Page 45 of The Presidents Shadow

IF THE ACTING Kyoto University president, Mr. Myoki, is angry with us, he certainly doesn’t show it.

No, not at all. He tells us how grateful he is for our especially knowledgeable presence.

He tells us that he and his family and staff are completely at our service and that the eminent doctor and professor Anna DaSilva claims I am the finest power in all of the Americas.

Satisfied as I am with Dr. DaSilva’s glowing endorsement, I protest humbly to President Myoki that he should not get his hopes up.

“This is an extraordinary test,” I tell him. “The challenge of a lifetime.”

For the next two days, with the assistance of the staff, which truly is completely at our service, we test and retest square-acre areas of the land.

Our industrious Japanese assistants use power shovels and front-end loaders to extract half-ton units of deeply buried land.

Margo establishes an examination laboratory in the largest available Quonset hut.

Because of the equipment we’ve sent ahead, she has managed to create a level of excellence that would be celebrated in any industrial pharmaceutical lab or university science hall.

But Margo and her new team fail to come up with any discoveries of their own.

They concentrate on the red pebbles, all of which resolutely fail to change color inside the laboratory.

Ultimately, the lab scientists tag them as common gravel.

But, of course, that defies logic. They just can’t be ordinary, but… what the hell are they?

Meanwhile, while Margo, Burbank, and I all appreciate the devotion and skill of our Japanese colleagues, it becomes clear that many of them are suffering from some form of PTSD.

At least half of them will sporadically stop working and begin sobbing uncontrollably.

The weeping seems to be strangely contagious.

Work on any given site will end abruptly because the power-drive operator turns off his engine, bows his head, and begins shaking with tears.

Within thirty seconds, scientists and dirt diggers and medical assistants join in the crying.

We urge everyone to relax, take time out, rest. But we have no pill to give them, no mind-control ability to share.

So we face our frustrating jobs.

No hints. No clues. No progress.

Dr. DaSilva texts: I send my complete understanding for your problems. I am not surprised at your lack of advancement. Toughest challenge I’ve ever encountered. Keep at it. Should I join you?

I know Dr. DaSilva means to help, and that Burbank and Margo are here with me, but… no, no, no. That’s not how Lamont Cranston rolls. I will do this. I will do it successfully. And I will do it myself.