The Cupel Recruits by Susan Willshire Page B

Mr. Pfister apologized, “As you can imagine, she is very busy trying to transition the many gaps left by Governor Jacob. It would be a big job for any new Governor coming on board, but his shoes are twice as large to fill as anyone else’s .”
    “They certainly are,” Lela agreed somberly. She had liked the Governor very much and could already tell that Mr. Pfister’s sincerity would allow her to respect him as they worked together. He had garnered an office on-site, though he would only be there half the time until the project was completed. He took Lela’s coat and, hanging it on the hook on the back of his office door, closed the door to the outside world. Lela sat at the small round table with four chairs instead of the two chairs facing his desk so they might spread out the project plan and discuss the excavation site with charts and maps fully in view. As she spread out the materials, she noticed the faces of three beaming children imprisoned behind a glass picture frame on Pfister’s desk. Pictures colored by little hands adorned just one small corner of his wall space, one of the beach and one of the planet Earth, with its green continents and blue oceans done in the brightest Crayola shades and “For Daddy” written in pink marker.
    “I’d like to get a full hour with the new geologist sometime today, if that’s alright and with our local political liaison as well. Is Willingham still on board for security?” she asked, making notes on the project plan as they spoke.
    “He’s still on point,” Pfister responded,” but I’m not sure he’s going to Africa still. He’s needed here to continue to address….matters.” Pfister carefully chose his words.
    “You mean because of the accident, he has to stay and deal with the investigation?” Lela cut to the chase so they could move on.
    “Yes,” Pfister confirmed.
    “Okay, I’ll have to get some time on his calendar tomorrow and find out what the plan is,” she made notes as she spoke.
    “Do you feel fully up to speed on the project?” she asked Pfister with genuine concern for his comfort level.
    “I read all the materials and the binder you and Mr. Aquila put together.” He paused, realizing his gaffe and watched her with trepidation for signs of upset. None appeared, though she felt an internal pang, so he continued, “I do have some questions, but I think we can address them in the briefing with the whole team, so everyone can benefit from the answers. That way, you don’t have to repeat yourself.”
    Lela was again struck by his sensitivity and appreciated the efforts. It did feel good to move into the familiar swing of day to day tactics and she could see how comforting it could be to immerse oneself in work. That would be her plan, in the short-term anyway, to become a workaholic.
    Lela and Pfister met with the broader project team, a collection of twelve individuals, in the large conference room situated to the left of the entrance to the building. The room had been designed so that the conference room would be inviting and impressive to visitors, with large picture windows and a beautiful mountain view. Lela saw only the terracotta chasm where her family had died. She hoped that would change in time.
    The only other remaining member of the original project team was Tina Vail, chief medical officer. Lela didn’t know her very well, but felt bonded upon shaking her hand again at this remeeting since they both had to deal with the remnants of a team now gone. For someone without many female friends, Lela had bonded more in one week with the women around her-Gretchen, Bianca, Tina, than she would have expected. Maybe when it comes down to it, the bonds of sisterhood do count for something. Moving through the briefing, they established their timeline, schedule for specific deliverables, and the responsibilities of each team member at the base camp in Africa. For things to proceed on schedule, they would need to clearly establish the