The Emissary (6 page)

“I just said goodbye to about a hundred and fifty whales and dolphins, who, for whatever reason, decided to beach themselves on the coast here,” she said. Jamie tried to keep her voice from breaking, but she couldn’t hold back. “I watched them die—it was a mass suicide.” The tears welled up in her eyes and her profound sadness poured through, her voice cracking as she tried to hold it all within … for Martin’s sake.

“That’s bad news,” he replied, solemnly. Martin was not a man of words. He was coarse, rough police material. No room for sentimentalism over a bunch of whales, with what he saw unfolding every day on the streets of America.

Jamie sighed. “Yes … yes, it is bad news, Marty—extremely bad news.”

As always, Martin sidestepped Jamie’s feelings and got right to the point of his call. “Yeah, look James, I have someone who needs your help—a guy by the name of Mat Anderson, out in Houston.” Martin started shuffling some papers on his desk, preferring to be doing anything else than having to ask Jamie for this favor. “He’s the CEO of USOIL—a friend of the governor,” Martin said, clearing his throat, “and he wants to talk to you.”

“Not interested.”

“I’m in a kind of spot here, Jamie … it’s pressure from the top.”

“Still not interested,” Jamie snapped.

Martin expected a cool reception—it was no surprise that Jamie would be annoyed. She had let him know, in no uncertain terms, not to look for her while she was regrouping in New Zealand: not for serial killings or other unsolved murders, nor any other horrors he would want to call her in on. Certainly not this. He knew she would be incensed that he was willing to break his commitment to her—governor or no governor.

“I thought I was really clear about this, Marty.”

“You always tell me everything happens for a reason, right?” he replied. “The governor says this big-shot oil guy is looking for ‘environmentally friendly’ ways to find drill sites out there in the Pacific Northwest. That’s all he told me. Who knows? Apparently he thinks you can help. Maybe it’s important, James. If it is for real. I mean, if this guy is legit, maybe helping him out will be good for the whales too, right?” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his feet out on the desk.

“Jesus, Martin. Drilling in those waters? That’s one of our last relatively intact ecosystems, for god sakes.” She poured a cup of coffee from the room service tray. “And there is no ‘environmentally friendly’ way to suck oil out of the earth—who are we kidding here?”

“Hey—don’t shoot the messenger. Talk to this guy—he’s a really big player.”

Jamie thought about it a moment and figured it couldn’t hurt to at least listen to what USOIL was really up to, and how exactly this Anderson character wanted to use her to do it.

“Can I give him your number?”

“Sure,” she said, and hung up. She figured that if Oil Man had pull with the governor of California, he most likely already had the number anyway, and that he was going to call, regardless.

Martin called Mat back as soon as he hung up with Jamie, recounting the conversation and passing on her number. He advised Mat to move quickly, since Jamie was packing to return home. “Go easy on Jamie Hastings, Anderson,” Martin said, authoritatively. “She’s a real lady and a precious commodity for us all.”

Mat bristled at the chief’s tone of voice. Not too many people got away with talking to him like that. “Yeah, sure thing, Marty boy,” he said, condescendingly, controlling the impulse to cut Martin down to size. “And thanks, my friend, I will definitely put in a good word for you with the gov, next time we’re out playing a few rounds,” Mat said, throwing his weight out in Martin’s face, and then he hung up, abruptly. He smiled at himself in the mirror, straightening his tie. “Way to go, Mattie boy! Ecology, man! You found the hook and you have cast the bait. Let’s reel in Jamie Hastings.”

Jamie was in the middle of battling with the airline to get a flight back to San Francisco when his call came in. Juggling between the hotel phone and her mobile, she was not feeling her most receptive when he rang, at a point of sheer exasperation with the airline. She
couldn’t seem to make him understand that she was on another line, trying to get a flight home, and that she wasn’t free to talk. She tried hanging up as politely as possible, but he insisted.

“Look, how about you let me solve that little problem for you, in exchange for you coming out here to Houston for a friendly business dinner?”

Jamie couldn’t believe the audacity of the man. She held the phone away from her ear and just stared at it, incredulous.

Mat’s secretary, Louise, walked in on the conversation, carrying a stack of payroll checks that needed to be signed. A former Miss Texas, she was the classic trophy secretary: she wore too much makeup, her pearl pink fingernails matched her clingy cashmere dress, and not one strand of her lacquered blonde hair was out of place.

He snapped his fingers at her dismissively, and ordered her to go get him a cup of coffee. She did her best to eavesdrop as she closed the door behind her, lingering just a moment more than she needed to, in the hallway outside his office, listening in on Mat’s side of the conversation.

Jamie said, “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Anderson, but I can’t even get a flight to Sydney at the moment, much less Houston. Not sure you’re getting my drift, here. I seem to be stuck down here for the time being.”

“I sure am. But I think you’re missing my drift. I don’t fly commercial myself, can’t be bothered,” he replied. “I can have the company jet on its way within hours. Painless. You’ll have the whole plane and crew to yourself, VIP all the way. All I’m asking from you is a chance to talk to you about a little business proposal I have in mind. Now how in the world can you say ‘no’ to that, Miss Jamie? How can you say ‘no’ to that?”

Jamie just stood there, speechless.

He waited for a reply. “Miss Hastings, I am not a man who gives up easily.”

As she listened to the tempting offer from the Oil Man on one ear, on the other she was still being bombarded by the irritating, repeating recording, which kept drumming home the automaton message that no human being was available to help her get on a flight home. How hard a choice was this to make: praying to get squeezed into a seat on some oversold transpacific flight back home, or flying home on a luxurious private corporate jet, like royalty, with a quick detour through Texas? She rested the phone connected to the airline on the end table. The voice of the recording kept repeating the message,
“Your call will be answered by the next available agent,”
but it never was.

“Let me guess,” she told Mat, “you heard of my work in Lahore, right?”

“Yes, yes, I have. It’s clearly something I find extraordinarily interesting; I won’t be tryin’ to hide that for a minute. But it’s a whole lot more than that, I assure you. I just need a chance to talk to you in person. That’s what I’m asking for. That’s all I’m asking you for at this moment.”

“Mr. Anderson, I have got to be in San Francisco by Wednesday. Can you make that happen?”

Mat grinned. “Can I? Miss Jamie, all I need is just a few hours of your time and then I’ll fly you anywhere you need to go—door-to-door—first class all the way. You sure as hell do have my word on that.”

Jamie took the other phone to her other ear for a last time—still the recording droned on. She slammed it down in frustration. “Okay, Mat Anderson, your offer is gratefully accepted.” How could she refuse? Jamie figured if he was willing to spend the kind of money it would take to get the company’s plane all the way down to New Zealand to pick her up, surely she could at least give him a few hours of her time, and do dinner.

“Now that is the answer I was hoping for! That is right friendly
of you, Miss Jamie. I am putting things into motion as we speak. You just lie back and wait for my secretary to call you, in the next hour or so, with all the details. Have a drink on me in the meantime,” he said, “and when you wake up tomorrow, we will be there.”

Louise came in with his coffee, and Mat instructed her to get his flight captain on the line—pronto.

“Alrighty—I’ve got a plane to get moving, so I’m signing off for now,” he said. “And please—call me Mat. I like to be on a first-name basis with my business partners.”

“Whoa, Mat. I’m not agreeing to anything more than your very generous flight home and dinner,” she said, cautiously. “But, I will admit … you’ve certainly got my curiosity. I’ll be there, with an open mind,” Jamie replied, and then she fell back onto the bed, tired but relieved, letting herself be taken to this appointment with destiny, in style, and knowing, at the very core level, that it was going to be important.

“That’s all I’m asking,” Mat said, his voice trailing off with orders for his secretary, as he cut the call.

After she hung up with Mat, she asked for clarity about what he was all about and what he really wanted from her. In her mind’s eye, all she could see was whales swimming everywhere around her—singing their haunting melodies and calling out, like sirens to ancient mariners, for help. It was clear that whatever was unfolding had to do with them, and that her new mission, which seemed to be managed from a higher plane, had some reason to detour through Dixieland on her way home.

While packing up the last of the last of her vacation, Jamie heard from Mat’s secretary, who confirmed all the coordinates of her journey. The limousine would be there for her at 1:00 p.m. the next day. She would be driven to the airport in Christchurch, a short ride from the resort, where she would board at a private terminal. Upon arrival in Houston, she would be escorted to the company’s
presidential suite at the Four Seasons Hotel, where she would be met by Mr. Anderson for dinner at 7:00 p.m., and then flown by private jet to San Francisco the following morning.

“Mr. Anderson’s personal chef will be serving you on board,” Louise said. “Do you have any special food preferences?”

Jamie grinned. This had to be some kind of proposal to be getting such red carpet treatment: something really huge. “I’m a vegetarian,” she replied.

“I will convey that to our chef, thank you,” Louise replied, officiously, adding, “We look forward to hosting you in Houston.”

Louise hung up with Jamie and then sent a text message to the chef to prepare a strictly vegetarian menu aboard the flight. “What’s with San Francisco?” Louise pondered, “… all those burned-out hippies. Damned vegetarian do-gooders … they think they’re gonna fix the world by not eatin’ a hamburger?” She pulled an emery board out of the desk drawer and retouched one of her pearl pink lacquered nails, filing the chipped edge. “Good Lordy! Who the hell is this bimbo, anyway, and what has that man got in mind now?”

Jamie luxuriated in the presidential cabin aboard USOIL’s extraordinary private jet like a diva—loving every minute of it, but wondering where the strings were attached. She was well aware of the chimera of wealth, and how easily one could become lost in pursuit of castles in the sky, and here she was … soaring over the Pacific Ocean in one. Sipping a glass of vintage Dom Pérignon, she giggled at the thought of it, reminding herself to keep a clear head, stay objective, and exercise caution when she touched ground. She had only committed to hearing Mat Anderson’s proposal—nothing more, nothing less—and then she was heading home to get to work for the whales and dolphins.

She took another sip of champagne and then lay back drowsily
into the plush pillows, dozing off—thoughts of them guiding her way into the dreamtime. Deep in slumber—flying above and away from the tragic hour of their death—she dreamed her way back to the beach, where she was lying up close to the great mother whale. They were so close, she could feel her heart beating, pulsing through Jamie’s sleeping body, and then, slowly failing, like the last ticking of a clock, unwound.

As she and the whale gazed into each other’s eyes anew, a voice spoke out, ringing clear and powerful through the dreamscape. “Help us,” the whale was saying, “before we leave you.”

And then, there was silence—cold and lifeless, like long, icy shadows cast of the hollow light of winter—calling her back from the dream.

Jamie awoke with a lingering sense of grief and emotion that bridged the sleeping brain to her conscious mind, pervading the waking process, but from it she gleaned a clear idea of what she had to do. She was going home to set up a foundation for psychic investigation into what was causing the Cetaceans to die in mass suicides, like the one she had just lived through.

How could Earth, the great mother to all living beings here, be so cruel as to trick her mightiest into beaching themselves on her shores, where certain death awaited them? Why would the all-powerful, living oceans cast their gentle giants out and then pull back their great tides, empty-handed, unwilling to carry the mighty whales safely home, into the womb of the deep? What other forces were at play? Where was the disconnect?

How could there be Divine Order in such a travesty of nature?

These were the questions that tormented Jamie’s soul, and yet they served as clear pathways to answers she needed to find. Somehow, she reckoned, Mat Anderson and his big project had to figure, on the way to that truth. Big Oil, ocean ecology, and whale protection—what an unlikely trinity. How possibly could either one
of them make that improbable combination work to fit the interests of the whole? She was intrigued at the thought there might be a way, but deep down inside, at the gut level, she knew that there was something truly “bad news” about this Mat character: something deep and dark and ugly, hidden behind the facade.