Part 16 (1/2)

And he was indeed first out as they pulled into the sheltered awning of the terminal. The Athens morning sun was already burning through the growing layer of brown haze. He thought ruefully how it would look from the south, down around Piraeus, as they flew out. From there Athens seemed to be encased in an ugly brown tomb.

World air quality was yet another of the topics weighing on his mind these days. It was, in fact, a frequent subject of the long letters he addressed to another former student, an average-IQ Danish boy majoring in physics whom he had seen fit to flunk in junior-year thermodynamics.

Afterward Mannheim had taken the lad aside and bluntly suggested he might wish to consider a less intellectually demanding career path.

The advice had been heeded, and these days he was doing reasonably well at his cushy new job, down in Was.h.i.+ngton. Still, Isaac Mannheim felt it necessary to post the boy long typewritten letters from time to time concerning various avenues for self-improvement.

Yes, he had turned out reasonably well after all, considering, but he still needed to work harder. Don't be a slacker, John; n.o.body ever got ahead that way. The forty-second President of the United States, Johan Hansen, read his old professor's missives, usually written on the back of semi-log graph paper or whatever was handy, and dutifully answered every one of them. Maybe he was afraid he'd get another ”F” and a humiliating lecture.

Isaac Mannheim stared around the half-filled terminal, wondering. The SatCom pilot usually met him right at the gate, but today n.o.body was there. Incompetent Greeks. This one, in fact, was particularly f.e.c.kless: just out of the Greek Air Force with no real grasp of the value of time.

Or had Dr. Andros forgotten he was arriving? That was hard to imagine, since he had talked with her just before he left Cambridge. One thing you had to say for her, she never forgot appointments. Strange.

No helicopter. No pilot. d.a.m.ned peculiar. He had no alternative but to phone Dr. Andros on her private line.

He walked over to the booth near the entrance to the terminal lobby and got some drachmas. Then he located a pay phone and placed the call.

She answered on the first ring. Good.

”Cally, what in blazes is going on down there?” He tried to open the conversation as diplomatically as he knew how. ”I'm here, sitting on my b.u.t.t in the Athens airport, as though I had nothing else to do. I don't see Alex anywhere. Or the Agusta. You're going to have to get rid of that boy if this happens again. Where in h.e.l.l are they?”

A long uncomfortable pause ensued, and it sounded as though she was listening to someone else. Finally she answered in a shaky voice.

”Dr. Mannheim, it's been a very long night here. Maybe you--”

”Well, how did the power-up go? I need to go over the data with Georges right away.”

”Dr. Mannheim, maybe--” The phone seemed to go dead. Then she came back on. ”The Mark II is temporarily out of service. Can you take the ferry?”

”What! You know perfectly well that d.a.m.ned thing only runs once a week.

And that was yesterday. Now what about the Agusta?”

”It's . . . it's just not possible. So--”

'Tell you what, then, I'll just rent one here. It'll cost a few dollars, but I can't wait around all day.”

”Isaac, I--” She never used his first name, at least not to him, but he took no notice.

”Don't worry about it. It'll just go into project overhead. Be a tax write-off for Bates.” He laughed, without noticeable humor. ”He understands all about such things.”

'That's awfully expensive,” she said, her voice still sounding strange.

”Maybe it'd be better to wait--”

”d.a.m.n it. I'll be there in a couple of hours.”

”Dr. Mannheim . . .” Her voice would have sounded an alarm to most people. But then most people listened. Isaac Mannheim rarely bothered.

Especially where women were concerned. You simply did what had to be done. It was that simple, but most women seemed unable to fathom matters of such obvious transparency.