“It is fascinating,” Morgan agreed, “but scientific interest is distinct from safety preparedness. I simply want to know what emergency measures you have in place for dealing with things like broken bones, lacerations, appendicitis, stroke—incidents that can be life-threatening in such a remote locale. I’m not overly paranoid, and I don’t presume that an expedition like this doesn’t carry with it some additional risk. I just want to know how prepared you are for the unexpected.”
“A fair question indeed,” Morgan replied. He leaned back and steepled his fingers together, pausing as though deep in thought. “If an accident were to occur—an extremely unlikely event to be sure—we have enormous resources at our disposal. The scientific importance of this project ensures that to be the case.” Morgan droned on, attempting to placate Steven rather than specifically addressing his questions and concerns. Steven’s anger flared. This was nothing but run-around. He wanted specifics, not some patronizing, hand-waving homily about how safety follows automatically from the fact that the project is so scientifically important—important, at least, in the mind of Dr. Morgan Holloway.
Steven was about to interrupt Morgan’s speech in less than congenial fashion when the speaker abruptly glanced over at the hotel’s desk. “There they are,” he announced with some relief, “my wife and her charges. Please excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
Debbie Holloway, flanked by the students she'd met at New York's LaGuardia Airport, was busy signing paperwork. Morgan sauntered over to greet them, and then waited courteously while an officious desk clerk ran through her spiel about checkout times and the hotel's complimentary continental breakfast. She finished with the requisite "have a nice day," and motioned for the next guest to approach. The students departed for their rooms, but before they were out of earshot Debbie reminded them, “We've reserved a private dining room for our group. Dinner is at 5:30.” Jack nodded assent as he muscled Jocelyn’s bags into the elevator. Morgan then ushered Debbie towards the Van Wormers. En route she stopped and grasped his arm. She looked haggard, exasperated. "Before Jocelyn comes back we need to discuss the amount of stuff she intends to bring with her. Morgan, she has at least three times the volume that we've allotted per person. In addition to her rucksack she brought two huge suitcases."
Morgan pondered her statement and frowned, "We certainly sent out very clear instructions to the students. The captain of the Danish naval vessel that will take us to the island specifically stressed the critical issue of space in her correspondence. Bunk space in the cabins is extremely limited and the cargo holds will be filled to the gills. She's going to have to comply with our orders."
"That's what I figured you'd say, but I wanted to make sure. She seems like a strong minded young woman. I suspect there's going to be an argument over this. As much as I dread it I’m willing to deal with her, but I'm going to need backup." She turned to the van Wormers. "Sorry about that. It seems we've run into our first minor crisis. We took two graduate students to the site last summer, but this year, as you probably know, we're taking along four high school students. It should be an interesting experience for all concerned."
Gail nodded and laughed. "I can assure you, as someone who's getting her first dose of what it's like to parent a teenager, there will never be a dull moment for you this summer. Our Marcie won't be a problem for you though. The only thing you may tire of is having to answer all of the questions she'll ask. She's full of the enthusiasm of youth. Other than that I believe she'll be a real asset to you."
"Speaking of youth, she's only just completed the eigth grade," Stephen interjected. He was settling down after his frustrating talk with Morgan, but still wanted his concerns addressed. He needed some sort of assurance, as detailed as possible, that the trip would be safe for his daughter. "I want to know what sort of care Marcie would receive if she, or anyone else for that matter, were to have a medical emergency in that remote place."
Debbie sensed the conviction that underlay Steven’s words. "I understand your concern. Here’s the deal. This will be our third year of study out there. Needless to say the operation is significantly more efficient than it was in the beginning. We have an onsite medical station that can handle most routine health problems: cuts, broken bones, infections… that sort of thing. One of our anthropologists is a pathologist, a Dr. Liva Strøm. She's on the island already; I received an e-mail from her last night. Her husband is a physician as well. Morgan and I, along with most of the other staff, are trained and licensed to administer CPR and first aid."
Stephen nodded, and asked, "But what if hospitalization is required? How soon can transport to a trauma facility be done?"
"There is a ranger station at Daneborg, Greenland. It's the regional headquarters for the personnel who work at the Northeast Greenland National Park. It's about 150 nautical miles, give or take, southwest of Eviskar. During the winter it's only manned by a skeleton staff, but in summertime the Greenlandic coast guard uses it as a helicopter base. Eviskar lies within their flight range. The medical facilities at Daneborg aren’t much better than those we've setup on Eviskar, but Daneborg has an airstrip from which jet ambulance service can transport patients the 610 nautical miles to Reykjavik or to the U.S. Air base at Thule over on Greenland's west coast."
Stephen nodded approvingly, "And what about communication with the outside world? Do you use some sort of satellite phone out there? It would be nice if we can stay in touch with Marcie."
"Yes, we have several sat phone units and emergency communicators out there. Because of the high latitude at Eviskar, they are of the type that use private telecommunications satellites that fly in polar orbits. Ours use the Iridium network. Overall we've been pleased with the way the system has been working." She shrugged, "sometimes one has to wait until a satellite is within range. That can be a bit aggravating, but the delay is never more than about 15 minutes. The neat thing about the system is that it ties into all the major cell phone networks. If need be, Marcie can literally type your number into the sat phone handset and call you at home."
Finally, Steven broached the subject. He could tell Debbie was expecting him to bring it up, and he also suspected she knew that Marcie’s participation hinged on her response. It wasn’t until long after he’d signed and mailed the acceptance form that he’d learned about a disturbing incident at Eviskar. When he’d found out about the episode he’d become extremely upset, angry enough to spit nails, and it had taken all the persuasive skill Gail could muster to calm him down. Her advice: Find out what happened, Steven, before you jump to conclusions. Talk to the Holloways before you take this opportunity away from Marcie. Once he’d calmed down he’d reluctantly complied with Gail’s request, but this was it; now he wanted answers. “Tell me please, Mrs. Holloway, what exactly happened to the researchers who disappeared last year.”
Debbie let out a long breath. During the previous summer, three members of the archeological team had disappeared without a trace. The event had been traumatic for everyone associated with the project, and Steven’s concern was understandable. “Three of our party took one of the zodiacs on a trip to circumnavigate the island. Their purpose was to look for evidence of additional old settlements. We expected them to be gone for about a week, but after ten days elapsed without any contact from them whatsoever, we sent out search parties.” Hurt crept into her voice as she recalled details of the incident. “We launched the two other boats and scrutinized every inch of coastline. The park rangers in Daneborg also conducted searches by helicopter—without success. Believe me, Dr. Van Wormer, if those scientists had been stranded anywhere around that island, we’d have found them."
She looked down and shook her head, “There was a particularly violent storm that came through while they were gone. All of us now believe that the boat must have capsized and the wreckage was blown out to sea; no other explanation makes sense. But,” she added emphatically, “I want to emphasize that we’ve learned from that experience. We’ve invested a lot of mone
y into additional communications gear and safety equipment since then, and I can assure you that everyone at the site is now far more safety conscious. Don’t worry; we’re going to take very good care of Marcie and the other students.”
Before Stephen could ask more questions he felt a hand on his shoulder. Standing behind him, beaming from ear to ear, was his daughter, and beside her stood a pretty young woman with long, blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Jocelyn looked as though she’d just come home from the beach. Her slim physique was accentuated by tight-fitting jeans and open sandals with raised heels. A T-shirt advertising ‘Sammy's Crab Shack, Corpus Christi, Texas’ hung loosely from her tanned shoulders. With her green eyes and winning smile, Jocelyn Delaney was turning heads in the lobby of the Chelsea hotel.
"Jocelyn, these are my folks. The male is my dad and the female is Gail, my stepmom. Dad, we're going to check out the neighborhood. Dinner’s at 5:30 so we'll be back a little before then, OK?"
"Sounds great sweetie, Gail and I will…"
Debbie interrupted, "Marcie, uh... Jocelyn, perhaps it would be best if you waited a bit. After dinner we're going to go over the logistics of tomorrow's flight along with what we're going to do when we get to Reykjavik. Everyone's got to be packed before we go to bed; there won't be time in the morning. What I'm trying to say is that there won't be time for Jocelyn to repack her things after dinner. It really has to be done now. Jocelyn, I sincerely hope this won't be too difficult, but I'm afraid you're going to have to leave some stuff behind."
She glanced at Morgan, who flashed what he hoped was his patented disarming smile, "Yes, you should definitely repack your things, Jocelyn."
"We have a one rucksack rule," Debbie reminded him.
"Yes, of course. That's certainly true, but let’s not get excited until we know what we’re up against. Why don't you ladies get started packing. Things may not be as bad as you think."
Debbie glared at him before she and the girls headed for the elevators.
* * *
At five minutes past 5:00 three people entered the Chelsea hotel. Leading the way was a large black woman who paused in the doorway framed by sunlight pouring in from the street. Like a queen, she strode forward slowly, a commanding presence, drawing the attention of everyone in the lobby. A colorful skirt hid the motions of her legs, making her appear to float through the room. Her round cherubic face broke into a wide grin as she twirled, arms raised as if in victory, scanning her surroundings.
"Will you look 'a this Spencer," she said in awe, her voice booming in throaty Creole, "such a fancy hotel. You be blessed, my son, truly blessed. I tole' you dat Mambo use strong med-sin. Maybe you believe me now."
A thin, curly-haired boy emerged from behind her. He was obviously embarrassed by his mother's pronouncement. On his back he bore a large canvas rucksack of a characteristic design. At the sight of it Morgan approached.
"You must be the Bowens. I’m Dr. Holloway."
The woman beamed, took his hand in both of hers, and gave a slight bow. "Je suis très herreuse de faire votre connaissance, Monsieur professeur. Very 'appy to meet you. I'm Spencer mother and dis his father." Still gripping Morgan's hand with her left she made a sweep with her right arm in the direction of a short, bronzed, somewhat bowlegged man with brooding eyes. Content to stand off to one side while his wife assumed center stage, Markus Bowen simply acknowledged his host with a smile and a nod.
The Van Wormers approached and introduced themselves. Gail took an immediate liking to the gregarious Yolanda Bowen. The two women chatted in French for some time while Spencer answered a host of questions about himself amongst the men. They soon retired to the private dining room that Morgan had reserved. Jack Malinowski joined the group as the dinner hour approached. He singled Spencer out of the mix and the two students conversed over hors d'oeuvres and refreshments.
"May I have your attention please?" Morgan was tapping the side of his wineglass with a serving fork. "If you all wouldn't mind taking your seats, the waiting staff are now ready to serve us. I'm told we have our choice of either baked scrod or rib-eye steak as entrees, with summer peas, buttered carrots and mashed or julienne potatoes as sides. And, for those of you with more pedestrian tastes, the hotel invites you to try its five star double-decker 'Metro Burger.'" he looked around the room apprehensively, and then glanced at his watch. There was still no sign of his wife or either of the female students. "Once we're settled I'd like to give a short presentation about the archaeological dig that has brought all of us together for the summer."
It wasn't long before the food arrived. Morgan was nearly halfway through his talk, over-emphasizing the historic repercussions of the excavation, when Marcy Van Wormer entered the room. She quietly took the seat next to her father and smiled at him as she sat. Instead of listening to what Morgan had to say about the expedition—the trip she'd been anxiously anticipating for months—she whispered something in a low voice to her father. Stephen listened, then nodded, patted her hand and smiled. He made a deferential sign to Morgan, a gesture apologizing for the interruption. Moments later Jocelyn and Debbie made their appearance. Debbie looked haggard, but she forced a smile when her husband welcomed her belated arrival.
Jocelyn sat sullenly, and barely responded to a waitress who sidled up to take her dinner order. Her eyes were puffy and red, and there were hints of defeat mixed with smoldering anger in her countenance. Blood had been drawn back in her room. Not two hours into the project, the first fractious encounter with Jocelyn Delaney had occurred. Marcy and Debbie exchanged worried glances before settling into the social setting.
"We got to be leaving now," Spencer's mother announced once the dinner party had disbanded. Daylight was beginning to fade. "Markus has to go to work." She abruptly grabbed her son and held him against her bosom, a hugely embarrassing event for Spencer but something he knew was inevitable. "You know I was in contac' with the Loa last night, Spencer, my son. I prayed for a successful trip. You'll be fine."
Gail held out her hand. "I share your concerns Mrs. Bowen. After all, Marcie is about Spencer's age and that makes me a bit apprehensive, but they are both smart and resourceful kids. I'm sure the Lord will keep them safe. Not to worry."
Arm-in-arm the Bowens walked out of the hotel. Mrs. Bowen waved an enthusiastic goodbye to the Eviskar island entourage. Spencer's father nodded to everyone before being led away—he hadn't spoken more than 10 words all evening.
Gail turned to Spencer. "I really like your mom, Spencer. She's great. And I'm impressed with her strong faith. She's absolutely convinced that the Lord will watch over all of you on this trip."
"The ‘Loa,'" said Spencer.
"Yes, that's what I said, the Lord."
"No, Mrs. Van Wormah. Last night she got her priestess to do a ceremony to protect us. She prayed to her Loa—that’s a kinda vodou spirit."
"Priestess? Vodou?"
"Yeah, the old lady downa street is a Mambo. Hadda use a live chicken foah the ceremony. She held it up, said some kinda chant in old patois French, then slit its 'troat."
"How horrible," Gail gasped.
"It’s not so bad if ya think about it,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. "It’s the way they do 'em in the market she goes to. 'An from what I heah, that's how they kill the chickens you find in the grocery stoah. Anyway, mom doesn't know this but old lady Perrault cooks 'em when she's done. I don't think she's 'sposed to do that. After she sacrifices a chicken I often see her gnawing on a drumstick the next day. That doesn't botha' me, but I think my mom would have a haht attack if she knew."
* * *
Gail strained to overhear the conversation between her stepdaughter and the Malinowski boy. Keeping her distance, she prepped her breakfast—juice and a banana—while she listened. No one else was in the hotel’s breakfast area yet, and Marcie, summoning her courage, had approached her fellow traveler.
“Hi, Jacek.”
“Good morning. It’s Marcia, isn’t it?”
�
��Yeah, but my friends call me Marcie. You can call me Marcie.”
“Okay, Marcie. Most people call me Jack. Only in my house, around my mom, do I go by Jacek.” Jack selected several sugar-laden sticky buns from among the continental breakfast offerings and poured himself a cup of coffee.
Marcie hovered, contemplating what else she might say. Finally, she said, “Um, it’s appropriate that we’re having Danish pastries for breakfast. I mean, we’re on our way to Greenland after all.” Jack smiled. Mesmerized by his blue eyes, her knees became weak, and like a deer caught in a spotlight, her mind went blank. She blushed and looked away, embarrassed.
Jack sensed her unease. Her attention made him a bit uncomfortable as well. He said, “Beats me if the folks in Greenland really eat this stuff, despite the name. I suspect we’ll know when we get there; if the people we meet are all fat and diabetic, that will tell us.”
Marcie laughed. “I suppose. Look, if you want something better than these coronary-blocking calorie bombs, I’ve packed a bunch of energy bars. They’re specially formulated for bodies under stress; vitamin and mineral fortified, high in protein, and with a mix of simple and complex carbs for both quick energy and endurance. You can have some if you’d like.”
Jack stifled a grin and politely declined. “You’d better save ‘em for the trip, Marcie.”
Watching from across the small room, Gail sighed and waited for her husband to finish his shower and come to breakfast. Soon, Jocelyn arrived and she and Jack sat together by the window. A frustrated Marcie sat with her stepmother and watched the interplay between her older colleagues. As she sipped her orange juice, Gail pondered the snippets of dialog she’d just heard. Her face wrinkled with concern. Marcie was definitely interested in Jack. He, on the other hand, had been spending considerable time with the other girl, Jocelyn. Fear for Marcie’s feelings tugged at Gail’s heart. Unexpectedly, she also became concerned for Jack and his emotions. He seemed like a nice guy. As a woman, Gail’s sixth sense told her that Jocelyn played the key role in the unfolding social dynamic of this expedition. The girl had easily gotten her hooks into Jack. Was she just being friendly? Was she truly attracted to him or was Jocelyn a player, someone who, even at the tender age of what, seventeen? eighteen? had learned how to manipulate men. She was pretty, charming and smart, and she’d already run into trouble by trying to coerce the Holloways into allowing her to bring extra belongings on the trip. Gail smiled at the remembrance of Debbie not backing down. This archeological project was going to be an eye-opening experience for Marcie. She was about to learn harsh lessons about human behavior and the affairs of the heart, in addition to whatever science and history knowledge came her way.
Eviskar Island Page 5