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Food had been brought in while they talked-a capacious platter of hot meat pies and, in large earthenware dishes, mashed potatoes and zucchini. Two china jugs held steaming gravy.
"Pile in!" Teresa Van Buren commanded. "It's bunkhouse food, but good for gourmands."
As the group began helping itself, appetites sharpened by the mountain air, the tensions of a moment earlier eased. When the first course was eaten, a half-dozen freshly baked apple pies appeared, accompanied by a gallon of ice cream and several pots of strong coffee.
"I'm sated," Los Angeles Times announced at length. He leaned back from the table, patted his belly and sighed. "Better talk some shop, Tess, while we're still awake."
The TV man who had mixed Nim's drink now asked him, "How many years are these geysers good for?"
Nim, who had eaten sparingly, took a final sip of black, unsweetened coffee, then pushed his cup away. "I'll answer that, but let's clear up something first. What we're sitting over are fumaroles, not geysers.
Geysers send up boiling water with steam; fumaroles, steam only much better for driving turbines. As to how long the steam will last, the truth is: no one knows. We can only guess."
"So guess," Nancy Molineaux said.
"Thirty years minimum. Maybe twice that. Maybe more."
New West said, "Tell us what the bell's going on down there in that crazy teakettle."
Nim nodded. “The earth was once a molten mass-gaseous and liquid. When it cooled, a crust formed which is why we're living here and now and not frying. Down inside, though-twenty miles down it's as damned hot as ever and that residual heat sends up steam through thin places in the crust. Like here."
Sacramento Bee asked, "How thin is thin?"
"We're probably five miles above the hot mass now. In that five miles are surface fractures where the bulk of the steam has collected.
When we drill a well we try to hit such a fracture."
"How many other places like this produce electricity?"
"Only a handful. The oldest geothermal generating plant is in Italy, near Florence. There's another in New Zealand at Wairakei, and others in Japan, Iceland, Russia. None is as big as California's."
“There's a lot more potential, though," Van Buren interjected. "Especially in this country," Oakland Tribune asked, "Just where?"
"Across the entire western United States," Nim answered. "From the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific."
"It's also one of the cleanest, non-polluting, safest forms of energy,"
Van Buren added. "And-as costs go nowadays-cheap."
"You two should do a soft-shoe routine," Nancy Molineaux said. "All right-two questions. Number one: Tess used the word 'safe.' But there have been accidents here. Right?"
All the reporters were now paying attention, most of them writing in notebooks or with tape recorders switched on.
"Right," Nim conceded. “There were two serious accidents, three years apart, each when wellheads blew. That is, the steam got out of control. One well we managed to cap. The other-'Old Desperado' it's known as-we never have entirely. There it is, over there."
He crossed to a window of the trailer and pointed to a fenced-in area a quarter mile away. Inside the fence, steam rose sporadically at a dozen points through bubbling mud. Outside, large red signs warned: EXTREME DANGER-KEEP AWAY. The others craned to see, then returned to their seats.
"When Old Desperado blew," Nim said, "for a mile around it was raining hot mud, with rocks cascading down like hail. It did a lot of damage.
Muck settled on power lines and transformers, shorting everything, putting us out of action for a week. Fortunately, it happened at night when few people were at work and there were only two injuries, no deaths. The second blowout, of another well, was less severe. No casualties."
"Could Old Desperado ever blow again?" the stringer for small-town papers inquired.
"We believe not. But, like everything else to do with nature, there's no guarantee."
“The point is," Nancy Molineaux insisted, "there are accidents."
"Accidents happen everywhere," Nim said tersely. “The point Tess was making, correctly, is that the incidence is low. What's your second question?"
"It's this: Assuming everything the two of you have said is true, why isn't geothermal more developed?"
"That's easy," New West offered. “They'll blame environmentalists."
Nim countered sharply, "Wrong! Okay, Golden State Power has had its differences with environmentalists, and will probably have more. But the reason geothermal resources haven't been developed faster is-politicians. Specifically, the U. S. Congress."
Van Buren shot Nim a warning look which he ignored.
"Hold it!" one of the TV correspondents said. "I'd like some of this on film. If I make notes now, will you do it again outside?"
"Yes," Nim agreed. "I will."
"Christ!" Oakland Tribune protested. "Us real reporters will settle for once around. Let's cut the crap and get on!"
Nim nodded. "Most of the land which should have been explored, long ago, for geothermal potential is federal government property."
"In which states?" someone asked.
"Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico. And lots more sites in California."
Another voice urged, "Keep going!" Heads were down, ball-points racing.
"Well," Nim said, "it took a full ten years of Congressional do-nothing, double-talk and politics before legislation was passed which authorized geothermal leasing on public lands. After that were three more years of delay while environmental standards and regulations got written. And even now only a few leases have been granted, with ninety percent of applications lost in bureaucratic limbo."
"Would you say," San lose Mercury prompted, "that during all this time our patriotic politicians were urging people to conserve power, pay higher fuel costs and taxes, and be less dependent on imported oil?"
Los Angeles Times growled, "Let him say it. I want a direct quote."
"You have one," Nim acknowledged. "I accept the words just used."
Teresa Van Buren broke in firmly. "That's enough! Let's talk about Fincastle Valley. We'll all be driving there as soon as we're finished here."
Nim grinned. "Tess tries to keep me out of trouble, not always succeeding. Incidentally, the helicopter's going back shortly; I'm staying with you through tomorrow. Okay-Fincastle." He produced a map from a briefcase and pinned it to a bulletin board.
"Fincastle-you can see it on the map-is two valleys over to the east.
It's unoccupied land and we know it's a geothermal area. Geologists have advised us there are spectacular possibilities-for perhaps twice the electric power being generated here. Public hearings on our Fincastle plans are, of course, to begin soon."
Van Buren asked, "May I. . . . ?"
Nim stepped back and waited.
"Let's spell out something loud and clear," the PR director told the group. "In advance of the bearings we aren't trying to convert you, or to undercut the opposition. We simply want you to understand what's involved, and where. Thanks, Nim."
"A piece of gut information," Nim continued, "about Fincastle-and also Devil's Gate which we'll visit tomorrow-is this: they represent a Niagara of Arab oil which America will not have to import. Right now our geothermal setup saves ten million barrels of oil a year. We can triple that if . . ."
The briefing, with its information and cross-examination, leavened by badinage, rolled on.
15
The pale blue envelope bore a typewritten address which began:
NIMROD GOLDMAN, ESQUIRE-PERSONAL
A note from Nim's secretary, Vicki Davis, was clipped to the envelope. It read:
Mr. London, himself, put this through the mailroom metal detector. He says it's okay for you to open.
Vicki's note was satisfactory on two counts. It meant that mail arriving at GSP & L headquarters and marked "persona!” (or "private and confidential," as the recent letter bombs had been) was being handled warily. Also, a newly installed detection device was being used.
Something else Nim had become aware of: Since the traumatic day on which Harry London had almost certainly saved the lives of Nim and Vicki Davis, London appeared to have appointed himself Nim's permanent protector. Vicki, who nowadays regarded the Property Protection Department bead with something close to veneration, co-operated by sending him an advance daily schedule of Nim's appointments and movements. Nim had learned of the arrangement accidentally and was unsure whether to be grateful, irritated or amused.
