“This has all been rather difficult for me, so I don’t have any sort of prepared statement, yet I’m sure you all have a number of questions.” When he spoke, his slight accent and his naturally compelling voice created an instant aura of trust. His blue eyes were captivating under the harsh glare of the cameras’ klieg lights.
“Given that PEAL’s latest target of protest is Petromax Oil, do you think it ironic that you were the person to discover this accident?” This from a local reporter, not one of the network heavy hitters who’d been shouted down by the woman’s grating voice.
“Ironic? I think it’s tragic that anyone has to see what happened here tonight.” He dismissed her summarily, then pointed to a CNN weekend anchor who’d been giving PEAL favorable coverage in the weeks since their ship,
“Doctor, what is your personal reaction to what happened tonight and what is the official reaction from your organization?”
As he’d expected, the CNN reporter had just given Voerhoven the step he needed to mount his soapbox.
“How does it make me feel? To be honest, it scares the hell out of me. The driver of that truck was traveling much too fast for these conditions, indicative of the negligent attitude of the company that employed him. Petromax Oil established tonight that they can’t be trusted to transport a few thousand gallons of gasoline on a well-traveled highway, yet they are about to pump millions of barrels of crude through the pristine environment of the Arctic Wildlife Refuge.
“Tonight, Petromax spoiled just a small portion of a glacial river that nature will be able to clean, but what happens when this very same company has a much more serious accident on the North Slope? The irresponsibility of one man has consequences that we can cope with, but the actions of the company he represents will be with us far into the future. When Petromax and the other oil companies turn the Refuge into a reeking plain of sludge, all the finger pointing in the world won’t clean it up.
“As to the official position of PEAL, we are here to make sure that never comes to pass.” Voerhoven nodded to another nationally recognized reporter.
“When the President announced that he would suspend oil imports, PEAL had no official comment, yet since the opening of the Arctic Wildlife Refuge, your organization has been extremely vocal on the subject. Would you care to comment?”
Voerhoven smiled, his eyes bright with humor. “The one announcement followed so closely after the other that we didn’t have time to react.” The members of the press chuckled with him. “Of course, we applaud the suspension of oil imports. Getting just one supertanker off the oceans is a major victory. And we fully support the search for alternative energy. But only a few weeks after the President’s speech, we see what we have to pay for that victory. By so quickly capitulating to the power of the oil lobby, the President has shown that he really doesn’t have a serious commitment to the environment. When his ten-year deadline is up and we still don’t have a viable alternative energy source, you can believe that the oil companies will be there, eager to peddle their poison again.”
“What about the research to be carried out by the Johnston Group, founded by the president of Petromax Oil, whose sole aim is to find a solution to the world’s oil dependency?”
Voerhoven’s eyes drilled into the reporter who’d asked the question. “They’ll make a lot of noise, promising that they’re on the verge of a great discovery, but in ten years’ time they’ll have nothing to show us, and the Johnston Group will quietly close their doors. Max Johnston will be right back in the oil business.”
The bitterness of Voerhoven’s answer prompted an even more challenging follow-up from the same journalist. “How do you respond to the accusation that PEAL is a band of so-called eco-terrorists?”
“You call my organization a band of eco-terrorists?” Voerhoven raged. “Did you get a close look at the truck that went over the guardrail, pouring thousands of gallons of gasoline into that river? It doesn’t say PEAL on the side of the trailer; it says Petromax Oil. Don’t call me a terrorist when they are the ones working to destroy the planet.”
“Dr. Voerhoven, you know what I mean. Many feel that the tactics used by PEAL to promote global environmental awareness are so extreme they border on terrorist acts.”
“Why is it when someone fights for a belief that you disagree with, he is called a terrorist, yet when you are sympathetic to his cause, he’s referred to as a freedom fighter?” Voerhoven challenged. “In today’s world, context no longer determines meaning. Today it’s all a matter of perception. Are the goals and methods of PEAL extreme? To some, I’m sure that they are, but to call us terrorists is to place yourself in opposition to the environment. If you believe the health of our planet isn’t worth fighting for, then yes, we are eco-terrorists. But to those who see our cause as just and our methods as necessary, we are freedom fighters, engaged in a war to save the very place that gave us life.
“To win this war, we must win each and every battle. Alaska is about to face a massive assault by oil companies fixed on making a quick profit, and PEAL is here to lend a hand in her defense. But as we saw here tonight, nature is not entirely defenseless. She has made a clear statement. The oil companies and their eagerness to destroy will not be tolerated.” Voerhoven turned away from the cameras without another word, striding purposefully toward the Range Rover.
A man had died that night in a horrible crash, leaving a widow and two young daughters, and as the press packed up their gear, they felt almost good about it. Such was the power of Jan Voerhoven’s oratory.
Georgetown
Forty-eight hours earlier, everything had been simple; her life had fit neatly and flowed. One event led naturally to another with hardly a thought. Private school to college, college to grad school. From there into a field she had such a passion for that it didn’t seem like work at all. Jan Voerhoven had come into her life ten months ago, and while he hadn’t formally proposed, it was a foregone conclusion that they would marry. She’d been able to make decisions easily, with little regard to the consequences. Just one month shy of her thirty-second birthday, she was on her way in the life that she’d envisioned for herself: a career, a cause, and a soul mate.
But now everything was different. The choices more difficult, and their aftermath would change her life forever. True responsibility scared Aggie Johnston more than she wanted to admit.
It had all come crashing down when Philip Mercer had walked into her father’s party, his tuxedo accenting his lean, powerful body, his hair so thick it seemed to crackle, and his eyes as seductive as the devil’s own. Mercer’s smile was a challenge no woman could resist.
Aggie got up from the couch and crossed the living room to the glass balcony doors. Her condo looked over the C amp;O Canal, and the balcony, which cantilevered over the murky water, was one of her favorite spots. Joggers passed on the other side of the waterway in an almost constant parade. She stood there until the afternoon humidity made her uncomfortable in her own skin, her cropped T-shirt clinging to her body. She turned back into the air conditioning, sliding the door closed with a finality she didn’t feel.
The condo was decorated with some of her father’s cast-off furniture, precious woods and oils that she neither liked nor appreciated but kept to make him happy. The only item she really loved was an old easy chair she’d bought from a thrift shop when she was at prep school. She carted it around like a faithful pet. Over the years, the chair had been repaired so many times that little of the original remained. Yet to her it was still the same chair she’d had since those easy days at Westminster. She fell into it gratefully, slouching into its embrace so she almost felt like it was hugging her. Something she needed desperately right now.
She’d known that Mercer was on the guest list of the party; her father had teased her about it from the time he’d sent the invitations. She’d hoped that he wouldn’t show while praying that he would. When his RSVP was not returned, she felt a strange mixture of relief and loss. And then he walked in from the dining room, and her girlhood crush came back with such force that she again felt like the callow coed she’d been when she’d first met him. Her simple life suddenly grew more complex than she could have possibly imagined. New thoughts, new ideas, and new options tumbled in her mind until all she could do was act rudely to him when they finally met.
She didn’t know why she’d gone to his house yesterday; however, either consciously or not, she’d worn her skimpiest lingerie. From the moment she’d walked into Mercer’s brownstone, she hadn’t given Jan the slightest consideration. Her feelings for Mercer could not be denied, and that frustrated her. Such a rush of emotions had never happened to her before, not even when she’d met Jan for the first time.
