Diablo Mesa(2)

Nora finally turned to Weingrau. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Not at all,” she said. “The project’s been thoroughly vetted and board approved. Something crashed there. What, we don’t really know.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Please don’t jump to conclusions, Nora. We’re not endorsing any UFO theory. What we’ve agreed to is a professional excavation of the crash site. That’s it.”

“With all due respect, Dr. Weingrau, by even agreeing to this, you’re endorsing it. I mean, that UFO incident was debunked years ago.”

“Reasonable people disagree. Nobody knows for sure. As Connor mentioned, there’s evidence of a government cover-up. Mr. Tappan has done considerable research into the incident, and he’s come upon new information confirming that alien technology was recovered from the area, possibly even remains.”

“As in, alien bodies? I’m sorry, but do you really mean to involve the Institute in something as…tacky as this?”

“We already have,” said Weingrau, her voice taking on an edge. “This is a done deal. And I take exception to your characterization. I’ve been patient with you, Nora. Very patient…even as you continue to work on the Tsankawi project long past the expected deadline, with no end in sight.”

Nora could hardly believe what she was hearing. “I imagine that, in addition to funding the dig, Tappan has promised the Institute a wad of cash—right?”

“While a generous donation is involved, that’s not why we’re doing it. This is a genuine unsolved mystery. If we can shed light on it with archaeological science, there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m giving you a wonderful opportunity to polish your CV and raise your profile.”

“Forget it,” said Nora before she could stop herself.

“Denying the existence of things beyond our knowledge is as dangerous as promoting them.”

Nora tried for a moment to think about it from the president’s perspective, but she couldn’t quite get there. “I’m sorry, but I won’t do it. I couldn’t do it.”

Weingrau stared at her. “Perhaps I gave you the wrong impression. We’re not asking for your approval. The project has been accepted and you’re going to direct it. Period.”

“This isn’t right,” said Nora, getting control of her anger and lowering her voice. “I wasn’t consulted while all this was being decided, and by rights I should have been. I’m in the middle of an important project right now, delayed through no fault of my own by that business with Victorio Peak. You can’t dump something like this on me with no notice. The fact is, you haven’t been treating me with the professionalism I deserve since you came here—and this is just another example. It’ll make the Institute the laughingstock of the archaeological community. It won’t raise my profile; it’ll endanger my career. I decline to participate.”

“You heard Dr. Weingrau,” Digby piped up shrilly. “It’s already been decided.”

She fixed a cool eye on him before looking back at Weingrau. This demand, on top of everything else, was the last straw. “Here’s an idea. Get your toady to direct it.”

“That’s not only uncalled for, it’s offensive.”

“You’re probably right. So let Digby speak for himself.” She turned to him. “Why don’t you direct the excavation, Connor?”

“Because…” he stammered, “Mr. Tappan mentioned you specifically.”

“Is that right?” Nora said coolly. “Well, please tell Tappan I’m not available.”

A tense silence developed in the office. Finally, Weingrau said: “Is that your final word, Nora?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then I suggest you go back to your office, gather your personal effects, put your files in order, and take your leave of the Institute.”

Nora took a deep breath. This abrupt airing of her grievances, tumbling as it had from her lips, was almost as unexpected to her as it must have been to Weingrau. But it was now said—and, maybe, for the better. The fact was, being honest with herself, for some time now she’d been practically looking for an excuse to leave. And here it was, gift-wrapped. If the Institute wanted to ruin its reputation, at least she wouldn’t be around to catch the blowback.

“In other words, you’re firing me,” she said.

“If you drop off a letter of resignation on your way out, we won’t have to term it a dismissal. We’ll call it a resignation.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“If you’re going to fire me, fire me.” She turned to Digby. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

And with that, she stood up and left the office.





2



NINETY MINUTES LATER, Nora exited the main door of the Institute into the bright April sunlight, carrying a box and a backpack toward her car. Her rage was starting to cool, replaced by bitter regret and second-guessing. If she’d handled the situation differently; if she hadn’t pushed back so hard; if she’d only said she needed to give it some thought; if she hadn’t called the project tacky or Digby a toady…maybe she could have talked her way out of it and sloughed the excavation off on him. Beyond that was the sheer stubbornness that kept her from taking the resignation offer. It was going to be hard enough to find another position in the current academic job market, but with a dismissal on her record…What was she thinking? And yet the thought of submitting a resignation letter now, after all she’d said, was just too much humiliation for her to bear.