Free Fire - C. J. Box [47]
“Who knows I’m here?” Joe asked, thinking of the two old men at Mammoth.
“You’d be surprised how word gets around,” she said, taking a generous drink of wine. “This is a big park, but a really tiny community. Information and gossip are the way to get ahead, so there’s always a lot of buzzing about what’s going on, who’s talking to whom, that sort of thing. A newcomer like you raises suspicion.” She tossed her hair girlishly and continued. “There are so many factions. A lot, I mean a lot, of conflicts. Zephyr versus the Park Service. Environmentalists against resource users. Hunters outside the park versus park policy. The three states fighting with the Feds. Even in the Park Service, it’s law enforcement versus interpretation, and seasonal rangers against full-timers. It’s bureaucracy run amok, with too many small-mindeddepartment heads trying to advance. It’s cutthroat, Joe.”
“Sounds a whole lot like government,” Joe said. “I speak from experience.”
“I shouldn’t be telling you all this. You must have ordered truth serum instead of wine,” she said, gesturing toward her empty glass.
“Would you like another?”
“No!” she laughed. “I’ve done enough damage for one night. Plus, I’ve got to get home.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I hope talking with me doesn’t do you any harm.”
She stood and held out her hand. “You never know, and frankly I don’t care anymore. I’m forty-two and Lars works for Zephyr. Up here, that means I’m in a mixed marriage, Yellowstone-style. We have two kids and live in a busted-down Park Service house, and I’m getting tired of playing the advancementgame, because after eighteen years I’ve realized I’m going nowhere fast. Maybe the best thing that could happen would be for them to try and get rid of me.”
Uh-oh, Joe thought.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, suddenly flustered. He watched her go. As she opened the front door, she shot a furtive glance into the dining room to see, he assumed, if there was anyone in there who recognized her.
As he ate, Joe skimmed through the stack of e-mails. The messages to Governor Rulon and the other politicians were on top. They were similarly vague in regard to details and the requestto contact him in “the ’Stone.” Joe found it significant that the phrase “cash flow” was used only in Rulon’s e-mail. He set it aside for later and went through the printouts. They all fit roughly into three categories.
The first was environmental activism. Saving the wolves, grizzlies, bison. Lots of back-and-forth with other activists about the upcoming buffalo hunt that would take place in Montana.Yellowdick, or Rick Hoening, was as passionate an advocatefor endangered species as he was disdainful of hunters, ranchers, uninformed visitors, and certain factions of the Park Service, mainly law enforcement. His newest cause was somethinghe called “bio-mining.”
While learning of Hoening’s political leanings and contacts within the environmental community, Joe detected a softening in his stance in the more recent exchanges. Often, Joe had found that people’s extreme views weakened when they moved to the heart of the controversy and were exposed to the other side. It didn’t happen with everyone, but many. It was easier to stay away and keep a rigid ideology when not mugged by reality.Although Hoening was certainly an environmentalist to the end, his more recent arguments to activists suggested that perhapssome of their policies and methods could be more reasonableand less harsh.
The second category was park gossip and news. These e-mails composed the bulk of the box. Yellowdick was a chatty guy. The messages consisted of which employees were moving up and down the corporate ladder, who was moving where (the five hubs of activity were Old Faithful, Grant Village, Roosevelt Lodge, Lake Hotel, and Mammoth), who said what to whom, who was sleeping with whom, where parties were going to be after work and on weekends, who would drive, who would bring what. Demming was accurate about the insular nature of Zephyr employees. Like college students on campus, they had their own