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At the moment, in one way or another, his personnel were scattered throughout the Arctic and his days were filled with report accuracy assessments, personnel evaluations and a whole host of other mundane duties that kept him far from his real interestclimatology. |
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He was not a tall man, nor did he cut a particularly striking figure in his Air Force blues. He was, in fact, the kind of man, who, despite his rank, fails to command respect. Harry Driver was easily lost in a room of four or more. True, he had achieved the lofty status of "full bird," but even that, it was said, was mostly attributable to the fact that he had two things in his favor. His brother was an under-secretary in the Department of Defense, and Harry had fulfilled the tedious function of "time in grade." Harry Driver, as one of his critics said, was always second, a man of dubious credentials. |
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"By the way, Colonel," Flora asked absently, "was it you who put this disgusting thing on my kitchen counter?" |
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Driver shifted his bloodshot eyes from the bowl of oatmeal to the woman. She was holding up the eight-inch-high glass jar that he had brought home the previous evening. It was filled with a cloudy gray, milky substance. The jar contained something elsea brownish-red object, ill-defined and decidedly unappealing. He had no idea what was in it. |
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