The Bonita Protocol

by P J Skinner

  Despite the jams, Gloria managed to get Sam to the office on time for her first day, pulling up in front of the Bonita Mining office, which occupied the second floor of a new three storey building inserted into a crescent of residential housing like a marble in a pod of peas. The building was faced with beige pebble dash and had blue tinted glass in the windows. Calling it a monstrosity would be an insult to monstrosities thought Sam as she got out of the car.

  ‘See you later, chica,’ said Gloria, and she sped off without making any plans for later.

  This did not faze Sam who was used to her friend’s lack of organisation and knew Calderon well if she had to get home by herself. She waved at the departing car and headed through the glass doors to the atrium, turning her attention to the security man sitting behind the reception desk.

  ‘Good morning, my name is Sam Harris. I’m here to meet Amanda Ballard. Can you please tell her I’ve arrived?’

  The man looked blank and shook his head.

  ‘Nobody told me about Miss Ballard meeting a woman this morning.’

  ‘I’m starting work today.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that. They’re expecting a geologist today, but that’s all.’

  The security guard used the term ‘ingeniero’ in Spanish. The ‘o’ on the word ending indicated that he was expecting a man. Sam smiled.

  ‘That’s me,’ she said. ‘Ingeniera Sam Harris.’

  The man sighed and picked up the grubby telephone with a studied reluctance. The tangled and twisted cord meant that he had to tug it towards him. Sam’s fingers itched with the desperation to take it from him and unwind it. Perhaps when he was away from his desk?

  ‘It’s Stalin. There’s someone here to see Señora Ballard. She says she has an appointment.’

  Sam smirked at his name. She never got used to the custom of hijacking the names of anyone or anything famous for naming offspring in Sierramar. A tinny voice answered but Sam could not make out what was said. Stalin snorted and leered at Sam.

  ‘She’s a gringa,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not a gringa, I’m English,’ said Sam.

  To her surprise, his attitude changed. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Manchester United,’ he said. ‘My team.’

  ‘Oh? You have excellent taste,’ said Sam, who had a vague leaning towards Chelsea because her aunt Lottie lived there.

  He beamed, showing her a row of rotting teeth which resembled the worst parts of Hadrian’s Wall and replaced the phone.

  ‘Go on up,’ said the guard. ‘They can sort it out.’

  The steep stairway took her breath away and she stood outside the door panting. She had forgotten about the altitude. Calm down. Arriving breathless and looking flustered is not a good idea.

  Having recovered her composure, Sam opened the door into the Bonita Mining offices. Cheap-looking, grey nylon carpet tiles covered the floor as far as she could see. Aluminium-framed partitions made of frosted glass upper sections and badly painted chipboard bottoms divided the floor into offices furnished with cheap desks and chairs. She wrinkled her nose in protest at the unwelcoming décor.

  A harassed young woman in a loose-fitting suit emerged from a doorway at the end of the corridor. She leaned backwards on the door with her palms against it as if keeping a monster trapped inside. Her chest heaved with emotion. She pushed herself off and started back down the hall. Then she noticed Sam standing at the entrance and jumped.

  ‘Who are you?’ she said.

  ‘I’m Sam Harris. I’ve come to work for Bonita Mining. I was expecting to meet Mr Maclean here?’ She let her voice float up expectantly.

  ‘You’re Sam. Oh, we were expecting someone else. I don’t know…’ Her voice tailed off.

  ‘What’s your name? said Sam, hoping to avoid awkward discussions about the sex of geologists.

  ‘Marina, I’m Miss Ballard’s secretary.’

  ‘Of course. I forgot. Is Miss Ballard available?’

  The door to the office at the end of the passage swung open with a bang that reverberated around the open plan room. A female voice barked an order.

  ‘Where’s my coffee? Get a move on woman. It’s a matter of life or death.’

  Sam swung around at the noise and a laugh caught in her throat. Standing in the doorway was a woman who looked like a clone of Gloria, but at twice the volume. Louder clothes, more makeup, ludicrously high heels and blinding red hair made up the intimidating package which filled the door frame.

  Refusing to be cowed, Sam forced herself to walk into the path of the hurricane. She offered Amanda Ballard her hand, half expecting it to be rejected.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Sam Harris.’

  Amanda took Sam’s hand with caution as if she might be concealing a joke electric buzzer. Her stubby fingers with their garish painted nails held on to it for a moment, putting her head to one side as if examining a weird creature from outer space.

  ‘You’re Sam?’ she said, her eyebrows knitting together to form a long fake line which has been pencilled in with a shaky hand.

  Sam held her breath. Then Amanda smiled, a lavish display of teeth and lipstick.

  ‘Oh my God! You’re a woman. I can’t believe it. We’re going to have such fun.’

  Sam tried not to look startled as she took in this unexpected development. ‘Um, yes, I’m really looking forward to it,’ she stammered.

  ‘What’re you doing standing out here in the corridor? It’s time us sheilas got to know each other,’ said Amanda.

  She headed for her office, shouting over her shoulder, ‘for God’s sake, Marina, get us some coffee now!’

  Sam followed Amanda’s bright pink shape into her office. For someone accustomed to the conventional oak desk and trophy photographs, Amanda’s office was an eye opener. It contained an eclectic mix of décor resulting from recent attempts to accommodate the tastes of its new occupant. Plastic sofas with straight backs and chrome legs had been covered with lurid patterned throws from south-east Asia.

  A wall hanging of a koala and its cub covered a damp patch on one wall and a cork board with maps on had been embellished with flower stickers. There were also thick red lines and exclamation marks on the maps highlighting areas of interest. My little pony with attitude.

  ‘Sit,’ said Amanda.

  Sam eyed the options with suspicion and chose a chair with a stained grey seat that looked as if a cup of coffee had been spilled over it.

  ‘Not there. Come and sit here on the settee. I won’t bite,’ said Amanda, patting the plastic sofa and sitting down on it herself. The sofa emitted a loud farting sound and she guffawed. ‘Bet you can’t make it fart as loud as me,’ she said.

  Taking a deep breath, Sam plonked herself down, bracing herself for impact, but it seemed that the air had already been ejected and no noise resulted. Amanda poked the cushions with her false nail, as if suspecting a trap.

  Marina knocked and entered the room with a tray that held two mugs, a glass jug of coffee and a ceramic one filled with hot milk which she set down on the coffee table.

  ‘At last,’ said Amanda, waving her hand in dismissal at Marina. ‘I’ll be mother.’

  She poured them both a cup of half milk half coffee without asking and handed one to Sam.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sam. ‘That’s exactly how I like it.’

  ‘Oh, me too. We are going to get along famously. Now tell me all about yourself.’

  To Sam’s surprise, her tales of derring-do seemed to enchant Amanda who did not interrupt or interject once during her self-deprecating summary of her career to date, except to ask questions about what happened next. They had started on the slaughter of elephants in the forests of Lumbono when the door opened and a fine-featured man with a pencil moustache stepped into the room.

  ‘Amanda, I…’ He stopped and stared at Sam. A frank stare like a laser peeling off her skin.

  ‘Hello there. You must be Sam. I’m Rhett Taylor.’

  Sam took his
soft hand and shook it, noticing the manicured finger nails and lack of calluses. Rhett Butler more like. She felt like Scarlet O’Hara the way he was looking at her, barely concealed amusement dancing in his eyes like a cat with a cornered mouse.

  ‘Good to meet you,’ she said.

  ‘Can’t this wait?’ said Amanda, pouting. ‘Sam and I were getting to know each other.’

  ‘You girls can catch up later. Do you mind?’ He looked pointedly at Sam and held the door open.

  Sam did mind. There was something about him that repulsed her but she couldn’t put her finger on it. He hadn’t been unpleasant but the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention in warning and alarm bells went off in her brain. She stood up to leave and he put his hand on her lower back to guide her out of the door. She dropped her arm by her side, trying to brush it away without making it obvious.

  Amanda tutted.

  ‘Don’t manhandle the staff, Rhett,’ she said. ‘Come here and light my cigarette.’

  Rhett stiffened and Sam took advantage of his distraction to remove herself from his reach.

  ‘I’ll be outside if you want me,’ she said.

  ‘Get Marina to show you to a desk,’ said Amanda. ‘We can resume our nice cosy chat later. You haven’t told me about your love life yet.’

  Rhett snorted and looked Sam up and down, distain written on his face. She ignored him and left them puffing on their cigarettes, the atmosphere as thick as the smoke.

  Sam shut the door behind her and looked up to see Marina observing her from behind the partition. She grinned at the tense face which relaxed into a shy smile.

  ‘Where’s the geology department?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, there isn’t one. All of the geology is done on site at the Bonita project. There are some maps here though,’ said Marina.

  ‘Great. Can I see them?’

  Marina coloured and looked at the floor.

  ‘They’re in the basement storage locker. Amanda said they were cluttering up the office.’

  ‘Can you show me?’

  ***

  After Sam had left, Rhett walked around the coffee table and sat on the sofa beside Amanda. He reached out and touched her cheek with the caution of a child stroking a ferocious cat. She flinched and hissed at him.

  ‘Don’t touch me.’

  ‘There’s no need to treat me like a leper,’ said Rhett. ‘I didn’t ask to come here, you know. Your father forced me.’

  Amanda batted away his hand and turned her back on him.

  ‘And who said I wanted you here? This is my company. I want to run it my way,’ she said.

  ‘And you will. Be patient and I’ll soon be out of your hair.’ He changed the subject. ‘What do you think of Maclean’s hire?’

  Amanda smirked.

  ‘She looks like a tramp but she comes highly recommended. Beggars can’t be choosers you know. We can’t pay top dollar in this bull market. We could only afford women, drunks or child molesters on our budget.’

  ‘Talking of markets, we need to discuss our strategy,’ said Rhett.

  ‘It’s not rocket science. The share prices of junior exploration companies are roaring ahead despite the stagnant gold price. Investors have got gold fever and they are terrified of missing out. Stan Gordon of Granoro’s got the right idea. Look at their share price. It doubles every month. We need to surf the wave before it breaks.’

  ‘I can’t believe how many investors are piling in.’

  ‘Don’t jinx it. We need them to be like lemmings off a cliff. I want to ramp up the price of Bonita Mining and offload at the top. I’ve no interest in mining anything except the market.’

  ‘That’s my girl. I couldn’t agree more. Do you want to go on the razzle tonight?’

  ***

  A sharp smell of urine emanated from the basement locker as Sam forced the door open, fighting against its rusty hinges. Sliding her hand along the wall, she located the light switch and pressed it. The bare bulb hanging from a thick white cable illuminated the space which was filled with broken chairs and light fittings. A plastic storage box perched half-on half-off one of the chairs. The lid had an oily golden lustre. The transparent walls of the box advertised its contents; the maps.

  Sam reached out to lift the box but Marina grabbed her arm.

  ‘Don’t touch. That’s rat’s pee. It’s toxic. I’ll get some disinfectant.’

  While Marina went back upstairs, Sam watched the light swing gently on the long cable, throwing shadows around the storage room, musing on her new position. An exploration company that kept maps in the basement because they were ‘cluttering up the office’ was not a wonderful advertisement for their priorities. What have I got myself into this time?

  Once the box had been cleaned of its revolting lacquer, Sam and Marina struggled upstairs with it. They placed it on the meeting table and prised the lid off. The contents of the box emitted an odour of mildew but were otherwise undamaged. Sam pulled out the first map and opened it on the table in the small meeting room.

  The map was hand drawn and someone had carefully coloured in the different rock types; a good sign that at least one conscientious geologist worked on site at Bonito. The geology itself did not look promising, but every deposit had its own quirks. Sam ignored her gut instinct about its contents.

  A shrill buzzing sound made her jump.

  ‘That’s the radio,’ said Marina. ‘They order food and supplies for the Cerro Calvo project when they can get through.’

  Marina picked up the receiver and pressed the button on the side of it, holding it to her mouth.

  ‘Calderon receiving you. Over.’

  A barely discernible voice crackled over the airwaves. ‘Can you…sack of ri… of beef. Over.’

  A man’s voice, more tenor than baritone, mumbled through the airwaves.

  ‘Repeat please. Over.’

  ‘Rice…of beef. Over’

  ‘Is that a sack of rice and how much beef? Over.’

  The conversation was fraught with difficulty. Marina kept asking him to repeat the order. Finally, she was satisfied.

  ‘You’ll have to do this when you get there,’ she said to Sam. ‘Speak clearly and slowly. It’s a bit of a mission to get the order right, but you speak more clearly than Javier so I expect it may get easier. Don’t forget to say over when you are finished speaking and copy when you understand what has been said to you.’

  ‘What happens to the order? Do you send food to the project from Calderon?’

  ‘I call the suppliers in Arboleda or San Pedro and they send it up to the project.’

  ‘I’m guessing the project is quite remote?’

  ‘Yes, it’s up in the mountains north of Arboleda.’

  ‘How did Maclean find it?’

  ‘Some of the members of the Cerro Calvo cooperative came to our office looking for investment and Mr Maclean went out to see the project.’

  ‘Is it a joint venture?’

  ‘Sort of. The cooperative’s share is reduced in proportion to the investment we make. They’ll end up with a free carry of about six percent if we find anything and develop a mine.’

  The day passed quickly as Sam reviewed the maps and made notes on the geology of the area. She tried to make cross-sections and got frustrated with lack of information on the maps. What was going on underground? Someone had mapped the surface but no one had extrapolated the geology using the information from the artisanal workings, or offered an opinion on how deep the deposit ran or lateral extension of mineralisation.

  Marina brought her a shrimp ceviche and popcorn which she hoovered up without tasting. She was leaning over a map trying to make out the angle of a dip which had been smudged when a voice broke her concentration.

  ‘How does our baby look?’

  Rhett was standing right behind her, far too close for her liking. Heat radiated from his body and he smelled as if he had had sex. She turned around, almost sitting on the table in her efforts to avoid brushing agains
t him.

  ‘Um, difficult to tell from here. I can’t wait to go to the project and get started.’

  ‘We’ll be going on Monday.’

  We? When did that happen?

  ‘Are you a geologist too?’ said Sam.

  ‘Absolutely not. I’m an engineer. I collect the samples from Cerro Calvo for processing here in Calderon before they are sent for analysis.’

  ‘We don’t do that in camp?’

  ‘The equipment wouldn’t survive the trip to site. We send quarter core samples down to the bottom of the mountain by mule and then transport them by lorry to Calderon. It takes a couple of days to get here.’

  ‘But doesn’t…’

  Marina interrupted them.

  ‘Your friend Gloria is waiting downstairs for you.’

  Sam looked at her watch. It was half past five. Where had the day gone?

  ‘Okay, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ said Rhett.

  Not if I see you first.

  Sam fetched her jacket and skipped down the stairs. Waving at Stalin, she stepped blinking out into the sunlight trying to spot Gloria’s car. Amanda had beaten her to it and she produced a squealing noise like a child who has seen a cute puppy. She made a beeline for David who had got out of the car and was poking an insect with a stick. Sam hung back, fascinated to see what Gloria would make of this.

  Gloria had been smoking a cigarette on the tarmac in front of the building and spun around when Amanda’s squeal pierced her eardrum. She wore a silk shirt and jeans with her signature cowboy boots, and her highlighted hair glinted in the sunlight. The sight of Gloria in her warpaint stopped Amanda in her tracks. The two women faced off like gladiators in an arena staring at each other’s outfits with laser like focus.

  ‘Hello,’ said Amanda, who broke first, ‘You must be Gloria. Sam’s told me all about you. I love your shirt. Is that Chanel?’

  She ran her fingers through David’s hair in an absent-minded way. The boy stood rooted to the spot with embarrassment and rolled his eyes at Sam who winked. Gloria blushed and looked as pleased as a junior school pupil with a crush on the head girl.