The Martian Pendant by Patrick Taylor

surveillance, and if need be, interdiction. He explained the official role Celestre would play for the Vatican. He would soon be supplied with the necessary documents that would be his entrée to Tanganyika, and thus the region of interest. Nothing was said of the methods to be used. That would be spelled out soon enough by others.
    “I must make it clear,” the Pope added, “that failure on your part would not be looked upon kindly by the Holy See.”
    The agent-priest knew what that meant. His mind called up a vivid picture of a creaky rundown church in some inhospitable dusty village. If the Church had its way, he’d be shepherd to some ignorant peasants living in a cluster of those rough stone hovels one sees perched on the side of Mount Etna. God forbid, not back to Sicily! Well, he thought, Italy had lost all its African possessions in the war. At least he wouldn’t have to tread the parched dirt of the remote Ethiopian desert.
    The assignment would give him a chance to see some of that Continent, and in style. He might even stay in Africa, but ultimately the Mafia would have the final say. He could fail the church, but bring the Dons untold wealth and power if he worked it right. Strangely, he didn’t consider at that time what his fate would be at their hands if he failed.
    With an imperious gesture, the Pope signaled the end of the session, and the newly appointed missionary for the British protectorate of Tanganyika was ushered out.

EIGHT
     
    The Expedition                                                          
     
    They proceeded in two contingents, the one with the oil drilling and earth excavation equipment via a freighter departing from Los Angeles Harbor at San Pedro. Their ship would arrive at the port of entry for most of East Africa, Dar-es-Salaam, on the Indian Ocean, after passage through the Panama Canal and rounding the Cape of Good Hope.
    The Chicago group would entrain to New York City, and secure passage for Rome. After a stopover there, the plan was to sail across the Mediterranean, and traverse the Suez Canal to their destination, south of the Horn of Africa. As their travel time would be much shorter than that of the L.A. group, on arrival they were to arrange transportation, and set up the camp in the Eastern Rift Valley at the site of their objective. There, under Max’s direction, they would commence the anthropological part of the dig.
    Still in Los Angeles, Diana checked on the cargo of the ship berthed at San Pedro, and confirmed that the necessary machinery for a deep dig was safely on board. While the source of the magnetic and nuclear radiation at their objective was relatively shallow, they would still have to excavate more than a hundred feet of soil and rock. In addition to lava flows, there would be layers of sediment, washed down over the millennia from the surrounding highlands during countless rainy seasons.
    That evening, she met Dan for dinner. He had been checking on her frequently at work in his new capacity in Security at Buell, and they were deeply in love. But it would be their last evening together for some time, as she was leaving in the morning for Chicago.
    Diana held his hand after the meal, while they sipped the last of their wine. Dan gazed sadly into her eyes, worriedly saying, “Watch that guy, Max, he has designs on your body. I wouldn’t put it past him, trying to get you into bed.”
    She frowned at that. “Max is the least of my concerns. You know I’m headed for darkest Africa. Believe me, I can handle him, or any other man. You should know that by now. It’s the unknown that bears watching. Nuclear radiation, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, poisonous snakes, you name it. Lustful men are the least of my worries, present company excluded,” she laughed, squeezing his hand.
    Chuckling, Dan said, “That’s reassuring. But seriously, Buell has a stake in the success of this operation. They