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    Northstar
    Northstar
    Northstar
    Ebook298 pages4 hours

    Northstar

    By Debra Milligan

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    About this ebook

    High in the Sierra Nevada, fiery Shannon Caine and opinionated Thomas Martel share two passions: completion of Northstar Dam and personal independence. When the uneasy alliance between these two headstrong professionals flares into love, they fight stubbornly to retain their independence until a corrupt politician threatens the dam, their love, and finally Shannon’s life.

    NORTHSTAR is set in Truckee before the old railroad town became a Bay Area tourist trap, and before Sacramento claimed a “skyline.” The action takes place decades before the rapid over-development of real estate during the subprime era in Truckee and Sacramento. As such, NORTHSTAR is somewhat historic in its perspective.

    The novel tells the story of Shannon Caine, a young woman who seeks independence, love, and stability. Denying these needs, she plunges her energies into her work as an engineer at Northstar Dam. This civil works project is threated by environmentalists and the corrupt politician Adam Van Tress, the man who initially championed the dam. Shannon is mentored and endearingly guided by the old geologist at the dam, Gus Corrigan. He becomes the one person to whom she turns in her more troubled moments.

    To achieve her goals of self-determination and love, Shannon must first survive the trial by fire at the hands of State Senator Adam Van Tress. She then begins to reclaim her ravaged self and discover the true love with Thomas Martel, the man who has proven helpless to steer her away from a harrowing, destructive path.

    The fate of Northstar Dam remains unknown, but the fates of Shannon Caine and Thomas Martel are more certain because of the truths that each learns. These truths will set them free to love, even if the dam remains bound and chained by lawsuits.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDebra Milligan
    Release dateSep 1, 2012
    ISBN9781476386973
    Northstar
    Author

    Debra Milligan

    Debra Milligan is a novelist, essayist, poet, and short story writer. She is fluent in French and has varied interests in the fine arts, architecture, history of all kinds, music, horses, hounds, the Golden Age of Hollywood, quilting, fashion, and gardening.

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      Book preview

      Northstar - Debra Milligan

      Northstar

      By Debra Milligan

      Copyright 2012 Debra Milligan

      Smashwords Edition

      ~~~~****~~~~

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your very own copy.

      ~~~~****~~~~

      Table of Contents

      Dedication

      Part 1 - The Sierra

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Part Two - River City

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Part Three - Homecoming

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      ~~~~****~~~~

      DEDICATION

      For my father

      ~~~~****~~~~

      Part One

      THE SIERRA

      Chapter 1

      The road was shiny black beneath her wheels. Shannon Caine mounted the ramp to the freeway, heading west on Interstate 80. The silver studs on the green sign gleamed in the headlights of her black '65 Mustang.

      Truckee. Shannon read the sign with determination. She was heading home. She was leaving Reno, leaving him.

      Midnight on Friday was dark and desolate along this stretch of the interstate. Shannon turned on the car radio to feel less alone. Then she shifted gears. Thunder cracked the sky. A summer storm was moving into the Sierra Nevada. Shannon sped on.

      That no-good-for-nothing, two-timing, double-dealing card shark, she thought as her foot pressed harder on the accelerator. He did it to me again.

      Shannon changed lanes and passed up a tractor trailer. Then her big green eyes widened suddenly.

      She’d forgotten her earrings.

      That wench she’d found in bed with him had had the nerve to be wearing the expensive gold hoops that belonged to Shannon who’d forgotten them the previous weekend. Shannon had charged out of the ranch house without those earrings. She was going to have a hard time replacing those 18-karat gold hoops. They were from her high school sweetheart.

      She turned up the radio. There was an ambulance somewhere and that insistent siren was drowning out her favorite song by Johnny Cash. The siren grew closer and closer, louder and louder. Shannon glanced to her left, and her heart skipped a beat. Her foot jerked off the accelerator. She steered her Mustang to the shoulder of the freeway.

      As she rolled down her window, she saw the reddened face of a highway patrolman. His face met her face.

      Didn’t you hear me?

      No.

      The officer looked harder at Shannon and saw, through the darkness, the teardrops on her young face.

      Do you know that you were going eighty miles an hour?

      No, sir. I didn’t know that.

      The officer looked, exasperated, at this young woman. You coming home from a party or something?

      No, sir. I don’t go to parties.

      The officer hitched his belt and scratched his head. Well, he sighed, I’m not gonna ask you to get out of the car. But I do need to see your driver’s license.

      Shannon pulled her license from her wallet and handed it to the officer. He looked at the license, then at the small, tender, heart-shaped face of this female. Says here you’re twenty-six years old. Is that true?

      Why would I lie about my age?

      The officer glared at Shannon and patted his holster. What are you doing, alone, on this stretch of the road, at this time of the night?

      I was visiting a sick friend. A very sick friend.

      Oh. The officer softened his stare. And you’re on your way home?

      I sure am.

      The officer once more studied the face of this young woman. She could be my kid sister, he thought.

      Okay, young lady. I’m not gonna write you up this time. I’m gonna give you a warning. You drive a lot more slowly on your way home. And be careful. I don’t wanna have to find you later tonight, splattered all over the road at the stateline.

      Yes, sir. I’ll be more careful.

      His eyes leveled with hers.

      And, Shannon blushed, I’ll remember, sixty-five is the speed limit.

      The officer handed her the license and turned away. Shannon sighed. He sure had nice blue eyes. Too bad he’s a blond, she thought. She just didn’t go for blonds.

      She waited until the officer had driven away, and then she turned on the radio. Damn, that song was over.

      As she pulled out onto the interstate, Shannon told herself that she should have shot that man in Reno, just for the sheer pleasure of watching him die. Only problem was, she didn’t own a gun.

      ~~~~****~~~~

      Chapter 2

      Senator Adam Van Tress knotted his striped tie as he stared out of his twelfth-floor window. Across the street, people scampered like robots on the grassy grounds of the California State Capitol. It was, for Senator Van Tress, another noon, another Monday, another day of one-hundred-degree heat in Sacramento. He looked at the green spiky leaves of a palm tree and thought,

      This is becoming too much of a habit.

      Well, Senator. How’s the heat?

      Van Tress turned and glanced at Sheila Jensen, the thirty-five-year-old capitol correspondent for KCAP-TV, the top-rated local news station. Her breasts protruded sloppily from her tight red bra. The senator didn’t like her breasts. Their pointy, brown nipples always seemed to stare ominously at him. He wished that she would hurry up and get dressed.

      I’ll see you this weekend? At the press club’s barbeque?

      No.

      Sheila’s round brown eyes widened. But you promised me!

      I know. I lied.

      Sheila stared at the senator. Adam realized that he disliked her face. With her broad nose and flared nostrils, she looked, especially when angry, like a pig.

      Muriel and I are visiting my daughter this weekend, the senator jutted his jaw, At her college. Adam smiled, lying yet again.

      Oh.

      Sheila rubbed her breasts against the senator. Adam almost chuckled at the difference in height between the reporter and himself. At six and a half feet, he towered over her fleshy, broad body that barely reached five feet. His hand moved down her back and squeezed her big bottom. But, he thought, it’s not her height that I like.

      You should go now.

      Adam picked up a sleeveless red dress from the carpet and tossed it to Sheila. She quickly slipped into the dress and then she ran a brush through her short, curly black hair. She glanced in the oval mirror by the door. Her lipstick hadn’t even been smudged.

      Adam has a thing, she thought, about not kissing me.

      Sheila sighed and turned to him. He pitched a black velvet purse to her and winked. She smiled as she moved to the front door. Adam grabbed her wrist.

      Use the back door. It’s safer that way.

      Smiling, Sheila slipped out of the door at the rear of the office. The more clandestine their affair felt to her, the more excited she became. She did not know, as she trotted down the carpeted hallway to the elevator, that it wasn’t safety Senator Adam Van Tress wanted; it was anonymity. Sheila Jensen slept with any state senator she could cover.

      Adam locked the door. He decided that the next time that he saw Sheila he’d tell her that Muriel had found out about them. It was, he thought, the easiest way to get rid of her.

      The senator stuck out his long jaw and scratched it. He’d grown a beard these past two weeks. He studied his hair in the oval mirror and debated whether or not to shave. Gray hairs poked out at random from the reddish brown stubble. He didn’t like the gray spikes. He was nearing fifty and his hair, though thinning, was still completely auburn.

      Why, Adam asked himself, would his facial hair grow in partly gray? He rubbed his long, freckled fingers over his neck and chin. Tomorrow, he thought, I’ll shave.

      His phone buzzed. Adam strode across the room. His long legs reached his large mahogany desk in less than two steps. He pressed the intercom button.

      I’m back from lunch, Senator, a matronly voice evenly fluctuated.

      Thank you, Beverly. I’m going to run down to Tootsie’s for a quick sandwich. I should be back in fifteen minutes. Adam twisted his gold wristwatch to his flashing hazel eyes. If Herbert Chopin arrives before then, please tell him I’m still in committee across the street.

      The senator depressed the intercom button and, with a sharp jerk of his head, looked quickly around the room. The two wing chairs that were usually in front of the desk had been shoved against the bookcase at the other side of the room. Adam lifted each chair with one quick motion and set it back into its carpet markings. Then he lunged toward the front door and gently, soundlessly unlocked it. He quickly slid his long arms through the sleeves of his tan suit jacket.

      Like a stealthy thief, Senator Adam Van Tress slipped out of his office through the back door.

      At her post outside of the senator’s office, Beverly Rodriguez primped her short silver hair which was newly cut and permed. The short top and long back of her hair; and her big, slightly protruding, watery blue eyes gave her the appearance of a poodle. She sat down at her desk, and she saw a new stack of handwritten correspondence to be typed.

      If only, Beverly sighed, The senator would stop working through lunch and eat a decent meal, he wouldn’t look so haggard.

      Beverly clicked on her computer and then turned at the sound of the double wooden doors opening into the room. She coolly observed a portly man approaching her.

      Good afternoon, Beverly sweetly smiled. May I help you?

      I am Dr. Herbert Chopin. I expect to see Senator Van Tress at one o’clock.

      Beverly stared at the man’s beady blue eyes. Dr. Herbert Chopin was even more haughty in person than he was on television. Still smiling, Beverly said,

      I’m afraid that the senator is still in committee at the Capitol. Would you care to wait?

      Chopin smiled as if in a toothpaste commercial. He was well aware that the California State Legislature was in session on Mondays. Committees, therefore, do not meet.

      I can wait, Chopin raised his thin silver eyebrows.

      Beverly efficiently turned to her computer. The visitor slowly lowered his tall pudgy body into a cushy, blood-red, chintz-upholstered chair.

      Dr. Herbert Chopin was used to waiting. His hallmark as a geologist was patience. He’d waited twenty years to become department chair at the University of California at Berkeley. He lectured his students that it was the duty of a geologist to realize the immense length of time in the history of the earth. For Herbert Chopin, waiting fifteen minutes for an errant state senator was a trifle compared to his daily excursions into geologic time.

      There was a sudden silence as Beverly’s short, nimble fingers stopped clicking in their race over her keyboard.

      May I get you some tea? Beverly thought that Dr. Chopin looked like a tea-drinker with his silver gray hair and neatly trimmed beard and moustache.

      Thank you, no.

      Chopin laid a thick, manicured hand on his burgundy leather briefcase. Beverly glanced at the large rings of perspiration under the sleeves of his blue seersucker suit, and then at his plump white face. He met her eyes. She smiled politely.

      The intercom buzzed.

      Beverly pressed the small button on her phone which connected her voice with the resonant bass of Senator Van Tress.

      Has Dr. Chopin arrived yet?

      Yes, Senator. He has.

      Please show him in.

      Beverly pressed her lips primly into an upward bow. Please follow me. Her hands motioned graciously to Chopin who took his time in rising from the chair. The senator sometimes takes the private elevator and bypasses me altogether!

      Chopin looked at the tiny secretary in her pastel pink suit. He gave Beverly his toothpaste smile and followed her down a short carpeted hallway to the office of Senator Adam Van Tress.

      Minutes later, Adam stared at the evenly colored moustache and beard of the professor who sat before him. Adam ran a gaunt freckled hand over his mottled stubble. He decided to shave that evening, before the fund-raiser for his upcoming re-election.

      Dr. Chopin eyed the senator with a disgusted envy that he did not wish to conceal. The professor was, at that moment, recalling a television debate almost four years earlier on the proposed start of construction of Northstar Dam. Chopin now stared glumly at Senator Van Tress. He realized that the sharp, angular features of the politician created his credible image on television. His own doughy face looked flat, imageless. Television conveyed that reality to the public, just as it conveys any reality it chooses to the public.

      The senator’s charisma in that debate had won him, one month later, a third term in the California State Senate. The fate of Northstar Dam seemed to also have been blissfully sealed that night.

      The two men sat in silence, staring at each other’s facial hairs. The clear chimes of the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament, one block away on the K Street Mall, knelled listlessly. It was one thirty.

      Senator Van Tress raised his sharply arched eyebrows, Well, Dr. Chopin—

      "That is Chop-in, not Show-pan."

      Excuse me, Adam smirked, and then dropped his smile. Dr. Chopin. Play ball.

      You must act immediately to stop the construction of Northstar Dam. Chopin sat bolt upright in his chair. His voice, with its Midwestern accent, perfectly enunciated each syllable.

      Dr. Chopin, Adam exhaled a laugh. The Bureau of Dams has complied with every environmental complaint and demand from your group. The senator tossed a massive bony hand into the air to dismiss the environmental group which Professor Herbert Chopin, Ph.D formed ten years earlier to halt the construction of Northstar Dam.

      This dam jeopardizes more than the environment, Senator. The lives of thousands of people downstream of the dam are at stake.

      Panic tactics, Van Tress thought. He eased back against the tufted burgundy leather of his wing chair. Do you have any proof to back up your statement?

      I have documented evidence, Chopin trumpeted. Two faults exist in the area of the proposed lake. Those faults will become active once the reservoir is filled.

      And just where is this evidence?

      Here.

      Dr. Chopin unlatched the heavy briefcase in his lap. He hoisted a thick report the size of a phone book. He set it on the glossy wood of the senator’s desk and felt his right eyelid twitch. He quickly blinked to stop the spasm.

      Van Tress stuck out a long arm and wrapped his thin freckled fingers around the thick binding of the report. The pale skin of his prominent forehead furrowed. His closet-set eyes narrowed at the title: Reservoir-Induced Seismicity.

      Adam noted that the report had been prepared by the Committee on Seismology and Earthquake Engineering at the University of California at Berkeley. The chairman of the committee was Herbert R. Chopin, Ph.D, Geology.

      Senator Van Tress rubbed his long, crooked nose and laughed. It will take me a while to get through this.

      You may rely on the able assistance of your staff, Dr. Chopin dryly intoned.

      The eyes of the senator were now a fiery amber, like the eyes of a tiger. He stared menacingly at the beady translucent blue eyes of the professor. Adam jabbed a long, index finger at the tome. Then his large, broad mouth opened suddenly in a crooked smile.

      I believe my staff will prove as helpful to me as yours has to you.

      Van Tress eyed the wet stains on the seersucker suit, and then the plump, blushing cheeks and protruding ears of this geology professor. The senator was reminded of a bartender at the Torch Club, the local watering hole for lobbyists and legislators. Van Tress dropped his crooked smile.

      For now, professor, would you summarize the danger, as you see it, at Northstar Dam?

      Chopin twisted his reedlike silver moustache. He then twisted his neck against the wet collar of his limp white shirt. He suddenly felt cold in the air-conditioned office. He coughed and then he addressed the senator as if delivering a lecture.

      The impounding of water behind a large dam, such as Northstar Dam, can trigger earthquakes on a fault previously thought inactive.

      Trigger?

      Yes. Trigger. As on a gun.

      The professor raised his pudgy face. Adam wore a poker face as his mind raced to remember a briefing he’d been given on faults at Northstar Dam. The briefing occurred three years earlier, just before he went on the air for the debate, and while his makeup was being done. Adam vaguely recalled one of those engineers from the Bureau of Dams saying that the faults at Northstar were inactive.

      But how, Adam asked himself, can anyone predict when a fault is going to act up?

      Just how does the trigger go off? Adam eyed the professor.

      Chopin shifted in his wet suit. One cause is the weight of the impounded water on the fault. Another cause is the apparent instability along the fault itself during rapid emptying of the reservoir. The introduction of water into the fault lubricates it—

      Lubricates? Adam snickered.

      Yes, Dr. Chopin sighed. Lubricates. As in Vaseline.

      Adam dropped his smile. Continue.

      The introduction of water into the fault lubricates the fault and lowers the friction forces which render the fault instable.

      In short? Senator Van Tress snapped.

      In short, Dr. Chopin exhaled, The instability increases until there is movement along the fault. In short, the professor exhaled, An earthquake.

      But all of this speculation is highly unlikely, Adam waved his hand.

      The likelihood of such an event can neither be counted nor discounted. The earthquake could occur the day after the reservoir is filled, or ten years later. But make no mistake about it, Senator. An earthquake will occur at Northstar Dam. You can bet your next election on it.

      Adam watched the professor smugly smile. He smiled back and then he gazed off into the distance. He placed his hands at the back of his long, thin neck, and leaned back in his chair. His arms stuck out like the wings of an eagle. His Adam’s apple looked like an uncomfortable knot in his throat as he raised his dilating eyes to the ceiling.

      The senator thought of his re-election, and the election that he planned after that one, for the U.S. Senate.

      Dr. Chopin coughed and clutched the briefcase in his lap. I do believe, Senator Van Tress, that you have an upcoming re-election.

      Adam dropped his arms and straightened in his chair. He stared at the shifting blue eyes of this professor. The senator felt assured an easy re-election. He was, after all, running against a schoolteacher, of all things. As Adam eyed the portly professor, he realized the depth of the dedication of a teacher to his profession, and to his chosen field of study.

      This guy will stop at nothing to stop Northstar Dam, Adam thought. He could generate a lot of bad press.

      You are correct, Dr. Chopin. I expect to win re-election handily. Van Tress jutted his jaw and leaned back once more in his chair. He placed his hands, like loose ropes, around his neck and smiled.

      Chopin donned his toothpaste smile. Please understand, Senator. This information could prove quite timely to you, and to your constituents. The professor raised his eyebrows. "I can just see the headline: Senator Failed to Warn Public of Earthquake Danger."

      Chopin shook his head in mock sorrow.

      Adam placed his fisted hands on the dustless top of his desk. His large mouth opened in a vicious smile. His mottled, hairy, gaunt jaw jutted at Chopin. The senator realized that here before him was the infamous geologist from Berkeley who, ten years ago, had tried to stop the filling of Jackson Reservoir in central California. He chained himself to a rock which was in the path of the oncoming water. His efforts were for naught. A federal court order removed Chopin, but not without a fight.

      My constituents need this dam, Dr. Chopin. Without Northstar Dam, flooding on the Bodie River is a given. Your theoretical earthquake has no basis in fact. Adam brushed a piece of lint from his trouser. I doubt that such earthquakes have even occurred.

      Oh, but they have, Senator.

      Where?

      Europe, China, India—

      But not in the United States or in California.

      "If you read the report, you will see that Hoover Dam has experienced reservoir-induced seismicity. Chopin’s voice assumed its lecturing tone. A dam in northern California has also experienced a series of earthquakes for the same reason. That dam, incidentally, is the same size as Northstar Dam. That is, should Northstar Dam be completed."

      Senator Van Tress eyed his visitor. His cavernous, close-set eyes looked like huge greenish-gold marbles. They scanned the spacious room while his jaw tightened. He wanted to know the name of this dam in northern California, but he refused to ask it of this priggish professor.

      "I will have to examine

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