“Ashton, how is Emmalee?” he asked.
“Great, just great. And Julia?”
“Still fielding the occasional screenplay, looking for the right role. Sadly, good ones seldom come along anymore for women over fifty.”
“Fifty? Good God, Avery! She looks a decade younger … Oh, I see Damon over there looking impatient to get underway. We had better grab seats.” He lowered his voice. “Let’s chat a moment after the meeting, shall we?”
They joined the others taking positions in the black, soft-leather swivel chairs surrounding the cherry conference table. A slick green folder embossed in gold with the company logo was centered on the table before each of them. Trammel recognized most of the others, but before they could launch into their own greetings, the man at the head of the table spoke.
“I wish to thank all of you for attending this special meeting at our request,” he began. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m your host, Damon Sloan, CEO of CarboNot Industries.” Sloan was very tall and bony, with a long, horse-like face. His suit, hair, and eyes were all the color of cold steel.
“I know some of you have come from distances, and I appreciate the courtesy of your presence on such short notice. Let’s begin by going around the table and introducing ourselves.” He took his own seat and nodded to the portly, balding man seated on his left.
“Hal Judd, president, Zephyr Energy.”
“Robin Manes, vice-president, GreenSmart Investments.” She was a too-thin, too-tanned woman who dressed too young.
“Gavin Lockwood, executive director, Nature Legal Advocacy,” said a tall, boyish-looking man in his fifties with premature white hair and wire-rimmed glasses.
A burly, beetle-browed man was next. “Chip Crane, deputy administrator, EPA.”
“Lucas Carver, executive director, Vox Populi Communications.” The fiftyish, gray-haired man turned to Trammel and smiled. The smile didn’t reach his pale blue eyes, but then again, his smiles never did. Trammel nodded slightly in acknowledgment. They had worked together before, many times, and of all the people at this table, they understood each other best and had the most in common. They even had friendly nicknames for each other: Carver called him “Geppetto,” while he referred to Carver as “Maestro.”
“Avery Trammel, private investor.”
“Ashton Conn, United States senator from Pennyslvania.”
“Thank you so much for attending, Senator,” Sloan interjected, then nodded at the bald, bespectacled man seated beside Conn.
“Stu Kaplan. I’m the senator’s chief of staff.” Behind rimless glasses Kaplan had eyes that reminded Trammel of a barracuda he’d once caught in Florida.
“Thank you, all. I know you are busy people, so I aim to keep this meeting brief. Let me get right to the point. Before each of you is a copy of the material I sent you last Thursday. I am sure that by now you are familiar with the contents. The report outlines the difficult situation in which CarboNot now finds itself. For those among you who are investors”—his eyes moved around the room, discreetly failing to pause on anyone in particular—“it delivers unsettling financial news. For those of you in the environmental community or on the Hill, this same news may cause political problems. Our purpose today is to brainstorm informally about how we move forward in the light of these circumstances. Would anyone wish to offer preliminary comments?”
Hal Judd leaned forward. “As I understand it, CarboNot has blown through the entire capital put up by the investors and the loan guarantees from the Energy Department—is that correct?”
Sloan’s chilly expression became even frostier. “‘Blown through’ suggests irresponsibility. I can assure all of you that such is not the case. The situation is simple: European governments have canceled almost all their contracts for CarboNot’s wind-farm construction projects. They claim that their existing green energy programs are failing to prove cost-effective. Because of the recession, they have cut back on subsidies to alternative energy projects and are reverting to importing cheaper fossil fuels. And that, in turn, has left CarboNot in an unexpected cash-flow crisis.”
“Which means that my company, which produces your wind turbines, hasn’t gotten paid lately,” Judd continued. “I wonder if you understand what kind of position this puts me in, Damon.”
Before Sloan could respond, Robin Manes jumped in.
“Damon, I appreciate your company’s circumstances, but this has put GreenSmart in a difficult position, too. We’ve been bullish on CarboNot from the outset, and we’ve steered tens of millions in private investment your way.” She paused; her tongue darted across her lips. “In fact, some of our firm’s partners, myself included, have substantial positions in CarboNot. We pride ourselves on putting our money where our principles are. But under these circumstances, how can we continue to recommend CarboNot to our investors? And if our firm pulls back, the bottom could fall out of your stock price. That would leave a lot of our clients, including some seated at this table, losing substantial sums. Very substantial sums.” She licked her lips again, tapping the folder. “But now that we have this information, my partners and I can’t exactly pull back from our own portfolio positions without risking an ‘insider trading’ investigation down the road. So we’re stuck.”
As she spoke, Trammel watched the faces of the others. Few were public about their investments; in this town, it was best to keep such information close to the vest. But he noticed that Gavin Lockwood looked at his hands and fidgeted, while Ashton Conn maintained a stiff, blank expression. He wondered how much they had sunk personally into CarboNot. He had put in plenty himself—though with his billions, he could afford to lose mere millions without great worry. The potential failure of CarboNot troubled him for other reasons, however.
Sloan said, “In fairness, Robin, this problem is not unique to our company. Most domestic alternative-energy companies are in trouble, too—mainly because of the fracking boom.”
“That is the main problem, right there,” Conn interjected, slapping his hand down on the table top. “All that cheap natural gas is sucking the wind right out of those turbines of yours, Damon.” He turned to the man from the EPA. “Chip, what are your people doing about that? Could you give us an update?”
“Sure,” he replied, rocking back in his chair. “We’ve been doing a lot—much of it behind the scenes. As you know, we’ve been concentrating our efforts in your state, up in the Allegheny National Forest. It sits right atop the Marcellus Shale Formation, which crosses several states and contains some of the biggest natural gas reserves in the nation. So, we figure that if we can win some big test cases up there, we have the potential to shut down the entire goddamned fracking industry.” He looked around, saw their expressions. “No, I mean it.” He leaned forward again, lowering his voice. “I’m going to assume that what I’m about to say stays off-the-record, right?” He paused. “Okay, good.”
He began ticking off the points on his fingers.
“One: We got in touch with people over at the Interior Department to go around the area looking for Endangered Species issues. That worked some years back, at least for a while, against the lumber industry up there. We found this endangered species, the Indiana bat, and that completely shut down logging for six months. But logging a large expanse of forest is one thing. It’s harder to argue that they’re endangering a species when they’re drilling on small pads of just a few acres. So we don’t think that’s going to get us very far.
“Two—and this stays inside the room, okay? How should I put this? Let me just say we’ve found out that some of the fracking firms up there—one in particular, Adair Energy—have been scheduled for IRS audits.”
Conn stirred in his seat. “Wait—should I be hearing this? I assume that must have happened only in the course of routine IRS audit practices. Right, Chip?” He stared pointedly at Crane.
Crane got it. “Oh, sure! You may certainly assume that, Senator. The IRS contacted us only to see if we had information about Ada
ir that might help their investigation.”
For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Crane continued.
“Okay, three: EPA has been responsive to lawsuits from the environmental community on pollution concerns in the Forest. Gavin, maybe you want to elaborate.”
“Certainly,” Lockwood responded. “Nature Legal Advocacy is preeminent among nonprofits that mount aggressive legal challenges over environmental threats. One of our biggest litigation efforts has been to stop all fracking in the … to stop all fracking abuses throughout the natural gas industry.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice a bit, almost conspiratorially.
“A few months ago, an anonymous whistleblower working inside Adair Energy approached us, claiming that he had proof that their fracking practices were causing leaks of dangerous toxic chemicals and cancer-causing radon into area water supplies. He supplied NLA with samples, which we analyzed, and which confirmed his claims. Two weeks ago—as everybody with a TV or newspaper knows—we issued a report to the national media with our findings. Our study concluded that Adair’s practices were standard throughout the natural gas industry—and therefore that fracking per se constitutes an intolerable risk to public health … I want to thank Lucas Carver here, whom we hired to run our big media effort. Once again, Vox Populi Communications did a fantastic job in getting the word out for us.”
Carver’s lips pressed into another empty smile. “It’s what we do—engaging our hundreds of sympathetic media contacts to coordinate publicity on behalf of important social issues. In this case, we got news of the NLA fracking study carried simultaneously on all the major networks, the front pages of the ten top-circulation newspapers, and in two women’s magazines.”
He turned to Trammel. “A lot of the credit must go to Avery’s wife, actress Julia Haight. We enlisted Julia early on as our national spokesperson against fracking. She opened a lot of doors for us in the media and on Capitol Hill. Thanks for arranging that for us, Avery.”
Murmurs of appreciation arose around the table; Trammel acknowledged them with a slight smile and nod.
Carver went on. “Our carefully orchestrated media campaign ignited a public uproar against fracking that generated tens of thousands of protest calls and letters to Congress, and also—correct me if I’m wrong, Gavin—over $750,000 in new contributions to your organization, right?”
“That’s true. And, timed to follow on the heels of our report, we then sued EPA to issue an emergency moratorium to halt all fracking, pending a new, extended investigation into the safety of the process. From there, we hope—”
Crane interrupted. “Gavin and Lucas contacted EPA about three months ago, explaining to us exactly what they were planning to do. Of course, we welcomed their lawsuit.”
Judd blinked. “Why would you want that?”
Crane smiled. “Hal, we cooperate all the time with NLA and other environmental groups in their lawsuits against the Agency. Responding to lawsuits speeds things along for us. Instead of having to go through the tedious regulatory process, with hearings and waiting periods before we can impose orders and rules, we just go ahead and issue injunctions against companies and industries in response to the suits.” He winked at Gavin. “And of course, NLA also sues us to recover all their court costs, too, so they aren’t out a nickel for their litigation. It all winds up being funded by the taxpayers. In fact, you guys actually make a lot of money off Uncle Sam, don’t you, Gavin?”
Lockwood looked uncomfortable. “That’s not really the point, Chip. Our aim is to halt anti-environmental activity as expeditiously as possible.”
Sloan broke in. “Your anti-fracking publicity campaign is all well and good, and we deeply appreciate it. But what’s the status of that lawsuit, Chip? Why hasn’t EPA gotten an anti-fracking moratorium from a judge yet?”
“We tried,” Crane answered, “but Adair went to court and got a stay of the moratorium, till NLA’s study could be checked out at an upcoming meeting of an EPA Science Advisory Board panel.”
Lockwood jumped in to explain. “Damon, the EPA is compelled by law to take into consideration the findings of SAB panels. The problem is that those panels are often stacked with outside scientists who consult for industries, and have an ax to grind.”
Judd raised a hand. “Wait a minute, Gavin. Scientists have to make a living, too, right? Not all of them can work for the government. I’ve hired and relied on my share of them, and they seem like straight shooters. So what makes their research dishonest and tainted if it’s funded by an industry, but your group’s research valid if it’s funded by political activists? Don’t your researchers also have axes to grind?”
Lockwood’s face grew red, but Sloan raised a hand.
“Look, let’s not get into a pissing match over whose research is good, and whose isn’t. Frankly, I don’t care. I just want to know where the moratorium stands. How do our prospects look before that EPA panel?”
Crane sighed. “Well, we just hit a new snag.” He rooted through the briefcase at his feet. “Adair hired his own toxicologist. That guy just reviewed the chemical samples that Gavin’s group provided to EPA—the samples they used as the basis of their report.” He straightened, scanning a sheet of paper. Then looked at Lockwood. “Gavin, according to this letter from Adair, their toxicologist claims your chemical samples are totally bogus. Fake.”
“What?”
Crane waved the letter. “Adair says his guy has geological and chemical-signature proof that your samples could not possibly have come from any Adair fracking site. In fact, he speculates that somebody—maybe your whistleblower—deliberately planted them. And now Adair plans to submit his own toxicologist’s report to the SAB.”
In the stunned silence, Crane went on, his voice low. “Look, I don’t know who is correct about those samples, Gavin. I just hope that your researchers got it right. Because if they didn’t …” His voice trailed off.
“If they didn’t,” Trammel said slowly, looking from Lockwood to Carver, “then your big scare campaign against fracking is going to backfire. There even may be a criminal investigation.” He saw Lockwood’s eyes widen, then turned to Sloan. “If fracking is exonerated as a safe form of cheap energy, then all our efforts to stop it will fail—”
“—and so will our efforts to save CarboNot,” said Ashton Conn. He was staring off into space, out past the floor-to-ceiling expanse of glass, toward Washington and its monuments. “Wind power can’t compete with natural gas. Not at current prices.”
They fell silent for an awkward moment.
“I’ve poured all I have into my business,” said Judd, “If CarboNot goes under, I don’t get paid. And I lose everything.”
“A lot of people will lose everything,” Trammel said, scanning their faces.
“So, what can we do?” Robin Manes asked, her voice on the edge of shrill.
“The first thing,” said Stu Kaplan, who had remained silent until this moment, “is that we have to find out who their toxicologist is, then go after him.” He saw their looks. “I mean, we have to discredit him, in advance. Point out that he’s a hired tool of industry, just another paid mouthpiece.”
“‘Poison the well’—so to speak,” Judd said, a cynical look on his face.
Kaplan stared at him coldly. “To your point: Okay, so maybe every scientist has an ax to grind—Adair’s guy, Gavin’s people. But if that’s the case, then it’s all subjective, anyway. Then it comes down to a matter of public credibility. Who are people going to believe? It’s one industry guy’s opinion against all the other environmental experts. Our experts.”
Kaplan removed his glasses, held them up to look at the lenses.
“Look, I’ve been a Hill rat for all of my adult life. Since I was a congressional intern. And I’ve learned that there’s only one way you win these things. You win by being preemptive. You have to strike first.” He began to polish his glasses with his tie. “We have to create a narrative about Adair’s guy—a toxic one, so that by the t
ime he submits his findings, the public won’t believe a word he says.”
“But what if the SAB scientists agree with him?” Trammel asked.
“Whatever we do,” said Sloan, “we’d better do it before he submits that report.”
Before adjourning, Sloan proposed that they schedule a follow-up conference call among select members of the group, to settle on an action plan.
Trammel rose and joined the others as they filed from the conference room. They were quiet; their steps echoed off the polished gray marble floor as they passed the broad-leafed potted plants and abstract wall hangings. They reached the private elevator, reserved for tenants on the top floors.
He felt a hand on his arm.
“Do you have a minute?” Ashton Conn’s earlier bravado was gone. He looked deflated and worried.
“Why don’t we ride down together?”
They let the others take the first elevator. When its doors closed, Trammel pressed the button and they waited.
“Do you have some idea about how to handle this situation, Ash?”
“Not really. Not yet … Actually, the reason I wanted to talk to you was about—you know. My candidacy.”
Trammel smiled. “Ah. So you’ve decided to go for the big one, have you?”
Conn shrugged. “A lot of people have been encouraging me. And I was wondering … about your own commitments at this point.”
“You mean, do I intend to back Carl Spencer.”
Conn grinned sheepishly. “Something like that. If not, I hope I might count on you to add your name to my exploratory committee.”
Trammel paused, savoring his power to make the senator wait.
“Carl Spencer is popular in establishment circles,” he said slowly. “Yet I always wonder about his true commitments. His convictions. He’s never struck me as one to let his nominal principles get in the way of crude self-aggrandizement.”
The elevator door opened and they stepped in. It was a small glass cage that clung to the outside southern wall of the building. In the far distance, he once again spotted the Pentagon.
BAD DEEDS: A Dylan Hunter Thriller (Dylan Hunter Thrillers) Page 10
