He speed-dialed his brother’s number.
“Sandstrom and Carson are where?” Will barked at his brother.
“Hey, don’t kill the messenger,” Sean said.
“Sorry.” Will paused to adapt his tone. “That means this is very, very bad. Worse than Sandstrom is letting on, worse than the media is portraying. We already know that this isn’t just about a leak. It’s about the whole subsea platform anchored on the ocean floor. Elizabeth has to be right. It must have fractured.”
And the fact Jason Carson was there meant that Sandstrom had secret plans that weren’t on the up-and-up. Carson, a too-smart-for-his-own-good Harvard-educated lawyer on detail to the CEO’s office from regulatory and government affairs, had a firm grasp on the liabilities AF would likely be facing and also ran point on their relations with the White House. But he also was a climber with no conscience, and now Sandstrom’s constant shadow.
It was one of the reasons Will was working so hard to take over the CEO position. American Frontier needed new leadership, honest leadership. Leadership that a Worthington had been groomed to provide.
What are they up to? Will wondered. And is Drew right in saying there’s even greater risk in taking over AF at present? That I should give it up?
“Rumors are that Sandstrom was pretty ticked when the Navy cutter was still anchored next to his oil platform,” Sean added. “Elizabeth said some of the USS Cantor crew were talking about how steamed he was. Carson evidently tried to smooth it over with Sandstrom by saying the Navy and science teams had been very helpful in providing real-time info as the events unfolded, but . . .”
“I’m sure that went over well.”
Sean laughed. “Carson told him that the White House had asked the Navy cutter to remain in place, so they didn’t have a choice. Sandstrom flung back a snippy remark about the Russians and Chinese showing up next. Guess that ended the conversation. Okay, gotta go.” Sean abruptly hung up.
So, Will translated in his mind, Sandstrom is worried about one or two things. Getting caught lying about the reason for the spill or the severity of it.
The oil industry had believed that AF’s engineering marvel would be the salvation for their efforts to drill in the harsh Arctic conditions. Stock in the company had soared as a result. The crew of ex-NASA engineers and technical experts who’d moved over to AF after the US space agency had downsized and laid them off took immense pride in their creation. They’d believed the platform was capable of withstanding anything in the Arctic and could handle the load on the ocean floor. But they’d been vastly wrong. If the subsea platform was fractured and hopelessly beyond repair, that changed the game. It might be days before the American Frontier crew was able to isolate the precise location of the leak and contain it. From what Elizabeth had said, they had no real idea how much oil was leaking, or even how they might ultimately contain it.
Worse, winter was coming on, and even the unmanned submersibles that had constructed the subsea platform and would be called on now to either repair it or deep-six it permanently might conceivably struggle to work properly for months going forward.
So what now? Will asked himself.
That was a very good question. And he wasn’t certain there was an immediate answer.
Even as he wondered what Sandstrom and Carson’s next steps would be, a warning went off in his mind. It pays to stay out of Jason Carson’s way, because he can be . . . direct. Will knew good people whose careers and public image had been shattered by Sandstrom’s young gun when they’d failed to get out of the line of fire.
Though Will had Worthington money behind him, he didn’t want to be one of them.
21
“Enough,” Will said that night after he watched the latest news report.
He flipped off the television and exhaled loudly in disgust. Settling against the back of the couch in his living room, he addressed Laura, who sat next to him. “So that’s the way Sandstrom and the White House have decided to handle it. Control the truth. Dad was right. At AF’s pinnacle moment, they could have chosen to do the right thing or the easy thing. They chose the easy thing.”
“Did you expect anything else? And keep in mind Sean’s going to sail right into the middle of that supposed ‘truth’—complete with Green Justice and a New York Times reporter.” She eyed Will. “Kind of makes what you’ve decided to do seem like a cakewalk.”
Will laughed. Laura had a way of bringing a lighter perspective to any problem.
“So they decided to lie,” he said bluntly. “The president’s largest financial backer is Eric Sandstrom, so President Rich has to back him or else. Especially since the Department of the Interior’s decision to allow drilling in the Arctic in the first place was driven by the White House.”
Whether they admitted it or not, the spill was clearly the White House’s problem. And just as the Obama administration had done during the BP oil spill, the Rich administration was doing everything it could to control the information pipeline to the media and, ultimately, the public. The difference this time was that AF and the Rich administration weren’t adversaries. They were collaborating or, quite possibly, conspiring with each other to control information to the public. What made it easier was that the spill occurred in a remote location, where TV crews couldn’t easily camp out and film what was happening. That meant the White House had the luxury of sifting through the information at hand and releasing as much or as little of what they had to the press. They’d announced that they would provide two briefings every day, at noon and then 4:00 p.m.—plenty of time for the broadcast networks to prepare something for the evening news.
Laura broke into his thoughts. “It was easy to tell that footage had been filtered through AF’s media officers. Even down to the four main points. You couldn’t miss them.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “One—no ruptured pipe on the ocean floor, just some leaking. Not gushing. Which, of course, we know from Sean and Elizabeth is a big lie. Two—the platform has not been toppled.” She grinned. “Nice touch when they said the CEO was himself directing operations from the platform. So it’s safe and nothing scary is going on if American Frontier’s CEO would risk his life there. Three—there’s no evidence the oil is moving beyond the Arctic. Not technically a lie since it hasn’t moved yet, but the Shapiros’ work shows where the oil will end up. And finally, four—American Frontier is cooperating fully with the White House to resolve the problem as swiftly as possible. So everybody is in the same court. The message all around? ‘Don’t worry. Be happy.’”
“So everybody is going to think this will be quickly contained when that’s far from the truth.” Truth was important to Will, just as it was to his father. It didn’t always make them popular with those who liked to twist things even a little, but Will had chosen to walk the straight and narrow. To take his compass and never stray from the path.
Laura snuggled up against his shoulder. “You know the truth will win out. And when it does, you’ll be in a position to make even more of a difference than you can now. Sandstrom and his cronies will be revealed for who they are. If not now, then sooner or later.”
He knew she was right, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.
22
When Will thought things couldn’t get worse or any more convoluted, they did. The call he received from Drew was disturbing indeed. Especially because James Loughlin, the tough senior senator from New York, was involved. Loughlin was an old, traditional Republican who had somehow managed to balance both Tea Party and Wall Street types to stay in office for three six-year terms. Now, however, he faced a primary challenge from the Right, when he was most vulnerable and up for reelection in less than two years.
It was Will’s business to know a lot about Loughlin. Especially since party leaders had talked to Will on and off about challenging the senator. But Will had never shown much interest.
Those in the know joked about how much Loughlin hated fund-raising calls, even when his campaign finance d
irector made it as simple as he could. Rumor had it that the finance director printed up the names of wealthy donors on three-by-five cards, with their personal cell phone number, net wealth, what they did for a living, their history of giving to GOP candidates in the past, and fun, personal facts about them that Loughlin could throw out casually in conversation.
At the beginning of each day, Loughlin’s senate administrative assistant handed him 10 cards to put in his suit pocket. All the senator had to do was dial the cell number in between hearings or Senate floor sessions, start a casual conversation, and then make the pitch for the person on the other end of the line to max out contributions, from both him and his wife, to Loughlin in both the primary and the primary election.
Loughlin’s job, put simply, was to suck up to wealthy people and promise them access that he would rarely, if ever, grant to them on any issue of substance. He was warned frequently what he could say and not say on each of those calls, and he had to make the calls from a cell phone that was part of the campaign—not part of his regular Senate office.
But rumor also had it that Loughlin had been cutting corners for years. He’d developed a small cadre of folks who would deliver for him when he asked—a select group of CEOs who ran defense companies that relied on the Pentagon for their livelihood, banks that needed help with SEC regulations in Washington, tech and media companies that needed access to the FCC, and oil and gas companies that relied on subsidies and federal leasing permits to do business.
“On Loughlin’s list is Eric Sandstrom,” Drew reported, “who now has a tiger by the tail with the Arctic spill. So Loughlin decided to remind Sandstrom about how helpful he’d been in establishing a little line in the interior appropriations bill last year that had paved the way for exclusive drilling rights in the Arctic.”
“And?” Will prodded.
Drew laughed. “Loughlin must have figured a big ask right now would be timely. Probably had to do with the fact he figured Sandstrom was down in public perception, so he needed somebody in Congress in his court. So he gave Sandstrom a call in the Arctic. Evidently they made some kind of deal, because Sandstrom promised him 25 million for his reelection campaign, and he’d help get another 25 million for Loughlin through the other oil and gas companies.”
So, Will reasoned, I wonder how much Sandstrom told Loughlin about what’s really happening up there in the Arctic. Or if he sold him a bill of goods too.
23
ICELAND
The family dinner had gone so late into the evening, Sean had decided to just charter a plane to Reykjavík that night. He’d flown all night and slept on the plane. As a rule, he didn’t like to do that. He traveled a lot and almost always flew commercial, though first class, no matter the destination. He liked having lots of people around him when he was on an airplane. But he didn’t want to burn any more time. They’d secured a ship, and it was ready to sail. Sean had picked up the tab for Kirk Baldwin and the Green Justice crew’s airfare, part of a brand-new philanthropic research gift. They were already in Iceland, waiting for him to arrive and join the crew.
By the time Sean finally caught up with Kirk, the burly Green Justice veteran had already managed three cups of coffee. It was only nine o’clock in the morning.
“Dude, took you long enough. I’m about ready to jump out of my skin. And can I say, you look like you had cats screeching outside your window all night,” Kirk said as Sean arrived at the coffee shop where they’d agreed to meet.
The rest of the crew was on the ship, choosing their berths and bringing their gear on board. But Kirk had insisted he wanted to see Sean first. Even after all these years of knowing Sean, Kirk was still cautious. He wanted to take Sean’s temperature a bit and gauge his expectations for the journey ahead.
Sean scratched his grizzled chin. “You have no idea. I took a direct flight and slept on the plane.”
“No worries,” Kirk said. “Plenty of time for sleep once we’re on the ship. We have a bit of a trip in front of us before we get there.”
“Speaking of that, any chance we’ll get anywhere close?”
Kirk shrugged. “Probably not real close, but who knows? They haven’t had a chance to bring in all the heavy artillery yet. It is open water, after all, and in international waters. It’s not like they can arrest us or keep us too far away from the spill. We’re not pirates.”
“Yeah, maybe. But they’ll try.”
“I would if I were them,” Kirk agreed, rubbing his bald head. “And with the Navy involved and this being so critical to the White House, who knows what we’re likely to run into?”
“Is the captain a hired gun?”
“He is, but we’ve used him before. Good guy. He’ll take some calculated risks to get us as close as he can.”
“Good. We’ll need that sort of an attitude.”
Sean had known Kirk for nearly 15 years. They’d been on campaigns several times, including a harrowing trip into a cove where dolphins were slaughtered. But Sean knew he was being evaluated, and he could tell what Kirk was thinking.
This guy isn’t your typical wealthy plutocrat. He’s a campaigner at heart. He just happens to have several billion dollars in his bank account.
Still, Sean could tell Kirk was uneasy.
“So, Sean,” he said tentatively, “you know me. I don’t usually ask a lot of questions. I’m game for any grand adventure, especially when it comes to taking on the biggest oil and gas company in the world while they’re trying to deal with an environmental disaster. We have a ship all gassed up and ready to go. I’m on board. But I gotta know. What gives?”
“What?” Sean frowned. “You’re asking because Worthington Shares owns more shares of American Frontier than just about anyone else?”
“That and the fact the whole media is reporting that your brother is a sure bet to step in as CEO to take charge.”
So that’s it. He’s now laid his biggest card on the table.
Sean glanced over at the waitress behind the counter of the coffee shop before answering. “Can I get a coffee to go?” he called out. He pulled a 20-dollar bill from his wallet and placed it on the table, then hesitated. He eyed Kirk. “They take dollars? It’s all I have.”
Kirk shrugged. “Probably.”
Sean finally answered Kirk’s probing question. “On the first point, that’s why I’m here—to see for myself how at risk our stake is in American Frontier. Think of it like my own personal due diligence. On the second point, I wouldn’t be so sure Will is going to take over anytime soon. Sandstrom is digging in his heels. What’s more, my brother may not be all that interested. Depends a bit on what we find . . . and what I tell him.”
Kirk nodded.
Sean knew from experience that the grizzled Green Justicer wouldn’t probe further. There was already a bit of an uneasy partnership going on. Green Justice, as a rule, didn’t take corporate donations. But Sean wasn’t corporate, not exactly. Only an extremely wealthy guy who had inherited a whole lot more money than he knew what to do with, and he was generous with it. But his family’s company also owned all or some of the very same companies that Green Justice took on publicly and privately. That meant there was a fuzzy gray line, and now, as in the past, Kirk probably didn’t know where he stood in relation to that line with Sean. But that fuzziness wouldn’t stop Kirk from carrying on with their plan.
“So let me just ask this and we can be done with it,” Kirk said. “You’re not going to ask me at some point on this trip to do something I’d regret, are you? If so, then maybe we’d better bring a life raft for you—in case I need to kick you off the ship.”
Sean laughed but didn’t answer immediately. Kirk was kidding about the life raft, of course. But he wanted to know Sean wouldn’t pull rank and order the Green Justice crew to do something they wouldn’t otherwise consider merely because he was the wealthy donor funding the effort.
The waitress brought Sean’s coffee over and grabbed the 20-dollar bill from the table without saying
anything.
Kirk smirked. “Guess they do take dollars.”
Sean grinned, and their eyes met for a moment. “You’re in charge, Kirk. Really and truly. I’m just along for the ride. You call the shots. I may have some questions and a suggestion or two. But there will be no orders from me. None. You do what you think is right, as you always do.”
Kirk nodded again. He grabbed his Windbreaker from the back of the chair and headed for the door. “Glad to hear it. The team will be relieved to hear it too.”
24
NEW YORK CITY
“It isn’t that easy,” Will said into his iPhone. “I wish it were, but it’s not. I can’t make a decision that quickly.”
He’d stopped to take the call during his daily run through Central Park. His first mistake was running with his iPhone, and his second mistake was stopping to check the caller ID. Once he saw who it was, he’d decided to bite the bullet and deal with the call. He knew Kiki Estrada, the executive director of the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee, well enough to know that she’d just keep calling until she got him . . . and his answer. Will had to hand it to her—she was persistent and a straight shooter.
“I know the primary is soon,” he said, “and that you don’t have anyone with the resources or a decent name ID interested in the race. I’m not even sure I’m all that interested. I’m really focused on something else right now. It comes first.” He tried to calm himself, slow his breathing. He’d been about halfway through his run and had started to hit a decent pace.
Kiki wasn’t easily dissuaded, though. If she had been, her party would never field any first-tier candidates like William Jennings Worthington VI. Everyone in Washington knew she was relentless once she had her target in sight. And now she’d clearly focused her sights on the Worthington family, Will in particular.
“Come on, Will, don’t tell me there’s anything more important than taking back the Senate,” Kiki said. She’d been a Senate chief of staff and then a Democratic National Committee official for more than 20 years before finally agreeing to run the DSCC in an attempt to bring control of the Senate back to the Democrats.
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