Emerson relaxed. “I’m not sure I see the problem. There’s not a chance Mr. Paulson will be allowed to pursue this project, assuming he has a real plan and we have at least circumstantial evidence Dr. Andrews and/or her ‘spouse’ were involved in committing a federal crime: raiding Native American sites within a protected national monument.”
“I can tell you right now, if Leah Andrews gets to Antarctica and finds evidence that Native Americans were slogging around in snow and ice, you won’t be able to touch her.”
“I’ll have her arrested at once — that’s what I’ll do. Maybe as part of a plea bargain she’ll give up the information she’s found.”
“I doubt you could torture Leah Andrews and get a plea bargain out of her. Do you mind if I make a suggestion?”
“If you must,” he said.
“You let me find her first. I’ll tell her we’ll forget about prosecuting her or her husband if she agrees to share information.” Teresa paused. “If she provides full cooperation, we will also consider putting her back on the BLM payroll — as long as she agrees to behave.”
“Absolutely not! I don’t care about conspiracy theories involving Indians in Antarctica. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I put that criminal back on my payroll.”
“Think about it,” Teresa said coolly. “She’s going to get credit for making the most significant find in American archeology in well over a hundred years — forgetting about any possible Antarctica connection. You can’t fight her.”
Teresa swore under her breath and clicked off the telephone. Emerson had hung up on her. Just like that.
“I’ll find Dr. Andrews, but there’s no chance I’m going to turn her over to that asshole,” she muttered, leaving her office in search of her assistant.
The attractive young woman scrambled away from the copy machine at sight of her boss.
“Get me Glen Janssen on the telephone,” Teresa said softly. “I want him to get me a few park police to perform a special operation.”
CHAPTER 33
Bonnie Glass leaned back in her chair, gloating. “Best of luck to you guys, and good luck on your next adventure.”
“Commercial,” said the director.
One of the assistants led Jack and Paulson to the locked door leading out of the studio and into the well-furnished lobby.
“I should have known it would leak through the Chilean government,” said Paulson, still seemingly unflappable. He grinned and poked Jack in the ribs. “How about that for keeping my cool under fire?”
Jack shook his head, still speechless.
As they boarded the waiting limousine, the billionaire called Karen on his mobile phone.
“I need you to get Ridley on a conference call from California.” He nodded. “Yes, you can find him at InterGalactic. I want his butt on the telephone in one hour.” He clicked off and looked at Jack. “If we’re going to Antarctica, we’re doing it in the next twenty-four hours.”
CHAPTER 34
Stanton Fischer, the President’s National Security Advisor, sat in his office across the street from the White House in the old Executive Office Building, reading the daily two-page ‘threat’ briefing.
Fischer was smoking as usual. It was against regulations in a federal office building, but it was one of the few pleasures he enjoyed, and no one had the guts to ask him to stop as long as he smoked out of public view. As he took another long drag on the cigarette, he flipped impatiently through the report.
He received the threat brief every morning, seven days a week. It outlined destabilizing political situations developing around the world.
Not that Stan Fischer had the patience to examine the reports in detail. His real talent was raising money for political campaigns. He’d been credited with bringing the President’s campaign back from the brink of death by doggedly pursing large money donors and organizations and then schmoozing them with every possible incentive, political or otherwise.
A plum position on the National Security Council had been his pay off, even though he was hardly qualified for the job. Before working on the president’s campaign, he’d spent the previous five years teaching political science and international politics at Harvard University, the home state of the former Senator and now president of the United States.
At thirty-one, he was prematurely gray and rail thin. He was known as a bit of a recluse in the White House, but the truth was, most of the other staffers avoided him. The President’s other top advisers, especially the career military officers assigned to the NSC, kept him at arm’s length.
The military staffers thought of him of as a snot-nosed liberal snoop, but that didn’t bother Fischer. After all, he had access. And in Washington, access translated to real power; even the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs knew and respected that.
Slow international news day, thought Fischer as he read through the briefing, stopping only to highlight unfamiliar material with a yellow highlighter. He sat up when he found Alan Paulson’s name appearing in the report.
Our information suggests that Russia and Chile are in conflict over a World War II B-29 claimed by the Chilean government. This aircraft sits within a small region of the Antarctic Ellsworth Range, claimed at one time by the former Soviet Union.
Mr. Alan Paulson, the CEO of Paulson Global, may serve to sharpen the conflict, since our information suggests the Chilean government will use Mr. Paulson and his resources to salvage the aircraft.
“That asshole,” Fisher muttered. He had met Paulson once. It was at a summer conference of CEOs and industry leaders held in Aspen, Colorado. Fischer had been there to make a speech and raise money for the President’s election campaign. It hadn’t been a friendly crowd, given the conservative politics of most of the participants. After his speech, he’d asked for questions and comments. Paulson had stood.
“Mr. Paulson, you have a question?”
“First I have a comment,” Paulson had said. “The President suggested he would propose new legislation requiring corporations to comply with U.S. environmental standards no matter where they operated in the world. This new legislation is sure to derail the free-trade agreements with countries like Mexico, where poverty and illegal emigration will escalate dramatically if American plants and factories are forced to shut down.” Paulson shrugged. “You guys have a rope around our neck. There’s no way we can compete with governments overseas when we’re being held to different standards than foreign government themselves.”
Mild applause had broken out from within the ranks of the attending CEOs. Fischer struggled with the topic through three more tough questions and then gave up. The money-raising effort had been a bust. In Fischer’s mind, Paulson had personally been responsible for the loss of several million dollars.
Fischer picked up the telephone. “Get me a meeting with the President,” he told the chief of staff. “I think we just found an opportunity to dish out a little payback to Alan Paulson.”
CHAPTER 35
Leah screamed in pain as she strained to keep the solid steel bar from crushing her larynx. She was pushing with all her might, yet the bar continued to close in on her throat.
“Come on, Leah,” said the male voice from directly above her. “I’m just about to let this thing drop down and cut you in half. Give it up.”
She said through a tightly clenched jaw. “I can handle anything you can dish out.”