Scary, when Higgens considered how irresponsible parties could make a unilateral decision to fundamentally alter the Earth’s climate. It was enough to make even her shiver.
“How many days away from the Maldives is our tanker?”
“Three days,” the sprite said.
“You guys are good. Now, do you have Maldivians ready to put a local face on the project once that tanker sails into their waters?”
“They’re recruiting in Malé even as we speak.”
This kid’s a gem. “I know I’m about as subtle as my grandpappy’s old hickory stick, but I love this iron oxide option. It’s cheap and it’s so visual, and it’ll make us look as green as Gore. We’ll cool the planet and the glaciers will stop melting, the seas will stop swelling, and we’ll be heroes with a solution as environmentally pure as the Natural Resources Defense Council.”
“Which hates geoengineering,” the institute’s media strategist said, lean as the tie he stroked nervously.
“Let them be the haters,” Senator Higgens said. “Remember our new slogan? ‘On the side of life. Naturally.’ Live it.”
“There’s a problem with terrorism there,” the media strategist said, abandoning his tie.
“They call that terrorism? Pikers. Besides, we won’t be there, strictly speaking. We’ll be at sea, working to make the world a better place. And I’ll bet you enchiladas to empanadas that the government keeps doing exactly what we want it to. They’re holding cabinet meetings underwater, for crying out loud. They’re desperate, poor. Perfect. We’re bringing them a pilot project to solve their ills. They’ll probably canonize us.”
“I just want to make absolutely sure,” the media strategist said, “that they’re not going to get skittish about the video: We’re going to get it from start to finish, right?”
“Does a horse poop? Is Billy Graham still dead? ’Course we’re going to get the video. Otherwise, what’s the point? Hey, I can already hear the string section we’ll use in the ads that we’ll get out of this. We’ll use that new guy the ad agency found, the one with that really sweet voice. I love the way he says ‘USEI: On the side of life. Naturally.’ I swear, I get excited every time I hear it. Don’t you? Come on, y’all say it to me, right now. Get over here and whisper it in my ears: ‘On the side of life. Naturally.’” The pink fingernail beckoned them.
Her staff, including the upstart sprite, stared at her, panic plastered all over their frozen features; then Higgens laughed harder than ever. “You young ’uns,” she managed to say between guffaws, “y’all are so serious.”
* * *
Dafoe called Jenna as she deplaned at New York’s LaGuardia Airport. Seconds earlier, Jenna had received a text from Nicci: The network’s investigative reporter had been dispatched to the Maldives and wanted Jenna to call him ASAP. When the phone rang, for a moment Jenna thought it was the reporter. Then she spotted Dafoe’s number and her breath caught. Smiling to herself, she pushed the button to accept the call.
“How was Washington?” Dafoe asked.
“Hold on.” Jenna waved to attract the attention of a network driver she recognized. He rushed up, took her overnight bag, and led her to a black Ford Fusion, a hybrid that she’d had stipulated in her last contract. She thanked him with a nod, settled into the backseat, and fastened the safety belt. “There, I’m set,” she said to Dafoe. “I met the president, but that wasn’t the high point of my day.”
“Really? What was the high point?”
“Are you kidding? This call.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“Well, maybe it’s a slight exaggeration, but it’s mostly true. How are you?”
“Crazy day. I’m just coming up for—”
“Crazy? How can you have a crazy day on an organic dairy farm?”
“Forensia didn’t show up for work. First time in six years. She’s never been sick, and she didn’t even call.”
“Is she okay?”
“I’m not sure. She got in touch about twenty minutes ago, full of apologies, but when I asked what happened, she wouldn’t say. I didn’t want to press her—she sounded a little shaky to me—but everybody’s entitled to a day off without having to explain themselves.”
“Sounds mysterious.”
“It is mysterious. And it’s totally unlike her.”
“Maybe the rumors are true, then,” Jenna said.
“What rumors?”
“About that GreenSpirit woman being in your ’hood. Half the reporters in the country are trying to track her down. Maybe that’s why Forensia’s getting all mysterious on you.”
“Nah,” Dafoe said, and Jenna could picture him shaking his head. “I think it’s a personal crisis of some kind. She’s got a crazy mom. Or