At The Edge

16

"Look, you have your tail tied in a knot without knowing the facts." In the hallway outside the courtroom, it took Dan a second to notice Ross, who came forward to stand next to Maria.

"Save it for the judge. He may be sympathetic to your particular line of bullshit."

She wore a stylish business suit, deep blue with gold buttons, dark blue shoes, and an embroidered white blouse- a change from the usual. Her crossed arms and intense bearing said as much as her words.

''You don't seem all outraged about the ears your buddies lifted from the loggers." Ross grabbed her elbow.

"If you'd close your fist, you'd get a little more sizzle in that right," Dan said, smiling wanly.

"Don't tempt me."

"Come on." Ross urged Maria toward the courtroom.

"I see you're out serving the morally challenged as usual," she snapped as she backed away in response to Ross's tugs.

"I think if we could talk about this, you might-"

"Save your breath," she said, disappearing through the doors.

The people jamming the old-fashioned courtroom sat on polished-teak seats for the gallery. Matching the dark tones of the benches were a teak jury box and witness stand, and a pair of mahogany counsel tables, all sitting atop a worn marble floor. It was said that the teak was salvaged from sailing ships of the 1890s that used to stop for cargoes of milled redwood. Present in the historic room were members of the press, activists, and mill workers.

Maria stood behind the counsel table nearest the jury box. Dan sat behind the other, trying to make eye contact while she stared everywhere but at him. Soon the bailiff called the case and the judge took the bench. He was a salt-and-pepper gray-haired man who tended to dangle his glasses in his right hand.

"Are both counsels ready?"

"Your Honor, perhaps we could talk in chambers?" Dan said as he rose.

The look on the judge's face told everyone in the packed courthouse that he was favorably disposed to the suggestion. Translated into lawyerspeak, Dan was asking to go in the back room and make a deal. A quick settlement would be just what the doctor ordered. Like all state judges, Traxler was an elected official, and any decision he might make in this case would be extremely unpopular with many people.

Maria displayed no reaction to what was happening, even though she would likely prefer a much different order of events. Excoriating the industry for accelerated weekend cutting and girdling trees would best be done in open court. She could obtain a temporary court order halting the logging, grab headlines, declare victory, and then negotiate from a position of strength prior to the next hearing. None of that would be possible in a back-room deal.

"Your Honor, if I could be heard. I think the public deserves an open and fair hearing," Maria began before Dan or the judge could speak further. "I know Mr. Young wants to go in chambers, out of the hearing of all these good people, and try to cut a deal. Well, I'm happy to do that. But at the right time."

"What are you saying about settlement, Ms. Fischer? Exactly."

"The matters before this court are important to the public. As evidence of that, I would point out that there are hundreds of people both inside and outside this building. I appreciate the court's concern for achieving a settlement, and such a thing may be possible after the public's right of participation is taken care of, but right now I think settlement would be premature."

"Am I to understand that before you'll talk settlement, you want to address the court?"

''Your Honor, if Ms. Fischer makes a highly inflammatory argument and then we go off to discuss settlement, it may make it more difficult."

"Mr. Young, it will only look like your clients are losing if she makes a more compelling case.'' Then he eyed Maria. "I wouldn't let you grandstand if I didn't think your side had something to commend. But if I let you go on like Daniel Webster, I want some assurance that we're going to have some settlement talks before I rule."

''We are certainly willing to listen and the court can more effectively guide the settlement talks if it is apprised of all the facts."

''OK." Traxler sighed. ''There will be order in this courtroom." He banged his gavel, quieting the sizeable crowd. "No clapping or speaking will be allowed at any time. Ms. Fischer, this is your motion. You may proceed."

Corey had a medium-sized hand truck with a lashing strap that would wrap around the cargo and pull tight with a small hand crank. On it were two five-gallon drums, one atop the other. Her blue denim coveralls said johnson heating and electric. Through careful investigation she had learned that they did much of the electrical work in the courthouse. She had duplicated a Johnson van down to the fine print lettering on the outside. As if she belonged, as if she owned the place, she drove right up to the back service entrance. Her hair was under a cap and she had bound her breasts so that she looked like a man.

Her black boot hit the grainy asphalt with a businesslike scrape and she moved with the determined nonchalance of a busy workman. Without rushing but with precision, she removed the dolly and placed the two five-gallon drums on it. They were taped together, one on top of the other, at the joint. Labels indicated thirty-gauge electrical wire. Behind the drums and against the dolly, she put a heavy three-foot crowbar.

Unlike federal courthouses, there was no metal detector or security other than a few laid-back deputies who didn't expect to see any action; there hadn't been an incident of courthouse violence for as long as anyone could remember. She wheeled her load into the service entrance and entered the elevator alone. A couple of sheriff' s deputies were entering the building as the elevator door was closing, but she made no move to push the button that would have held the elevator and reopened the doors. No sense inviting trouble.

The elevator groaned to the second floor and the doors opened. A black lady with a cleaning cart stopped whistling when the doors parted and rolled her collection of janitorial materials in beside Maria.

"What you doing with all that wire?"

"Project on the roof. You know the first-floor rest room is awful. Why don't you start there?"

"It is?"

"Sure is."

"Well, I guess I'll ride it back down."

When Corey got off at the fifth floor, the woman went back down. The chances were that everybody on the first floor would be able to get out before lethal exposure. No sense killing an innocent worker when it wasn't necessary. Corey knew there wasn't enough cyanide to get everybody; the vents she was using fed only three second-floor courtrooms and one hallway. She hoped to get Maria Fischer and Dan Young.

There would be none of her kind-real radical activists- in the courtroom. She had spread a rumor that in retaliation for the ears, the sheriff was out to arrest monkey-wrenchers who showed up at the hearing. Corey had told everyone that the sheriff had a list of names, so she was confident they wouldn't show up.

There were three clerks in the hall. When she wheeled the drums past them, she nodded at no one for fear they might ask her a question. When she got to the door leading to the stairs, she looked through the small rectangular window. Much to her shock, there were two workmen at the door to the crawl space. Immediately she turned, said, "Oh damn" as if she had forgotten something, and headed back down the hall to a storage room she had seen earlier. Trouble was, it was locked and she had no key. Fortunately, it was to the left and out of sight of the three clerks.

When she turned the corner, she noted with relief that no one was in this section of the hall. Maintenance people would be trouble. Leaning the dolly next to the storage-room door, she put one foot against the wall and leaned back as if she had all the time in the world. It was precisely what she did not have. She would wait fifteen minutes and try one more time. It was 9:30 a.m. exactly. The hearing would be starting now.

"Your Honor, I represent the Friends of the Wilderness, the Wildlife Society, the Wildflower Coalition, and other environmental organizations," Maria said. "Trees on this harvest plan at the Highlands are known to be over one thousand years old. In fact, it's possible some of the trees in the three hundred acres of old growth at White Horse Creek were growing when Christ walked the earth. These ancient trees are up to fifteen feet in diameter and over three hundred feet tall. We had no idea that this ill-conceived logging plan was under review. We made a mistake by not anticipating this. It's just that simple. Trees that are a national treasure-and can never be replaced-are going to be destroyed without serious thought, just because we made a mistake. Now, please note that we are not saying they can never be cut. We don't have to decide that now. What we are deciding here is whether this extraordinary decision, one that will affect priceless living things, should be made without a few moments of reflection. Can't our need to consume everything in sight be put on hold for even a few days, until the next hearing on this matter?

"Your Honor, it's not just the trees, although that would certainly be enough to give us pause. White Horse Creek runs right through the heart of this plan. For years it has been vital to local Coho salmon populations. The proposed plan will devastate it. Already half full of muck from logging, it will become even worse. For the salmon, for the trees, for our children and their children after them, we want those few moments of contemplation by this court to be informed moments. We want the court to have all the information reasonably available when the fate of these living things hangs in the balance.

"This forest has grown in silence since long before our country was founded. Give us just a few days to speak for it and to act on its behalf."

"Yes!" Hushed exclamations went up from the environmentalists around the room; while around them, the industry supporters were obvious in their angry silence.

Maria paused a moment. ''Consider, Your Honor, another critical circumstance in this case. Anderson Logging, working together with their counsel, Dan Young"-she paused to enunciate his name-"deliberately attempted to steal our entitlement to those few moments of consideration by this court. We believe Anderson Logging and their counsel knew a suit would be filed, because they knew this old growth was part of the Highlands complex, lying as it does right against the border of the larger pieces. We know that over the weekend they sent in a greatly oversize crew and began cutting at a frenzied rate, laughing at members of our organization who suggested they wait until the court could consider the matter. Then they began killing trees by girdling, cutting the vital cambium layer because it was faster than harvesting the tree normally. A cynical way to make sure the forest died.

"Your Honor, they were holding in contempt our system of justice, which provides for the resolution of disputes through orderly processes. They were belittling those few moments of consideration that the law gives us to protect the public welfare. The court must not unwittingly become an accomplice to the attempt of a few greedy men to deprive society of a few moments of sober reflection concerning what we are about to do, which once done can never be repaired."

Maria sat down, and true pandemonium broke out. "Yes!" came the voices again from the gallery.

Traxler banged his gavel. "Order in the court! Order in the court!'' But his words were drowned in the cheers.' "This will not be tolerated!" the judge boomed. "One more sound and this court will be cleared!"

Standing, Maria Fischer turned and held up her hands like a teacher before a classroom full of children. Instantly there was silence, but the people continued with their passionate stares, barely able to restrain themselves. Around them, the mill workers and loggers were stone-faced, waiting for their champion.

Traxler was visibly moved. "Is this true? They were girdling trees they didn't have time to cut over the weekend so they could be sure of harvest later? Did they actually send in extra cutters over the weekend to beat a court order?''

Dan felt the stress in the tightened muscles of his chest and back. Even he had not realized how powerful a presentation could be made from these facts. He was staring at a tidal wave with no place to run.

Shohei waited behind the wheel of his Altima, puzzled. From what little he knew about Corey Schneider, she didn't seem like someone who would spend forty-five minutes shopping for a rental video. For a Monday-morning activity it didn't feel right. Yet the Mustang was still there, in front of the video shop.

Perhaps she had gone out the back door and this was a ploy to ditch any tails. Not wanting to attract attention, he walked across the street at a normal pace, hoping he wouldn't run into her on the way out. If she saw his face, the difficulties of his assignment would be significantly increased.

Inside, a few women browsed the stacks. None was Corey Schneider.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Is this everything?" He indicated the room.

"Well, yes." She smiled. "What were you expecting?"

"People come in here and stay for hours?"

"Oh, they're probably back there, watching movies in the private rooms."

"I see. Well, my friend came in here. She is blond."

"Corey?"

"Yes."

"She's right back there, waiting for the library to open."

"Ah." Shohei nodded. But it still didn't seem right. Walking back in the corner where the woman had pointed, he opened the door. A movie was running, but no one was inside.

"Did you find her?"

"Yes. Thank you." He stepped outside quickly. Like everyone else who listened to the radio, Shohei knew about today's duel at the courthouse. With all the demonstrators expected to attend, maybe she went there. But why so secretly? Unless…

Whipping his car around, he headed for the courthouse, the largest building in Palmer. He drove around the backside of the building, where he saw a dark van like the one Corey had recently parked in her garage. The lettering could easily have been added. Beside him sat his laptop. Quickly he scrolled through to Corey Schneider. The license plates on this van were not hers, so it was probably unrelated. But he had nothing else to go on.

Parking the car, he decided to inquire after the Johnson Electric man-or woman.

When Corey returned to the door to the roof, she put on an air of unconcern in case anyone was looking. Trying to control the tension, she peered through the window. Shit. They were there, coiling an electrical extension cord and putting away tools and a portable light. She looked up and down the hall, realizing that now a second turnaround would raise a question in the mind of anyone who had seen the first. But there didn't seem to be anyone. A woman came walking from the cafeteria with a cup of something, probably her midmorning coffee. Corey kept the bill of her hat low and went back down the hall toward storage, hoping the workmen would not also go there.

She was running out of time. They needed to be packed into the courtroom for the best chance at a kill. It had been thirty-four minutes since she entered the building and twenty-three minutes since the hearing started, assuming it started on time. As she stood against the wall, each minute carved its worry mark in her mind. Failure was not acceptable.

Two women walked by and both looked longer and harder than any of the others. Then one of them made some comment. A minute later, a deputy sheriff came by, a burly man with thin sandy hair and badly receding hairline. On his face was a large mole and he had a funny habit of running his tongue across his teeth. He was the officious type, manifestly concerned about everything.

"What are you waiting on?" From his tone Corey figured the women must have said something.

"My crew chief is coming to tell me. We're laying wire on the roof for something."

"Roof's down there."

"I know, but I was told to wait here by storage. I guess some of the wire is going in here until we need it."

"Hell, that's just a little janitorial supply room."

"I just follow orders. I ain't got a contractor's license."

"It just seems strange, them sending you here."

"Well, Your Honor," Dan explained, "I've asked the state officials to go into the harvest area today because I knew the court might want a full report."

"So you thought about this in advance."

"No, Your Honor. I was dealing with a situation."

"That's fine, but it's not what I asked. I want to know if these ancient redwoods were being cut at an unusually fast rate because Anderson and Otran Enterprises knew or suspected a court order was coming. I also want to know if unfelled trees were deliberately killed."

Dan was cornered. Obfuscation would anger the judge. Denial would be lying to the court, which was out of the question. He glanced at Maria Fischer and received an ugly glare in return.

"I believe Anderson, without the knowledge and against the wishes of Otran, cut on the weekend with more than the usual number of fallers. Anderson knew a court order was a possibility and wanted to keep his men working. But that's not against the law. And when Otran found out, they got them stopped by noon on Sunday. Only three trees were girdled, and the fallers who did it were thrown off the job."

"Mr. Young, tell us what time fallers normally stop dropping trees."

"It varies." The judge stiffened. "But often it's three or four p.m., sometimes earlier because the wind comes up in the afternoon."

Dan knew he had to turn things around if he was going to make a settlement. Right now, he was sure the judge was convinced justice lay with Maria Fischer.

"Your Honor, I'd like to offer the rest of the story. The pure unvarnished truth."

"I let Ms. Fischer have her say," Traxler said. "I'll listen to your clients' views as well."

''Your Honor, I want everybody here to get the big picture. She's coming into this court with mental images of clear-cuts and people naturally tend to think they are ugly and therefore bad. The implication is that clear-cutting is destruction and we should stop it. Well, I'm here to tell you that this kind of thinking is pure ignorance.

"We are saving the world by growing forests."

There was outright laughter in the courtroom. A prominent member of the local press was smiling and shaking his head.

"Hear me out." The courtroom quieted. "Humankind is making more carbon dioxide today than at any time in our history. We burn fossil fuels and spew the stuff out. Because we don't manage government forests and thin them, they burn up. We make more CO 2 by allowing our federal forests to burn. Hopefully, we all understand you can't breathe CO 2. hi addition to choking babies, the stuff warms the planet and we get global warming. Growing trees helps solve in a major way each of those problems. When you see a clear-cut and all those little hand-planted trees, you know somebody is trying to save you. This isn't the Amazon, where they chop them down and make a plowed field. In the temperate northwest we're cutting trees for the sake of growing trees.

"People of the future are going to realize that growing forests is the best way to counteract the effects of burning fossil fuels like gasoline and diesel. They will learn that by managing them, we can better control wildfire. It's one of the best ways to convert the sun's energy into something we can use at the same time we are cleaning the atmosphere. We can make ethanol from trees. We already make 1.8 billion gallons of the stuff as a fuel additive, and we need more. It will run a fuel cell or an engine and it emits far less CO 2 than gasoline and is the best smog-control available. So we clean the air, make fuel, and reduce CO2 emissions all at the same time. I'm telling you if we had invented trees we couldn't have done it any better.

''Growing forests, people, is what we need. Not stagnant forests full of rotting old trees like Ms. Fischer advocates, but young vibrant forests that suck up the CO 2 and produce oxygen. These growing trees are the best scrubbers of our atmosphere. It's that simple, Your Honor. Old-growth forests were for the days when the only pollution to speak of came from plankton, forest fires, farting buffalo, and the few Native Americans who ate them. Clear-cuts grow trees because redwoods and most conifers won't grow in the shade. People are going to figure that out when the government gets off its ass and teaches them."

"Mr. Young," the judge called out.

"I apologize for using a term like 'ass' in the courtroom, Your Honor. In no way would I want to imply that somebody who doesn't agree with me is an ass. We never refer to ignorant people that way in a civilized society."

There was a lot of laughter and clapping from the mill workers.

"Mr. Young."

"So my first point, Your Honor, is that a little ugly for a little while does a lot of good. Our replanting programs create young forests that will save the planet for future generations. Smart management controls fire.

"Now I'd like to make my second point."

"I wish you would," the judge said.

''Our opponents always want us to selectively harvest; it looks good to them like a park. But it's usually bad. Private forests have been ruined by selective harvesting. When you cut the biggest and the best, it's like killing the first three finishers in a horse race and then using the fourth place finisher to stand at stud. You reduce the genetic viability of the forest through selective harvesting. Worse yet, the tree species that were there before a selective harvest won't grow back because the remaining trees provide too much shade. So in a word you ruin the forest. Today the average-sized tree on Otran lands is only eighteen inches because of uninform selective harvest practices. After one hundred years of modern clear-cutting techniques throughout the next century, the average-sized tree will be over thirty-two inches. The trees will be large once again, as they were before the Europeans arrived. So what looks ugly-namely a

clear-cut-is really good. Forced selective harvesting will make sick, stunted forests. It's pure ignorance. These stunted forests do less for the CO 2.

"I have just one more point, Your Honor. In 1968, the government came into our community and said that they were going to save the old-growth redwoods. They took private property, reduced our timber base, closed our mills, and gave our workers government handouts. The government put tens of thousands of redwood acres in a park.

"But what happened then? Ten years passed, and concerned citizens noticed that not all the old-growth redwoods were in parks. I guess they wanted more places where the trees won't grow. By that I mean they wanted to produce an old rotting forest that does nothing. Inland away from the coast such forests burn in a horrible inferno because we put out the wildfires and also never cut because we have some weird idea about what's bad and what's good. On the coast such forests just stop vigorous growth and therefore do less for the air we breathe. These are the kind of concerned citizens who may do more harm than good.

"And in 1978 the government came in again and studied the matter, weighing all the options. And again, private property was taken, mills were closed, people were put out of work, and the welfare rolls were expanded.

''Now, it is true that when the Native Americans occupied the redwood coast, there were far more old-growth redwoods than there are today. But they didn't have cars; they didn't need fuel for cars and planes. They didn't have a problem with the greenhouse effect. And I admit we should have a few old-growth forests like we have museums. Keep them around. But the vast majority of the forests should not be old and stagnant. We need the rapid growth of a developing forest. And for God's sake, if we're going to manage a forest instead of leaving it untouched, then let's not make it sick. Let's not decide to intervene and destroy the forest by foolish selective harvesting methods. If we're going to cut, let's do it right so it grows back and grows back vigorously.

"And let's give a break to the people for a change. Let's follow the law. Let's not let ten minutes' worth of emotion overcome twenty years of planning. We don't need another vegetable dump. And that, Your Honor, about sums up my position."

Finished, Dan turned to his chair. Before he could even sit, the mill workers broke out in passionate cheers and whistles. On the bench Traxler banged his gavel; next to him, the marshal screamed "Quiet!" — but all to no avail. Emotions were too high now. A fight erupted near the back of the courtroom between a logger and an environmentalist. Screams and shouts filled the air as the audience tried to pull them apart. The bailiff, a fat man in his thirties, tried to make it to the melee, but ended up hopelessly locked in the crowd.

Fifteen feet away from him, Dan could see Maria Fischer climbing on the counsel table.

"Stop!" she shouted with more volume than Dan would have thought possible.

Perhaps it was the strange spectacle of a female lawyer standing on a table, but whatever it was, it quieted the crowd.

Stepping down, Maria addressed the court. "Perhaps, Your Honor, we could meet in chambers now. But I have got to say that Mr. Young is hallucinating about the science. He's just oversimplifying." More shouting erupted in the courtroom gallery.

Traxler banged the gavel. ''Court is adjourned for thirty minutes or at the request of either party." Then he was gone, off the bench as fast as he could move without actually running.

At the judge's suggestion, the two lawyers entered the jury deliberation room alone. There, Maria sat at the head of the table, and Dan took a seat immediately to her left. It was only then that Dan noticed Ross taking a seat beside Maria.

"I believe this is an attorneys' settlement conference," Dan said. There was silence as Maria looked first at Dan, then at Ross. She sighed.

"You are really a prick," Ross said.

"Why torture yourself?" Dan said. "If you've got her, she'll come home. Following her around like a sick puppy isn't-"

"That's enough!" Maria shouted, and slammed her hand on the table. "You shut up," she said to Dan. "Ross, come here," she said, rising. "We'll talk outside. This man can't be civil, so don't give him the satisfaction of watching while the bailiff kicks you out." Ross followed Maria, who slammed the door on their way out.

In a minute she returned, livid.

"Did you send him home to Sacramento?" Dan said.

She sat down and opened her briefcase, removing a yellow pad.

"This may be your idea of a joke-"

"Will you just listen for a few minutes? Please."

"What?" she snapped.

"I didn't plot and plan against you. I wasn't sitting there on the weekend hoping they'd cut down your trees. I had no idea anybody was girdling trees or cutting with a huge crew. Of course I didn't want to spill the beans about what I thought was an ordinary logging job. I may in the past have made some unfortunate jokes about cutting on the weekend but, Maria, it isn't what you think."

"Yeah, you're not a deceitful sort of guy. Right. You sit in the dark like a spy, and let me go on and on in a restaurant thinking you're some kind of… soul mate. You oversimplified the carbon issue in your argument to the court. God, you think like Allen Funt."

"I have a job to do. If you don't like it, just walk down to engineering and they can fight with my boss," Corey said. ''We have an ionizer to fix. That's all I know. Complete rewiring. If you have a problem, then why don't you and I go onto the roof and talk to my boss." She hoped he would take her up on it

The deputy hesitated. "Your boss is on the roof?"

She nodded, then took off her hat and shook out her hair. "We could go look at the sights," she said with tones that were a touch friendlier and a lot more adventuresome.

Immediately the deputy's face was transformed. He was talking to a beautiful woman and not a snot-nosed boy out of high school.

"Let's go," he said. "Jeez, I thought you were a…"

"A what, Deputy?"

"Well, a boy. That's what they said."

Quickly she put on her hat and tucked her hair back up under it. "I find sometimes it helps to let people think that. I gotta take them this anyway," she said, picking up the crowbar.

He waited until she walked ahead. Unfortunately, he seemed very alert and still slightly suspicious. They opened the door and walked past the workmen who nodded and said nothing. The deputy pulled out a big ring of keys and unlocked the roof door. It meant she wouldn't have to knock out the small window again. She could use the crowbar for something else. They walked up the concrete stairs that rose through a cut in the roof.

She gripped the bar. Glancing back, she saw the deputy's hand go to his baton-probably just habit. Or maybe something was bothering him. His footfalls were heavy behind hers. He was close. Her second hand curled around the bar so that she held it like a bat. There were three stairs to go. When she touched the top stair, she whirled in one smooth motion. He was four stairs down. At chest height his head split like a watermelon as the bar slammed into his ear. A red film shot into the air and gray brain matter went flying.

The deputy's body crumpled. She grabbed it so he wouldn't roll down the stairs. The body convulsed in her hands. A stain spread across the front of his pants and a stench came with bowel sounds. He was dead. Using all her strength, she dragged the big man the rest of the way up the stairs and laid the body on the roof. Quickly she went to the southerly side of the building and found the large sunken chamber in the roof. She climbed ten feet down the metal ladder to the bottom of the rectangular, concave area. On the inboard wall of the chamber were large louvers. From her pocket she removed a red ribbon, tied it on a louver, and let it stream through the opening.

Quickly she climbed the ladder, ran across the roof, went down the stairs and through the door, noting with satisfaction that the workmen were gone. Right where she left it, she picked up the loaded furniture dolly and wheeled it down the hall around a corner, and into the small hall that bordered the southern side. Mechanic rooms, like the door to the roof, had small eight-inch windows. There were two off this hall.

She would try the first. Taking the bloody crowbar in both hands, she looked up and down the hall, then with one sharp blow knocked out the window. Opening the door, she wheeled the dolly inside and closed the door quietly. From the tool bag she removed a wooden square with black paper that she quickly taped over the window hole. Next she pulled out a small flashlight and found the light switch.

All around the dusty room were duct pipes, blowers, and electrical panels. She pulled a Colt. 45 from her overalls, then took from her tool case a grease-filled sound suppressor and screwed it into the barrel. The first three or four shots would be almost silent. She returned the gun to its hiding spot.

She walked ahead toward the side of the building, winding through the various pieces of the heating, cooling, and duct system. When she neared the outer wall, she saw the light pouring through the louvers and the small ribbon.

Certain now that she had the right vent for the outside air intake to the south-facing courtrooms, she walked over and examined the equipment. Air from the outside poured into the equipment room and was drawn into a sheet-metal box a little smaller than a Volkswagen Beetle. The box sat about five feet from the louvered wall through which the ribbon fluttered. Its fans drew air from the outside and down into the courtrooms.

Directly in front of the box and its air intake louvers, she placed the two drams. But she inverted them, allowing the dram full of sulfuric acid to contact its specially designed plastic lid. It would take five minutes for the acid to penetrate the lid and hit the sodium cyanide. Heading back toward the door, she was shocked to see the board knocked off the window hole. Then a man dressed in uniformly dark clothing stepped out of the shadows. A small man but confident-it registered in her brain. Reaching into her overalls, she fished for the gun.

He moved so swiftly he seemed more apparition than man. As the gun came up, his foot snatched it, hurling it against the wall. Open-mouthed, she raised the heavy crowbar, gripping it like a bat. She could beat any man with this advantage.

"What have you done?" The man had an Asian accent.

"You'll find out the hard way if you don't get your ass out of here."

She swung. Easily he stepped away. Never had she seen anyone this fast. No martial-arts instructor, no boxer. Nobody.

"Put it down or I will take it away."

It was as if he were speaking to a child. Furious, she aimed for his head. It missed, but she saw anger ignite in his eyes.

He lunged; she swung but it was a feint. In the split second that the bar flashed past him, he was delivering a blurring kick that nearly dislocated her shoulder and sent the bar flying.

"Be sensible," he said.

She jumped toward the door. He cut her off.

"Tell me what you have done. Then you may leave."

"Fuck you." She launched her best kick. It landed on his ribs, a glancing blow. New respect lit his eyes.

"It was good. But you are only a student. Now tell me."

This time she attacked with a feinted kick followed by a punch. The block was so hard it felt like it broke her arm; then she was flying upward, and her legs went out from under her. She hit the concrete with a horrible slap that knocked the wind out of her.

Before she had time even to blink, her hand was twisted at her side. White-hot pain shot up her arm.

"Tell me."

She breathed deep and fast, certain she could stand any pain. His other hand at her neck set it on fire.

"Oh," she moaned. "Fuck you. Fuck you." It was like a mantra and she repeated it over and over. She could take it. She could hate her way through it. Nothing would stop her. They would both die in minutes.

He bent her over, pushing her nose into the concrete. She was on her knees in seething constant pain. Then he released her just slightly.

"I can see you can take pain. I do not wish to blind you. But I can cause you another kind of pain. Do not make me."

"Die, fucker."

There was a click of a stiletto. At first she thought he would carve her face. Then, like a whisper, she felt her overalls part up the center of her buttocks. The slice was so clean, the knife so sharp, he did it without touching her body. She could feel the air on her panties. Then her panties were pulled down.

Something broke inside. "No, no, no, motherfucker, motherfucker." It was her father; it was everything she loathed, everything she couldn't stand.

"One more chance or I will put you in pain like you have never known."

But it wasn't the physical pain that she feared. It was something else, something she didn't understand. "Over by the wall," she gasped, hating herself. "Two drums. You're too late. It's gas."

He dragged her over by the wall until he saw the drums. "Go." He released her.

Hiking her panties, she ran for the door, grabbing her cap and Colt off the floor. By sheer force of will, she adopted a walk of brusque nonchalance as she left and closed the door. Maybe the little bastard wouldn't be in time.

Shohei paused and thought. There were no good options. He picked up the drums and moved them to the corner opposite the door, about fifty feet from the air intake. He had no idea what else it was near that might matter. Then he tried to force the vents closed, but the controls were electronic. He didn't have the slightest idea how the mechanism worked, nor how this gas bomb worked. Without further hesitation he was out the door, hearing a boiling sound as he headed down the hall.

Within five steps a maintenance man came running round the corner.

"Leave immediately," Shohei said.

"Who are you and what are you-"

Shohei could see it was hopeless and rendered the man unconscious. Flopping the man over him in a fireman's carry, he walked twenty feet to a fire alarm. An instant before he pulled the lever, it sounded anyway.

With a free hand he pulled out a cell phone and called 911.

"Nolo County Sheriff," the crisp voice answered.

"Turn off the air-conditioning and all vents in the courthouse. There is poison gas."

"Say again. The alarm is loud-"

"Poison gas in the courthouse. Turn off vents and air-conditioning."

"Got it. Turn off vents and-"

Shohei hung up.

"When will you stop with your bullshit and admit those trees are a national treasure-"

"Wait," Dan said. "I smell something-it smells like gas. Get out of here!" Dan screamed.

''What?'' she said, not sure she smelled a thing. Grabbing her, he shoved her toward the door and she started moving ahead of him. He seemed a crazy man.

"Go, go, go," he shouted, grabbing her hand, yanking her. Then shoving her.

"Just a minute," she said. He pulled her down the small side hallway leading from the judge's chambers.

"No 'just a minute'! We're out of here," he yelled, literally picking her up and running for twenty feet or so.

"All right," she said as they burst into the corridor and ran down to the stairway. Now something was stinging her eyes. He yanked a fire alarm.

"Everybody out," he shouted as they reached the stairwell.

The stairs were filled with running people. A man stumbled after them into the stairwell, looking violently ill and vomiting. They ran down the stairs and out the door, not stopping until they were across the street.

In minutes the entire courthouse had emptied onto the lawn. Detectives came through, telling everyone to stay. Yellow ribbons were strung around, separating those who had come from the courthouse from the gawkers.

"Where were you?" A young officer approached Dan and Maria with a clipboard and radios hanging off him.

"Judge Traxler's courtroom."

"How many in there?"

"Lots," Dan said.

"Everybody who was in Judge Traxler's courtroom, right over here."

''Actually, we were in the jury room just off the courtroom," Dan explained further. "Court had just adjourned. They may have been in the hall."

The questions seemed endless, it was warm, and after all the adrenaline rush, drowsiness set in. People were allowed to leave after giving complete statements. An hour and a half later, Dan and Maria had given their statements to the police and been excused to the coffee shop where they settled the case. After a time they got word that nobody died. Someone had called in and said to turn off the air conditioner, and the intake fans had already been on low. But thirty people were taken to the hospital. Ross wasn't among them; Maria called and found him at the Palmer Inn, oblivious to what had happened and grateful she was safe.

Dan wrote as Maria sipped her coffee and occasionally argued about a word or a phrase. The devil was always in the details. As she watched him concentrate on the page, she noticed the way his shoulders and arms filled the suit, the thick strength of his neck. Across his chest his blue dress shirt was nearly stretched tight. Although he'd gained a little since the photos she had seen, his face was still relatively lean and there was sharpness in his blue eyes. Periodically he glanced at her from under his heavy brows. She decided that they made him look wise and that in middle age a pair of gold reading glasses would only add to his charm. His thick blond hair was becoming uneven and had grown over his ears; he should have it cut. Then she considered that such a thought-considering her long-haired boyfriend, and all her many wavy-haired colleagues-must be some kind of mental regression. Perhaps it was a throwback to the days when she would tell her father he needed a haircut. She caught herself smiling, on the verge of laughter.

Then she noticed some of her friends from the cafe looking at her and felt suddenly very uncomfortable. Almost ashamed.

"What?" he said, searching her face.

"Utterly nothing. Just nothing."

Then the whole courtroom scene and his words overtook her again and she could feel her jaw set, angry with herself that she was acting like a schoolgirl.

As they finished penciling the settlement stipulation, Dan seemed to notice Maria's people gathering at a nearby table-and staring.

"This isn't real comfortable," she said.

"Why? We're settling a case."

"We already did that."

"You'd rather be with them."

"Dan, this isn't the twelfth grade. I'm heading to the John and then I'm going to go be with my friends and coworkers. I'll call you."

"You're still mad about what I said in court."

"You mean calling me an ass?".

"Well, it wasn't personal. It was a debate over something we both have deep convictions about."

"We can talk about it later." As she rose, he followed.

''I suppose you're looking for some kind of apology about my 'ass' joke. And the attorney-client-privilege stuff."

"Is that your idea or mine?"

Walking behind Maria, down the hallway to the rest room, he couldn't help but take in her appearance. Her suit, somehow both powerful and soft. The gentle, perfect sway of her hips.

"Great outfit," he whispered.

Maria halted abruptly and turned, causing Dan to come within inches of running her down. There they stood, her nose eight inches from his chest. Dan wondered if he detected a slight change in her demeanor.

He felt both tired and irreverent. "A beauty unlike any other." He smiled. "I am speaking, of course, of your oral argument."

"Dan, there can never be anything between us," she responded flatly.

He shrugged. "I also thought you looked terrific on the counsel table."

Her eyes betrayed nothing. "You are a hopeless throwback to the Old West, when white people butchered Native Americans and destroyed everything in their path. Frankly, after that display in the courtroom, we shouldn't have anything to say to each other.''

"Going to battle together doesn't count?"

"It does and it doesn't. I'll call you."

"Now that we've got a deal, I feel like maybe I could bend the rules and tell you what happened."

"So now ethics don't matter?"

"For five minutes, why don't you just quit being a hard-ass?"

She stood with her weight on her right foot and crossed her arms. "OK, spill your guts."

"This is just between you and me. Nobody else."

"Why should you trust me?"

"Because you may be a lot of things but you aren't untrustworthy."

"Don't tell me anything about the future. Only tell me about the past. I'm only curious about what you did."

Dan took a deep breath. "All right. I fought them tooth and nail on the extra cutters. So did Otran's chief of forestry. To shut us up, Anderson led us to believe they wouldn't do any accelerated cutting. I thought they were doing the usual thing. So did Otran's foresters all the way up to the vice president of natural resources. Normal work on the weekends, nothing else."

"You told them not to do anything out of the ordinary. No winks, nothing like that."

"No winks. I thought it was in their own best interests not to do that sort of thing. So did Otran's people."

"You know you'd be a real asshole to lie to me now."

"I'm not lying to you. I was absolutely trying to keep you away from the Anderson logging show on Sunday morning. Everything you said about that is true. I suppose nothing will make this right between us?"

"More self-flagellation might be a start." She turned to leave. "I can tell you hate it," she said over her shoulder.

"Hey," he called out. "We have to discuss the chemists and the zoologist. We gotta keep going."

"Yes, we do." She turned to face him. "I was going to call you when I thought I could be civil. I have a zoologist who has spent his life studying bats. And he's rounded up a chemist. Perhaps I should go see them and give you a report."

"Look, Maria, as one human being to another, I'm sorry about these trees. I know how important they are to you."

She shook her head. "You couldn't possibly know. You probably believe that the tooth fairy is a Rockefeller."

"Peace." He held out his hand. Even as she shook her head as if she had reservations, she took his hand in hers. "So let's make an appointment for this zoologist."

"I have a feeling, Dan. We're into something dangerous. You have a little boy. Are you sure you want to pursue this?"

"I'm sure." He squeezed her hand. For a moment she squeezed back and then the touch was gone.