Instead of taking the chair facing her desk, Andrews perched on the corner of her desk.
“I’ve just heard the happy news.”
“I was about to draft a memo to the team.”
“Wrong strategy.”
“Excuse me?”
“The men won’t appreciate being informed of their new project with an impersonal note. You’ll score higher and create a better team spirit by breaking the news of what it entails to them in person.”
“I’m not a team motivator. I’m here to do my job.”
“Ah, but part of your job is to manage this team. And how well you do that will determine the outcome of your project.”
“I don’t intend to babysit six men, Professor Andrews. If they need someone to hold their hands in order to do their work, they’re not the right men for the task.”
His smile was knowing. “May I suggest something?” Without waiting for a reply, he said, “Organize a meeting in the boardroom. Get some tea and cake. I know it sounds frivolous, but it’ll make all the difference.”
When he stared at her for a few seconds, Fraya said, “Was there anything else?”
“I would like to familiarize myself with your methodology before that team meeting, Dr. Riber. Could you send me an electronic file with your notes?”
Fraya straightened. “I’ll discuss the plan with everyone at the same time.”
“The men don’t need an understanding of methodology or your motivations for it. They need to be told what to do, how and when. I, on the other hand, will need an in-depth comprehension of what we’re looking for, how and why. Archeoastronomy is widely defined, these days. I need to know how you see your responsibilities, where yours end and mine start. Don’t you agree?”
Despite her distrust of the man, Fraya knew he was right. He couldn’t do his job if she kept him in the dark.
“You’ll have it by tonight.”
He got up. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you, Doctor.” He bowed and walked from her office. His steps were soundless, light, like those of a cat.
When he was gone, Tim reappeared in her door. He made a face. “What did Professor Evil want?”
Fraya gave him a stern look. “Professor Andrews,” she corrected. “You’ll find out soon enough. Book the small boardroom for this afternoon.” She held the list to him. “Here’s a list of the people you need to summon. And get tea and cake.”
His eyebrow lifted. “What is this? A tea party?”
“Just do it.”
“Won’t be easy to get cake on short notice. You have to inform the kitchen at least a week in advance. The best I can do is biscuits.”
“Cake, biscuits, whatever.”
“Fine.” He rolled his eyes and looked at the list, then frowned. “You’re joking, right?”
“I wish I was.”
“I’m not looking forward to this project, whatever it is.”
* * * *
Fraya looked at the door for the third time. Andrews was late for her meeting and she was annoyed. The six men sat around the table, arms folded, watching her quietly–Errol Cramer, Greg Smit, Tanson Scarrabo, Demetrix Panagakos, Stix Shaw and Mason Daniels. Tim stood next to the table in the corner with the urn and the teacups, looking out of place. Fraya had asked the men to help themselves to coffee or tea while they waited for Andrews, but none of them had reacted. The only response she had gotten was a snort from Panagakos, the equipment technician.
At last the door opened and Andrews strode in, carrying a six-pack of beer.
“Sorry I’m late, Doctor, but I stopped to pick up these.” He lifted the beer.
There were loud cheers of approval from the men.
“Alcohol is hardly allowed during working hours, Professor,” Fraya said.
“But,” he looked at his watch, “it’s after five. The men are officially off duty.”
Fraya was dumbfounded. How stupid of her. Her first grave error–calling a meeting on their official off time. Andrews had purposefully manipulated and undermined her.
Andrews started handing the beers around, making her look real foolish against the backdrop of the tea and biscuits. Guessing that this was exactly Andrews’s intention, Fraya squared her shoulders.
“Professor Andrews, you’re late. It reflects disrespect for your team leader and the other people in this room. If it happens again, you’ll be excluded from the meeting. I’ll expect you to respect the people who did pitch on time by not disrupting the meeting. Tim will make our notes available on a shared folder after each meeting. Anyone who shows up late can familiarize himself with what has been discussed in his own, private time. That goes for everyone. I won’t have my time, or the team’s wasted.”
The room had gone silent. From the corner of her eye Fraya saw Tim shifting his weight around, glaring at her with a silent message.
Andrews pulled himself to his full, impressive height.
“My apologies, Doctor,” he said with a grin that suggested the opposite of his words, “next time you can spank me.”
That remark evoked a roar of laughter from the men. Tim took a step forward, but Fraya lifted her hand.
“The fact that you’re here, means that you have read, agreed and signed Mr. Saunders’s project proposal, which I’m heading. You can either choose to work with me, and be part of one of the potentially most historical discoveries of the world, or walk away now. I won’t hold your decision against you. But if you decide to stay, gentlemen, I expect your cooperation.” She looked pointedly at Andrews. “If anyone wants to leave, the time is now.”
Fraya held her breath, but no one moved. She nodded at Tim who started handing out folders.
“Mr. Smit, you’re in charge of programming. Mr. Panagakos, you’ll manage the construction and equipment. Mr. Daniels, you are responsible for operations. Make sure the program flows smoothly. And Mr. Shaw, you’re the chief machinist. Professor Andrews is in charge of the excavation. You have my requirements and a timeline in front of you. I’ll need to know what staff complement and equipment you require to execute your tasks by Monday in order to submit my budget to Professor Welser. You’ve signed a confidentiality clause, so I don’t need to remind you of the importance of discretion. Any questions?”
“How do you propose to find this site?” Andrews said, his hands on his hips. “I may understand your logical deductions, but most of the team feels left in the dark.”
The men nodded in unison.
Damn Andrews. He did it to her twice. Tricked her. Convinced her she didn’t need to share the information with the men, leading her into this nasty little trap of his. She narrowed her eyes at him and was only awarded with an even broader grin than before. As if butter couldn’t melt in his traitor mouth.
Fraya tapped a key on her laptop and an image of the globe divided in longitudes appeared on the central 3D table screen.
“There are seven ancient sites of historical significance around the globe that can be connected with an almost straight line: the Great Pyramid, the Nazca lines, Persepolis, Mohenjo Daro, the Lost City of Petra, Ur, and the temples at Angkor Wat. The Great Pyramid is aligned with Machu Picchu in Peru, the Nazca lines with Easter Island, Machu Picchu with Easter Island, Easter Island with Angkor Wat, Angkor Wat with Mohenjo Daro, and Mohenjo Daro with the Great Pyramid. Each of these has a unique geographical point in common. They lie exactly seventy-two degrees in longitude apart. This is no coincidence, as the margin of error is less than a tenth of a degree of latitude. But, if we divide the surface of the earth up in equal parts of seventy-two, there seems to be two sites in the South World missing, one right here, in the Atacama Desert, and another in Peru.
“Thanks to archeological research and astronomical knowledge we know today that these sites date back to 10 500 BC, because the geographical layout of each of these cities is, in fact, a map of the stars exactly the way it was seen in 10 500 BC.
“To answer your question, Professor Andrews, I intend to us
e a simulation of the star constellations of that era–that’s where you come in Mr. Smit–to determine where on that line a site may be situated.”
“It sounds very farfetched,” Panagakos said.
“If it was so farfetched, we never would have been granted the funding. Other archeologists have worked with maps of the stars and succeeded.”
“Yes,” Andrews said, “but they first discovered some remains and then pulled up a map of the stars to explain the layout of the monuments, and even then their scientific findings were inconclusive.”
“Correct,” Fraya said, “and I intend to work it the other way around. I’m going to use the stars to lead me to the site.”
Suddenly the six men spoke all at once. Fraya switched off her laptop and collected her things. “That’s all for now. We kick off in two weeks.”
Smit snickered. “There’s no way you can be ready in two weeks.”
“If you can’t get your act together in fourteen days, Mr. Smit, then you’re obviously not the man for the job.”
A roar of laughter followed. Smit was the only quiet one and the glare he aimed at Fraya was one of pure malice.
Chapter Thirty
They had both been busy, Fraya with planning the expedition in search of a lost city that had come to a shaky start, and Emilio traveling to Huilo-Huilo for the construction of yet another boutique hotel. During the last four weeks they had been living past each other, except for their physical relationship that demanded constant attention, and the candlelight dinner was Emilio’s idea of catching up. In fact, Fraya was glad they were in a public place. Facing her husband over a table in a quiet, vegetarian restaurant in town, she dreaded the news she had to break to him.
Emilio closed the wine menu. “Champagne?”
Fraya nodded.
He tilted his head. “Fraya, you’ve lost weight. I think you’re working too hard.”
She wiped her hands over her face and breathed in deeply. “Emilio, regarding work, there’s something I need to tell you.”
In an instant his expression became tight. “What is it?”
“The project is moving along nicely. Everything for the expedition is in place. It’s officially starting on Monday.”
“You’ve done a great job. It’ll go well.”
She fumbled with her napkin. “It’s not the same job that I started out with, any longer.”
“What are you trying to say, Fraya?”
“I won’t be coming home every eight days.”
There, she had dropped the bomb.
Emilio’s eyes darkened. “What?”
“In fact, I won’t be able to come home for three months.”
Emilio stilled. The line of his mouth was hard. She could see the disbelief in his eyes. “I expected two weeks, but not three months. You know that’s impossible. You don’t have to go. You can appoint a team leader to do the groundwork.”
“Emilio, if I don’t do this they’ll give the project to someone else. You don’t understand. This is my dream. Don’t you know how important this is to me?”
“And I? Do I not carry any importance on your scale of priorities? Not to mention yourself. Do you honestly think I’ll sit back and watch you suffer, or let you punish me? The hormone treatment may last for eight days, but it will never be effective for three months, Fraya. You know that.”
“I’ve lasted a year on the treatment before.”
“Yes, but we haven’t had repeated intercourse during that year. You heard what Marguerite said. The intensity of your reaction is directly related to the quantity of the hormone present in your body. I don’t want a repeat of what had happened to you during your first week at the observatory.”
“I don’t want to punish myself or you, Emilio. There must be a solution. I just haven’t thought about it yet.”
“Yes, there is a solution. You can manage the job from head office, here in Santiago. I’ve never liked the idea of you being exposed to countless dangers on some fucking desert excursion.”
Her head flung up. “You can’t seriously mean that.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. It’s dangerous, Fraya. I don’t want you risking your health or your safety.”
“Emilio,” his name was a plea, “how would you like it if I told you that you couldn’t travel to Huilo-Huilo or wherever for the construction of your hotels?”
His eyes narrowed. “In case you’ve been too busy to notice, I’ve coordinated my schedule so that I’m back in Santiago every eight days, on the same days you’re here.”
Fraya looked at her hands. She bit her lip to prevent Emilio from noticing that it was trembling with the tears she felt building. It was true. He had been exceptionally accommodating. But this was her dream.
“I won’t give this up, Emilio.” She glanced at him. “I can’t.”
“The only thing you can’t do, is deny our need to fuck.”
She flinched. “I hate it when you put it like that.”
“Why? It’s the truth. Isn’t that all it is to you, Fraya?”
She shook her head slowly. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it to you, Fraya?” he said, his voice becoming more heated by the minute. “God knows, I’ve tried. I’ve tried to be a good mate to you. You promised me a year.”
“I know. I’m not backing out.”
“Three months before coming home sounds like backing out to me. How long will you stay after every three months, Fraya?”
“I’ll be home for five days,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
“Five days in every three months! Have you made the calculation? I’ll see you for fifteen days over the next nine months, and then it’s all over.”
Fraya couldn’t hold back the tears that fell in big blobs on her hands. He had said it. In a year it will be all over. She didn’t know if she was crying because he was such an obstinate, hardheaded bastard, or because the thought of having to walk away forever was unbearable.
“If you’re so worried about hormones for three months,” she bit out, “what are we going to do when the year is up?”
She had thought about it a lot. It presented a challenge that neither of them had the answer to.
“I have Marguerite working on something. Research. A new serum. But she’s got nothing yet.”
Fraya inhaled sharply. So, Emilio had been preparing for that fatal day of their separation behind her back. It only confirmed the knowledge that he only wanted her until he could be physically free of her. Just sex, he had said. Just a year, she reminded herself.
A sob broke from her throat. “I hate this mating heat! I hate these hormones!”
Fraya pushed her chair back and ran from the restaurant, escaping into the darkness where she could cry unobserved. The truth was she didn’t want to be away from him, not for a day. The truth was that she didn’t know if she could last three months without him. And it had nothing to do with her physical addiction. She wasn’t sure if her heart would survive the blow. But if she didn’t lead this expedition, all she had ever worked for would mean nothing. Her dream would be dead. Her dream was all she had left. It was what she needed to hold onto, for the day when Emilio would cast her out. He said so himself, only a year. And without her dream, her soul would be dead.
Fraya looked up at the stars, blinking back her tears. She wished she could find guidance in them. She wished she knew what to do. Maybe she should have been a damn astrologist. She saw Emilio exit the restaurant and slowly walk her way. She turned her back to him, hiding her tears, but he placed his hands on her shoulders, twirled her around and pulled her against his chest.
“Please Fraya, don’t cry.” He stroked her hair. When she shivered he folded his jacket around her like an embrace.
Fraya was torn in two. How could she give up her dream for a man who was going to make her walk away after a year? How could she survive without seeing him every minute of every day for the little time he has granted her? She gave in to the impos
sibility of the situation, her despair flowing through her tears, soaking his shirt and shaking her shoulders with violent sobs.
“Baby, calm down,” he said in her hair. “I know how much your job means to you. But I can’t make do with only fifteen more days with you.”
“What are you asking me to do, Emilio?” she whispered.
He was quiet for a long time, his hands stroking up and down her back. Finally, he said, “Let’s go home.”
At home Emilio was gentle, kind and considerate. He fed her a nutrient soup that Maria had left in the fridge and ran her a bath. He left a glass of wine on the edge of the bath, and left her to her privacy. Fraya needed him, as she knew he was very much aware, but he did not come to her that night, not to say goodnight, neither to claim her body.
* * * *
Emilio sat in his grandmother’s lounge with his head in his hands. He couldn’t take Fraya’s dream away from her. Never. But he was going to lose her. The end of their term was fast approaching and instead of growing closer, they had been forced apart by the demands of their occupations. He had been preparing himself for the day he would have to set her free, the time he still had left his only consolation. Now, she was asking for nine months and offering him fifteen days. The idea was terrifying. Fifteen more days with Fraya. It was a sure way of telling him she didn’t care, not about him or about their mating. She would have hurt him less if she had plunged a knife into his heart. Yet, how could he deny her the one thing she lived for? He loved her, but it was clear that she didn’t return his affections. He had failed in winning her heart, in keeping her.
Ofelia emerged from the kitchen and placed a cup of tea on the table in front of Emilio.
“Drink up. It’s got lots of sugar. It’ll do you good. And spit it out. What’s wrong between you and Fraya?”
Emilio looked up and smiled. His grandmother never missed a thing. “Who says there’s something wrong?”
Ofelia sniffed. “Look at you. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Fraya has been offered a chance to be the project leader of something that’s very important to her.”
The Astronomer Page 29
