CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BOSTON MARRIOTT
LONG WHARF
DOWNTOWN BOSTON
FIVE DAYS LATER
THE EVENING WOULD END IN NEAR DISASTER. It came out of nowhere on the night of the concert. Carson and his students started out of the hall together after it was over, and attendees had chosen food and signed up for information about the demonstration. Vicki stopped to talk to the Greengrove trio who had arrived near the end of the concert. The others continued on and waited outside under the curved arches above the entrance.
When they emerged, the activists took off before she had a chance to introduce them. Carson noted that David Kitteridge was almost his height and had an air of supreme self-confidence. There was no wedding ring on his finger, and the way he looked at Vicki was telling.
“That was great!” Leroy said. “Until you told the crowd about it, I didn’t know our gas and electric companies had joined an energy delivery company to push for a pipeline tax.”
“Right. I didn’t want to go into too much detail, but at one point that company had a proposal, but it was withdrawn. It could be revived if the tax was imposed. But the Massachusetts Legislature could stop any attempts to override the State Supreme Court decision prohibiting such a tax.”
“We have to hope they will,” Carson said.
“I wouldn’t count on it without pressure from the public,” Vicki said. “And on a parallel track, I’ve heard that group has tried to get ISO-New England to pass a regional pipeline tax that would bypass anything we might do here.”
“ISO-New England stands for what?” Leroy asked.
“Independent System Operator New England. It’s the federally-regulated independent organization that dispatches and directs the flow of electricity for six states. It administers wholesale energy markets and supposedly works to ensure grid reliability.” Diego changed the subject before Leroy could give him a hard time. “The food was really good too, but I’m still hungry.”
Sally laughed. “You could stand to add some meat to those skinny bones, and we certainly need you to keep feeding that monster brain.”
“A normal brain takes up about twenty percent of a resting body’s 1300 calories a day, and most actual thinking only changes the amount of calories it burns by around twenty to fifty more calories. In my case it would be a lot more, and I grew an inch last month.” Diego said. “So the monster brain needs to go home, get some food and work on coordinating with the other groups Vicki wants to invite to the protest.”
Sally tucked Diego’s arm under hers, and the three headed for the T.
Carson turned to Vicki. “It did seem to go well,” he observed. “How many signed up for information about the demonstration?”
“Over 125,” she said, checking the list she had placed on a table. “Looks like it should be worth the effort.”
“That could do it. You might have come up with something that even a reluctant academic can support. How about stopping for a drink to work on the plan?”
“Okay.” It certainly wasn’t a date. She didn’t feel like dating anyone, let alone this aggravating academic.
“There’s a great bar a couple of blocks from here.”
“Fine.” She put the list in her bag and moved it back onto her shoulder. “By the way, I did manage to get the price lowered by $7000.”
He laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
They headed down the brick sidewalk and started across the street at a corner when the light turned green. Seemingly from nowhere a dark blue SUV barreled toward them and would have slammed into them if Carson hadn’t seen it coming. He grabbed Vicki and pulled her back onto the curb as the vehicle screamed off. A bystander stopped and said, “Are you okay? That maniac was headed straight for you. It’s lucky you weren’t killed.”
Vicki had dropped her bag in the street. Carson stepped out, picked it up and handed it to her. “He’s right, you know. That was much too close. You certainly could have been killed.” He was appalled.
“Maybe, but I wasn’t,” she said as she brushed off the bag. “I was warned recently to stop protesting pipelines. Whoever it was might really have meant it. Did you catch the license plate number?”
“No, did you?”
“No. That will make it impossible to take it to the police. We might as well get back to work on the next demonstration.”
They headed down the street. They had escaped injury, so why did Carson still seem so distressed?