Gabriel's Stand (14 page)

Two days later, when Snowfeather's plane arrived at Sea-Tac from Dulles, she was feeling completely empty. As expected, the vote had gone in favor of the Treaty. Her father and his friends had been outvoted. She had left DC unable to face Gabriel in his defeat…a loss she realized she'd helped engineer. Snowfeather had avoided all calls to her DC hotel room. It was partly because she was avoiding Berker. But she had purposefully stayed out of touch with her father from the day of the demonstrations. Snowfeather felt heavy and deflated; she was ashamed of her disloyalty to the father she loved and respected, and angry with herself for reasons she refused to examine.

Vincent? Where are you?
She knew something was very, very wrong.

As the cab from Sea-Tac International ferried her to her apartment, scarcely occupied after she had moved out of her dorm room in Bates Hall, the grim, gray Seattle day outside the taxi window mirrored her feelings. Three phone calls later, she learned that the Longworthy law firm was closed, that Vincent's phone had been disconnected, and that her father's number in DC wouldn't even go to message.

Dad must have finally stopped wearing that stupid headset everywhere. Just when I really need to reach him.

Just after sunset, Snowfeather wandered through Pioneer Square. Keeping her nylon jacket zipped tight and her head down, she stopped near the Earth Planet Bookstore. The building was closed. The bookstore's glass front was covered in taped newspapers. It appeared to have gone out of business overnight.

Curious. Like a circus that has left town.

Snowfeather kept walking until she arrived at a busy pub a block away. She stood outside momentarily staring at the warm lights, listening to the laughter, and the drone of a television set. Several patrons turned as she walked in.

“There she is, I tell you!” one yelled.

“It passed!” another yelled.

“Come on, that's not her!” Another voice.

Snowfeather reversed course. Three minutes later she was back at the empty storefront, staring up at the Earth Planet sign painted on the glass, partly covered by a handwritten “FOR LEASE” sign. Peering behind the taped newspapers, she could see a few dusty volumes scattered on the floor, a chair overturned. She looked up and down the street and fished for her keys. She was almost disappointed when the door easily opened.

She stepped in, and closed the door behind her. Moments later, she flipped a light switch and slowly mounted the stairs.

“Hello!” she called. The sound traveled through the hallway and died. “Anybody?” she called out; then she broke into a sneezing fit. The stench of mold and the tang of musk were almost unbearable. The air was dead as a tomb.

She walked to the Women's League office and tried the lock. Again, the door opened easily. In the front wastebasket, she found a single torn invitation. It had been signed by Tan.

All Sisters: A Victory Celebration on Shaw Island.
Snowfeather noted the time and location, folded the map and slipped it into her jeans. She would need to borrow a car and drive to the Anacortes ferry, ninety minutes away.
But where would I get one…?

Snowfeather crept down the long hallway to the ceremony room. The door stood ajar. A single glance revealed a huge empty space, stripped to the studs. The room reeked with disinfectant.

Outside, she retrieved the invitation from her jeans and consulted her watch.

What can it hurt?
Snowfeather thought.
Maybe I'll get some answers. But I'll need to drive to Anacortes. Where can I get a car?
Then she thought of Vince's old Toyota.
I do have a set of keys. You don't think he left it in the old place?

——

About the same time, in the King County Hospital, Ken Wang arrived at the doorway to a room guarded by a deputy sheriff. An unconscious man with a missing hand lay in bed, wired to a vital signs monitor. He was breathing shallowly through an oxygen mask.

“We found him next to a phone booth,” the officer said.

Ken recognized the pallid face immediately.
John
. “This is Dr. John Owen, the man whose drug factory was firebombed. He was calling me from that phone booth when we were cut off,” Ken said. “He is my employer and he's not safe here.”

“I'll need to make a police report, son,” the officer said.

“We don't have that much time,” Ken said.

Just then, another man arrived in the hallway—sturdy, balding, and wearing a trench coat. Colonel Bill Dornan strode into the room with the natural aura of authority, a formidable man, whose bald head, close-set eyes and amiable fierceness, was difficult to ignore.

“Call your watch commander, Officer. That's the boss in there. He needs to come with us now. Ken, pull the car around.”

——

Thank you Vince…wherever you are
.

Snowfeather had just spotted his battered little Toyota parked on the street three blocks from its usual space near her apartment. Vince Marconi had apparently left it there for some time—the car was festooned with parking violations and a towing notice. She peeled off the tickets and towing notices, opened the door and sat in the driver's seat, trying to compose herself. Snowfeather managed two calm breaths, until without warning, all the demons and doubts overtopped the dam that her subconscious had erected…until now. They began spilling over, first a trickle of regret then a cataract of dread and sorrow.
Oh, Vince, what happened to you?
Where are you? What have I done?

The first tears stung, and great wrenching sobs followed like a seizure of the soul had taken over her body. Minutes passed, and the convulsions subsided. Her chest ached.
Too much grief! I can't bear it! I don't have time!

Snowfeather's hand shook until the old-style key found the ignition. When the little engine started immediately, she blinked away her tears and re-parked the car in front of her building. By midnight, she had gathered her things into a small bag, closed the apartment, and driven the car to a small motel close to the Anacortes Ferry. She would take the earliest departure.

Snowfeather arrived on the island of Shaw in the San Juan Island group the following afternoon, parking the car out of sight of the trailhead that Berker's map had identified. An hour later she was trudging the damp, dirt path to her rendezvous. The clearing ahead revealed a strange compound, almost indistinguishable from its natural surroundings. A tangled fence and a lean-to shelter were nestled amongst a conifer forest. In front of these primitive structures stood a large tent made of canvas covered with branches. A faint trail of smoke leaked into the close, gray sky.

Berker emerged from the tent, her Tan persona in full view, complete with a shaved head. “You've changed since school let out.” Snowfeather said, pausing to catch her breath. “You're not getting chemo or anything?”

“Of course not,” Tan said. “We're a little surprised to see you. You left DC so abruptly.” Tan held open the wicker gate and stepped aside.

“My part was done,” Snowfeather said.

“Who invited you? I thought you wouldn't be interested in coming.”

Snowfeather shrugged. “Didn't
you
mention it? I forget.”

“No matter. We're still celebrating our victory. A gathering of our very best friends. Please join us inside.”

“Your invitation mentioned an important guest?” Snowfeather asked. Tan smiled mysteriously.

Somewhat self-consciously, Snowfeather brushed her black hair away from her face as she entered the dark tent. Five other women sat inside on tree stumps, staring in trancelike fixation at a small fire while the flickering light cast exaggerated, leaping shadows on the canvas. Their heads were also freshly shaved for the occasion. No one looked up when Snowfeather entered the circle.

Next to the fire, a man in a torn business suit was tied to a vertical wooden pole, his face turned away. A single rope coiled from knees to shoulders with a large triple knot at the back. Intensely curious and horrified, Snowfeather walked slowly around the figure, whose black face was especially hard to identify in the reflected firelight.

OH DEAR GOD. HELP ME!

The body belonged to the late Herbert Lance McKernon, Junior Senator for the state of Washington.
Oh Dad
, Snowfeather thought.
What have they done?
What have I done?
Snowfeather's world abruptly shifted; old suppressed suspicions clicked like dominoes, lining up in a new, menacing configuration.
I should NOT be seeing this.

I must be calm. Must control myself absolutely. Must get out of here
!

“Senator McKernon is with
Jee-Ah
.” Tan said. At this point, Snowfeather's head was spinning, her ears roaring. Struggling to maintain her dignity, she walked over to the body. She was barely functioning, trying to project nonchalance. Her face was an icy calm. She was a marionette with a dignified, frozen mask.

They are stark raving mad. If I run will they follow me?

Snowfeather pretended to study the handsome black face in repose, the athletic body, so very, very limp. She fought her every instinct to run from the tent, screaming.

He's not breathing. They've just fucking murdered a U.S. Senator.
Don't they realize that I know this man? Knew.

GET ME OUT OF HERE!

“Tan,” Snowfeather said, choking out her words. “This was very unwise.” She had struggled for the matter of fact tone and failed.
RUN!

“Nonsense, dear. The Gaia cause has one less enemy. Don't worry, your public relations effort won't be affected at all by this tragic accident.”

“I suppose not,” Snowfeather managed to say. “You go on with your celebration. I am tired.”

“You aren't staying for dinner?” Tam asked, smiling.

Suddenly Snowfeather thought about Vince.
What have you witches done to my Vincent?
White hot anger surged.
NO!
She turned her back, hiding her face, speaking with icy calm. “Your white-eyes' rituals really don't interest me,
Louise
.”

Snowfeather managed to hold it together until she was safely outside the coven and over the hill where she knelt and vomited.

Snowfeather's face was once again an impenetrable mask as she boarded the ferry from Friday Harbor Island in the San Juan chain of Puget Sound finally bound for Anacortes. She strode past the ticket office, pausing to glance at the screen over a news kiosk.

SENATOR STILL MISSING:
Body of Senator's McKernon's Son Recovered From Puget Sound.

Seattle. Washington's Junior Senator, Lance McKernon, was still missing, after failing to attend the Senate Ratification vote yesterday. In an apparently unrelated incident, the body of nine year old John McKernon, the Senator's son, was found floating in the sound near…

Snowfeather was too numb with horror to react. She remembered little Johnny McKernon when the Senator and his wife had dropped by mom and Dad's place in Georgetown a few years back. Her stomach churned. She ran on, mounting the steps like a frightened deer. Quickly reaching the top level, she pushed her way to an isolated spot near the prow. She stood near the railing, panting, hiding her face. Tears stung.

Then Snowfeather began to weep uncontrollably, wrapping her arms tight about her chest to restrain the wracking sobs. She so desperately wanted to call her parents, to say she was so wrong, so sorry. But now she was really in deep trouble. Did she dare even use a phone? She would have to ditch Vince's car. Just how powerful were these Gaia people?
They killed a U.S. Senator and his son
. Her mind spun between grief and panic for a full minute until she let a great and sad calmness overtake her.

The ferry trip was underway. Gray waters roiled under gray skies, and the wind blew her tears away. The green island fell away to the rear, the thrum of engines and the rush of waves parting two stories below.

Nothing to do right now but ride…ride the ferry
.

The ferry trip from Shaw Island to Anacortes would be all too brief. She would need every minute, Snowfeather ignored the chill and let the wind blow at her face while the slate sky and dark water mirrored her bleak mood. As soon as possible, she would call her Dad.
As soon as I am safely away from this damn place. I feel so lost.

“
We must never forget
.” It was her father's voice, the Standing Bear from several years before. The hard years. She and Gabriel had made their mutual Memorial Day pilgrimage to his father's grave in Northern Idaho. It had been a hard time for Gabriel, who just been appointed to the Senate with an election looming. This time, Alice, exhausted from the campaign, had begged off the trip. “You two need this time.” As Snowfeather stood on the deck of the ferry, the Idaho scene lived in her memory, still vivid, brilliant and chill.

Traces of May snow were scattered in the brown grass. The wind was blowing then as now, but much colder. They were a few miles out of Sandpoint, on a hill in the sage at the edge of a forest. The unpretentious grave was marked by a simple black basalt rock, with a brass plaque:

Sven Tall Bear Lindstrom

Husband, Father

Happy Warrior

Gabriel had placed a hand-picked bunch of flowers along the grass in front of the rock, and arranged the colored pebbles just so. “We must never forget,” he had said, ever so softly. “Who we are. Where we came from. What…”

Then that damn headphone of his had chirped. “Sorry,” he had muttered. “That vote was not supposed to happen so soon,” he said with annoyance, walking away, his back to his father's grave. Her eyes followed him. “When?” His tone was strained. “Then I'll just have to drive to Spokane and catch the first flight.” He turned back, returning to kneel briefly at the grave, but the spell was broken.

“So,” he said standing. “Is it still George Washington this fall?”

“You know I hate DC so.” Her father's face had brightened a bit, still braced for disappointment. “Mother does too,” she added.

“That is true,” he said smiling.

“Seattle.”

“You know Mom wanted you closer.”

“I know. But it's time for some distance.”

He hadn't answered right away, but his eyes had glistened with tears. “I know,” he said. “But I don't have to like it…”

Time for some distance?
Damn
… Snowfeather recovered from this memory as the ferry rolled through the gray water and fog like a ghost ship, the distant lights of Anacortes still cloaked. Snowfeather still stood at the railing, hands thrust in her pockets.

Snowfeather's mind skipped around some more, fighting that awful image of Senator McKernon and the horrific implications.

Elisabeth is a mother.

The shock of unsuppressed truth hit her:
Dr. Owen is at risk from these awful people, too. And Elisabeth, and…Dad and Mom.

Berker's slogan, “Ecological salvation is the religion of the twenty-first century,” had captured her imagination from the very first day on campus.

Murderers! How could you?
Snowfeather shivered. Then another wave of grief hit her, a relentless tide of sadness, an ocean of regret for the loss of her ideals, the risk to her safety, the death of her father's friend, her missing boyfriend. The threats. The fears…

She covered her face with her hands, hoping no one would notice.

“Are you okay?” It was a baritone voice from behind her. Snowfeather jumped. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. You seemed so upset.” The voice came from a sturdy man in jeans and wool sweater, standing a few feet from her. He had a kind face, with an aquiline nose and piercing dark eyes. He was wearing a yarmulke.

Snowfeather was wrung out beyond all pretense. “I just had a crappy day,” she managed to say. “The worst day…”

“Sorry. I'm always butting in where I shouldn't. Maybe things will get better for you.” He looked out at the water for a moment. “That didn't sound right. I'm sorry for your crappy day.” He shook his head. “…and in such beautiful surroundings, too. God does so well with the scenery even when we suffer. Go figure.”

Snowfeather looked at the man's skullcap. “Are you a Rabbi or something?”

“You should have talked to my mother. I'm an ‘or something.' I just teach law…the man-made kind.” He smiled. “Roberto Kahn,” he said, holding out a hand.

She took the man's hand. Roberto Kahn was impossible not to like. He smiled gently. “I'm really sorry you had a crappy day.” He studied her face.

Encouraged by Snowfeather's smile, Roberto added, “May I ask
you
a question?”

“Okay.”

“Aren't you a famous environmental activist?”

“Hmm. What if I were?”

“Then I think I met your dad a few years back. I was right out of law school, and got a job as a legal consultant for some Native American tribes in the southwest. Right away, I met this up-and-coming Congressman, Gabriel Standing Bear. He was very proud of his daughter named Snowfeather who was on her way to becoming a famous environmental activist.”

“Let's say I am an ex-famous environmental activist with a father who is in the Senate.”

“Then I'd ask you another question if that's okay. Why do I feel so uneasy about what happened with this Treaty? This was supposed to be a good thing, is it not? Why am I so uneasy?”

“Strange,” Snowfeather said. “You asking me that question today rather than yesterday.”

“Your answer has changed?”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Yes, actually. My very crappy day changed my answer. So where are you from?” Snowfeather asked, now distracted from her worries.

“Right now, I'm teaching law at the University of Arizona.”

“Tucson. Is it still a nice city?”

“Yes. Of course, I love the desert. Here,” Roberto reached into his jeans. “My card, in case you ever pass through. Maybe it'll bring you good luck.”

“I could use some good luck right now.” Snowfeather tucked Roberto's card into her wallet.

Kahn studied the water below for a moment. “One more question?”

“Sure.”

“You
are
Helen Snowfeather Lindstrom, aren't you?”

She smiled. “Frankly, Roberto Kahn, I'm not sure who I am at the moment.”