Old Earth Read Online Free PDF Page A

end of the Cretaceous period, with fossils of triceratops, tyrannosaurus, and Ornithomimids. Interesting.
    Site 2, further east, had real possibilities. It was just outside of Glendive, MT. Maybe, he said to himself.
    Site 3 was north, part of a pre-historic riverbed and was certain to garner great finds just a few feet down. But he found that less challenging. No adventure. He figured there’d be initial excitement, then with the same results week after week—boredom.
    McCauley finished chewing another bite, quickly catching a piece of turkey as it dropped out of the bun. He did it instinctively, like the first baseman he’d been in Little League, high school and college. He still had a quick hand and a great throwing arm.
    He swallowed the last of his sandwich, studied the map again and pulled the pin and paper off Site 3. That makes it easier. Down to two .
    The music on his computer segued from Sinatra to Dean Martin, Dean Martin to Matt Monro, a crooner considered the British Sinatra. The “From Russia to Love” theme broke his concentration.
    “Pete!” he shouted. “Need a little help.”
    DeMeo left his adjoining office and was at McCauley’s side in seconds.
    “Ready.”
    “I’m torn between Sites 1 and 2, but drawn more to 2. Give me arguments why we shouldn’t go there.”
    “You want them right now?”
    “Yes.”
    “Site 1 is better. Earth that you can dig and geological footprints evident everywhere. Perfect grazing grounds. And that means perfect remains.”
    “I know. But the strata at 2 appeals to me.”
    “Harder. More challenges. Cliffs and valleys. You’ll need better equipment. More money.”
    “Forget the money. If I made my decisions on money, I would have stuck with baseball. ”
    DeMeo had heard the stories about the Red Sox looking at the young McCauley. They even made an offer his junior year at Harvard which he turned down.
    “Let’s sleep on it for a few days. See what you can come up with.” After a pause he added, “And while you’re at it, find out why the Brits had this thing about Matt Monro.”
    • • •
    LONDON
    Kavanaugh was amazed at how quickly Gruber was able to shift gears. He would have to master the art as well.
    “The St. Lucia photographs are exquisite,” he said leaning over Gruber’s computer screen. “They capture the beauty of the Grand Pitons.” Kavanaugh cycled through the pictures. “Check out this angle. It’s extraordinary.”
    Gruber agreed.
    “As I recall, you were there years ago.”
    “Yes, my boy. It was your first year working directly with me and your calls to the Ladera Hotel were quite intolerable. Am I right?”
    Kavanaugh had to laugh. “Of course you are. You didn’t get out much after that trip.”
    “I suppose I became too accustomed to sleeping in my own bed. Unusual for a publisher of a travel magazine.” Gruber laughed. “But as you’ll see, there are so many other things that will require constant attention.”
    Gruber recognized the real intent of Kavanaugh’s comment. “Ah, but I see you were trying to test me.”
    “Sir?”
    “My memory. You were testing my capacity. Did I remember the trip?”
    “I don’t know…”
    “Oh you were. And rightfully so. You’re beginning to understand that everything is a test. A test of knowledge. A test of resolve. Tests of commitment and faith. A test of your will.”
    Kavanaugh stroked his hairless head again.
    “But I digress,” he continued. “Show me more of the issue that will be dedicated to my memory.”
    • • •
    NEW HAVEN, CT
    McCauley was reviewing his charts. They were anything but exotic, five-star vacation spots. These required the latest in rugged all-weather camping gear: everything from tents to sleeping bags, iridium satphones to walkie-talkies and the basics: backpacks, picks and shovels, bubble wrap, and plastic bags. A lot of plastic bags.
    He made notes and then roughed out a draft of an email to his department chair; a formality which he