The Lightning Stones

15

Roland d’Avejan took to the podium accompanied by a rousing round of applause. This was a sympathetic audience, so d’Avejan wasn’t surprised, but knowing a crowd was energized made giving speeches a much less odious task.

“Merci, merci,” he called into the microphone, trying to quiet the two hundred or so. “Thank you very much. I am honored to be here today, even if it cost me five million euros just to say a few words.” The crowd filling the auditorium laughed at his joke, knowing it was true. On an easel next to the lectern was the oversize mock check he had just presented to the Earth Action League’s president.

“I must say that it is I who should be applauding all of you. You are on the front lines of the climate war, fighting the apathy of people who don’t recognize the peril that our planet faces. And more importantly, you fight the deniers funded by fossil fuel interests who put short-term profit above the long-term health of the environment.”

This remark elicited a few catcalls and hisses, as though this was some silent film and the mustache-twirling villain had just appeared on-screen. They were like good-hearted children in their naïveté.

D’Avejan continued, “Despite efforts by you and other like-minded campaigners, carbon continues to increase in our atmosphere.” He preferred the more evocative sobriquet “carbon pollution,” but marketing studies were showing that informed listeners realized it was a bit overwrought and inaccurate, although leaving out the dioxide part of the gas continued to make people think it was something filthy. “The alarm was sounded as far back as the 1980s, but as we know, nothing was done to curb greenhouse gases. Where once the threats were in the far distant future, we now realize to our horror that the future is here. There can be very few in this audience who did not know someone who perished in the terrible heat wave of 2003. France alone lost nearly fifteen thousand people, mostly our elderly. Or what about the terrible summer in 2010 that claimed fifteen thousand Russians. These were some of the first victims of global warming, but they won’t be the last when such extreme events become the new normal.

“Sea levels continue to rise, the pace has accelerated, and soon entire Pacific island nations will disappear beneath the waves, adding millions of climate refugees. Hurricanes and tropical cyclones have become stronger and will only get worse. If the United States, the richest nation in the world, could not stop Katrina or Superstorm Sandy from destroying so much property and life, what chance did the Philippines have when Typhoon Haiyan struck and washed thousands of people out to sea? Death tolls are already climbing, ladies and gentlemen, not in fifty or a hundred years, but now. Polar ice is vanishing. Ancient glaciers around the world are in record retreat, and scientists are speculating a catastrophic collapse of some of Antarctica’s pristine ice shelves. As thermometers around the globe inexorably rise, it may trigger massive releases of even more potent greenhouse gases trapped in frozen tundra across Russia, Alaska, and far northern Canada.”

Roland paused. He had given them the litany of doom and gloom peddled repeatedly by some United Nations scientists and the compliant media. It was well worn and familiar, and for the most part his examples were all either outright lies or localized weather events, or unverifiable computer projections that were little more accurate than darts flung at a board. And yet it had all been touted as evidence of anthropogenic global warming for long enough that people no longer questioned it.

“I need not remind you of the consequences we are experiencing now that Mother Nature has decided to fight back against humanity’s wanton disregard for the environment. People who join the Earth Action League understand the crisis we face and have common cause to see it solved. That is why I have pledged such a large amount of money today. I am tasking you with the job of informing the rest of the world of the urgent need for action. We have an ever-diminishing window to save our planet, to stop burning fossil fuels and switch to renewable sources of power. Wind and solar can light our future but only if we start now.

“Many here in Europe have called for a greater reliance on bountiful, naturally produced power”—that was a new marketing term, “naturally produced,” and it trended well with the antifracking element of the environmental movement—“but there are still many who don’t realize our time is limited. You need to go out and educate them so that they see a wind farm in their town as an asset and not a liability. We must change attitudes from ‘Not in my backyard’ to ‘Please in our backyard.’

“We need the political will to make the hard choices. But that is what you here understand and those out there do not. There are no longer any choices, only inevitabilities. We must stop burning fossil fuels. We must turn to renewable energy or we will simply fail as a sustainable society, and I see by the bright eyes out there and eager anticipation that you will not let that happen. Not on your watch. Not when the EAL has something to say about it. Not now. Not ever!”

That’s what this was about, d’Avejan thought as he listened to their thunderous approbation. He needed to get the great unwashed majority off their collective fat asses so they would elect politicians ready to listen to the UN and others and tackle the problem head-on. For the cameras, he shook hands once again with the president of the Earth Action League, a man untroubled by his own body odor, though he had at least put on pressed slacks for the event. Seconds after getting offstage, d’Avejan had his hands slathered in waterless purifying gel as a stopgap until he could properly wash them.

“Thank you once again, Roland,” Jean-Batiste Reno said, “both for the extraordinary financial support and for taking the time to speak with us today.” A clutch of supporters stood nearby. Roland noted that many were female, and some were not unattractive.

“You are all fighting the good fight,” he replied.

“But it gets tougher all the time,” the nonprofit’s director lamented. “Just a few years ago climate change was on everyone’s mind. Money poured into our coffers, and we could organize rallies of a thousand or more on short notice. We had just a few hundred here today, and many of them are paid staffers.”

“When the real estate bubble burst both here in Europe and in America it gave people the excuse to forget problems other than their own immediate situation,” d’Avejan said, as he’d opined many times.

“My grandmother used to say that the lighter the purse becomes, the tighter are its strings.”

“Wise woman,” Roland conceded. “It does not help that current model predictions and the reality of global temperatures are continuing to diverge. We are well into our second decade with no appreciable increase in surface temperatures.”

“That doesn’t concern me,” the environmental crusader replied. “Every few months a new paper comes out to explain away the issue. What does bother me is the way some in the media are reporting that the pause was unexpected, and questioning our excuses for it because for years we said the science was settled.”

“That was a mistake from the beginning.” D’Avejan frowned. “The physics of how carbon dioxide traps heat is well established. The claimed science behind all future scenarios relies on a lot of assumptions that are essentially unverifiable. But it is too late to point out that distinction without hurting our cause.”

Reno nodded. “I agree. In the beginning things became so alarming so quickly, and now we have little choice but to keep going in that direction. If we attempt to walk back some of our earlier claims we will lose credibility and our planet will surely be doomed.”

“That’s why you have me.” The industrialist had to smile. “I will make sure Earth is here for our children and theirs too, my friend.”

Enthusiastic applause broke out among the small group, and d’Avejan ended the conversation, and any opportunity to chat up some of the prettier hangers-on. A few journalists asked him some questions as he made his way from the university auditorium, but he politely declined comment, saying he was late for a meeting. Outside, tables had been set up on the Parisian sidewalk for passersby to take leaflets and study posters on the dangers of fossil fuels in general and hydraulic fracturing in particular.

D’Avejan didn’t think any of the young protesters knew fracking had been around for a generation, and had been proven safe time after time. He was again grateful that the youth took so much on faith and never investigated a subject on their own. Often attributed to either Lenin or Stalin, the term “useful idiots” came to mind. A bit harsh, he thought, but not too far off the mark.

The so-called fracking revolution in America had vastly increased the United States’ supplies of natural gas. If allowed to happen in Europe, Roland thought, it would devastate his company’s financial position in renewable energy. This wasn’t about lowering carbon footprints by using gas as a bridge fuel or staving off climate change. It was simple capitalistic necessity. If Europe allowed fracking, energy prices would plummet, and every wind farm and solar array under development would be abandoned, leaving the bulk of Eurodyne in ruin. D’Avejan would do anything to prevent men like Ralph Pickford from scavenging the bones of the company he’d built, and that included financing rabble like the Earth Action League, or being party to violent operations in the States. It was what had to be done.

When the dust settled he’d make sure to plant some extra trees someplace.

In keeping with his well-tended eco-image, his car was a new Tesla S sedan. His chauffer had been waiting just down the block and was up to the curb even before d’Avejan could hail him. A small crowd of EAL staffers was congregated nearby, and d’Avejan choked when hit by a waft of patchouli oil and cannabis smoke. He opened the rear car door for himself rather than wait for the driver.

“Sorry I wasn’t quicker, sir,” the man apologized.

“Not your fault,” d’Avejan said as the car silently pulled away, watched by a few of the tech-savvy eco-warriors who recognized the sleek car for what it was. “I had to get away from the stench. My father used to complain about how hippies smelled in the sixties. I don’t think their aroma has much changed.”

“Non, monsieur. Or their politics. It’s the women, you know.”

“The women?” Roland asked, intrigued.

“Oui, monsieur. At least that’s what my father told me. He said back then the women saw makeup and hair care as signs of male oppression, so they stopped all that and went au naturel. When the odor got too bad they doused themselves in funky oils, not perfume, mind you, but some gunk called—”

“Patchouli. I just got a noseful.”

“That’s the stuff. Well, since this was how the women were protesting, the guys back then had to go along with it if they wanted to sleep with any of them. The guys stopped shaving and let their hair grow, and before you knew it a whole generation of nonconformists looked exactly alike. And still do to this day.”

“So it’s all about having sex?”

“Isn’t it always, sir?”

D’Avejan smirked. Michel had driven him to his various mistresses over the years and waited in the car while he was in their arms. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Heading home, monsieur?”

Roland was checking for messages on his two phones. There were several missed calls on his personal phone, most of which he could ignore. The smartphone he treated as disposable showed a missed text. It simply said “Call me.” And had come through when he was donating the money to the EAL. “Not just yet,” he said and slid the phone into his pocket. “I need to get back to the office for a minute.”

“Mais bien sûr, monsieur.”

Thirty minutes later, d’Avejan was in his electronically swept office. He poured himself a drink and watched the lights coming on all over his magical city. He dialed out on a new phone to replace the one he’d just fed through the shredder. From up here the traffic-choked streets were transformed into somnolent rivers of light, while the Eiffel Tower shone like a beacon pointing to the heavens.

“Niklaas?” he said when the phone was answered but no one spoke.

“Ja, sorry. I was taking a sip of water.”

“How did it go?”

“As we suspected,” the mercenary replied.

D’Avejan cursed, but mostly at himself for getting his hopes up. “The American had already come and gone?”

“No. The Pakistani team made contact. They reached the coordinates Mike Dillman provided almost a century ago, but there was nothing there. The Afghan guide was questioned about any kind of mining done in the area. He told them there was an old stone quarry several miles from where they were searching but then mentioned something interesting, a mountain that his grandparents said used to attract lightning. I’ll give it to my old friend Parvez to pick up on a possible connection. He and his team headed for this mountain and when they arrived, the American was already there with a group of hired guns out of Kabul. Not sure which company yet, but Parvez thinks one of them was a black man named Sykes who was Delta but now works for Gen-D Systems.”

“Get on with it, man,” d’Avejan insisted.

“Ja. Okay. So the ISI guys we hired made contact when they thought they had the best advantage, but their assault went to crap pretty quick. The Gen-D fighters had a chopper fitted with rockets. Parvez lost six men KIA and another eight wounded.”

“I thought you said they were good, these Pakistanis you knew.”

“When I met Parvez Najam in Somalia he was part of the Pakistani contingent of UN troops trying to stabilize the country during the whole Blackhawk incident. He was and remains a top-notch soldier, meneer, but sometimes combat does not go as planned. Especially when he had no warning that the geologist would have air cover.”

“Okay.” Roland blew a breath and took a gulp of his vodka soda. “Did they learn anything?”

“Yes. They found a cave. He sent me video. There was an old body in it that looked like it had been there for years and a natural grotto that appeared to have been picked clean, but there were no minerals of any note, at least none he could determine. I have uploaded everything from his report to the secure account you set up.”

“Anything else?”

“One odd thing. There was a storm during the firefight, and one of his men was struck by lightning and several more bolts landed extremely close. You told me this mineral might have odd electromagnetic powers. It stands to reason that if lightning was striking so hard and so fast, then perhaps the American managed to secure a small sample.”

D’Avejan snapped, “Small? Why small? He could have carried out sacks of the stuff.”

“No, meneer, the men identified him quite clearly and saw he carried nothing with him but a pistol. He was not the one who looted the cave. That had to have been Dillman years ago.”

“So the bulk of mineral is still out there? That is what you are saying?”

“Yes, and I think I know how to find it.”

D’Avejan listened while his special facilitator outlined his proposal, nodding approvingly as its chance of success sounded high. Outsourcing contractors from the Pakistani intelligence service had been a gamble that hadn’t paid off, but what he heard now sounded like a winning plan to secure the last of the mineral for use aboard the Akademik Nikolay Zhukovsky.

“All right,” d’Avejan said when his subaltern finished. “Make it happen and I’ll give you a bonus large enough to retire on.”

The former mercenary started a sarcastic reply but held his tongue. He may have worked for Roland d’Avejan and Eurodyne for the past two years, but being part of a corporation hadn’t blunted the rougher edges of a lifetime spent in and around combat zones stretching across three continents.

“Dankie, meneer.”