p&c.icelimit-第3章

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　Kalahari　Desert；
　June　1；　6：45　P。M。
　
　SAM　MCFARLANE　sat　cross…legged　in　the　dust。　The　evening　fire；　built　of　twigs　on　bare　ground；　cast　a　trembling　net　of　shadows　over　the　thorn　scrub　surrounding　the　camp。　The　nearest　settlement　lay　one　hundred　miles　behind　his　back。
　He　looked　around　at　the　wizened　figures　squatting　on　their　heels　around　the　fire；　naked　except　for　dusty　breech…clouts；　their　alert　eyes　gleaming。　San　Bushmen。　It　took　a　long　time　to　gain　their　trust；　but　once　gained；　it　was　unshakable。　Very　different；　McFarlane　thought；　from　back　home。
　In　front　of　each　San　lay　a　battered　secondhand　metal　detector。　The　San　remained　immobile　as　McFarlane　rose　to　his　feet。　He　spoke　slowly；　awkwardly；　in　their　strange　click　language。　At　first　there　were　some　snickers　as　he　struggled　with　the　words；　but　McFarlane　had　a　natural　affinity　for　languages；　and　as　he　continued　the　men　fell　back　into　respectful　silence。
　At　the　conclusion　of　his　speech；　McFarlane　smoothed　out　a　patch　of　sand。　Using　a　stick；　he　began　to　draw　a　map。　The　San　squatted　on　their　heels；　craning　their　necks　to　look　at　the　drawing。　Slowly　the　map　took　shape；　and　the　San　nodded　their　understanding　as　McFarlane　pointed　out　the　various　landmarks。　It　was　the　Makgadikgadi　Pans　that　lay　north　of　the　camp：　a　thousand　square　miles　of　dry　lakebeds；　sand　hills；　and　alkali　flats；　desolate　and　uninhabited。　In　the　deep　interior　of　the　Pans；　he　drew　a　small　circle　with　his　stick。　Then　he　stabbed　the　stick　in　the　center　of　the　circle　and　looked　up　with　a　broad　smile。
　There　was　a　moment　of　silence；　punctuated　by　the　lonely　sound　of　a　ruoru　bird　calling　across　the　distant　flats。　The　San　began　talking　among　themselves　in　low　voices；　the　clicks　and　clucks　of　their　language　like　the　rattling　of　pebbles　in　a　stream。　A　gnarled　old　figure；　the　headman　of　the　band；　pointed　at　the　map。　McFarlane　leaned　forward；　straining　to　understand　the　rapid　speech。　Yes；　they　knew　the　area；　the　old　man　said。　He　began　to　describe　trails；　known　only　to　the　San；　that　crossed　the　remote　area。　With　a　twig　and　some　pebbles；　the　headman　began　marking　where　the　seeps　were；　where　the　game　was；　where　edible　roots　and　plants　could　be　found。　McFarlane　waited　patiently。
　At　last；　quiet　again　settled　on　the　group。　The　headman　spoke　to　McFarlane；　more　slowly　this　time。　Yes；　they　were　willing　to　do　what　the　white　man　wanted。　But　they　were　afraid　of　the　white　man's　machines；　and　they　also　did　not　understand　this　thing　the　white　man　was　looking　for。
　McFarlane　rose　again；　pulled　the　stick　out　of　the　map。　Then　he　took　a　small；　dark　lump　of　iron　from　his　pocket；　no　bigger　than　a　marble；　and　placed　it　in　the　hole　left　by　the　stick。　He　pushed　it　down　and　concealed　it　with　sand。　Then　he　stood；　picked　up　his　metal　detector；　and　snapped　it　on。　There　was　a　brief；　high…pitched　whine。　Everyone　watched　in　nervous　silence。　He　took　two　steps　away　from　the　map；　turned；　and　began　walking　forward；　making　low　sweeps　over　the　ground　with　the　detector。　As　it　swept　over　the　buried　lump　of　iron；　there　was　a　squawk。　The　San　jumped　backward　in　alarm　and　there　was　a　burst　of　rapid　talk。　McFarlane　smiled；　spoke　a　few　words；　and　the　San　crept　back　into　their　seating　places。　He　turned　off　the　metal　detector　and　held　it　toward　the　headman；　who　took　it　reluctantly。　McFarlane　showed　him　how　to　turn　it　on；　and　then　guided　him；　in　sweeping　motions；　over　the　circle。　A　second　squawk　sounded。　The　headman　flinched　but　then　smiled。　He　tried　it　again；　and　again；　his　smile　growing　broader；　his　face　breaking　into　a　mass　of　wrinkles。　〃Sun'a　ai；　Ma！gad'i！gadi　！iaad'mi；〃　he　said；　gesturing　to　his　band。
　With　McFarlane's　patient　help；　each　San　Bushman　in　turn　picked　up　a　machine　and　tested　it　on　the　hidden　iron　nugget。　Slowly；　the　apprehension　was　replaced　by　laughter　and　speculative　discussion。　Eventually　McFarlane　raised　his　hands；　and　all　sat　down　again；　each　with　his　machine　in　his　lap。　They　were　ready　to　begin　the　search。
　McFarlane　took　a　leather　bag　from　his　pocket；　opened　it；　inverted　it。　A　dozen　gold　Krugerrands　fell　into　his　outstretched　palm。　The　ruoru　bird　began　its　mournful　call　again　as　the　last　light　died　from　the　sky。　Slowly　and　with　ceremony；　he　gave　a　gold　coin　to　each　man　in　turn。　They　took　them　reverently；　with　paired　hands；　bowing　their　heads。
　The　headman　spoke　again　to　McFarlane。　Tomorrow；　they　would　move　camp　and　begin　the　journey　into　the　heart　of　the　Makgadikgadi　Pans　with　the　white　man's　machines。　They　would　look　for　this　big　thing　the　white　man　wanted。　When　they　found　it；　they　would　return。　They　would　tell　the　white　man　where　it　was。。。
　The　old　man　suddenly　darted　his　eyes　to　the　sky　in　alarm。　The　others　did　the　same　as　McFarlane　watched；　his　brow　creasing　in　puzzlement。　Then　he　heard　it　himself：　a　faint；　rhythmic　throbbing。　He　followed　their　gaze　to　the　dark　horizon。　Already　the　Bushmen　were　on　their　feet；　birdlike；　apprehensive。　There　was　rapid；　urgent　talk。　A　cluster　of　lights；　faint　but　growing　brighter；　rose　in　the　distant　sky。　The　throbbing　sound　grew　stronger。　The　pencil…like　beam　of　a　spotlight　stabbed　downward　into　the　scrub。
　With　a　soft　cry　of　alarm；　the　old　man　dropped　his　Krugerrand　and　disappeared　into　the　darkness。　The　rest　followed　suit。　Instantly；　it　seemed；　McFarlane　was　left　alone；　staring　into　the　still　darkness　of　the　brush。　He　turned　wildly　as　the　light　grew　in　intensity。　It　was　ing　straight　for　the　camp。　And　now　he　could　see　it　was　a　big　Blackhawk　helicopter；　its　rotors　tearing　up　the　night　air；　running　lights　winking；　the　oversize　spotlight　racing　across　the　ground　until　at　last　it　fixed　him　in　its　glare。
　McFarlane　threw　himself　into　the　dust　behind　a　thornbush　and　lay　there；　feeling　exposed　in　the　brilliant　light。　Digging　a　hand　into　his　boot；　he　pulled　out　a　small　pistol。　Dust　whipped　up　around　him；　stinging　his　eyes　as　the　desert　bushes　gyrated　maniacally。　The　helicopter　slowed；　hovered；　and　descended　to　an　open　area　at　one　side　of　the　camp；　the　backwash　blowing　a　cascade　of　sparks　from　the　fire。　As　the　chopper　settled；　a　lightbar　on　its　roof　lit　up；　bathing　the　area　in　an　even　harsher　glare。　The　rotors　powered　down。　McFarlane　waited；　wiping　dirt　from　his　face；　keeping　his　eyes　on　the　helicopter's　hatch；　gun　at　the　ready。　Soon　it　swung　open；　and　a　large；　solid　man　stepped　out；　alone。
　McFarlane　peered　through　the　thorny　scrub。　The　man　was　dressed　in　khaki　shorts　and　a　cotton　bush　shirt；　and　a　Tilley　hat　sat　on　his　massive　shaven　head。　There　was　something　heavy　swinging　in　one　of　the　shorts'　oversize　pockets。　The　man　began　walking　toward　McFarlane。
　McFarlane　slowly　rose；　keeping　the　bush　between　himself　and　the　chopper；　training　his　gun　on　the　man's　chest。　But　the　stranger　seemed　unconcerned。　Although　he　was　in　shadow；　silhouetted　by　the　chopper's　takedown　lights；　McFarlane　thought　he　saw　teeth　gleaming　in　a　smile。　He　stopped　five　paces　away。　He　had　to　be　six　foot　eight；　at　least　…　McFarlane　was　not　sure　he　had　ever　seen　anybody　quite　as　tall　before。
　〃You're　a　difficult　man　to　find；〃　the　man　said。
　In　the　deep；　resonant　voice　McFarlane　heard　nasal　traces　of　an　East　Coast　accent。　〃Who　the　hell　are　you？〃　he　replied；　keeping　the　gun　leveled。
　〃Introductions　are　so　much　more　pleasant　after　the　firearms　have　been　put　away。〃
　〃Take　the　gun　out　of　your　pocket　and　toss　it　in　the　dirt；〃　said　McFarlane。
　The　man　chuckled　and　withdrew　the　lump：　it　was　not　a　gun；　but　a　small　thermos。　〃Something　to　keep　out　the　chill；〃　he　said；　holding　it　up。　〃Care　to　share　it　with　me？〃
　McFarlane　glanced　back　at　the　helicopter；　but　the　only　other　occupant　was　the　pilot。　〃It　took　me　a　month　to　gain　their　trust；〃　he　said　in　a　low　voice；　〃and　you've　just　scattered　them　all　to　hell　and　gone。　I　want　to　know　who　you　are；　and　why　you're　here。　And　it　had　better　be　good。〃
　〃It's　not　good；　I'm　afraid。　Your　partner；　Nestor　Masangkay；　is　dead。〃
　McFarlane　felt　a　sudden　numbness。　His　gun　hand　slowly　dropped。　〃Dead？〃
　The　man　nodded。
　〃How？〃
　〃Doing　just　what　you're　doing。　We　don't　really　know　how。〃　He　gestured。　〃Shall　we　move　by　the　fire？　I　didn't　expect　these　Kalahari　nights　to　be　so　nippy。〃
　McFarlane　edged　toward　the　remains　of　the　fire；　keeping　the　gun　loosely　by　his　side；　his　mind　full　of　conflicting　emotions。　He　noticed；　distantly；　that　the　backwash　of　the　chopper　had　erased　his　sand　map；　exposing　the　little　nugget　of　iron。
　〃So　what's　your　connection　to　Nestor？〃　he　asked。
　The　man　did　not　answer　right　away。　Instead；　he　surveyed　the　scene　…　the　dozen　metal　detectors　scattered　willy…nilly　by　the　fleeing　San；　the　gold　coins　lying　in　the　sand。　He　bent　down　and　picked　up　the　brown　fingernail　of　iron；　hefted　it；　and　then　held　it　up　to　his　eye。　Then　he　glanced　up　at　McFarlane。　〃Looking　for　the　Okavango　meteorite　again？〃
　McFarlane　said　nothing；　but　his　hand　tightened　on　the　gun。
　〃You　knew　Masangkay　better　than　anybody。　I　need　you　to　help　me　finish　his　project。〃
　〃And　just　what　project　was　that？〃　McFarlane　asked。
　〃I'm　afraid　I've　said　all　I　can　say　about　it。〃
　〃And　I'm　afraid　I've　heard　all　I　want　to　hear。　The　only　person　I　help　anymore　is　myself。〃
　〃So　I've　heard。〃
　McFarlane　stepped　forward　quickly；　the　anger　returning。　The　man　raised　a　pacifying　hand。　〃The　least　you　can　do　is　hear　me　out。〃
　〃I　haven't　even　heard　your　name；　and；　frankly；　I　don't　want　to。　Thanks　for　bringing　me　the　bad　news。　Now　why　don't　you　get　back　in　your　chopper　and　get　the　hell　out　of　here。〃
　〃Forgive　me　for　not　introducing　myself。　I'm　Palmer　Lloyd。〃
　McFarlane　began　to　laugh。　〃Yeah；　and　I'm　Bill　Gates。〃
　But　the　big　man　wasn't　laughing　…　just　smiling。　McFarlane　looked　closer　at　his　face；　really　studying　it　for　the　first　time。　〃Jesus；〃　he　breathed。
　〃You　may　have　heard　that　I'm　building　a　new　museum。〃
　McFarlane　shook　his　head。　〃Was　Nestor　working　for　you？〃
　〃No。　But　his　activities　recently　came　to　my　attention；　and　I　want　to　finish　what　he　started。〃
　〃Look；〃　said　McFarlane；　shoving　the　gun　into　his　waistband。　〃I'm　not　interested。　Nestor　Masangkay　and　I　parted　ways　a　long　time　ago。　But　I'm　sure　you　know　all　about　that。〃
　Lloyd　smiled　and　held　up　the　thermos。　〃Shall　we　talk　about　it　over　a　toddy？〃　Without　waiting　for　an　answer；　he　settled　himself　by　the　fire　…　white　man　style；　with　his　butt　in　the　dust　…　unscrewed　the　cap；　and　poured　out　a　steaming　cup。　He　offered　it　to　McFarlane；　who　shook　his　head　impatiently。
　〃You　like　hunting　meteorites？〃　Lloyd　asked。
　〃It　has　its　days。〃
　〃And　you　really　think　you'll　find　the　Okavango？〃
　〃Yes。　Until　you　dropped　out　of　the　sky。〃　McFarlane　crouched　beside　him。　〃I'd　love　to　chitchat　with　you。　But　every　minute　you　sit　here　with　that　idling　chopper；　the　Bushmen　are　getting　farther　away。　So　I'll　say　it　again。　I'm　not　interested　in　a　job。　Not　at　your　museum；　not　at　any　museum。〃　He　hesitated。　〃Besides；　you　can't　pay　me　what　I'm　going　to　make　on　the　Okavango。〃
　〃And　just　what　might　that　be？〃　Lloyd　asked；　sipping　the　cup　himself。
　〃A　quarter　million。　At　least。〃
　Lloyd　nodded　〃Assuming　you　find　it。　Subtract　what　you　owe　everyone　over　the　Tornarssuk　fiasco；　and　I　imagine　you'll　probably　break　even。〃
　McFarlane　laughed　harshly。　〃Everyone's　entitled　to　one　mistake。　I'll　have　enough　left　over　to　get　me　started　on　the　next　rock。　There's　a　lot　of　meteorites　o