Richard Blackwell sat back in his seat, displaying passively negative body language. “That’s a bold statement, Dr. Morton, considering neither Nagle nor Spencer are available for comment.”
“I can find them. This is well worth the funding. It has to be researched.”
Amanda Ravenstone shifted in her chair and peered over the rim of her glasses. “Has to? Really, Louisa. We’ve already wasted an inexplicable amount of the trustee’s money on John’s frivolous pursuits. This concept you claim John founded is so far beyond frivolous it borders on comical.”
“Ludicrous, I’d say,” Gustovsen added. “A reptilian language that only applies to an extinct species?”
“It’s the language that makes this project unique. Trust me. This is big. Groundbreaking big.”
“Man, that’s whacked,” Horace Rathmueller barked in teenager-ese. “We can’t just trust you anymore. We can’t afford it.”
Louisa took a poise of dignity and confidence. “But I was the reason you trusted John all this time.”
Blackwell was at ease as he replied. “In the first place, where has that trust gotten us? What has Nagle produced for all our money? And in the second place, what measure of arrogance brought you to that conclusion?”
“We have always wanted to trust Dr. Nagle,” Amanda said. “He wanted to trust you, often against our better judgment. A little schmoozing and a great pair of legs can get you a long way, even in this business. But eventually you have to put out.”
Louisa was dumbfounded. Her lips parted to release words in defense but none were present. She looked from one board member to the next, hoping for some sign of compassion, some glimpse of an ally.
Ed Mantese spoke in his usual friendly tone. “No one wanted John to succeed more than I did, Dr. Morton. But eventually even I figured out that the horse is dead.”
“I assure you this is real.”
“I’m afraid we’re going to need a little more than that at this stage.”
“Ask Beau what sank his boat. Ask John.”
“Spencer is taking some time off, we’re told. He’s working inland on some volunteer work. Housing or something.”
“And John is unavailable as well,” Amanda said. She looked at Horace. “Did he say how long?”
“He told me he had a project he’d been working on, more like neglecting, for several years and it was time to finish it. All he said was it was over water and more along the lines of construction than research.”
* * * * *
Seven hundred miles away, John treaded water as slowly as he could. His voice was deliberately calming as he spoke. “You can do this. Trust me. You’ll make it.”
Aisling was afraid, unsure but unwilling to back down. She took the coaxing and tried to step forward. “I don’t think I can. Go on without me.”
“Not going to happen. Now listen to me. Put both hands on that rope.” She did as he instructed. “Now just lean toward me.” Again she did and came to the edge of the elevated bank of the Oklahoma River where they swam. The rope she held was tied to a high limb overhanging the river where John waited.
Finally, with a shout, the bikini-clad Aisling pushed away from the shore to swing out on the thirty-foot rope. She wrapped her legs around the rope above the double knot and settled in for what turned out to be a short ride. The limb cracked and broke and the rope and girl plunged into the warm water.
She surfaced, gasping for air and spitting river water. “You promised me it would hold!”
“I did not. I just said trust me.”
“Well, you can hang by your thumbs until I do that again. Didn’t you even test it before you hung me on it?”
John was grinning broadly as he swam up to her. “I thought about it for a second. Then I figured, what the hell? It’s only a swing.”
Enjoy “Loch Ness”? Check out Donovan Galway’s other titles!
“Indian Nation”
“The Final Curtain”
“The Manly Man Code”
“Noah”
“Pillars of War”
“The Calibos Factor”
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