Hulagu's Web The Presidential Pursuit of Katherine Laforge

by David Hearne

  Katherine paused and smiled before moving up to the podium. “Yes, of course, Dick. Bring him up here, and I would love to introduce him to the public.” Looking out at the crowd, she announced, “Please give my good friend’s son ‘Jack Montgomery’ a hero’s welcome. He has just come back from Iraq and is here with us today. Let’s hear it for him.”

  An energizing applause spread through the crowd. The clapping, whistles and cheers grew louder as the trailer’s front door swung open. A young man in an electric wheelchair exited the door and whined toward the podium. Most of his hair was missing and a shiny reddish indentation marked his gaunt face where an eye had once been. His nose was just a knot of red grizzle above a hideously deformed mouth missing any real lips. He wore a tee shirt that exposed a bluish red knob where once an arm had been. The remaining arm and hand, scarred and pock marked, was busy moving the controls of the wheelchair. The silence that gripped the crowd was punctuated by gasps and signs as the young man rolled into view. Two scaly red, stumps protruded out from under the bottom of his Army tee shirt where his legs should have been. They were lumpy knobs of flesh that resembled heads of cauliflower that had turned a bright purplish red color. Katherine was stunned and stood there motionless. The young man let go of the controls and raised his only hand to his face. He held a cupped hand in a salute over his eyeless socket for a moment and then reached out to shake Katherine’s hand as his broken mouth emitted a slurred welcome, “We hope you win, Senator Laforge.” The young man’s one eye locked on Katherine’s face. Behind him, Mr. Montgomery’s tears welled up and his body shuttered from his emotions. Katherine felt panic swell through her as she realized her shock had been obvious to her friend Dick.

  “Senator, this is what Big Oil did for my son and my family,” Montgomery said hesitantly as he tried to retain his composure. He wiped away spittle from his son’s mouth and paused for a moment. That is when Katherine realized that the hushed silenced was begging her to speak.

  “I am so sorry you were wounded.” Katherine said quietly as she still held his gnarled hand. The cameras zoomed in on the son, father and Senator Laforge and recorded a moment that would replay on TV for nights to come. Katherine floundering for words said, “Our country owes you for your courage and sacrifice, and I am proud to know you and your father. It is men like you that keep this country free. We all owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  Dick Montgomery emotionally said, “He’s my son, my hero and my miracle.” The crowd responded with a standing ovation that did not cease until Mr. Montgomery signaled to them to stop. Then he took the microphone and in a very controlled voice expressed more of his bitterness, “I just want to say, that Goddamn greed, excuse me, was the cause of this. If those bastards running those companies felt any allegiance to our country, as my son did, if they had been willing to sacrifice just a little profit to solve our energy problems, my son would not have sacrificed all that he did to insure Big Oil can make its 20 billion a quarter profit.”

  Leaning into the microphone, he continued, “They have billions to solve our energy problems, but they make more money, more profits, when oil is scarce, and wars are fought to increase its price. They grow richer off the spilled blood of our sons, daughters, fathers and mothers. Yes, I am very angry. Very disgusted at these people whose ghoulish greed has hurt my son so badly.” He rubbed away unashamed tears and paused for a moment. “That is all I guess I want to say, other than making sure the press realize that Senator Laforge did not know about my feelings or my son’s wounds. My son and I will do as much as we possibly can with our biodiesel farm to end this tyranny of Big Oil over us.” He turned to Katherine who was still speechless and handed her the microphone. The crowd again roared uncontrollably.

  Katherine stepped closer to the lectern and said, “This is truly a moment I never envisioned. I think Mr. Montgomery has said what a lot of people feel. When you feel taken for granted, unappreciated and just part of a large plan to insure a company’s bulging profit, you have reason to be angry. I am sure, I will get heat about this day from the press and oil lobbies, but it gives me hope when I realize others feel as I do. It hurts and angers me to see my friend struggling with what fate delivered.”

  Katherine glanced over at Pamela. She was signaling that time was up. “I need to open this meeting to any questions now, but I do have one more belief, I want to share with you. Our future rest with people like you and pioneers like Mr. Montgomery and his son to make the changes and sacrifices necessary to deliver us from Big Oil’s grip and make our country energy self efficient.”

  That evening, as they drove toward Retledge, Missouri, Katherine contemplated the day’s events. She could see in her mind the twisted face of Jack Montgomery and tried to imagine the horror he had gone through. How broken emotionally was his father? This was a young man who was once a ladies’ man, – but now? She took an Ambien with some tea and looked at the pile of snail mail that had been opened and stacked on her desk. In front of the pile was a booklet about the future of Big Oil. This was the document her earlier call had mentioned. She thumbed through it, and then tossed it aside realizing whatever they would have liked her to not say she had probably already done it earlier this afternoon at Mr. Montgomery’s biodiesel facility.

  Partially lulled by the hum of the bus and from just being exhausted, she soon fell asleep in her chair. At about two in the morning a frantic Ira awoke her. “We are changing some of our plans,” he announced to her in a whispered voice. “We are going to Alaska instead of Missouri.”

  Katherine blinked her eyes clearing sleep from her brain. She could hear sirens in the background, and the bus was stopped. “Why? What has happened?”

  “We need to change our itinerary because it looks like we have pissed someone off a bit more. Our bus has been shot at and your bed has a couple bullet holes in it.”

  Katherine was wide-awake now. She looked at Ira and said, “I guess it’s lucky that we were too tired to sleep in it.”

  “Perhaps, but now we are going to count on more than luck. We are going to add a little more armor to this house on wheels before we use it anymore for our campaign and maybe change the interior around a bit. The improvements will be done while we are in Alaska. It should be ready when we get back. Anyway, I think you will enjoy our next stop. It is Chena Hot Springs Resort in Alaska. Doesn’t that sound romantic?” Before she could respond, Secret Service agents walked in and announced that they were ready to go to the airport.

  * * * *

  Alaska’s mid-summer sun hung low against the horizon as the vintage twin-engine Beechcraft began its final approach to the Chena Hot Springs Resort airstrip. As the plane descended, Katherine Laforge studied what she could see of the shadowed valley. Cradled comfortably amid surrounding birch and aspen, the 3500-foot dirt runway might have been a giant charm bracelet stretched taut over the landscape, the attendant lodge, outbuildings, greenhouse, ice museum, and other buildings, its many myriad charms.

  This junket north had been a patchwork of long flights and delays, but Pamela Tutton assured her what she found at Chena would be worth the break in her normal campaign schedule. She hoped so. In any event she was here, and Katherine intended to make the most of it. Her advance team had arrived early, were on the ground and waiting at the airstrip with Gwen Holdmann, a mechanical engineer and the Chena project director.

  As Katherine climbed from the Beechcraft’s cabin, Gwen Holdmann stepped forward, greeted her with a contagious smile. At first glance the Senator liked what she saw. Blond-haired and pony-tailed, the trim Holdman wore jeans and a sweatshirt that fit the professional dog musher profile her background claimed. Holdmann came to Alaska as a hydropower consultant four years earlier with her husband and stayed because of the resort’s geothermal potential.

  “What makes Chena Hot Springs Resort so important?” Katherine asked bluntly as she rode with Holdmann to the resort’s well-appointed lodge. “There are other geo-thermal projects out there.”


  Gwen smiled. “They said you were straight to the point. I like that.” She drew a deep breath, marshalling her thoughts. “Alaska is an oil-producing state, yet we’re worried about our energy costs. Let me tell you why. Because we have some of the highest electric power costs in the United States. Rural residents typically spend twenty-five percent or more of their income on utilities, well above the national average of eight point six percent.”

  She pointed southwest. “Fairbanks is some sixty miles in that direction, which places Chena some thirty-two miles from the nearest electrical grid. Until recently, the resort spent a thousand dollars a day on diesel fuel just to supply its electrical power. Now our facility is Alaska’s first geothermal plant, and it is producing electricity from lower temperature water than any plant in the world. We’ve reduced the cost of energy here from thirty cents per kilowatt to only five cents. And the cool thing about this…,” as she began many sentences, “what we’ve done can be duplicated. We feel we just need to show how it works, and other companies will pick up on it.”

  “How is this really different…?” Katherine pressed.

  “Its effective use of the lower water temperature,” Gwen summed up. “Many researchers have concluded there is no way to generate power out of lower temperature water, that anything less than 230 degrees Fahrenheit is too marginal for an alternative energy source.” She grinned broadly. “But we make it work with a four- to five-year payback on capital expenditures. And if we can, other sites with similar conditions in the lower forty-eight states can as well.”

  Katherine echoed Gwen’s enthusiastic grin. “Show me.”

  * * * *

  Sprawled on the floor of Chena’s vast hanger-like building, the power plant throbbed with sound, its great whine like a harnessed jet engine, reverberating incessantly from metal walls in a discordant symphony. Gwen Holdmann pointed at the apparatus’s center.

  “Refrigerant blasts through the turbine at 1000 mph,” she explained, shouting to be heard. “Water at 165-degrees Fahrenheit is pumped from our 700-ft deep production into the walls of the evaporator, which heats the refrigerant within, vaporizing it. That vapor is then expended supersonically through the turbine, rotating the blades at 13,500 rpm, which causes the generator to turn at 3600 rpm, producing electricity. Water at 40-degrees Fahrenheit is pumped from a shallow well into a condenser, which returns the refrigerant to liquid form, which is then pumped back into the evaporator to continue the cycle.”

  Katherine nodded pensively. “And the electricity that is produced…?”

  “Our two 299-kilowatt modules produce enough power to supply the entire resort,” Gwen said proudly, “with enough surpluses to power an old electrolyzer we have. With it up and running, we should be able to produce enough hydrogen gas to run the resort’s vehicles. It’s ambitious, but if it doesn’t work out, we will power the vehicles with biodiesel and blend the hydrogen gas with propane for cooking, displacing fossil fuel as a source. That will save the resort about $10,000 a year. But that’s in the future. Blending the gasses is a work in progress.”

  Gwen’s smile widened. “But there’s more to see.”

  She led Katherine to the far end of the runway, near the Ice Museum, to a metal tubing framework, covered with two layers of polyethylene inflated with air to retain its geothermal heating, and introduced Rusty Foreaker, the greenhouse manager.

  “We bypass Alaska’s short growing season in the greenhouse using hydroponics,” Rusty said proudly. “Half of our 4300-square–foot facility is devoted to producing seven vegetable varieties, and our first crop produced 6,500 pounds of tomatoes in four months. They were used in the resort’s restaurant. The other half has space and shelving for two thousand heads of lettuce. We also are working with the University of Alaska Fairbanks on other varieties, such as green beans, squash, herbs, cucumbers, bell peppers, strawberries, and other varieties. Some are experimental; some are for the restaurant.” He gestured expansively at the neat rows. “Without geothermal heating, it would be cost prohibitive to do what we’ve done.”

  “What Randy’s not saying, is a direct heating system links all forty-six Chena buildings,” Gwen added. “This gives us an annual savings of $300,000. Thanks to hot water running through the radiant flooring and heat exchangers, the main greenhouse remains 78-degrees Fahrenheit when the outside temperature dip to minus 50-degrees Fahrenheit.”

  From the toasty greenhouse, Gwen led her inside the heavy wooden doors of the Ice Museum into a constant twenty-one-degree Fahrenheit chill where the resort’s owner, Bernie Karl, awaited them.

  “This is the largest ice structure in the world,” Bernie said proudly. “The wall to your right is built from 2500-pound ice blocks, harvested from the lake last year. The wall on the left is lined with custom tools. Here Heather Brice, a four-time world champion ice carver, and her husband create ice sculptures while tourists and resort guests watch.”

  “The museum is kept frozen by an absorption chilling system,” Gwen explained, “using a concept that’s been around since the mid-19th Century. “Absorption chillers take advantage of a temperature differential rather than a mechanical compressor to create refrigeration. Using an ammonia-water absorption cycle to chill brine circulating in the air handler behind the museum, we generate fifteen tons of refrigeration daily at a cost of $12. Fuel for the traditional compression system ran about $200 per day.”

  “It’s the coldest building ever to be kept refrigerated by an absorption chiller,” Bernie said, “and the only one to do it with geothermal energy.”

  That night Ira and Katherine enjoyed a suite in the Moose Lodge. This was the first time in months that they stayed in something other than their campaign bus. This ad hoc trip happened without the cheering swarms of people, or waving placards, and that was a relief to Katherine. She had not realized how wonderful and refreshing a quiet night could feel. The day was even more relaxing because only two news reporters were invited to accompany Senator Laforge on this impromptu trip.

  In the morning, an angry looking Pamela handed Katherine a copy of an email. Katherine quickly read it and shrugged her shoulder. The message read:

  “Hello, Katherine. That was quite a production you and Mr. Montgomery put on for your captive audience. Unfortunately, since you are such a slow learner. We feel we need to speed up your education. Talk to you soon.”

  Words spilled out of Katherine’s mouth in some incoherent jumble, but then a calm took hold of her. Outside the sun turned a dusky rose as blue sky erased the darkness. Ira held Katherine without speaking.

  Ira consoled Katherine and reminded her that they were supposed to be taking a break at the Chena Moose Lodge, not working. He told her, “This is something you, and I need to recharge, so please kick back a little and relax. If anyone is going to hurt us here, they have to realize, that they will be noticed in a town this small so far out in the wilderness. I think we need to kick back and let the Secret Service and our bodyguards do their job while you enjoy a nice sauna. What do you say to that?”

  Katherine looked at him and said slowly, “Okay!”

  The next two days proved uneventful. Katherine had time to catch up on the news, do some research, plan and correspond with various friends and associates that had been long overdue. The last night before they were to leave, the people at Moose Lodge put on a huge feast in Katherine’s honor. She was touched by their generosity and sincerity in expressing their support for her. After the meal and wine, she didn’t need an Ambien, but only the embrace of her bed to put her to sleep.

  In the middle of the night she awoke from a horrible dream or perhaps a nightmare where she saw two men being shot. They were frantically running, but behind them, almost in slow motion, she could see bullets slicing through the air. Suddenly, the bullets punched into their skulls and fountains of blood sprayed out as they tumbled hard onto a concrete surface. Then she felt like she was floating closer to the bodies. In the dream, she hovered above them, and watched the puddles o
f blood spread out until they became one large red pool. Submerged in the pool of blood, a dislodged eyeball appeared to stare back. Wisps of smoke drifted hazily through the scene of the expanding pool of blood until suddenly a woman’s foot materialized at its edge. That was all she could recall.

  Katherine sat up in her bed and sweat beaded up on her forehead even though the room was cool in the Alaskan night. She glanced at the time. It was 4:40 AM. The dream shook her because it seemed so real, but she was still sitting in her bed with Ira snoring next to her. She felt this was another one of those dreams, but she could not see the faces of the men that had been shot. Was she seeing something that was going to happen? Or something that had already happened, or was it simply a dream brought on by the drinks and the realization that tomorrow she would be back campaigning. She was excited, yet so afraid because she did not understand what these dreams were, if they were anything. She was tempted to wake Ira and tell him about this experience, but she knew the last time he thought she was nuts. At that moment, she didn’t give a damn; she shook him and he bolted up out of the bed like a madman. “What is it?” Ira demanded.

  “Get back in bed, and I will tell you.” Katherine replied. He slid back under the covers and asked again, “So okay! What is it?”

  “I think someone has just been killed or is going to be killed very soon. It is not us, but two men. I saw it in a very weird and vivid dream. I felt like I was there. I could see things in such vivid detail. There was an eye in a puddle of blood, and I remember that it looked almost yellow. I can still see the bodies falling and sort of tumbling onto concrete.”

  Ira grimaced, “Katherine you just had a nightmare.” He reached over and hugged her. “Come on, lay back down and let me hold you.”

  Katherine shook her head sadly. “I didn’t think you would believe me, but I wanted to tell someone I could trust that wouldn’t think I was a raving lunatic. I am sure there is something to all of this, and I think we will find out about this one very soon.”