you much thought. Not sure why.”
“Why do you call Clint my boyfriend?”
“You were chummy. Neither of you made my job any easier.”
She crossed her legs. “I was just doing my job. Don’t know about him.”
“When all hell broke loose, I was the one thrown to the wolves.”
“And you think you were the only one?”
“Look at Foss. Didn’t hurt him any. He’s now a superintendent back east, pulling strings with the Director any time he wants.”
“Why do you think things were different for you and me?”
“Because they were.”
“You weren’t the only sacrificial lamb. When you were sent here, I was sent to Denver. I was buried so deep in the regional office that people wondered if I was dead. Put me in an office that felt like a custodian’s closet. They hid me.”
He stared.
“It’s taken a couple of years to prove myself and get back in the game.”
He sighed. “You’re saying . . .”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“I . . . I had no idea.”
“Now you do, so cut me some slack. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s not a time I want to remember. Tell me about this Coalition. Tell me about its work.”
He looked into her eyes, and waited to see if she looked away or flinched. She did neither. Just move on. “Know about the national monument?” he asked. “Know about the Presidential proclamation that created it?” He waited for her nod, and continued. “Part of it managed by us. The rest by BLM. The two agencies work together on a management plan.”
“Yes, I know about that,” she said, sitting erect. “Is the Coalition doing any good, and where are they in their process?”
He flipped past pages in his mind. “They’re getting to the hard work, some difficulties now, but they’re good people, they’ll get through it.”
“Anything I can look at?”
Good question. He pulled out a file drawer, found a red file folder and handed it to her. “Detailed briefing statements.” He started to close the drawer, but left it open.
She scooted closer to the corner of the desk and thumbed through the pages. She stopped, closed the file, and put it on her lap. “I’ll look at this later. So . . . what’s the purpose of this meeting tomorrow?”
“Continue discussion of protection measures. There’ll be discussion of ranching culture, river protection, protection of cultural sites.”
She twisted his way. “Sounds exciting. Can I play?”
Jack studied her eyes. The old Erika. “Obviously I didn’t know your story, or what happened to you. Give me time to absorb that. Play? I don’t think so.”
“May I at least come?”
“Joe wants you to have the full picture, so yes.”
She smiled. “All I can ask is to be on the playground.” She glanced at the door. “You’ve got a visitor.”
Jack spun around in his chair.
In the shadows of the hall stood a man—Thomas, leaning against the wall, his nose still bandaged, another now wrapping his elbow.
“Thomas, come in.”
“I can wait. I don’t want to interrupt,” he said meekly. “Could we talk later today?”
“Yes, but I can also ask Erika to come back later.”
He considered it, then shook his head. “I just want to ask a favor.”
“Shoot.”
He reached into a pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper, slipped a finger into the fold, and flipped it open. “Look at this,” he said, drawing Jack toward him. He turned and shielded the page.
Jack looked closer. A map.
“I want to go here. Think it’s possible?” He waved his finger over a spot on the page.
The cliffs above Sipapu Falls. “What’s there, Thomas?”
“Please don’t be concerned with that,” he whispered.
“You won’t tell me what it’s about, but you ask me how to get there. I don’t get it.”
He handed Jack the paper.
Jack studied the map. The contour lines were so close, nearly a solid strip of black. Vertical cliff. Talus slope below. A few lines spreading out under the rim of the plateau. The alcove from which Sipapu Falls emerged hardly appeared on the map because of vertical cliff face above and below. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Tell me.”
Jack eyed a spot on the map, one that suggested an approach from the south and above, but maps can be deceiving. “I don’t have a good picture of what sits to the west and south.” He handed the sheet back to Thomas, and stepped past Erika Jones to a map tacked to the wall.
A hanging side canyon sat to the north of the falls—probably the one from which Thomas’ ledge had emerged. There was no point thinking about that one. To the south was nothing like it, but there was the hint of an apron above. Was it accessible? How would you get there from the south? He walked his fingers down the map. A drainage, a side canyon that appeared to step gradually up to the level of the apron, below the rim of the plateau.
“Hard to be certain because of contour interval. A map can suggest one thing but you have to go there to know, and I don’t want to suggest something where you could get yourself killed.”
“I won’t get killed,” Thomas said. “I just never learned to read a map like this.”
Jack shook his head.
“Do you see something?”
“Not sure I should say.”
“Show me.”
Jack tapped at the map. “If you can work your way up this drainage, if that’s possible, and if you get on this level and cross this apron, you might be able to get to here.” He tapped an open spot between contours. “That is, if there’s much of anything there. If so, might be possible to rappel in from above.” Jack set a finger on Sipapu Falls. “It’s quite a drop if you miss.”
Thomas kept his eye on the map. “It doesn’t look easy.”
“Wouldn’t be. Know how to set up an anchor?”
“I can figure it out.”
“It’s
