Roman Ice

by Dave Bartell

  “Yeah, what we saw yesterday. The marker. It’s mentioned in some Roman scrolls I found,” he said, trying to figure out how much he could trust her.

  “You don’t sound like a diamond hunter, Darwin. What are you looking for? Fame?” asked Eyrún.

  “Fame?” He shook his head no. “Well… a certain amount of recognition, yes. I want to show that my grandfather was not a nut. People want proof. Sure, they’ll believe in things like wormholes they see in Star Trek, but if it’s here on Earth, they want to touch it. We think we’re so smart in the modern world, and we are, technologically, but we’ve lost almost unimaginable amounts of learning from the ancient world.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Libraries, for starters. We have all these films about Armageddon and dystopian societies, but we all forget that this happened before. War and conquest after the collapse of Rome destroyed centuries of accumulated knowledge. People no longer valued learning, and the libraries were burned or the books disintegrated. Great works of literature, science, maybe even medicine. The things we could learn. All gone through ignorance and decay. Rome had vast libraries. Imagine if just one of them was stowed away deep underground. It would still be there, a window back in time.”

  “So let’s find it,” she said.

  At that moment, the waiter arrived with their dinners. Darwin realized he was famished and vigorously engaged his plate. Their conversation moved away from lava tubes as they explored each other’s personality and interests. She insisted on paying for dinner and they walked outside. He was drained and felt his eyes struggle for focus.

  “What should we do now?” he asked, forcing himself to sound more alert.

  “You’re beat, Darwin. I can see your eyes glazing over. Call me tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  She kissed him on the cheek and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, where she let them linger as she withdrew from the kiss.

  “I like you, Darwin. Your ideas are infectious,” she said, beaming; then turning, she retreated down the block.

  Where did that come from? His pulse quickened as he watched her walk away and turn the corner. He stood a few more moments before striding back to his hotel where he flopped into bed after remembering to pull the dark drapes across the midnight sun.

  30

  He woke up a little after ten. A warm shower soothed the aches that had accumulated from crawling through the tight spots in the tube. The water stung his left shin and a closer look revealed a long scrape. He did not remember slipping and added clearing the rockfall to his growing list of actions.

  He killed time by visiting a couple mountaineering shops in Reykjavík before an appointment to meet Kristín at the archeology lab that afternoon. The lab techs had promised the Carbon dating by four o’clock.

  “Hi, Darwin. Sorry I’m late,” said Kristín as she walked into the archeology building lobby.

  “That’s okay. I was using the Wi-Fi to get email and do a little research,” said Darwin.

  “Did you finding anything related to your theory?”

  “There is a marker on the wall that matches a symbol in my scrolls,” he said.

  “Let me see,” she said, looking at the scan on his mobile.

  “You think the symbol on the rock and the scroll are the same?” she asked.

  “I dunno, maybe this is another Tutankhamen moment, and we get to be the Howard Carter of our time. Imagine finding something for the first time since Nero was alive. This could revolutionize our understanding of Roman history.”

  “We need a lot more proof than this,” she said.

  They walked down the hall to the lab. One bench was full of test instruments and the opposite wall contained two vented hoods. The main lab tables in the center of the room were empty except for Nalgene trays containing the samples from the dig site. The physical science of archeology in the modern era was like a forensic crime scene. Only the age of the evidence was different.

  “Hi, Kristín,” said a twenty-something young woman carrying a sheet of paper.

  “Hi, Helga. This is Darwin,” said Kristín.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Helga.

  “Likewise,” said Darwin, barely able to contain himself from grabbing the paper.

  “What do we have?” asked Kristín.

  “All the Roman samples date to seventy BCE plus or minus fifty years,” said Helga, handing Kristín the paper.

  Darwin closed his eyes and thrust his hands in the air.

  “Is that good?” asked Helga.

  “It means that Darwin may soon have his Howard Carter moment,” said Kristín.

  Darwin remained in the lab after the others went home for the day. He wanted to consult his notes and the items without constant questioning. He laid the coins on the table in order of their minting dates. The most recent coin bore the profile of Vespasian, emperor from 69 to 79 AD. The oldest bore Nero’s profile.

  He took a small hand-tooled leather pouch from his pocket and removed the Centurion coins found in London and Herculaneum and placed them under the microscope.

  The smooth metal surfaces appeared pitted and scratched at fifty times magnification. He reduced the power until one coin filled the view field, and he slid the tray back-and-forth, scanning each coin. Each had a diagonal mark in the lower right leg of the Eagle symbol from an imperfection in the die.

  He placed a coin from Iceland on the tray. It was identical. Each had the same imperfection. He snapped pictures and put the coins back in the tray. Before putting the coins in the safe, he hesitated, then reached in his pocket and exchanged one coin found in Herculaneum with one found in Iceland. Now he had coins from three separate locations.

  Darwin suppressed a guilty feeling and moved to examine the diamonds. They looked similar to quartz he and his sister collected at the family mountain house on Corsica. But he had never seen rough diamonds and no diamonds this large outside of museums.

  The large one had stirred all the attention. One of the grad students held it to her earlobe and posted on Instagram. Darwin guessed its value could be in the millions, but he also knew it depended on quality and cutting. He took several pictures before putting the coins and diamonds in the safe. He closed it as instructed, switched off the light and walked to his car.

  A man on the other side of the car park watched him drive away.

  31

  Darwin’s phone rang as he steered onto the main road. “Hey there,” he answered, expecting Eyrún.

  “Darwin Lacroix?” asked a female voice, sounding like she got a wrong number.

  “Ah, yeah,” he replied. “Who’s this?” He squinted from the sun low on the horizon and put on sunglasses.

  “I’m Nora Worthington of the BBC in London. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure. I’m driving,” he said.

  “I’m calling about a story I read this afternoon about a diamond discovery in Iceland. Your name was mentioned as a visiting archeologist consulting on the discovery.”

  “Who wrote the article?”

  “Ah, let’s see.” She paused. “Someone named Assa Erlendsdóttir—a woman, I think?”

  “Yeah. I’ve met her,” said Darwin, not wanting to give anything away until he knew more.

  “She wrote two articles. One about the initial discovery of diamonds during a routine dig in an old Icelandic fishing village and the one today that, curiously, talks about Roman coins and a mysterious tunnel.”

  “Did she write anything else?” Darwin remained cagey.

  “She quoted a guy named Pétur, who claims he followed you into a tunnel that went some distance underground. He said you found some kind of Roman marker down there.”

  “We found marks. Can’t tell yet who made them,” he lied.

  “Interesting. Tell me about the diamonds.”

  “There’s not much to tell. The original article published a picture. They’re rough, uncut. Not what you’d wear with an evening gown.”


  “But they look big enough to cut and polish into something royalty might wear.”

  “It’s not my area of expertise, but you’re right, they seem big enough,” said Darwin. This is stupid he thought.

  While he tried to think of ways to get off the call, she pressed on. “Let me ask something more in your area of expertise. Do you have any thoughts about how Roman artifacts got to Iceland? Could this be some kind of hoax?”

  “It’s possible, but I don’t think it’s likely.”

  “Why not?”

  “The coins are grouped in a narrow date band, about twenty years. The old Europeans used Roman coins, but the visitors who left these coins did so in the first century, long before the Vikings got about.”

  “You mean some Roman ship was blown hundreds of kilometers off course?” she asked.

  “That’s one explanation. We are still learning about Roman exploration at the far edges of their empire.”

  His phone beeped, and he looked at the notification, hoping it was Eyrún. He frowned when he saw it was a notice from his cellular provider.

  “What would they be looking for?”

  “What everyone looks for—land, wealth, or maybe they were curious.”

  “Like you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “How does the lava tube fit into this?”

  “Dunno,” he lied again. “Iceland is a maze of tunnels created by the volcanoes. Listen, I don’t know if I should talk about this.”

  “Assa said you were excited about the tunnel when you came out.”

  “You talked to Assa?” he said.

  “Any good reporter talks to her sources firsthand.”

  “I guess they would,” he said, stopping at an intersection and trying to remember which way to turn.

  “What do you look for at these sites? I mean you’re an expert on the Roman Empire. What gets you excited?” she asked.

  “Imagine if we can prove that the Romans explored much farther than we thought. What if Iceland is another stepping stone, like Britannia? Maybe the Romans reached North America.”

  “You mean New Rome instead of New York?”

  “Well that’s a stretch,” he said.

  “Thanks, Darwin. This is helpful,” she said and wrapped up the call.

  For you, maybe, he thought, and he texted Eyrún about where to meet for dinner.

  The man waited twenty minutes after Darwin’s car pulled away from the archeology building. At close to the prescribed time written on the slip of paper he held, a small white car stopped at the front door. A security guard got out and checked the door and walked counterclockwise around the building. Returning to the front, she scanned a barcode on the door frame using her phone and drove off.

  The man let a few more minutes pass, then pulled up his hoodie, shouldered a backpack and walked to the door. From a distance of ten meters, face down in his mobile, he looked like any other student. The card he swiped on the door identified him as a grad student from the north of Iceland.

  Once inside, he paused to get his bearings. At this hour, just a few labs were occupied and anyone here was deeply engaged in research. No one was working on the third floor. He switched on the light as working in shadow would arouse suspicion. The safe was first rate, but the department assistant had written the combination on a Post-It note hidden beneath the desk phone. The best security in the world still relied on human memory.

  Most of the contents in the safe were gold jewelry, and he pulled out a few trays to view the ancient handiwork. He put the trays back and grabbed the large diamond from its tray and put it in his pocket. He closed the safe, switched off the light and retraced his steps.

  Outside he stripped off the latex gloves and deposited them in a bin a couple buildings away. He found his car and drove back to his hotel. Typing with his left hand, he messaged:

  Got it. Photo later

  32

  The next morning Darwin hit the streets of Reykjavík and ran at a modest pace. He had a quiet night after Eyrún’s text that something at work came up and she had to cancel their dinner plans.

  When finished, he walked into the coffee shop by the hotel and ordered a “Thor’s Hammer” to go. Several police cars were double-parked in front of the hotel and he stepped around a small group of officers standing by the entrance. Two more stood by the lifts. Not wanting to get involved, he walked down the hall off the lobby and took the stairs to his room on the fourth floor.

  A uniformed officer blocked the door when Darwin tried to enter his room. A man and a woman dressed in plain clothes and another woman in police uniform were inside.

  “What’s going on? Why are you in my room?” said Darwin.

  “Are you Darwin Lacroix?” asked the plain-clothes woman.

  “Yes. Hey, get out of there.” Darwin moved toward the man looking in his travel bag.

  “You may not touch anything,” the uniformed woman said, blocking his entrance.

  “The hell not. These are my things. What are you doing in here?” Darwin demanded.

  The man in the rumpled grey suit turned to him. “Are you Darwin Lacroix?” he asked.

  “You broke into my room, so you should know,” said Darwin, taking a step toward the man. He felt his jaw tremble. He hated confrontation. The uniformed officer stepped between them.

  “Easy you two,” said the woman in plain clothes. She was dressed in a skirt and jacket with knee-high boots. A bright teal scarf swirled around her neck.

  “Mr. Lacroix, I’m Margrét Hauksdóttir with the Reykjavík police. This is Niels Johansson with Iceland University security. A diamond is missing, and apparently you were the last person to see it.”

  “What?” said Darwin.

  They asked him to not touch anything and to sit at the small desk in the room.

  “I put it back in the safe and locked it,” said Darwin, answering their first question.

  “And you came back later and took it out again,” growled Neils.

  “No. I don’t even know the combination. Only Kristín and her staff know it.”

  “So you say,” said Neils.

  “You can’t just come in here and go through my things,” protested Darwin.

  “This isn’t America, Darwin,” said Margrét. “What did you do last night after you left the university?”

  “I came back here—”

  “And hid the diamond,” interjected Neils.

  “No!” Darwin spat out.

  “Neils, please. Let him continue,” said Margrét.

  “I washed up and went to dinner.”

  “With anyone?” Margrét asked.

  “No my friend Eyrún was busy and cancelled our plans. I went alone,” said Darwin.

  “And after dinner?” she continued.

  “I came back here.”

  “What time?”

  “Around ten o’clock,” said Darwin.

  “Can anyone verify where you were between the time you returned to the hotel and now?”

  “I dunno. I came back here and went to sleep. This morning I went out for a run,” he said, holding up his arms to stress his sweaty running kit.

  “Okay. We are checking the hotel security cameras,” said Margrét. “We did not find a diamond in your things. However, you are the main suspect. You may not leave Iceland until you are cleared.”

  “I didn’t take the diamond. That’s not my interest here. Ask Kristín.”

  “So you say,” said Neils.

  Darwin furrowed his eyebrows, but said nothing. He thought back to his movements at the lab and pictured closing the safe and spinning the dial the way they showed him. He could only think someone had snuck in while he was looking in the microscope.

  “What is your interest here in Iceland, Darwin?” asked Margrét.

  “The Roman ruins and a possible connection to the UK,” said Darwin deciding not to offer anything they did not ask him.

  “Which, I suppose, might explain this,” said Neils, holdi
ng a printout of a BBC article with a red oval around a couple lines:

  … arrested for trespassing in the London Underground. A police report states he was looking for access to a Roman archeological site.

  “Where did this come from?” asked Darwin.

  “A good question,” said Margrét. “I recommend you remain in your hotel room until we verify your story. Good day, Mr. Lacroix.”

  33

  Darwin flipped open his laptop and clicked to the BBC website. It took a couple minutes to find the article. His face flushed hot when he read the byline—Nora Worthington—the woman who called him last night.

  The article was factual right down to the quotes about his arrest in London.

  Darwin, no stranger to nefarious methods, was arrested in 2013 for trespassing in the London Underground. The police report states he was looking for access to a Roman archeological site.

  It was true, but the police had not charged him. So where did she get this information? She seemed to call him out in this article. He felt caught in a setup, with the closing:

  A former colleague said, “He’s unorthodox. He has a knack for making discoveries, but he keeps things to himself. I would not call him a team player.”

  Who was that? True, he preferred working alone, but the reporter made it sound like he was… the kind of person who might steal a diamond.

  “Merde,” he muttered and almost knocked over the coffee as he reached across the desk for the coin he swapped last night in the lab. What if there were cameras in the lab?

  His phone rang, and Kristín’s name showed on the display. He felt a sense of dread.

  “Hey, Kristín,” he answered, like a schoolboy who knew he was caught out.