Uncharacteristically, Morton did not join in. Instead, he slumped in the back of the plane, looking irritable and gloomy. Evans sat beside him, keeping him company. Morton was drinking straight vodka. He was already on his second.
"I brought the papers cancelling your grant," Evans said, taking them out of his briefcase. "If you still want to do this."
"I do." Morton scribbled his signature, hardly looking at the documents. He said, "Keep those safe until tomorrow." He looked back at his guests, who were now trading statistics on species loss as the rain forests of the world were cut down. Off to one side, Ted Bradley, the actor who played the president, was talking about how he preferred his electric car--which, he pointed out, he had owned for many years now--to the new hybrids that were so popular. "There's no comparison," he was saying. "The hybrids are nice, but they're not the real thing."
At the center table, Ann Garner, who sat on the boards of environmental organizations, was arguing that Los Angeles needed to build more public transportation so that people could get out of their cars. Americans, she said, belched out more carbon dioxide than any other people on the planet, and it was disgraceful. Ann was the beautiful wife of a famous attorney, and always intense, especially on environmental issues.
Morton sighed. He turned to Evans. "Do you know how much pollution we're creating right this minute? We'll burn four hundred fifty gallons of aviation fuel to take twelve people to San Francisco. Just by making this trip, they're generating more pollution per capita than most people on the planet will generate in a year."
He finished his vodka, and rattled the ice in the glass irritably. He handed the glass to Evans, who dutifully signaled for more.
"If there's anything worse than a limousine liberal," Morton said, "it's a Gulfstream environmentalist."
"But George," Evans said. "You're a Gulfstream environmentalist."
"I know it," Morton said. "And I wish it bothered me more. But you know what? It doesn't. Ilike flying around in my own airplane."
Evans said, "I heard you were in North Dakota and Chicago."
"I was. Yes."
"What'd you do there?"
"I spent money. A lot of money. Alot. "
Evans said, "You bought some art?"
"No. I bought something far more expensive than art. I bought integrity."
"You've always had integrity," Evans said.
"Oh, not my integrity," Morton said. "I bought somebody else's."
Evans didn't know what to say to that. For a minute he thought Morton was joking.
"I was going to tell you about it," Morton continued. "I got a list of numbers, kid, and I want you to get it to Kenner. It is very much--for later. Hello, Ann!"
Ann Garner was coming toward them. "So, George, are you back for a while? Because we need you here now. The Vanutu lawsuit, which thank God you are backing, and the climate change conference that Nick has scheduled, and it's so important--my God, George. This is crunch time."
Evans started to stand to let Ann take his seat, but Morton pushed him back down again.
"Ann," he said, "I must say you look more lovely than ever, but Peter and I are having a small business discussion."
She glanced at the papers, and Evans's open briefcase. "Oh. I didn't know I was interrupting."
"No, no, if you'd just give us a minute."
"Of course. I'm sorry." But she lingered. "This is so unlike you, George, doing business on the plane."
"I know," Morton said, "but, if you must know, I am feeling quite unlike myself these days."
That made her blink. She didn't know how to take it, so she smiled, nodded, and moved away. Morton said, "She looks wonderful. I wonder who did her work."
"Her work?"
"She's had more, in the last few months. I think eyes. Maybe chin. Anyway," he said, waving his hand, "about the list of numbers. You are to tell this to no one, Peter. No one. Not anyone in the law firm. And especially not anyone at--"
"George, damn it, why are you hiding back there?" Evans looked over his shoulder and saw Ted Bradley coming toward them. Ted was already drinking heavily, though it was only noon. "It hasn't been the same without you, George. My God, the world without Bradley is a boring world. Oops! I mean, without George Morton, is a boring world. Come on, George. Get up out of there. That man is a lawyer. Come and have a drink."
Morton allowed himself to be led away. He glanced over his shoulder at Evans. "Later," he said.
SAN FRANCISCO
MONDAY, OCTOBER 4
9:02 P. M.
The Grand Ballroom of the Mark Hopkins Hotel was darkened for the after-dinner speeches. The audience was elegant, the men in tuxedos, the women in ball gowns. Beneath the ornate chandeliers, the voice of Nicholas Drake boomed from the podium.