Heaven Is High by Kate Wilhelm Page A

the pictures. Bobby, remember, we go for the economic benefits, not the fun part, not the diving or how great the reefs are. Just the economic benefits. He’s a businessman. He’ll understand that even if he hates the idea. People. Tourists. New businesses. He’ll dig that.”
    He was talking himself into his role as salesman, Barbara thought, hearing a note of near desperation in his voice. She felt sorry for him, tackling a job he had not trained for, had not studied, or even wanted. Just a job that had to be done.
    â€œLight at the end of the tunnel,” David said in a low voice then.
    Ahead, there was brilliant light, as if stage lights had been turned on, or as if the jungle had died and a sunlit desert lay ahead. Barbara took another sip of water and wiped more sweat from her face.
    The vista ahead that opened was of a broad, grassy plain, studded with palm trees in clumps, oasislike in appearance. The gravel road turned into a paved driveway. Birds were flying, and bird cries and songs could be heard over the engine noise. Three parrots flew in a straight line into the jungle. The road curved and before them the plantation house appeared, a low, sprawling building with a red tile roof, shaded by tall trees with scarlet blooms, surrounded by blooming shrubs and low-growing trees heavy with flowers. A beautifully maintained lawn, one that might have been found on an upscale golf course, surrounded the building. A short distance behind it, and on both sides, the green wall of jungle rose. Nearer, a flock of parakeets erupted from a group of trees as a single body, milled about, and descended again.
    â€œJesus!” Bobby muttered. “It’s a fucking Hollywood setting!”
    As they drew closer, more house details became clear. The building was in deep shade with a wide covered verandah that appeared to encircle it. A man stood on the verandah and watched their approach. He waved, indicating a parking area near the verandah where two Jeeps and a dark sedan were parked. David pulled in and turned off the engine.
    â€œHere we go, kiddies,” he said. “Barbara, want to help me unload some gear?”
    â€œSure thing,” she said.
    â€œCome on, Bobby,” Ben said. “Let’s get started.” He might have been saying let’s face the music from the sound of his voice. Side by side they walked up to the steps leading to the verandah as Barbara and David hauled the camera cases, tripod, and screen from the Jeep.
    David laughed softly. “Two scared kids not yet ready for prime time.”
    â€œDo you think they’ll succeed?”
    â€œProbably. They reek of money and, as Ben said, Santos is a businessman. Big-time money just walked into his neighborhood. I’d expect him to carve himself a piece of it before he says why not. We’ll see how it plays out.”
    For the first time, she sensed a crack in the indifference he had shown the broncos and their project. There was a note of contempt in his voice.

10
    The man who met Barbara and David on the verandah was no more than five feet five inches tall, and very wide. His face was as brown and deeply folded and furrowed as a pecan nut, with the same kind of shiny high spots. His hair was thick, straight, and black, showing a touch of gray at the temples. His broad smile revealed uneven teeth that never had been near an orthodontist when he was young, although how many years ago that might have been was impossible to guess.
    â€œMiles Ronstadt,” he said. “I’m delighted that you will photograph the orchids. Delighted.”
    â€œDavid Grinwald, and this is my assistant, Barbara Holloway,” David said.
    â€œMy dear Ms. Holloway, please allow me,” Ronstadt said, taking the tripod from her. “Come, meet Mr. Santos before we get started.”
    The broncos and Santos were standing at a table farther down on the verandah, waiting for them. Ben and Bobby looked like two college