Chapter VI: Exposure
Mike Retford thumbed over the last page of his
magazine, and then let it fall against the steering wheel. He had
read every article in it twice, and then all the adverts, and if he
was forced to sit idle much longer he might well succumb to the
final indignity: the crossword – which he would be unable to
complete and would have to watch later as Libby finished it in two
minutes. For the hundredth time, he wondered exactly how he had
ended up in this God-forsaken place...
On the far side of the roped-off service area, the
last of the team's cars pulled away towards the marshals' post and
time control, their race-tuned engines raucous and uneven as the
turbocharger anti-lag systems cut in and out from idling speed. Yet
still Libby did not appear.
They had met at a party back in Oxfordshire only
three weeks earlier. He had just graduated from medical college and
she was one of the few females he had encountered in five years that
was not either on hospital staff, or a fellow student. Elizabeth
Caffrey was two years older than him, but with a much greater
knowledge of the world. She worked as a junior engineer, he
discovered, for a large race preparation firm outside Banbury.
Although he had little interest in motor sport, and she none at all
in medicine, they had hit it off in the odd way that sometimes
happens.
A more formal dinner date followed, when it emerged that Libby's team was due to leave for a major event in north Africa and he had resigned himself to never hearing from her again. But then matters started to move quickly and not entirely under his control:
A more formal dinner date followed, when it emerged that Libby's team was due to leave for a major event in north Africa and he had resigned himself to never hearing from her again. But then matters started to move quickly and not entirely under his control:
The rally team comprised four competing cars with
their drivers, and also a large logistics support and servicing crew
divided into two groups, eleven trucks and 4x4 vehicles in all. The
rota was to include two qualified medical personnel, and it appeared
that one of them had dropped out at the last minute. The next day, a
courier-delivered envelope arrived on Mike's doorstep, containing
travel documents, tickets, a handwritten note from Libby with the
single word “Please??” on it – and an advance cheque for more
money than he had ever seen in one place in his life. Two days later
he was in Tunisia.
Any illusions he might have had about a romantic
sojourn abroad were soon dispelled. Five days of gruelling travel
through the heart of the desert meant no time for dalliance and
little privacy, as the service convoys leap-frogged from the end of
one timed rally stage to the next. But to his surprise, these
conditions made him even more attracted to Libby and not less.
The object of this affection came striding into
view. She was almost as tall as he was, with short fair hair and some
pretensions to a figure, even under shapeless blue overalls that were
emblazoned with corporate logos. She ducked under the sun canopy and
slid into the passenger seat.
“Hi honey – I'm home.”
“Hi honey – I'm home.”
She had been doing mechanic duties all day and it
showed. There was a long grey smudge of oil on one side of her face
and her fingernails would not have borne any inspection.
“You are a very dirty girl.”
“Yeah I am. And you love that about me. Any patients today?”
“You are a very dirty girl.”
“Yeah I am. And you love that about me. Any patients today?”
“Not since Archie dropped the torque wrench on
his foot this morning. It's not broken but he won't be doing the
hokey-cokey any time soon. How'd it go in Service?”
“Had to do a gearbox change on Luigi's car – which is my department as you know. Seventeen minutes flat, even without Archie to help.” She slapped a fist into her palm. “Nailed it!”
“Well done you.”
“My God but it's hot out there.” Libby turned down the collar of her overalls and fanned it.
“I dunno how you stick it in all that fireproof gear.”
“I'll let you into the secret. I'm not wearing any underwear. Check it out...” She toyed with a zipper pull.
“You wouldn't dare.”
“I might.”
A sharp rap on the windscreen and the zipper was returned hastily to its normal position. Mike rolled down his window to reveal the amiable bespectacled face of the team's technical manager, Dieter Voss.
“A word with you, Doctor... ah, and Elizabeth, there you are also I see.” He handed over a sheaf of printed e-mail messages. “We have a little job for the pair of you I believe.”
Mike studied the papers, acutely aware of Libby leaning in and reading over his shoulder. Her hair was tickling his ear and it distracted him.
“I don't understand. Okay, so there is a bird lost in the desert – but what has that got to do with us?”
“This bird is no ordinary bird, it seems.” Voss took off his glasses and polished them. “It is a bird that has thousands of followers on Facebook, and so our main sponsors have become interested and have asked the team to 'step up' as they put it. It would be a useful PR coup for them if anything could be found...”
Libby interrupted. “Yes – and for six million a year into your competitions budget, whatever the sponsors ask for, the sponsors get!”
“Quite correct Elizabeth, quick on the uptake as usual. There are some co-ordinates on the last page.”
Instead of a standard sat-nav, the much modified 4x4 was fitted with a fourteen inch touch-screen display that occupied most of the nearside dashboard. It was similar to the multi-function chart plotters normally installed in marine craft and currently displayed the updated positions of all the team vehicles. The mapping also showed strings of waypoints that differentiated the graded road surface - known as the piste - from virgin desert sand that looked, to unaided eyes, exactly the same. Libby keyed in the figures and then sat back, scowling.
“This is more than ten kilometres from here!” she announced.
“Then you had better get going. It will be dark soon. They believe the unfortunate creature has died from some cause, but we are to recover the tracking unit - an instrument of some value, I understand - and if possible try to find some evidence of what may have happened. Keep me informed by satellite phone, when you can.”
“But Dieter, this isn't fair!” Libby protested, “Everyone else is ready to pull out and by the time WE get down to the coast, all the hotel rooms will be taken. You know what it's always like.”
“Hmm... I will see what can be arranged – but you are right: any crew members that arrive late might be compelled to share a room.”
“I see.” Libby's face cleared suddenly as the implications of this sank in. “Oh, I SEE – share a room, yes well... we must all make sacrifices for the good of the team, mustn’t we?”
Mike was struggling to keep a straight face as Voss walked off. “Dieter is the only German I ever met that has a sense of humour.”
“He's Swiss – which probably explains it. Okay... pull up behind the trucks down there, I want to get my overnight kit. And then I'll take the wheel.”
Mike made no comment at this. Libby was an experienced desert driver and in fact had done some of the development work on the factory's new prototypes. HE, on the other hand had acquired something of a reputation for wandering off-route onto the soft stuff, and the phrase “Digging out the Doctor” had already become a watchword in the team for some laborious and repetitive task that could not be avoided.
Libby returned, carrying a shoulder bag and a bright yellow valise case that she stowed under her seat. “I looked at the large-scale maps. We can backtrack for about five, then turn north and across this big shallow wadi to the other side. After that we'll just have take our chances with the terrain.”
“What's a wadi?” asked Mike.
“A dried-up river bed.”
“And what happens if the river appears while we're crossing it?”
Libby gave him an indulgent smile. “Darling, there hasn't been surface water here for thousands of years. I reckon our chances of getting over safely are fairly good.[1]
Five kilometres down the eastbound piste, and Mike twisted a control on the map screen to zoom in. “We want to turn off to the left somewhere around, er... right here.”
The 4x4 swerved violently one way then the other. Libby caught the tail-slide and executed a perfect four-wheel drift that ended just in time for the front axle to be aligned with the bank of the wadi. She dropped down two gears and they crossed slowly and without incident.
“A little more advance warning with the navigation next time, genius.”
Mike let out the breath he had been holding for almost a minute. “Damn but you're good.”
“I'm not just a pretty face, that's for sure.”
“I think your face is adorable.”
“Behave yourself.”
“Had to do a gearbox change on Luigi's car – which is my department as you know. Seventeen minutes flat, even without Archie to help.” She slapped a fist into her palm. “Nailed it!”
“Well done you.”
“My God but it's hot out there.” Libby turned down the collar of her overalls and fanned it.
“I dunno how you stick it in all that fireproof gear.”
“I'll let you into the secret. I'm not wearing any underwear. Check it out...” She toyed with a zipper pull.
“You wouldn't dare.”
“I might.”
A sharp rap on the windscreen and the zipper was returned hastily to its normal position. Mike rolled down his window to reveal the amiable bespectacled face of the team's technical manager, Dieter Voss.
“A word with you, Doctor... ah, and Elizabeth, there you are also I see.” He handed over a sheaf of printed e-mail messages. “We have a little job for the pair of you I believe.”
Mike studied the papers, acutely aware of Libby leaning in and reading over his shoulder. Her hair was tickling his ear and it distracted him.
“I don't understand. Okay, so there is a bird lost in the desert – but what has that got to do with us?”
“This bird is no ordinary bird, it seems.” Voss took off his glasses and polished them. “It is a bird that has thousands of followers on Facebook, and so our main sponsors have become interested and have asked the team to 'step up' as they put it. It would be a useful PR coup for them if anything could be found...”
Libby interrupted. “Yes – and for six million a year into your competitions budget, whatever the sponsors ask for, the sponsors get!”
“Quite correct Elizabeth, quick on the uptake as usual. There are some co-ordinates on the last page.”
Instead of a standard sat-nav, the much modified 4x4 was fitted with a fourteen inch touch-screen display that occupied most of the nearside dashboard. It was similar to the multi-function chart plotters normally installed in marine craft and currently displayed the updated positions of all the team vehicles. The mapping also showed strings of waypoints that differentiated the graded road surface - known as the piste - from virgin desert sand that looked, to unaided eyes, exactly the same. Libby keyed in the figures and then sat back, scowling.
“This is more than ten kilometres from here!” she announced.
“Then you had better get going. It will be dark soon. They believe the unfortunate creature has died from some cause, but we are to recover the tracking unit - an instrument of some value, I understand - and if possible try to find some evidence of what may have happened. Keep me informed by satellite phone, when you can.”
“But Dieter, this isn't fair!” Libby protested, “Everyone else is ready to pull out and by the time WE get down to the coast, all the hotel rooms will be taken. You know what it's always like.”
“Hmm... I will see what can be arranged – but you are right: any crew members that arrive late might be compelled to share a room.”
“I see.” Libby's face cleared suddenly as the implications of this sank in. “Oh, I SEE – share a room, yes well... we must all make sacrifices for the good of the team, mustn’t we?”
Mike was struggling to keep a straight face as Voss walked off. “Dieter is the only German I ever met that has a sense of humour.”
“He's Swiss – which probably explains it. Okay... pull up behind the trucks down there, I want to get my overnight kit. And then I'll take the wheel.”
Mike made no comment at this. Libby was an experienced desert driver and in fact had done some of the development work on the factory's new prototypes. HE, on the other hand had acquired something of a reputation for wandering off-route onto the soft stuff, and the phrase “Digging out the Doctor” had already become a watchword in the team for some laborious and repetitive task that could not be avoided.
Libby returned, carrying a shoulder bag and a bright yellow valise case that she stowed under her seat. “I looked at the large-scale maps. We can backtrack for about five, then turn north and across this big shallow wadi to the other side. After that we'll just have take our chances with the terrain.”
“What's a wadi?” asked Mike.
“A dried-up river bed.”
“And what happens if the river appears while we're crossing it?”
Libby gave him an indulgent smile. “Darling, there hasn't been surface water here for thousands of years. I reckon our chances of getting over safely are fairly good.[1]
Five kilometres down the eastbound piste, and Mike twisted a control on the map screen to zoom in. “We want to turn off to the left somewhere around, er... right here.”
The 4x4 swerved violently one way then the other. Libby caught the tail-slide and executed a perfect four-wheel drift that ended just in time for the front axle to be aligned with the bank of the wadi. She dropped down two gears and they crossed slowly and without incident.
“A little more advance warning with the navigation next time, genius.”
Mike let out the breath he had been holding for almost a minute. “Damn but you're good.”
“I'm not just a pretty face, that's for sure.”
“I think your face is adorable.”
“Behave yourself.”
Now their route lay up and across a steep slope.
Libby gave the engine maximum revs and the locked differentials
whined and grated as sand and gravel fountained from the tyres.
“Get on up there, old girl, you can do it...” she muttered.
Right on the point of stalling, they reached the crest and emerged onto a narrow plateau of striated rock. To one side, a series of stone outcrops had been smoothed and eroded by the ever-present wind into fantastical curved shapes. The way became narrow and then petered out altogether. Libby let the 4x4 roll to a stop and switched off the engine. She reached down and opened the yellow case.
“What's that thing?” Mike asked, pulling a daysack from one of the side lockers.
“Get on up there, old girl, you can do it...” she muttered.
Right on the point of stalling, they reached the crest and emerged onto a narrow plateau of striated rock. To one side, a series of stone outcrops had been smoothed and eroded by the ever-present wind into fantastical curved shapes. The way became narrow and then petered out altogether. Libby let the 4x4 roll to a stop and switched off the engine. She reached down and opened the yellow case.
“What's that thing?” Mike asked, pulling a daysack from one of the side lockers.
“It's a thermal imaging camera. Supposed to be
for detecting hot-spots in the suspension and braking systems,
possible points of failure, but we're almost always too busy to use
it. Ready? Let's see what we can find...”
They began to search just as the sun finally dipped below the western horizon. Shadows of opaque purple reached down from rock buttresses, confusing to the eye. Mike tried to peer beyond them.
They began to search just as the sun finally dipped below the western horizon. Shadows of opaque purple reached down from rock buttresses, confusing to the eye. Mike tried to peer beyond them.
“The target point was only two hundred from
where we stopped, but I can't see anything along here.”
They walked on, with Libby scanning the terrain: up, down and sideways. Suddenly she halted: “I've got something... there, just below that overhang.”
They walked on, with Libby scanning the terrain: up, down and sideways. Suddenly she halted: “I've got something... there, just below that overhang.”
On the camera's built-in display, a small orange
dot glowed dimly among the other thermal signals. They hurried
forward. At the base of the rock wall, an untidy pile of feathers,
barred brown and white, lay in the dust.
“Aaww, what a shame.” said Mike, sadly.
“No, he's definitely still alive.” came Libby's uncompromising response.
“How do you know that?”
“Wouldn't show up on the thermal camera, otherwise.”
“Aaww, what a shame.” said Mike, sadly.
“No, he's definitely still alive.” came Libby's uncompromising response.
“How do you know that?”
“Wouldn't show up on the thermal camera, otherwise.”
Mike un-shouldered his bag and knelt down. His
examination was methodical and unhurried, while Libby fumed with
impatience beside him. At length he sat back and scratched his
head.
“Well... this is a bit odd. I can't find any bones broken or other obvious injuries. There's some bruising above the left scapula but it wouldn't be disabling. I measure a very weak heartbeat and its rate is way high – over 280. A human would be in the ICU with that, but it could be normal for birds.”[2]
“Don't you know?”
“No I don't. If there was a lecture on avian cardiology at doctor school, I must have missed that one.” He peered into his bag. “Dammit – we should have brought a blanket or something to wrap him in. Those talons are needle sharp...”
Libby stepped behind him. “Do not and I repeat, NOT, turn around under any circumstances.”
Fabric rustled and her overall appeared over his right shoulder. Mike took it and began to bundle the unconscious osprey in its folds. He heard her footsteps receding and risked a backwards glance. Now THAT, he thought, would make a popular picture on Facebook.By the time he reached the car, she was dressed more appropriately in jeans and a pale red tee-shirt. He opened the back door and laid his patient on the stretcher platform that occupied half of the rear load space.
“You peeked!” said Libby, feigning outrage.
“I'm a Doctor – you haven't got anything I haven't seen before.”
“Oh, is THAT so? And how does this one compare with all the others you've seen?”
“I couldn't say without taking a much closer look at it.”
“Patience, lover – good things come to those who wait.”
“Pfft - you've been saying that for six days.” While continuing with the banter, Mike began to search through lockers and shelves. He passed various items forward as they were found: “Hold that, please... and that... and I need some of this and one of– where the hell is it? Okay, good...”
“What's all this for?” asked Libby, looking down at two sealed packets of narrow plastic tubing.
“I think our osprey is suffering from acute dehydration, more than anything else. It's a very dangerous condition for humans and probably even more so for a bird. If I can get him set up with intravenous fluids on a drip, he might – just might – have a chance of making it through the night.”
“And you've done this before, right?”
“Well, I've SEEN it done before,” replied Mike defensively, “which is almost the same thing.”
“Well... this is a bit odd. I can't find any bones broken or other obvious injuries. There's some bruising above the left scapula but it wouldn't be disabling. I measure a very weak heartbeat and its rate is way high – over 280. A human would be in the ICU with that, but it could be normal for birds.”[2]
“Don't you know?”
“No I don't. If there was a lecture on avian cardiology at doctor school, I must have missed that one.” He peered into his bag. “Dammit – we should have brought a blanket or something to wrap him in. Those talons are needle sharp...”
Libby stepped behind him. “Do not and I repeat, NOT, turn around under any circumstances.”
Fabric rustled and her overall appeared over his right shoulder. Mike took it and began to bundle the unconscious osprey in its folds. He heard her footsteps receding and risked a backwards glance. Now THAT, he thought, would make a popular picture on Facebook.By the time he reached the car, she was dressed more appropriately in jeans and a pale red tee-shirt. He opened the back door and laid his patient on the stretcher platform that occupied half of the rear load space.
“You peeked!” said Libby, feigning outrage.
“I'm a Doctor – you haven't got anything I haven't seen before.”
“Oh, is THAT so? And how does this one compare with all the others you've seen?”
“I couldn't say without taking a much closer look at it.”
“Patience, lover – good things come to those who wait.”
“Pfft - you've been saying that for six days.” While continuing with the banter, Mike began to search through lockers and shelves. He passed various items forward as they were found: “Hold that, please... and that... and I need some of this and one of– where the hell is it? Okay, good...”
“What's all this for?” asked Libby, looking down at two sealed packets of narrow plastic tubing.
“I think our osprey is suffering from acute dehydration, more than anything else. It's a very dangerous condition for humans and probably even more so for a bird. If I can get him set up with intravenous fluids on a drip, he might – just might – have a chance of making it through the night.”
“And you've done this before, right?”
“Well, I've SEEN it done before,” replied Mike defensively, “which is almost the same thing.”
An hour later
they were back on the graded surface and able to make better speed.
Picked out in the headlights, the rally service area was deserted
with only tyre tracks to show that anyone had ever been there. They
were already being covered by drifting sand.
[1] Recent observations using a combination of LANDSAT imagery and remote sensing radar have revealed patterns of extensive prehistoric watercourses in the western Sahara Desert.
[2] Basal heart rate in birds is extremely
variable. For a medium/large raptor it would be around 175 beats per
minute.
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