Page 26 of Cooper

For a heartbeat, the crowd did not react. Translators repeated the announcement, organizers checked the wording on their phones, and elders conferred beneath a canvas shelter to decide whether the statement was a genuine retreat or only a pause.

When confirmation arrived that the machinery would remain idle and the permits would be reconsidered, a roar swept across the plain. Drums struck faster, flags surged overhead, and people embraced strangers whose languages they did not share.

No one called it a final victory. Spokespeople reminded reporters that a suspension could be reversed, that damagedland would still need restoration, and that meaningful consent required more than a meeting held after contracts were signed.

They demanded independent water testing, public access to assessments, protection of wildlife corridors, and a formal place for Indigenous authorities in every decision. They also asked international supporters to remain attentive after the camera crews left.

As evening settled, reporters recorded their final live segments beneath a sky turning copper and violet. Field producers shouted time cues above the wind, technicians wiped dust from lenses, and correspondents summarized the day while fresh footage rolled behind them on studio screens around the world.

The satellite dishes remained pointed upward, the stopped rig stood squarely in every closing shot, and the accumulated coverage had made the remote plateau impossible for officials or investors to ignore.

Fires were lit in metal braziers, food was passed through the encampment, and watch groups prepared to stay through the night. Around them, thousands of voices continued in prayer, conversation, and song, guarding the silence of the machines and the uncertain promise that the earth beneath them would remain unbroken.

On a distant hill five men stood with knowing smirks plastered across their faces. Trak, Zeke, Kiel, Joseph, and Nathan felt pride at the thousands of people below joining together to preserve the lands of people they didn’t know.

“We did a good thing,” whispered Zeke. “It might be the only thing that compares to my pride for my son.” Trak gave a short nod, staring at the other indigenous men beside him.

“It won’t last forever. If we can’t prove that they’re digging for something else, or that they’re breaking a law, they could start again.” Zeke looked at the other men and nodded.

“Then I guess we’re camping out for the next few days.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“That son-of-a-bitch! That fucking, rotten, no-good piece of goodie-two-shoes piece of shit!” yelled Myles staring at Admiral Hamilton and other military leaders.

“We can’t prove they had anything to do with it. The airlines were commercial airlines and each person paid for their own ticket,” said Hamilton. “Even they don’t have that kind of money.”

“Bullshit! You and I both know they did this. Everything is stalled. Everything. If they find out what’s really in those mines we lose it all.”

“Geological surveys have already been published verifying that it’s simply shale resources,” said another man in the room.

“And you think they won’t have the ears of every surveying company in the world right now? Anything those damn Indians want, they’ll give them,” said Myles.

“They’re not all Indians,” frowned Hamilton.

“I don’t give a fuck if they’re flying frogs from Fargo,” he sneered, slamming his fist on the table. “I want them dead.”

“And just how do you propose thousands of people protesting that site suddenly die? Anything you do will destroy the site and destroy our operation. We can’t send in the military, the fucking Argentine president is already scared shitless of what might surface in all of this. We’ve lost dozens of local authorities, not wanting anything to do with the protests. These people have the ear of the people, not just in Argentina but across the world!” said another public leader.

“I think we need to back off,” said the man sitting silently at the head of the table. “I think it’s time we leave this one alone.”

“But, Mr. President, we need these resources. It’s one of the richest mines known to man and they have no damn clue what they’re sitting on. We need this and we need to get down there and take care of things,” said Senator Myles.

“Charlie, I won’t argue on this. Withdraw our people immediately,” said the President, standing to leave.

“Forgive me, Mr. President, but I will not,” said the arrogant senator. The POTUS turned giving him a death stare that left his intentions unmistaken. “We are all neck deep in this. All of us. You force us to remove our resources and you’ll be just as likely to hang as any of us. And I will damn sure not hang alone.”

“Threaten me again, Charlie and you won’t live to see daylight. I won’t have a problem dropping you in the Potomacand making sure your body is never recovered. And those two daughters you have? In college aren’t they? It would be a shame if something happened to them. University campuses can be so dangerous these days.”

“I will make sure the world knows you were behind this,” he said seething through his clenched jaw.

He’d made a mistake. A mistake that he wouldn’t be able to correct. He wouldn’t be alive to correct. He felt the blade slide easily between his ribs, draining his lungs of their content, the air in his body.

No one can prepare you for that feeling. The feeling of not being able to breathe, not being able to suck in enough air to actually stand upright and take another breath, then another.

“Thank you, Admiral Hamilton,” said the POTUS. “Let’s give this thing a few days to die down and then we’ll see where we stand.”

“What about the woman? The one who owns the land?” he asked.