Peter checked his watch, 7:12 pm. He undid his tie and tried on a poker face.
Craig finished talking on the phone and beamed at Peter. His face was very black and his teeth very white. He wore a grey-colored suit.
“What’s up, Peter.” Craig spread his arms. “What’s this about, you wanna go to Antarctica, looking for Hitler’s body?”
“Not Hitler’s body, Craig,” Silva Goodall corrected.
Barry Dutch snickered. He placed his phone on the table and rubbed his square chin. He stared at Peter.
Just then Ted Cooper breezed in.
“Hey y’all, what’d I miss?” he hollered.
Peter said, “We were waiting for you, Ted.”
“Oh, really?”
Barry Dutch folded his hands on the table. He looked at Peter.
“Peter, you wanted to discuss something of utmost importance to this faculty with us. Come on, let’s hear it,” he said.
Peter brought out a folder from inside his coat. “Well, yes. I’m sure you all have read the presentation I sent to your offices. I’m privy to information that shows that the Germans of World War Two left something for us to find—”
He glanced at the faces, for effect. “—right under the ice in Antarctica.”
Ted Cooper started drumming his thick fingers on the table then. It made an annoying thrumming that exacerbated the heat and discomfort in the room. Peter watched him.
“Now I have here”—he passed a piece of print to Craig who was closest to him—“documents written in German, and what I believe are coordinates, leading to the belief that we may be looking at one of the most important discoveries of science, yet.”
He waited for the file to go around. When it got to Ted Cooper it stopped. Barry Dutch waited his turn but Ted was taking his time with it.
Seconds later Ted passed the paper to Barry Dutch. The dean wet his lips.
Ted cast a dubious stare at Peter.
“Let's say for a minute that we believe this, what do I call it, this claim is true. Just how much cost are we looking at?” Ted asked.
“It is not just a claim, Ted,” Peter said.
Barry Dutch raised a hand; he had finished reading. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Before we talk about cost, we should consider the veracity of these claims—”
“My point, exactly,” Ted added.
“There should at least be a preliminary study of the claim, have someone go check it out.” Craig Bozeman pointed.
Ted Cooper rolled his eyes. “Preliminary what? I think that’s like going around the subject. I mean the documents could be forged, anyone with average proficiency in German could do it. This could be another Hansel Chip.”
Cooper looked around at them. “You all remember the Hansel Chip case, five years ago?”
Each of the men — except Peter, of course — nodded his agreement. The Hansel Chip case could never leave their memory in a hurry.
Peter recalled it too. It had happened in his doctorate year. A certain professor Milton Michael had stumbled upon information about a superchip on the surface of the 100 dollar bill. At the time, a quaint notion, Michael Milton had dragged the faculty into his pursuit of the superchip case. Thousands of dollars wasted in research and time wasted chasing a spurious chip. It turned out to be an authentic hoax and a monumental disgrace to the entire university. The papers had called the professor Hansel in its report.
But Peter Williams suspected that this time, Cooper was more eager to prove Peter wrong than show why the faculty must avoid another Hansel case.
Silence followed. It was Silva Goodall who broke it. A quiet man by nature and a stooge for Cooper.
“No, we don’t want another Hansel,” he said tightly, rubbing off sweat from his forehead, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t look into this. Perhaps we have one of us follow closely every detail of Peter’s research in this new case.”
Ted Cooper glared at Goodall.
But the rest seemed to be in support of Goodall’s recommendation. Peter breathed a sigh. Ted colored fiercely.
“This is a huge risk.” Cooper shrugged. “I mean, guys, consider it. Peter Williams here had never made a real contribution to the academics of this school—”
“And this is my chance to!” Peter said.
“—and him being a ladies’ man, his antecedents aren’t very sterling if they were anything to go by. What are we going to have the papers saying, 'Philandering Professor Discovers Hitler’s Secret Laboratory in the Snow'?”
Peter Williams made a fist under the table. Someone snickered again. It was Barry Dutch. Peter had dated two of his students, the university had found out. But the girls had turned out to be consenting adults. And his romps had been in hotels outside the university. Folks like Ted Cooper had turned it to mud, and had also made sure it stuck to Peter.
“Besides, we don’t have the sort of money required for such an expedition. And I sincerely believe we’d be throwing such monies away.” Ted pointed at Peter. “You don’t have the reputation for supporting such a noble thing — if it were to be called that.”
Peter Williams felt the dam of his anger bust open. It was blistering.
“You supercilious prick, you’d rather die than see someone else get past you, Ted,” Peter snapped.
The dean, aware of his duty for once, raised his hand. “Oh come on, Peter, no need for that language.”
“You’d screw your students too if you had the chance. I know you, Ted,” Peter raged on. “And in fact, you won’t let one of your students go right now 'cos she won’t sleep with you, you dumb fuck!”
This piece of information Peter got from Goodall who now buried his head on the table.
Ted had turned crimson but since the lighting in the room was bad, he could smile weakly and get away with it. But he was shaking.
Trembling a little, Ted spat, “You don’t know what you’re doing, Peter, you’re losing it. This is all hogwash. A laboratory in Antarctica? Come on, what are you getting high on these days? There can’t be anything out there but products of your own imagination. Is that what you want this institution to spend money on?”
Peter rose. “You don’t own this faculty, Ted, and you don’t own me or anyone else for that matter. All you got is your ego, your small dick, and that shitty car of yours you bought with faculty money—”
Barry Dutch’s mouth dropped open.
“You’re making allegations now, man.”
“Oh yeah, I am. I sure am. And if you want you can take it anywhere you want to. I’ll come with you, lying son of a bitch!”
“This meeting is over!” Barry Dutch declared.
Peter stormed out of the place.
“It’s hot in here anyway,” he shouted as he left. “Fuck you Ted.”
12
Olivia Newton called three times that night and four more times in the morning. Peter sat in the gloom of his room, a bottle of Bud Light attached to his hands. Four empty ones spread on the floor. The only clothing on him were white shorts and blacks socks on his feet.
He hadn’t had much sleep either. Goodall called a few minutes ago, right after Olivia. He left a message.
“Hey, man. Er, that was something last night. Have never seen you so off the hook.” He laughed; it sounded like scraping against a rough surface. Peter imagined Goodall rubbing his forehead in embarrassment. Goodall was always the all conscience kind of guy.
“You shouldn’t have let Ted get to you. You know him, man. And that bit about him sleeping with a girl for grades, that was low, man. You stepped out of line, you know how much weight Ted pulls with the guys up in establishment. Well, um, I hope you’re doing okay…call me, man.”