’t the courts work? You think the fix is in? Something else?”
“Please go, April,” he said. “I wish there were a better way.”
April’s eyes widened. “You think they’re going to destroy it, don’t you? You don’t think the courts would be able to hand it back.”
The chairman stared past her, his eyes fixed on the sky. Then he turned on his heel and walked out the door.
“My God,” she said. “That can’t be right. They wouldn’t do that.”
But they would have to. As long as people believed the advanced technologies existed, that they could eventually surface, they would continue to work their baleful effects on the world at large. There was only one way to neutralize the Roundhouse.
“I think,” said Max, “he’s right. It’s time for us to clear out.”
April stood hesitating, dismayed. Terrified. “No,” she said. “I don’t think it is.”
Max’s heart sank.
“I’m not going,” she said. “I’m not going to let it happen.”
Brian Kautter was the commissioner of the Environmental Protection Agency. At eight-thirty, tracked by TV cameras, he walked into the agency’s press room. There was more tension in the air and more reporters present than he had ever seen. That meant there had been a leak.
Kautter was a tall, congenial African-American. He hated what was happening right now, and he resented being part of it. He saw the necessity of the president’s action. But he knew this was one of those events that would dog him through the years. He suspected a time would come, and very soon, when he would wish with all his heart for the capability to come back and relive these next few minutes.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I have an announcement to make, after which I will be happy to take questions. We have become increasingly concerned with the dangers inherent in the Roundhouse. Your government, as you know, has taken no official position on whether there actually is a bridge to the stars. But enough evidence is in to allow us to conclude that the land on the other side is most certainly not terrestrial.
“That brings up a number of disquieting possibilities. There are already stories that something has passed into our world. We do not know what this something might be, nor do we believe there is any truth to the account. But we cannot rule it out. Nor can we be certain that such an event might not happen in the future. There are other potential hazards. Viruses, for example. Or contaminants.
“In order to ensure the general public’s safety, EPA has requested and received a court order requiring the owners of the artifact to submit it to government inspection and control. I repeat, this is only a temporary measure and is designed purely to avert local hazards.” Kautter looked like a man in pain. “I’ll take questions now.”
Maris Quimby from the Post: “Mr. Commissioner, have the Sioux agreed to this arrangement?”
Kautter shook his head. “Maris, a federal court order does not require anyone’s consent. But to answer your question, I’m sure they’ll see the wisdom of the action.” He pointed at Hank Miller, from Fox.
“Isn’t it a little late to worry about bugs? I mean, if there’s anything dangerous over there, we can be reasonably sure that by now it’s over here.”
“We don’t think there’s any real reason to worry, Hank. Our action in this regard is purely precautionary.”
When he was finished, he went back upstairs to his office and opened the bottle of rum he kept stashed in his supply cabinet.
30
Courage is worth nothing if the gods do not help.
—Euripides, The Suppliant Women
This is an NBC News flash.
U.S. Marshals have sealed off Johnson’s Ridge tonight, apparently preparing to seize the property. A group of Native Americans has announced they will not obey a federal court order to leave. We take you first to Michael Pateman at the White House, and then to Carole Jensen at the Sioux reservation near Devil’s Lake, North Dakota.
Jensen was set up inside the tribal chambers in the Blue Building, where she had cornered William Hawk. National coverage. When you worked for the ten o’clock news in Fargo, this was the moment you lived for. She smiled at Hawk and got no reaction.
“One minute,” said her cameraman, adjusting his focus.
“Just be natural, Councilman,” she said. “We’ll start when the red light goes on.”
“Okay.” He wore a cowhide vest, a flannel shirt, and a pair of faded jeans. She guessed he was about sixty, although his face was deeply lined.
The producer again, from Fargo: “Same routine as usual, Carole. Just like you’d do it for us. Except adjust the tag line.”
“Okay,” she said.
They were seconds away. The cameraman gave her five fingers, counted down, and the red lamp blinked on.
“This is Carole Jensen,” she said, “in the tribal chambers at the Devil’s Lake Sioux Reservation. With me tonight is Councilman William Hawk, one of the Sioux leaders. Councilman Hawk, I understand you saw the EPA press conference earlier this evening?”
“Yes, I did, Carole.” His jaw was set, but she could see pain in his eyes. She hoped it translated to the screen. Tragic nobility here.
“How do you respond to Commissioner Kautter’s remarks?”
“The commissioner should be aware there is no danger to anyone. No one has seen anything come through the port. And I’m sure nobody out there takes seriously the story of an invisible man. Or whatever.”
“Councilman, what will you do?”
His expression hardened. “We will not let them steal our land. It belongs to us, and we will defend it.”
“Does that mean by force?”
“If necessary. I hope it will not come to that.”
“You told me earlier that your daughter is on the ridge.”
“That is correct.”
“Will you bring her home?”
“She will stay with her brothers to defend her heritage.�
�� His leathery face was defiant.
“We don’t need you,” said Adam. “You and Max should get out now, while you can.”
“He’s right,” said Max. “We have no business here.”
April looked at him sadly. “I think everybody has business here. We’re too goddamn stupid or lazy or whatever to tackle the job of educating people, so instead we’ll destroy the Roundhouse. It just makes me furious. I’m not going anywhere. My place is here—”
“Can you shoot?” interrupted Adam. “Will you shoot?”
“No,” she said. “I won’t kill anybody. But I’ll be here anyhow.” She knew how disjointed and weak that sounded, and tears came.
“You’ll only be in the way.”
“If you want me out of here,” she told Adam, “you’ll have to throw me over the side.”
Max threw up his hands.
He was trying to begin the complex action of disengaging and heading for his car. Sometimes, he thought, it takes more guts to run than to stay. But he had no intention of throwing his life away for a lost cause. He was still thinking how best to manage it when Andrea joined them.
“There might be another way,” she told Adam. “We could threaten to destroy the port. Take it from them.”
“That’s no good,” he said. “That’s precisely what they want.”
“Maybe not,” said Max. “There’ll be a lot of media attention here tonight. It would be a public-relations nightmare for the administration.”
“It’s a public-relations nightmare,” said Adam, “only if we can broadcast the threat. We have no capability to do that.”
“You mean the Snowhawk is off the air?”
“Yes, she is,” said Andrea. “But I think it would put a lot of pressure on them to stay clear if we could find a way to get to the media.”
“No.” April’s voice took on steel. “You can’t threaten the port. The whole point of staying here is to protect the place.”
“We don’t actually have to destroy anything. It’s a bluff,” Andrea said.
“And that’s exactly how they’ll read it,” said Adam. “They would have to call us on it.” Lights were moving on the access road. “They’d have to.”
A phone rang. They looked at one another. It was coming from the control module. “I thought,” said Max, “the phones were dead.”
They had been standing at the rim of the cut in which the Roundhouse rested. “That’ll be an official call,” said April.
It was Max’s phone. April picked it up, listened, nodded. “Yes,” she said, “he’s here.” She handed it to Max.
“Hello,” he growled.
A female voice asked if he was Mr. Collingwood.
“Yes,” he said.
“Please hold for the president.”
Max froze. He stared at the others, and they stared back. “Who?” April asked, forming the word silently.
Then the familiar clipped voice with its Baltimore accent came on the phone. “Max?”
“Yes, Mr. President.” Eyes went wide all around.
“Max, are you in a place where the others can hear us?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Okay. I know you can put this on a speaker if you want. But it would be better if you didn’t. What I have to say is for you.”
His throat had gone dry. “Mr. President,” he said, “I am very glad to hear from you.”
“And I’m glad to have a chance to talk to you, son. Now listen, things are going to hell in the country. They’re a lot worse than you probably know about. People are losing their jobs, their savings, and God knows where it’s all going to end.”
“Because of the Roundhouse?”
“Because of the Roundhouse. Look, we don’t want to take anything away from the Indians. You know that. The country knows it. But people are scared right now, and we have to get that thing up there under control. We will see that the Indians are taken care of. You have my word. But this thing, it’s like nothing we’ve ever had to deal with before. It’s a national treasure, right? I mean, the Indians didn’t put it there or anything like that. They just happen to own the land.” He paused, possibly to catch his breath, maybe to get his emotions under control. His voice sounded close to breaking.
“I know about the problems, sir.”
“Good. Then you know I have to act. Have to. God help me, Max, the last thing we want to do is to spill blood over this.”
“I think everybody here feels the same way.”
“Of course. Of course.” His voice changed, acquired a tone that suggested they were now in accord. “I know about your father, Max. He served this country damned well.”
“Yes, sir. He did.”
“Now you have a chance.” He paused a beat. “I need your help, son.”
Max knew what was coming. “I don’t have much influence up here, Mr. President.”
“They don’t trust us, do they?”
“No, sir. They don’t.”
“I don’t blame them. Not a damned bit. But I am willing to give my personal assurance that they will be amply compensated for giving up their rights to Johnson’s Ridge.”
“You want me to tell them that?”
“Please. But I also need you to try to persuade them to see our side of this problem. I need you to convince them to give this up, Max. The only thing that can come out of this if they persist is to get themselves killed. Now please, I need your help.”
“Why me, Mr. President? Why didn’t you call Chairman Walker? Or Dr. Cannon?”
“Walker’s mind is made up. Dr. Cannon may be too young to have much influence over a group of Indians. You understand what I mean. I’ll be honest with you, Max. We’ve looked at the profiles of the people up there with you, and you seemed to us to be most open to reason.”
Max took a deep breath. He was the weak link. “I’ll tell them,” he said. “May I ask you something?”
“Go ahead, Max. Ask anything. Anything at all.”
“There’s a rumor here that the government intends to destroy the Roundhouse. Will you give me your word there’s no truth to it?”
Max could hear breathing on the other end. Then: “Max, we wouldn’t do that.”
“Your word, Mr. President?”
“Max. I can promise generous compensation.”
“What’s he saying?” whispered April.
Max shook his head.
“I don’t think that’s enough, Mr. President.”
“Max, you can help. Talk to them.”
“They won’t listen to me. Anyhow, I think they’re right.”
The long silence at the other end drew out until Max wondered if the president was still there. “You know, Max,” he said at last, “if there’s bloodshed, you’ll have to live the rest of your life knowing you could have prevented it.” Max could visualize him, a little man who looked somehow as if he should be running the neighborhood print shop. “I feel sorry for you, son. Well, you do what you have to, and I respect that. But stay on the line, okay? They’ll give you a number so you can get through if you change your mind. If we can get out of this peacefully, I’d be pleased to have you up to the White House.”
Then he was gone, and Max copied down the number and handed it to Adam. Without looking at it, Adam tore it into small pieces. He opened the door and gave it to the wind. And it occurred to Max that the only person who thought that Max Collingwood was going to stay with the Sioux was the president of the United States.
The white Ben at Ten news van rolled east across the prairie, bound for Johnson’s Ridge. Carole could barely contain her excitement. She kept replaying the interview in her mind, relishing the drama. She will stay with her brothers to defend her land. And, at the end, her own closing line, From the Sioux reservation at Devil’s Lake, this is Carole Jensen for NBC News.
And it wasn’t over. Robert Bazell was coming, but in the meantime she would be the network’s voice on the front line. She hoped that Bazell’s plane would get socked in somewhere.
Carole fell back against her seat and let the sheer joy of the moment surge through her.
They passed through the Pembina Mountains, and turned north again on Route 32. After a while they saw the emerald glow in the sky.
Police were steering traffic into a detour. Carole showed her credentials and got waved on. Ahead, at the turnoff to the access road, blinking lights and the white glare of TV lamps spilled onto the highway. Cars and vans were parked on the shoulder on both sides of the two-lane. Chang slowed down and pulled in beside an CNN van.
A cluster of media people had gathered at the access point. An old battered Ford was at the center of attention. She recognized Walker immediately. He had got out of the car and was talking to a deputy. Other police officers were trying without much success to keep the journalists at a distance.
“Set up, Chang,” she said, punching in the studio’s number on her cellular phone.
“Carole?” said her producer. “I was about to call you.”
“We’re here.”
“Okay. Walker just came down off the mountain. CNN and ABC are already on with it. He’s apparently going to make a statement.”
Carole was out of the car and on the move. Chang came around the other side, shouldering his gear.
“We’re doing the intro now,” said the voice from the studio. “Switch to you in twenty seconds.”
“Son of a bitch,” said Carole, throwing a quick look at her partner. “Chang, you ready?”
They got into the group of journalists, pushed and jostled their way forward until they could manage a decent shot of the proceedings. Walker looked frail and old. The police officers were uncomfortable with the turmoil and losing patience. A woman wearing a U.S. marshal pocket bullion was having an animated conversation with Chief Doutable. Carole was good at lip-reading, and she caught enough of the conversation to understand that she was telling the police chief to let something happen.
The reporters pushed forward, and the entire scene was awash in bright lights and stark shadows.
The deputy caught a signal from Doutable and backed away. Several hands thrust microphones toward the Ford. How did the Indians feel about being evicted? Would the Sioux fight? Were the Sioux hiding something? Was it true about the Visitor?
Ancient Shores Page 30