Following a stone path that worked its way around the smiling side to the front that faced the spectacular view, he reached the entrance and pressed the buttoned nose of a brass lion built into the woodwork of the door. The buzzer set off a series of electronic chimes that sounded the theme song from a Hollywood film. Joseph stared at the lion's nose in wonder.
The door opened as he was about to press the nose for an encore. A pair of sparkling black eyes set in a pretty Oriental face greeted him.
"Mr Radkin?" she said in a voice that was as bright as her sleek black hair.
He looked down at her tiny figure dressed only in a silky robe that was the same color as the hair that fell lightly on her shoulders. If it wasn't that she had addressed him by name, he would have wondered whether he had come to the right place.
"Please to follow me," she said, bowing her head and dipping slightly at the knees. The bow was as brief and easy as a wink.
When she raised her head and her eyes met his again, he could see that they were laughing.
She led him into an enormous room underneath a dome. A semicircular couch of glove-soft leather echoed the shape above. Fitted into the arc of the couch, with about three feet of legroom between, was a gigantic rounded coffee table of polished mahogany. The center of the couch faced a black marble fireplace with a lion's head mantelpiece that looked like the twin of the one on the door.
"What happens when you press that one's nose?" He glanced up at the ceiling. "The dome opens and we fly out into space?"
'Her head tilted slightly to one side. She seemed amused, but it was hard to say. "I sorry. I not speak English very good."
"Don't worry about it," he said. "No one does anymore."
Her eyes laughed again as she said, "A moment, please." And then she tripped quietly out, leaving him alone in the vastness of the room.
Joseph sat down on the luxurious couch, allowing the richness of the leather to encompass him. A cathedral window to the right of the fireplace let in a brilliant beam of heavenly light of such perfection that a man of god might have given his soul to the devil if only it could have been replicated in his church.
"Mr Radkin?"
It was a deep voice. Resonant. But then, he thought, what in this place wouldn't be?
He turned his head past the blinding light toward the voice that had come from the direction of the circular stairs which wound like a helix from the balcony above.
A silhouette of a figure was bounding down. He heard a voice say, "Please, don't get up."
He got up anyhow.
Joseph felt the energy of his presence before he actually saw the man. "I'm very happy you could come." The man stuck out his hand.
What Joseph finally saw was dressed in a white terry-cloth robe that matched the coils of flaxen hair atop his head. His face was square-or most likely had been before his chin had started to sag. He had an aquiline nose and heavy brows over deep-set eyes which seemed to be busily studying the image in front of them. It was a straightforward look from a well-used face. And if he had to sum it up, Joseph probably would have guessed its owner was pretty satisfied, even though his time was almost up. But, then again, with such an expensive view and nothing blocking the way, why wouldn't he be satisfied? Joseph asked himself as he reached out and gave the proffered hand a shake.
So this was Saunders, Joseph thought. The man who helped bankroll Investigations Magazine. West's silent partner-whatever that meant. Fairy godfather or entrepreneur? Surely there couldn't have been much money in it-though Joseph hadn't been privy to their profit sheet. As long as he got his check on time it was all right by him.
Saunders motioned to the crevice Joseph's body had made in the couch. "Go ahead. Sit back down. Tell Yoko what you want to drink."
He hadn't noticed her come back in. She walked like a cat. A very quiet and contented Siamese. She stood next to Saunders, smiling silently. She was about half his height and different in most every way. The contrast was strikingaccentuated by their robes. Then he remembered the wire service story that had been meant for the fashion editor but had been put in his box by mistake. White on black was in this year. Or was it black on white?
"Orange juice," said Joseph.
"OJ for you, too, William?" she asked, looking up at Saunders with her playful eyes.
Joseph glanced down and noticed that her tiny feet were naked. Her child-like toes were painted the brightest red he'd ever seen. And one of them was rubbing, seductively, up against Saunders' Achilles tendon-or so it seemed.
If Saunders felt anything, he didn't show it. "OJ all around," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Loaded with vitamin C.
Keeps you vigorous! Right, Radkin?
"I wouldn't know," said Joseph. "I just have a hell of a hangover . . ."
"Try pure grain alcohol next time," he said. "It's the additives that get you."
"I'll keep it in mind," Joseph replied. He looked over to where Yoko had been. She had disappeared again. Off to get the orange juice most likely.
Saunders had moved to the cathedral window and was looking out. "Terrific view, isn't it?" he said, turning around and pointing a finger toward the glass.
Joseph crossed his legs and rubbed a painful knee that had just started acting up again. "Is that why you asked me over? To appreciate the view?" He said that to himself. To Saunders he said, "Not bad."
"Not bad?" Even through the blinding light he could see hirii smile. "I thought you were our star investigative journalist, Radkin. Surely you could think of more exciting phraseology . . ."
"I save the hyperbole for my copy. Don't want to use it up too fast."
The orange juice came in tall crystal glasses set on a black lacquered tray. It was fresh-squeezed. Joseph could tell by all the little seeds floating on the top.
"Let's take these out on the veranda," said Saunders, leading the way to a sliding glass door at the far side of the room.
Joseph got up and followed, somewhat reluctantly as he was beginning to enjoy the soft leather couch. On the other hand, with a salary like his, it was better not to get used to the feel of luxury.
The deck was made of redwood. The long side faced the hills; the short side faced the sea. He could have guessed there would have been a hot tub. But he wouldn't have pictured one so large and that spewed out so much steam.
"What did West tell you?" asked Saunders as they sat down at a large chrome and glass table under an umbrella that kept out the sun.
"He said that he was putting me on sabbatical and that I was to take my instructions from you for a couple of weeks." Joseph took a sip of his orange juice and then looked Saunders squarely in the eye. "He said you'd tell me what it was all about. But he didn't seem pleased."
"Look up there," said Saunders, turning toward the hills. "You know what those are?" He pointed to the trees.
"Eucalyptus. Polly-my wife-collects the leaves and stuffs them into old socks. The odor is supposed to keep away the fleas."
"They're not native to California, you know," said Saunders. "Brought here some sixty or seventy years ago by people with small minds and big ideas. Eucalyptus grows remarkably fast, ten times faster than your ordinary evergreen. In Australia they have a species E. regnans, the giant eucalyptus, that reaches a height of three hundred feet with a twenty-five-foot girth. It yields a hardwood, very strong, used in shipbuilding."
"You'd think that if they were used for shipbuilding they'd have been cut down years ago," said Joseph, raising his glass to the trees.
"That's right. And they would have been, too-except the idiots who brought them over took the wrong species. They brought over E. globulus, the blue gum. Commercially, the wood was worthless."
"Lucky for your view," said Joseph.
"Yes. Up until now. . . "
"I thought you said the wood was worthless."
"It was. However, recently they've been using them in Brazil to make paper. Eucalyptus wood is very white, you see. Much whiter than your ordinary wood. By using eucalyptus the paper companies can circumvent the bleaching process . . ."
"That's very interesting," said Joseph. "Bits of trivia like that can work their way nicely into stories for wildlife magazines."
"Bleaching, in case you haven't been reading the press, is what's causing the build-up of dioxin in our rivers and streams."
"And acid rain is causing the leaching of heavy metals into our ground waters," said Joseph, somewhat impatiently. "I do read the papers, Mr Saunders. And I know we haven't been treating the earth too kindly. But if all this has anything to do with the story you'd like me to write, I'd remind you that the rivers and lakes are Michael's territory. He's a great environmental reporter. I'm more at home on the city beat. In fact, flowers make me sneeze."
"Don't worry," said Saunders, letting out a laugh. "I'm not about to issue you a knapsack and an axe." Then, looking at Joseph more seriously, he said, "And you're perfectly free to refuse my offer-it won't be held against you."
1'11 bet!" Joseph said to himself.
"But hear me out," Saunders continued. "And keep in mind that whoever takes on this assignment will be paid very well." He seemed to be studying Joseph's face again. "You're not averse to money, are you?"
"I suppose it depends on where it comes from and what I do to get it," Joseph replied.
"Money comes from paper. There's a bit of eighteenth century doggerel which goes: 'Rags make paper, paper makes money, money makes banks, banks make loans, loans make beggars, beggars make rags.' So you see, it's all a neat and tidy little circle."
"I thought it was trees that make paper."
"In the eighteenth century it was rags. Trees have only been used for a hundred years or so."
"That's comforting," said Joseph. Then he looked at Saunders, suspiciously. "You don't want me to do a story about trees, I hope."
"Only in a roundabout way," Saunders replied. He hesitated a moment, then he said, "I have a friend-an old, dear friend-who seems to be in trouble . . ."
"What kind of trouble?" He knew he shouldn't have asked. But it was instinctual.
"I'm not exactly sure. He's a professor out at Meade College. "
"That's in Oregon, isn't it?"
"Yes, Portland."
"What's his field?"
"Earth sciences, I think they call it. Anyway, he's very active in the environmental movement. Working to clean up the Columbia River-things like that. Seems one of the paper companies is trying to set up a new pulp mill. He's been one of the main people fighting to deny them certification."
"Because of the bleaching process, I take it."
"Yes. The process produces a number of chlorohydrate effluents, one of which is dioxin-supposedly the most toxic chemical known to man."
"And they dump it in the river?"
"Minute quantities, of course. It's only recently that they've been able to assess the damage. It builds up, you see. In the tissues and the liver. Becomes part of the food chain . . ."
"I understands said Joseph. "You want a story on the perils of the paper industry. But what's so urgent?"
Saunders turned in his chair and gazed out at the other magnificent view, where the sky met the sea. "I've been following your work, Radkin. I've seen how you've been able to make the big story out of the small."
"It depends on how big and how small you're talking about. I usually have something more to go on."
Saunders turned back around and looked at Joseph. "Oregon is our economic hinterland, Radkin. It's brimming with nature. But it's also our last untrammeled wilderness, besides Alaska. What happens there in the next few years may truly determine the fate of our nation."
"That might be going a little far."
"I don't think so," said Saunders. "Anyway, the situation in Oregon is growing dangerous. Battle lines have been drawn . . . "
"Between who and whom?"
"The environmentalists and the logging interests. Last week a logger was killed. "Shot?"
Saunders shook his head. "No. An environmental terrorist s piked a tree. That's a tactic some of those loonies use to try and stop the lumberjacks. They nail a railroad spike into the trunk so deep you can't see it. When the chainsaw hits it, the chain shatters. The backlash can kill you. It usually doesn't. In this case it did." "I thought you were on those tree savers' side."
Saunders swallowed the last of his drink and then pushed his glass away. He seemed somewhat perturbed. "I agree with their objective, but not their methods."
That's very liberal of you, Joseph thought.
"Anyway, it came at a terrible time. Tempers are at the Cashpoint now. And it's all focused around the permit battle for the new pulp mill. The loggers want it. The environmentalists don't."
Joseph rubbed his knee again. Just the thought of pulp mills made it hurt.
Saunders was staring at him without blinking his eyes. "So? What do you say?"
"Frankly - if you want to know the honest truth - it's probably front page stuff in Oregon, page four stuff in California and might make page thirteen in New York if you're lucky."
"You're missing the point, Radkin," Saunders said, getting Up' from his chair and walking over to the rail. He looked up at the eucalyptus forest. "This is a private bit of research I want you to do for me. I want you to find out what you can about the events surrounding the McCullough Paper Company's permit application for their new pulp mill. And I want it by the end of the week. In fact, I want you to fax a copy to me by midnight, Friday."
"I don't get it," said Joseph. "Why?"
"I have my reasons," he said.
Saunders then turned around and made a sign toward the sliding door. A moment later, Yoko came out and handed him a briefcase. She seemed to hover by his side as he placed the briefcase on the deck table, opened it up and took out an envelope which he handed to Joseph.
"All you need to know is in here. It contains the names of a couple of people you should contact. I've arranged for a reporter on the Portland daily to assist you. There's also an airline ticket . . ."
"An airline ticket?"
"Alaska Airlines. The flight leaves 9.oo p.m. Tonight."
Joseph stared at him incredulously.
"There's a check enclosed in the sum of two thousand dollars. For expenses. You'll receive another check for three thousand dollars at the completion of your assignment."
"For one week's work?"
"For one week's work."
Joseph glanced at Yoko. She was full of smiles.
"Is that payment on approval?"
"I have full confidence in your investigatory skills." said Saunders. "As long as you fax me your copy by midnight, Friday, you'll receive the second check when you return."
Yoko had left the table and was walking down the length of redwood deck toward the hot tub. Out of the corner of his eye, Joseph saw her loosen the tie cord of her robe and let it fall from her shoulders to the ground. Her naked body seemed to glow in the sunlight as she slid into the steamy waters.
Taking the envelope, Joseph put it in his pocket.
"Come William!" she called. Her voice reminded him of a sparrow. He turned to look. Her face was half hidden by the vapors. But he could see her dainty hand held out.
He turned back to Saunders and saw him wink. "OK?" he said.
"I wouldn't want to hold you up," Joseph replied. "I'll see you in a week." Time enough, he thought, for Saunders to bathe and dry himself out.
ISBN: 1-900355-19-1 PB
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