Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

Natalie put on her best smile. “Have you come to see how your money is being spent, Mr. Radcliffe? Or to be updated on the discoveries? It has been an exciting season.”

Naiva came in with the lunch—stuffed vegetables.

Natalie helped Radcliffe to water, then filled her own glass.

“I am interested in your results, of course,” he said, reaching for his glass. “But that’s not the main reason I’m here. I’m here because of this.”

He reached down beside him and took a folded newspaper from where it was wedged between his thigh and the edge of the chair. He placed it on the table in front of Natalie.

All eyes were on her. Eleanor, Jack, Kees, Christopher, Arnold Pryce, Jonas Jefferson, and Daniel all leaned forward.

The newspaper, she could see, was the Los Angeles Times . It was dated only a few days before—someone must have sent it to Africa in a great hurry. It was open to the op-ed page, where she could see that the main article was headed: MY STOLEN DISCOVERY, and underneath it said, “California Scholar Reveals How a Feud in Africa Forced Him to Abandon the Find of a Lifetime.”

Natalie could feel all eyes on her, but she forced herself to read Russell’s article at a pace that was comfortable for her, so she could take everything in, while lunch was served around her and people began eating.

Russell had certainly gone to town, that much was clear. The Times had given him most of a page, and he had not spared any of the grisly detail. In fairness, he hadn’t spared himself either, blaming himself and Richard Sutton for a silly and tasteless “prank,” as he put it, in raiding a “local burial ground.” But the blame he attached to himself was as nothing to the blame he attached to Eleanor for expelling him from the dig. He described the finding of the knee joint in full glory, then spent several paragraphs expatiating on what he thought was the significance of the find, and then set out what else he could have expected to unearth, had he been allowed to stay. And, as Natalie could see all too clearly, in this regard Russell had been uncannily prescient. He hadn’t foreseen the finding of a primitive shelter but he had anticipated the discovery of a skull and jawbones, with teeth—and he would be receiving Natalie’s letter any day now, if he hadn’t already done so. He ended by saying that the Deacons had had things their own way for too long. He repeated his mantra that there was no room for a “royal family” in archaeology, that they were putting the interests of the dig before the interests of justice, that more light needed to be let into the “closed world of African paleontology,” as he put it, and that, as an associate professor at a distinguished university, he would be approaching the Bell-Ryder Foundation to request that they review their procedures in future.

Natalie finished the article and, without raising her eyes, folded the paper and pushed it to one side. She pulled her lunch toward her.

“What do you think?” said Christopher. He was sitting next to his mother, directly across from Radcliffe.

“He’s delivered what he promised,” said Natalie, chewing, still not looking up. “No more, no less.”

“He’s accused me of unprofessional conduct, of damaging his career, of being an authoritarian. Highly damaging—I could sue.”

Now Natalie did look up, to see Eleanor staring at her grimly.

“You won’t though, Mother, will you?” said Jack. “That’s just what Russell would want—a real scrap in court, in front of the press. He couldn’t lose.”

Eleanor ignored him. She picked at her food without any real enthusiasm. Addressing no one in particular, she said, “Does anyone think I should reply? Or would that be prolonging the fight?”

Radcliffe put down his knife and fork with a clatter and all eyes turned to him. “I think yet another article would be a mistake, Eleanor, though of course you must make up your own mind.” He drank some water. “But I’m bound to say that I didn’t just come here for science-based reasons.”

Everyone had gone very quiet. Eleanor gently laid down her fork and leaned back in her seat.

“I have a message from head office in New York. They’ve been got at by Richard Sutton’s father, Richard Sutton Senior. He is apparently a big donor and he’s been throwing his weight around, threatening to—”

“I don’t believe this,” hissed Eleanor. “The foundation ought to be bigger than that—”

“It is!” Radcliffe reacted sharply. “It is. He was given very short shrift, I can tell you. As you know, we have an academic committee and a finance committee and a public affairs committee, and their activities are kept entirely separate. Only the secretary general of the foundation sits on all three.”

He gripped his water glass.

“But I can’t hide from you the fact that the foundation hates this sort of controversy, and the sort of lurid sensational publicity it engenders. It’s not what paleontology is about and it frightens away potential donors.”

“Then help us publicize the discoveries we have been making … the ones we have made since Russell was forced to leave—the discoveries mostly made by Natalie here.” Eleanor reached forward and laid her hand on Radcliffe’s arm. “Henry, we’re having one of the best seasons we’ve ever had. Perhaps the best.”

Radcliffe nodded. “I’ll do my utmost, certainly. You know I will.” He glanced briefly at Natalie and smiled, then turned back to Eleanor. “But you must let me deliver my message. If there is any more bad publicity, any more controversy which has nothing to do with science, then I am instructed to tell you that you can forget funding for next year.” He finished his water. “I’m sorry.”

There was silence around the table. But only for a moment, before Christopher said, “But you know there’s going to be a trial, right? That’s inevitable. Does that count as bad publicity?”

Radcliffe took a pair of spectacles from his pocket and began polishing them with his napkin. “Is the trial inevitable? Trials sometimes get called off, for any number of reasons. What’s the latest?”

“Worse even than you know.” Eleanor sat back again and took off her eyeglasses, laying them on the table in front of her. “Not only does the trial go ahead, with all speed, but the local Maasai have told us that if Ndekei is convicted, and sent to jail or hanged, as he certainly will be if the verdict goes against him, they will reclaim the gorge and destroy the areas where we have been digging. The idea behind that is to prevent a recurrence of the original crime, the raid on the burial ground. So if Ndekei is convicted we shan’t need your funds, Henry. There’ll be nowhere to dig.”

This time a much longer silence fell over the table, during which Naiva took away the plates. On several the food had scarcely been touched.

At length, Radcliffe spoke. “Will Ndekei plead guilty, or not guilty?”

All eyes turned to Natalie but Jack answered. “He will admit to killing Richard, but he will say he acted under local Maasai law, as retaliation for the attack on their burial ground. He will say he was chosen by the elders for the task—”

“Which is true enough.” Eleanor was unable to contain herself anymore. “We paid them a visit, met the woman who will be widowed if Ndekei hangs, and his children. Ndekei was acting according to Maasai custom.”

“This gets more difficult,” said Radcliffe after yet another silence. “We have a new policy document coming out early next year, and respect for local customs is high on our list of priorities. We shall be requiring all recipients of Bell-Ryder funds to sign an undertaking that they will abide by local customs.”