Saving Cascadia

by John J. Nance

  And never had he felt so vulnerable before, all his chips on one table against a loaded roulette wheel.

  Sherry Thomas had worked for Mick for more than twelve years, and other than a brief affair in their first years together, they had, by mutual agreement, kept the lines clearly drawn between them. They were friends and colleagues—a boss and his employee—and while the mutual sexual attraction had never been completely slaked, they’d kept it well contained.

  But Mick knew she’d probably been in love with him for all those years, and maybe he loved her, too, but he’d never let himself admit it.

  He sat now slowly on the remains of a concrete post, emotional fatigue enveloping him, unsurprised when Sherry materialized at his side. He quietly longed for the reassuring touch of her hand on his shoulder.

  “It’ll work out, Mick,” she said. “We’ll rebuild.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No, we will. You’ve got the financial strength to weather this or anything else.”

  Sherry was studying him now, leaning forward, completely off balance to see his face glistening with tears.

  “Mick, hey. Let’s be thankful no one was hurt here.”

  “There were people hurt on our ferry.”

  “True, but no one was killed.”

  She heard a long, heavy sigh. “Sherry, this may be it.”

  She sat beside him, her arm moving around him. “What do you mean?”

  “That financial strength you mentioned?’

  “Yes?”

  He shook his head sadly. “It’s gone, Sherry. If this goes, all I have goes with it.”

  “I’m not following you, Mick. We’re well insured. In fact, we’re extremely well insured, including earthquake coverage.”

  He looked at her, his face reflecting the years that usually hid behind his enthusiasm and his broad smile.

  “You recall when the financial backers wanted an emergency meeting just before they were ready to fund?”

  “Yes.”

  “I never told you, because I was too ashamed of buckling, but they would have pulled the whole package and collapsed all those years of work on the spot if I hadn’t signed.”

  “Signed what?”

  He sighed again, this time a sound of resignation, or maybe it was defeat. Should he even tell her the truth? If he lost it all, she’d know soon enough. But being miserable alone was simply too much.

  “Sherry, the backers demanded I pledge virtually everything I owned. All my stock, all my cash and accounts, all my real estate, and all goodwill. Everything, even down to that silly patent on the wood-smoke generator.”

  “You pledged… Mick, I had no idea.”

  “If this place goes into receivership, the first thing they’ll do is take my back teeth and throw me out. And you, I’m afraid, will be out of a job for sticking with a loser.”

  She reached up and smoothed the hair back from his forehead. “Mick, I’ll always work for you, with you, even if you can’t pay me. You’ve made me a millionaire, remember? They can’t touch that.”

  “No, they can’t,” he agreed.

  “So, is that your worst fear?”

  He laughed ruefully. “That’s a pretty bad one, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but… if that’s the worst case, face it. We don’t have debtor’s prisons, and they can’t take your expertise. You’ll rise again!”

  “God, Sherry, I’m too old to rise again. I’m sixty-one. And I’m getting tired.”

  She was breathing hard beside him, holding his hand and struggling with her own panic.

  “Okay, we’re staring the devil in the teeth, but you’ve got people depending on you, and we still have a hotel and a casino, and survivors of a maritime accident. All is not lost.”

  “It may be,” he said, getting up after squeezing her hand.

  “I refuse to pencil ‘give up’ into your calendar! Whatever comes, you can handle it. And I’ll be right beside you.”

  “You know something young lady?” he said, trying to smile lightheartedly and failing. “I don’t deserve you. Never did.”

  “Shut up and look here,” she said, guiding his face to hers and kissing him deeply as his arms slowly encircled her and held her tightly for a few moments.

  The kiss ended and she smiled at him as he tried to speak.

  “Sherry, I should have said… a long time ago… I mean…”

  She put a finger over his lips.

  “I know, Mick. I’ve always known. But right now we have work to do.”

  Chapter 24

  CASCADIA ISLAND 8:30 P.M.

  “Lester, only you could get busted in a damn golf cart,” Bull said under his breath as a Cascadia Security car came up a few feet behind the electric cart.

  “Shut up, and let me do the talking. Jimmy? You, too. You understand?”

  “Yeah. Are we gonna have more of those shakers, you think?”

  “Probably. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Lester brought the electric utility cart to a halt and set the hand brake, wondering what sort of paranoid mentality would buy squad cars with red and blue Visibars for an island barely the size of a barge. With the same hideously bright spotlight used by the state patrol blinding him from behind, he couldn’t tell whether the man climbing out of the car was a rent-a-cop or a real trooper, but whoever it was obviously got off by turning on enough flashing lights to alert the upper West Coast.

  Yeah, it’s a rent-a-cop.

  “Sir, who are you, and why are you in a company cart?”

  Lester looked up at the uniform.

  “If you’ll take that flashlight outta the face of one of your boss’s honored guests, I’ll tell you.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Hey, I know you’re just being cautious, but I doubt Mick Walker would appreciate you hassling us.” He flashed the formal invitation bearing his name in gold leaf. “We’re here for the weekend.”

  “I’m sure you are, sir, but this cart is for employee official use only.”

  “Tell Mr. Walker that. He told us since we were too late for the tour to take one on our own.”

  That did it, Lester thought. Doubt. He’d instilled enough of it to make the man think, and when rent-a-cops weren’t sure of themselves, there was a window of opportunity. Lester could see he was studying their damp, disheveled clothes.

  “I mean, we really wanted to see the place, but… with what happened after we caught the last ferry…”

  The guard’s expression changed to one of shock.

  “Oh, wow! You were on that run? I didn’t know any of the guests made it to the island after the collision.”

  What the hell does that mean? Lester wondered, deciding to go with the flow anyway. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy but we managed. We really wanted to be here.”

  “God, how’d you land? I mean, the dock is toast.”

  “Well, there was a small boat, and we’re used to coming ashore in rocky places.”

  “You had one of the inflatable lifeboats, right? A Zodiac? Okay. I thought they’d probably launched more than just the main lifeboats. Sure glad you guys made it.”

  Lester smiled at him. “Yeah, so are we.”

  “Please,” the guard said, “go ahead. Just leave the cart back in the drive at the hotel when you’re finished. We’ve got all sorts of problems this evening with the earthquakes and we need all of them.”

  “Thanks, we will.”

  The guard started to turn away, but the sight of the rubberized black duffel bag sitting by Jimmy caused him to hesitate. He inclined his head toward the bag.

  “You… had time to save your gear, too? With the ship going down and all?”

  Lester could sense Bull’s hand sliding silently into his pocket in search of the small .25 caliber Browning automatic he’d insisted on carrying.

  “No, we didn’t,” Lester said quickly. “But one of them popped up in the surf next to us and we pulled it out and put it in one of the survival bags. You need to ch
eck it?”

  The hesitation was transitory but suddenly he was shaking his head. “Naw. Glad you salvaged it. Have a great weekend, fellows. And… thanks for your patience. Oh, and please don’t go anywhere near the wreckage of the convention center.”

  “Wreckage?”

  “I’m afraid it collapsed in that last earthquake.”

  “That’s awful, man. We felt it.”

  The man got back in his car as Bull snickered. “This is gonna be a real bang-up of a weekend, all right,” he said, smiling at his double meaning as Lester kicked him hard in the ankle. They began moving smoothly away from the curb.

  The first of the emergency diesel generators was just ahead, and they would need to make sure they weren’t followed.

  “You weren’t really thinking of shooting that guy while we were carrying enough C-4 to blow the island into next week, were you, Bull?”

  “If he’d gotten too nosy, I would have.”

  CASCADIA ISLAND HELIPORT

  To Jennifer, relinquishing control of the Dauphin to Gail was a welcome anesthesia. They finished loading the two critically injured patients aboard for the flight back to Seattle, and in what seemed the blink of an eye the helicopter had disappeared into the gloom, leaving her standing in awkward silence next to her father.

  Sven tried to put an arm around her but she shrugged it off and stepped ahead of him, roughly aiming her steps toward the waiting car.

  “Jennifer,” he began, but she waved him away, careful not to turn back, unwilling to trust anything that might burst from her mouth. But when she reached the car she turned to him, barely under control. “You take the limo. I’m going to walk.”

  “Oh, bullshit, Jennifer! If you hate me that much, I’ll walk to save you having to ride with me.”

  She lowered her head, chewing her lip, a cacophony of competing reactions fighting for voice. But all that emerged was a strange little sound that at first seemed to belong to someone else.

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “Well, then get in, for God’s sake.”

  Still she stood rooted, unable to make her muscles obey the conflicting orders emanating from the civil war in her head.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, say something, Jen! Tell me to go to hell or… or tell me why you’re mad, or something. You know I hate the silent treatment.”

  You can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh, Dad? she thought. Maybe she should stay silent. Maybe she should yell. He’d had a stroke. Could he take an argument? His blood pressure had to have gone through the roof when he’d ripped the controls away from her.

  As had hers.

  He looked away in disgust and snorted, then looked back. “Now you’re acting just like your mother!”

  That did it. She locked eyes with him.

  “You’re right, Dad! A real child of yours would never act emotional like your wife, because that would make her female. God forbid!”

  “What?”

  She turned away, shaking with rage, needing so desperately to cry but not willing to do so in front of him.

  “Jen… Honey, look…”

  She whirled on him. “No, you look Sven Lindstrom! Forget the fact I’m your daughter and not the son you wanted. I happen to be president of your company, and if you think I can’t cut it, I’ll resign, and you can go out and adopt someone with an MBA and a penis. Okay?”

  “Jennifer, for chrissake! What is this gender stuff? I apologized back there for taking over. What more do you want?”

  “For what did you apologize, Dad? For demeaning me in front of an employee? For making me look incompetent? For calling me a coward? For illegally flying a commercial helicopter and risking everyone’s lives? What are you sorry for?”

  “Well, all those things, since you’ve decided to be so sensitive all of a sudden that you’ve got to go and get this upset.”

  “Oh, no, Dad! No, no! The truth came out back there. Didn’t it?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “In front of Gail, in the middle of a dangerous mission, you turned to me, the pilot in command of the aircraft, and snarled”—she lowered her voice, emulating his rumbling tones—“ ‘How did I end up with such a pussy?’ You said it! And it doesn’t really matter whether you meant, ‘How did I end up with a girl when I wanted a boy?’ or whether you meant, ‘You’re too timid, Jennifer, for my daredevil tastes.’ It all comes down to the same thing. I can’t ever please you!”

  “That’s not true…”

  “Yes it is! I can never please you and it’s killing me, and I’m not going to be blindsided like this by you ever again! Do you hear me?”

  What contrition he might have imagined himself to be showing had clearly not worked, and the frustration at losing control boiled over.

  “Oh, shit! I’m getting pretty sick of this emotional garbage, young lady!”

  She smiled ruefully, hands on hips as she straightened up and shook her head in disgust. “Oh, right, Dad. Good strategy. ‘Now I’ll try to shame her with the Young Lady epithet.’ Make me feel guilty again for being female, like I always have.”

  “Jennifer, you’re twisting everything I say.”

  “No, Dad. I’m just finally waking up to the real meaning of everything you say. And this is the end of the line.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “The end. I’m finished! I quit.”

  “What?”

  “It’s simple. I’m obviously not matched with your expectations so you can take back the helm and run Nightingale all by yourself. I fucking quit! Okay? Is that a masculine enough way to say it?”

  His eyes were flaring again in defiance. “Damnit, you can’t quit! You’re the president, part owner, a board member…”

  “I quit! It doesn’t matter what I am. The price is too high! You’ll have my formal written resignation as fast as I can find a piece of paper to write it on.”

  “Jennifer, pull yourself together!”

  “Oh, I’m more together right now than I’ve ever been before, Father.”

  He was moving toward her, the anger suddenly changing to alarm as the implication of what she was threatening sank in.

  “Hey, Jennifer, wait just a minute. This is stupid. I need you…”

  “Yeah, you need me? For what? As a whipping boy? I’m done with that.”

  “No, seriously. I can’t run Nightingale by myself and we don’t have anyone else who can.”

  She was looking off to sea, struggling to hold in the seething emotions as he tried again.

  “Jennifer, look… tell me what I need to do to make this right? Okay? You know, so you’ll… stop this and… and stay on.”

  She snorted as loudly as she could manage. “You want me to stay?”

  “Of course.”

  She turned to him. “Dad, I am going to gain control of this situation with you or else. I’m tired… I’m desperately tired of never being good enough. So you want me to keep on as president?”

  “Of course! You’ve been doing a good job.”

  “What’s that? Praise?”

  “Yes. I’ve praised you a lot.”

  “Only grudgingly, and never when and where it counts, Dad. Not ever in front of others. But in the heat of the moment you slip and reveal what you really think.”

  He sighed and hung his head in silence and she reached out to raise his chin and lock eyes again, as she’d been taught so many times.

  Look me in the eyes, young lady! he’d roar. Now it was her turn, but that phrase wouldn’t come, and there was no feeling of victory in turning the tables.

  “Okay, Dad. The price for my continuing to be part of this company? You will never again question my judgment or my capabilities in front of my people. That’s number one.”

  “All right,” he said quietly.

  “And number two? You will never speak to me or write to me or communicate with me in any way that uses that sneering, eye-rolling tone of fatherly disappointment I’ve seen and heard
all my life that says that I’m not good enough because I’m a girl.”

  “I… come across that way?”

  “Yes, damnit! And you know it, too.”

  He sighed. “Not really.”

  “Promise, or I’m gone.”

  “Okay, okay. I promise.”

  She let go of his chin, but he kept his eyes on hers.

  “You never were the perfect pilot or the perfect businessman you always pretended to be, any more than I am.”

  “I know that.”

  “And, if you remember, I was the one who quadrupled the company’s size and profits.”

  “I know that, Jen. I’m sorry.”

  His image grew indistinct through a quiet cascade of tears as the emotional dam broke at last, despite her best efforts to hold it together. She turned to hide her face, incredulous at the words she’d spoken, but even more shaken by the image of her father as she turned away: ashen, old, defeated, and at long last confronted. Where was the feeling of triumph? She felt only a dark emptiness, as if somehow the pain of his disapproval had been a life vest holding her afloat, and now it was gone and she was foundering.

  She brushed away the tears with her sleeve and turned back to him, forcing herself to replace the truth of what she’d seen in his face with the image she’d always cherished: a strong, proud, imperfect man capable of slaying dragons. Suddenly she was the little girl again begging for acceptance, and the words rolled out of her mouth unbidden and unauthorized, punctuated by sobs.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

  He awkwardly opened his arms and pulled her into an uncharacteristic hug. His arms closed slowly around her, as if gingerly asking for permission to do so, then tightened, until his muscles were shaking against the pressure.