Calamity

by Gail McCormick

“Sorry, not that I’ve seen,” Barbara answered, a smile playing around her lips.

  “Well, it’s not enough to focus on the people who are already convinced. Anyway, our main purpose is to get measurements of the methane and carbon dioxide release levels from the thawing permafrost. God help us if it’s as bad as we think it might be.”

  He was buzzed by receptionist.

  “They’re here now. Let’s go see how they manage to ruin our day.”

  They headed out to the department’s reception area. Camellia and Owen were there waiting, seated on straight-backed chairs. Today she wore a sleek purple skirt so tight it would have been hard to slip a quarter between the fabric and skin beneath it. Her sleeveless blouse had a cowl neck. A pair of platform heels with open toes made the red polish on her toenails visible. They got up and walked over to Kyle for the obligatory handshake.

  Kyle looked Camellia over and said, “You’re certainly going to have to dress very differently for this trip, that is, if you really want to go. It’s not going to be a picnic.”

  Camellia was about to respond angrily, but Owen put a restraining hand on her arm and said, “We’ve already bought parkas.”

  Camellia smiled sweetly. “If there’s one thing I do know how to do, Professor, it’s dress for the occasion.” A well-manicured hand smoothed back her loose hair, fingernails expertly painted a rich crimson that matched her lipstick perfectly. “I do declare, lordy, all that gorgeous scenery. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. Gonna be great as all get out.”

  Kyle ignored her obvious sarcasm. “This is Dr. Logan. She’s just joined our team. She’s an evolutionary biologist. But don’t worry, if you don’t understand her expertise, you won’t have to mention that.”

  Camellia flinched. Owen put a restraining hand on her arm again. She managed another smile and added to the Southern facade. “Could y’all share the real purpose of the trip with us? Surely you’re not just going as tour guides for conservatives?”

  He frowned. “Certainly, but you may want to take notes.” She’s going to be a real pain, he thought. But an undeniably gorgeous one.

  Camellia pulled a pen from her bag and reached for the pad that Owen handed her.

  “We’re going to check the permafrost to determine how rapidly it’s thawing and what that means about potential release of greenhouse gases. We’ll measure escaping methane and carbon dioxide. Ultimately, we need to know what impact it could have on climate change. We might be lucky enough to see some methane bubbles. Well, lucky isn’t the right word since bubbles are bad, but you get the idea. Or maybe you don’t.”

  “Believe it or not,” Camellia said, “I DO get the idea.” She scribbled a few words and then looked up at him. “Heavens to Betsy, I scoured hell’s half acre to learn at least a few things. Among them that you were at the top of your class at MIT, were one of their youngest PhDs ever, and that of course you like arugula and organic yogurt. That was buried in a blog post. Bio doesn’t show that you think anyone who disagrees with you is feeble minded or that you could use a haircut.”

  Barbara stifled a smile.

  “It does mention you were given a very badly injured American pika they were going to euthanize since it couldn’t be restored to the wild. A rat-like creature.”

  Kyle turned away with Barbara but paused to toss over a shoulder, “Actually it’s more rabbit-like.” He turned back, looked at Camellia again and added, “We’re leaving in two days. We’ll meet for dinner on the way to the airport to go over trip details. Remember the clothes. There are likely to be swarms of mosquitoes, so you might want to cover up.”

  Even though he and Barbara had started to head back down the hall to his office, Camellia’s response was loud enough for him to hear. “Well, bless your heart, thanks. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, we’re fixin to join you.”

  Out of Camellia’s hearing range Barbara commented, “She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

  Kyle’s response was terse. “Isn’t that the most important tool for a journalist at NIP?”

  “Probably works with most men,” Barbara noted.

  Kyle didn’t respond. She’s probably right about that, he thought.

  Meanwhile, Camellia and Owen had reached the building entrance.

  “Jackass!” she griped.

  “He’s just seeing what you choose to show him,” Owen reminded her. “Especially when you throw in the Southern accent. I know you did it just to taunt him, but he probably doesn’t realize that. The ‘bless your heart’ might have been a bit much, not to mention your skin-tight skirt.”

  She frowned at his reference to the skirt as she smoothed the fabric that was so slippery it was tending to ride up. Damned skirt. “You know perfectly well the boss requires that I dress this way.”

  He nodded reluctantly.

  “Well,” she continued, “thank god you’re from the South too, so you get it about Hardin. His type brings out the worst in me. Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. At least Barbara is allowed to be comfortable. She could use some sprucing up though. Pretty stodgy with all the tan colors and hair in a knot.”

  “Do I detect a touch of competition? He’s single, huh?”

  “It’s in his bio, certainly not something I was checking out.” But it was something she had noticed, and his charisma was all too apparent. Nonetheless she said, “He’s definitely a world class jerk.”

  “Well, Barbara certainly has her eye on him.”

  Camellia shrugged. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  SAME DAY

  EVENING

  NIP ANCHOR DESK

  MANHATTAN

  “I HAVE EXCITING NEWS FOR YOU,” Camellia announced at the end of the program that night. “Two days from now I’ll be headed for Siberia with Senator Trotford and some scientists who are studying thawing permafrost. It should be a fascinating trip. You won’t see me again until I get back in a few days. Howard Bentley will cover for me while I’m away. So good night friends. Back in a couple of days. Count on it.”

  As she got her things together to leave, her cell phone rang. “Don’t go!” It was a familiar male voice, deep and husky. “We’re soulmates. You can’t change that. I know where you live, and I can get to you. I want to strip that skinny skirt off your body and…”

  Camellia threw her phone at the wall so hard that it cracked into pieces. Not another crank call from this guy she thought. He had already called twice before with sexually explicit comments. She reported it to the police but they told her he was using a different disposable cell phone each time, so there was nothing they could do. She’d had other stalkers, but this one was by far the creepiest. How did he find my unlisted phone number, she wondered?

  She retrieved the phone and tried to put it back together but was too upset to deal with it. Too impatient too. Heck. It’s the second one I’ve replaced in the past month, she thought. When she left the building, she was shivering despite the unbearable heat. Can he really know where I live?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TWO DAYS LATER

  RESTAURANT BAR

  NEW YORK CITY

  SENATOR DUDLEY TROTFORD LEERED AT CAMELLIA. He put his fingers in his jacket lapels and puffed out his ample chest. “Thanks for taking time to talk to me and coming along on this trip, honey,” he said. He was wearing a pure silk maroon tie and custom-made pin-striped suit. An increasing paunch bulged over the buckle on his rattlesnake skin belt. Thinning hair was slicked over a bald spot and would have looked better if he’d simply combed it straight back. Moroccan leather shoes were buffed so thoroughly that they shimmered. There was an American flag pin attached to a jacket lapel.

  They were in a fairly commonplace, if a bit shabby, reasonably priced restaurant, conveniently located near the airport. The mirror backed bar was across from an area with small laminated tables and well-worn barrel chairs where Dudley and Camellia were sitting. Brass plated l
ight fixtures were covered in dust. The Berber wall to wall carpet had numerous stains. Scores of snags made it treacherous in places.

  He was working on a second scotch and soda even though it was only 5 p.m. She was drinking seltzer.

  “I do follow your show, you know,” he added.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  He reached over, put his hand on her thigh, sliding it along her bright orange pants.

  Camellia frowned and twisted away, forcing him to drop his hand. He’s revolting, she thought.

  He leaned closer and put his hand on her thigh again. “Say, how about drinks in my hotel room when we get there?”

  Just as he said this, Kyle and Barbara arrived and witnessed the interaction.

  “It’s going to be a long trip, so people should sleep as much as possible on the plane tonight. The ten-hour flight to Moscow will be followed by a three-hour flight to Salekhard. What you do there is up to you, but it would be smart to get some decent sleep since the next day will be grueling, and you’ll be jet lagged. Moreover, the nearly 24 hours of daylight will be confusing.” He figured she would notice his slight emphasis on the word decent. “Right now, I’d like you to join me in the restaurant where we can have an early dinner and go over details with the rest of the group.”

  Camellia flicked Dudley’s hand away and stood up, jerking her head to the side so quickly that her triangle shaped silver earrings bounced.

  “How’d you come up with this dump, Hardin?” Senator Trotford demanded.

  “The arrangements were made by my grad student,” Kyle replied evenly. “At least the air conditioning works. You do have first class seats on the plane. Perhaps Miss Knight would like to sit next to you.”

  “Owen and I are fine with business class,” Camellia said.

  Kyle turned away, and Camellia followed him before Dudley had a chance to lift himself off his chair.

  “Hey, doc, how long will our layover in Moscow be?”

  “Long enough for you to fix your makeup and put on two more coats of nail polish. Which, by the way, doesn’t exactly match your lipstick.” He continued on his way to the restaurant but did hear her next comment.

  “Heavenly days, aren’t you the observant one? Too bad it won’t keep me off the plane. But golly, I’ll be worn slap out getting all gussied up.”

  When Kyle was out of earshot, she threw up her hands and shook her head. Spotting a sign for the ladies’ room, she made a beeline for it. When she emerged from the lavatory, Barbara was standing in front of the mirror, fiddling with the top button on the front of her blouse.

  “I like your green blouse,” Camellia said. “It goes well with your auburn hair. Maybe you could try letting it down. That would show your curls off to advantage.”

  “Thanks. Hopefully this is still classy enough. I wanted to avoid looking sleazy.”

  Camellia was taken aback by her implied insult. “Heaven forbid you should look sleazy. Keep your typical academic look. Might be a bit boring, but totally suitable. Leave the sexy sleaze to me.”

  Without responding, Barbara turned and left the room. Camellia followed her into the hall and continued, “And as for Hardin, I don’t have a dog in this fight. He’s all yours.” And you’re welcome to him, she thought.

  Owen, who happened to be outside in the hallway, overheard this as Barbara headed away.

  “Ouch. No competition going on. Right.”

  “Hah. She asked for it. She had her nose so high in the air she could have drowned in a rainstorm.”

  They went into the restaurant where they found Kyle standing next to three men, assessing the site. A long table took up most of one wall. It was covered with a variety of foods, cafeteria style. Paper napkins, plastic plates, glasses, and stainless flatware were stacked next to assorted non-alcoholic drinks. There were oval tables scattered around the room with patrons seated mostly at the end near the food. A teenager had rock music blaring from a Sony portable radio.

  “Let’s take the far end where it should be quieter,” Kyle said. “We can push some tables together to be able to hear ourselves speak.” He led the way with the others following. Senator Trotford lagged behind. Camellia and Owen helped move the tables.

  “Let’s get something to eat. Then we can talk,” Kyle said.

  When they got to the refreshments table, they found wilted iceberg lettuce, hot-house tomatoes and what had presumably been frozen peas along with other equally sorry dishes. Camellia turned and looked at Kyle. “Lawd, where’s the arugula?” she asked as she took a plate and put a few limp vegetables on it. “Owners of this place are squeezing a quarter tight enough to set the eagle screamin with their economizing. I happen to know they own a chain of these restaurants.” She picked up a raw carrot and took a bite. “The way they poor mouth while they stash bundles of money in the Bahamas, they’d call an alligator a lizard.”

  “They’re tighter than the bark on a tree,” Owen agreed. “No grilled okra for the likes of us either.” They both laughed. “But here, try this. Doesn’t look rode hard and put up wet.” He added an ear of corn to her plate.

  Kyle heard what Owen said and tried to make sense of what it meant as he added vegetables to his own plate. He finally figured it had something to do with horse grooming and wasn’t a sexual innuendo. Although watching their obvious intimacy he wasn’t sure.

  Senator Trotford elbowed the others aside and looked up and down the table. “Where’s the steak?” Owen pointed to the end of the table, and he headed that way. “This is overcooked,” he protested loudly. “Doesn’t anybody work here? I want mine rare, and I want a drink.” He figured he deserved that and more after years in the Senate fighting to keep the economy on the straight and narrow primarily by making sure that gas and oil were available and their prices reasonable.

  A waiter appeared and put another platter of tired vegetables on the table. “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t do special orders. You could get a drink in the bar across the hall.”

  Dudley frowned at him, took a plate and piled it with slabs of steak and French fries which he slathered in catsup. The others ignored him, continued to select food, and then headed back to their tables.

  “Sit next to me,” Camellia whispered to Owen. “Last thing I need is more of that creep.” She nodded her head toward Trotford who lagged behind.

  Two of Kyle’s associates overheard her and immediately vied for the seat on the other side of Camellia. The taller man got there first. Kyle and Barbara found places across the table. The third man took a seat next to them. When Dudley arrived, he was clearly annoyed to find he couldn’t sit next to Camellia, so he placed himself at the end which he would have considered the head of the table.

  When they were all seated and had started talking to each other, Kyle tapped his water glass. “Okay, everyone here knows who you are,” he referred to Camellia and the Senator. “Barbara Logan is on loan from Georgetown University.” She leaned toward him and smiled. “Robert Barnes is an associate professor of geology at Columbia.” He tipped his head toward Robert who had cornered the seat next to Camellia. Robert had a dark beard and close-cropped hair. His slightly crooked nose bore out a collision with a linebacker when he was a quarterback at Dartmouth. “He’ll be taking measurements and collecting any specimens we find.” Kyle turned to the man sitting next to Robert. “Anish Patel is a visiting professor from New Delhi. He works on climate change’s effect on Indian farmers which is pretty dire, as some of you know.” Anish had a deeply lined face from years of studying Indian farmers in the bright sun. “And David Harrison is a grad student working with me at the Institute. Fortunately, he speaks Russian which will be essential. They’ll both be helping Robert.” David appeared to have copied Kyle with his hair also nearly reaching his shoulders and a more conventional t-shirt with a Columbia logo. He had a narrow scar that ran down the side of his face.

  “And this is Owen Thomas who will be filming for NIP,” Camellia said, t
urning toward him. “He does know some Russian,” she added.

  While they ate, Kyle proceeded to lay out their schedule. “We’ll stay overnight in Salekhard and set out first thing in the morning for an undeveloped area of thawing permafrost. We’ll rent two four-wheel drive vehicles, one for David, Anish and Robert and their gear, the other for the rest of us. I don’t know what our accommodations will be like. They’re having problems with buildings cracking as the permafrost thaws. Hopefully ours will be reasonably intact. The roads are buckling too, so the ride might be rough. I gather there may be hungry bears on the loose in the summer, so we’ll have to keep an eye out. Robert has experience hunting deer. Hopefully he’ll be able to get a rifle or a shotgun. That’s about it for now.”

  No one except Dudley appeared daunted. He frowned and shook his head probably trying to figure out whether there was any way he could back out without losing face. There was still time for conversation so while Owen was texting someone, Camellia turned to Robert and said, “Do you know what the forecast is for where we’re headed?”

  “It shouldn’t be too hot,” he replied.

  “I do know that average Antarctic and Arctic sea ice set a record low for July, running almost 20% below average,” she commented.

  “Right. It surpassed the previous historic low of July 2012. And in February Greenland’s northern tip hit 43 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s when it’s usually about minus four degrees.”

  “That’s terrifying!” Camellia exclaimed. “I gather that the past four years have been the hottest ever reliably measured, but a 47 degree rise is unthinkable.”

  “It might be an anomaly but, if not, you’re right. Arctic sea ice in 2018 effectively tied with 2008 and 2010 for the sixth lowest summertime minimum, and this is the fourth consecutive year of unusually low wintertime ice which would be consistent with that temperature.”

  “I don’t like to think about the warming’s effect on sea levels and weather patterns around the world,” Camellia said. She noticed that Kyle was paying attention. “But at least it won’t be hotter than a billy goat’s ass in a pepper patch, the way it is here at the moment,” she added as she picked up the ear of corn with her fingers, chewed on a few kernels and then licked her fingers.