“Oh, I know who you are. You’re the reason I’m taking this cruise.” He grinned. “I’m very interested in your work.”
Eric did not look like the sort who would typically take an interest in helioseismology—and besides that, I wasn’t even speaking on solar acoustic pressure waves, the work for which I was known. I had proposed a series of talks on this topic, of course, but when the man from the Center for Complexity and Design called me after receiving my proposal, he’d asked if I’d be willing to speak instead about the impact of solar variations on global climate fluctuations. Although I was well versed in solar irradiance, I had very little background in climatology or knowledge of how spectral distribution could possibly affect climate patterns on Earth. However, when I mentioned this to him, he seemed unconcerned, and offered to pair me with another scientist who was preparing to submit a paper on the theory that total solar irradiance was a significant cause of climate change. “Though,” he added, “as an organization we are skeptical that the climate is, in fact, changing.”
I knew both positions ran against prevailing scientific opinion, and yet I was intrigued.
Eric and I spoke a bit about my lecture topic, and I confided that I felt far more comfortable speaking on subjects with which I was more familiar. He, however, seemed very enthusiastic. “Our conference participants are eager to learn more about the global warming hoax,” he said. As I tried to process this, he added, sotto voce, “One of our most prominent sponsors asked us to reach out to you specifically, Dr. Pavano.”
Annie was thrilled to find that we had been booked into a junior suite. There was a large fruit basket on the table, which she found deeply touching—any kindness shown to me during this time she appreciated with great fervor. She walked onto the small balcony overlooking the terminal building—we had not yet left the docks—and remained there for some minutes, gazing at the Seattle skyline. When I gently reminded her that it was time to dress for dinner, she turned and smiled at me, her lovely brown eyes shining with happiness for the first time in months.
“If making small talk with people who believe the earth is six thousand years old is all it takes to cruise to Alaska in a stateroom, sign me up,” she said. My stomach sank. The smile disappeared from her face. “Frank, you’ve got to start somewhere. You can shake these people off when the time is right.” She walked over to where I was standing in my tuxedo, and put her hands on either side of my face. “Brilliance can’t be contained for long,” she said. Her face, as beautiful as the first time I saw it, looked angelic as she said this. And if it hadn’t been for the tears standing in her eyes, I would have thought her beatific.
We saw Eric Falleri at dinner, dressed in a very fine tuxedo with gleaming monogrammed cuff links. Annie asked after his wife—she’d noticed his wedding ring back in the terminal—and he’d said she was “back home in D.C.”
“What is it that you do, Mr. Falleri?” she asked. Something about Annie’s question embarrassed me. Her curiosity, sharp as a blade, was sometimes mistaken as an attempt to injure, when it was merely a reflection of her deep interest in people. I, on the other hand, found people inscrutable, and relied heavily upon my wife’s investigations to provide context for social situations. Eric seemed discomfited by her question, and it was obvious enough that even I noticed it. After taking a too-long sip of wine, he finally said, “I suppose you’d call me a consultant, Mrs. Pavano.”
She asked him to call her Annie, and then asked him about the entities for whom he consulted.
“Various clients,” Eric said, reaching for his wine again. “Mostly energy consortiums.”
“Oh, you’re a lobbyist,” Annie said, and Eric’s face darkened. I could tell Annie noticed this, too, but neither of us were sure of her transgression. (I’ve since come to understand that lobbyists do not like their intentions to be pointed out explicitly any more than does an Amway salesman.) Despite this, Eric’s expression quickly regained its previous cheerfulness, and he said that he was on the cruise representing one of the conference sponsors, a private corporation that owned a few refineries, a handful of fertilizer plants, and other “industrial operations.” He then turned to his neighbor, a schoolteacher from Oklahoma City, and Annie and I spent the rest of the evening making small talk with the other people at our table.
As the dinner was coming to a close and many of the conference participants and their spouses were heading to the dance floor, Annie excused herself to return to the stateroom so she could watch Survivor, a small vice of hers. As soon as she’d left, Eric moved around the perimeter of the table and took her seat. He pushed aside the remains of Annie’s dessert and leaned toward me. “I’ve heard about your troubles, Professor.”
As soon as he said this, I felt something in me break free, and I realized it was a tension that had been present since the moment the man from the Center for Design and Complexity had first called—I had been found out. It was the same strange feeling I’d experienced the day Fred Zimmer called me into his office to confront me with the plagiarism charges.
Eric placed a friendly hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Professor,” he said. “I want to share an opportunity with you. I represent a client who is in a position to fund research into global temperature and climate patterns. This is a pressing issue that will likely dominate energy policy discussions in the years to come.”
“Well, as I’ve explained to the organizers of the conference, my research focus is far afield from—”
“What you’ve done in the past is not important.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me ask you a question: If I were to say that a free society requires open discussion of all sides of an issue, would you agree with that statement?”
“Naturally,” I replied.
“Would you also agree that it has a chilling effect on science when those whose ideas go against the grain are demonized by fellow scientists?”
“Of course, though I suppose it depends on what you mean by—”
“My client is concerned about the fact that climate scientists are intentionally suppressing alternative findings regarding global climate fluctuations. He also believes the political response to climate issues should be based on sound science, not alarmism or emotions. As a scientist—even a disgraced one—you surely agree.”
The barb stung, and gave the conversation a different tone. “Forgive me, Eric, but, again, I feel compelled to point out that while I find the discussion on global warming fascinating—”
“We prefer to use the term climate change. It provokes less emotion than global warming. Global warming is scary. We don’t want to scare people.”