Lavander looked at the jar, his brown eyes aglitter. But he still made no move to take it. He was caught in an inner struggle between commerce and curiosity. ‘I’ll be travelling for the next two weeks or so,’ he said. ‘Will that be a problem?’
‘Not at all, sir. We’d like you in Houston by the first of the month.’
‘Then it’s acceptable,’ he said. ‘Uh .. . may I?’
‘Of course,’ Frazer said. He’s taking the bait, he told himself. We will soon know.
Lavander took the jar and held it up as if it were a rare diamond. He spread a paper napkin on the table and smoothed it out with his hands. Then he opened the jar, shook several grams of the sand on to the napkin and re- corked the jar. He held up the napkin between his hands, making a trough of it, and shook the sand around, watching it carefully. He put the napkin back on the table, took out a jeweller’s glass, and separating the grains with the handle of a spoon, stared intently at them through the loupe. He dipped his tongue into the sand, tasting it as a wine steward might sample a vintage bottle.
Frazer watched him with interest. Gone for the moment were the egocentricities and the sarcasm, replaced by a pro at work. Lavander scooped up some of the sand and let it run through his fingers, back onto the napkin.
His lips were moving like a palsied old man’s: ‘Semitropical to tropical. Not Africa ... let’s see, let’s see ... the Middle East? No, wrong colour. Not coarse enough . . . hmm. . . a little too fine for Mexico. Or California... hmm.’
He stopped suddenly, peering up at Frazer for a fraction of a second, then, just as quickly, looking back.
He’s on to it, Frazer thought. No’ let’s see what he does next.
Lavander made a funnel of the napkin, poured the sand back into the jar and handed it to Frazer. I’d like some more tea,’ he said. As Frazer turned to summon the waitress, Lavander folded the napkin, with two or three grams of sand in it, and slipped it into his pocket. Frazer acted as if he hadn’t noticed; instead he said, ‘Well, let’s see how good you are!’
Lavander seemed wary. ‘Central Pacific,’ he said, ‘someplace north of New Zealand. Perhaps somewhere along the Tonga Trench.’
‘I’ve just agreed to pay you sixty thousand dollars as a retainer for two months’ work, sir,’ said Frazer. ‘And the first thing you do is try to bullshit me.’
‘I beg your pardon!’
Now it was Frazer who took the offensive. ‘You know that core sample didn’t come from anywhere near New Zealand.’
‘Then why ask?’
‘It’s supposed to be your forte.’
‘Testing me?’
‘Why not? All I know is your reputation. And I knew that before I got here. How about the quality of that strain?’
‘You know the quality, Frazer.’
Frazer nodded very slowly.
‘I’m dealing in approximations now. Guesses,’ said Lavander. ‘To be accurate, I’d need some time in the lab.’
‘We have all that,’ Frazer said. ‘I just want you to know we had good reason to make the deal with Hensell.’
‘This is from the Hensell properties?’ Lavander said with surprise.
‘It wasn’t in the package as part of their oil property, Hensell acquired the tracts for other reasons. Our engineers more or less blundered into it, testing core samples for something else.’
‘I see.’
‘We feel we’re on to something, see what I mean? Nobody else is even aware there could be oil in this area.’
Lavander had lost control of the meeting, temporarily. Now was the time to get the ball back. ‘You’re wrong,’ he said flatly, and let the remark hang there for effect.
‘Wrong?’
‘Where is this field, roughly,’ Lavander said quietly, almost whispering.
Frazer leaned over the table. ‘North of Micronesia, roughly.’
Lavander’s ego was wavering, his need to put Frazer in his place and control the meeting becoming obsessive. ‘There is a strike ... ulf, northwest of there. Very high quality, just like yours.’
‘Impossible.’
‘I’m telling you a fact,’ Lavander said, bristling at the thought that his word should be questioned.
‘We’ve had photographic aerial surveillance, very high resolution, and the entire area for three thousand miles has been scanned by satellite. Nothing between us and Japan.’
‘And I’m telling you, there’s a strike ... not some core sample — a strike!’
‘Where?’
‘Between you and. . . Japan. Could even be part of the same strata.’
