it.
'I'm just about to get Gavin some more of our excellent Scotch,' Jill said, kissing Archie on the cheek. 'Won't be a minute.' She gave Chase an amused glance over her shoulder and went off.
Chase smiled ruefully. Had she got the dig about Glaswegian spot-welders? He looked at Angie, still hanging on Archie's arm, rather unsteadily, and at the drink in her hand, which fuzzed and sparkled.
'What's that?'
'Champers, darling!' Angie exclaimed. 'Like some?'
Chase shook his head, feeling a little woozy himself. Noticing how the reflected sparkle made tiny dancing highlights on the underside of her chin. Remembering too that what gave champagne its fizz were bubbles of carbon dioxide suddenly released into the atmosphere.
The blond secretary with the silver claws reacted visibly when he appeared in front of her desk. Most of the men who passed through her office on their way to see the deputy director of the World Oceano-graphic Data Center were conservatively dressed in dark business suits, crisp shirts, and polished shoes. A few of the younger ones, it was true, wore open-necked shirts, sports jackets, and slacks, but here was somebody in his sixties who looked for all the world like a beachcomber down on his luck.
She half-rose in alarm, appraising with distaste the dingy crumpled T-shirt under the cord jacket with torn pockets whose peculiar shade of green might almost be mildew (she looked closely and saw that it
Quite stunned by this apparition in the sanctity of her Washington office on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday morning, Ms. Weston could only stare speechlessly, and it was left to Theo Detrick to introduce himself. In his soft guttural accent, a remnant of his German ancestry, he reminded her of his appointment with Dr. Parris Win-throp, the deputy director.
'You--you are Dr. Detrick?'
'That is correct,' he said patiently.
Parris Winthrop was less taken aback than amused. 'Theo, marvelous to see you!' he enthused, striding around his huge walnut desk to greet him. He towered over Theo, clad in a dark-gray suit with a matching tie flecked with pale yellow. 'You look wonderful! But what the hell are you wearing?'
'What I always wear.' Theo swapped his bulging briefcase with the broken clasp from right to left in order to shake hands. 'Macy's haven't got around to opening a store on Canton Island as yet.'
Winthrop patted his shoulder, genuine pleasure on his broad, ruddy, well-fed face, and indicated a leather armchair. 'Like something to drink?'
'Coffee, black, will be fine.'
'I was thinking of something with a bit more bite. Don't tell me you've become Spartan in everything,' Winthrop said jovially.
'I like to keep a clear head during the day.' Theo sat back holding the briefcase flat on his knees with both hands. It was worn and scratched and some of the stitching had come adrift.
'Coffee it is then.' Winthrop smiled and leaned across the desk to press the intercom tab. A gold signet ring flashed on his little finger. Having given the order he offered cigarettes from an ornate silver casket, which Theo declined, and then lit one himself with the onyx desk lighter.
The white-haired scientist let his eyes roam around the spacious office. Slats of sunlight from the Venetian blinds imprinted gold bars on the thick carpet. Parris had every reason to be expansive and highly pleased both with the world and himself. He had climbed high on the ladder since their student days at McGill. Both had come from poor homes and nonintellectual backgrounds, both had finished top in their respective subjects. Then Parris had had the good fortune to receive a Traveling Fellowship, which he chose to spend at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institut in Dresden. While Theo had doggedly embarked on the long hard slog of--in those days-- underpaid research in small laboratories up and down the country, Parris had been given the luxury of several prestigious options, including the post of director of the Pacific Fisheries Experimental Station, then based in Hawaii.
After that it was plain sailing. Or maybe it wasn't, Theo considered, knowing how the outward show of a person's life was often misleading.
Perhaps Parris had struggled and fought as much as the next man, the difference being that he had taken his chances, had had the good sense to stay near the center of influence. A string of administrative appointments had eventually led to this post and this office: deputy director of a world-renowned and respected scientific establishment. And next year, or sometime soon, the director, top of the heap.
From Theo Detrick's point of view, however, the prestige was of less importance than the fact that Parris was on PSAC. The President's Scientific Advisory Committee.
'When was it, three, four years ago?' Winthrop said. He snapped his lean fingers. 'Dedication ceremony at Scripps for the physical oceanography annex. Right?'
Theo nodded. 'You'd just been appointed deputy director here.'
'And I met your daughter there. She was at Scripps, taking her Ph.D. Where is she now?'
'Still there, doing postgraduate work. According to her last letter.'
'Haven't you seen her recently?'
'Not for over a year.' Theo examined his brown grizzled hands. 'I don't get to the States very often. On this trip I shipped into San Francisco and flew directly here.'
Winthrop waited a moment. Whatever had brought his old friend seven thousand miles, it wasn't merely to pay a social call. 'I guess it must be pretty important then.'
'I think so.' Theo cleared his throat and opened the one remaining clasp on his briefcase. He carefully extracted a thick stack of papers loosely contained between stiff covers and tied together with black tape. It was bulky enough to require both hands as he placed it on the gleaming expanse of desk. 'My research,' he said quietly.
Winthrop looked at it and then at Theo. 'Over how long?'
Theo stared beyond him to the Venetian blinds, lost in speculation. He blinked slowly and said, 'Altogether, twenty years. Most of it is over the last ten years, as regards actual conclusions. But the records are complete since 1970.' There was no smugness or boasting; it was a statement of fact. 'I'd like you to study it, if you would, and then we can see the president together.'
A corrugation of V-shaped lines appeared below the deputy director's silvery widow's peak. He looked at the heap of soiled documentation in its dog-eared covers despoiling his beautiful desk and then regarded Theo blankly.
'I don't understand. The
'You're still a member of the advisory committee?'
Winthrop nodded, a little more warily now.
Ms. Weston tapped and entered discreetly, leaving a tray with coffee. Theo waited until she had gone.
'That's the reason I came to see
'Now you don't understand me. What I meant was,
Theo's expression was calm, stoical. His clear blue eyes, the color of a washed sky, showed no emotion as he said, 'We are in danger of running out of oxygen. The amount in the atmosphere will decline by the year 2000-- possibly after that, I'm not certain when exactly--but it will certainly fall below the level capable of supporting life on this planet. All animal life, that is, including man.' His square brown hand made a delicate gesture toward the heap of paper. 'The evidence is all there. Records over twenty years of the decline in the phytoplankton index, which is continuing at a steadily increasing rate.'
'Theo, old man,' Winthrop said faintly. 'Do you seriously expect me to tell the president that the world is about to perish through asphyxiation?'
'No,' Theo corrected him at once. 'I want you to arrange a meeting so that / can tell him. That is why I'm here, why I came in person. This is my task, my responsibility, Parris, not yours.'
Winthrop's healthy, urbane face had frozen into a mask of pained unease. He'd read what isolation could do to the mind. Was he seeing it at first hand in the ragged figure who sat before him? With an effort he tried to clear
