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  “Not just that,” Berker said.

  “This is a campaign. It will be national in scope,” Fowler said. “We want you to coordinate coast-to-coast protests.”

  “Wow! Has something happened recently that I missed?” Snowfeather asked.

  “Not yet,” Fowler said. “But it will. And you’re right to see the need for a triggering event. This is just our readiness strategy, if you will. Something terrible will happen. Something always does. In fact, we want you to seize on every disaster,” Fowler said. “There are sure to be several.”

  “National media will cover you in Seattle,” Jim Funk said. “And we are designing an ad campaign, the scope and impact of which the environmental movement has never seen before.”

  “Snowfeather,” Berker said solemnly, “we need you. With your help, and the people in this room, in the next few weeks we are going to change the face of politics in this country for good.”

  Snowfeather left her first power meeting buoyant to the point of giddiness. As the door closed behind her, her fleeting misgivings about Cynthia’s collateral damage remark were forgotten. Snowfeather was going to be a player. She could make a difference. She would make a difference.

  As soon as Snowfeather left the room, Fowler turned to Louise Berker with a solemn expression. “She is every bit as charismatic in person as on television. Can you control her?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Jim, I want you to show Ms. Berker a sample of your campaign.”

  “Certainly,” Funk said. “This one will run in all markets in prime time on the eve of the Treaty ratification vote.” He pointed to the screen at the end of the table. “I have it on good authority that Rex Longworthy will be the regional Commissioner.” Fowler chuckled. Longworthy beamed as Jim Funk played the recording on a large drop down screen.

  The scene opened to a 1920’s neighborhood in Vermont, as a milkman is carried bottles to a doorstep, a young girl rode a bicycle along a tree-lined sidewalk. The music swelled and the camera zoomed out taking in whole neighborhood.

  A voice-over proclaimed, “If the Earth Restoration Treaty is ratified, this can be your future: No television. No computers. No cell phones. No traffic. This was life as it was. As it can be again. Think about it.”

  Text scrolled by:

  Saving the Earth through Healing Retirement Confiscation.

  Your Technology Licensing Commission.

  Fighting the special interests. For Gaia.

  An image of the earth, small and fragile as if from space, appeared on screen before it faded to green.

  “Very good work, Jim,” Fowler said. “But we need something more pointed before the ratification vote.”

  “An impressive sample, though,” Berker said.

  “This is just an early draft,” Funk said. “I just wanted you to see the approach.”

  “You might save the word ‘confiscation’ for a bit later in the campaign,” Fowler said.

  “Good,” Funk said, making a note.

  “Very well then,” Fowler concluded. “Louise, you and I need to meet separately for just a minute. Thank you, Jim and Rex. Call me tomorrow.”

  When the two had left, Fowler placed his hands together and faced Louise Berker. “You have to be very careful who you let in the circle and how far.”

  “You refer to Snowfeather?”

  “To everyone. Need-to-know basis only. Especially at the beginning.”

  “Knight, you are aware that I’ve been in a covert mode for years.”

  “Of course,” he said thoughtfully. “The G-A-N.”

  “We are very aware of the need for secrecy,” she said. More than you know.

  “This kind of revolutionary social movement. It is structured a bit like a bull’s eye,” Fowler said. “Concentric circles of people. At the outside, we present as soft, acceptable, reasonable. In each layer closer to the core, where the real message is harder, perhaps less acceptable to the common people, the trust level must be higher.”

  And at the very center, some wealthy, foolish men will die, Berker thought. “Very apt,” she said aloud.

  “The treaty clause of the U.S. Constitution is our Trojan Horse,” Fowler said, smiling.

  “I’m well briefed on Rex Longworthy’s legal strategy for America. We can’t wait to roll over the petty nationalism of this country,” Berker said.

  Chapter 12

  Alice Canyon Hawke was working at her desk in the bedroom when her daughter called. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon in Georgetown, and Gabriel was struggling with a clogged garbage disposal in the kitchen wondering whether any of the other ninety-nine US Senators were still willing to crawl under a sink. “Alice, could you get that?” His shout was a muffled cry.

  “Here, big guy,” Alice said, as she tapped the phone against her husband’s protuberant elbow. “You talk her out of it.”

  Gabriel pulled his head out and took the phone. “Hi, Princess.”

  “You talked to Mom?”

  “I have.” Gabriel was still sitting on the floor.

  “The Senate is in recess for a week. I’d like to come for a visit, okay?”

  “Mom’s in a twit?”

  “Let’s just say I’m coming on the Boss’s orders…”

  ——

  Two days later, Gabriel and Snowfeather had lunch together in a Seattle cafe near campus. As the plates were cleared and Gabriel laid his credit card on the bill, he looked across at his daughter; he was looking at an adult. She had become a beautiful woman, with Alice’s skin and hair, a noble bone structure and arresting gray eyes. Those eyes are from my father, Swen Tall Bear, the half-Swede, Gabriel thought. He had adored his father, a towering man, whose Swedish-American father had died in combat, leaving his Nez Perce mother a young widow. Tall Bear was raised in northern Idaho by a single Nez Perce mother until she married Fat Bear, who had adopted Gabriel’s father as his own.

  “What?” Snowfeather said.

  “What do you mean?’”

  “You were staring and smiling.”

  “Just thinkin’…that you have my father’s eyes,” Gabriel said, “and your mother’s stubbornness.”

  “And my father’s charm?”

  “Let’s take a walk through the campus,” Gabriel said, his eyes twinkling.

  “Well, did I pass inspection?” Snowfeather said outside. It was a rare, sunny afternoon.

  “I’ll tell Mom that you are doing fine. And that you pick up your room better than I did at your age. She wanted to be here but the firm was gearing up for a big trial. Paralegals keep the worst hours.”

  “You knew that already, didn’t you, Dad? That I was doing just fine?” She poked him in the ribs.

  “Oh yeah,” Gabriel said, slipping on his leather jacket. “But I’ll use any excuse for a trip out of the nation’s cesspool, I mean capital. Let’s see if I can still find my way around this old campus.”

  After a few minutes of walking into the main campus area, Snowfeather stopped and they sat side-by-side on a moss-covered stone bench hidden in a copse of giant conifers. The air was soft and smelled of cedar.

  “Dad, I just heard that President Chandler has agreed to force the senate to vote on the Earth Restoration Treaty, the one that old President Baxter signed but couldn’t get ratified before he died.”

  “I’m afraid you heard right, Princess.”

  “Afraid? President Chandler said that this will be a legacy for the ages. When I heard the news, I thought, ‘Great! Dad will be in the Senate when the ratification vote comes up.’”

  “True.”

  “Then I heard this horrible rumor that you will be opposing it?”

  “That was no rumor, Princess.” Gabriel was staring at a cloud that was sliding over the treetops.

  “Why would you ever do that?”

  “Oh, I took the trouble to actually study the issue. Just look at the language…” When Gabriel turned to examine his beautiful daughter, he was startled. A seriously angry young woma
n was looking back. “All the work I did to get the Habitat established, Gabriel said. “It would be flushed down the toilet.”

  “How could that be?”

  “Check this out.” Gabriel pulled out a draft summary of the Treaty Protocol from his jacket and handed it to her. “They’re proposing to close the Habitat to people.”

  Snowfeather stared at the dense text. “Where does it say that?”

  Gabriel read aloud. “As necessary for the preservation or restoration and preservation of endangered ecosystems, to create and establish special ecological protected zones, hereafter ‘Eco-protectorates,’ which shall include all existing parks and protected zones established by any government, but shall not be limited to those areas; to promulgate and establish the geographical boundaries thereof; to control, restrict, or forbid traffic, travel, use of forbidden technologies and recreational access to such zones or any portion thereof by all persons and machines as appropriate.” He handed the document to Snowfeather. Gabriel had underlined the offending passages in red ink.

  “What does all that really mean?” she asked.

  “This Treaty sets up a very, very powerful international Commission—powerful enough to close the Habitat against the opposition of the Congress and the people. We already have the word on the Hill: They really are going to close it up…if we give them the chance. Longworthy himself said much the same thing in a speech last week—humans can no longer be trusted to take care of it.”

  “Maybe that’s just temporary.”

  “Right, like Indians on the Rez. Little Princess, I made personal guarantees to every tribe in seven states that our people will have special access to the old streams, the mountains, and the plains. You have no idea how hard getting them on board was. They trusted me. My honor is on the line. And now the tribes are going to be locked out along with everyone else. Our tribes. All tribes.”

  “That’s too bad about your honor,” Snowfeather said cynically. “But at least the plants and animals are safe.”

  Gabriel almost rose to the bait. Honor was no trivial matter in his hallowed tradition, as Snowfeather was well aware. The list of military heroes in the family line ran from his grandfather, whose grave was in Arlington National Cemetery, to his Army Ranger cousin, High Tree. Honor was a life and death matter. But Gabriel kept his temper in check. “No,” he said carefully. “Nothing will be safe. The indigenous plants and animals are at risk because this treaty will destroy sensible ecological management. We had planned, funded and staffed a twenty-five year restoration project. We can restore the old balance, but we will need access to a lot of high tech stuff to monitor the ecosystem, a whole range of sensitive monitoring gear. Some human intervention will always be necessary to keep the ecology healthy. All those tools will be banned. Is that ‘just too bad’ too?” Gabriel realized he was glowering at his daughter. He allowed the frown to fade away.

  “I’m sorry,” Snowfeather added unconvincingly. “But a lot more is at stake than whether some Habitat is named after Mom.”

  Gabriel was shocked at her petulance. “I’ll say. The Treaty will take away the power of Congress and the states to legislate in any area affecting technology and ecology. Do you not realize how huge that is?”

  “I’d say about huge enough, Dad, considering the problems we’ve ignored or neglected for the last fifty years.” Snowfeather handed back the Treaty draft. “I already saw this version,” she said haughtily. Gabriel was seething. Both father and daughter stood.

  “The Treaty overrides the Bill of Rights.”

  “That’s a false story, Dad.”

  “I think you are listening to the wrong people, Snowfeather.” Gabriel’s face was flushed. “I’ve talked to two law professors who ought to know. Your friend, Rex Longworthy, wrote the language that does the trick.”

  “Dad, I’ve barely even met Mr. Longworthy. Besides, what good was the Bill of Rights for our people?”

  Gabriel turned away, biting his lip. He suppressed the sharp answer that was next in line, trying to contain his anger. After a full minute, he turned back, face sad, his tone soft. “It matters to us right now, Little Princess. It matters to you. Free speech never comes easy. Doesn’t it bother you, even a little, that under this treaty some bureaucrat can take away the tribal lands and evict everyone just to protect the ecosystem?”

  “They wouldn’t really…”

  “Please keep your ear to the ground, Little Princess. You will find out eventually. They will do that and more, soon enough. All too soon.” Gabriel pointed to a break in the trees. They began walking again, side by side, each staring ahead.

  “All these problems seem so small, Dad…in the big picture. The world is almost ruined. The white eyes have really screwed things up.”

  “Everybody helped do that. The tribes included.”

  “Then we’ve all screwed things up. So now what do we do about it? Who can control the international corporations?” She stopped, looking up at Gabriel defiantly. “The State of Washington? The State of Idaho? The U.S. Congress? Has anyone ever really stood up to them before?”

  “I know, I know,” he said. “We have made a mess of things. But we’re doing much better. But this particular treaty is not the answer.”

  “Then what is? Nothing else has worked. Maybe some bad things will happen.”

  “They sure will.”

  “So we’ve earned them.”

  “Be careful what you say. You may not like the price.”

  “Maybe the time has come to just change things, even if it hurts people.”

  “I wouldn’t talk about hurting people so casually. Everything comes around.”

  “It has come around. We deserve to face the consequences.”

  “Snowfeather, we can’t just throw away our scruples, our ethics, our decency, our checks and balances,” he said.

  Snowfeather stopped in her tracks. She was very angry.

  “Scruples, Dad? Or excuses!”

  Gabriel bit his lip again. So grown up and yet knows so little, he thought. And so stubborn. Just like Alice. Gabriel took a breath and smiled. Just like me. He reached out to touch his daughter’s face. Snowfeather abruptly turned away.

  “You can stop calling me Little Princess!”

  Gabriel stared at his daughter, fighting the hot tears welling up. He just stood in place, like a tree, waiting for an apology until it was embarrassing. Then Gabriel turned, and began walking slowly away. His throat tightened and his pace quickened.

  Snowfeather stood alone in the path, watching her father’s lumbering form retreat into the distance, watching until he disappeared from sight.

  Gabriel’s flight would leave in two hours. Snowfeather felt a single tear run down her cheek. After a time she wiped her face and began the long walk to her dorm.

  ——

  Snowfeather’s phone rang ninety minutes later.

  “Hi, Princess.” Her father’s voice was gruff and a little tight, like it was when he learned Alice could come home from the hospital.

  “Princess?”

  “I dropped the ‘Little.’”

  She smiled a bit. “Hi, Dad.” She could hear the sound of jet engines in the background.

  Gabriel could hear her smile in the tone. “Here’s the deal, I get to be a Senator on my own terms and you get to be Snowfeather-in-the-world on yours. You graduated today. You are a player and I promise always to respect your independence, even when I think—”

  “That I’m full of crap?”

  They both laughed a long time.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you, too, Dad. We have a deal?”

  “We have a deal.”

  Chapter 13

  Later that week

  Berker and Cynthia Thomas arrived at Gates Hall unannounced, and knocked on the door of Snowfeather’s room. When the door opened, Berker’s gaze shot like a targeting laser across the room. There she spotted Vince Marconi, Snowfeather’s boyfriend, sprawled on the bed. A probl
em. “Oh, are we interrupting anything?” Berker asked sweetly.

  “Hi. This is Vincent Marconi,” Snowfeather said. Vince was a wiry young man with a faintly amused expression and short black hair. He glanced at the two intruding women and shifted on the bed, making no effort to get up. “He’s finishing law school and has been volunteering his time with the Environmental Coalition. Vincent, this is Louise Berker and Cynthia Thomas.”

  “Right,” he said, slipping off the bed. “I’ve been getting very involved with the environmental movement.” Vincent winked at Snowfeather. The son of a third generation police officer, Vince was the tallest in his family and the first to attend law school. “Hey, good to meet you,” he said holding out his hand. His grin was irresistible…except to Berker.

  “Our pleasure,” Berker said, unfazed by Vince’s natural charm. “Snowfeather, I just had an idea. Could Vincent spare you for about ten minutes?”

  Vince shrugged, looking at his watch. “Be my guest,” he said, scooping his laptop and papers and loading them into his backpack. “I was getting ready to go back to my place, anyway.”

  At the door, Snowfeather exchanged a special look with him, whispering: “Sorry, I’ll call later.”

  “I’ve got to work at the restaurant tonight until one,” he whispered. “Call tomorrow, okay? Tell me all about it.”

  She kissed him firmly and watched sadly as he disappeared down the hall. He walks like a cop, she thought. “All us Marconi guys do,” Vince had said. “Old Mafia tradition.” Then he had laughed uproariously.

  Inside the room, Snowfeather dropped on the bed her boyfriend had just vacated and stared at the two intruders. Without invitation, Cynthia sat on the edge of the desk and Louise took the study chair. “We’ve been talking,” Berker said. “You can be most valuable to the movement at a certain distance.”

  “You’re sending me back to Idaho?” No humor with these two…none, Snowfeather thought. “What exactly do you mean—‘distance’?”

  “Your friend, Vincent, is a good example of the kinds of people who can support the larger goals but might not understand or respond to our particular message.”