It was just her luck the best match she’d ever found on SappHere turned out to be her worst enemy.
* * *
Cathryn parked outside Boomer’s but stayed in the car to calm herself. On the drive over she’d grown increasingly annoyed at Marlene’s insistence on seeing her tonight, despite her message that she’d had a terrible day. The last thing she needed in her life was a drama queen who went off the rails whenever she wasn’t getting enough attention. Until now Marlene hadn’t struck her as the needy type. Quite the opposite in fact, and it worried her that something very bad might have happened. Something even worse than being humiliated in front of millions of people for all time.
Marlene sat at a tall bar table sipping what looked to be an iced tea.
After a quick kiss on the cheek, she slid onto the other stool. “I can’t stay long. All hell broke loose at work today.”
“I saw you on the news.”
If Marlene had called her here to add her voice to the chorus of critics, she was going to be extremely pissed. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”
“That’s good, I guess, because it looked like you were caught lying through your teeth.” She sounded more disappointed than angry.
Cathryn slung her purse back on her shoulder and stood. “If I’d wanted to listen to this crap, I could have stayed at my desk and answered the phone.”
“Don’t go, please. I have something important to tell you.” She placed her smartphone in the center of the table. “I’d like you to meet Marlene. She’s my cell phone, my navigation system, my search engine…and also my SappHere app. My real name is Stacie Pilardi.”
“Stacie Pilardi.” The name sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it. Easing back into her seat, Cathryn studied Marlene’s—er, Stacie’s expression. It was stern, and even a little timid, sparking the ominous feeling another shoe was about to drop. “And that’s important because…”
“You know how it is on SappHere. You never know what sort of person you’re going to meet, so you don’t want to tell them everything up front in case they turn out to be nuts. You didn’t share a whole lot of personal information either, so I figured you felt the same way, and that was okay with me. But then I found out today who you were.”
“And since I’m a sleazy corporate liar, you want to what? Trade business cards?”
“If you Google my name—and I assume you’ll do that as soon as you get home—you’ll discover that I’m the executive director of something called the Clean Energy Action Network. We’re in town to protest your oil spill and to make sure you clean it up without taking any shortcuts.”
Clean Energy Action Network…the environmental crazies.
“Please tell me you’re kidding.” Her worst nightmares weren’t this bad. “Oh, God, you’re not. Holy shit.”
“I said the same thing.”
“I’ve been sleeping with the enemy.”
“I said that too.”
Cathryn fought back a wave of nausea, trying her best not to entertain the what-ifs. What if one of Depew’s thugs had spotted Stacie at the hotel and run her license plate? What if she’d left her laptop out and Stacie had downloaded sensitive company documents? What if someone was watching them right now?
“I need to go. I could get fired for even being here with you.”
“I’m surprised you still have a job to lose. Nations Oil needs a scapegoat and you were the one who got caught lying to the press.”
Fired? The notion hadn’t even occurred to her, but Stacie was right.
“I didn’t lie…but it was my fault for not making sure I had all the information. It’s my job to know all the procedures and I screwed up.”
“Seriously, Cate…or Cathryn. Whatever you call yourself. Do you actually think anyone believes there were two reports and you only got one? Either you were duped, or you knew there’d been a massive kill and you lied to cover it up.”
“There’s a third option. I could be telling the truth. Did you even consider that?”
“Oh, come on. If it was proper procedure, why is the EPA out there digging up your dump site?”
Sometimes it seemed half her job was dealing with environmental whackos and their slanderous accusations, and while there were dozens of talking points to refute anyone’s charges of apathy or malice, she doubted she could budge Stacie off her high horse. Logic and reason were useless when it came to extremists.
“Look, you probably think you have all the answers but you don’t. I’ve worked at Nations Oil for twenty-two years. I know the people who run the company, and they’re kind, decent human beings who get vilified on a daily basis for giving people exactly what they want. And why? Because they make money doing it. If the world wants us to stop pumping oil, why don’t they just stop using it? Park your little hybrid and get on a bicycle. Is that what you want?”
Stacie blew out a breath and shook her head. “Calling me a hypocrite doesn’t change the facts about what your company is doing. If you manage to keep your job, let me save you from another embarrassment. Those kind, decent people you work with are also lying about this spill being heavy oil. I was at the lake last weekend before it was evacuated, and I got some samples from the sediment. I saw it with my own eyes and I know it’s bitumen. Not only that, I took those samples in the middle of the lake, which means this isn’t some minor spill that’s contained behind those booms in the cove. It’s enormous.”
Cathryn could feel her face burning, and she hated Stacie’s smug, satisfied look. She’d known in her gut Woody’s estimate was correct, and it was no accident Bryce Tucker had referred to the spill as dilbit on the plane. Nations Oil was having her put out bogus information and the reasons were obvious. Their pipeline wasn’t approved for dilbit. It was too frail for such an abrasive mixture, and transporting it without a permit made them civilly and criminally liable. Since it was their second offense, the fines would be unprecedented. If that weren’t enough, a large-scale accident would torpedo their stock price and damage their efforts to secure approval for the Caliber Pipeline. That was the real reason corporate was scrambling to buy up all the lake properties—to keep the truth from ever coming out.
She remembered the young reporter’s question about bitumen. “Is Ethan Anders working with you?”
“Yes. Is Karl Depew working with you?”
Her nausea surged again. There was probably no point in playing dumb since Stacie had an obvious knack for getting information. Still, Cathryn owed it to Hoss to protect the company’s image as best she could. “He’s that drunk I told you about who keeps hitting on me. He’s not one of us though. He was hired to handle security, and I can’t imagine he’ll be on the payroll after today if he had anything to do with this. We have nothing to gain from his kind of publicity.”
“Don’t kid yourself. I’ve tangled with Depew before. He’s there to keep the corporate honchos from having to get their hands dirty, and I bet he has a blank check to pay off the local authorities so they’ll rough up people like Ethan or lie about the fish kill. Don’t be surprised when somebody magically produces a backdated permit for that landfill, or even when the EPA puts out its report and calls this heavy oil. That’s what we’re up against with people like Depew, and your kind, decent bosses are the ones who hired him to pull all these strings.”
It was unnerving to hear Stacie repeating practically the same words Hoss had used to describe Depew—he was there to handle the dirty work so she wouldn’t be sullied—and Cathryn had chosen to be willfully ignorant of what his dirty work entailed. Up to now, knowing it was in Depew’s hands had been enough to make her feel she was above the fray, but Stacie’s indictment stung. All of them were guilty because they blindly authorized his actions and reaped the benefits.
“Why are you even telling me all this?” she asked. “It’s obvious you’d rather spring a trap and make a big splash on the news like you did today. And don’t even try to pretend that wasn’t a setup. Somebody tipped off those rep
orters to come out there and ask all about the fish kill.”
“Of course it was a setup. But I didn’t know it was you, and the reason I’m telling you about the rest of our evidence is so you won’t make a fool of yourself again.”
If that was supposed to make her feel better…it actually did. There was no question Stacie could have hurt her if she’d wanted to.
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Cathryn. You didn’t deserve it, but I’m not the one who hung you out to dry. Your bosses did that.”
Cathryn had to admit that was true. “I realize that. In fact you’re probably the nicest environmental whacko I’ve ever met…but you’re still an environmental whacko.”
Stacie chuckled. “It’s good sometimes to see a human face on the other side. I like to think it helps us treat each other better.”
“Under the circumstances though, we can’t see each other anymore.”
“I know, and that’s really a shame because you’re an awesome kisser.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” Although their relationship was never meant to be more than a fling, she was genuinely sorry to see it end. But now that she knew Stacie was her arch enemy, there was nothing else they could do.
Chapter Seven
Stacie tiptoed back to her cot in the dining room, already dressed for the day in jeans and her favorite shirt, red and black flannel, laundered hundreds of times until it was downy soft. She was being careful not to wake any of her twelve housemates, the closest of which was asleep on the couch in the next room. At a quarter to five, it was too early to rummage in the kitchen for coffee, but she had little hope of going back to sleep. The confrontation with Cathryn had bothered her all night, not because either of them had done anything wrong but because the relationship they’d both cultivated so carefully to brighten their time in Duluth was now moot. Her principles defined her and she couldn’t compromise them for something as trivial as good sex.
Or even great sex.
And there was more to Cathryn than that. Even though she’d defended her company’s actions, it was obvious she was troubled by the allegations. She hadn’t pushed back at all over the bitumen nor the size of the spill, not even in corporate speak of nondenial denial.
From the corner of her eye, Stacie thought she saw something move on the porch but after looking closer decided it was only the shadow of a tree swaying in the breeze. The moon was nearly full and that made her want to slip outside and watch it fade in the coming dawn. It wasn’t exactly privacy she craved. It was solitude. If she could get to her yoga mat—
Exploding glass sprayed the room and a stream of firecrackers began popping only a few feet away. On pure instinct Stacie rolled off her cot and crawled beneath the dining room table in time to hear the wood splinter as the front door gave way. Shadowy figures armed with rifles filed into the house, their penlights giving off an eerie glow in the acrid smoke from the firecrackers.
“Nobody move!”
Several men stormed up the stairs while two others charged toward the back bedroom where Jenn and Marty slept. All were shouting different commands.
“Stand up!”
“Face down on the floor!”
“Hands in the air!”
“Freeze!”
It would be a miracle if no one got shot for defying orders. Stacie lay perfectly still, knowing they’d find her eventually but not wanting to get her head blown off by some jacked-up, trigger-happy cop. Of all the times she and her team had been roughed up, this was by far the worst. How could anyone possibly have thought they needed a SWAT team when a simple knock on the door and a warrant would have gotten them permission to search the premises?
There was little doubt Depew was behind this. He’d done something similar at a nuclear energy protest in California last year, taking advantage of the fact that, post-9/11, law enforcement agencies all across the country had gotten grants to upgrade their force under the auspices of fighting terrorism. It was only natural they’d be bursting with excitement to put their new firepower and training to use, and terrorism was whatever they said it was.
Lights came on throughout the house, and one by one her friends, all of them barely dressed and in plastic handcuffs, were marched outside. Jenn was demanding to see a warrant and yelling that their attorney was already on his way.
On the outside chance Jenn was blowing smoke, Stacie quietly retrieved her phone from where it had fallen and sent a text message to Matt Stevenson. “SWAT team at house.” Then she set it to silent and tucked it inside the sagging cloth that underpinned one of the dining chairs.
It took a lot of balls for Depew to pull something like this when Nations Oil was already under scrutiny by the press for intimidating activists. That guy had more connections than a Colombian drug lord.
Black boots stopped only inches from her head. “We’ve got another one in here!”
“I’m not armed,” she said calmly.
“Well, I am so you’d better not move a muscle.”
Another pair of boots appeared. “Come out of there nice and slow.”
Trying her best not to sound sarcastic, she asked, “Don’t move a muscle or come out nice and slow. Which is it? I’d rather not get shot.”
“Just drag her ass out of there,” the first one barked. He was dressed in fatigues with a black T-shirt beneath his tactical vest.
She went limp as the second man, wearing a deputy’s uniform and a flak jacket, hauled her out from under the table by her feet. He then rolled her over, and with his boot on her back, pinned her wrists with plastic cuffs. After all the times she’d been arrested, Stacie knew to twist her arms so the cuffs wouldn’t be tight once she relaxed. She also knew these guys were on a power trip and that antagonizing them would only make the situation worse. Her physical comfort was the least of their concerns.
No sooner had she struggled to her feet than he shoved her forward and into the doorjamb. For a moment she saw stars, the pain above her eye so sharp she thought she might cry.
“I found this in the kitchen,” one of the commandos yelled, waving what looked like a bag of marijuana.
“Because you put it there,” she answered before she was pushed outside.
On the front porch were several plastic bins containing laptops, cell phones, notebooks, papers and miscellaneous electronics and data storage devices. These guys were idiots if they thought they’d find anything useful. Everything of importance required a password to access and their sensitive files were heavily encrypted.
Amid dozens of flashing blue lights, some emanating from black SUVs with ordinary Minnesota plates, the men escorted her to a waiting paddy wagon. Before she stepped in, she looked back at the SWAT team and noted that only two were wearing deputy patches on their shoulders. The others were dressed in camouflage pants and black T-shirts—Depew’s men.
Inside the wagon, she squeezed in next to Jenn at the end of the bench. “Is everyone all right?”
“My arm is bleeding,” said Alex, a recent college grad from Des Moines. “I think there’s a piece of glass in it.”
“Make sure you show that to Matt when he gets to the jail. With any luck, he’ll get you a few thousand dollars for it.” She asked Jenn, “Did you get a look at the warrant?”
“I saw it on the table by the front door but they wouldn’t let me read it. You think this is Depew?”
“I know it is. He’s never gone this far against us before but we’ve never had a takedown quite like that one yesterday. We must have really kicked the hornet’s nest.”
Or maybe Depew had gotten wind of their discoveries and was coming to collect whatever evidence they had, which was none, thanks to her careless handling of the water samples. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to her Cathryn might rat her out.
Marty was the last to arrive at the wagon, and in response to a shove, spat in the direction of a deputy. “You fucking pig!”
“Marty, stop it!” Jenn yelled.
It was too late. He to
ok a blow to the jaw and went down.
The deputy wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. “Throw this son of a bitch in the back of my car. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll shut that pretty mouth before I bust it again.”
Stacie had little doubt he was in for a beating no matter what, but she selfishly worried more about CLEAN’s reputation than Marty’s well-being. He couldn’t spit in a man’s face and not expect retaliation, whether it was legal or not. It was just a plain fact that some people weren’t suited for peaceful activism, but she’d leave it up to Jenn to handle him. If he couldn’t adapt to their methods, he’d have to stay home, no matter whose boyfriend he was.
* * *
“There’s no question our credibility took a hit,” Cathryn said, twirling in her chair to face the wall. How was she supposed to have confidential briefings with Hoss while sharing office space with her staff? “I’d like to schedule a press tour of the cleanup site. They need to see us doing what we promised. Not all of them—especially not the bloggers or that kid from the college paper—just a handpicked few.”
“I like the way you think, Cathryn. Always have. Sort it out with Larry if you think that’s what we need.”
“Hoss, there’s something else I need to talk to you about…Karl Depew. I think he’s being a little overexuberant and I’m worried there’s going to be blowback.”
“That’s the thing, honey. He’s up against a bunch of hooligans. Heck, they killed people out in Oregon driving spikes through that lumber, and they burnt down a building once with some poor fellow still inside it. We’re the ones dishing out blowback because that’s what it takes to shut these vandals down.”
There had been a handful of ecoterrorist incidents several years ago, but their tactics had been denounced by all but the environmental fringe. Cathryn had stayed up half the night reading about Stacie and CLEAN, and their approach was community activism, educational campaigns and lobbying for environmental regulations and clean energy investment. According to her profile in the Post-Gazette, she’d been arrested twenty-one times for civil disobedience, mostly trespassing and failure to disperse. There were other more nefarious incidents, she’d said, like when she was stopped for driving with a broken taillight, one that was “broken when struck by a billy club.” After two arrests for driving under the influence—both of which were dismissed for a lack of evidence—Stacie never drank more than half a glass of anything. “I can’t give them any ammunition.”
Anyone But You Page 9
