Chapter 8

The grand opening of Upper New Everest and Everest Heights to the general public came with as much fanfare as the opening of Snyderville itself; perhaps even more so. Most of the available space had already been leased out and developed, and Snyder had already officially opened Upper New Everest with a small ribbon-cutting ceremony well over two years ago; an event that almost ended in disaster with Snyder’s heart attack. But all that was in the past. In order to keep the project going and on budget, the hype and PR was absolutely necessary for the recruitment of new investors. Everybody that was anybody was invited on a grand tour, beginning at Snyderville, working its way up to Lower New Everest, then, Upper New Everest, and finally to Everest Heights. However, that was not to be the final climax to the weeklong extravaganza, not by a long shot. The best was saved for last and had been kept well under wraps. The more mystery and intrigue, the better the hype and publicity. Reporters, like a pack of hungry wolves, drooled over whatever scraps of information and innuendos they could come up with to send back over the wires for worldwide dissemination. Snyder, Treinwood, and Lattimer all knew how to work them, just like virtuosos playing violins. People just couldn’t get enough of it. And Snyder, above all, saw to it that they always came back for more.

“Mr. Snyder, Mr. Snyder!” yells a news reporter from the throng of people underneath the ribbon and balloon-covered podium where Snyder is speaking at the central atrium in Snyderville.

Snyder points a finger at him. “Yes sir! What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Snyder,” the reporter says, “What finally brought things to a head here was when a certain news agency, which will remain unnamed, got a recent satellite shot of the top of Mount Everest. As we all know, when they zoomed in closer, they saw a sign about 30 feet in diameter, covering the apex of the mountain with a huge question mark on it. Can you tell us exactly what that is supposed to mean, sir?”

A roar from the crowd ensues and pandemonium breaks out. Snyder chuckles, and holds his hands out as if to calm everyone down. Snyder was the quintessential showman.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he says.

The uproar and chaos continues. Snyder steps back from the microphone, bows to the crowd, and continues smiling at them. He turns to look at the other panelists on the stage, raising his shoulders with hands upturned with a sheepish grin on his face, pretending not to know what to do next. Finally, he steps back up onto the podium as if ready to speak and continues gazing out at the delirious crowd. Lowering his head, he smiles and shakes it slowly back and forth. Snyder is loving every minute of this. The noise from the crowd begins to dissipate, which is Snyder’s cue to tap on the microphone to regain their attention.

“May I have everyone’s attention, please?” He hesitates as the noise begins to wind down and taps on the mike again. “Please, may I have everyone’s attention!”

The noise soon ceases and is replaced by an eerie silence of pin-drop quality. With hands firmly on the sides of the podium, Snyder squints and surveys the room, making sure all eyes are focused on him before he begins speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank all of you for coming out here today. And most of all, I want to thank you for your patience. I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay at Snyderville the last couple of days.” He smiles and raises his eyebrows. “It’s really changed a lot around here hasn’t it!?” he says grinning, nodding his head as he scans the crowd of over a thousand people. The audience roars with laughter and approval at the obvious understatement.

“Well, it ain’t over with yet! Snyderville’s not the only thing that’s changed around here in the last few years! There’s room enough to spare now at Lower and Upper New Everest and Everest Heights and we intend to get all of you up there together! Now, I know the main question on everyone’s mind here and around the world is simply this,” He cocks his head, looking up as if thinking to himself. “Just what the heck is going on at the top of Mount Everest?” A low rumble resonates from the crowd as people nod in affirmation, then, just as quickly, it dissipates. “All things in due course,” Snyder says. “When the time is right, everyone on the planet will get the opportunity to see exactly what is happening up there at exactly the same time!” A collective gasp pours from the crowd, followed by a cacophony of sounds as people begin talking among themselves.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he continues. “What on earth could anyone possibly build on top of Mount Everest? Well, folks, stick around. You may just learn something.” Snyder is baiting them, of course. He has no intention of letting the cat out of the bag right now. “Today and tomorrow, you’ll be visiting Lower New Everest. And believe me, it ain’t nothing like anything you’ve ever seen before! That trip, alone, is well worth you being up here this week. The next two days will be spent at Upper New Everest. And the last two days will be spent at Everest Heights which may include a grand unveiling of... oops!” His eyes suddenly open wide and he puts his hand to his mouth, as if to stifle his own words. “I think I’ve said enough already. Let’s get to it!” He steps off the podium, waving, as the crowd rises up suddenly, giving him a powerfully sustained, standing ovation.

After a moment, Jeff Lattimer walks to the podium, puts his hands on it, cranes his neck to survey the crowd, and begins trying to speak above the din.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says. The clapping and whooping continues. He waits until the noise begins to dissipate and people begin sitting back down. “We need groups one through five to take the shuttle bus down to the tram station.” The crowd hushes immediately and begins listening intently. “The other remaining groups need to wait until your numbers are called. Since we have intercoms all over Snyderville, I suggest you take a break at one of our many shops or entertainment facilities, or if you need to use the restroom, now would be a good time to do so. Thanks again for coming!” And with that, Lattimer retreats from the stage, which is now devoid of panelists.

It is early afternoon when the final group of VIP’s is finally loaded securely into the train. It begins pulling away slowly at first, then, rapidly picks up speed until it reaches 30 mph. After about 20 minutes it begins to slow down as it approaches the tram station leading to Lower New Everest. The passengers disembark through the airlock and are herded together into groups of 50. The first group enters the waiting gondola and is briskly whisked away. As it fades into the distance, the evening sunlight glances off its sides like a mirror, making it visible as a tiny speck of light just before it disappears behind the western edge of Changtse. About three minutes later, out of view, it enters the Lower New Everest tram depot just as the second descending gondola begins to slow down and dock with the Everest base camp tram depot. The door slides open and the next group enters for the ride of a lifetime. On it goes, well into the night until all of the passengers have arrived safely within the confines of Lower New Everest. Upon arrival, each group is transported by an electric shuttle bus to their assigned quarters. The rooms are both spacious, and luxurious. Each one has a wet bar and a hot tub in addition to a built-in kitchen, full bath, and sleeping quarters. Saunas, exercise rooms, and entertainment rooms are available in common areas. The rooms have an intercom and closed TV as well as access to a telephone, cable TV, movies, and the Internet. The occupants settle in for the night, in preparation for the grand tour of Lower New Everest in the morning.

“I’ll take one more gin and tonic bartender,” says the man sitting at a Lower New Everest bar, staring at a TV screen watching a rerun from a survivor show series. The bartender shrugs and complies with the request, bringing the man his fourth drink that evening. Another man walks up and sits down beside him.

“Well, how ya doing Don?!” the first man says to the newcomer.

Don replies, “I’m doing all right Cal, and how about yourself?”

“Oh, I’ll make it.”

Don senses that Cal is about three sheets to the wind. He notices the bartender staring at him and simply waves him away.

“Uh, listen Cal,” he says, “tomorrow’s gonna be a pretty big day, don’t you think maybe you oughta call it a night?”

Cal has his elbow on the table, resting the side of his head against the palm of his hand. “Hell no!” he responds. “What I need are some answers up here. And I’m not gonna get any laying on any bed!”

“You’re not gonna get any sitting in here getting plastered either!” Don admonishes him.

Cal turns to look at Don, eyes half-open, his head wobbling slightly.

“Lishen Don,” he says, his speech slurring. “I’m supposed to be a top notch reporter, right?”

“That’s the general consensus, Cal.”

“You’re supposed to be one too, right?”

“So they say, Cal.”

“Oh cut the humility crap, we both know who we are here.”

Don grabs Cal under the arm. “Come on pal, let’s get you home so you can earn your paycheck tomorrow!”

“I don wan to earn my paycheck tomorrow. I wan to earn it now!”

The bartender has stopped drying a glass and is staring at the two men. Don glares back briefly and continues trying to roust Cal from his seat.

“Come on old buddy, let’s get you home, ok?” Don has him almost up when Cal turns back around to face the TV screen. Still wobbling, he points a finger at it.

“You see that?” He turns to look at Don, who is trying hard not to drop him. “You see those people there? They think they’re some kinda survivor or somethin!”

Don pats him on the back and begins to shuffle him towards the door. The bartender watches as they leave, turns, shakes his head with disdain and continues back to work.

At the threshold, Cal suddenly turns around, pointing an accusing finger at the TV. He yells, “You people don know what survivin is!” He looks around the room, flailing his arms out. “None of you know what survivin is! None of you!” He turns back around, mumbles something to himself and lets his friend lead him out to an electric shuttle which carries them back to their rooms.

The intercom is loud and intrusive. Calvin Malone hops up abruptly in his bed, then, holding the side of his head, shuts his eyes in pain as he lies back down on his pillow, groaning. “Malone you idiot, when are you ever gonna grow up!” he mutters. Suddenly there is a loud knocking on the door. Malone pops back up in the bed only to feel the same jolt of pain passing through his cranium. Rubbing his head, eyes shut; he asks weakly, “Who is it?” A muffled voice replies, “It’s Don, Cal.”

“Don Mitchum?” Cal asks, his head still swimming.

“Yeah,” the voice replies, “I saved your butt last night, remember?” There is a moment of silence. “Open the door, Cal. It’s time to go!”

Cal struggles out of bed and shuffles over to the door, opening it just as Don is about to knock again.

Don looks at him, surprised. “You probably don’t remember a thing do you?”

Cal, still squinting from the light, waves him away in disgust and turns to go to the bathroom. Don invites himself in anyway. He surveys the room briefly. “Man, you really tied one on last night, didn’t you!”

Cal has his face down in the sink splashing water on it and fumbles for a towel. Head still bowed, he turns to look at Don, a question in his face. “What are you talking about?” he asks.

Don stares back in disbelief. Suddenly, the light of recognition sweeps over Cal’s face as he points at Don. “Oh yeah! I remember, now! You save my butt last night didn’t you!”

Don begins to laugh. “I sure as heck did! That barkeep was just about to throw you out on your ear!”

“Oh pooh!” Cal says softly, waving him off with a slight grin.

Suddenly the intercom crackles back to life. “The shuttle bus will be leaving for the main reception hall momentarily. Please board now!” Both men look at each other in alarm.

“Come on, grab a shirt and let’s get out of here, now!” Don says.

“I’m comin I’m comin!” Cal replies under his breath as he throws a shirt on and begins slapping on his shoes, hopping toward the door. He sees himself in the mirror. “Man oh man, I look like stomped you-know-what!”

“Come on Cal!” Don says, “I have a shaver you can use on the bus!” The two men run out the door trotting toward the bus, which is about 50 feet away, and beginning to move. Cal loses a shoe, picks it up and continues running.

“Hey! Wait up!” they shout, waving their arms. The driver slows down long enough for them to hop aboard and then picks up speed again. Once on board, both men breathe a sigh of relief and stretch back in their seats. Don taps Cal on the shoulder and hands him a shaver.

The main reception hall is a cavernous dome with a fifty-foot high ceiling. In spite of their best efforts at soundproofing the walls, there still seems to be a problem with reverberations.

“They need to put those sound tiles all the way up to the ceiling,” says Cal.

“Shuush,” Don says. “He’s getting ready to speak.”

Cal surveys the panelists on the platform in front of them. “Where’s Snyder?” Cal whispers. “I would think they would have to kill him to keep him from being here today!”

Don whispers back. “Snyder has a heart condition of some kind. I don’t think he can take the altitude up here.”

“I know what you mean,” says Cal. “A drink sure goes a long way up here!”

Don lowers his head and shakes it, snickering softly to himself. Suddenly the speakers blare out, echoing throughout the hall.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen!” It is Lattimer, substituting for Snyder. “Mr. Snyder is sorry he couldn’t be with you today. He has been convalescing from a heart attack and his doctor says the trip up here wouldn’t be good for him right now.” There is a hushed collective gasp followed by a sympathetic “aaaww”! “However, just as soon as the doctor says it’s ok, he’ll be right up here in the big thick middle of it!” There is a short round of applause. “Anybody having any trouble breathing, any light-headedness, nausea?” Lattimer asks. People look around the room at each other, speaking among themselves. About 25 people raise their hands slowly, followed by another 15. Lattimer nods his head in understanding. “There are oxygen masks in every room as well as in this hall and at every emergency phone. Although we are at an altitude of over 20,000 feet, Lower New Everest, like Snyderville, is pressurized to simulate a 5,000-foot elevation. For most people, this should not be a problem. However, everybody is different. If you stayed up here for about a week, most of the problems would disappear. But we’re only going to be here for a few days. So, if anybody feels they need to go back to their rooms or if you need an escort, please don’t be shy. We will certainly understand.” Lattimer pauses as everyone looks around the room again. No one takes him up on his offer. “Well, it’s always better to be safe than sorry,” he says. “Today is the grand tour of Lower New Everest. There will be a one to two hour guided tour followed by free time. Please be at the Upper New Everest tram station by three P.M. today. You can get there on one of the blue shuttle buses that drive by every 15 minutes.” Lattimer grins. “If you think you’re high up now, consider the fact that Upper New Everest is at a height of almost 25,000 feet!” Everyone gasps and shudders. “But don’t worry folks. We don’t expect you to breathe the air up there.” The audience responds with laughter. Lattimer grins sheepishly, realizing the absurdity of his statement. “What I meant to say is Upper New Everest is completely pressurized! It’s as easy to breathe up there as it is down here.” The audience responds with a resounding “ooooh!” Lattimer continues, “Before we begin the tour, are there any questions?”

Before anyone else can respond Calvin Malone throws up his hand and yells, “Mr. Lattimer, Mr. Lattimer!”

Lattimer points to him, “Yes sir?!”

“Mr. Lattimer...”

Lattimer interrupts him, “Actually it’s Dr. Lattimer, sir.”

Cal managing a patronizing smile nods his head sideways, “Dr. Lattimer” with a note of finality. After a brief hesitation, he resumes. “Mr. Latti... I mean, Lattimer. There are rumors circulating around that there have been quite a number of problems plaguing this project.”

Lattimer cocks his head and looks at Cal with a feigned look of puzzlement and concern on his face. “What kind of problems?” Lattimer asks.

“Well, problems like people dying for instance,” says Cal.

Lattimer looks at him with distaste. He has never cared for reporters. To him, they represent the rain on everybody else’s parade. He wishes Snyder was up here instead of him. Snyder would know how to handle this guy.

“We have had some casualties to be sure,” Lattimer replies, trying to retain his composure. “Although unfortunate, it is also understandable...” “Understandable?!” retorts Cal. A low hushed roar passes like a wave across the sea of faces beneath Lattimer.

Lattimer is getting nervous. “Let’s be realistic here,” he says. “You can’t expect anyone to take on a project of this magnitude without some risks.”

The roar from the crowd begins to increase. Lattimer becomes agitated and feels tiny beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He becomes shriller as he tries to compete with the noise in the chamber. “Ladies and gentlemen, please! May I have your attention for just a moment more!” The room begins to settle down.

Cal, arms crossed, looks at Lattimer defiantly. He cups his hands against his mouth to make a megaphone and yells loudly, “Answer the question, Mr. Lattimer!”

The roar from the crowd begins to increase again and Lattimer becomes alarmed. Suddenly, Richard Treinwood pops up from his seat and takes the microphone from Lattimer, who is more than willing to relinquish it at this point.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he says in his distinctly British accent. The change of personality catches everyone off guard and silence soon follows.

“Mr.,” he smiles at Lattimer and bows, “I mean,” he winks at the crowd, “Doctor Lattimer is not used to addressing such a large crowd.” The mood of the audience swiftly changes to mirth as Treinwood disarms the moment with a bit of deprecating humor at Lattimer’s expense. Lattimer is poker-faced, frozen in place. Treinwood looks at Lattimer. “Thank you, Dr. Lattimer,” he says smiling. “You may sit down now.” He begins clapping, encouraging the audience to join in as Lattimer slowly returns to his seat.

Calvin Malone is having none of it. He yells out again, “Sir...SIR!? He didn’t answer the question!”

Treinwood looks at Malone with dignified annoyance. “I will be more than happy to answer that question for you, sir,” he says defiantly. “You want to know if people have died up here? Am I correct on that point?”

Malone, exasperated, rolls his eyes and shakes his head, sighing at the seeming stupidity of the question. “That’s the general idea, sir,” he says in a mocking sardonic tone, nodding his head impatiently.

Treinwood sizes him up for a moment, then, begins to speak. “During the building of the Hoover Dam, did anyone die, sir?” Malone looks at Treinwood with obvious annoyance. “Has anyone ever died during our conquest of space?” he says, sweeping his hands out in an arc. Putting his hands on the side of the podium, he cocks his head and looks intently at Malone. “Tell me, sir. Can you think of a single monumental achievement by man in which no one, absolutely no one was ever injured or died in the process of obtaining victory?” He leans over the podium, looking intently at Malone. “You know what we call those kind of people Mr., Mr...”

Malone yells out, “MALONE, CAL MALONE.”

Treinwood nods his head and says, “Mr. Malone.” He looks down for a moment, then, regains eye contact with Malone. “I tell you what we call them, Mr. Malone. He hesitates to let the moment sink in.

We call them HEROS! THAT’S what WE call them!” as he pounds his fist on the podium. People begin to clap, cheer, and whistle. Treinwood raises his voice to be heard over the commotion. “And we have memorial plaques all over Mount Everest to commemorate their sacrifices!” When the cheering finally dies down, Treinwood leans over the podium to finish facing down Calvin Malone. “Just exactly what do YOU call them, Mr. Malone?” The room suddenly becomes very quiet. All eyes turn to see what Calvin Malone’s response will be.

He stands there for a moment, arms crossed, rising up and down slightly on his heels. His response is sudden and final. “I call them VICTIMS, sir!!”

The crowd gasps at his choice of words. Treinwood remains silent for a moment. It is obvious there will be no satisfying this man.

“Would you like to see what else these “victims” have accomplished up here, sir? Or is everything we’ve done irrelevant to your rather obvious agenda?”

A man from the audience speaks up. “Hey Malone, quit mouthing off, we wanna see the rest of the tour, OK?” Everyone else begins to join in as well. Malone is a pretty tough cookie. But this lynch mob mentality is too much, even for him. He keeps his mouth shut, for the time being.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Treinwood continues, smiling. He waves his hand toward one of the chamber exits. “Would you like to see the The crowd roars its approval. “Take your places on the shuttle buses and we’ll be on our way.” Treinwood and the other panelists step down from the podium, followed by a subdued Lattimer. They enter the first car of the bus as everybody else piles in. Soon all the shuttle buses are completely packed and the caravan begins moving out through one of the exits. One of the men sitting next to Malone looks at him with disapproval in his eyes.

“Why did you have to give Mr. Treinwood and that engineer such a hard time, Malone?”

Malone just shrugs. “Because it’s my job, that’s why. Unlike some of the other people around here, I don’t get paid just to be pleasant and have a good time.”

The man looks at him with concern. “That doesn’t mean you have to go looking for trouble does it?”

Malone looks straight ahead and replies. “That’s what reporters do, my man. Look for trouble in paradise.”

The caravan continues winding down the main corridor of Lower New Everest. People shout and wave to passersby as if they were on a tour bus in Disneyland. Lattimer notices this and is pleased by it. He looks over at Treinwood.

“Well, that “so and so” can say whatever he wants, the proof is in the pudding isn’t it.”

“Oh shut up, Lattimer!” Treinwood snaps, under his breath. “You almost blew it back there!”

Lattimer hesitates before responding. “Yeah, I guess I did at that. Thanks for bailing me out.”

Treinwood just grunts to himself and looks straight ahead. He has more important things on his mind right now. The lead shuttle bus starts slowing down and the other buses begin to pull in beside it. Treinwood hops out of his seat and onto the floor followed reluctantly by Lattimer. As he smiles at the crowd, he presses his hand firmly on Lattimer’s shoulder speaking discreetly under his breath.

“Can you handle this now, “Dr.” Lattimer?” he says sardonically, still smiling at the crowd. “I don’t want anyone else making fools of us twice in the same day.”

Lattimer brushes Treinwood off and straightens himself up. He’s a little tired of this “fool” business himself.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lattimer says with renewed excitement in his voice. Are you ready to go to Upper New Everest?”

The tram ride to Upper New Everest is an incredibly stunning adventure, even for sourpuss Calvin Malone. He tries to feign jaded indifference, but it is getting increasing more and more difficult not to be seduced by it all. The views through the five-foot diameter, six-inch thick acrylic windows regularly spaced in the roof of the tram tunnel are absolutely incredible. And in the moonlight, the snow-covered North Col, connecting Everest to its more diminutive sister, Changtse is as clear as if they were climbing the North Face itself! As usual, Lattimer had thought of “everything.” The tram ride to Upper New Everest had to be a “stand-alone” adventure. He made sure the acrylic portholes in the tunnel roof were not only safe from rock damage but also reasonably clear of ice, fog and snow. After all, the view, and hence the experience was only as good as the clarity of the portholes. This was taken care of with the same parabolic mirror microwave beam technology used to maintain the portholes in the cities on Everest. The mirrors, attached to the side of the tunnel near the portholes, continually scan every square inch of the acrylic plastic, turning on a highly concentrated beam of microwaves whenever the transparency of the porthole is being compromised by the slightest buildup of ice crystals or snow.

The tramcars are exquisitely designed. Passenger seating is stair-stepped to compensate for the steep contour of the tunnel. Each tram has three cars in tandem and each one is capable of carrying up to 50 passengers, all of whom are able to sit down and watch the view as the portholes swing by.

Snyder had wanted to include big screen TV’s on the trams but he was overruled by both Lattimer and Treinwood who considered this to be too distracting for the passengers. After all, they can watch TV at home.

It is late at night when the last of the passengers finally disembark at Upper New Everest. It has been a very long day for everybody. They are whisked away to their rooms where they make futile attempts at getting some sleep in preparation for a full day of events in the morning.

The next day seems like a repeat of yesterday, only higher up. The shuttle buses come in to ferry the passengers to the center of the city, and a hung-over Cal Malone almost misses his ride again. When the last of the shuttles arrive at the center of the city they find Jeff Lattimer waiting patiently.

After a while, the raucous crowd begins to settle down, focusing most of their attention on Lattimer. When he is sure they have his undivided attention, Lattimer walks confidently over to two, fifty-foot tall, stainless steel-covered columns that occupy the center of the intersection. He has a wireless microphone attached to him, which transmits directly to the intercoms placed all around Upper New Everest.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! May I direct your attention to these two large steel columns,” he says extending his arm, pointing his open hand at the structures.

Everyone gathers around in curious excitement. Even Malone is intrigued by them. Squinting, he places his thumb and forefinger under his chin as he studies them intently. His friend Don, raps him on the chest with the back of his hand.

“What do you suppose those are for?” Don whispers.

Malone continues to study them, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I don’t know,” “But I bet we’re gonna find out real soon.”

Once everybody is situated, Lattimer continues speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, beyond this ceiling these cylinders work their way straight up the mountain as shafts composed entirely of alloy composite, which is far cheaper than the attractive stainless steel facade you see before you. But don’t let that fool you. Alloy composite is five times stronger than steel. Everyone gasps in amazement.

“Uh, Dr. Lattimer!” a woman reporter yells out, lifting herself above the crowd on her tiptoes. He points at her and nods in acknowledgement. “Just how far up do these columns go?” she asks. He smiles at her, scans the room and looks back at her again.

“The smaller column zigzags all the way to Everest Heights.”

“And the larger column?” she asks.

“It goes all the way up!” he says.

The crowd begins to whisper among themselves in a questioning manner. She inquires again.

“And how far is that, Dr. Lattimer?”

He smiles at her again. “From here, about 4,000 feet.”

Her eyes grow wide and she puts her hand to her mouth to stifle a sudden gasp. The room begins to break out into pandemonium; five to ten reporters began asking questions all at once. Malone sits back, trying to take all of this in.

Don looks over at him in alarm. “Did you hear what he just said, Cal?! Those freaking columns go all the way up to the top, 4,000 feet!” Don begins to shake at the thought of it. He feels beads of moisture forming on his brow. “Man, I sure hope he doesn’t expect me to get in that thing! This is a lot more than I bargained for!”

Cal chuckles at him. “Well, they said we ain’t seen nothing yet! I guess they didn’t lie about that, did they? Hey, it’s no worse than the tram tunnel is it? That ride was over 4,400 feet!”

“Yeah,” says Don. “But that was more like a train ride. You got to sit down, relax and enjoy the view. Just look at this thing! We’re gonna be crammed together like a bunch of sardines going straight up to the top of a mountain!”

Lattimer tries to field questions but the reporters are on him like a pack of hungry wolves. Suddenly, a loud voice booms over the intercom as if God himself were speaking.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” The reporters stop “mauling” Lattimer and turn to see where the sound is coming from. They see Treinwood standing on top of the driver’s seat in the open-air bus. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, PLEASE! I know you all have questions, but we can’t answer them all at once! Please step away from Dr. Lattimer so he can continue with his lecture, and please refrain from asking any more questions until he is completely finished. At that point, you may ask all the questions you like. Thank you for your patience,” he says as he steps back down onto the floor. “Dr. Lattimer, the floor is now yours.”

Lattimer nods at Treinwood, and continues speaking. He lectures, uninterrupted for an additional 30 minutes. The reporters are writing notes furiously or videotaping everything he says or shows. Lattimer wraps up by explaining how the passenger elevator cars operate. “Are there any questions?” he finally asks.

Ten reporters begin to speak at once, forcing Treinwood to interrupt the process once more.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” he blares over the intercom. “We must have some ground rules here if we’re ever going to finish the tour! Please raise your hands and I will acknowledge you to Dr. Lattimer, one at a time.” The reporters and other attendees agree and order is re-established.

“How many people will these cars hold?” asks a reporter “The passenger elevator cars will hold a total of 50 people, just like the tram cars. At any given moment, three elevator cars are going up as three are going down. This keeps the flow of people to and from the top of the mountain on a more or less continuous level.” The questions seem to go on forever. However, throughout the whole onslaught, Cal Malone has remained curiously subdued.

“Don’t you wanna ask any questions, Cal?” asks Don. “You sure were hot enough at the other place?” Cal just stands there thoughtfully, resting his chin on his thumb and forefinger.

“I pick my battles, Don,” he says. “Right now, this isn’t the time.” Don gives him a curious, puzzled look, then, continues listening to Lattimer.

“You will find that Everest Heights is as plush and luxurious as anything you’ve seen this week.” Suddenly, a hand goes up in the back of the crowd. Treinwood points to the person and Lattimer nods his readiness for the question.

“Is Everest Heights the end of the project? Or,” he hesitates, “is there still more to come?” The crowd grows silent. Some are looking at Lattimer, others at the man in the back of the room. It is Cal Malone! Lattimer suddenly recognizes him and his face becomes flush with anger. Treinwood becomes agitated. There are too many people between him and Lattimer to run up there and bail him out again.

“That’s for us to know and you to find out, isn’t it, Mr., Mr..”

“MALONE, CAL MALONE!” Calvin interrupts loudly. “I thought this was a question and answer session? So, why can’t you answer the question, Mr. Lattimer?”

Lattimer is fuming. The man is mocking him, refusing to call him by his hard-earned title. For Calvin, this is a just a tactical ploy to throw Lattimer off-balance in the hope that he’ll make a mistake and say something more revealing. Treinwood is almost ready to intercede when Lattimer speaks up again.

“Mr. Malone, you are a guest here, are you not?”

Calvin smiles, looks around the crowd, eyebrows rose, and throws up his hands. “Aren’t we all?” The crowd begins to laugh.

Treinwood has had enough. He motions for a guard to go and “collect” Mr. Malone and bring him to the bus. The guard quickly works his way through the crowd and taps Malone on the shoulder before he has a chance to say anything else.

“Sir, Mr. Treinwood needs to speak with you for a moment.”

Don flashes a look at Cal. “Now you’ve done it!” he says. “Off to the woodshed with you!”

Cal continues smiling broadly, eyebrows raised. He turns to face Treinwood, raises his arms halfway, palms upward and shrugs his shoulders. “What did I do?” he yells, smirking. “I thought we were supposed to ask questions here?”

Treinwood is in no mood for any more games. He motions for the guard to bring Malone over there ASAP.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Cal says, still smirking. Just as he is about to get to Treinwood he turns suddenly, points a finger at Lattimer and yells, “THE QUESTION STILL STANDS LATTIMER!” The guard turns him back around to face Treinwood who is sitting in the driver’s seat of the bus, one leg on top of the other, hands folded in his lap.

“Mr. Malone, I know what you’re trying to do here,” Treinwood says.

“What am I trying to do?” Malone asks, “Just get to the truth, that’s all! Is that too much for you guys?”

Treinwood lowers his head in resignation. “Guard, please escort Mr. Malone back to Snyderville.

“WHAT!?” Malone says.

“See to it that he gets on the next plane back to wherever it is he came from.” He looks up at the guard. “AND DO IT, NOW!”

“Yes sir!” the guard responds, quivering.

Malone glares at Treinwood, who has lowered his head again.

“I work for a national syndicated news network!” Malone yells out. You can’t do this to me!”

Treinwood glares at him, “I just did, Mr. Malone. Good bye.” With that, Treinwood turns away to observe the lecture, suddenly realizing that he is receiving as much attention from the audience as Lattimer! Alarmed, he addresses the audience, “I apologize for this unfortunate incident, ladies and gentlemen. Apparently, all some people want to do is create trouble...” He quickly regains his composure, smiles, and waves at the engineer. “Continue with the tour, Dr. Lattimer!” Lattimer nods in understanding and continues speaking. Suddenly, Treinwood speaks up again. “Dr. Lattimer, do you think some of these people would be interested in taking a little elevator ride, like say to the top of the mountain and back?” The audience gasps. Suddenly, the mood becomes festive again as people clap their hands in glee and shake each other. With just a few words, Treinwood has taken the crowd back from a gallows mentality to that of seven-year olds just about to open their packages on Christmas day!

Fall From grace The “unscheduled” trip from Upper New Everest down to Lower New Everest was muted and somber. The guard sits on one side of the tramcar, arms folded, eyeing Malone with quiet authority. Malone, on the other side, was in a world of his own, still fuming from his bout with Treinwood. When the tram enters the Lower New Everest port, the guard stands up, walks over and reaches for Malone’s elbow to “escort” him to the lower tram port. Malone pulls away from him, angrily. “I’m not a criminal, sir!” He snaps.

“I know that,” the guard responds. “I’m really sorry about what happened up there. I’ve never seen Dr. Lattimer so upset before. I must say you really have a way with words!”

Malone grumbles, “That’s what I’m supposed to do, it’s my job!”

The guard just shakes his head, smiles and says under his breath, They enter the lower tram port and begin the final descent from the mountain. Malone, sensing an opportunity, begins to warm up to the young guard.

“Say, what’s your name, son?”

“Ken, Ken Edwards,” the guard says.

“I’m Calvin Malone,” he reaches out to shake the guard’s hand. “People call me Cal!” Ken hesitates. “Hey, I’m not gonna bite you!” Malone says, smiling. Ken grins awkwardly and reaches out to shake Malone’s hand. “So, tell me Ken,” “How did you get mixed up with an outfit like this, anyway?” Ken hesitates, wondering if he should be getting so friendly with a man his boss had just ordered off the mountain. Finally, he sees no harm in it and relents.

“You know. A friend of mine knew a friend, who knew a friend, that kind of thing.”

“Networking!” Cal replies. “Best way I know to get ahead in this old world! You must be a bright boy, Ken!” Ken frowns at him. “I mean man,” Cal laughs. It is obvious that Cal is at least twice Ken’s age. “You mind if I smoke, Ken?” Malone asks. Ken frowns again. “It’s just a pipe. Helps settle me down ... if you know what I mean.” Ken, shrugs his shoulders a little, and then nods his approval. Malone pulls out a pipe from his jacket and begins meticulously packing it with tobacco. He lights it, takes a puff and begins observing Ken again.

Malone’s demeanor has disarmed the young guard who begins speaking spontaneously, shaking his head as he looks at the floor of the gondola. “I really don’t understand what the big deal was about answering your question,”

Malone, puffing his pipe, removes it and looks at him intently. “What do you mean, son?”

Ken continues, “I thought it was common knowledge they were going to build a tower up there.”

Malone remained poker-faced, puffing his pipe, his mind racing. He felt like a lion stalking unwary prey. He removes the pipe again.

“What kind of tower are they building?” he asks casually.

“A big one”! Ken says with a nervous laugh.

“Stands to reason.” says Malone. “Everything they seem to do up here is either bigger, better, or both… but why a tower?”

Ken, his backside pressed up against the gondola wall is leaned over, hands on his thighs, staring at the floor. “Rumor has it that everything they’ve done here is simply leading up to the building of that tower.”

Malone looks at him, astonished. His eyes wander around the gondola, like a dog sniffing for clues.

He says to himself in a whisper. Ken turns to look at him.

“Hey, you’re the reporter!” If you figure it out, let me know!”

Malone turns to look at him. “I will son, I will.” Turning away from Ken to look out at the approaching lower tram port, he whispers quietly to himself.