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seriously.

      “That doesn’t make sense. You seem so reasonable, focused on achieving your own goals, not attacking the goals of others.”

      “That may be my problem.”

      “What do you mean?”

      She didn’t explain. He found himself wondering what she was like off the job—but she was on the job. So, he reminded himself, was he.

      The waitress brought their dishes, and disappeared back into the restaurant.

      Hatcher cut into a chili relleno but held it in mid-air on her fork. “I’ve been thinking I should work up one of my famous sound bites. Something like, ‘we shouldn’t be following Achilles into battle, until we know what we’re getting with the heel’.”

      He laughed. “That’s good.” He wondered about whom she was referring. He didn’t ask.

      “You like that?” she asked. “Sometimes I think the best preparation I ever had for this job was when I worked as an ad writer. I did those corny little ads for the company that sells those collectable dolls. You know, the ones you see in magazines.”

      “Are you serious?”

      “It’s true,” she said. “That’s how I worked my way through grad school. Ecologist by day, ad writer by night. Thought it was a silly job at the time, just something to pay the bills. I realize now that it was valuable experience. Especially helpful in dealing with reporters. It’s amazing how important a few little words can be for getting people’s attention.”

      “I can’t believe it. I’m talking to someone who thinks in sound bites.”

      She smiled.

      It was an interesting smile, and again he wondered what spending a little time with her would be like. But she’s an advocate. That kind of fraternization would look bad. Too many people already consider the Park Service to be in bed with the environmental community. Thought-provoking analogy.

      “Sometimes, you have to be short and to the point, and interesting. You have to be more provocative than the next person.” She stopped, her face becoming furrowed in thought. She frowned and said, “My problem is…I don’t always see next person coming.”

      “So, who is this Achilles? Who’s the heel?”

      She hesitated. “I shouldn’t be saying anything.”

      “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to pry.”

      “I know.” She turned her eyes away. “I guess it might be good to cry in my beer a little.”

      “I’ll keep it to myself.”

      “Yes, I know. You’re a good guy,” she said. “It’s Harold Grimmsley. And it’s not like he’s really a heel. It’s not like he’s purposefully trying to do me any professional harm. At least I don’t think so. But he’s saying things that are eroding the confidence my board of directors has in me. He’s been trying to get my organization to support him on some things. And he wants to do just the opposite of what I’ve been advocating.”

      “How could he undermine you? I mean, there’s no comparison. You’re everything he’s not. Educated. Experienced. You understand the issues on the Colorado Plateau. He’s on the learning curve. He’s confused by complexities. That’s your strength.”

      “Well, I thought so. But he’s so sincere. People listen to him.”

      “I know he’s sincere. He’s passionate. I see it all the time, people passionate about their causes, but ill-prepared with respect to actually understanding them. Surely other people see that. How could he erode confidence in you?”

      “Jack, I do not know! I really don’t.”

      “Your board will figure it out. He’s in a different league.”

      “Thank you. I hope you’re right. But for a while, I need to play it smart and be cautious about my statements.” A tortured look came over her.

      He could tell she had something specific in mind.

      “If I don’t have my reputation, I don’t have anything.”

      “I understand,” he said. He wasn’t sure he did.

      “Jack…there’s a reason I invited you to lunch.” She took another sip of her beer. “To date, I’ve been supportive of everything you’re trying to accomplish up on the plateau. You know, the fuel reduction and restoration work you’ve started. And, right now, I’ll tell you that I understand the objectives of the project, and I understand and support the scientific basis for the project. The crews haven’t done a thing up there that alarms me. I know it’s going to be good, in terms of restoring the forest stand and the fire ecology. But…for awhile…and I hope it’s only a little while…I need to cool my support of that project.”

      Jack didn’t know what to say. It was all unexpected.

      “I’m sorry,” she said.

      “Karen, that area’s a tinderbox. We’ve got to finish that project.”

      “I understand, and I agree. But if I’m not careful, I’ll lose my constituency. I have to play it smart, politically. If I don’t have people and money behind me, what good is my support?”

      “Your support is important. This is a complex subject. You understand it. Believe me, they’ll figure Harold Grimmsley out. It’s obvious.”

      “No, Jack, it isn’t. Even though…and you’re right…even if he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” She searched for her next words. “I don’t know what we’ll do next, but I promise you, I’ll work on him. I’ll educate him.”

      “What does that mean? Are you telling me you’re going fight us?”

      “No,” she said. “I don’t think it’ll come to that. I’m sure you’re right, that others will see he’s in a different league. I just need to lie low for a while.”

      Jack didn’t like the sound of this one bit.

      CHAPTER 7

      Jack began his Monday morning early, to give himself time to get to the plateau and get reacquainted with the burn project before the arrival of the fire crew. This, he was sure, would be a glorious week—deep blue skies and the first signs of autumn in the high country.

      He threw some gear into the pickup, hoping to camp over this evening. Later in the week there might not be the chance—the Chamber of Commerce meeting was on Wednesday. The trip he had in mind was one he could easily do at the end of the day, and one he had taken a year before, into an off-trail area he stumbled onto while trying to avoid all contact with people.

      He turned onto the main road. Beyond the mouth of the canyon he could see the first hint of morning, a glow behind the mountains above Las Piedras. Lights began to flicker on across the village, as it slowly roused itself to life. No smoke rose from the chimneys—too warm. There were no signs of fall, at least not here in the canyons. It might be different in the high country.

      He glanced at the briefcase on the seat beside him. “Who are you kidding?” he mumbled to himself. There was no way he’d get to the things that had accumulated in his inbox. Not on a day in the field. Too bad other things were demanding his attention. He would have to turn to other priorities once he was sure the crew wouldn’t take out the old snags, or too many trees, or build their burn piles too close to the big trees, or do something excessive that might affect wildlife habitat.

      He remembered Karen Hatcher and what she told him, that she would have to ‘cool her support for the project.’ The environmental community could make it difficult if they chose, but the project was half finished. With a good month of work—if they had that before the first snows—the thinning would be completed and the plot could be burned next year. Then, the Park Service could point to a restored

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