Montana Standoff (21 page)

Unless…unless she did what he wanted her to do, and resigned her position with the firm. Unless she picked up the phone right now and called Dehaviland's private cell-phone number and told him she'd failed to persuade Steven to speak with him, and she felt the only recourse was to resign her position with Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein because she felt that remaining in their employ, given what she knew about them, might compromise any future she might have as a reputable attorney….

Molly glanced at the phone. She could do it. She could call Dehaviland. In her heart she knew it was the right thing to do, and she felt sure that he would understand. She flipped through her desk file and found his unlisted number, which he'd given her in the restaurant before parting. “Call anytime,” he'd said. “Tell Young Bear I'll meet with him wherever, whenever. Tell him the ball's in his court and he calls the shots.”

Oh, why couldn't Steven have listened to her? Why couldn't he have believed?

Molly reached for the phone and just as her fingers brushed the receiver, it rang. Startled, she lifted it to her ear. “Ferguson.”

“Young Bear.” Her heart jumped with gladness at the sound of his deep, calm voice. “I just spoke with Dehaviland, and in the course of our conversation he invited me out to his fishing camp. I asked him if I could bring a date, and he asked if you liked to fish.”

Molly's grip tightened on the receiver. “Where's his place, and when do we go?”

“About two hours south of here, and how does right now sound?”

“Right now sounds pretty good. Where are you?”

“Parked beside your car in the parking lot.”

“Give me five minutes,” Molly said, rising out of her chair as she spoke. “And Steven?” she added, her voice softening. “The roses are beautiful. Thank you.”

Skelton gave her no arguments about leaving work just minutes after arriving. He'd heard about Manning's visit to her apartment the night before, and when she told him she was on her way to meet with Dehaviland prior to the public meeting, he gave a curt nod. “I'll let Brad know,” he said.

Steven opened the passenger side door of his Wagoneer as she walked briskly across the parking lot. The very sight of him made her want to rush into his arms, and it took all her willpower to remain coolly professional. A sudden breeze tousled her escaped curls and she reached a hand to brush them out of her eyes as she came to an uncertain halt. “Shouldn't we take separate vehicles?” she faltered.

He shook his head. “Not until this is over. Until he's taken into custody, Manning's still a definite threat. You should place a restraining order on him.”

“He was just drunk, and mad because he thought I had something to do with him being fired. How did you know he was the one who broke into my apartment?”

“I took your advice and asked the investigator. Get in, we can talk on the way.”

Steven's expression was uncharacteristically stern
and she felt the beginning twinges of indignation give way to a prickle of fear. “He was just drunk,” she repeated.

“I'm sure he was, but if you don't place a restraining order on him, I will.” Steven continued to hold the passenger door for her and when she continued to hesitate he said, “It's time I told you about Mary Pretty Shield.”

With a jolt of surprise Molly stared into his dark eyes. Suddenly breathless, she climbed into the Wagoneer and moments later they were headed south, toward the valley of the Yellowstone. But before Steven would speak a word about Mary Pretty Shield, he made sure Molly called the police and requested them to place a restraining order on Ken Manning.

 

“M
ARY WAS ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE
that everyone loved,” Steven said, beginning her story before the time he met her. “She was class valedictorian. She played basketball in high school. She was captain of the team in her senior year, and they never lost a game. She got a scholarship to go to a good college off the rez, and decided to major in political science. In her sophomore year, she called me out of the blue. I'd never met her before, but she said she'd heard about me through some of the elders on the rez and wanted to intern with me for the summer, if she could. She had changed her major to environmental studies, and was thinking of going to law school.”

“And that was when you happened to be involved in the Soldier Mountain dispute,” Molly guessed.

“Yes. I was practically living on the Rocky Ridge
reservation. In fact, when I was there I stayed with one of Mary's aunts, though I didn't know it until after I took her on as an intern. Mary dove right into the mine dispute that summer as my intern. She was full of an energy and idealism that captured the hearts of nearly everyone she spoke to about the mine, and Mary spoke to everyone, including the mine workers. She didn't like the things she was learning, and she wasn't afraid to talk about them.”

Steven fell silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. “I was studying the mining laws, looking for some loophole to use against Soldier Mountain mine to keep them from extending their permits, and I found it in the wording of the mill site law. Apparently I wasn't the only one looking closely at it. The mining industry had been lobbying the government to get it changed, but eventually it was decided that the original mining laws shall stand, which meant that each designated mill site on each mining claim could use no more than five acres for activities associated with mining. Are you familiar with that law?”

Molly nodded. “I'm relatively new to all of this, but Brad's been coaching me. I've read the Emergency Supplemental Bill pushed through by Congress to sidestep the wording in the old law, and I also happen to know the Senate is working for all its worth to overturn the decision and permanently prohibit placing limits on mill sites in the Interior Appropriations bill.”

“The House isn't going to let them,” Steven said. “They're fighting that Senate amendment tooth and nail.”

“If you're right, and the House wins this fight, that old mill site law could do a lot of damage to a whole lot
of mining operations. It could cause a whole lot of hate and discontent.”

“Yes,” Steven said. “I looked into Soldier Mountain's permitting and found that they'd filed for only ten mill sites for a total of fifty acres, yet over the years they'd been dumping waste rock and contaminates on well over three hundred acres, all of which was contributing to the contamination of the groundwater. Bottom line, they were in gross violation of their own laws, so I decided to bring that to light.

“The day before Mary died, I ran the idea past her. She was sharp, and I often used her as a sounding board. I explained to her about mill sites, about how the whole permitting process worked in regards to them, and about how we might be able to make that same process work for us. If we could prove that Soldier Mountain was operating in noncompliance of the mill site law, which it was and in fact still is, we might have the edge we needed to prevent their ten-year permitting extension. I cautioned her not to speak about it, but I could see that she was excited by the idea. She was young and naive and still believed that good always triumphed over evil. She said, ‘We'll beat them with their own rules and regulations, won't we? We'll stop them from poisoning our water and killing our people!' She told me I was brilliant, and then she left.

“That was the last time I saw her alive. She called me the following evening, a Saturday, all excited about a message she'd found in her car, put there apparently by a whistle-blower willing to talk to her about illegal dumping at the Soldier Mountain mine. When Mary told me where and when the note said she was supposed
to meet him, I told her that I'd follow up on it, that it wasn't safe for her to go alone, and I told her to go home.”

“But she went anyway,” Molly said.

“Yes. I was late getting there, half an hour later than the message requested. It was a long drive from where I was staying. Mary's car was there, and I found her lying facedown in the shallow water near the river's edge. Her body was still warm. I called for help on my cell phone, tried CPR until I was exhausted, cursed the gods that let this happen, and was sitting beside her when the tribal police showed up, followed closely by the feds. They trampled the ground enough to obliterate any evidence, asked a lot of questions, and I spent the rest of the night answering them. Are you following me?” he said.

“Yes,” Molly said faintly. “Someone murdered her to shut her up, and you walked right into it. Did you have legal representation when you were questioned?”

“I didn't think I needed it.”

“Do you think Ken Manning was somehow involved?”

“He was the one pushing the hardest for my arrest. When the feds could find no motive that would fly in court, and my character was vouched for by too many reputable people, including a congressman and a heavy-hitting California senator I worked for while I was in law school, they finally let me go. They listed her death as an accidental drowning. I told Mary's father about the message, and her meeting with the supposed whistle-blower, and my belief that her drowning had definitely not been accidental. I asked him to push for a forensic autopsy. He looked me in the eye and said that if I didn't
stop what I was doing, if I didn't stop trying to shut down the uranium mine on Soldier Mountain, more innocent people would be hurt or killed. He knew Mary's death hadn't been an accident, and he knew I hadn't killed her, but he was scared, and clearly he held me responsible for the loss of his daughter.

“So I told the tribe I couldn't help them anymore, and without any legal representation they had no choice but to drop the lawsuit against Soldier Mountain. The feds immediately sealed the files, so who knows? Maybe by backing off I kept my own people safe. My sister Pony, for one, and my brothers and their families, but I betrayed the tribe, and I betrayed Mary Pretty Shield.

“And Mary's father was right. I was responsible for her death. That innocent girl died because after she left my office that afternoon she said the wrong things to the wrong people. She died because suddenly she was a threat to the federal government, to the corporate bank, and to corrupt tribal members. She died because I told her something I shouldn't have. She died because of
me,
and she died for nothing.”

Steven kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, taut with pent-up emotion. He was unprepared for the touch upon his arm and Molly's gentle voice saying, “No, Steven, that's not true at all. Mary Pretty Shield died fighting for something she truly believed in, and that's truly the noblest death of all.”

G
REGORY
D
EHAVILAND
'
S
fishing camp was located at the very end of one of the worst stretches of dirt road Molly had ever seen. Five miles passed at the unheard of speed of five miles per hour. They could have walked the distance faster. She clutched the dash as Steven eased through another deep washout and then stared at the sky as he climbed in low gear out the far side. “This
can't
be right,” she repeated for the umpteenth time. “Dehaviland owns and flies his very own Learjet. He certainly wouldn't have a cabin on a cart path like this, and there hasn't been another building for the past forty minutes.”

“These were the directions he gave,” Steven said, unperturbed. “He warned me the road was rough and the camp remote.”

“Yes, but ‘remote' to a man like him doesn't have anything to do with this, Young Bear. I think we're hopelessly lost.”

“This isn't exactly wilderness, and we're not lost,” Steven said. “There are other vehicle tracks in the road. Have patience.”

“Hasn't anyone ever told you that redheads have no patience?” She studied him at the next stretch of level
road. “Steven, did you call Dehaviland today, or did he call you?”

“I called him. I wanted to be sure he knew about Ken Manning breaking into your apartment.”

Molly paused, then said, “Manning was so angry. He said that I was no more a threat to him than that other flame of yours. Was he talking about Mary Pretty Shield?”

Steven kept his eyes on the road but she saw his knuckles whiten as his grip tightened on the wheel. “I don't want you staying alone at your apartment.”

“Dani's already made me promise to stay with her. She and Jack have a big house with lots of room and two wonderful golden retrievers. Steven, were you in love with Mary?”

Steven's glance was fleeting but Molly was jolted by the depth of expression in his eyes. “I've only ever been in love with one woman,” he said. “Her name is Molly Ferguson and she's the red-haired daughter of an Irish laborer and a Scottish dreamer.”

Molly stared, overcome with emotion at Steven's statement. When he said, “Here we are, the end of the road,” she jerked her eyes to the front and was astounded to see an old cabin of rustic, weather-bleached logs that looked as if Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid might have holed up there a time or two, in another century.

Steven parked beside a late-model pickup and cut the ignition. They sat for a few moments in silence, studying the cabin and the sparkling dance of sunlight on the river just beyond, and Molly was about to reemphasize that no way on earth a man of Dehaviland's wealth would live in a place like this when the cabin door opened.

“Saints be praised,” she breathed. “Sure and it's
himself.
It's Dehaviland.”

 

D
EHAVILAND WAS CLAD
in blue jeans and a red-and- black buffalo plaid flannel shirt. He was filling a pipe with tobacco from a small foil pouch and looked as if he had no more pressing business in the world than to read a good book beside the banks of the Yellowstone and ponder which fly to use at his favorite fishing hole. “The fish are biting today,” he said by way of welcome as Steven and Molly approached. “I'd have kept a few if I thought you liked trout rolled in cornmeal and fried in bacon fat, but I keep more conventional fare on hand.”

“Thanks,” Steven said. “But we didn't come to eat your food, or fish the river.”

Dehaviland tamped the tobacco down in the bowl of his pipe, tucked the foil pouch in his shirt pocket, struck a match on his thumbnail, and puffed on the stem while blue smoke curled into the air. “No,” he said amiably. “You came to save Madison Mountain, but that doesn't mean we can't eat lunch. I think we could manage both quite nicely.”

“I'm starving,” Molly said, casting Steven an apologetic glance.

“So am I,” Dehaviland said with a grin, his strong white teeth gripping the pipe's stem. “How about a pepper-steak sandwich and a cold beer?”

They ate lunch on a rickety porch that practically hung out over the river, affording them a breathtaking view of the rugged Rocky Mountains. Steven grudgingly felt his cynicism dissolving as he shared Dehaviland's humble fishing camp, ate his home-cooked and
very good pepper-steak sandwich, and drank a cold, bitter Heineken. Dehaviland, in spite of his enormous wealth and power, seemed like the genuine article. He talked straight and didn't beat about the bush, repeating almost verbatim everything he'd said to Molly.

“I travel all over the world meeting with businesspeople, diplomats, and politicians,” Dehaviland said. “I've dined in some of the swankiest restaurants, slept in the fanciest mansions and palaces, but this—” he raised his beer bottle to indicate in one broad sweep the river, the mountains and the wilderness “—this place is what keeps me sane. When I came back from two tours in Vietnam I retreated here and hid from the world for nearly a year. I want to preserve the wildness as much as you do, Young Bear. Bottom line, my interest in your cause is purely selfish, but that's okay, because if by making Madison Mountain off-limits to mining operations we protect this river's watershed, we all come out winners. Even more important than that, this compromise could mark the beginning of a new environmental policy amongst gas, oil and mining interests.

“If the biggest, toughest, wealthiest corporation starts greening up, the other players are going to sit up and take notice, and more than a few will follow suit. The public is focusing more and more on environmental concerns, and rightly so. Even money-hungry corporate entities can't continue to ignore the fact that this planet's resources are finite. We need to look at the big picture and change our way of life to develop and promote renewable energy sources. We need to make sure our grandchildren and great-grandchildren will be able to breathe clean air, drink clean water, and experience places just like this.”

After a brief silence Steven said, “Who wrote that speech?”

Dehaviland laughed. “My daughter. She's in her final year of law school, and there's no doubt in my mind that she'll be following in your tracks, Young Bear. She loves me, but lets me know often and in no uncertain terms what she thinks of who I work for and what I represent.”

“She might soften up a bit when she learns about this,” Molly said.

“What if we can't raise the two million dollars in time?” Steven asked.

“You'll raise it.” Dehaviland drained the last of his beer and set the bottle on the porch railing. His eyes were keen. “I've studied up on you, Young Bear. If you make your pitch tonight in front of the media, you'll probably have a good chunk of that money in hand by the end of the month.”

“And if we raise the funds, the sale of your patented mining claims on Madison Mountain to our group is guaranteed?”

“I have the agreement in writing.” Dehaviland pulled a sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket and handed them to Steven. “The board of directors faxed me a copy last night, before I drove in here. We can sign these papers tonight at the meeting. I've arranged for a notary to be present.”

“What about Ken Manning?” Steven said, his eyes scanning the legal forms.

“He's permanently out of the picture as far as Condor International is concerned,” Dehaviland replied. “I've known him long enough to realize that I don't want him in my corner. He's blatantly bent every law,
bribed every politician, and he let Molly take the public hit for his own transgression. I fired him because he deserved to be fired.” He shifted his gaze to Molly. “If Manning comes anywhere near you again, if he so much as calls you on the phone, you let me know.”

“I've placed a restraining order on him, but I don't think he'll try anything,” Molly said. “He was drunk, that's all.”

“Being drunk doesn't excuse him from threatening you,” Dehaviland said. “As far as I know, the police are still looking for him, but when they find him they'll charge him with criminal threatening. I doubt he'll bother you again.”

A pair of ravens flew over, wings swishing in strong, purposeful strokes as they headed toward the wall of mountains to the west. Steven watched them for a moment and then glanced at Molly. “Well,” he said, pondering the infinite mysteries of the universe. She just gazed into his eyes and smiled.

 

I
T WAS MID
-
AFTERNOON
when they left Dehaviland's cabin on the banks of the Yellowstone, Steven still mulling over the conversations they'd had, rehashing them, searching for hidden deception but finding none. He'd met with Dehaviland expecting political duplicity and gotten straight talk instead. Molly sat smugly in the passenger seat, looking well pleased with how the meeting had gone.

“Admit it, Young Bear,” she said before they'd even navigated the first of the many treacherous washouts. “I was right. Dehaviland's a genuinely nice person, and he's going to help you save Madison Mountain.”

In spite of himself, Steven felt a stab of jealousy. Molly was clearly taken with the power and importance of the man, and he couldn't blame her, but the fight for Madison Mountain had begun long before Dehaviland had flown his Learjet into Helena to meet with her over lunch. What Dehaviland had done had been effortless; a few phone calls, a few political strings pulled. What Steven had done had been grunt work, thankless and unpaid. Yet if Dehaviland hadn't happened on the scene, all that thankless and unpaid work might well have saved Madison Mountain, too. At least, Steven liked to believe as much.

“Not that you couldn't have done the same,” Molly added as if reading his mind, instantly easing the twist of tension within him. “But he saved you so much work.”

“Yes,” Steven admitted.

“Soooo much work,” she repeated.

“Point taken.”

Molly kicked back in the seat and smiled. “I think it's wonderful. It proves that Big Business isn't made up of a bunch of heartless monsters.”

“It proves that
Dehaviland
isn't a heartless monster,” Steven amended.

“But for all intents and purposes, Dehaviland
is
Condor International,” she said. “He's CEO of one of the most powerful companies in the world.”

“He hasn't held that job very long, and they could give him the boot if they don't like how he's steering their boat.”

“Still the cynic, eh, Young Bear?”

“I've been in this business for a while, Molly. I like the man, don't get me wrong, but I still find it hard to
believe that all of a sudden we're standing in the shadow of a rainbow.”

Molly shifted in her seat to face him. “Sometimes you just have to believe. It's all about faith. Your grandfather knows that far better than you. We both should have eaten some of his owl stew.”

Steven felt the Jeep begin to dip forward and he braked, his eyes locked with hers. “We still could.”

“Think there's any left?” Her eyes reflected a depth of mysticism and spirituality that far exceeded his own.

“He's probably expecting us for supper,” Steven said.

“Do we have time to go there before the meeting tonight?”

“Yes.” The Jeep was idling. Molly's eyes were soft and bright with a myriad of emotions, and she leaned toward him even as he reached for her. Her lips moved against his, warm and soft and sweet, and her fingertips brushed his cheek in a tender caress. She drew back to regard him somberly.

“Then let's go.”

 

T
HEY DIDN
'
T REACH
Luther Makes Elk's shack beside the little-traveled dirt road until late afternoon. Luther was sitting in his customary place, wearing his old wool peacoat and dark hat and watching the sporadic traffic go by. He was silent as they approached. Steven held up a paper sack. “We brought you some Chinese food.”

“I was hoping you would,” Luther said. “I've been thinking about Chinese food all day. They say that kind of cooking makes you hungrier, but I like it.” He nodded at the shack. “I saved some of that owl stew for you. It tastes better, now that it's aged some. I put the
pot on the stove a while ago. It should be hot by now.” This last he spoke to Molly, who nodded and went into the shack to dish up the stew, leaving the two of them alone.

Steven lowered himself onto the bench and leaned back against the tar-paper wall of Luther's shack. In spite of his reticence with Luther, being in this place always made him feel as if, in the end, when all the battles had been fought, victory would fly its noble flag upon the pure mountain winds. The slanting rays of sunlight felt good. He half closed his eyes, imagining Molly's bewilderment inside the cluttered shack. “Grandfather, there's something I need to ask you,” he said.

“I know.” Luther broke into the bag and pulled out the containers of food, setting them side by side on the bench. “Boy, this smells good. Did you get egg rolls?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I like egg rolls with that sweet sauce on them.”

“About the owl stew…”

“You should have had some when you came the other day.” Luther dug deeper into the bag. His ancient brow furrowed with concern. “Did you get the sweet sauce?”

“It's in there somewhere.” Steven shifted on the bench. “Molly had a dream about an owl just before we came here the other day.”

Luther held something up and shook it. “Good, it's a big container. There's nothing worse than running out of sweet sauce for the egg rolls.”

“The owl flew through her dream, and last night, a man broke into her apartment. She might have been hurt if she hadn't run away.”

“Did you get fried rice?” Luther interrupted.

“Fried rice, egg rolls, beef with pea pods, chicken lo mein, and there are plastic forks and paper napkins.”