thought McAuliff. Julian Warfield understood the environs through which
he maneuvered.
As did R. C. Hammond of British Intelligence.
And Alex began to realize that he would have to catch up.
Both Dunstone, Limited, were committed to specific objectives. He could
get lost in those commitments. In some ways, he had lost already. But
choosing the team was his immediate concern.
McAuliff s personnel approach was one he had used often enough to know
it worked. He would not interview anyone whose work he had not read
thoroughly; anyone he did interview had already proven himself on paper.
Beyond the specific areas of expertise, he cared about adaptability to
the physical and climatic requirements, and to the give-andtake of
close-quarters association.
He had done his work. He was ready.
“My secretary said you wanted to see me, Dr. McAuliff.”
The speaker at the door was the chairman of the Geophysics Department, a
bespectacled, gaunt academician who tried not to betray his resentment
of Alex. It was obvious that the man felt cheated by both the Royal
Society and Kingston for not having been chosen for McAuliffs job. He
had recently completed an excellent survey in Anguilla; there were too
many similarities between that assignment and the Jamaican grant for
comfort.
“Good Lord,” said Alex. “I expected to come to your office.” He crossed
to his desk and smiled awkwardly. He had been standing by the single
window, looking out over a miniature quadrangle’, watching students
carrying books, thankful that he was no longer part of that world. “I
think I’ll be ready to start the interviews this afternoon.”
“So soon?”
“Thanks mainly to you, Professor Ralston. Your recommendations were
excellent.” McAuliff wasn’t being polite; the academician’s candidates
were good–on paper. Of the ten final prospects, exactly half were from
Ralston; the remaining five were freelancers highly thought of by two
London survey firms. “I’m inclined just to take your people without
seeing any others,” continued Alex, now being polite. “But the Kingston
ministry is adamant that I interview these.” McAuliff handed Ralston a
sheet of paper with the five nonuniversity names.
“Oh, yes. I recognize several,” said Ralston, his voice now pleasantly
acknowledging Alex’s compliment. “A couple here are … a couple, you
know.”
“What?”
“Man-and-wife team. The Jensens.”
“There’s one Jensen. Who’s the woman “R. L. Wells. That’s Ruth
Wells, Jensen’s wife.”
“I didn’t realize … I can’t say that fact is in their favor.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure.” answered Alex sincerely. “I’ve never had a married
couple on a survey. Silly reaction, isn’t it? Do you know anybody else
there?”
“One fellow. I’d rather not comment.”
“Then I wish you would.”
“Ferguson. James Ferguson. He was a student of mine.
Very outspoken chap. Quite opinionated, if you know what I mean.”
“But he’s a botanist, a plant specialist, not a geology -man.
“Survey training; geophysics was his curriculum secondary. Of course,
it was a number of years ago.”
McAuliff sorted out some papers of the desk. “It couldn’t have been too
many. He’s only been on three tours, all in the past four years.”
“It wasn’t, actually. And you should see him. He’s considered quite
good, I’m told.”
“Here are your people,” said Alex, offering a second page to Ralston. “I
chose five out of the eight you submitted. Any more surprises there?
Incidentally, I hope you approve.”
Ralston read the list, adjusting his spectacles and pursing his lips as
he did so. “Yes, I thought you’d select these. You realize, of course,
that this Whitehall chap is not one of us.
He was recommended by the West Indies Studies. Brilliant fellow,
according to the chairs. Never met him myself.
Makes quite a lot of money on the lecture circuits.”
“He’s black, isn’t he?”
“Oh, certainly. He knows every tongue, every dialect, every cultural
normality and aberration in the Antilles. His doctoral thesis traced no
fewer than twenty-seven African tribes to the islands. From the
Bushwadie to the Coromantees. His research of Indian-African
integration is the standard reference. He’s quite a dandy, too, I
believe.”
“Anyone else you want to talk about?”
“No, not actually. You’ll have a difficult time deciding between your
shale-bedrock experts. You’ve two very, decent ones here. Unless your
… immediate reactions take precedence. One way or the other.”
“I don’t understand.”
Ralston smiled. “It would be presumptuous of me to comment further.”
And then the professor added quickly, “Shall I have someone set up the
appointments?”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate it. If schedules can be organized with all ten,
I’d like an hour a piece over the next few days; whatever order is
convenient for everyone.”
“An hour …
“I’ll call back those I want to talk with further. No sense in wasting
everyone’s time.”
“Yes, of course.”
One applicant disqualified himself the moment he walked into McAuliff s
cubicle. The fact that he was more drunk than sober at one o’clock in
the afternoon might have been explained, but instead was used as the
excuse to eliminate him for a larger problem: he was crippled in his
right leg and unlikely to withstand the rigors of the expedition. Three
men were crossed off for identical conditions: each was obviously
hostile to West Indian spreading English virus, Britain’s parallel to
Americus Redneckus.
The Jensens-Peter Jensen and Ruth Wells-were delightful surprises,
singly and together. They were in their early fifties, bright,
confident, and good-natured. A childless couple, they were financially
secure and genuinely interested both in each other and in their work.
His expertise was ore minerals; hers, the sister science of
paleontologyfossils. His had direct application, hers was removed but
academically justifiable. “Might I ask you some questions, Dr.
McAuliff?” Peter packed his pipe, his voice pleasant.
“By all means.”
“Can’t say that I know much about Jamaica, but this seems like a damned
curious trip. I’m not sure I understand.
What’s the point?”
Alex was grateful for the opportunity to recite the explanation created
by Dunstone, Limited. He watched the ore man closely as he spoke,
relieved to see the light of recognition in the geologist’s eyes. When
he finished, he paused and added, “I don’t know if that clears up
anything.”
“Oh my word, it certainly does, chap. Burke’s Peerage strikes again!”
Peter Jensen chuckled, glancing at his wife.
“The royal H has been hard pressed to find something to do.
Its members at Lords simply provided it. Good show. I trust the
university will make a pound or two.”
“I’m afraid the budget’s not that loose.”
“Really?” Peter Jensen held his pipe as he looked at McAuliff. “Then
perhaps I don’t understand. You’ll forgive me, but you’re not known in
the field as a particularly inexpensive director … quite rightfully,
let me add. Your reputation precedes you.”
“From the Balkans to Australia,” added Ruth Wells Jensen, her expression
showing minor irritation with her husband. “And if you have a separate
arrangement, it’s none of Peter’s bloody business.”
Alex laughed softly. “You’re kind, both of you. But there’s nothing
special. I got caught, it’s as simple as that. I’ve worked for
companies on the island; I hope to again. Often.
All geophysical certificates are issued by Kingston, and Kingston asked
for me. Let’s call it an investment.”
Again McAuliff watched Peter Jensen closely; he had rehearsed the
answer. The Britisher looked once more at his wife. Briefly. Then he
chuckled, as he had done seconds before.
“I’d do the same, chap. But God help the survey I was director on.”
“It’s one I’d avoid like a May Day in Trafalgar,” said Ruth, matching
her husband’s quiet laugh. “Who have you set, if it’s proper to ask?
Anyone we might know?”
“Nobody yet. I’ve really just started–2
“Well,” interrupted Peter Jensen, his eyes alive with humor, “since you
suffer from inadequate freight charges, I should tell you we’d rather
not be separated. Somewhat used to each other by now. If you’re
interested in one of us, the other would take half till to straggle
along.”
Whatever doubts remained for Alex were dispelled by Ruth Wells Jensen’s
words. She mimicked her husband’s professorial tones with good-natured
accuracy.” I Half till, old chap, can be negotiated. Our flat’s damned
cold this time of year.”
The Jensens would be hired.
The third nonuniversity name, James Ferguson, had been accurately
described by Ralston as outspoken and opinionated. These traits,
however, were the results of energy and impatience, it seemed to
McAuliff. Ferguson was young twenty-six-and was not the sort to
survive, much less thrive, in an academic environment. Alex recognized
in Ferguson much of his younger self. consummate interest in his
subject, intolerance of the research world in which it was studied. A
contradiction, if not a conflict of objectives. Ferguson freelanced for
agro-industry companies, and his best recommendation was that he rarely
was out of work in a market not famous for excessive employment. James
Ferguson was one of the best vegetation specialists around.
“I’d love to get back to Jamaica,” said the young man within seconds