The Thunder Keeper(11)

The couple could probably be rescheduled, she decided. Wills were seldom urgent.

She said, “I could see you at three.” That would still give her an hour before she had to leave for DIA to pick up Lucas, who was flying in from Los Angeles at five. “You know where we’re located?”

“You don’t understand.” The words were whipped with impatience. “Not your office. Not my office either. I’ll meet you at the Ship’s Tavern in the Brown Palace.”

“Wait a minute—” Vicky began, then stopped. A vacancy, like the absence of sound in a vault, came over the line. She pushed the intercom button. “Laola, can you get the caller back?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t tell me that. Just do it.”

“He wouldn’t give his number.”

Vicky drew in a long breath. “Reschedule my three o’clock,” she said. Then she swiveled to the computer, clicked on print, and waited while the printer spewed out several pages. Jamming the pages into her leather folder, she headed out into the corridor, her heels sinking into the plush royal-blue carpet, past the cubicle where Laola worked, past a succession of doors with the partners’ names discreetly emblazoned on bronze plaques, and past the doors to the associates’ offices, one of which had been hers five years before.

Displayed on the walls between the offices were large oil paintings of mountains and lakes in gilded frames. Sometimes, in the corridors of Howard and Fergus, she felt as if she was drowning in the low hum of purposeful activity that emanated from behind the doors.

She rode the elevator to the top-floor conference room, wondering what she’d done. Canceled an appointment to meet someone she hadn’t heard of fifteen minutes ago, and she had no idea what the meeting was about. No, that wasn’t true. It was about the reservation.

The others—men in dark suits, ties knotted smartly at the collars of light-colored shirts—were already seated around the polished cherry conference table. On one side, Jacob Hazen was flanked by the two Navajo councilmen, their dark heads silhouetted against the windows that framed a view of the Rocky Mountains. Across from the Indians were three lawyers from Howard and Fergus, including Wes Nelson, the managing partner.

“There’s been a new development,” Wes explained as she slid into the vacant chair next to him.

As if on cue, Jacob Hazen leaned forward, bracing his stocky frame on both elbows. “Lexcon’s proposed a settlement,” he said.

“Settlement!” Vicky heard the astonishment in her voice. “The court ruled in their favor. Why would they want a settlement now? Everything’s going their way.”

One of the councilmen cleared his throat. “We hear a rumor Lexcon’s found another methane gas field on the res. They’re gonna want to give us a settlement in the old case, grease the wheels, you might say, so they can get on to drilling the new field. We’re thinking we oughta consider an offer.”

Vicky remained quiet. She was aware of the eyes on her. “What makes you think they’ve located another field?”

“They never quit looking.” The Navajo gave a sharp laugh. “Flying planes over the res all the time, looking for methane coming up from the earth.”

“They also collect data from satellites.” Jacob Hazen nodded toward the windows and the endless sky with gray clouds breaking over patches of blue. “Commercial satellites up there, orbiting the earth, making images. Oil and gas companies buy data from satellite companies all the time.”

“We’re buying our own satellite data now.” This from the other councilman. “No reason for Lexcon to know more than we know. We got a specialist to tell us what’s going on.” He pushed his chair back and began levering himself to his feet.

Vicky stayed seated. She heard her own voice going on about how the case was too important for the district court ruling to stand, about how the appellate brief was due next week, but the others were getting to their feet, chairs scudding backward on the carpet, papers crackling. A sense of futility as heavy as weights settled over her shoulders. How could she help them if they didn’t want her help? Suddenly she felt glad she’d agreed to meet Vince Lewis this afternoon. If something had happened on the reservation, she wanted to know about it. Maybe she could help her own people.

Vicky stood up and turned to Wes. “Could I see you a moment?”





6


“You may want to hold off on the brief,” Wes said. His voice cut through the elevator’s soundless, downward pressure.

Vicky was quiet. She had every intention of finishing the brief, even if she had to do it on her own time. She would call Hazen to reiterate the importance of going ahead with the appeal.