I wanted nothing to do with someone else’s problem. I got no answers. Not real ones. Only cryptic mutterings from personnel in Washington, about you being the loser in some political battle in Montana. You arrived here no more willing to talk, hardly willing to come out of the office, unless to get quickly into the field, away from everyone.”
“I know,” Jack said, dropping his head.
“Things changed. Year and a half later, I’m glad you’re here, glad I didn’t let you hide in the office. I needed help. The controversy that fell in our laps, the creation of the national monument, all that. You were good. You delivered. The community thinks so, too.”
“They’re easy to work with.”
“I doubt you felt that way six months ago. You took a beating, but you came through. It’s time you opened up about your ghosts. What happened in Montana? Tell me about this Foss guy and his brother.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Remember, I’ve been through my own battles.”
“I understand that, Joe. I promised I’d let go of that episode in my life. Mostly I have. I see the old me. Dedication to mission. Everything. But other times I’m not so sure. Other times I wonder if something’s permanently changed. Sometimes I feel a little paranoid.”
Joe nodded and set down his pen. He tapped on a page. “I’m not trying to preach, but I see no reason for paranoia.”
Jack stood. “I need to get ready. I’ll let you know how the meeting goes.”
“Relevance, huh?” Joe said, watching him closely. “That’s not necessarily the easy path.”
“I don’t expect it to be,” Jack said, stopping at the door. “But what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, some people could care less. Hell with the humility of it. They’ll paint you in ways that serve their interests. They’ll see you as a pawn, your humility be damned. Your relevance be damned.”
“Speaking of paranoid . . .”
“I know, but I’m not.” He paused. “Takes a little courage, but be willing to stand for the truth. Be responsible. Remember who you work for.”
“Those are three very different things.”
“I know.”
“Are you questioning something I did?”
Joe laughed. “No, and I’m not really worried that you need that advice. Some people need to hear it because they’re more concerned with getting ahead than exercising any integrity. Someone like you? For you, it’s a reminder that when things get hard, when you need to draw on that courage, it’s okay to have a touchstone. It’s okay to be wrong at times, but it’s not okay to avoid blame or responsibility. You can’t forget who your bosses are. We have our mission, but even those who don’t understand or work against it deserve our attention. They deserve to be heard and considered. They deserve truth, even hard truth.”
“Sometimes truth is hard to come by. Sometimes truth is taken to be the last word, the one that ends the argument.”
“True enough. But if you want to stay relevant, you’ll seek it out, and believe everyone deserves to hear it, and deserves to be heard.”
Jack nodded. “I promise, I understand, but that last one may have gotten me burned in the past.” He rubbed his forehead. “Not sure. Either listening to everyone, or not listening enough to the people who thought I should be listening only to them.” He shook his head and gave it another rub. “That’s not quite right either. Might’ve been because others were willing to listen only to them.”
“Who did the listening?”
“May’ve gone all the way to the top. Maybe as high as the Director.”
“You sure of that?”
“I’m not sure of anything. But I had the Director scheduled for a meeting in Montana and he never made it. There I sat, two hundred members of the public, wanting to be heard, wanting to be included, and no Director. Two days later, I’m reassigned.”
“Sure it was the Director? Where was the RD in all of this?”
“The Regional Director called afterward, said he fought for us but lost. It was out of his hands. Said things were happening he didn’t understand. Thought I should play it safe. Thought there were people who might come after me if I didn’t. I was tired. I took his advice.”
“And you’re sure the Director was involved?”
“I have no evidence of anything.”
“Not surprised. That high in the food chain, they don’t leave fingerprints.”
“That’s not the end of the story. We had unexpected results in our wetlands research. Somehow word got out we’d picked up methane levels we couldn’t explain. We weren’t pointing fingers, but frackers felt implicated. I have no idea who finished the report, but when it hit the streets, conclusions were changed, data were altered.”
“That’s a serious charge, Jack.”
“You want serious. Months after that, a family with a sick daughter tested their well. Full of carcinogens. Anytime a finger got pointed at the oil and gas guys, they waved that research report with my name on it, saying, ‘It’s not us’.”
“What did you do?”
“By then I was here. No one talked to me. But the truth? Somewhere it got lost.”
“Dangerous games, politics,” Joe said, sitting back in his chair. “Fact of life, but the trick is not to let it be the way you play the game. If you live by that game, you die by it.” Expression left his face. “Unfortunately, the ones who play the game best don’t get hurt, other people do.”
“Tell me about it. And that’s why staying relevant is all I hope for.” Jack spun around and left.
He walked down the hall to his office and began preparations.
Chapter 9
“I know this is a tough topic, but we have to find 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