Colder Than Ice (6 page)

“You’re
not a reporter are you?” Ms. Blainey asked.

“No,
I’m not. I work for the International Space Research Institute, in Houston,
Texas.”

“Would
you please hold the line?”

Michela’s
ears were at once filled with a beautiful piece of classical music. As she
tried to place the melody she was interrupted.

“Good
morning, Dr. DeGrasse.” Charlotte Finlayson’s tones were warm and yet
businesslike. “I’m between meetings and have very little time. What is it
you wish to know about Eric Finlayson?”

“Good
morning, ma’am. I’m a psychologist currently working with the International Space
Research Institute.”

“Yes,
you mentioned that to my PA.”

Michela
couldn’t be sure, but she was almost certain that Charlotte Finlayson was
sassing her. “I’ve no doubt you’re aware of the recent possible discovery
of proof of Finlayson’s expedition to Antarctica. What you may not be aware of
is that there’s a team in Australia attempting to organize an archaeological
dig at the site. I’d like to be part of that expedition and was hoping to speak
with you regarding any interest you may have.”

“You’re
not suggesting a woman of my age would be interested in going down to
Antarctica are you? No, of course you’re not.” Charlotte chuckled.
“I’d like to discuss this further, however, I’m expecting a group of
overseas delegates in my office at any minute. Hold the line will you?”

Before
Michela could respond her head was again filled with classical music.

“Dr.
DeGrasse, are you there?”

“Yes,
ma’am.”

“Virginia
tells me I have a free couple of hours on Saturday afternoon. Do you think it
would be possible for you to come up and discuss this matter with me? I’ll have
you picked up from the airport if you like.”

Michela
barely managed to contain a loud whoop of excitement. “Certainly, ma’am.
What time would suit you? So I can book my flights.”

“I’ll
put you back on with Virginia. She’s so much better at that than me. I’ll see
you Saturday then.”

After
agreeing on the arrangements with Virginia, Michela checked the net for a
low-cost flight to New York. She would fly out on Saturday morning and return
early the following day. Michela quickly e-mailed Sarah with her news and then
composed an e-mail to Dr. Shaunessy.

Hello
Dr. Shaunessy,

We’ve
not met. My name is Dr. Michela DeGrasse and I’m a psychologist working with
the International Space Research Institute in Houston.

I
read with interest the recent discovery by Sarah Knight of possible evidence of
the Finlayson expedition. I contacted Sarah and she advised me you were
attempting to raise funds to support an expedition, but from the progressive
totals on your website, it would seem that you’re having difficulty in securing
the funding.

I’m
writing to advise you I’ve managed to secure $100,000 worth of funding out of
my Institute. Understandably this still leaves you $200,000 short, however I
have a meeting this Saturday with the CEO of Finlayson Enterprises and I’m
hoping she’ll be interested in financially supporting the expedition. I’d like
to discuss this with you and I’d be very grateful if you could contact me.

Regards,

Dr.
Michela DeGrasse

Michela
stretched as she read the e-mail. Satisfied, she touched the send icon on the
screen.
Now I think it’s time for some breakfast.

Breakfast
was a quick affair and it wasn’t long before Michela grabbed a progress report
from the Institute off her coffee table and flopped onto one of her living room
chairs. She barely finished the first page when a high pitched sound from her
office heralded incoming mail. She went into her office.

Good
morning Dr. DeGrasse,

I’ve
just finished reading your e-mail and am excited and grateful beyond words.
We’d really hit a dead end here with funds. Notwithstanding, we’ve managed to
procure some fairly high tech equipment from interested parties, so at least
that’s something.

One
of the things I really hate about e-mail is the inability to include a tone of
any sorts in what I’m trying to write. Having said that, I really don’t know
how else to pose this question, so I’ll be blunt. I’m very grateful for your
assistance in securing the additional funds. But why is someone from a space
research institute interested in an archaeological dig?

Anyway,
I must get back to business. Things to do and not enough time—I look forward to
receiving your reply.

Regards,

Dr.
Shaunessy

Michela
wryly smiled at the straightforwardness of Dr. Shaunessy’s message. Realizing
she’d been less than direct in explaining her interest in the project, she set
about dictating a response.

Good
afternoon Dr. Shaunessy,

Thanks
for your reply. I hope you don’t think me too forward but Dr. DeGrasse is my
mother’s name, although she’s a medical doctor, not a psychologist. I’d prefer
it if you’d call me by my first name—Michela.

This
takes me to the question from your last message. As I’ve mentioned, I’m a
psychologist with the International Space Research Institute. My work involves
the psychological group dynamics of how humans respond to extreme and isolated
environments. This study is primarily focused on identifying possible problems
likely to be encountered by astronauts during space travel, and remedying them
before any spacecraft leaves the ground. Currently I’m undertaking research on
problem-solving and decision-making, at the small group level in stressful
environments. This includes reviewing decisions made in isolation of normally
established support mechanisms a team might fall back on. I’m also looking for
the presence of possible triggers or warning signs that might indicate a
possible team breakdown.

In
terms of extreme environments and isolation, Antarctica has previously been
used as a test bed to undertake similar research. I’m sure you’re aware that
the International Space Research Institute is currently working on a manned
mission to Mars. The information I’m collecting will be used to aid the
astronauts who will crew that mission.

From
the perspective of your archaeological dig, you’ll be working in isolation, in
an extreme and unfamiliar environment, with a multi-disciplined team who
haven’t all worked together before. This would provide me with an invaluable
opportunity to validate the theoretical side of my research.

Again,
my apologies for not clarifying this in my initial e-mail and hopefully this
brief explanation makes matters a little more clear. I’ll be flying to New York
this Saturday and hopefully I’ll have some good news for you after my meeting
with the Finlayson Enterprises CEO.

Regards,

Michela
DeGrasse

After
sending her reply into the Internet ether, Michela headed back to her living
room and the progress report that awaited her.

MICHELA
PUT THE finishing touches to the presentation for the following morning when
the phone rang. “Frederick, is that you?” She had left a message on
his voice mail, advising him she was going to New York.

“No,
it’s Natalie. Were you expecting to hear from him?”

Michela
cringed at Natalie’s clipped tones. “Yes. I wanted to let him know I’d be
out of town for a couple of days.”

“Isn’t
that convenient. And here I was hoping I could talk with you when I return
tomorrow morning. So, when will you be home?”

“I
should be home by mid-morning Sunday.”

“Fine,
I’ll see you then.”

Michela
winced at the abrupt end to the conversation. Before she could give it any
further thought, the phone rang again. “Hello, Frederick? Listen, I’ve got
to go to New York for a couple of days. Could you keep abreast of things? Yes.
There may be the opportunity for some funding. I’ll fill you in when I return.
Thanks.”

She
gathered her notes and headed to her room to pack for the day ahead.

VIRGINIA
BLAINEY MOTIONED to the waiting area of the CEO’s offices. “Take a seat,
Dr. DeGrasse. I’ll let Ms. Finlayson know you’re here.”

Michela
picked up a copy of the Company’s quarterly report from a side table and made
herself comfortable. She scanned the preliminary information and turned to a
page containing a photograph of the CEO. Charlotte Finlayson was an imposing,
yet elegant woman, her soft green eyes radiating comfort and trust. Before
Michela could study the picture any further, the door across the room opened.

Charlotte
Finlayson, elegantly dressed in a grey flannel suit, strode toward Michela.
“Dr. DeGrasse, welcome. How was your flight? I hope it wasn’t too bumpy.
My last flight from Houston was so turbulent I nearly lost my dinner. But I’m
sure you didn’t come all the way here to discuss my fear of flying. Please,
let’s go into my office.”

Michela
followed, smiling at Charlotte Finlayson’s Yankee pragmatism.
I can see how
she manages in a man’s world.
She admired the understated executive
elegance of the office and found herself drawn to the painting hanging behind
Ms. Finlayson’s chair.

Charlotte
followed Michela’s gaze. “That’s a portrait of my grandparents and their
son, Robert. In fact I’m named after my grandmother. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank
you. I didn’t realize you were a
direct
descendant of Eric Finlayson.
You must be very excited about the discovery then.”

“Yes,
I am. It would be good to put to rest the stories that have abounded over the
years of his success or otherwise, not to mention allow Grandmother Charlotte
to finally rest in peace.” Charlotte handed an ornate silver photograph to
Michela.

Michela
smiled at the picture of a small child, no more than twelve months, sitting on
the knee of a woman of advancing years.

“That’s
my grandmother Charlotte and I. She died when I was young, but I know she went
to her grave believing Eric made it to Antarctica. Enough of my talk. Please
sit down and explain to me just exactly what it is you’re seeking.”

Michela
gave her presentation in the same format she’d used with her director and
finished with a request for much-needed funds.

Charlotte
sat back and considered the request. “Despite the current profitable state
of my company, what you’re asking for is quite a sum of money. What might I
gain from this venture?”

Michela
ran through a number of slick responses and found herself drawn to a simple
comment made by Charlotte. “There’s no direct profit to be gained by you
from this. But I believe there’s more to this expedition than my studies and
the recovery of artifacts.” She gazed at the imposing painting of
Finlayson and his family. “You said your grandmother always wondered
whether Eric made it to Antarctica. If his body is there, this would confirm
her belief in his success. At last you and your family would have
closure.”

Charlotte
Finlayson scrutinized Michela. “I like you. I’ve had some business pitches
thrown at me over the years and every once in a while it’s nice to see that put
aside for simple honesty.

“I’ll
agree to the funding on two conditions. I want you to head the expedition. It’s
not that I don’t trust the team in Australia. But it’s a large sum of my money
and I want it managed by someone who won’t run off and purchase every fancy
piece of excavation equipment available.” Michela reluctantly nodded.
“The second condition is personal.” Charlotte turned and looked at
the portrait holding pride of place in her office. “Bring my ancestor
home.”

Michela
couldn’t help but be affected by the gravity of Charlotte’s request.
“Ma’am, if he’s there, I promise you I will-“

Charlotte
Finlayson cleared her throat. “Now, I’ll have my lawyers draw up the papers
and Virginia will give you the contact details you’ll need to access these
funds. Please keep me updated on the project’s progress.” She stood,
motioning for Michela to do the same. “I look forward to speaking with you
when you return. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve another business appointment.
The car’s still at your disposal for the remainder of the day; just don’t do
anything illegal in it.” Her eyes twinkled as she escorted Michela to Ms.
Blainey’s desk.

Michela
felt if she was walking on air as she left the imposing art deco style
building. She barely noticed the driver in front of her.

“Where
to, ma’am?”

Michela
looked at her watch. “I didn’t realize the meeting would be so quick.
Could you take me to the airport? I might try to get a flight home tonight.”

“Ma’am,
there’s a phone in the centre console if you’d like to check.”

Michela
sank into the plush leather. “Thank you.” A quick call confirmed a
late flight.
It’s better than nothing. At least it might give me some time
to talk through things with Natalie.

IN
THE AIRPORT, Michela sat in one of the business cubicles of the Club lounge.
She made herself comfortable, released an excited breath, and narrated an
e-mail to Sarah.