The cops stopped the first person they saw and were promptly directed to the boss. The boss was on top of the bank, and it looked like he was showing two other guys how to mark a grid over the washout.
“The police don’t look happy,” Eric said. “Look! She’s yelling at the camera person.”
The male officer pushed down the lens of the camera and the filming stopped. But it was the lady cop who was in charge, and she continued to do most of the questioning. I could totally imagine the conversation. A body? No. There’s no body. Well what are you guys doing here? Someone found an object. What object? And so forth.
Suddenly, the leader shouted a command to one of the grid makers. The poor guy grabbed a big padded case from a stack of many padded cases and scrambled up the hill like his life depended on it. He delivered the case to the leader, and the leader flipped a bunch of clasps, opened the lid, and proudly displayed our phony artifact.
“There it is!” I announced needlessly.
The female cop reached out her hand, but the case was yanked away and she was denied touching privileges.
Eric laughed. “Holy smokes. He’s not even letting anyone touch it. It’s like he thinks it’ll crumble if someone picks it up.”
“Well,” I said, “it is three million years old.”
The leader held up the case so the cops could visually inspect it, but touching was not permitted. The officers looked at each other, asked a few more questions, and began taking notes. Clearly, this called for a report.
The silence was shattered by the electronic squawk of the male cop’s radio. We couldn’t hear what was being transmitted, but whatever it was, it prompted the cop to twist his head and speak into the microphone attached to his shoulder.
“That’s probably Headquarters,” I said, “wanting to know if there’s a crime scene.”
“PSSSSST!”
Eric and I spun around so fast we almost bashed our heads together.
It was Rachel. “Is it okay to come over there?”
“Yeah,” Eric said. “But keep your bike out of sight.”
She rolled her bike deeper into the bush and then slithered toward us. She settled in beside Eric.
Her eyes got huge when she saw all the activity. “Jeepers, the cops are there!”
“Yeah,” I said. “Cops and researchers.”
“Lots of researchers,” Eric added.
“You mean,” Rachel said, “this all happened in the last few hours?”
Eric said, “Hey, look over on the bridge.”
My head pivoted along with Rachel’s. The bridge over the Kilmeny River was lined with at least a dozen people. And every car that crossed slowed down to see what was going on.
“Word of this is going to be all over town in about thirty minutes,” Eric said.
Rachel raised the binoculars to her face. “Make that five minutes. Mrs. Papenfuss is on the bridge.”
Eric groaned, “Oh, no.”
“What do you mean ‘oh, no’ ?” I said. “That’s a good thing. If Mrs. Papenfuss sees what’s going on down here, she’ll call everyone she knows. And she knows everyone.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t know the facts,” Eric whined. “She’s just going to spread rumors.”
“So what?” Rachel said. “She can tell people whatever she wants; in fact, the weirder the rumors the better. If Mrs. Papenfuss wants to tell everyone that they’re filming a movie, or digging up aliens, or whatever . . . let her.”
“Yeah. Good point.” Eric grinned at the bridge. “Bring it on, Mrs. Papenfuss.”
An hour later, things got even better. The three of us were still monitoring events from our side of the river, when Rachel noticed a flurry of activity up on the river bank, near the clearing.
“More people just showed up,” Rachel announced. She adjusted the binoculars. “They must have followed the trail through the woods.”
“Can you tell who it is?” Eric asked.
“Looks like some high school kids.” She paused to study their faces. “Yeah, there’s Bruce Webb, Stuart Webb, and even Lloyd what’s-his-face.”
“Who’s the guy with the cowboy hat?” I asked. I stuck my head above the brush so that I could see more. A lanky guy with a straw cowboy hat towered above the high school boys, but he was definitely not with them. He approached the washout and immediately separated himself from teenagers.
“Could be the reporter,” Rachel said, passing the binoculars back to me.
I checked out the cowboy, watching as he talked to the cops and then the leader. “I think you’re right,” I said. And if it was him, he couldn’t have come at a better time. The cops were still poking around and looking official, the investigators were still investigating, and even Dr. Murray looked pleased by all the attention.
“Yup. That is a reporter,” Eric announced, as if he’d met a hundred other reporters.
The cowboy pulled a notepad from a satchel on his shoulder and began doing reporter-type stuff. First, he grilled the leader, and then the leader pointed to Dr. Murray, who was also questioned. When he was finished with the doctor, he hauled a camera from his bag and took photos of the washout, Dr. Murray holding the plaque, just the plaque, and finally the leader with Dr. Murray, holding the plaque and standing in front of the washout.
But then a bad thing happened. The reporter pointed right at us.
“Holy cadoodles!” I said, shrinking down into the earth.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel mimicked me and cowered lower.
“We have to leave,” I said. “Right now! I think he’s going to come here.”
CHAPTER 12
“HOW DO YOU know that?” Eric asked.
“I just got a bad feeling that the reporter wants to take a picture of the washout from this side. After he took those photos from up on the bank, he started pointing over here. And I’m sure he’s coming to get a few shots of the whole site. That’s what I would do, anyway.”
Eric frowned. “You sure you’re not just worrying about nothing again? Like the time you thought someone—”
“It’s not a big deal, Eric,” Rachel said, cutting him off. “We just disappear for a while and let the reporter do his thing.”
“We could even go and lurk around near the site,” I said, “and act like we don’t know anything. It only makes sense that every kid in town would be there.”
Eric cheered up at the prospect of getting close to the action. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind seeing what all the fuss is about.”
We laughed as we made our way back to the bikes.
WE WENT ACROSS the river and hung out for a while with the other kids that came and went. We would have liked to have gotten right up close, but the cops began restricting access to the whole area, not just the washout. At first, the police gently guided everyone away from the clearing, but when more people started showing up, it was obvious that the site would be trampled if something wasn’t done.
So the cops chased everyone all the way back to the highway. Well, everyone except Dr. Murray and the investigation team, of course. When a second police car pulled up, the officers established a kind of command post near the highway. No one could go into the bush or approach the washout without authorization from the RCMP sentry.
And we loved every minute of it.
The two cops from the restaurant began giving me looks that made me nervous, so I suggested we leave for a while. I know I was probably being paranoid (as per usual), but I didn’t want the police to connect me with the hoax if things got messy. And believe me, things were starting to get messy.
On the way back to Sultana, we stopped on the middle of the bridge. When the bridge was free of cars, Rachel pulled the binoculars from her pack and examined the area near our lookout. “Cody, you were right,” she said. “I can see the reporter standing in the woods.”
“Is he taking pictures?” I asked, nervously looking up and down the highway for vehicles.
“He was. But now he’s talking on a satellite p
hone.”
“I hope he’s telling the newspaper to stop the presses,” Eric said, “because he’s got the story of the century to report.”
“Car!” I warned.
Rachel slipped the binoculars back into her pack. “What do we do now?” She asked.
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt if we ate,” Eric said.
We rode past the Rivercrest on the way to my house—the parking lot was almost full! I would never have thought word could get out this quick, but clearly it had. Keep up the good work, Mrs. Papenfuss.
Word quickly spread all over town that a mysterious ancient artifact had been found by Dr. Murray. Even Mom and Dad chattered about it when they got home from work. Apparently, every person that stopped at the service station bugged Dad for details about the discovery.
I listened with a weird fascination as my parents gave me the facts. Obviously, I knew the facts, but I wanted to know what everyone else knew, if you know what I mean. The story Dad heard was that Dr. Murray had been fishing when he saw something poking out of the mud. Dad explained how the heavy spring rains must have shifted the earth around, exposing the artifact.
“Just imagine,” Dad said, leaning over his plate of spaghetti. “It might never have been discovered if the river level hadn’t dropped.”
“Or if Dr. Murray didn’t like fish,” Mom added with a grin.
“Or,” I said, joining in on the fun, “if those Egyptians hadn’t left it there.”
“What?” Dad said.
“Huh?” I said.
“Egyptians?” Dad said, looking over at Mom. “Who said anything about Egyptians?”
Oh, oh.
Me and my big mouth.
“I . . . uh . . . heard some people talking,” I mumbled, “and they said that there’s some kind of writing on the artifact. They said it looked Egyptian . . . or something.”
Mom and Dad looked at each other.
“Hmmm,” Dad said. “I haven’t heard that yet. That seems like pretty big news.”
Luckily, that was when Mom changed the topic—she was unhappy that the grocery store in Pinawa didn’t carry her favourite apples anymore (Granny Smith, in case you care).
Later that evening, nothing had really changed when the three of us returned to the river. The cops were still there and the area was still roped off, but for some reason, the researchers hadn’t touched the washout. They never picked up a single rock or moved one shovel load of earth. What were they waiting for?
Well, it all came out the next morning in the paper.
I picked up the phone next to my bed after the fourth ring.
It was Rachel. “Did you see the paper?” She asked.
I looked at my watch—it was 8:45 a.m. “No,” I said, “I just got up.”
“Then don’t move,” she said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I groaned, stumbled out of bed, and did my best to eat, brush my teeth, and get dressed. And I did all that in less than ten minutes! By the time I heard Rachel step on the porch and ring the bell, I think I looked pretty relaxed and alert.
“Why do you look all sweaty?” Rachel asked when I opened the door. She brushed past me and into the room.
“Huh?” I mopped my face with my wrist. “Where’s Eric?”
“He read the paper and crawled back into bed.”
Lucky guy, I thought. I shook my head to demonstrate my disapproval.
Rachel opened her backpack and showed me the paper. I didn’t have to flip through any of it because the story was right there on the front page.
Here’s what it said:
Egyptian Artifact Discovered in Sultana
Did ancient Egyptians visit Canada? Well, that’s what Professor Robert Bell and his team of investigators are going to find out.
On Wednesday morning, retired veterinarian Dr. Gerald Murray discovered a mysterious object on the bottom of the Kilmeny River. The object, which can best be described as a plaque or tablet, has markings on it that resemble Egyptian hieroglyphics.
Murray presented the plaque to the University of Manitoba’s Ancient Studies Department for further analysis. Professor Bell, who is also the Department’s resident archaeologist, said, “The text appears to be in Egyptian, but the tablet will undergo further analysis and dating before we can confirm its authenticity.”
When questioned if the object could be a hoax, Bell answered, “There is no evidence at this time to suggest that the object is a fake.”
Dr. Nigel Peabody will assist with field excavations on Monday.
“Wow,” I said, examining the photographs next to the story. There was a picture of the plaque taken from six inches away, and a second picture of the washout shot from our side of the river. “I can’t believe the university is getting another guy to come out.”
“He’s not from the university,” Rachel said.
“Huh?” I was confused.
“He’s from the Manitoba Museum.” Rachel tapped the name at the bottom of the page. “Dr. Peabody is an Egyptologist. He’s the new curator of the mummy exhibit at the museum in Winnipeg. And he’s an expert on ancient Egypt and hieroglyphics.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Because,” Rachel said, “he’s the guy who wrote that book I have.”
“You gotta be kidding!” It was starting to sink in now. “You mean a real Egyptologist is coming to Sultana?”
“Yes.” Rachel nodded, pleased I was catching on. “He’s coming to supervise the dig. And he’s going to examine the plaque.”
I barely heard what she was saying. The sound of blood pumping through my head was so loud, it drowned out her voice. We’re all going to jail. Guaranteed. I mean, making a phony stone tablet was one thing, but now these guys were actually coming here . . . Man, were we in trouble.
Yet, Rachel was all smiles. “Now that the story is officially out there, it’ll go viral, for sure. I can feel it, Cody. Facebook, YouTube, Twitter—I bet they’re all buzzing with this discovery.”
“Probably,” I mumbled.
“And Mom was asked to work all weekend.”
“Yeah? That’s great,” I said. “How come?”
“Because your plan worked, Cody. All those people from the university are staying at the Rivercrest until Dr. Peabody shows up. So Mom’s getting lots of extra waitressing shifts at the restaurant to help feed them. She can’t believe how lucky she is that she can keep working.”
Yeah, she’s lucky all right. Until we all go to jail.
With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I read the article again. “I’m kind of worried about all this testing stuff.”
Rachel leaned in and examined the paragraph my finger indicated. “Why?”
“Well,” I said, “if they do carbon dating, or whatever it’s called, they’ll find out it was made three days ago, and not three thousand years ago.”
“But maybe they can’t do that in Manitoba.” Rachel still sounded optimistic. “They may have to send it to Toronto, or California, or Egypt. It could even take months before they get results.”
“I suppose,” I said.
But it could also take hours, I thought.
CHAPTER 13
THAT WEEKEND WAS the most painfully slow weekend of my life. The three of us could not think or talk about anything except the plaque and the Egyptologist who was on his way to look it over. Eric was happy, because he thought our tablet was going to change the history of North America. Rachel was happy because she might not have to move away. And I was happy because . . . Well, to be honest, I wasn’t happy at all. I was scared we were all going to do hard time.
We returned to our lookout across from the washout as often as we could, without appearing too suspicious. Mom and Dad spent most of Saturday and Sunday puttering around the house doing yard work, and they didn’t really expect me to stick around. But I made sure I had excuses ready, in case they asked where I was off to.
I usually did my best worrying when I went to bed, and Sunday nig
ht was a doozie. I had a ton of things to fret over and keep me awake. I started by reviewing our plan. Would it work, would we get busted, and so forth? And when I exhausted that topic, I moved on to ponder the consequences of our hoax. What would happen to us if we got caught? Would our parents be fined? Would Eric and Rachel be taken away if Mrs. Summers couldn’t pay?
Well, after two hours of tossing and turning, I had enough. I decided to force myself to think about the silly things I used to worry about needlessly. That might help my brain to relax, I reasoned. For example, with the odds of actually being abducted by an alien being 1 in 59 trillion, why did I ever worry about it?
Ahhh . . . I felt calmer already.
I flipped the pillow to the cool side and reflected on the disappearance of gravity. I’m not sure why, but I once feared (for about a week) that the earth would lose its gravity and we’d all float away into . . .
THAT MONDAY MORNING there was real excitement in the air. It was like Sultana had woken up from decades of boredom, and was now on the verge of something big. Mom and Dad chattered away as they got ready for work. Dad said gas sales were up since the discovery, and he hoped for another good week. I wondered if the extra money would be enough to cover the fines they would get when it was revealed that their son was responsible for the hoax.
As I pedalled across town, I saw more people outside than I had all month. Neighbours were gossiping with each other, people in their cars were stopping to talk to pedestrians, and it seemed every dog in town was barking. Yup, there was electricity in the air.
When I got to the highway I nearly fell off my bike. There must have been fifty cars parked in front of the Rivercrest. And not only cars, but big vans too, with TV station markings on the sides and satellite dishes stuck on top. The largest vehicle was the size of a bus and proudly displayed CNN decals everywhere. I didn’t watch the news much, but I did know that was an American station.
I began to feel sick again. This was getting way out of hand. Seriously!
When I pulled up to Eric and Rachel’s house, Rachel was already pacing the driveway. Eric sat on the front steps yawning. He got up like a zombie and wandered over to greet me.
History in the Faking Page 8