BAD DEEDS: A Dylan Hunter Thriller (Dylan Hunter Thrillers) (13 page)

He began ticking off the points on his fingers.

“
One:
We got in touch with people over at the Interior Department to go around the area looking for Endangered Species issues. That worked some years back, at least for a while, against the lumber industry up there. We found this endangered species, the Indiana bat, and that completely shut down logging for six months. But logging a large expanse of forest is one thing. It’s harder to argue that they’re endangering a species when they’re drilling on small pads of just a few acres. So we don’t think that’s going to get us very far.

“
Two
—and
this
stays inside the room, okay? How should I put this? Let me just say we’ve found out that some of the fracking firms up there—one in particular, Adair Energy—have been scheduled for IRS audits.”

Conn stirred in his seat. “Wait—should I be hearing this? I assume that must have happened only in the course of routine IRS audit practices. Right, Chip?” He stared pointedly at Crane.

Crane got it. “Oh, sure! You may certainly assume that, Senator. The IRS contacted us only to see if we had information about Adair that might help their investigation.”

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Crane continued.

“Okay,
three:
EPA has been responsive to lawsuits from the environmental community on pollution concerns in the Forest. Gavin, maybe you want to elaborate.”

“Certainly,” Lockwood responded. “Nature Legal Advocacy is preeminent among nonprofits that mount aggressive legal challenges over environmental threats. One of our biggest litigation efforts has been to stop all fracking in the … to stop all fracking
abuses
throughout the natural gas industry.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice a bit, almost conspiratorially.

“A few months ago, an anonymous whistleblower working inside Adair Energy approached us, claiming that he had proof that their fracking practices were causing leaks of dangerous toxic chemicals and cancer-causing radon into area water supplies. He supplied NLA with samples, which we analyzed, and which confirmed his claims. Two weeks ago—as everybody with a TV or newspaper knows—we issued a report to the national media with our findings. Our study concluded that Adair’s practices were standard throughout the natural gas industry—and therefore that fracking
per se
constitutes an intolerable risk to public health … I want to thank Lucas Carver here, whom we hired to run our big media effort. Once again, Vox Populi Communications did a fantastic job in getting the word out for us.”

Carver’s lips pressed into another empty smile. “It’s what we do—engaging our hundreds of sympathetic media contacts to coordinate publicity on behalf of important social issues. In this case, we got news of the NLA fracking study carried simultaneously on all the major networks, the front pages of the ten top-circulation newspapers, and in two women’s magazines.”

He turned to Trammel. “A lot of the credit must go to Avery’s wife, actress Julia Haight. We enlisted Julia early on as our national spokesperson against fracking. She opened a lot of doors for us in the media and on Capitol Hill. Thanks for arranging that for us, Avery.”

Murmurs of appreciation arose around the table; Trammel acknowledged them with a slight smile and nod.

Carver went on. “Our carefully orchestrated media campaign ignited a public uproar against fracking that generated tens of thousands of protest calls and letters to Congress, and also—correct me if I’m wrong, Gavin—over $750,000 in new contributions to your organization, right?”

“That’s true. And, timed to follow on the heels of our report, we then sued EPA to issue an emergency moratorium to halt all fracking, pending a new, extended investigation into the safety of the process. From there, we hope—”

Crane interrupted. “Gavin and Lucas contacted EPA about three months ago, explaining to us exactly what they were planning to do. Of course, we welcomed their lawsuit.”

Judd blinked. “Why would you want that?”

Crane smiled. “Hal, we cooperate all the time with NLA and other environmental groups in their lawsuits against the Agency. Responding to lawsuits speeds things along for us. Instead of having to go through the tedious regulatory process, with hearings and waiting periods before we can impose orders and rules, we just go ahead and issue injunctions against companies and industries in response to the suits.” He winked at Gavin. “And of course, NLA also sues us to recover all their court costs, too, so they aren’t out a nickel for their litigation. It all winds up being funded by the taxpayers. In fact, you guys actually
make
a lot of money off Uncle Sam, don’t you, Gavin?”

Lockwood looked uncomfortable. “That’s not really the point, Chip. Our aim is to halt anti-environmental activity as expeditiously as possible.”

Sloan broke in. “Your anti-fracking publicity campaign is all well and good, and we deeply appreciate it. But what’s the status of that lawsuit, Chip? Why hasn’t EPA gotten an anti-fracking moratorium from a judge yet?”

“We tried,” Crane answered, “but Adair went to court and got a stay of the moratorium, till NLA’s study could be checked out at an upcoming meeting of an EPA Science Advisory Board panel.”

Lockwood jumped in to explain. “Damon, the EPA is compelled by law to take into consideration the findings of SAB panels. The problem is that those panels are often stacked with outside scientists who consult for
industries
, and have an ax to grind.”

Judd raised a hand. “Wait a minute, Gavin. Scientists have to make a living, too, right? Not all of them can work for the government. I’ve hired and relied on my share of them, and they seem like straight shooters. So what makes
their
research dishonest and tainted if it’s funded by an industry, but
your
group’s research valid if it’s funded by political activists? Don’t
your
researchers also have axes to grind?”

Lockwood’s face grew red, but Sloan raised a hand.

“Look, let’s not get into a pissing match over whose research is good, and whose isn’t. Frankly, I don’t care. I just want to know where the moratorium stands. How do our prospects look before that EPA panel?”

Crane sighed. “Well, we just hit a new snag.” He rooted through the briefcase at his feet. “Adair hired his own toxicologist. That guy just reviewed the chemical samples that Gavin’s group provided to EPA—the samples they used as the basis of their report.” He straightened, scanning a sheet of paper. Then looked at Lockwood. “Gavin, according to this letter from Adair, their toxicologist claims your chemical samples are totally bogus. Fake.”

“
What?”

Crane waved the letter. “Adair says his guy has geological and chemical-signature proof that your samples could not possibly have come from any Adair fracking site. In fact, he speculates that somebody—maybe your whistleblower—deliberately planted them. And now Adair plans to submit his own toxicologist’s report to the SAB.”

In the stunned silence, Crane went on, his voice low. “Look, I don’t know who is correct about those samples, Gavin. I just hope that your researchers got it right. Because if they didn’t …” His voice trailed off.

“If they didn’t,” Trammel said slowly, looking from Lockwood to Carver, “then your big scare campaign against fracking is going to backfire. There even may be a criminal investigation.” He saw Lockwood’s eyes widen, then turned to Sloan. “If fracking is exonerated as a safe form of cheap energy, then all our efforts to stop it will fail—”

“—and so will our efforts to save CarboNot,” said Ashton Conn. He was staring off into space, out past the floor-to-ceiling expanse of glass, toward Washington and its monuments. “Wind power can’t compete with natural gas. Not at current prices.”

They fell silent for an awkward moment.

“I’ve poured all I have into my business,” said Judd, “If CarboNot goes under, I don’t get paid. And I lose everything.”

“A lot of people will lose everything,” Trammel said, scanning their faces.

“So, what can we do?” Robin Manes asked, her voice on the edge of shrill.

“The first thing,” said Stu Kaplan, who had remained silent until this moment, “is that we have to find out who their toxicologist is, then go after him.” He saw their looks. “I mean, we have to discredit him, in advance. Point out that he’s a hired tool of industry, just another paid mouthpiece.”

“‘Poison the well’—so to speak,” Judd said, a cynical look on his face.

Kaplan stared at him coldly. “To your point: Okay, so maybe every scientist has an ax to grind—Adair’s guy, Gavin’s people. But if that’s the case, then it’s all subjective, anyway. Then it comes down to a matter of public credibility. Who are people going to believe? It’s one industry guy’s opinion against all the other environmental experts.
Our
experts.”

Kaplan removed his glasses, held them up to look at the lenses.

“Look, I’ve been a Hill rat for all of my adult life. Since I was a congressional intern. And I’ve learned that there’s only one way you win these things. You win by being preemptive. You have to strike first.” He began to polish his glasses with his tie. “We have to create a
narrative
about Adair’s guy—a toxic one, so that by the time he submits his findings, the public won’t believe a word he says.”

“But what if the SAB scientists agree with him?” Trammel asked.

“Whatever we do,” said Sloan, “we’d better do it before he submits that report.”

Before adjourning, Sloan proposed that they schedule a follow-up conference call among select members of the group, to settle on an action plan.

Trammel rose and joined the others as they filed from the conference room. They were quiet; their steps echoed off the polished gray marble floor as they passed the broad-leafed potted plants and abstract wall hangings. They reached the private elevator, reserved for tenants on the top floors.

He felt a hand on his arm.

“Do you have a minute?” Ashton Conn’s earlier bravado was gone. He looked deflated and worried.

“Why don’t we ride down together?”

They let the others take the first elevator. When its doors closed, Trammel pressed the button and they waited.

“Do you have some idea about how to handle this situation, Ash?”

“Not really. Not yet … Actually, the reason I wanted to talk to you was about—you know. My candidacy.”

Trammel smiled. “Ah. So you’ve decided to go for the big one, have you?”

Conn shrugged. “A lot of people have been encouraging me. And I was wondering … about your own commitments at this point.”

“You mean, do I intend to back Carl Spencer.”

Conn grinned sheepishly. “Something like that. If not, I hope I might count on you to add your name to my exploratory committee.”

Trammel paused, savoring his power to make the senator wait.

“Carl Spencer is popular in establishment circles,” he said slowly. “Yet I always wonder about his true commitments. His convictions. He’s never struck me as one to let his nominal principles get in the way of crude self-aggrandizement.”

The elevator door opened and they stepped in. It was a small glass cage that clung to the outside southern wall of the building. In the far distance, he once again spotted the Pentagon.

He turned to search Conn’s face, peered into the thin slits that hid his eyes, sought some reassuring reference point deep within the man.

“You began your political career in the nonprofit world, Ash. You started out as a crusader for environmental issues. And you wrote the best book on environmentalism since that of your mentor, Al Gore—in many respects, a better book.”

“Why, thank you, Avery. That means a great deal, coming from you.”

Trammel waved his hand dismissively. “As you know, that kind of intellectual pedigree means a great deal to me. I am a man of ideas. Of principles, if you will. Ash, you have never given me cause to doubt yours … So, yes—at this point, you may count on my support. I shall be happy to add my name to your exploratory committee. And I’ll also send off a check to your political action committee.”

Ashton Conn flashed his white teeth and extended his hand again. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for that, Avery. I promise you that I won’t betray your trust.”

“I am not concerned about any personal betrayal, Ash,” he said, releasing the politician’s grip and turning to face the city again.

As the elevator descended, he was amused to watch the Pentagon appear to sink into the Potomac.
There are ways other than bombs.

“Just don’t betray our
cause
, Ash,” he added.

The doors of their train car slid open at the Dupont Circle Metro stop. He gripped Annie’s arm, holding her back, letting all the other passengers depart first. Then they darted out just as the doors closed. He paused with her on the platform as the silver-gray train pulled away and accelerated into the tunnel, drawing a cool column of air in its wake.

Hunter pretended to inspect the list of subway stops posted on a nearby directional post while he surreptitiously watched the departing passengers move on toward the escalator and the exit. When the platform cleared, he said, “Okay. Let’s go.”

They headed toward the escalators that led to the Metro’s south exit onto Dupont Circle, at Connecticut Avenue and 19th Street. The click of her boot heels on the reddish brown tiles echoed off concrete walls that arched overhead, in a honeycomb pattern.

“A bit paranoid, don’t you think?” she said.

“You’re not paranoid if they really are out to get you.”

They took the short escalator to the upper platform, exited through the turnstiles, and stepped onto the longer escalator that would transport them to the street. He kept his eyes on the growing blue oval of light above him and scanned the people descending on the parallel escalator to his left. His long leather coat was unzipped, and he stood so that his right hand rested casually inside it, on his hip—just inches from the concealed holster at the small of his back.

“After everything you’ve said about this ‘Wonk’ guy,” she said, “you’ve aroused my curiosity. I can’t wait to meet him.”