Chapter 4: Old Friends and New Places

“O-Dark-Thirty” Monday Morning 14 October 2019

I was awoken by my alarm at 0445 hours (fifteen minutes before five AM). I rolled out of bed, shut off my alarm, and put on a pair of ‘silk-weight’ polypropylene long underwear, wool socks, corduroy pants, a flannel shirt, and grabbed my stable jacket and a pair of work gloves. I padded down the hallway, following Malcomb Campbell into the kitchen of the ranch house. We each poured hot black coffee into an insulated mug; then shuffled back to the inner mudroom to put on our work boots.

We joined the others heading to the stables to perform our morning chores. I was dressed warmly, and mostly inured to chilly weather from years of morning PT in the army, not to mention deployments with the infantry, and later Special Forces. Still, in the pre-dawn darkness I sensed it was noticeably colder than it had been last week. Saturday, I had spent more than six hours in the saddle as we moved several herds to different grazing grounds. A couple of the guys had spent twice that in their saddles.

At least on Saturday we were assisted by Susan Lambert, Brendan Chantry, and Kearney McRaven back for the weekend from CWU, as well as Cody Wayne a new recruit for TERRA. Susan, Brendan, and Kearney had returned back to CWU, but Cody was here to help us muck out the stables. This wasn’t Cody’s first time performing such chores, he grew up on a ranch outside Sheridan, Wyoming. He had served for four years as a Cavalry Scout, where he hadn’t had to muck out stables, nor ride horses, but he did learn other skills.

As part of my duties, I had reviewed his file on Thursday and Friday. If I wasn’t swamped with other duties, I would have attended to that a week or two earlier, but I was in-processing myself last Monday. Cody is six foot two, with blue eyes and wheat blond hair; he is also part Shoshone, a member of their tribe, and in a tribal Warrior Society. Perhaps he would be an asset in our relations with the Colville Confederation.

For now, he would not be receiving any training other than OJT at the prototype ranch. He had not indicated any interest in using his GI Bill benefits. That was okay, we were short handed at the ranch, requiring other personnel to fill in, at the expense of neglecting other tasks. Not every recruit for TERRA has to be an expert in environmental sciences, or a former Special Forces “Operator” we needed a few cowboys, farmers, cooks, mechanics, and such too.

Besides, I had other things to do. Shoveling shit was my duty for the next hour. It certainly prevented me from getting a swelled head due to my position in leadership with TERRA. Perhaps other corporations would benefit from members of management participating in essential chores for a couple of hours every week. I understand that it’s not considered a good use of resources, and it’s probably not; as long as those leaders remain grounded about what their people are doing that is vital to the success of the organization.

I did not regret that this week I would only be spending part of three days mucking out the stables. I needed to get back into a PT (Physical Training) routine, and would be spending three other days this week conducting PT, partly in the gym. Until it began snowing, I planned to get familiar with the terrain by jogging over various parts of the Aeneas Complex. I had also been assigned a mountain bike so I could cover more terrain. Similar to when I deployed, I wanted to learn the “Ground Truth” by getting “Boots on the Ground” to gain perspective to what maps revealed.

Definitely PT had to be a priority. Breakfast at the ranch house is always hearty, today it is beefalo steak and huevos rancheros, with potatoes O’Brien containing plenty of peppers and onions, fresh baked sourdough bread, and cinnamon applesauce. Sides such as yogurt, granola, and grapefruit quarters are available. Coffee, tea, milk, and water, as well orange or apple juice are the beverages of choice. Conversation tends to be minimal, because we are famished after several hours of chores.

Today I drove the runabout to the TERRA HQ building, and Duke got to enjoy our ten minute commute. Having my ID card always visible above my waist line is not much different from much of my military service. Using my ID card and PIN to “unlock” the runabout, or rather to make the engine turn on is a bit different. Most military vehicles don’t have a key for the ignition; they use a chain and padlock to secure the steering wheel, or those with an armored cab may use a padlock on the driver’s door.

As I was parking the runabout in our parking space, Duke grunted, and said, “let’s mosey over to the cafeteria, J.D. wants us to say howdy.”

Duke slipped his phone back into his pocket, and I didn’t bother checking mine; if The “Gunslinger” needed me because of an emergency, he’d call if I didn’t answer a text. He’d see us in a few, I couldn’t imagine a probable scenario where running would make significant difference. J.B. Brooks officers and NCOs to behave in a disciplined manner, not to add to the drama. I noticed there were a few more vehicles in the parking lots in front of the headquarters building.

None-the-less, we didn’t encounter anyone until we walked into the cafeteria. Besides Mr. Nightlinger, the Dining Facility Manger, and Timmy Kason, one of his assistant cooks, there was only a half dozen personnel finishing a late breakfast; it was almost Zero Nine Thirty Hours. Nina Ejder, Nolan Clancy, and Benjamin Gottlieb were lingering over coffee with J.B. Brooks, and a man I had not seen in a long time. Rudyard Churchill, my rabbi. I’m not Jewish, a rabbi is an infrequently used term for your mentor, and career detailer in the US Army.

As Duke and I walked towards J.B.’s table, Pat Dooley, a janitor and apprentice handyman came up to me and said in his distinctive “Southie” accent, “Ey, Mista Mac, ah’v gotter git signed up fer classes fer Winner Qwarta ifin I’m goner get muh Engerneer’n Degree afore Spring ah Twernta Un.”

“Text me Pat, so I don’t forget. We will get that done today. I’ve got a meeting with Mister Brooks, or I would help you now. Keep handy, I might be able to help you after this meeting. But I can’t make any promises. We all have a Bigger Boss to answer to.” I said.

“Shore nuff,” Pat responded, and touched a knuckle to his forehead before going back to work.

The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior would have admired the way Pat Dooley sweeps and mops. MLK once said that a person should strive to do the best job they could do. If that job was to sweep a street, then they should strive to sweep a street they way Michael Angelo painted, and at the end of the job that street should be as well swept as anyone has ever swept a street.

Pat Dooley had learned two things in the US Army. One was to drop a mortar round on the grid location you requested, usually his derivation was less than the burst radius of a 120mm mortar round; if the wind was a significant factor, it might take him the second round to put steel on target. He also learned to sweep, mop, buff, and polish. That is because when he volunteered for the army, he already knew how to fight, he was a promising Bantam weight fighter. What he hadn’t quite mastered was avoiding a fight if someone thought they could pick on him.

Pat Dooley is a gregarious young man, with a ready smile, and eager to plunge into hard, even dangerous work with no hesitation. However, if a bully thought just because they were bigger, tougher, or they outranked him that it made a bit of difference they were cruising for bruising! Knocking him down, or making him bleed just stoked his anger. He could be beaten, but not easily. Unfortunately, he ETS’d from the US Army as an E-1 because he got in too many fights.

As I sat down, J.B. Brooks asked in a concerned tone, “Is there a problem with Pat?”

I looked him in the eye, and said, “only that he is facing a tight deadline to get registered for classes at CWU, and also apply for his GI Bill benefits, that might be more difficult to get in time.”

Nolan Clancy looked relieved, and said, “we were concerned he was fighting again. He has a black eye, his ear is still swollen, he has several visible cuts and bruises, and he is limping. What happened, did he get kicked by a Bull?”

Duke chuckled, and said, “Naw, he weren’t so Lucky ... He got Whooped by Susan Lambert!”

“What did he do? Ask her out on a date?” Nina Ejder asked.

Duke shook his head, chuckled some more, then said, “Mister Nightlinger shanghaied him to drive out some hot coffee and soup while we was round’n up them beefs. They was talk’n, an challenged each other to a match. Seven rounds. After we finished the cattle drive, Susan took a short shower to loosen up after more than eight hours in the saddle. She plumb wore him Out! She never quite put him on t’ mat. It was a Whoop’n no doubt! He hit her hard couple of times, but her MMA techniques, and ‘specially her speed. Twas no contest!

I continued the tale, “Susan didn’t try anything fancy, just used quick shin kicks and knee jabs combined with quick hand jabs. She inflicted most of the damage with counterpunches. She kept him moving Pat has great footwork, but Susan is excellent. If he ever connected solidly, he might have finished it. As it was, he hit her hard, several times, and that earned her Pat’s respect. He recognized she controlled the tempo of the match too. Afterward, she offered to teach him some MMA techniques, as well as some Tai Chi to help with his anger management.”

Duke nodded, then said, “Pat has been work’n with Doc Rheyes-Owens. It seems t be hep’n, but I suspect he’ll benefit from work’n with Susan. She had some issues to work out too. I’m more comfortable bout let him on the CWU campus if’n Susan is mentoring him.”

“Lord help us! Pat Dooley learning Mixed Martial Arts. That’s like trading dynamite for C-2!” J.B. Brooks said.

(Dynamite is notoriously unstable (TNT somewhat safer) C-2: Composition 2 plastic explosives used during the Second World War was also volatile, and packed a bigger blast per pound. C-4 used from the 1960’s unto the present day is significantly more stable {less likely to explode unintentionally.})

Ben Gottlieb asked, “what does Pat intend to study?”

“Mechanical Engineering.” I told them.

Duke whistled, then said, “kinda math intensive, ain’t it?”

“If every math problem was presented as an indirect fire mission, Pat would graduate Cum Laude! We’ll have him take his pure math classes remotely, so he can be tutored one-on-one. I believe he will do well with practical engineering classes, rather than theoretical mathematics. Besides the more Pat believes others doubt him, the harder he strives.” I said.

“Good!” J.B. Brooks exclaimed. “Shiny floors and a sparkling latrine are desirable, but not nearly as important as another Mechanical Engineer to TERRA!”

Ben said, “J.B., we are getting a bit tight on time.”

“Right. I apologize, to everyone. Ben, Nolan, and I came out on the redeye from D.C., we napped on the plane, then a cat nap here. A delegation from the Colville Confederation wants to meet with us. We’ve been blindsided. Duke, has Ronald Sundown mentioned anything to you?” J.B. Brooks asked.

A look of concern creased his face, as Duke said flatly, “Nope.”

J.B. Brooks said, “Duke, would you go talk to Ron, see if he can find anything out. Text Nolan, and he will inform me. I would appreciate if you would sit out of this meeting. I can’t fathom why, but for some reason you and some of the tribal elders aren’t hitting it off. It’s a complication.”

“No thin skins J.B. I cain’t figure it neither. Sometimes some folks are jus oil an water.” Duke said.

Looking at Ms. Ejder, J.B. said, “Dragon, I need you to work your magic. Get with our other liaisons, or whatever and Riddle Me what’s got a bee in their bonnet. Text Ben.”

Noticing my arched eyebrow, Ms. Ejder said to me, “my name means Dragon, in my native language.”

J.B. Brooks said, “well, Mac, looks like you’re going to move up to the First String today. Don’t Fumble.”

I realized that The “Gunslinger” was looking at me, and said, “What will I have to do?”

Grinning at me, J.B. Brooks said, “You’ll have to figure that on the fly. We’re going in Blind and Stupid. Flying by the seat of our pants. BOHICA!”

(BOHICA: Bend Over Here It Comes Again! {a euphuism for getting Fucked in the Ass... })

Benjamin Gottlieb leaned over towards me and said quietly, “it’s an effective tactic employed by the Elders of the Colville Confederation. They pretend to be ignorant Yokels. We believe it’s how they deal with the BIA. Sometimes they act as if the Council is divided. Opposed to whatever we are offering them. Scheming for a better deal. It’s annoying, but they have had to deal with more than a hundred and fifty years of being lied to and screwed. I’m not sure they know how to deal with someone actually being honest.”

(BIA: Bureau of Indian Affairs. Perhaps the most corrupt and incompetent federal government agency.)

“What will I be expected to do? Do I have time to go back and change into something more professional?” I asked, noting that J.B. Brooks was attired in a well tailored blue suit, a crisp white shirt and a red “power” tie.

“Not this time. It’s my bad, I didn’t think of having you present until Rudy mentioned something over coffee. My Bad. I’m still jet-lagged. I will introduce you with the others, and you might not have to say anything but hello. If they ask you about K to twelve education, or anything about college education programs for tribal members, simply tell them you aren’t up to speed on that yet. Nolan or Ben will punt for you. IF they finally agree to have us instruct more of their members agree to it if it sounds at all plausible. I know that you know to under promise and over deliver.” J.B. said, as he winked at me during the middle of his explanation.

Ben grinned and said, “keep an eye on me. I’ll signal to you if you are getting out of your lane. If I began choking the life out of you, you’ve gone too far.”

Everyone but me laughed, then Nolan put his hand up to his left ear, then said, “they’re being cleared through the ECP, it’s Elders Henry Thompson, Mark Kendall, Gloria Pêne, Callista Lovel, and Kermit Mazama.”

They finished up their coffees, and I hoped there would be coffee, or at least water up in the conference room. We trooped out of the cafeteria, and to the elevator. As we made our way to the fourth floor conference room dedicated to meetings with the elected Elders of the Colville Confederation, and other key members of their associated tribes and bands, Nolan Clancy provided a briefing about the five Elders we would soon be listening to.

“None of the five most senior, and influential members of the Elder Council will be in attendance this morning. Henry Thompson, age sixty two is a prominent member of the second tier of Elders. A member of the Okanagan Tribe. He lives on a small farm and also does some ranching, but his primary source of income is a small construction and well digging company. Mister Thompson served in the Marines, and deployed to Lebanon in 1983, and he is also a veteran of the Desert Shield and Desert Storm.” Nolan related without seeming to have glanced at his tablet even once.

“Elder Thompson is the Chairman of the Community Development Committee, and Vice Chairman of the Veterans Committee. He holds one of two seats for the Keller District, but he is nearing the end of his second six-year term. Five members of the Elder Council are up for election tomorrow. They vote on the third Tuesday in October in odd numbered years. He is facing several aggressive challengers, but we ... I believe he will win reelection. Due to his businesses participation in multiple projects in the area, and on the Colville Reservation in particular, he has made quite a bit more money than he ever has.”

Nolan continued after a short pause, “Despite some shrill criticism from political opponents, and others who are jealous. Mister Thompson has been judicious, and offered contracts to all other construction businesses, craftsmen, and hired as many members of the confederation who were willing to work. He has hired from among his extended family, friends, and associates, but within keeping of tribal traditions. None-the-less, TERRA’s projects have resulted in complications for Mister Thompson. Despite the increased income, he seems ambivalent about TERRA.”

Nolan swiped a finger across the screen of his tablet, then said, “Mark Kendall, age sixty one, is a rancher, and a former rodeo cowboy who enjoyed some success on the circuit. He enlisted in the US Army in 1976 at age seventeen, and became a US Army Ranger in 1981. He participated in the combat parachute jump into Grenada during Operation Urgent Fury in 1983. He got out of the Army in 1985, coming home to assist his family running their ranch He is a member of the Methow Tribe.”

“His father served part of one term on the Elder Council in the nineties, but stepped down after a heart attack. Mister Kendall holds a seat in the Omak District and is in the middle of his second term. He is Chairman of the Natural Resources Committee, Vice Chairman of the Health and Human Services Committee, and a member of the Veterans Committee. Mark Kendall is the most influential member of the Council of Elders to publicly support many of the projects of TERRA on the Colville Reservation. He has faced more than a little opposition, but has been steadfast. So far.” Nolan said.

Nolan took a moment to call up the next portfolio, before continuing, “Gloria Pêne is fifty eight, and is the owner of a clothing store that while it sells commercially produced items, she has an emphasis on locally crafted clothing, much of it traditional garb. Quite an eclectic selection. She opened her business in 2005, with a small business loan for disadvantaged persons. Her husband abandoned her in 2003, and she worked hard to get off of welfare programs. She was a single mother of four, two of them in their early teens, at the time she bootstrapped her business.”

“She is of mixed Wenatchi and Latino background, and has had to face considerable prejudice both on and off the reservation. Elder Pêne won a squeaker in 2013, she is completing her first term and facing a challenging reelection campaign. I believe she has a better than sixty percent chance of winning back her seat in the Omak District. She is Vice Chairwoman of the Community Development Committee, and a member of the Employment and Education Committee. She seems open minded about TERRA, and I believe we should do anything reasonable to assist her.” Nolan said, then paused to look the other members of our group in the eye.

Nolan continued, “Callista Lovel is also from the Omak District. Three of the four Elders from Omak are part of today’s delegation. Only Tomas Robles is not here this morning. Elder Lovel, a member of the Chelan Tribe is forty seven, the youngest member of the Council of Elders. She was elected to her first term in 2017, narrowly edging out a respected elder in his late eighties. Many younger voters believed he was out of touch, and Callista Lovel ran a spirited campaign, in particular she used social media very effectively.”

“Callista Lovel is co-owner of a popular coffee shop and café in Omak, off the reservation. She is also a silent partner in a beauty parlor too. She seems to be quite savvy, about fiscal matters in particular. Due to her youth, and probably because of being a woman, she has not been given the regard she probably should be by her fellow Elders. She is the Vice Chairwoman of the Law and Justice Committee, and a member of the Employment and Education Committee.” Nolan said; adding more than a bit of his personal opinion; or so it seemed to me.

“Kermit Mazama is also forty seven, and he too was also elected to his first term in 2017. His seat is the only ‘At Large’ seat on the council, and is the least prestigious. A member of the Okanagan Tribe. Similar to Elder Lovel, he challenged a well respected elder in his eighties. Kermit won easily, and has strong support from many of his fellow ranchers. Kermit is a veteran, and is the new Chairman of the Veterans Committee, and a member of the Community Development Committee.” Nolan said, concluding abruptly as the doors of the elevator opened.

On the fourth floor we exited, and marched to the hallway, and into the ‘Colville Room’ a conference room with twenty four leather ‘executive’s chairs’ eleven to a side, and one at each end. Idlily, I wondered if the Colville tribal art was authentic, and how our soon to arrive guests thought about it. Annoyed that we didn’t know the difference between their tribe, and others. Or angry that we had ‘stolen’ their artifacts.

At least the tribal art complimented, or was complimented by the warm orangish-tan, ‘caffe latte’ hue of paint on the walls, although it reminds me more of an orange creamsicle. Turquois blue trim, and the faux light cherrywood furnishings seemed to me to mesh well together; indicating TERRA had obtained the services of a competent interior designer. The Ambiance of the TERRA Headquarters is one of professionalism, but comfortable too.

Government buildings, especially the Army have that institutional feel to them, even when they waste too much money on décor. The monitors on the walls are depicting live images of various locations of the periphery of the Colville Reservation, according to Nolan. He also told me that there are numerous windows on the exterior of this building, are nearly impossible to detect from the outside. He began to explain some of the details, referring to techniques used by several casino high-rise hotels in Las Vegas, and elsewhere, when the delegation from the Colville Council of Elders entered the room.

We members of TERRA were all standing behind our assigned seats in the middle of the west side of the room; on the left as you entered from the hallway. Betsy Russel, the Housekeeping Supervisor had set double-sided white placards, in a black frame, with large black print; indicating where we were supposed to sit. Before the Elders arrived, Mr. Nightlinger had pushed in a cart laden with pastries, fresh fruit, and small plates, as well carafes of coffee, hot water for various teas, and iced water.

Mr. Nightlinger was about to place equal portions on the sideboards behind where each delegation would sit. But at a subtle gesture from J.B. Brooks, Mr. Nightlinger placed the refreshments in the center of the table. He disappeared just before the Colville delegation arrived. We remained standing until all of our guests were behind their seats too. All but Elder Thompson, who strode down to the chair at the northern head of the table, and plopped himself down there.

J.B. Brooks said in a pleasant tone, “Won’t you join us in fellowship.”

Elder Thompson, his eyes concealed by the brim of his tilted Stetson, said, “ah’m con’fer-ta’bul here.”

J.B. Brooks smiled expansively, then said “Welcome! If we are not yet friends, we have been friendly to each other. We share interests, and we wish to share our bounty with you. We thank the Lord for his blessings, and our people for their hard work. The grain and fruit in the pastries came from seeds we sold you, and are the crops you sold to us. Please share our collective bounty. We have no need to be formal, we can be frank, as neighbors should be.”

As J.B. Brooks concluded his welcome, the rest of us sat down in our assigned seats. Before anyone else began speechifying, I poured myself a mug of coffee. Our mugs are thick ceramic with a wide base; dark brown, the color of rich soil, with our logo: T.E.R.R.A. superimposed over a grass green globe with latitude and longitude lines but no continents depicted. As I was pouring my coffee, three of the four elders helped themselves to coffee and pastries as well; the fourth selected a ripe peach, and deftly pitted it, and began slicing with a small sharp knife she produced from inside her sleeve. The repast was beyond the reach of Elder Thompson.

Elder Lovel said, “these pastries are tasty, it’s a pity you cannot develop coffee plants that could thrive here too.”

I noticed an expression flashed across the face of Meadow Yatoinu, a pharmacist, and a member of a Nez Pierce tribe, several of whom dwelt on the Colville Reservation; she was the fifth member of the TERRA delegation today, representing the Medical Department. Subsidized medical clinics, and educational projects were our two primary outreach projects on the Colville Reservation, and elsewhere in Okanogan County. I wondered what caused her expression, and if anyone else noticed.

“What would you prefer to discuss first?” J.B. Brooks asked.

Elder Pêne scowled and said, “When we called, they said you were not here to talk to us. Yet here you are.”

J.B. Brooks looked squarely at her, and replied, “when you called yesterday, I was not here. They called me, and because it is important to us, Ben, Nolan, and I flew back, overnight.”

“Where were you?” Elder Kendall asked.

“We were in the nation’s capital, Washington D.C.” J.B. Brooks said.

“Why were ya thar?” Elder Thompson asked.

“To proceed on some of our projects, we must obtain permission from the authorities. Our local government of Okanogan County are reasonable more often than not. Those in Olympia are too often less cooperative. The federal bureaucracies, and in particular their hierarchies in Washington D.C. are most difficult to seek permission from.” J.B. Brooks replied.

Elder Thompson stated, “it’s ‘cause of the hassles with the fed’ral bureaucracies that y’all try to git round ‘em by conducting your... Experiments on our lands.”

J.B. Brooks said, “that is a significant reason. Also, your climate and terrain provide the conditions we are focusing on. We are simultaneously conducting similar projects, explements if you will. Our focus is primarily for research. Your farmers and ranchers are focused on making a profit. Your people and ours are also concerned how our activities will affect the land and future generations.”

“So you say,” commented Elder Pêne.

“Why do you want to do these things you say you want to do? Monsanto, Archer Daniels Midland, Ralston Purina, and other White Men say to us, and buy advertisements on TV saying they love the Earth, and respect nature, trying to sell us chemicals. How are you different?” Elder Thompson demanded.

J.B. Brooks templed his fingers, visibly calming, he said, “I, and other members of TERRA have explained this many times. We believe there are better ways to farm and ranch. More profitable too. Fertilizing the soil, and using pesticides and herbicides have their place too. The use of such things should be in moderation, and with consideration for the future, not just a current crop. Chemicals are not bad things, inherently. Oxygen is a chemical. Overuse of some industrial chemical products is harmful, and gets worse over time. The seeds we have sold you, and most of the techniques we have suggested have contributed to your farmers and ranchers being more profitable.”

“We have invited you and your people to work with us. Learn about what we are doing, and get paid for it. We do have some secrets, at least until we can get patents for some things we are developing. So, any of the people who work with us, or for us must sign one or more NDAs. Non-Disclosure Agreements. Such NDAs would not prevent your people from telling the rest of your people anything we are doing that would be criminal, or hurt your people. You may have your own attorneys review any NDA to be signed.” J.B. Brooks said.

Elder Kendall nodded, then said, “what you say has merit. Others tell us your seeds, and other methods are Not organic.”

J.B. Brooks said, “when they use the word organic, they mean a very specific thing. If you plant a crop of corn using seed from ADM, and use fertilizers and other chemicals from ADM, or any of the others do you harvest a crop of plastic, or minerals? Corn is organic. Organic labels are a marketing ... scheme is perhaps too harsh. Marketing technique. Standards, specified by government, or by private associations are not a bad thing. Often, they are a good thing. But truthful words may be used to say a thing that is not the complete truth.”

J.B. Brooks paused for a moment, taking time to look in the eyes each of the Elders of the Colville Confederation present, before continuing, “You have heard many words. Many Lies. As have your ancestors. Let not merely my words speak to you. Judge me, and TERRA by our actions. By the Results you see with your own eyes. The food you taste. Examine it by scientific methods, or any other way you see fit. Have I ever lied to you?”

Elder Mazama said, “You have not lied to us J. B. Brooks. TERRA has always done what you said it would. Or more. We Respect that. That is why we are here today. Our Hearts are glad that you are here to speak for TERRA today.”

Finally! I thought, not yet knowing this was a comparatively brief beginning of a session with Elders of the Colville Confederation. Not that some, if not many of the farmers, ranchers and others we delt with were any easier, nor quicker. Foolish of me, since I had participated in many meetings with tribal elders in Afghanistan, Iraq, and elsewhere. It was outside of my experience, but corporate negotiators, attorneys, politicians and bureaucrats could take years and resolve little or nothing. During the Paris peace talks they spent years arguing over the shape of the table they would eventually negotiate over.