Michael Crichton - State Of Fear

Idly, Evans straightened up the couch, putting the cushions in place, fluffing them amp; He felt something. Inside a slit in one cushion. He stuck his hand deeper into the padding.

"Damn," he said.

Of course it was obvious in retrospect. Moving away in every direction was wrong, because the investigator wanted Evans to move toward him. The guy was sitting on the thing, which he had slipped inside the couch cushion.

It turned out to be a shiny DVD.

Evans dropped it in the DVD player, and watched as a menu came up, a list of dates. They were all in the last few weeks.

Evans clicked on the first date.

He saw a view of the NERF conference room. It was a side angle, from the corner of the room, waist high. It must have been from a camera hidden in the speaker's podium or something, Evans thought. Undoubtedly the investigator had installed the camera the day Evans had seen him in the NERF conference room.

At the bottom of the screen was a running time code, numbers flickering. But Evans stared at the image itself, which showed Nicholas Drake talking to John Henley, the PR guy. Drake was upset, throwing up his hands.

"I hate global warming," Drake said, almost shouting. "I fucking hate it. It's a goddamn disaster."

"It's been established," Henley said calmly. "Over many years. It's what we have to work with."

"To work with? But it doesn't work," Drake said. "That's my point. You can't raise a dime with it, especially in winter. Every time it snows people forget all about global warming. Or else they decide some warming might be a good thing after all. They're trudging through the snow, hoping for a little global warming. It's not like pollution, John. Pollution worked. It still works. Pollution scares the shit out of people. You tell 'em they'll get cancer, and the money rolls in. But nobody is scared of a little warming. Especially if it won't happen for a hundred years."

"You have ways to play it," Henley said.

"Not anymore," Drake said. "We've tried them all. Species extinction from global warmingnobody gives a shit. They've heard that most of the species that will become extinct are insects. You can't raise money on insect extinctions, John. Exotic diseases from global warmingnobody cares. Hasn't happened. We ran that huge campaign last year connecting global warming to the Ebola and Hanta viruses. Nobody went for it. Sea-level rise from global warmingwe all know where that'll end up. The Vanutu lawsuit is a fucking disaster. Everybody'll assume the sea level isn't rising anywhere. And that Scandinavian guy, that sea level expert. He's becoming a pest. He's even attacking the IPCC for incompetence."

"Yes," Henley said patiently. "That's all true amp;"

"So you tell me," Drake said, "how the hell I'm supposed to play global warming. Because you know what I have to raise to keep this organization going, John. I need forty-two million dollars a year. The foundations will only give me a quarter of that this year. The celebrities show up at the fund-raisers, but they don't give us shit. They're so egotistical they think showing up should be payment enough. Of course we sue the EPA every year, and they may cough up three, four million. With EPA grants, maybe five total. That still leaves a big gap, John. Global warming isn't going to cut it. I need a fucking cause. A cause that works!"

"I understand," Henley said, still very calm. "But you are forgetting the conference."

"Oh, Christ, the conference," Drake said. "These assholes can't even get the posters right. Bendix is our best speaker; he's got a family problem. Wife is having chemo. Gordon was scheduled, but he's got some lawsuit about his research amp;Seems his notebooks were faked amp;"

"Those are details, Nicholas," Henley said. "I'm asking you to stay with the big picture"

At that moment, the phone rang. Drake answered it, listened briefly. Then he put his hand over the phone and turned to Henley.

"We have to continue this later, John. I've got an emergency here."

Henley got up, and left the room.

The clip ended.

The screen went black.

Evans stared at the blank screen. He felt as if he were going to be ill. A wave of dizziness passed over him. His stomach churned. He held the remote in his hand, but he did not press the buttons.

The moment passed. He took a breath. On reflection, he realized that what he had seen wasn't really surprising. Perhaps Drake was more explicit in privateeveryone wasand obviously he felt under pressure to raise money. But the frustration he expressed was perfectly understandable. From the beginning, the movement had had to fight apathy in the broader society. Human beings didn't think in the long term. They didn't see the slow degradation of the environment. It had always been an uphill battle to rouse the public to do what was really in its own best interest.

That fight was far from over. In fact, it was just beginning.

And it was probably true that it wasn't easy to raise money for global warming. So Nicholas Drake had his work cut out for him.

And environmental organizations were really working with very small funds. Forty-four million for NERF, the same for the NRDC, maybe fifty for the Sierra Club. The big one was the Nature Conservancy, they had three quarters of a billion. But what was that compared with the zillions of dollars that could be mobilized by corporations? It was David and Goliath. And Drake was David. As he had said himself, on every occasion.

Evans glanced at his watch. In any case, it was time to go see Drake.

He took the DVD out of the player, slipped it into his pocket, and left the apartment. On his way, he reviewed what he was going to say. He went over it, again and again, trying to make it perfect. He had to do it carefully, because everything Kenner had told him to say was a lie.

"Peter, Peter," Nicholas Drake said, shaking his hand warmly. "I am very pleased to see you. You've been away."

"Yes."

"But you haven't forgotten my request."

"No, Nick."

"Have a seat."

Evans sat down and Drake sat behind the desk. "Go ahead."

"I traced the origin of that clause."

"Yes?"

"Yes. You were right. George did get the idea from a lawyer."

"I knew it! Who?"

"An outside attorney, not in our firm." Evans spoke carefully, saying just what Kenner had instructed him to say.

"Who?"

"Unfortunately, Nick, there's documentation. Red-lined drafts with George's handwritten comments."

"Ah, shit. From when?"

"Six months ago."

"Six months!"

"Apparently George has been concerned for some time about amp;things. The groups he supports."

"He never told me."

"Nor me," Evans said. "He chose an outside attorney."

"I want to see this correspondence," Drake said.

Evans shook his head. "The attorney will never permit it."

"George is dead."

"Privilege continues after death. Swidler and Berlin v. United States."

"This is bullshit, Peter, and you know it."

Evans shrugged. "But this attorney plays by the book. And I have arguably overstepped proper bounds by saying as much as I have."

Drake drummed his fingers on the desk top. "Peter, the Vanutu lawsuit is desperately in need of that money."

"I keep hearing," Evans said, "that that lawsuit may be dropped."

"Nonsense."

"Because the data sets don't show any rise in Pacific sea level."

"I'd be careful about saying things like that," Drake said. "Where did you hear that? Because that has to be disinformation from industry, Peter. There is no question sea levels are rising around the world. It's been scientifically demonstrated time and again. Why, just the other day I was looking at the satellite measurements of sea level, which are a relatively new way to make those measurements. The satellites show a rise of several millimeters, just in the last year."