Dark Justice

Her eyes widened. “A book tour? You’re-a writer?”

“Well, it’s only my first book.”

“Nonfiction?”

“Yes.”

“Ben, that’s perfect! You’re-you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

“I am?”

“Yes! You’re perfect. Zak needs someone to take his case. Someone who’s committed to the cause, to the truth. Someone who cares whether justice is served. And Green Rage needs a scribe. You could wear both hats!”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“You’re a writer. You must know how important publicity is. God knows the logging companies have their propaganda machines working full-time, painting us as black, evil marauders. You’ve been exposed to it yourself-as soon as you heard the name Green Rage, you thought eco-terrorist. That’s what the loggers want.”

“Or perhaps it’s just the truth.”

“But you could change all that. You could expose the world to our point of view. Make them see things the way we do. Make them understand that time is short, that if we don’t take action now, it will be too late.” She looked at him eagerly. “What do you think?”

“I don’t see how-”

“Aww, forget it, Maureen,” Rick growled. “Look at this chump. He’s not going to stick his neck out for us or anyone else. He’s got his comfy little lawyer world. Probably a nice swimming pool and a big screen TV. He’s not going to put himself on the line for us.”

“That’s not fair,” Ben protested. “You don’t know-”

“Please consider it, Ben,” Maureen implored. “You don’t know what a difference this could make. I can’t explain it totally. I–I just have a sense that if you were on our team, sending the world our battle reports from the front lines, that might be just what we need to win the day. And God knows Zak needs you. If you don’t help, he’s going to end up railroaded, spending the rest of his life in prison. Or worse.”

Ben didn’t answer. She was staring at him, waiting for a response that wasn’t coming.

“Please, Ben. I don’t mean to pressure you, but I think you could be the best thing that happened to the environmental movement since Rachel Carson. You could make all the difference.”

Her words had an unmistakable appeal. As his assistant Christina McCall had pointed out on any number of occasions, he was a total sucker for an underdog. He had certainly represented unpopular clients in the past; in fact, he considered it an attorney’s duty to do so. But this was different. This wasn’t simply a difference in opinion or belief. These people were terrorists.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said. “I hear what you’re saying. But I can’t do it.”

Maureen’s face fell. She eased away from the bars, back into her own cell. She said nothing, but her disappointment was evident.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rick said. “You’ll be a lot more comfortable back in the safety of your La-Z-Boy recliner.”

Ben bit back his response. Rick wasn’t being fair, but of course, there was no reason why he should be. Maureen had played fair, and look what it got her.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Ben stretched out on his cot. He knew he was making the right decision. He was almost proud of himself. For once he wasn’t running off on whatever half-baked quest fell into his lap.

But he couldn’t quash the tiny voice in the pit of his brain that kept saying that maybe, just maybe, he was making a mistake. The tiny voice of doubt.

And guilt.

You have a unique opportunity here, Maureen had said. You could make all the difference.

Ben rolled over, buried his face in the pillow, and closed his eyes. But he felt certain he wasn’t going to get any sleep.

Chapter 5

Tess O’Connell rushed back to her hotel room and slammed the door shut behind her. With lightning speed, she turned the deadbolt, slid in the chain lock, and pulled a dresser in front of the door.

She wasn’t taking any chances.

This was the first time she had ventured out of her hotel room since the night of the murder. When she looked back on it now, the whole episode seemed like one extended nightmare-far too chilling and extraordinary to be real.

Except it was. She knew it was. Every time she closed her eyes, it came back to her, insistent and unbidden. Like a nightmare.

She still wasn’t sure how she managed to elude that monster who had chased her away from the scene of the explosion. He had to have known the forest better than she did. All she did was run, not stopping, not checking directions, just running. Maybe he hurt himself, maybe he had to stop to do something. She didn’t know. All she knew for sure was that somehow, against all odds, she had managed to give Sasquatch the slip.

Whoever he was. Behind the mask.

When she finally made it back to her hotel, she had locked the doors, crawled under the covers, and holed up for days. She hadn’t even let the maids in to clean. She made room service leave trays outside her door. She was that scared. She didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want anyone to come near her. Her boss at the Whisper kept phoning, leaving messages, but she didn’t return the calls.

It was almost a week before she regained some semblance of the patented O’Connell chutzpah, before she felt she might be able to venture into the hallway without meeting Sasquatch at the first corner. Slowly, as the days passed, her terror began to fade, replaced by something altogether different.

The scent of a story.

For once in her life, Tess had the inside track on something big, maybe even bigger than anyone realized. She had seen what no one else had seen; she knew what no one else knew. What’s more, she had evidence.

The videotape.

Unfortunately, when she replayed the tape in the camera it was too dark to make out, and the rooms at the Magic Valley Holiday Inn did not come equipped with VCRs. The hotel management wasn’t able to provide her with one, either. Here she was, a reporter holding critical evidence in her hands-that she was unable to view. She realized that if she was going to see this, she was going to have to leave the room.

It hadn’t been easy. But eventually, as the panic eased, she began to think about her station in life and what this tape could do to improve it. She had never meant to end up stuck at some low-rent tabloid. She had studied journalism at UCLA. She’d had ambitions, visions of Pulitzers. She wanted to be known as a serious investigative reporter. But at the time of her graduation, there had been a hiring freeze at all the newspapers. The industry was in a slump. It was beginning to look as if her only career opportunity would involve “hold the pickles, hold the lettuce.”

Until she found the opening at the Whisper. And so she began her career of stalking celebrities and searching for the truth about crop circles and cow mutilations.

And Sasquatch.

She had seen the job as temporary, a stopping place until other prospects opened up. But when positions at the real papers did open up, she found herself tainted by her contact with the Whisper. “Oh, you’re that kind of reporter”-and the interview would come to a swift conclusion. After a while, she developed evasive responses, but to no avail. The journalistic community was small and close- knit. Secrets were hard to keep.

And so her temporary stopover became an eight-year stint. With no end in sight. Eventually she had resigned herself to her fate.

Until the tragic last night of Princess Diana. Tess wasn’t involved in that tragedy, thank God, but afterward