Fellowship of Fear by Aaron Elkins Page B

put rather more confidently than the data warranted, but a strong front seemed appropriate. Then the coup de grace:
    "And, if it’s of any interest, he was left-handed and he smoked a pipe."
    The effect was more than Gideon had hoped for. John’s mouth dropped open and he actually stammered. "You’re telling me you know all that from… some… some skull bones and a…a piece of leg bone? You don’t have any hand bones—any, any arm bones! How can you know he’s left-handed?" John was chopping at the air with both hands, his quirky temper on the rise.
    "Gently, John. I’m not pulling your leg."
    Slowly, simply, Gideon began explaining his conclusions. John was testy, however, and querulous, arguing every point. Gideon didn’t have the energy for it. After a few minutes his enthusiasm had drained away. "The hell with it, John; I don’t give a damn if you buy it or not. Solve it all yourself. Look, could we go back? I’m really bushed." He could feel the torn muscles in his cheek sagging, blurring his speech. His ankle had begun to throb again, and it felt grossly swollen.
    "Fine," John said, sounding as if he didn’t give a damn either. "If it’s all right with you, we’ll stop at the Security Office on the way in to see if anything new has come in."
    Gideon didn’t answer. It wasn’t a question.
     
     
       IN the car, he sulked most of the way. John was silent and fidgety. As they neared the base, John suddenly said, "Look, Doc, I know you know a lot of things about bones. If this was some old fossil skeleton, I wouldn’t argue with you. What do I know? But I can’t just blindly accept what you’re telling me. What am I supposed to put in my report? ‘Professor looked at burned piece of jawbone and identified victim as five-foot-four-inch male Japanese with a birthmark on his left ear and a pimple on his ass’?"
    Gideon’s eyes were closed. He opened them. "Five-four was wrong," he said slowly. "That formula was for male Caucasians. This guy was Mongoloid—he’d have a shorter leg length relative to total body size. That means I underestimated. He’s probably about five-five. And change his weight to one-fifty."
    "Come on, Doc—!"
    "John, don’t worry about it, will you? I’m just talking to myself. Believe whatever you want."
    He was quiet again for a while, dozing a little in the late afternoon sun. Then, after the brightly smiling Italian guards had waved them through the base gate, he said, "John, I have a favor to ask. Nobody else calls me Doc. Nobody
ever
called me Doc. Nobody calls
anybody
Doc. My name’s Gideon."
    John lit up. "Okay, you’re on, Gid."
    "
Gid?
Oh God,
please
. If we have to choose between Gid and Doc, I’ll take Doc." He shook his head. "Gid! Jesus Christ!"
    "What a prima donna," John said. They both laughed, glad to be friends again.
    "If I have to choose between Doc and Gideon, I’ll stick with Doc. Takes less time to say."
    "So be it," Gideon said. "I’m resigned."
    At the Security Office, John left Gideon in the car while he went into the white frame building. A moment later he returned and leaned into Gideon’s window.
    "Nothing new. There’s a telephone call for you from Heidelberg. Do you want to go in and call back?"
    "Heidelberg? Gosh, I forgot!" Dr. Rufus had called him two days before, full of avuncular concern and reassurance. Gideon was not to worry about the Heidelberg lectures that week; when news of Gideon’s "accident" had reached them, they had contracted with a German professor from Heidelberg University to deliver them through an interpreter. "Not quite the Oliver eclat," Dr. Rufus had said, "but adequate."
    As for the following week’s lectures in Madrid, they would take care of those, too, if necessary. Gideon was to concentrate only on getting well at his own pace.
    Gideon, however, did not intend to spend the next couple of weeks in a hospital bed. Putting what little verve he had into his voice, he had told Dr. Rufus he’d be ready to