Michael Crichton - State Of Fear

"I wouldn't call it news," Kenner said. "Scientists at Reading ran computer simulations that suggested that Greenland might lose its ice pack in the next thousand years."

"Thousand years?" Evans said.

"Might."

Evans pointed to the television. "He didn't say it could happen a thousand years from now."

"Imagine that," Kenner said. "He left that out."

"But you said it isn't news amp;"

"You tell me," Kenner said. "Do you spend much time worrying about what might happen a thousand years from now?"

"No."

"Think anybody should?"

"No."

"There you are."

When he had finished his drink he suddenly felt sleepy. His body ached; however he shifted in his seat, something hurthis back, his legs, his hips. He was bruised and exhausted. And a little tipsy.

He closed his eyes, thinking of news reports of events a thousand years in the future.

All reported as if it were up-to-the-minute, important life-and-death news.

A thousand years from now.

His eyes were heavy. His head fell to his chest, then jerked up abruptly as the intercom came on.

"Fasten your seat belts," the captain said. "We are landing in Van Nuys."

All he wanted to do was sleep. But when he landed, he checked his cell phone messages and discovered that he had been missed, to put it mildly:

"Mr. Evans, this is Eleanor in Nicholas Drake's office. You left your cell phone. I have it for you. And Mr. Drake would like to speak to you."

"Peter, it's Jennifer Haynes at John Balder's office. We'd like you to come to the office no later than ten o'clock tomorrow please. It's quite important. Call me if for some reason you can't make it. See you then."

"Peter, call me. It's Margo. I'm out of the hospital."

"Mr. Evans, this is Ron Perry at the Beverly Hills police department. You've missed your four o'clock appointment to dictate a statement. I don't want to issue a warrant for your arrest. Call me. You have the number."

"This is Herb Lowenstein. Where the hell are you? We don't hire junior associates to have them disappear day after day. There is work to be done here. Balder's office has been calling. They want you at the Culver City office tomorrow morning by ten A.M. sharp. My advice is, be there, or start looking for another job."

"Mr. Evans, this is Ron Perry from Beverly Hills police. Please return my call ASAP."

"Peter, call me. Margo."

"Peter, want to get together tonight? It's Janis. Call me."

"Mr. Evans, I have Mr. Drake for you, at the NERF office."

"Peter, it's Lisa in Mr. Lowenstein's office. The police have been calling for you. I thought you would want to know."

"Peter, it's Margo. When I call my lawyer I expect to get a call back. Don't be an asshole. Call me."

"This is Ron Perry from the Beverly Hills police department. If I do not hear from you I will have to ask the judge to issue a warrant for your arrest."

"Evans, it's Herb Lowenstein. You really are a dumb shit. The police are going to issue a warrant for your arrest. Deal with it at once. Members of this firm do not get arrested."

Evans sighed, and hung up.

Sarah said, "Trouble?"

"No. But it doesn't look like I will be getting any sleep for a while."

He called the detective, Ron Perry, and was told that Perry was gone for the day, and would be in court in the morning. His cell phone would be off. Evans left a number for him to call back.

He called Drake, but he was gone for the day.

He called Lowenstein, but he was not in the office.

He called Margo, but she did not answer.

He called Jennifer Haynes and said that he would be there tomorrow, at ten o'clock.

"Dress professionally," she said.

"Why?"

"You're going to be on television."

There were two white camera trucks parked outside the offices of the Vanutu litigation team. Evans went inside and found workmen setting up lights and changing fluorescent light bulbs in the ceiling. Four different video crews were walking around, inspecting different angles. But nobody was shooting yet.

The offices themselves, he noticed, had been considerably transformed. The graphs and charts on the walls were now much more complicated and technical looking. There were huge, blowup photographs of the Pacific nation of Vanutu, as seen from the air and from the ground. Several featured the erosion of the beaches, and houses leaning at an angle, ready to slide into the water. There was a school picture from the Vanutu school, beautiful brown-skinned kids with smiling faces. In the center of the room, there was a three-dimensional model of the main island, specially lit for cameras.

Jennifer was wearing a skirt and blouse and heels. She looked startlingly beautiful in a dark, mysterious way. Evans noticed that everyone was better dressed than at his first visit; all the researchers were now in jackets and ties. The jeans and T-shirts were gone. And there seemed to be a lot more researchers.

"So," Evans said, "what is this about?"

"B-roll," Jennifer said. "We're shooting B-roll for the stations to use as background and cutaways. And of course we're making a video press kit as well."

"But you haven't announced the lawsuit yet."

"That happens this afternoon, here outside the warehouse. Press conference at one P.M. You'll be there, of course?"

"Well, I didn't"

"I know John Balder wants you there. Representing George Morton."

Evans felt uneasy. This could create a political problem for him at the firm. "There are several attorneys more senior than I who handled George's"

"Drake specifically asked for you."

"He did?"

"Something about your involvement in getting the papers signed to finance this suit."

So that was it, Evans thought. They were putting him on television so he would not be able later to say anything about the gift of ten million dollars to NERF. No doubt they would stick him in the background for the announcement ceremony, maybe make a brief acknowledgment of his presence. Then Drake would say that the ten million was coming, and unless Evans stood up and contradicted him, his silence would be taken as acquiescence. Later, if he developed any qualms, they could say, But you were there, Evans. Why didn't you speak up then?

"I see," Evans said.

"You look worried."

"I am amp;"

"Let me tell you something," she said. "Don't worry about it."

"But you don't even know"

"Just listen to me. Don't worry about it." She was looking directly into his eyes.

"Okay amp;"

Of course she meant well, but despite her words, Evans was experiencing an unpleasant, sinking feeling. The police were threatening to issue a warrant for his arrest. The firm was complaining about his absences. Now this effort to force him into silenceby putting him on television.

He said, "Why did you want me here so early?"

"We need you to sit in the hot seat again, as part of our test for jury selection."

"I'm sorry, I can't"

"Yes. You have to. Same thing as before. Want some coffee?"

"Sure."

"You look tired. Let's get you to hair and makeup."

Half an hour later he was back in the deposition room, at the end of the long table. There was again a crew of eager young scientific types looking down at him.

"Today," Jennifer said, "we would like to consider issues of global warming and land use. Are you familiar with this?"

"Only slightly," Evans said.

Jennifer nodded to one of the researchers at the far end. "Raimundo? Will you give him the background?"

The researcher had a heavy accent, but Evans could follow him. "It is well known," he said, "that changes in land use will cause changes in average ground temperature. Cities are hotter than the surrounding countrysidewhat is called the urban heat island' effect. Croplands are warmer than forested lands, and so on."