a solution,” said one of the ranchers, Ginger Perrette, a middle-aged woman dressed in what might have been her chore clothes. “We need water. Cattle need water. Grazing’s never been allowed in the national park, but it is in the monument, per the proclamation. We’ve got to work through this. It’s . . .” She was cut off.
“No, we gotta protect the river,” said a young environmentalist named Dave Van Buren. “That’s what’s important. If we don’t keep the cattle out of the riparian system, we condemn it to being a dead, sun-drenched, pisshole.”
“There are things we can do. I want to protect the river as much as you do, but my cattle need water. Without it, I’m out of business.”
“What would be the harm in not tackling this one? Maybe the perfect answer will appear on its own, later,” said Lori Martinez, toying with the zipper on her polyester vest. She waited for a response, eyes hopeful. “Maybe well into the future, but that’d be okay.”
“It’s your meeting, your outcome, but my experience says it’s risky,” Jack said. He stepped toward her and stopped, centered amidst the group.
“Why’s it risky? Aren’t we risking gridlock, even falling apart if we can’t work this out?” she continued. “We’re nearly ready to write our report and yet we can’t get past this.”
“Let me put it this way. What’s at stake?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do we risk losing? What, if lost, would make you feel you’d failed your grandchildren? For each of you those may be different things, or the same things for different reasons. If our recommendations fall apart because we failed to address this issue, what’s at stake?”
“But it’s hard.”
“It is hard, but it’s your heritage.” Jack moved to his spot at the table, and leaned against it. He looked around the room at frustrated faces. People who an hour ago saw themselves as friends and collaborators, now were in irritated cliques. “Look, you’ve done pretty well so far. Yes, common ground was easier, and you accomplished a lot. Your recommendations on those things are good. Very strong. Give yourself some credit, but yes, you need to figure this out. I don’t think you can avoid it. If you avoid the tough issues, it’ll only cause problems later. But I do have suggestions.” He looked around the table. “Be patient. Listen to each other. Give others reason to listen to you when it’s your turn to talk.”
“But when we were talking about common ground, I thought I could trust everyone,” Ginger said. “Things seemed to make so much sense. Now, as we deal with this one, I’m seeing belligerence. My feeling of trust is slipping away.”
“That’s because . . .” Dave blurted, before seeing Jack’s hand cutting him off.
“Give me a second,” Jack said. “That took nerve to offer that kind of honesty.” He turned to the woman. “Understood. What can we do to help?”
“I’m not pretending . . . I mean . . . Oh, just give me a chance to finish my thoughts before somebody trashes ’em.”
“I promise, I’ll do what I can to give you that.” He turned to the young environmentalist. “Do you?”
Sheepishly, he nodded.
Jack looked around the table at the others, waiting for nods of agreement. He turned to the young man. “Do you have something to say?”
“I’ll wait. Let’s hear her first.”
—·—
Jack drove back to the park, his mind on the meeting. The tough problems. The last issues, always the hard ones.
Beginning to wind down, the flow of adrenaline stopped, soon would come numbness, then being mentally fried.
He turned the white, green-striped pickup marked Park Ranger onto the scenic road into the park. After driving miles of an oft-beaten path, he turned right, onto a side-canyon road that ended behind headquarters.
He pulled to a stop, looked back, gently pushed the accelerator, and backed the pickup into a parking space.
The back door of the building burst open. Johnny Reger darted out and jogged toward the pickup, a thin stack of papers in hand. He came around to the driver’s side.
Jack rolled down the window.
“Boss, we’ve got weird stuff going on. You’re gonna freak.”
“Tell me.”
“That burning pickup that started the fire . . . you won’t believe it.”
“Just tell me, Johnny.”
“No license plates, no vehicle identification number. The plates were removed, the VIN was ground off. And Luiz thinks it’s an old government pickup. Looks like it had markings like ours, but melted off. The park doesn’t have one that old, and probably hasn’t had anything that model year for over a decade, maybe longer.”
“That’s odd. Who’d want to burn an old government pickup?”
“Luiz is still investigating, treating it as a crime scene. All he’s found is a set of tracks out on the desert, made back to the road, and a spot where they were probably hiding when we arrived to put out the fire.”
Jack sensed irritation. “What’s wrong?”
“The pickup’s got everyone spooked, as if folks are gonna start torching off their Caddys just for fun of it.”
“Does Luiz think there’s reason to believe this is the beginning of something?”
“Maybe someone playing some sort of weird game but we don’t know what that game is.”
“Why are you so excited?”
“Cause I’m pissed. The superintendent ordered me down here to update the plan for the fire. Torching that rare plant didn’t help, but after I did the update he said he wouldn’t sign till you’ve looked at it.”
“Me?” Jack let out a sigh. “That’s your job now.”
“I know. I told him you’d say that, but he said you’d be back soon. He wants you to look at it.”
“Let me see your plan.”
Johnny handed over the papers.
Jack flipped past the cover page of signatures—all there except the superintendent’s—and past pages of narrative, stopping at a map. He studied the topography.
Jack rubbed his eyes and tried to get his brain to click back into gear. “Fire behavior?”
“Projections are in the back. They look good.”
Jack thumbed through the back of the proposal.
“You good with it?”
Jack gave him a confused look.
“I need you to say that it’s
