impact. We just did not do nearly enough lab simulations to satisfy me. And if something goes wrong and we start an environmental nightmare, my ass will be way out on the line. Did we look at the utilization of the area for recreational purposes? I can just envision a Boy Scout Camp!”
“Hey, relax! That's all covered. SERPAC has leased a couple hundred acres from the feds, significantly more than is really needed. All roads in will be blocked by sunrise and reopened by sundown. But really, the area is so remote, it really is the pits!” He laughed. “I talked with some local people and the area is even too remote for the average poacher. I don't have my data with me, but when we get there, you're welcome to all my stuff and I'll even run you over there, so relax.”
Ken Messer took another sip of his now cold-coffee. Relax, my ass, he thought. That's probably what the Vietnam Vets were told about Agent Orange. Not that this would be anywhere close to that, but he just wasn't satisfied. I've been working on this for several years, he thought and there are still too many variables remaining. They passed through a small town, never slowing down.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing the door handle. “The speed limit's twenty-five and you're doing sixty!” The driver had turned off the interstate highway and was now southbound on a two-lane state route.
“Sure am.” Ron did not seem overly bothered. “These little towns don't have any cops and nobody really cares. Are you one of those law and order people?”
“Not particularly. I just think that we have rules and we need to abide by them for the good of society.”
“Yeah, right.”
But he did slow down some as they entered the next small town. Ken enjoyed looking at the picturesque old white frame houses with their wraparound porches and bright-colored flowerbeds. He was surprised to see the number of people up and about at this early hour and equally surprised that Ron seemed to wave at everyone.
“You seem to know everyone.”
“Not really. But if you don't wave, folks around here think you're some stuck up city slicker. So you wave and blend right in. See, it's all part of the PR we do routinely.”
At the far end of town he slowed down and turned to the left. A small green street sign gave the name of the narrow unpaved road as “Possum Squat Road”.
“What a name!” he said to Ron. “How would anybody come up with a street name like that?”
Ron laughed. “I have no idea. But they have some real winners in this town, most of the names go back to the pioneer days and are related to the first settlers in this area. But 'Possum Squat' takes the cake.”
Chapter 7
8:45 a.m.
They had been given free time to unpack, with the promise from Ron to meet them in time for brunch.
Jeff Craft almost did not hear the soft buzzing. He wasn't used to the sound and did not recognize it as a phone call. His gruff “What?” was answered by a very sweet female voice that reminded him of the time, the date and that he had a scheduled meeting with Mr. Jonathon Brooks in fifteen minutes in the executive dining room in building A. Jeff just grunted in response. He stretched and yawned. Time to find building A for his meeting with SERPAC's CEO.
Jonathon Brooks was a large man in his fifties. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly trimmed and his clothing was a carefully-selected casual that probably cost more than
“Hey, relax! That's all covered. SERPAC has leased a couple hundred acres from the feds, significantly more than is really needed. All roads in will be blocked by sunrise and reopened by sundown. But really, the area is so remote, it really is the pits!” He laughed. “I talked with some local people and the area is even too remote for the average poacher. I don't have my data with me, but when we get there, you're welcome to all my stuff and I'll even run you over there, so relax.”
Ken Messer took another sip of his now cold-coffee. Relax, my ass, he thought. That's probably what the Vietnam Vets were told about Agent Orange. Not that this would be anywhere close to that, but he just wasn't satisfied. I've been working on this for several years, he thought and there are still too many variables remaining. They passed through a small town, never slowing down.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing the door handle. “The speed limit's twenty-five and you're doing sixty!” The driver had turned off the interstate highway and was now southbound on a two-lane state route.
“Sure am.” Ron did not seem overly bothered. “These little towns don't have any cops and nobody really cares. Are you one of those law and order people?”
“Not particularly. I just think that we have rules and we need to abide by them for the good of society.”
“Yeah, right.”
But he did slow down some as they entered the next small town. Ken enjoyed looking at the picturesque old white frame houses with their wraparound porches and bright-colored flowerbeds. He was surprised to see the number of people up and about at this early hour and equally surprised that Ron seemed to wave at everyone.
“You seem to know everyone.”
“Not really. But if you don't wave, folks around here think you're some stuck up city slicker. So you wave and blend right in. See, it's all part of the PR we do routinely.”
At the far end of town he slowed down and turned to the left. A small green street sign gave the name of the narrow unpaved road as “Possum Squat Road”.
“What a name!” he said to Ron. “How would anybody come up with a street name like that?”
Ron laughed. “I have no idea. But they have some real winners in this town, most of the names go back to the pioneer days and are related to the first settlers in this area. But 'Possum Squat' takes the cake.”
Chapter 7
8:45 a.m.
They had been given free time to unpack, with the promise from Ron to meet them in time for brunch.
Jeff Craft almost did not hear the soft buzzing. He wasn't used to the sound and did not recognize it as a phone call. His gruff “What?” was answered by a very sweet female voice that reminded him of the time, the date and that he had a scheduled meeting with Mr. Jonathon Brooks in fifteen minutes in the executive dining room in building A. Jeff just grunted in response. He stretched and yawned. Time to find building A for his meeting with SERPAC's CEO.
Jonathon Brooks was a large man in his fifties. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly trimmed and his clothing was a carefully-selected casual that probably cost more than
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