Read Online The Count of the Sahara by Wayne Turmel - Free Book Online Page A

the sun, it was still pristine, not a hair out of place. Pond hated those stupid hats, preferring a floppy safari-style, but it didn’t seem to matter what he put on, his hair would fly about and stand on end. Sometimes that made him look taller. Mostly it made him look like he’d just crawled out of bed.
    De Prorok’s booming voice shook him from his thoughts. “I’m awfully sorry about yesterday. Not the most auspicious start was it?”
    “No, I suppose not. What happened?”
    “I had the cans filled and loaded as soon as Rouvier granted permission for us to leave. I’m afraid I underestimated the amount of evaporation they’d undergo in such a short time. I’ve seen it happen before. I remember one time outside Carthage…”
    “Evaporation? You’re telling me the gas was there and just, uhh, poof? There’s no chance you underestimated what it would take?”
    This drew a smiling shrug in response. “Oh, it’s possible, of course. Math isn’t exactly my strong suit, and ultimately, of course, it’s on me. Still the boys from Renault told me what they needed and they should know, so that’s what I ordered. Reygasse’s people assure me we have plenty of supplies for the trip. I mean, it’s basically a walk in the park isn’t it? Especially this first leg.”
    Pond thought his derisive snort at the mention of Reygasse had been kept to himself, but de Prorok obviously caught it. “Lonnie, what is your issue with Reygasse?”
    “That toy general routine gets on my nerves.”
    “I understand. He does look a bit like a Gilbert and Sullivan character doesn’t he? But without him and the Musée we wouldn’t be able to dig here at all. And his contacts with the government and the local tribes have secured our supplies all along the route. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
    Pond just took another sip of coffee. One thing they’d do, he thought, is save a lot of money. Every time they turned around he was renegotiating some detail of the trip, usually placing the blame on the local officials or the tribes. “Greedy bastards,” he’d say while extorting yet more cash for the permits, extra materiel or whatever else they needed.
    “What happened back in Tangiers with you two?”
    “I don’t like the way he treats his wife,” Pond said simply.
    “You’re not… I mean it’s not a…”
    “No, oh Christ no. I have a girl, and…. It’s just, he….” Pond tried to find a diplomatic way out of this. Maybe he needed more coffee after all. The trouble started when the poor mousey little woman had dared to correct Monsieur le Marshall on some detail in a story he was spinning, and Reygasse would have none of it. He grabbed her roughly by the arm and escorted her to the door to the accompaniment of some of the vilest language Pond ever heard directed at a respectable woman. Being in the ambulance corps, he knew most of the really good French epithets, but he learned a few more that night. “He manhandled her, in front of people. I don’t trust a man who treats a woman that way.”
    “Quite right. Still, not ours to judge what goes on in a marriage is it?”
    “No, I suppose not. But there’s the way he’s treating the College. Did you hear that nonsense with Brad’s expenses?”
    “Yes, something about what they’d pay for and what they won’t. That’s all between the Logan and the Musée of course, not exactly our business. I try to keep my nose out of it.”
    “You mean you don’t want to tick him off, and so you take his side, no matter the cost to the College or to Brad.”
    “Without Maurice Reygasse, we have no digging rights. We need to remember that.” Sometimes Byron wished he could forget himself, but the reality was omnipresent, and made cooperation between the Logan and the authorities absolutely imperative.
    “Oh, he manages to bring it up occasionally.” Pond was getting worked up again. Since the War it was like there was a rich American surcharge on everything.