Broken Trust

by Shannon Baker

  Mark shook his head as sweat rained from his temple toward his pudgy chin. “They’re taking a working lunch.” He pointed to the closed conference room doors. “The caterers just delivered their food and we aren’t allowed in. Even to eat.”

  Why was everything going against her? “I’m on the agenda right after lunch. I’ll work my magic and we’ll be running smoothly again. Please don’t worry.”

  “I’m sorry, Sylvia,” Mark said, his voice cracking slightly. “I thought she’d be good. At least grateful for a job in this economy. I didn’t know she’d turn on us. But she’s gone. I swear. I fired her.”

  Still, Nora didn’t say a word. She could pass for a marble statue, all chalky and cold.

  Sylvia displayed the exact amount of disappointment and sympathy in her beatific smile. If she weren’t such a brilliant scientist, she could have been another Julia Roberts because inside, she flared with anger. “Let’s not overreact Mark. She’s new and hasn’t learned how to manage the board.” Sylvia addressed Nora. “They don’t want to be alarmed with hiccups in cash flow. They’re busy and important. Your job is to ease their minds. Unless, of course, there is real cause for concern—but there isn’t, so you see, you’ve worried them needlessly.”

  Nora opened her mouth but Mark rushed ahead. “I told her that. I told Nora we’re getting a donation next week that will right everything.”

  Sylvia nodded. “See? It’s all okay. I’ll make it good with the board.”

  “She’s still fired.” Mark set his moist lips in a pout.

  “You are the Executive Director. Do what you think is right.”

  The door of the conference room swung open. Daniel Cubrero leaned out. What a perfect specimen of male sexuality. “We’re ready for the next agenda item. Has Sylvia LaFever arrived?”

  Mark swallowed, obviously grappling for control.

  Glad she opted for the four-and-a-half inch heels and the shorter skirt, Sylvia imagined the glow of her skin and her inviting full lips. She stepped forward and extended her hand as if she didn’t know Daniel as intimately as she did. “How good to see you again, Daniel.”

  He wrapped his hand around hers with his long, tapered fingers. “Ah, Sylvia. I did not see you there.”

  A shiver of anticipation ran through Sylvia. Sometimes the old cliché about men’s fingers held true. At least in Daniel’s case it did. She had no qualms about mixing business and pleasure.

  Later, though. Now it was show time.

  As Sylvia strode into the room, taking command of the situation, Daniel said, “Mark, please join us. You too, Nora.”

  How annoying. Really though, what did it matter to Sylvia who sat in the meeting? As usual, she would have them begging to do her bidding. She sat opposite Etta. Amid the scattered detritus of lunch, Sylvia would shimmer like a diamond. She smiled at Etta. “How are you, dear?”

  “Thanks for joining us. Can you give us a brief update?” Etta must be ignoring their friendship in an effort to be professional.

  Nora sat to the side of the room in one of a dozen chairs along the wall. Mark plopped next to Etta.

  “Most of you are familiar with my research but I’ll brush over the basics to remind you.” Ordinary people needed a refresher on this complicated science. “HAARP stands for High-frequency Active Auroral Ionospheric Research Program. This is the government’s program located in Alaska that includes dozens of aluminum dipole antennae towers that send out high-frequency signals.”

  The board members stared like drugged bunnies.

  Sylvia chuckled. “It’s technically difficult to discuss with non-scientists.”

  Again, Etta must be struggling to mask her affection for Sylvia and said with a straight face, “You’re no longer with HAARP, so we don’t need to know this.”

  You old bag. “I developed much of the HAARP technology and am using the principles in my modeling work here at the Trust.”

  Etta frowned. “We’d appreciate it if you could be brief.”

  “Of course.” Sylvia nodded in Daniel’s direction, letting her eyes connect in a subtle, seductive signal. “Before I left HAARP, I worked on developing a tower that uses ELF, extremely-low-frequency, waves and I’ve taken the technology further to create a single tower that sends concentrated beams of particles into the atmosphere.”

  Etta frowned at her, probably because she was too dull-witted to understand.

  Sylvia tried to dummy it down. “The key Tesla discovery was that the Earth reverberates with a pulsing electrical current in the ELF range. I discovered the exact frequency at which the Earth normally pulsates. Of course, HAARP takes credit for that breakthrough.”

  Bryson Bradshaw interrupted. “Isn’t what you’re talking about —the ELF waves and ionosphere and all that—isn’t that linked with weapons of mass destruction?”

  Sylvia shrugged. “HAARP is a government program. It’s not inconceivable that a classified study works on weaponry.”

  Marion Dempsey gasped. “You’re not working on weapons, are you?”

  “Of course not. The tower I’ve installed is for climate study only.”

  Bryson Bradshaw leaned forward. “How does that work?”

  “Extremely-low-frequency waves are much shorter than short waves.” She paused to let them digest that. “ELF waves are focused into the ionosphere to a specific location, creating a bulge in the atmosphere. The waves are then bounced back and can be sent beyond the horizon.”

  She surveyed the board, her kingdom of the moment. They appeared dull-eyed, probably struggling to absorb the simplistic explanation of a concept far more complicated than their normal minds could grasp.

  Etta waved to indicate Sylvia should continue. “You’re using those waves to gather data for climate-change modeling. You’ve told us this already.”

  Although Sylvia enjoyed imparting some of her vast knowledge to the uneducated, they didn’t want to learn. “Exactly. We know that warming temperatures have allowed the pine beetle an extra breeding cycle each year, but what we don’t know is how their destructive habits might be affecting the climate and perhaps exacerbating temperature increases. By using ELF waves in the ionosphere I’ll be able to chart that and create models predicting future trends.”

  Silence fell on the room. Once again, Sylvia had wowed them with her brilliance. Most of the board studied their papers or stared at Etta.

  Etta cleared her throat. “Your progress report is nearly verbatim from our last meeting four months ago. Is it that you didn’t take the time to write a new report or has there been no progress?”

  Progress? She’d solved a particularly difficult question regarding wave intensity and direction. She’d pinpointed several possible locations for targeting the waves to achieve Eduardo’s goal. She’d researched long-term weather patterns and was far into a computer modeling program the likes of which the world had never seen. But none of it had a thing to do with the mountain pine beetle. “Much of my time in the last months was spent struggling with insufficient software. Too much of the data needs manual input and my assistant, Petal, and I can only work so many hours. As you can see, I’ve added upgrades into my budget for next year.”

  Again, silence. A few members shuffled papers, perhaps considering the budget. Then Etta spoke, “You’re proposing an increase of four hundred thousand dollars.”

  Sylvia eyed Daniel. A mere pittance for his family, especially when she delivered on her promise. “That’s correct. I realize this is a nonprofit organization run with donations and I’m operating on a shoestring.”

  “I see,” Etta said.

  Alberta raised her finger. “I have a question. I’ve heard that with HAARP technology it will be possible to alter the weather. Is that true?”

  Etta interrupted. “Sylvia isn’t working on HAARP.”

  “But I want to make sure her tower can’t do any dama
ge to the mountains,” Alberta said.

  Finally, they were moving away from money. But the direction wasn’t much better. Sylvia laughed. “Conspiracy alarmists are out there cruising the Internet for anything to feed their paranoid minds. HAARP is located in the Alaskan wilderness because it is an auroral region, but they see it as ‘hidden’ and shrouded in secrecy. The technology is difficult to understand and therefore, scary. Ronald Reagan funded it as part of his Star Wars defense and suddenly nefarious intent is suspected.”

  Face cold as stone, Alberta said, “So, can it alter weather?”

  Who was Alberta to ask for a follow-up when Sylvia had given her all she needed to know? “The HAARP facility will not affect the weather. Transmitted energy in the frequency ranges used by HAARP is not absorbed in either the troposphere or the stratosphere—the two levels of the atmosphere that produce Earth’s weather. No association between natural ionospheric variability and surface weather has been found, even at the extraordinarily high levels of ionospheric turbulence that the sun can produce. If the ionospheric storms caused by the sun don’t affect the surface weather, there is no chance that HAARP can do so either.”

  There, you simpletons.

  Etta didn’t have anything to say, so she must acknowledge Sylvia’s superiority. “Okay.”

  Still Alberta wouldn’t quit. She shuffled papers. “I found this quote from a Russian journalist about HAARP.” She read from the paper. “ ‘Ionospheric testing can trigger a cascade of electrons that could flip the Earth’s magnetic poles.’ ”

  Sylvia laughed. “Preposterous. This is what I mean by crazy theories.”

  Etta bowed her head briefly toward Alberta to politely end the tangent. She didn’t give Sylvia the same respectful expression. “We understand that despite your efforts at economy, you’re way over budget.”

  Sylvia avoided Nora. “The financials might technically show a deficit. But there is obviously a mistake. Our new Finance Director is top-notch but she only joined the Trust yesterday. Darla had a great deal more insight.”

  Etta stiffened as if bracing to eat a plate of worms. “We started funding your research three years ago with high hopes for achieving important and lasting environmental restoration. We’re not a large organization and can’t afford this kind of fiscal drain. This”—Etta picked up a packet of stapled pages that must be Nora’s financial reports—“drives the nails in the coffin.”

  I’ll pound some nails in a coffin and it won’t belong to my project. The Chihuly chandelier retreated from her grasp. She wouldn’t let that happen, even if this two-bit board pulled her funding.

  “We’re asking you to wrap up your research and do a final report by the end of the year.”

  Sylvia had the power to smile like a queen. She inclined her head in grace.

  The door behind her opened, and the entire board suddenly became more alert as if threatened by attack.

  Sylvia spun around.

  A hotel employee, in her company blazer and polyester slacks stood just inside the doors, a strained expression lining her young face. Behind her, two uniformed police officers walked into the room. Their waists weighted down with guns, handcuffs, and who knew what sort of hardware, their clothes crisp, black shoes sturdy. One officer stood several inches taller than his partner. The shorter, darker man stood akimbo. They both surveyed the room with serious expressions.

  Etta stood. “May I help you?”

  The taller of the two addressed Etta while the other focused on Sylvia. “We’re here to see Sylvia LaFever.”

  What?

  The room fell silent and all eyes rested on Sylvia.

  The cops zeroed in on her. “You’re Ms. LaFever?”

  Sylvia forced a smile. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “We’d like you to come down to the station for questioning in the death of Darla Barrows.”

  Cool, collected, Sylvia chuckled. They didn’t know anything. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  The taller one with blonde hair spoke again. “I’d advise you to get a lawyer before saying anything else.”

  She allowed her indignation to surface and stepped close enough to scrutinize their name tags. She addressed A. Langston, the tall one. “What’s this all about?”

  “We understand you own a Smith and Wesson 638 Airweight Revolver,” Langston said.

  Everyone stared at her.

  Ice picks bit into Sylvia’s skin, yet her voice remained calm. “It’s a popular model.”

  The shorter officer, B. Kirby, smirked. “It happens to be the caliber that killed Darla Barrows.”

  “Not a hundred yards from your office,” Langston said.

  Sylvia sounded unconcerned. “I haven’t even seen my gun in ages. It’s probably on a shelf in my bedroom closet.”

  Kirby’s smirk deepened. “Actually, it’s in evidence at the station.” Pause. “Seized from your office.” Pause. “Showing a shot was fired recently. We’re having it tested for rifling right now.”

  Her gun! “How dare you go to my office! That’s breaking and entering. What gives you the right?”

  “A search warrant,” Kirby said.

  “Issued on strong suspicion from a tip,” Langston said.

  “Whoever gave you that tip lied.”

  Kirby held his palms up. “And yet we found the gun just where they suggested it would be.”

  Every eye in the overheated conference room focused on Sylvia. She must show them her steel. “It was planted. It’s not my gun.”

  Kirby raised his eyebrows. “It’s covered with your fingerprints.”

  Langston studied her. “We understand you have a trip planned to South America. We’d like to have you cancel that and stick around.”

  What were they talking about? Her silk blouse acted like a greenhouse to direct scorching heat on her skin. “I have no trip planned.”

  They exchanged smirks and Kirby said, “You didn’t book a flight on your credit card this morning?”

  “I suppose the same person who planted the gun and put your fingerprints all over it charged the ticket to your credit card.” Langston laughed.

  Even her scalp felt on fire. “You have no proof.”

  Langston nodded agreement. “Not until the test fire results come back, anyway.”

  Kirby raised his arm to indicate the people watching. “Wouldn’t you like to come down to the station to discuss this?”

  sixteen

  The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat in less than forty-eight hours. Okay, maybe she hadn’t been so thrilled with Loving Earth Trust on the first day, but the torture of finding a new job felt crushing. Maybe getting free of the cornucopia of dysfunction at the Trust might be a good thing. Oh well, as Charlie would say, she was looking for a job when this one came along.

  Nora trudged down the stairs of the Hotel Boulderado kicking her broomstick skirt in front of her. She strode across the Victorian lobby toward the outside doors. Laughter erupted from Q’s, the bar on the ground floor. Maybe an unhappy, pre–happy hour cocktail would ease the sting. Or maybe not.

  Nora peeked in the door of Q’s and wasn’t surprised to see Thomas, Bill, and Fay. No doubt they saw Sylvia escorted out by the police.

  Sylvia might be the only person who was having a worse day than Nora. Being accused of murder trumped getting fired. No matter how awful Sylvia seemed, Nora didn’t believe she could really be a murderer. No one liked Sylvia, but did anyone hate her enough to set her up?

  Nora stepped into the brilliant sunshine. The morning’s chill had turned into a perfect fall afternoon. She’d need to walk several blocks to meet Abigail at the coffee shop off the Pearl Street Mall. All art-covered walls with a menu featuring sustainable coffee, it was on the same block as one of Nora’s favorite Boulder locations, the Beat Book Shop. Maybe the sunshine, the beautiful and rugged su
rface of the Flatirons, and the dazzling air would work their magic and Nora’s mood would bounce back.

  Nora fell in behind two young mothers pushing strollers and herding a toddler. She wasn’t in a big hurry. Yes, she needed a job. Yes, an investment firm might be a great job. No, she didn’t covet corporate games and daily dress-up.

  Her boots found their way onto Pearl Street, now bustling with Boulder’s eclectic population mix. The pizzeria’s aromas faded into the burger joint and then Thai as Nora made her way with heavy steps toward the coffee shop. She stopped to gaze at rock climbing gear in a women’s-specific sporting goods store window. Next year, she vowed, she’d overcome her fear of the mountains and start rock climbing again.

  It was possible. She could do it. She could make her life new and exciting. She would. Yes.

  In fact, tomorrow she’d take Abbey back up to Mount Evans and try again. The kachina could go take a hike—not the hike she planned, but one somewhere in Arizona.

  Nora noticed her watch. What kind of supernatural powers did Abigail possess? She’d scheduled the meeting with Adam for three o’clock. She hadn’t known when Nora would present to the board, let alone plan for the hoopla that ensued, and she certainly didn’t predict Sylvia being led away by two cops. Yet, if Nora hurried, she’d make it to the coffee shop just in time.

  “Nora.” Her name spoken in a hushed but commanding voice paralyzed her. She knew who owned that voice. Waves of warring emotions crashed inside her. Happy, apprehensive, fearful, excited—one rolled into the next in a powerful tsunami.

  Cole. Ah, damn. Cole.

  She froze and lowered her head, closing her eyes.

  Cole’s hiking boots made no sound on the concrete as he walked around to stand before her. How could she isolate the feel of him amid the group of college kids, shoppers, and the few homeless hanging out on the mall?

  Nora struggled to appear unrattled. She might have turned tail and run but her limbs refused to move. So she forced open her eyes and straightened her neck.

  He hadn’t changed in the year since she’d last seen him in Flagstaff. He still had the soft, sandy hair falling across his forehead, the deep blue eyes, the long legs and lanky frame. He wore a flannel shirt with rolled sleeves, jeans, and hiking boots. But instead of the warm smile she remembered, he looked nervous.