“Progress,” Anna said. “It’s inevitable, if our students are to compete in the world.”
“Indeed,” replied the dean. “But it carries a great price. The purely experiential approach we’ve always cherished is a luxury we no longer can afford.”
Anna lowered her head and closed her eyes, awaiting the blow.
“Effective immediately,” Mercer said as gently as he could, “it has been decided to restrict your teaching to the lecture hall. There will be no further archaeological expeditions. No more digs. I know that all these years you’ve carried on in honor of your husband’s unfulfilled efforts. Fought to see his dream brought to fruition—”
“Not solely because of that,” she interrupted.
He nodded. “In any case, the time has come to bring such ventures to a close. Perhaps you’d prefer to return to history at the end of the semester? Dr. Lowell is departing, as you know, which will leave us wanting in that department.”
“I’d heard.”
“Will you consider it?”
“Consider it,” she repeated, “yes. But Albert …”—he looked up from the slowly spinning globe into her golden brown eyes—“what about the dig already under way?”
“Ah, Rome,” he recalled.
“What do I tell Roberto? Are they just supposed to drop their shovels and catch the next plane home?”
“Where do things stand?”
“A good bit of progress has been made since I was called back here,” Anna said. “Much of the foundation has been cleared. Only this morning I was told that a series of descending stone steps had been uncovered. More than a dozen as of yesterday, and there may be many more.”
“Leading down to who knows what,” he said. “Could be nothing.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but whatever’s down there is highly unusual. The Romans didn’t incorporate cellars into their common architecture, but the stone used, the location, and even a handful of coins we’ve come across … every indicator says we’re dealing with Nero’s Rome. The fragment of a shattered marble bust found by Signora Verducci fits the era. We’re dealing with a sizable foundation and whatever’s under it, though we’re not yet certain what the above-ground structure was. A villa most likely, or even a temple, as yet unknown. But we have every reason to believe there may be something of real significance at the bottom of those steps.”
“Like what?”
She hesitated.
“A wine cellar?” he wryly proposed.
She smiled, appreciating his sense of humor. “No.”
“So what reason do you have for such optimism?”
She was silent.
Mercer turned, swept a curtain aside, and peered through the tall, broad window behind his desk.
“Anna,” he began, “for so long you’ve been like a daughter to me. I’ve watched you, seen your passion for your work, your love for your students and your profession.”
She followed his gaze, looking out the window at the campus, the students, even the budding branches as they yielded to the gusty spring winds.
“And,” he added, “I understand the sheer power of hope.”
Her mind flashed back to that day in Qumran, to the faith she had clutched to her heart that somehow, against all odds, her husband would emerge alive. But her faith in miracles had been crushed as the hours, then the days, then the weeks had passed—as the rescue team, soon reclassified a mere recovery team, had laboriously cleared the cavern tunnel.
“If I were to allow the dig to continue,” Mercer said, “even through the end of the month—”
“We could make history.”
“I was going to say,” he continued, “if I allow it to continue, it may jeopardize your very career at Oldefield. Unfortunately, there are those here who wouldn’t be heartbroken to see you go, some who might not hesitate to use any wedge at their disposal to displace you. For many, archaeology is, as they say, a ‘boys’ club’ … and for some, despite their respect for Samuel, you’ve never been welcome. No, it isn’t lawful, or in the least, fair. And you could pursue legal action in return, were you to be released from your obligations here. But your case would be virtually impossible to prove, and they’d surely find other grounds for your dismissal.”
“I understand.”
He turned to face her.
“So, my dear … what is it to be?”
She rose to her feet and swallowed hard.
“The end of the month, then.”
He nodded. “Very well. The end of the month. Your duties here shouldn’t keep you beyond the end of the week, and then …” He took her hand and gave it a fatherly pat. “Give young Mr. Giordano my regards, will you?”
The fire sizzled and popped, an eternal ballet, ever unchanging.
Anna’s office was a storybook place built one hundred years earlier, when ornate trim in dark, polished wood had been the order of the day, and fixtures were as much works of art as they were functional. More than a dozen people had claimed the room as their own throughout the years, including her husband before her.
In the light of the hewn fireplace, her eyes shone—warm, dark, and expressive, deep russet flecked with gold. Her lashes fluttered like ravens’ wings. Her hair was as spun cinnamon. Her lips were full and supple, her complexion pure and silken. A teacup in her hands, she sat staring into the flames in the darkness of the room, lost in their poetic motion. And as she watched, she found something appealing, even comforting there, amid the dancing light.
Fire, the same now as it had been when the first person saw it. The same sound, the same radiance, the same heat …
If she tried hard enough, she could almost allow it to transport her back through the ages, as if every fire ever set shared with its descendants a link through which she could travel to one and all. Back to ancient Egypt, where pharaohs ruled in luxury and slaves toiled under a merciless sun. Back to the height of Incan civilization, where ruthless blood sacrifices appeased gods of the worshippers’ own making. Back to Stonehenge, where mystical Druids celebrated the changing seasons with fire, water, and blood.
Back to Qumran, five minutes before two good men died.
She took a deep breath. Usually, as daily life brought its challenges, she pushed the memory to the back of her mind, and there it lingered at the fringes like an ember refusing to be extinguished. But now and again it would rise, flaring to life, demanding from her something she refused to give herself.
Forgiveness.
I should have remembered the battery. Maybe if I’d stayed …
She closed her eyes. The self-imposed burden remained a heavy one.
Maybe I would have heard something. Maybe I could have warned them.
Logic found no place in her thoughts, not here.
I should have let Sam go back to the hotel, instead of me. He wanted to, but I stopped him.
Her guilt, so long entrenched on so many fronts, would not be buried.
I should have died instead of him. He should be the one sitting in this office now, not me.
Her scarred heart had refused to heal.
The ark wasn’t even there. Nothing was there. Then, he died …
She took a sip from her cup, the warm tea a blessing.
And another good man with him.
She remembered a gentle face smiling from across a high-school campus.
And a little boy grew up an orphan, raised by an aunt with little patience, a woman he had barely known before that moment.
Another sip.
All for nothing!
Anna gazed into the quivering flames but didn’t see them.
Oh, Sam …
After a moment she sensed another presence in the room.
“I knocked a few times,” said a welcome voice. “The door
was unlocked, and I saw the firelight under it, so …”
Anna turned from the light as a dark shape moved into the room. Her eyes would take a moment to adjust, but she knew the voice well.
“I’m sorry, Jack. The bell’s not working.”
John “Jack” Dyson, her fellow archaeology instructor and close friend, gently shut the door behind him. His collar was loosened, his tie gone. His hair the hue of harvest wheat.
“Getting late,” he commented. “Long day.”
No reply came.
He paused to set some papers on her desk and crossed to the stone-lined hearth, where he stood watching her. Standing next to her chair, his hand found her shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I will be.”
In the interval since Qumran, the shaken professor had reassessed every aspect of her life. Every moment, every decision she could recall had endured her harsh scrutiny under an unforgiving magnifying glass. Only after she had finally determined herself worthy—and after many long talks with those closest to her—had she chosen to remain in the field.
Dyson was a brilliant man whose dedication to truth, and to discretion in the procurement of that truth, had won her trust. The prospect of working with him, though she might not admit it, had also played a part in her decision.
And as their friendship had blossomed, becoming something that transcended mere professionalism, she was grateful to have been swayed.
She glanced up at him, finding the sparkling eyes she had come to cherish. His presence had become for her a far greater comfort than she dared admit, whether to him or to herself. So often she had fed upon his strength, the many times her own had failed her, and he had always been there, day or night, anywhere she had needed him to be. But despite her reliance on him, she had kept her heart locked away, its passions reserved for one who never again could share in them.
Anything else, she told herself, would be unfaithfulness.
Several moments passed in silence as both watched the curling, writhing flames.
“Anna,” Dyson finally ventured, the firelight splashing his rugged face, “I heard about the board’s decision. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
“It’s a pity about Rome,” he said.
“We’re not giving up just yet.”
His eyes widened. “We’re not?”
“Dean Mercer allowed us through the end of the month. That’s three more weeks, give or take. And in that time, something has to happen.”
“Something has.”
She brightened. “What?”
“I got a call from Roberto. He said he tried to call you …”
“I turned off my phone.”
Dyson nodded subtly. “It’s a villa. First century.”
Anna set her cup aside, rose, and crossed the room, wringing her hands as she considered the news. She stood before a multipaned window, the moon beyond shining over the wooded landscape.
“He’s sure?”
“He said he was,” Dyson replied, his voice tight with excitement. “And the more they’ve dug, the more they’ve found the foundation intact.”
“I’ve been away too long. Where do things stand?”
“It’s going quickly. They’ve unearthed another ten steps, all inlaid with silver. That makes twenty-six. All in red travertine … exceedingly rare in the region, and surely expensive. Whoever had them made was a noble.”
“Twenty-six steps so far,” she repeated.
Twenty-six of thirty-three, she prayed.
“What exactly are you hoping to find?” Dyson asked. “You haven’t told me.”
She traced the pane with a long, burgundy-polished nail. She recalled vivid images, the essence of an unrelenting and recurring dream that had haunted her for weeks.
One she dared not share. Not yet.
She went to him and took his hand in hers. “Just … thank you for being here. It means a lot.”
“Where else would I be?” he replied with a soft smile.
After a few moments he seemed to detect something recognizable in the air.
“Pizza?” he asked, puzzled. “Since when do you call out for pizza?”
“I … used to. Not so often anymore.”
A glint shone in her eye, caught by the light of the fire. Her scent reached him, a harmony of soft perfume and …
“Ah,” he noted. “Pepperoni.”
“And sweet corn.”
It had been Meridian’s favorite. In his memory, with the extinguishing of his lifetime’s desire now upon her, she had placed the order and had known the concert of its flavors for the first time in more than a dozen years.
Sam …
“I should get back to the dig,” Anna said, moving to the desk.
“None too soon. They need you.”
She pulled her purse from a drawer, which she locked afterward. “I’ll call the airline. Care to come along?”
“Already taken care of.” Dyson smiled, handing her a folded printout. “The red-eye to Rome. You leave in three days … Best I could do. Unfortunately, I can’t go with you. Finals week.”
“Right,” she said, disappointment in her eyes. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“I’ll be waiting for your call,” he said, smiling.
Two
The traffic on the A91 had been a nightmare. Though rush hour had passed, construction had narrowed one section to a single lane, a situation made worse by a fender bender over which two men stood screaming at each other. And other motorists, passing by at a snail’s crawl, screamed at them both.
Ah, I love the old country.
Anna’s exit finally arrived, and none too soon. Still trying to adjust to the tight steering of her small rental car, she made her way off the highway, her mind filled with visions of what they might find at the dig.
Can it really be? I mean, what are the chances?
Pushing aside the shoulder of her unbuttoned, short-sleeved, pastel blue overshirt, she again tugged at the strap of her bra through her T-shirt. An irritant had been tormenting her for hours, a tiny bristly thing lodged there somewhere, sporadically digging into her soft flesh. Slipping her hand through the opening of her V-neck and under the strap helped only momentarily, for soon she again felt the minuscule jab against her upper shoulder blade.
But the annoyance, troublesome as it was, did little to divert her thoughts from the dig site, or from her students.
Her repeated calls to Roberto’s cell phone since her arrival at Fiumicino Airport had gone unanswered, which meant he likely was up to his waist in dirt and must have left the phone in his backpack. But that was unlike him—that phone had been his constant companion since she had known him, going everywhere with him, no matter the situation. Over the past two years, Roberto Giordano had proved to be a bright and most ambitious graduate student, and she knew his extensive knowledge of his native Italy had served the team well in her absence. She had had no reservations about leaving him in charge of the dig until her return.Thank heaven for worldwide phones, she thought, recalling the days before the Internet had made all phone service global.
Again, she hit the redial key. And again his voice-mail greeting sounded in her ear. With a bit of unneeded force, she pressed the key to disconnect.
Where are you, Roberto?
She scrolled down through her phone list to find the number of another of her grad students, Neil Meyer. The young man had been with her only two semesters, having transferred from another school, but in that short time he had proven himself to her. He was a whiz with electronics, a handy skill to possess when excavating in the far reaches, miles from civilization’s resources. Always the first to volunteer for the necessary but more unpleasant tasks presented by their efforts, Meyer often spen
t much of his day hauling the team’s heavier equipment, fetching food or drink, or delivering paperwork.
Anna dialed Meyer’s number. She scowled as his recorded voice greeted her as well.
Didn’t anyone take their phones down there?
Then, in turn, she dialed Craig Dunn. He had a quirky and often cynical sense of humor, and his quips often brought both groans and smiles from his fellows. There was one ring, then two.
“Hello …?”
“Craig?” Anna almost shouted, overjoyed to have reached him.
“Yeah …?”
“It’s Dr. Meridian. I’m on my way to the dig, and—”
“Ha!” the voice suddenly interrupted. “Fooled you! Just leave a message at the beep and—”
“Young man, I’m going to strangle you,” Anna growled, driving a long thumbnail into the disconnect button with equal measures of worry and anger. “When I get ahold of you, Mr. Dunn …”
Finally, she tried Beth Whitney, the member of her class most like a daughter to her. A sweet girl, curious and bright, with an unquenchable need to learn what the world had forgotten. It was her first year with Anna, but she had already found a special place in the professor’s heart.
Anna dialed. Again, no answer.
Okay, I’m officially worried.
As the miles fell behind, the sun neared the horizon. In less than two hours, it would set, and night would be upon her. Anna repeatedly fought to convince herself that everything was all right, that there was a simple reason for her inability to contact her students. She told herself that, over a nice dinner, they would update her on their most recent discoveries at the site, their wondrous triumphs.
Please!
And afterward, she knew, it would be a rough night—her internal clock was still set many hours behind theirs, which meant that sleep would come too late, and she would spend her morning hours fighting to stay awake.
Ah, jet lag …
Dense thickets now lined the road, shading the way, and finally the driveway of the Verducci estate appeared. Anna gently turned onto the elegant property, her eyes already scanning ahead for some sign of her team as the house came into view.
The Demas Revelation Page 4