Insects: A Novel (4 page)

11

Howard Duncan knew
it would be virtually impossible to get funding for an expedition from his university. He couldn’t ‘borrow’ from his grants without the risk of having them revoked. And the more he thought about it, the more expensive it became. There was the cost of a boat, fuel and guide and possibly other needs. Would they need All Terrain Vehicles? Would they need a plane to fly them in? The area that Azevedo highlighted on his computer was remote and could well harbor drug gangs, bandits, and illegal loggers. Would they need armed guards? He was not entirely certain whether Professor Azevedo would expect payment for his services. For every thought, there was a cost, and soon he stopped thinking about it. He wasn’t even certain whether he could afford to pay his and Cody Boyd’s expenses.

Duncan rose from his chair suddenly, startling Boyd, who had been sitting nearby typing on his laptop.

“What’s up?” Boyd asked.

Duncan sighed deeply, shaking his head.

“This expedition could get expensive, maybe too expensive.”

Boyd rubbed his chin and gave Duncan a puzzled look.

“I thought last night we decided to get Hamel, Cross, and the others to chip in, or am I making it up? I was kinda drunk.”

“Yeah, we talked about it, but that was before I started doing the math.”

“How much is it gonna cost?”

“I don’t know,” Duncan said, pacing into the adjacent room and back.

“Other than a boat and a guide, what do we need?”

“That’s just the start.”

He outlined what he’d been thinking the expedition would require and was mildly amused as Boyd’s jaw dropped slightly.

“You really think we need guards?”

“I don’t know. It’s one of those things that if you need them you want to have them. I suppose we could arm ourselves.”

Boyd squirmed uneasily in his chair.

“I don’t like guns.”

“Neither do I,” Duncan said absently.

“Maybe the professor could be our guide,” Boyd suggested. “He’s been there; he knows the area.”

“We could ask him, but before we do that, I should talk to Steph and the others. We need to find out how much they can afford to contribute.”

Boyd thought better of telling Duncan that he was tapped out, though he had several thousand dollars in a savings account. If necessary, he could use some of it to cover his expenses, but he was thinking that Duncan would pay his way from his grant funding. After all, he was Duncan’s assistant, and that had to count for something. Or so he had assumed.

“Cody, if you don’t mind, would you arrange a meeting this afternoon with everyone from our group?”

“Sure. We gonna meet here?”

“No!” Duncan nearly shouted. “Not here.”

“Okay, okay,” Boyd said sheepishly. “But why not?”

“The place stinks, haven’t you noticed?”

“I thought I smelled something yesterday, but I can’t smell anything now.”

“Maybe the stale beer smell has dulled your senses. No, it’s worse. I think something died in one of the walls, like a big rat or something. Anyway, it would be better to do it somewhere else, like a bar or a cafe that sells alcohol.”

“You want to loosen their tongues?”

“Just their wallets.”

12

Stephanie Rankin earned
her undergraduate degree in bioscience at Columbia and had just completed her master’s in entomology from Penn State. At twenty-four, she planned to start her doctoral program in the fall at Michigan State. Friends described her as ambitious and persistent with a gift for sarcasm. She stood five-feet-three and had the build of an athlete. She had a smile that lit up her face, which she thought was too narrow. Her daddy was a well-compensated corporate counsel and was happy to support her academic endeavors despite the dearth of opportunity for the kind of entomology that she wanted to do. Her father had set up a trust fund for her, which would kick in when she turned twenty-five. Her plan was to continue to live off her dad while growing her trust fund so that one day she could do the kind of entomology she wanted to do without having to beg for funding like Duncan. Her only problem with Duncan was that he insisted that she address him as Dr. Duncan rather than by his first name the way that Boyd did. She understood what the pecking order was about, but it still annoyed her as if she were a second-class citizen.

But she never let her opinions and feelings get in the way of her career. She recognized that few students got the opportunity to do field work in the Amazon basin. The Brazilian rainforest with its two and one-half million insect species was the holy grail of entomology. Just as lieutenants seek combat assignments, entomology students seek field work in the Amazon. Rankin agreed to pay her own expenses, but her dad would have paid whatever it took.

Johnson was a different case. He grew up too close to the wrong side of the tracks, literally. The house was a block from a regional rail route that carried freight between Detroit and Chicago, throughout the day and much of the night. He got out of the neighborhood when Ohio University offered an academic scholarship and had not returned to his parents’ home since, not even for holidays. He had a chip on his shoulder and blamed his parents for the shortcomings of his childhood.

Lacking Rankin’s effortless confidence, he feared failure and preferred remaining in the background where he felt comfortable. The consequence was that his friends knew little if anything about his family though he kept in touch with his older sister who had a similar upbringing. Unlike her brother, she blamed “the system” for her family’s poverty, was angry about it, and vowed never to let it hold her back.

However, Johnson was not an angry person and had an on-again, off-again crush on Rankin, who was oblivious to his feelings, which he never made known. As much as he was infatuated with her, he was afraid to say anything personal for fear of exposing himself to ridicule or, more to the point, rejection. Rankin liked him as a friend but never flirted with him. He was of average build, and she was drawn to muscular men. He was not very athletic, and she liked jocks. His intelligence appealed to her but academia was filled with smart, often flawed, men. He was a good lab partner, always finished assignments, and had slightly better grades than she had. Since coming to Manaus, they had gotten to know each other better as professionals, but because of Johnson’s fear of rejection, their personal encounters were generic and not memorable.

Alison Peeples wasn’t into entomology at all. She was a naturalist working for an environmental organization whose central issue was climate change. Her research focused on quantifying the effect of forest die back. While much of the current research suggested the die back wouldn’t occur until at least the end of the century, she believed that die back would kill off the forests no matter what, but that combined with intentional deforestation the forests would largely revert to vegetation found in hot semi-arid climates such as in West Africa by mid-century. While her view was in the minority, she managed to convince her organization’s administrators that to overlook her theory for the sake of more popular ones was imprudent.

Maggie Cross was a self-taught lepidopterist. She had an undergraduate degree in humanities and just happened to be born into a family that owned commercial real estate in New York. She was the only surviving child when her parents and older brother died when TWA Flight 800 exploded in midair near New York, in July 1996. Twenty-nine at the time, as a child she had adopted her father’s interest in butterflies and used a portion of her inheritance to fund a small nonprofit dedicated to the preservation of Monarchs.

George Hamel had a graduate degree in business finance and met Cross on an Alaskan cruise. Unambitious and not interested in a nine-to-five lifestyle, he lived frugally and spent his time following his many interests, which included girl watching, poker, carousing, and history. He was especially interested in the U.S. revolutionary period and believed the country made a mistake by adopting the Constitution instead of modifying the Articles of Confederation. He was an inveterate blogger and never shied from expressing an opinion. Cross took a liking to him, and since the cruise they were often together. She trusted him enough to ask for investment advice, which he provided eagerly. Nowadays, he went where she went, and he found Manaus to be an endlessly interesting place. He understood
Portuguese
and could speak it with some sophistication, though slowly, often sounding out individual syllables. But he could be understood, and that’s what mattered to him. Cross was terrible at languages and so relied on Hamel on this trip more than usual. They shared a short-term rental of an Italianate colonial house near the Teatro Amazonas. Cross paid the bills, of course.

These were the people Duncan was thinking of when he found himself planning an expedition to find blaberus and needing financing. While Rankin and Peeples could provide their own expenses, he couldn’t expect them to afford the cost of one or two boats, a guide, perhaps security guards and whatever camping and other gear they would need. But first, he needed to talk to Fernando Azevedo. There was a permitting process enforced by the Brazilian wildlife authorities. He couldn’t afford to be caught without one for fear of being expelled from the country, which would abruptly halt his current research for which he was properly permitted.

Duncan’s next move was to call Maggie Cross to see if she would host a meeting at her place.

13

“Manuela, Manuela,” Jose
Silva shouted as he stepped into the front door of his house and moved quickly to the kitchen where he expected to find her. She wasn’t there. In fact, she wasn’t in the house. The Fiat Strada was gone from the backyard where they parked it, behind the gray concrete block wall that surrounded the rear of the property. Disappointed, he grabbed a bottle of Skol from the refrigerator, popped the cap with a rusty bottle opener, and took a long, satisfying gulp. He thought his wife might have gone for groceries, but he was still excited from the day’s activities and wanted to tell her everything.

When Manuela returned, Jose was working on this third Skol. She disapproved of Jose’s drinking, and as soon as he heard her slam the door of the Fiat, he grabbed the two empties, chugged the remainder of the third, dropped the bottles into the kitchen trash can and disappeared into the living room just as his wife pushed through the back door.

“Manuela, Manuela,” he shouted again, moving into the kitchen. As she put the groceries away, he told her about his day and how uncomfortable he became the longer he was near
Raul Barbosa
’s body.

‘He was just bones,” he said, “like I told you before. They took a lot of pictures and put Raul into a body bag. Man, those cops drive fast boats.”

Manuela eyed him suspiciously. She could smell alcohol. He saw this in her eyes; it wasn’t the first time, and he instinctively backed away.

“You’ve been drinking. Already? It’s not even five o’clock. You know how I don’t like that. And yet you continue to do it.”

“I’m sorry, but I was so excited,” he said, moving toward her and putting his arm around her shoulder.

“Did the cops say how he died?”

“Well,” Jose smiled knowingly. “Inspector Dias told me that Raul didn’t die of natural causes. He said he needed to call some experts into the case.”

Manuela nodded and said, “He didn’t pay you, did he?”

“He gave me his card,” Silva said, pulling it from his shirt pocket and holding it out. “He told me if I ever got into trouble with the police to call him. He said he would help me out for helping him out. You know, I scratched his back, and now he’ll scratch mine.”

“Hmmph. When would you be in trouble with the police?” she said, skeptically.

“Well, it can’t hurt. And who knows, we could get a ticket or something with the car or get into an accident. It can’t hurt to have a friend in the police department.”

“He’s not your friend,” Manuela said scornfully. “You think everybody who talks to you is your friend, and they aren’t.”

Silva looked away, tucked the card into his wallet for safekeeping and gave her a peck on the forehead.

“Sweetness, you are here to keep me down to earth.”

14

Howard Duncan called
the group together at Maggie Cross’ stylish rental. Attending were Cody Boyd, Stephanie Rankin, Carlos Johnson, Alison Peeples, George Hamel and Cross. Cross served smoked salmon on crackers and red table wine. Boyd and Johnson flew to the hors d’oeuvres like vultures, accounting for half of the salmon by the time the meeting got under way. Rankin and Peeples shared observations about Boyd’s and Johnson’s behavior. Rankin told Peeples that Hamel was Cross’ puppy. Peeples looked at her quizzically.

“That’s not entirely fair,” she said. “You know he wouldn’t be here if Cross weren’t paying his way.”

“Yeah. Still, he needs to grow a pair,” Rankin said, dismissively.

They giggled and then sipped from their second glass of wine.

“On second thought, maybe she’d drop him if he did,” Rankin said absently.

“Did what?” Peeples asked, watching as Duncan and Boyd entered the living room from a hallway that led to the kitchen.

“Grow a pair.”

“Looks like things are getting underway,” Peeples said, setting her drink on the armrest of her red leather club chair. The chair wasn’t to her liking. She felt small in it, like a child.

Standing in the center of the large room, with the others sitting on leather chairs and sofas, Duncan cleared his throat loudly several times and clapped his hands together twice. The others stopped talking almost immediately.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “I’d like to thank Maggie for hosting this.” Directing his attention toward her, he added, “The
hors
d’
oeuvre
s are fantastic.”

“And the wine, too,” Rankin said cheerfully, having finished her second glass.

Maggie Cross smiled demurely from her position on a sofa. George Hamel had taken a seat next to her and started a round of applause.

Duncan found it awkward to stand in the center of the group and suggested they move their chairs and sofas into a semicircle, as he took a seat in a club chair facing them. Clearing his throat again, he continued.

“I’ve learned of an opportunity we may have to go on an expedition in search of a recently described insect called by its discoverer
reptilus blaberus
.”

Letting this sink in, he eyed the group. Carlos Johnson raised his hand.

“Is that a reptilian cockroach?” he asked tentatively.

“Exactly,” Duncan said. “Literally, that’s what it is, and you’ll have a chance to meet the discoverer, and we may collaborate on a paper or two, depending what we learn from the expedition.”

Duncan summarized what he knew and then took questions. Several hands shot up.

“When would we do this?” Alison Peeples asked.

“As soon as we can put it together,” Duncan responded. Seeing her puzzled expression, he added, “I hope within the next week or so.”

Peeples smiled, as did everyone in the room. Glances were exchanged and several whispered conversations were launched.

“Do you know where we’ll be going?”

“Not precisely, Alison,” he said. “Professor Azevedo will make the decision. He’s the expert. I see this as a great opportunity to see an old school scientist go about his work.”

“He’s kind of a fossil,” Boyd interjected.

“That’s harsh,” Peeples said, “and I haven’t even seen him.”

“Well, he’s old, okay. Must be in his seventies.”

Peeples smiled falsely, ending the conversation.

“Not to mention the opportunity to observe an insect that has yet to be officially cataloged,” Duncan continued.

“Why do people always say ‘not to mention’ and then mention it,” Boyd whispered to Carlos Johnson. “That’s one of my pet peeves.”

“You have a lot of those,” Johnson whispered back.

“Doctor Duncan,” Maggie Cross said, waving her hand above her head. “Could you tell us how long this expedition will be and what we will need?”

Duncan smiled.

“I’m glad you brought that up, Maggie,” he said. “I’m working on a budget as we speak. I’m afraid it’s going to be rather expensive, at least compared to the cost of anything we’ve done so far. We’re going to need boats, a guide, camping gear, provisions, security…”

“Security?” Peeples asked.

“Yes. Possibly, it depends on our destination.”

A murmur fluttered into the room. It seemed to Duncan that everyone was whispering to someone but not to him. He hadn’t expected this reaction.

“Look, it’s better to have security and not need it than it is not to have security and need it. It’s a precaution.”

“What makes you think we may need it?” Cross asked. “Are we going into drug country?”

“You know, there’s no boundary for drug operations. It’s wherever they are. We’ll be in the wilderness. I like to be prepared. I was a Boy Scout. Besides, we’ve gone into places just like this.”

“But we didn’t bring security,” Peeples said.

“We have a bigger group, and, you know, no one is required to go. I, for one, can’t resist the temptation of finding this bug in its habitat. Y’all have to decide for yourselves. I thought this would appeal to you.”

Silence chased the murmuring out of the room. Duncan gave Boyd a puzzled look as if to ask,
what’s going on here?
Boyd shrugged.

Finally, Cross said, “Count me in. This sounds exciting.”

“I’m going,” Hamel said, raising his hand.

The others assented in short order, and Duncan smiled broadly. As the group began excited conversations, he broke in.

“Okay, okay,” he said, “There’s still the matter of cost and how to pay for the expedition.”

Several hands shot up with questions, but Duncan was unable to provide specific amounts. He told them that he had done some preliminary budgeting but that he couldn’t tell them how much the cost would be for each of them. Hamel was the most concerned, as he didn’t actually have a salary or a job. Cross nudged him as if to suggest she would cover his cost. Duncan noticed this and wondered whether she would cover other costs as well.

“Can you share your preliminary budget?” Peeples asked. “I mean, are we talking about ten thousand dollars or fifty thousand? If we had an idea of how much we need, maybe we could come up with some sort of funding mechanism.”

“I don’t have a number. I could say ten thousand, but it would be pulling a number out of the air.”

“You know,” Boyd said. “Maybe an expedition like this could generate some interest from people who do reality TV.”

Everyone looked at him as if he’d just announced that they were under arrest. Duncan nipped the suggestion in the bud.

“I don’t think we need to go there just yet,” he said, surprised and disappointed at Boyd. As far as he was concerned, this was out of left field and unnecessary. In the back of his mind, he felt that Cross would pick up the slack if it meant the difference between going and not going on an expedition. Most amateurs he’d known loved expeditions, and many of them were wealthy like Cross. They were like children on a field trip. And Cross was a serious amateur, even had an assistant in Hamel. He realized it was a mistake to have so few details worked out. Of course they wanted answers. So did he. Duncan spoke to Boyd after the meeting broke up.

“I was surprised by your suggestion. Kind of came out of nowhere. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I thought we were brainstorming,” Boyd said.

“Brainstorming?”

“Yeah, for ideas to pay for the expedition. I gather we weren’t supposed to be brainstorming?”

“No. We’re not there, yet, if ever. There are a lot of other options. That’s something you really need to learn about. Fundraising. You don’t want to grasp at straws if you don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I hate the idea of begging.”

“Begging? You think competing for grants is begging?” Duncan said harshly.

“No, not that,” Boyd said quickly. “Having to depend on strangers for your funds and never knowing whether they’re renewed. I’ve watched you. You’re really frustrated by it. I think I’d rather be…”

Duncan cut him off.

“Nobody likes the way we fund our research. But that’s how it is. If you want to do research, you have to know how to find funding. It would serve you well to take a few business courses, learn how budgets are made and that kind of stuff. I did.”

Duncan exhaled heavily.

“Sometimes, I wonder about you,” he said, smiling. “I’m going to spend a little time with Ms. Cross. Feel her out. You’re welcomed to stay or join us. Just no talk about reality shows.”

More like feel her up, Boyd thought angrily. Forcing a smile, he stifled what he wanted to say. Anger briefly welled up like hot tears, and then it was over. He took a few slow, deep breaths followed by a sip of wine. It was better to move on as quickly as possible. He needed Duncan more than Duncan needed him. He had to stay on his good side, no matter what. Besides, the expedition appealed to him.