After Korea, Japan was a vacation. Thera felt as if an immense block of concrete had been chiseled off her shoulders. She stayed next to Julie Sven-son during the orientation tour of the waste treatment plant, joking about which of the dour-faced executives would ask them out at the reception planned that evening. They decided the most likely was a fish-faced man in his late forties who spoke of “mechanical containment systems” in the tones of a Baptist preacher.
Neto Evora, the Portuguese scientist who’d been flirting with her on and off since South Korea, jokingly berated her for avoiding him as the morning tour ended.
“We will have a proper party after the reception tonight,” he told her. “We will celebrate our escape from the dour dominion known as the People’s Democratic Republic.”
He sounded so portentous that both women laughed. Evora told them that a number of nightclubs had already been scouted out; festivities would continue “till dawn or collapse.”
“Collapse comes first,” Julie said.
“With luck,” said the scientist.
“He’s cute,” said Julie after he had left them. “Handsome. And he likes you.”
“You think?”
Julie rolled her eyes. “If you play it right, he would be in the palm of your hand.”
“Not my type.”
“Does that matter?”
“Definitely.”
They were on their way to lunch when Dr. Norkelus called Thera’s name so sharply a shudder ran through her body. The grim look on his face seemed to foretell a serious scolding, and she braced herself for a tirade about misspellings in one of her reports, or perhaps a more serious warning about making fun of their hosts.
“Thera, please,” he said, abruptly turning and walking from the caravan of trucks.
Norkelus reminded her of her parochial school principal, a Greek Orthodox priest who had run the elementary with an iron fist. Even now, two decades later, she remembered trembling as she walked down the hall to tell him her teacher had banished her from class for “being a Miss Chatty-Chat-Chat.”
She couldn’t remember the punishment. Probably sitting in his office the rest of the day. It seemed so trivial now, and yet so deadly then.
Paralyzing. Like the fear she’d felt in Korea as the mission got underway.
Fear was what your mind made of it; it wasn’t necessarily proportional to the danger you were in.
“I’m very sorry. I’m very, very sorry,” said Norkelus, turning around a few feet from the nearby building.
“Sorry?”
“Your mother . . . There’s been a terrible accident just outside of Athens. She doesn’t have long to live. The Red Cross has arranged an aircraft. One of the drivers will take you to the jet.”