Dog Training The American Male Part 40

Women remain a foreign species to me. For two months my wife had barely shown me an ounce of interest, and yet in the presence of this Chinese beauty I could sense the acidic jealousy churning in her belly as she escorted the ravis.h.i.+ng woman and her three male companions to my table.

"Zachary, this woman is here tae speak with you. Are ye sober?"

I stood. "Of course I'm sober. Zachary Wallace . . ."

"Dr. Wallace, this is a great honor. My name is Ming Soto and I am a climatologist working in East Antarctica. These are two of my colleagues; Dr. Rehan Ahmed from Karachi, Pakistan and George McFarland, a marine engineer working at Arizona State University. Mr. McFarland was recruited for this mission by NASA."

"NASA? Now you've got me curious." I motioned for the four to sit. I was about to ask the third gentleman his name when I noticed the Pakistani man was s.h.i.+vering. "Dr. Ahmed, would you like something warm to drink? Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea would be most appreciated."

"For me also," smiled Ming, drawing my wife's ire.

"c.o.ke," said George McFarland.

I turned to the man I had not yet met. While all four visitors were about my age, this stranger carried a different aura more military than academic. Rugged looking, with a taut physique; his somber mood and sullen look spelled depression.

A kindred soul?

He looked up at me through bloodshot eyes. "c.o.ke, only put a shot of rum in mine."

I turned to Brandy, foolishly hoping she'd volunteer to bring my guests their beverages on her way out. Instead, she plopped down in the remaining chair. "Whit? Do I look like the barmaid then?"

Red-faced, I strode around behind the bar and filled two cups with bottled water. Placing them in the microwave, I fished out a few tea bags, then grabbed a can of cola from a stack of sodas and filled two gla.s.ses with ice, adding a splash of rum to the second. Loading everything onto a tray, I returned to the table.

"Zachary, did ye ken yer new scientist friends here are all single and in their thirties? And here ye are same age but married wit a bairn."

I handed out the beverages, refusing to be baited by my wife's remark. "Guess that makes me a lucky man. Brandy, would you mind giving me a few minutes alone with Ms. Soto and her colleagues so we can talk?"

"Ms. Soto and her colleagues are here tae recruit ye for something. Bein' as I'm still yer wife and the mother of yer child, I think I'll give a listen. Is that a problem, Ms. Soto?"

Ming smiled. "No problem Mrs. Wallace, provided you abide by a non-disclosure agreement like the one we are requesting your husband to sign."

Brandy smiled back, her blue eyes daggers. "Sure, I'll sign. Whit 've I got tae lose? Willie's crib?"

Her response did not please Ming. "Dr. Wallace, we've come a long way at great expense to speak with you. While I can a.s.sure you the subject matter will both interest and astound you, it is not something we want exposed to the general public."

Seeking unfiltered answers, I turned to the fourth stranger, the man who had not bothered to introduce himself. "You were recruited for this mission?"

"Straight out of a California psychiatric ward."

"What's your role?"

"Submersible pilot."

"What's mine?"

"Money. Your a.s.sociation with the expedition brings the sponsors that pay the bills."

I stared hard at the man's face. "I've seen your photo before . . . it was on the Scripps Inst.i.tute website. You said you're a submersible pilot?"

"Deep sea pilot. I was . . . until about six months ago. U.S. Navy discharged me after the last in a series of dives went bad. Ming and the ding-a-ling boys here found me in San Diego last week and made me an offer I couldn't refuse . . . contingent, of course, on your partic.i.p.ation. After what happened to you in the Sarga.s.so Sea, I'm guessing they figured you'd feel safer with someone like me piloting the sub."

He turned to Brandy. "My fiance, Maggie she can be a bit of a ball-buster, too. Probably why I signed on for this lunacy. It's none of my business why you're busting Zach's chops, but since there's a kid involved let me offer some friendly advice either support your man or don't, but don't chase him off to me out of spite. One depressed s.h.i.+thead per submersible is my limit."

I smiled, suddenly remembering the man's name. "You're Jonas Taylor. I saw you on that Discovery Channel special. Jesus man, what the h.e.l.l happened to you?"

"I got crucified, pal. Same as you."

end.