CHAPTER TWO
NEXT DAY
OFFICE
CENTER FOR CLIMATE SYSTEMS RESEARCH
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, EARTH INSTITUTE
MANHATTAN
KYLE HARDIN WASN’T READY TO SPIT NAILS, BUT HE CERTAINLY WAS IRATE. He shoved some books aside in order to prop his scruffy boots on his desk. The stack was already over a foot high. First one, then two more books slid from the top of the stack to the floor, landing next to a wastebasket overflowing with crumpled paper airplanes. He ignored them. He wore jeans with a hole in one knee and a gray T-shirt with “DRILLING = KILLING” in bright red letters printed across the front. Dark hair reaching almost to his shoulders, icy blue eyes and striking features added to the appearance of a nonconforming renegade. Wrinkles around his eyes attested to some of his 41 years having been spent studying disappearing coral reefs in the Caribbean. There was a small scar above his right eye. With his unorthodox attire people were frequently surprised to learn that he was not only a tenured professor, but a world-renowned scientist.
He was shaping a paper airplane from recycled office paper when a knock on the door brought another book down to the floor. Without waiting for a response, Kyle’s colleague Barbara Logan opened the door and headed across the room.
She paused behind the chair on the other side of his desk, facing a wall that held a framed photo of the “Wright Flyer I,” the original Wright Brothers airplane. There were maps of numerous countries on the wall behind her. A world map had push pins of assorted colors stuck into it, mostly in areas of extreme drought. Plants filled the window overlooking a small park in the middle of Broadway. The intense scent from a potted Arabian jasmine drifted across the room. Several cardboard cartons were stacked haphazardly below the window sill.
Kyle frowned as he ran a hand through his unruly hair. “They’re sending some superstar anchor over from NIP who’s demanding to go to Siberia with us. With their usual climate change denial, I can just imagine what kind of coverage we’ll get.”
Barbara nodded. Her tailored long-sleeved beige shirt synchronized with tan pants and loafers. She had played down her attractive looks with a no-nonsense, business-like appearance. With her hair tied back and glasses slipping off her nose, she looked older than a woman in her mid-thirties.
“NIP? That stands for ‘Never Inform the Public with Facts’ doesn’t it?” She removed a paper airplane from the chair, tossed it into the trash can, and sat down. “Better yet ‘Never Irritate the Public with Facts,’ I’d say.”
Kyle laughed and sailed his airplane across the room, landing it gently on a baby spider plant on the window sill. “Bull’s eye,” he said. “But getting back to business, if we turn them down, they’ll insist we’re hiding something and start blasting us. Again. And again. Never ends. We’re not doing a good enough job with the kind of viewers NIP has. So we’ll just have to deal with the result.”
As Barbara got up, retrieved the latest airplane, and dropped it in the trash can, she said, “Senator Trotford doesn’t consider climate change a problem either. Wants to drill for oil and gas everywhere and anywhere. Wildlife preserves, ocean sanctuaries, the Arctic, you name it.”
“And yet he wants to accompany us.”
Barbara didn’t like the idea. “We should turn him down. Being seen with him will discredit us.”
Kyle shook his head. “We have to take him.”
“Why?”
“Who knows why he wants to come. He might really believe that without oil and gas, our economy would collapse and that nothing else matters. But maybe what he sees will change his mind. Can’t say as I’m inclined to think it’ll happen, but we need to give it a chance. I’ll have to try my darndest to keep my opinion to myself. Guess I’m not very good at that, am I?”
“Sorry, not that I’ve seen,” Barbara answered, a smile playing around her lips.
“Well, it’s not enough to focus on the people who are already convinced. Anyway, our main purpose is to get measurements of the methane and carbon dioxide release levels from the thawing permafrost. God help us if it’s as bad as we think it might be.”
He was buzzed by the receptionist.
“They’re here now. Let’s go see how they manage to ruin our day.”
They headed out to the department’s reception area. Camellia and Owen were there waiting, seated on straight-backed chairs. Today she wore a sleek purple skirt so tight it would have been hard to slip a quarter between the fabric and skin beneath it. Her sleeveless blouse had a cowl neck. A pair of platform heels with open toes made the red polish on her toenails visible. They got up and walked over to Kyle for the obligatory handshake.
Kyle looked Camellia over and said, “You’re certainly going to have to dress very differently for this trip, that is, if you really want to go. It’s not going to be a picnic.”
Camellia was about to respond angrily, but Owen put a restraining hand on her arm and said, “We’ve already bought parkas.”
Camellia smiled sweetly. “If there’s one thing I do know how to do, Professor, it’s dress for the occasion.” A well-manicured hand smoothed back her loose hair, fingernails expertly painted a rich crimson that matched her lipstick perfectly. “I do declare, lordy, all that gorgeous scenery. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. Gonna be great as all get out.”
Kyle ignored her obvious sarcasm. “This is Dr. Logan. She’s just joined our team. She’s an evolutionary biologist. But don’t worry, if you don’t understand her expertise, you won’t have to mention that.”
Camellia flinched. Owen put a restraining hand on her arm again. She managed another smile and added to the Southern facade. “Could y’all share the real purpose of the trip with us? Surely you’re not just going as tour guides for conservatives?”
He frowned. “Certainly, but you may want to take notes.” She’s going to be a real pain, he thought. But an undeniably gorgeous one.
Camellia pulled a pen from her bag and reached for the pad that Owen handed her.
“We’re going to check the permafrost to determine how rapidly it’s thawing and what that means about potential release of greenhouse gases. We’ll measure escaping methane and carbon dioxide. Ultimately, we need to know what impact it could have on climate change. We might be lucky enough to see some methane bubbles. Well, lucky isn’t the right word since bubbles are bad, but you get the idea. Or maybe you don’t.”
“Believe it or not,” Camellia said, “I DO get the idea.” She scribbled a few words and then looked up at him. “Heavens to Betsy, I scoured hell’s half acre to learn at least a few things. Among them that you were at the top of your class at MIT, were one of their youngest PhDs ever, and that of course you like arugula and organic yogurt. That was buried in a blog post. Bio doesn’t show that you think anyone who disagrees with you is feeble minded or that you could use a haircut.”
Barbara stifled a smile.
“It does mention you were given a very badly injured American pika they were going to euthanize since it couldn’t be restored to the wild. A rat-like creature.”
Kyle turned away with Barbara but paused to toss over a shoulder, “Actually it’s more rabbit-like.” He turned back, looked at Camellia again and added, “We’re leaving in two days. We’ll meet for dinner on the way to the airport to go over trip details. Remember the clothes. There are likely to be swarms of mosquitoes, so you might want to cover up.”
Even though he and Barbara had started to head back down the hall to his office, Camellia’s response was loud enough for him to hear. “Well, bless your heart, thanks. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, we’re fixin to join you.”
Out of Camellia’s hearing range Barbara commented, “She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”
Kyle’s response was terse. “Isn’t that the most important tool for a journalist at NIP?”
“Probably works with most men,” Barbara noted.
Kyle didn’t respond. She’s probably right about that, he thought.
Meanwhile, Camellia and Owen had reached the building entrance.
“Jackass!” she griped.
“He’s just seeing what you choose to show him,” Owen reminded her. “Especially when you throw in the Southern accent. I know you did it just to taunt him, but he probably doesn’t realize that. The ‘bless your heart’ might have been a bit much, not to mention your skin-tight skirt.”
She frowned at his reference to the skirt as she smoothed the fabric that was so slippery it was tending to ride up. Damned skirt. “You know perfectly well the boss requires that I dress this way.”
He nodded reluctantly.
“Well,” she continued, “thank god you’re from the South too, so you get it about Hardin. His type brings out the worst in me. Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. At least Barbara is allowed to be comfortable. She could use some sprucing up though. Pretty stodgy with all the tan colors and hair in a knot.”
“Do I detect a touch of competition? He’s single, huh?”
“It’s in his bio, certainly not something I was checking out.” But it was something she had noticed, and his charisma was all too apparent. Nonetheless she said, “He’s definitely a world class jerk.”
“Well, Barbara certainly has her eye on him.”
Camellia shrugged. “There’s no accounting for taste.”
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