Читать книгу Killing Godiva's Horse - J. M. Mitchell - Страница 14

Chapter

7

Joe Morgan pushed the button for the floor. The elevator jolted, then moved smoothly. Jack watched the lights ascend, then stop. The door opened.

Third floor, Main Interior Building, Washington, D.C.

They exited, turned right, then left, into the National Park Service wing.

“I’ll catch up,” Jack said, slowing at the bathroom door. He watched Joe continue up the hall. Joe—average height, grey hair, and dressed in a navy blue suit—still had a ranger’s presence for a man his age. Jack took notice of his own attire. Similar, with dress shoes he only remembered wearing in this town.

He ducked into the bathroom, wet a paper towel, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Damned humidity. He slipped back into the hall, the towel folded and concealed in his hand.

Continuing into the wing, he stopped at the plaque for employees who died in the line of duty. He scanned the columns and paused at a name. “Hello, old friend,” Jack whispered. “Here, again. Trouble. Again.” He chuckled, a nervous laugh among friends. “Not simple times. Not like the old days. You would’ve handled this better than me.” He stared a moment more, then turned. “Water under the bridge. Wish me luck.” He headed down the hall.

He joined Joe at the receptionist’s desk. To the right, the Director’s office. To the left, the Deputy Director’s. The receptionist, a young woman, African American, in a black wool suit.

“We miss you around here, Mr. Morgan,” she said.

Joe smiled. “Thank you, but it’s good to be back in the park.”

“I’m sure. Can I go with you?” She flashed a smile.

“Love to have you, but your first job would be human shield. Protecting me from the director.”

She laughed.

Jack pointed at the open door behind them, the director’s meeting room. “We in there?”

“No.” She gave a nod toward the director’s office. “In there. It’ll be moment. He’s in a meeting.”

The door sprang open. A silver-haired woman, in a blue pastel suit, stepped out and stopped, looked at Joe, did a double take at Jack, then stepped back to the office door. “You did not tell me you had them coming to Washington. And today, no less.”

The director appeared, and walked her back into the hall. “Goodbye, Nancy.” He stepped around her. “Come in, Joe.” He locked eyes on Jack. “You, too.”

The woman watched as they entered. The director, in shirt sleeves and tie, closed the door. His suit coat lay thrown over the arm of a chair against the back wall. “Have a seat.” Hair mussed, he went around his desk and sat.

Joe chose the seat to the left.

Jack took the one to the right, glancing around the room as he sat. Big desk. Plaques on the wall, things engraved on them that didn’t seem to matter at the moment.

Benjamin Lucas sat back, ran a finger across his brown and gray-tinged mustache, and stared across the desk at Jack. “Well,” he said, finally. “You sure managed to become the center of attention. Today, you’re a big name in town.” He dropped his hand.

“That good or bad?”

“It’s not good.” He let out a sour chuckle. “I take that back, a bit. I spent the morning with my counterpart from BLM. The director of BLM is your biggest fan. He knows that today, he and his agency would have been tarred and feathered by one particular side of the political spectrum, except for one Mr. Jack Chastain.”

“Director,” Joe said. “Give me a minute to explain the background.”

The director laughed. “Joe, I know the background. The Secretary and I heard it all from BLM. Whole story. I could recite details. Court records, everything.”

Jack raised a hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. A headache began pounding between his eyes.

The director turned back to Jack. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I screwed up.”

The director sighed. “Actually, I don’t know if you screwed up or not. My question is, why was my employee standing in front of the cameras, opening his mouth about something that didn’t concern him? On an issue I knew nothing about.”

“Long story.”

The director glanced at his watch. “Interesting thing . . . I’ve got time. And I should tell you, as of this morning I thought I’d be dragging both of you to the White House for twenty questions from the Chief of Staff. I’ve settled those waters a little, but when I say I want to hear the whole story, I think you owe me the whole story.” He rested his arms on his desk. “Was this guy in the park?”

“It’s not easy to explain,” Jack said. “Turns out, the rancher’s cattle have been known to trespass on park land.”

“But we weren’t taking corrective action. BLM was.”

“Correct.”

“Then why is the face of my employee all over television? In Park Service uniform?”

“They pointed guns at my friend. A trusted colleague from BLM. Native American. A man of few words. Manson didn’t understand that, or didn’t care. They were pushing, attacking. Paul came through for me on a fire, years back. I had to come through for him. To protect him.”

“By stepping in front of crazies with assault rifles?”

“Seems stupid, doesn’t it?”

“Very.”

“Didn’t seem that way at the time.”

“I’m not sure why.”

“Well, . . . no one ever said I was smart.”

Lucas held his tongue.

“You were angry, because Manson threatened Paul?” Joe asked.

“More to it than that. This rancher Manson acts like it’s his land, not public land. He’s spreading discontent, when BLM’s only doing their job. He’s overgrazing the range. We’re in a drought.”

“It supposedly rained yesterday,” the director interjected.

“And Paul and I were nearly killed in a flash flood. Doesn’t mean the drought’s over.” Jack twisted in his seat. “I have no data supporting what I’m about to say, but I believe because of his grazing, the runoff was more severe than it would’ve been.”

“No data, but you’re sure?”

“Fairly certain.” Jack sighed. “Haven’t had time to talk to a hydrologist, but I will. I was on the river when the wall of water came down, nearly killing two raft-loads of people. All because nothing’s on the ground to slow the runoff.”

“That fueled your rant?”

“That and AR-15s pointed at Paul.”

“Well, people may not know your name, but today, yours is the second-most seen face in America, after our rancher friend’s.”

“I was not trying to bring attention to the agency. Especially not bad attention.”

“I know,” Lucas said, leaning back, massaging the back of his neck. “Unfortunately, your actions played into the hands of others. Gave ’em opportunities. It’s a game this town plays very well. It’s what they do best.” He scowled. “You’re getting both bad and good attention, but, son, you’re gonna become a target.” He turned to the window and raised a finger to his mustache.

Jack glanced at Joe.

Joe shrugged.

After a long moment, the director turned to Joe. “Things aren’t like the old days, back in Yellowstone. Things have changed. Even more political. I don’t want him sent back to New Mexico. Not into that mess. Not right away.” He settled his eyes on Jack. “I want you to lay low. Let things blow over.”

“What’re you saying?” Jack asked.

“I need to hide you, at least for a while.”

“I can stay in my office. I’ve got things I need to do.”

“Like what?”

“The coalition report. Finishing touches, before it goes to Congress.”

“It’s not a good time for that.”

“If we don’t keep moving, the coalition could fall apart. If it does, they go to war with themselves.” He paused. “You have been briefed on this, haven’t you?”

The director nodded. “Yes, two weeks ago, by legislative affairs.” He shook his head. “I don’t buy that only you can make finishing touches.” He stood, looked out the window, then turned back. “Don’t take this the wrong. What I’m about to say is for your own good. Your protection. You could become a pawn. A chess piece in someone’s political game. You’re too valuable to the agency. I won’t let that happen. I’m not gonna let your reputation be tarnished. I’m not letting you go back till this has blown over. If, at all.”

“Director, I’ll quit before you put me anywhere else. Piedras Coloradas is now my home. I’ll stay out of sight, anything, but I want to go home to New Mexico.”

Joe cleared his throat, pulling attention his way. He turned to the director. “What’ve you got in mind, Ben? Maybe a short detail in another park?”

“Maybe,” the director said, giving it thought. “Wait . . .” He reached for a notepad and flipped back a few pages. He tapped a finger over an entry circled in yellow. He read, then raised his eyes, letting them settle on Jack. “Got a passport?”

“Yeah.”

“Government or personal?”

“Uh, . . . both, I guess. Unless one’s expired.”

“Government passport downstairs?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” Lucas gave him a crooked smile. “Jack, you’re going to Africa. Kenya, to be exact.”

Jack shot a confused look.

The director picked up a pencil and tapped his notepad. “I’ve got a technical assistance request from Kenya, for two people. I’m sending you.”

“I’m not two people.”

“No, but you’re a biologist. It’s complicated. They’ve requested a biologist and a manager, a senior executive. I think it best that we send only a scientist. No manager.”

“What kind of scientist?”

Lucas leaned over his notes. “It says, either a large ungulate biologist, or an ecologist, or a range scientist.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know for sure. All I know is, a couple of rangers were killed by poachers. They’re afraid one’s work will end if no one keeps it going.”

“Poachers?”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Joe muttered. “Before now, who were you sending?”

“I wasn’t.” The director flashed another crooked smile. “Sounded too dangerous. But compared to political crucifixion, it suddenly sounds manageable.”

“Not sure it does to me,” Jack said.

The director cocked an eyebrow. “This is an order.” He paused, letting the words settle in. “Do not leave headquarters, at least not alone. This is to be an intellectual exercise. Train someone to do the work. No field work for you. No going to dangerous places. Got that?”

“I’d like to talk you out of this. I’d prefer to go home.”

“Not a chance. Answer me. You will not leave headquarters.”

“Uh, . . .”

The director stared back.

“Uh, . . . ” Jack sighed. “I will not leave headquarters.”

“I’ll get your passport sent up from downstairs. Make travel plans. Leave as soon as you can.” He slid the pad across the desk. “Here’s your point of contact.”

Jack studied the information.

Samuel Leboo, Senior Warden. Nairobi National Park, Nairobi, Kenya.

He slid it back to the director. “Why only me? Why not two, like they requested?”

“I’m not sure many in Kenya want this to happen. They seem suspicious.”

“Then why the request?”

“It doesn’t appear to be their idea. It was pushed by powerful interests in the wildlife conservation community. Politics are involved. Politics I don’t understand. Politics, I want no part of. But, scientists . . . ?” He smiled. “Scientists, regardless of politics, they get along. They find ways to work together. They collaborate. They achieve things, even with egos involved. They’re focused on their science, so that’s what you are. A scientist, nothing more.”

“I guess I kinda resemble that remark. At least I used to.”

“Don’t let anyone think you’re more than that. You might hear things—I’d be interested to learn what—but show no interest. Soak it up. Stay out of it. Stay a scientist.”

Jack nodded.

“Give ’em two weeks, maybe three. That should be enough to let this blow over. Brief me when you get back.”

Jack stood.

“One more thing,” Lucas said, walking them to the door. “Do not get yourself killed.”