The parking lot was designated for media and invited guests only. All others would have to park along Lake Bunyan Road and walk at least half a mile to the park, another of Depew’s obstacles to limit general attendance. This wasn’t really meant to be a public celebration. It was pure theater for the media and local officials.
Cathryn swatted a mosquito on her ankle and noticed with chagrin her cream-colored pumps were stained with dew, permanently ruined. She couldn’t wait to leave this misery behind. Houston had its problems with humidity and bugs, but at least her office wasn’t outdoors.
Amy approached her with three women and two men, and introduced them as county commissioners. Cathryn made small talk about how much she’d enjoyed her stay in their beautiful area, and after a few minutes, directed them to reserved seating in the first two rows. It was then she noticed the seats behind them had begun to fill in, at least forty citizens with dozens more streaming in. The commissioners fanned out to shake hands as if their election were the next day.
She tugged Amy to her side. “What are they doing?”
“That’s how people are in the Midwest. They’re probably trading recipes for casseroles and Jell-O salad.”
The growing crowd shouldn’t have surprised her, not after Stacie and her group had turned out thousands at Chester Park. They were concerned citizens, the foundation of democracy. The bedrock of America. The Heartland. These were the words she’d use in her introductory comments when she thanked them all for coming.
“We should have ordered more chairs,” Amy said. Her cell phone chirped with news of another arrival, and she hurried back to the parking lot to escort more dignitaries to their seats.
“Excuse me, Miss Mack?” A young man wearing powder makeup and eyeliner approached with a cameraman following close behind. “I’m Kip Goddard, KLS-TV in Duluth. I wonder if we could ask you a couple of questions before the program gets started.”
“Of course.” She’d rather have postponed everything until the end, but Nations Oil was at the mercy of a friendly press. As they readied their equipment, she took out her compact and touched up her face.
“First, describe for our viewers the purpose of this event.”
“As you know, we’ve had a very unfortunate incident here at Lake Bunyan, an oil spill caused by stress on our pipeline resulting from unexpectedly heavy traffic on Lake Bunyan Road. While we couldn’t have predicted something like that, we’re holding ourselves accountable, and showing the citizens of this county and the entire nation that we’re trustworthy stewards of the environment. We’ve kept our promise to clean up the spill, and we’re here today to celebrate that.”
“We’ve been told by county officials that Lake Bunyan will remain closed to the public for at least one more year. Why is that, if as you say, the lake is clean?”
“We very much regret the need to keep the lake off-limits, but this area has an extremely fragile ecosystem. Over the next few weeks, we’ll gradually be reintroducing various species of hatchlings, fingerlings and waterfowl. I’ve been told several lakes in Minnesota have a few extra ducks.”
If only the rest of her day ended on such a light note.
When she turned away from the camera, she was stunned to see the seats were all taken and a hundred people or more were standing in the back and on the sides. Approaching the press section to mild applause was Colleen Murray, walking gingerly on the arm of a young man and a woman whose cap was pulled low over her eyes—Stacie Pilardi.
* * *
Jenn’s suggestion that they scatter about in private homes on Wednesday night had proven prescient. Before clearing out, they removed the tracking devices from their cars, leaving them in the driveway inside reusable water bottles with the CLEAN logo. Matt reported that deputies conducted a pre-dawn raid on the empty farmhouse, ostensibly in search of more illegal drugs, a fact that made Stacie uneasy.
Today’s civil disobedience was sure to make national news, but she had no intention of being arrested. Her job was to talk with the media afterward and make sure they knew it was bitumen at the bottom of the lake.
John and Rita were leading the protest contingent that had been corralled inside the “free speech” zone. It was absurd the Supreme Court permitted such arbitrary restrictions under the guise of protecting the safety of attendees and protestors at public events. They’d ruled, however, that such constraints could not be implemented based solely on the content of the message. CLEAN put the lie to that by having a couple of their activists carry hand-painted placards that read Mark Washburn for President! Those individuals were permitted entry inside the park, and Jenn made certain other members of the media made note of the disparity. Their photos would be grounds for a lawsuit against the county alleging suppression of their rights, which they planned to file this afternoon. It was all part of the constant battle.
They sat through introductory remarks from the county administrator, followed by rosy assessments from the company’s CEO and operations officer. In between, Cathryn had taken the podium and artfully delivered a summary of previous statements along with an overview of what the next speaker would say. She was very good at her job, smooth and articulate, and she looked fabulous in a low-cut tan suit.
Stacie could hardly bear to think about Cathryn returning to Houston tomorrow and ending their relationship. Such a waste of love—for both of them. She’d lain awake half the night trying to imagine how they might get past their differences and salvage what they felt for one another. The prospects were grim.
“Next, I’d like to introduce Bob Kryzwicki of the Environmental Protection Agency, who will talk about the standards his agency measures to ensure compliance. Bob?”
Up until now, CLEAN’s record for protest-related arrests was forty-one. That’s how many activists showed up two years ago to blockade the road into a drilling site in Colorado after an oil company won a permit from the state legislature as a last-minute addendum to a hard-fought budget bill. Big Oil and their legislative stooges were like cockroaches in the dark, but CLEAN was about to turn on the lights. Izzy had conceived their plan when Nations Oil announced they were holding the event in the public park not far from where he’d taken the samples they’d turned over to the state inspectors. He was an adrenaline junkie who thrived on taking risks, and she wasn’t surprised when he too turned down the leadership opportunity she offered.
“Thank you, Bob. We appreciate the clarification of the EPA standards and look forward to your final report. And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of introducing our next speaker, who will share his thoughts about the oil industry and its role in national security. Please join me in giving a warm welcome to Senator Mark Washburn.”
As the audience came to its feet in thunderous applause, all of the CLEAN activists—one hundred sixty-three, not counting Stacie—began shedding their clothes to reveal bathing suits underneath. En masse they darted toward the shore before security could get into position to block them. Some swam toward the center of the lake while others frolicked in waist-deep water, splashing and laughing, and even dipping underneath the surface.
Senator Washburn’s aides shuffled him offstage immediately and back to the parking lot, with Hoss Bower and Bryce Tucker on his heels. Cathryn had the catbird seat, high on the stage from where she could watch the mayhem unfold.
The uniformed deputies stopped at the water’s edge, seemingly reluctant to get wet, but Depew’s men weren’t the least bit daunted. They waded into the lake in pursuit of the swimmers, bringing them one by one back to shore where they were bound with plastic handcuffs and seated in rows.
All the while, TV cameras captured every glorious moment.
“What’s that black stuff all over them?”
Reporters and their camera operators defied the security guards and rushed toward the activists. “Zoom in here and get a picture of this for our viewers,” one reporter said, bending low to point to a girl who had been dragged from the lake. Her whole body was streak
ed with tarry oil.
The commotion lasted for thirty minutes, during which everyone who had anything to do with Nations Oil disappeared, including Cathryn.
Every single swimmer was arrested, and Stacie couldn’t have been prouder of their feat. As Izzy marched by, he spun around to flash her an awkward two thumbs-up with his wrists bound together. Matt would have his hands full arranging bail for this many people, but it was worth every nickel. Never before had CLEAN made such a splash—literally and figuratively—and this day would live in activist lore for years to come.
“Pardon me, are you Stacie Pilardi, director of the Clean Energy Action Network?” It was Ethan, whose question caused three reporters and a cameraman to rush toward her.
She provided background on the organization and confirmation of the substance they’d seen on the swimmers. “We collected samples from the lake prior to evacuation that suggested bitumen had settled on the lakebed. As you may know, tar sands are diluted for transport, and when the pipeline ruptured, this dilbit as it’s called spread across the surface of the lake. The diluents evaporated rather quickly, causing the oil to sink to the bottom. We knew it was there, and we gave Nations Oil ample time to acknowledge that fact, but they did not.”
If only she could go further into her explanation, but now that officials knew of the deception, they’d surely discover the deliberate spill of heavy oil on top of the bitumen that was accidentally leaked.
“How were you able to organize today’s demonstration?”
“People all over the country care passionately about this issue. We’re tired of seeing the oil companies get away with destroying our lakes and rivers, killing our wildlife and ruining our pastimes, and we’re tired of politicians who cozy up to their interests in return for campaign contributions. I don’t mean to criticize any of you standing here—I know you’re stretched thin and you’re expected to cover a lot of news with just a handful of reporters on a tight budget—but it takes a lot these days to get the media’s attention. Nations Oil tried to pull a fast one on all of us. Go after them and make them answer the hard questions. Then go talk to people and find out how they feel about having their favorite fishing hole ruined forever so a bunch of millionaires who live somewhere else can make even more money. I bet they’ll tell you they don’t want the Caliber Pipeline coming through their backyard, or anyone else’s backyard. We’re all ready for clean energy.”
As the reporters hustled off to file their stories, the event crew came in with their truck to dismantle the stage and pack up the chairs. From where Stacie was standing, it appeared the authorities had called in school buses to transport the arrested protestors. They’d probably be taken directly to the courthouse for processing, since the jail couldn’t accommodate so many. She was looking forward to Izzy’s triumphant tale once he was released from custody.
Besides Stacie and the event crew, there was only one other person still in the park. Cathryn sat beneath a pavilion at a picnic table, her face a puzzle of what looked like misery and amusement.
“Sorry about your day,” Stacie said sincerely, looking about to make sure they weren’t being watched. “I honestly hated what this was doing to you.”
Cathryn shrugged. “I never said we didn’t deserve to be caught. I just didn’t want to be the reason. Are you going to share those papers I gave you now?”
“There’s no need. The cat’s out of the bag. The investigators should be able to piece it together on their own…the new investigators, that is. I imagine Bob Whatzisname from the EPA is already looking for a lawyer.”
“The lawyers are going to do a good business for the next couple of years. I’ll probably need one too.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think any of this will land in your lap. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Cathryn chuckled. “You should be proud of yourself, Stacie. After this debacle, there’s no way the Senate is going to approve the Caliber Pipeline.”
“Not this year, anyway. Nations Oil still has lots of friends though. If history’s any judge, we’ll see a fine that looks enormous to the average Joe but barely scratches your company’s annual profits. Bower might get pushed out of the plane, but you can bet your ass he’ll have a golden parachute. This type of corporate behavior isn’t going to change until guys like him are the ones marched off in handcuffs.”
“Don’t hold your breath on that one. Hoss Bower’s too big to jail. I’m sure he’s hedged his bets in all the right places.” Cathryn looked away, clearly ashamed to be a part of their scheme. “That’s something I admire about your people. You take a stand even when you know there will be consequences. Guys like Hoss…they have enough money to guarantee they’ll never have to face the music.”
Though her dismal observations were nothing new to Stacie, she was heartened to know Cathryn had finally come around to seeing things the way they really were. She still hoped some intrepid prosecutor would pursue criminal charges all the way to the top as long as Cathryn didn’t get caught in the web.
The event truck’s engine roared as its tires spun in the mud. Finally it got traction and pulled out, leaving only trampled grass and gobs of tarry mud. A victorious battlefield for Stacie, but for Cathryn and Nations Oil, it was Waterloo.
Stacie joined her on the bench. Side by side, both of them stared out toward the lake. “What happens now?”
Cathryn checked her watch. “I was supposed to fly home tomorrow on the corporate jet, but I have a feeling it’s roaring down the runway without me right this very second. I thought maybe I’d call my friend down in St. Paul and see if she wanted to get together one last time tonight at the Weller Regent before I head out.”
“That sounds like a really good idea. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.” One more night. The only reason at all to say no was to avoid the agony of knowing it would probably be their last time. In the heat of the moment, Stacie might blurt out that she hoped Cathryn got fired so they could be together forever. “I guess I’d better get over to the courthouse with my checkbook. Let’s hope nobody fingers me as the mastermind.”
“I’ll slip you a shiv in a cake.”
Chapter Sixteen
The protestors, many of them still wet and with oil streaking their skin, were packed shoulder to shoulder eight rows deep in the county courthouse for their arraignment. Matt Stevenson hadn’t yet entered a plea, hoping a sympathetic judge might dismiss the charges altogether.
Stacie didn’t mind fair charges, and in fact, preferred to have CLEAN activists plead guilty to misdemeanors, as it cemented their resolve. These days, however, there was an ominous trend of prosecutorial overreach—menacing charges with stiff sentences designed to intimidate those who might consider protesting in the future. This was that.
The Honorable Susan Lindquist wrinkled her nose and stared down from the bench at the gallery. “I don’t want any of you to take this personally, but you’re having quite the malodorous effect on my courtroom.”
That she had a sense of humor was a good sign. Judges who were all business were less inclined to consider the motivations behind acts of conscience.
The assistant district attorney, who looked to be in his late twenties, was likely salivating at the prospect of padding his conviction numbers with a roomful of defendants. “Your Honor, in addition to unlawful assembly, the defendants are also charged with trespass, interfering with the duties of law enforcement officers and resisting arrest.”
That was pretty much everything possible, since there was no resulting injury or property damage. By piling on redundant charges, he clearly hoped for jail time.
Matt calmly interjected, “My clients did not resist arrest, Your Honor. On the contrary, they allowed themselves to be handcuffed, and they followed every order given.”
“I breathlessly await an explanation for why the defendants engaged in this forbidden frolic.”
Stacie looked down and covered her mouth to stifle a chuckle.
“Yes, certainly. I
n the wake of its devastating oil spill at Lake Bunyan, Nations Oil held an event today—which was open to the public, I might add—and announced they had completed cleanup. My clients had reason to believe that assertion was untrue, and as you can see by the oil that still clings to their faces, they were correct. This was an act of civil disobedience to expose wrongdoing by a corporation, and perhaps by the very agencies charged with regulating their conduct.”
Swiveling from side to side as though casually entertaining herself, Judge Lindquist asked the prosecutor, “Is the county really prepared to prove a hundred and sixty-three people interfered with law enforcement and resisted arrest?”
“Those are the charges listed in the police report, Your Honor. In accordance with the laws of Minnesota, it is my job to prosecute those charges.”
“So it is. Were there any damages or injuries?”
“No, Your Honor.”
She turned to Matt. “Civil disobedience has a longstanding tradition in this country. However, it is not without consequences, and I trust your clients understood that when they took this action.”
“They did, Your Honor, and they are fully prepared to accept society’s punishment, but not for crimes they did not commit.”
“Very well, then. In exchange for their guilty pleas for unlawful assembly and trespass, I’d suggest the State collect fines of, say…five dollars apiece, and time served. I hope that works for everyone, because I’m not inclined to grant other charges.”
Sweet victory! The prosecutor got his convictions and her group got off with a token fine and no obligation to return to court at a future date. Too bad the corporate puppet masters would throw thousands of dollars behind Judge Lindquist’s rival during the next election cycle.
Stacie caught up with Jenn in the hallway, where she’d been thanking everyone for coming on such short notice and executing their plan perfectly.
“Look how happy they are, Stacie. You remember how exhilarating our first time was?”
Anyone But You Page 19
