At that moment Camellia’s downstairs neighbor, Anne emerged with a friend from her side entrance to the townhouse. They headed in Camellia’s direction. The assailant saw them, turned and fled. Anne hadn’t witnessed the attack, and Camellia wasn’t about to mention it. Instead, she picked up her things, and said, “Hi, just back from Siberia.” She went up the front steps and inside.
Camellia sank down on the couch. What on earth should I do? She wondered. I have no proof I’ve been attacked and no way to identify him. He was wearing a dark blue cap. I’d guess he was of average weight and above average height. I don’t remember anything outstanding other than that he seemed skilled in some sort of martial arts. She smiled grimly. I bet he didn’t expect me to be able to match him. The surprise probably saved me. Thank God I’m so well-trained. But an attack like that. Why?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NEXT EVENING
ANCHOR DESK
NIP STATION
MANHATTAN
CAMELLIA’S BRUISES WERE COVERED BY MAKEUP. One of the spaghetti straps on her blouse kept slipping off her shoulder. Her skirt had an eight-inch slit up one side.
Using clips from Owen’s film, she described the Siberian trip. “We did see a lot of thawing permafrost. There was an explosion of what was probably methane gas but. Unfortunately, we didn’t catch that on film. It was pretty amazing. And Senator Trotford picked up what might be a very ancient bone.” She pushed the strap back on her shoulder. “We couldn’t identify the creature, so let’s just call it the Spooky Siberian unless some of you come up with a better name. Hopefully scientists will be able to figure out what it is.”
As she spoke, the split screen showed the thawing permafrost and hole that Kyle had dug but didn’t include the Senator or the bone.
“We wandered around Salekhard and talked to people about what’s happening there. One man said his house has serious cracks because its foundation has been damaged by the permafrost thawing. He can’t afford to replace it, and he’s feeling desperate. Granted our Russian isn’t perfect, but I think we got the gist of it.”
She glanced at Owen who was standing off in the background. He nodded.
“We learned that the largest city built on permafrost has about 60 percent of its buildings damaged. Some have even been abandoned, and there’s concern about sewage. Water leaks too. Other cities have 80% percent of their structures potentially falling apart. Check out the photos Owen took in Salekhard. The destruction is remarkable.”
The full screen filled with shots of damaged buildings.
“An American we bumped into said Greenpeace warned that thawing has caused thousands of oil and gas pipeline breaks,” she continued. “We learned the Russians have been drilling for years and plan to escalate. There’s a new company that plans to drill in the Arctic Ocean too. I’ll be looking into that.” She raised her eyebrows, signifying that her audience might be able to anticipate something significant. “Apparently an accident occurs at power stations and pipelines about every three days,” she added. “Worse yet, Moscow has built nuclear power stations and nuclear-powered icebreakers in the area. The potential for catastrophe may be high and getting higher.” That was an unpleasant surprise to me, she thought. “And it’s not the best way to wind up, but good night friends. Back tomorrow. Count on it.”
As she headed away from the anchor desk, her cell phone rang. When she answered, her previous stalker said, “Give it up, bitch. You’ve joined the liberal bastards. Find somebody else to sleep with. I don’t want your dirty body any more. You should be canned. Better yet, wiped out.”
This time her phone hit the wall even harder than the last time, so she didn’t bother to try to reassemble it. I’m going to have to buy stock in Samsung, she thought, squaring her shoulders. She wasn’t going to let him scare her. No way. But she shuddered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SAME EVENING
CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE
IN FRONT
SO-HO
CAMELLIA FROZE, APPALLED BY WHAT SHE SAW when she stepped out of the cab and headed to her townhouse, a few yards away. She had stopped for a drink with Owen, so it was after 10 p.m. What confronted her was a patchwork clad rag doll dangling from the stair railing at the bottom of the front steps. A rope tied tightly around its neck held it in place, and a large X was slashed across its cotton forehead using a red magic marker. The lantern attached to the side of the house next to the front door wasn’t lit so it was hard for Camellia to see well enough to untie the securely fastened cord. But she was determined. “Dad blast it!” she muttered as she fought with the twine. She kept at it until she was able to remove the rag doll. “Hah! Gotcha!” she announced and then went over to drop it in the garbage can. She slammed the lid down on it. The noise was so loud it startled the orange alley cat sleeping under the steps. It scampered away. “Sorry Fuzzball,” Camellia said. “You can come back later when I’ve put out more food.” The cat was living under her stairs, and she had been leaving tuna for it. She would get a blanket for him too since the cement had to be uncomfortable.
She walked up the steps and looked at the lantern, frowning. “I changed you a few days ago,” she reproached it. She went inside, got another lightbulb from a closet, came back out and was about to change it, when she realized the existing one had simply been partially unscrewed. She screwed it back in, opened the door and went back inside.
Was it the man who had attacked me? Somehow that doesn’t seem to fit, she thought.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NEXT EVENING
THE LAFAYETTE
LUXURY RESTAURANT
WASHINGTON DC
RALPH MEECHER WAS AN ENORMOUS MAN WITH AN EVEN MORE ENORMOUS FORTUNE. His recent haircut cost him $900 and kept his silver hair perfectly in place. A silk and gold EMPA neck tie ran $8500. His tailor-made suit set him back $50,000. He put his fork down and asked, “How was your trip to Siberia, Dudley?” He’d made billions with startups that produced fracked gas in Pennsylvania and West Virginia and was on a first name basis with the Senator.
He and his brother Harold were seated at a table with Trotford, President Dickerson, and Speaker of the House Carol Blackman. Other legislators and donors were seated nearby. Formal attire and American flag lapel pins were the rule.
The Lafayette private dining room had magnificent chandeliers with layers of crystal prisms glittering in the light. There was elaborate molding on the walls, ceiling and fireplace. Small oval and square tables covered with linen tablecloths and napkins were surrounded by ornate walnut armchairs with padded seats. The tables were adorned with balloons tied to bouquets of flowers. Tiny American flags on long poles stuck up from chocolate cupcakes. Lavish platters were heaped with sumptuous hors d’oeuvres including pate de foie gras, frogs’ legs and caviar. They were on two tables covered with long cloths on opposite sides of the room. Bottles of big-ticket wine and liquor were lined up next to costly stemware. Bottles of champagne sat in silver buckets filled with ice.
The Senator had a large piece of rare sirloin in his mouth. He didn’t bother to swallow it before answering Ralph’s question. “Looks like there are lots of new places where it’s possible to drill for oil or gas. The spot we visited might be a good one. I’d guess the Russians are already considering it.” He took a moment to swallow the steak and add another piece to his fork. “That’s really why I went there of course—to see what might be possible for us somewhere in the Arctic.”
“That makes sense,” Ralph said.
“Now that we’ve decided to allow drilling in the Arctic Ocean off Alaska, I wanted to see what the area is like up at the top of the world and check out what the Russians have been doing. They have big plans not just for Siberia, but for the Ocean itself.” Dudley took a swig of wine. “Some idiots thought I’d changed my mind and was going to become a wingnut like those tree hugging East Coast liberals or lunatic hot shot Hollywood actors like Leonardo DiCaprio. Fat chance.”
>
A number of guests laughed. Some didn’t.
Trotford reached up for a balloon and stabbed it with his knife. It popped. He stabbed another one with. “But I will say that reporter is a nice piece of ass.”
President Dickerson didn’t respond to that comment. He was a mild-mannered man whose main concern always seemed to be how to please his voters. Large ears shaped like teapot handles stood out from the sides of his head. They were so striking that it was easy to overlook his otherwise ordinary features. “Good man,” he said. “I always appreciate your support. My ratings go up whenever there’s a boost to the economy. People care more about that than the environment, and more oil and gas will help. I personally think liberals’ concerns are absurd.” He got up and gave Trotford a hug. Ralph Meecher joined in. His hug was so enthusiastic it nearly lifted Dudley off the floor. Carol Blackman was about to shake his hand when he trapped her in a tight embrace and kissed her cheek. She was a well-preserved 50 year old redhead with a recent facelift. He demonstrably appreciated that.
Others stood up as well, clapped his back and shook his hand, some with considerably less zeal. A few hugged him.
Senator Trotford acknowledged their enthusiasm with a smile. “Climate change is nothing for us to stew over. Permafrost melting is no big deal. So the ground is mushy, and they’ve got to prop up a few buildings, repair some roads, patch leaking gas and oil pipelines. Maybe a few poor suckers lose their homes. I’m sure the Russians don’t care.” He stopped to push his jacket sleeve back and scratch his right arm. “With revenue from drilling in Siberia, they’re already raking in the profits and must have plenty of money for repairs. No reason we shouldn’t have a foothold in the Arctic.” He scratched his arm again. “If we don’t have enough gas and oil, our economy will collapse. Some people just don’t get that. I don’t want my kids inheriting a world where they won’t be able to drive, won’t have electricity, won’t even have heat or air conditioning. I don’t care what the so-called experts say, I’m convinced alternative energy isn’t going to get us there.”
The President and several others nodded.
“Oil wells in the water might wind up with spills,” Dudley continued. “We’re not swimming there, and fishing isn’t important, so that’s no big deal either. And hey, if it all falls apart and worst comes to worst, we can move to our second homes off New Zealand.”
Many stood and raised their glasses to him. Some simply sat there. Two senators, Sarah Conklin and Eduardo Gomez, who were seated together at the back of the crowd, pushed their glasses away and shook their heads. Sarah put a hand to the side of her face so that no one could see what she was saying as she frowned and whispered something to Eduardo. What they didn’t hear was, “I have a problem with some of this.”
“Me too,” Senator Gomez agreed. “He’s wrong about climate change.”
Later the same evening Trotford was ready to leave the restaurant. He had downed a Hennessy cognac along with the wine and was having some trouble walking a straight line. The two mean providing security for him kept a watchful eye.
Owen and Camellia intercepted him before he could get out the door.
“Looks like quite a swanky shindig,” Camellia said. Gobs of money promised?”
He wasn’t pleased to see her but stopped. “Sure thing. Some of us know what counts.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “Warm in there. Or maybe I’m coming down with something. The Siberia trip was so crappy with the lousy accommodations, it’s a miracle any of us survived. It’s probably food poisoning.”
Owen began to film.
“Have you changed your mind about climate change after seeing the thawing permafrost, Senator Trotford?”
“Permafrost, schermafrost. I still say the climate has always changed. Melting permafrost, so what?”
“Actually, it’s thawing, not melting. Ice melts. Permafrost is mostly rocks and soil, so even though there’s some water, essentially it thaws.”
He shrugged. “Thaws, melts, who cares?”
“Tell us about the creature you saw. Could they be right that it might actually have been frozen for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years?”
“I have no idea and care less. Doesn’t matter. Whatever the case, we can take care of it. Remember, we’re the greatest country in the world.” He frowned. “There are more important stories than this one you really should be covering.” With that he wobbled a little and waved his tiny flag, still attached to a balloon, then wiped his forehead with the flag.
Camellia wasn’t about to give up. “And how will we take care of it?”
“If we keep the economy strong by continuing to lead in oil and gas development and generating profits, there’s nothing we can’t fix. Nothing. But I’ve got to run now, so you’ll have to excuse me.” About to leave, he stopped and gave Camellia a close once over.
Owen had turned away, so he probably thought he could speak his mind. Or else he was too far under the weather to care. He had his back to his security team so they couldn’t hear his next words.
“You’re a sexy gal for sure, honey.” He eyed the short pleated skirt she was wearing. “An even shorter skirt would be better. Legs like yours are meant to be appreciated. Damned shame we didn’t have that drink together in my hotel room. We’ll have to do a rain check. Maybe I could persuade you to focus on something else before…” He dropped the flag, bent over to pick it up, stood back up and left.
Owen packed up his camera gear. “I was tempted to include all that.”
“Too bad you didn’t. He was nearly three sheets to the wind. That’s probably why he was warm. He certainly wouldn’t have spent any time outside on his way here in this torrid weather. I don’t want to go back out there myself. We’ll be facing 88 degrees. So much for cooling down in the evening any more. I should report that temperatures aren’t dropping at night the way they used to. But that would get a lot of angry fake news comments. Anyhow, with the air conditioning blasting away in here, it certainly isn’t hot enough for him to be sweating the way he was.” She thought about his repulsive comments. “With his morals, that man must have been raised in a barn.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LATER SAME EVENING
CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE
IN FRONT
DEATH TO MERCHANTS OF FAKE NEWS!! The note taped to her front door was on a big piece of poster paper with letters so large that standing at the foot of her front steps, Camellia could almost make out what it said. Words had been formed using assorted letters cut out from magazines. A red magic marker had scrawled the exclamation points.
Just back from D.C., she was dog-tired and sweaty. She picked up the day’s New York Times the carrier had tossed on the steps and headed up the stairs. After she read the note carefully, she tore it off the door, crumpled it up, and threw it back down the stairs, landing it next to the recycle bin. Then she ran her hand over the door’s finish to rub off the sticky residue left by the tape. It was a 19th century restoration with a stained glass window in an arch above it, her favorite part of the building. She unlocked the door and went inside, slamming the door behind her. Fuzzball must have been out wandering the neighborhood since there was no reaction to the noise. She considered going back down to get the cat’s empty dish but decided to wait until morning when it would be cooler. The outside light hadn’t been unscrewed this time.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NEXT DAY
KYLE’s OFFICE
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
KYLE WAS BUSY KICKING HIMSELF AROUND THE BLOCK. He was slouched in his desk chair. There were so many more books and reports stacked on his desk that they resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Another stack lay in a disorganized heap on the floor next to his chair. He propped his feet on the desk and knocked two more books off the edge in the process. They landed in the midst of the others. He looked down at the jumble and shrugged. His T-Shirt read DRILL BABY DRILL, below that ADVICE FOR YOUR DENTIST.
The wastebasket overflowed with crumpled airplanes. Some were scattered on the floor around it. He picked up another piece of paper and started folding it.
Barbara entered carrying a file. She was wearing the same green blouse from the hotel and gray pants. Her hair was down with auburn curls framing her face. Camellia was right. The curls were flattering. Pointing to his t-shirt, she said, “I thought Sarah Palin had a patent on that statement.”
“Yeah, same way some politicians have a patent on the truth. The rest of us are fake news. Climate change doesn’t merit attention, right? Even if 97% of scientists like us believe it’s connected to human activity and poses a dire threat. Naysayers continue to argue there’s no consensus among us.” He let out a sigh. “I’m a jerk.”
She looked at the bunch of books and laughed. “I think at this point you really need a personal maid or a housekeeper.”
He shrugged again. “Granted I’m messy.” He followed her gaze at the books. “Maybe really messy. Not a priority.”
She was disappointed that he hadn’t picked up on her subtle suggestion but moved on. “No, you’re not a jerk. We did great. Look at these stats we got on our trip. The permafrost is clearly thawing faster than ever.”
“Yeah. More thawing equals more methane and CO2 emissions which means more thawing. A wonderful feedback loop, warming accelerates warming.” He swooped the latest airplane in bigger and bigger circles. “On top of that, by the end of this century, diagnosed near-surface permafrost area is projected to decrease by between 37% and 81%.”
“Meaning we’re seriously underestimating future warming and might be in even more trouble than we think,” she concluded.
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