After four mind-numbing days in and out of the Commissioner of Cultural Affairs Office in Las Palmas, Turner finally sat in his room at the Hotel Lattagia with the preliminary legal permits for research excavation in his hands. He hated the dance, as he called it, with the local bureaucrats. They always find a way to delay the process in an attempt to appear relevant in their impious, little world, Turner thought, tossing the hard fought papers onto the dresser. Adding to the difficulty was the little joke Samuel had played on the commissioner when they applied for permits to excavate the pyramid.
Turner laughed aloud thinking how Samuel, annoyed by the six day wait, had sent the commissioner a nicely wrapped box containing one thousand year old fossilized goat feces as a thank you. Evidently, the man has a very good memory.
Turner then made a phone call booking the ferry passage back to Tenerife tomorrow for him and Samuel. Although they could have flown, it was only a four-hour cruise between the two islands. Turner enjoyed the passage, despite the fact that being on the open water still brought back frightful memories of that fateful night in New Guinea.
He had seen the message light blinking on the hotel phone when he returned from the commissioner‘s office but avoided checking it.
It can wait, Turner thought as he grabbed the remote for the room’s old TV set. I’m sure Dad is driving everyone nuts with his unyielding protocol when it comes to new digs. I’d just be in the way.
Turner had last spoken to his father two days ago. His father had reported that with the help of Carlos Santiago, the teams and equipment had been successfully transferred from the Pyramid site and that the work on the new site had just begun. He told Turner that the students had been assigned to documenting and recovering the Guanche artifacts, while he and Maria were keeping the mysterious tomb sealed.
Now waiting for Samuel’s return with something to eat, Turner vacantly surfed through the channels on the television. He came to an abrupt halt on the Grand Canaria Channel 3 News where a story in progress made him stare at the TV in disbelief. Standing in front of a nine-by-six foot white canvas tent on the familiar slopes of Tenerife, were his father and Maria. Both looked a bit overwhelmed by all the lights and cameras pointed at them. In Spanish, the news anchor was just finishing his narration of the news segment.
“—that being said, media crews, treasure hunters, and the religious faithful have been arriving here to be a part of this amazing find. This discovery, if true, may turn out to be one of the most significant finds since the discovery and excavation of King Tutankhamun’s tomb by Howard Carter in 1922. Stay tuned for weather and sports, coming up next—“
Turner quickly fumbled with the remote and scrolled through the channels. He stopped on another news broadcast where he saw a photo of his father in the upper corner of the screen as the news anchor reported.
“—It came from an anonymous source at the University of Jerusalem, just two days ago, the news that a team of archaeologists may have found a clue to the location of the mystical Holy Grail in a tomb below the summit of the island’s extinct volcano, El Teide. Centuries of search and speculation have always failed to prove the existence of this early Christian symbol, but now Dr. Eli Turner and his team may have discovered evidence to its whereabouts on the island of Tenerife in the Canary Islands. The reference to the Grail, the cup supposedly use by Christ during the Last Supper, was found written on an ancient parchment discovered in an old Guanche tomb.
Critics of the discovery, such as Alton Burr, question the validity of such a find. Burr, founder of the Secular America Movement, said in a statement that he would stop at nothing to prove this to be just another fraud perpetrated by the religious community in their continued attempt to control the minds of free thinking people worldwide. Burr, a former ACLU lawyer and member of the American Socialist Party, has rumored that he is considering running for Senate in next year’s race in New York. When questioned about Burr’s statement, Dr. Eli Turner just laughed and walked away from our reporters. In other news tonight—“
Turner clicked the television off and stared at the darkened screen in stunned silence. He rose from his chair and walked over to the phone where he dialed the hotel message system. After the pause, he heard his father’s voice.
“Josh, it’s Dad. Maria and I are up to our ears in news reporters and others here at the site. Things are getting a bit crazy, so if you can get back as soon as you can, it’d be a big help. I’m losing the phone signal, Josh…I’ll get back to you as soon as I can when we get the satellite phone from Paulo. I love you, Son. Bye.”
With a click, the line went dead. Turner knew in his heart that something was wrong and his father needed him. It had been years since he’d said he loved him. Turner heard him say it at the funeral for his mother after she had been killed in an auto accident when he was five years old. From that point on, his father had buried his feelings; never really talking to him. Every time he tried to get close to him, his father would effectively shut him out. Finally, after years of trying, Turner had given up.
He quickly started packing his duffel bag when the phone rang and startled him. Turner sprang to the phone and lifted the receiver.
“Dad!” he shouted into the phone, hoping it was his father.
“Hi, Son,” came his father’s voice. “I’m calling from the satellite phone at the site. Did you get my message?”
“Yes, Dad, at noon tomorrow, Samuel and I are leaving on the next ferry back to Tenerife. We should be back at the site by nightfall.”
“That’s good news, Josh. We could use the help. Besides, Middle Eastern antiquities have always been your forte. I just hope you still want to work with me. With all that has been going on, Josh, I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching and I owe you an apology. I know I haven’t been much of a father to you,” Eli said, his voice cracking a little.
“No, Dad. You don’t need to explain….”
“I loved your mom with all my heart, Son. And when she died, something inside me died as well. I realize now that I’ve been trying to push you away; trying to avoid ever being hurt like that again. It’s as if….”
“You know I love you, Dad, and I want to be there working with you.”
“Thanks, Son. I love you, too. I’m getting too old to be doing this work, Josh. When ICAP is securely established, I’m going to retire and I want you to take over.”
“Are you sure about that, Dad?” Josh said, fighting back his emotions. “I think Kim Liao would be a better choice.”
“He couldn’t hold a candle to your skills, Son. And I wouldn’t trust anyone else in keeping the organization going.”
After a moment of awkward silence Turner said, “Thanks, Dad. I promise to make you proud.”
“You already have, Son,” the elder Turner replied softly, then quickly cleared his throat and continued. “We’ve had the camp set up and going for a few days now, and have completed much of the excavation in the Guanche tomb. Maria and a few of the students from the University plotted and photographed the entire tomb before removing the contents. We must be sure we do this right. Many people are watching this one, Josh. Imagine…the possibility of discovering a true reference to the cup of the Last Supper.”
“I just saw the news reports. It’s all over the media,” Turner said. “How did word leak out, Dad?”
“Unfortunately, it was leaked by one of the students assigned to Hiram Rabib, in Jerusalem. Hiram apologized soon afterward and promised that any further discoveries requiring translation would be done by him personally, and with the highest discretion. All hell was breaking loose here for the first few days, Son. Fortune hunters, religious zealots, and the media were circling around here like vultures,” Eli said with frustration in his voice. “Carlos was finally able to send some men from the Tenerife National Guard to protect our discoveries, and our asses. I don’t mind saying I’m still a bit nervous. Fortunately, things seem to be calming down.”
“Are you sure that you and Maria are
safe, Dad? I’m worried about the possibility of crazies coming out of the woodwork.”
“Yeah, we’ve already had a few of them, but Captain Saune and his men are doing a fine job discouraging folks from getting too close. Thankfully, the crowds are starting to thin out by the hour because we haven’t reported any findings other than Guanche artifacts.”
“Dad, are you sure this discovery could be the real deal? I mean, parchments have been forged in the past by antiquities bootleggers with great accuracy, and these so called Holy Grail stories have been popping up for as long as there have been people around to listen.”
“We received the carbon dating reports from samples of the parchment we sent to the university this morning, Josh. They have been dated to the first century A.D. The extreme dry climate of the western flank of Teide, along with it being sealed for so long in the lava tube, has preserved it quite nicely and with little contamination. I hope that we’ll find more inside the sealed tomb when we enter it tomorrow.”
“Dad, I know you are the best in your field,” Turner said with concern in his voice, “but I want you to be careful, okay? We may have opened a hornet’s nest. I saw on the news that this guy named Burr was—”
“Yeah, I know all about Mr. Alton Burr,” Eli interrupted. “That clown had the audacity to telegraph me demanding he be present during our work. Of course, I told him to go to hell, since that’s where he and his gang of wackos desire to be anyway,” Eli said with a chuckle. “Alright Son, I have to go. I have a ton of work to do. I’ll look for you and Samuel tomorrow after sunset.”
“Okay, Dad. Be careful. Bye.”
He hung up the phone just as Samuel entered the room. He was balancing two sealed containers in one hand.
“Your favorite, amigo,” he said, setting the plastic containers down on the table, “stewed goat meat.”
Turner just looked at him and said, “Samuel, I just got off the phone with my dad. We’ve got to get back to Tenerife. Something isn’t right.”
***
Late afternoon on the following day, the sun, now descending behind the towering heights of Mt. Teide, cast finger-like shadows on the archeology camp situated on the lower plateau below. The site was set up directly in front the newly exposed opening to the ancient volcanic lava tube containing the Guanche tomb found by Maria and Samuel.
The cool afternoon breeze was a welcome relief to Eli Turner as he watched the last bus slowly making its way down the hastily constructed access road toward Guimar and connecting to Rt. 82, the main highway toward Santa Cruz.
“I’m glad that is over with,” Eli said as he tugged the brim of his outback hat. He began making his way back up the loose, rock-laden path toward a large twelve-by-nine foot A-framed canvas tent.
The tent, fifteen feet from the tunnel entrance, had served as a holding station for artifacts prior to them being shipped off to the university. A smattering of smaller A-frame tents had been erected about the perimeter, serving as sleeping quarters for workers and students assigned to the team.
One khaki tent Eli Turner was relieved to see stood off near the edge of the path leading down the slope. It served as the quarters for a team of four men from the Guardia Civil, or the National Guard of Tenerife. They were assigned to the team at the request of Carlos Santiago to protect the site and keep the throng of spectators, including the media, at bay. Eli saw two of the guardsmen, wearing their faded, green battle dress uniforms sitting in front of their tent smoking as they tended to their campfire.
As he had planned, the bus that was now leaving carried the remnants of workers and archeology students from San Fernando University back to Santa Cruz, along with the final cache of Guanche artifacts. It was there that they would be cataloged and secured at the anthropology lab.
In the past four days, the crowds of curious onlookers and scores of media crews had slowly diminished as Eli hoped for. Now, with the site free of the media and observers, the work on the sealed tomb where the parchment was discovered could commence. His purposefully concocted, boring sci-tech babble had driven off most of the television crews by the third day, and with the forecast of light rain imminent tonight, it was the perfect time for them to begin work at the sealed burial tomb.
Couldn’t have planned it any better, Eli thought smugly as he tapped his extinguished pipe onto his boot heel and emptied its contents before entering the tent.
Opening the canvas tent flap, he saw Maria sitting at a metal table preoccupied with her computer. She was unaware of his arrival amidst the drone of the portable generator, some twenty feet distant, providing the power to the camp.
“Why don’t you take a break, Maria?” Eli said as she quickly turned, startled by his sudden appearance.
“Oh, Dr. Turner, I didn’t notice you come in. I’m just finishing uploading the digital photos to the computer along with my documentation on each artifact,” she said with a smile that revealed to Eli a distinct weariness in her eyes after the many long days working on this project.
“The last bus just left for the university,” Eli said, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to her. “This has been quite an extraordinary find, wouldn’t you say, Maria?”
“This has to be the best quality Guanche artifacts and remains found to date, Dr. Turner. I’d go as far as saying this was the burial site for an important Guanche Chieftain, most likely a tribal leader, and his family. The anthropology department is going to have a field day with the nearly perfect mummified remains we have found,” Maria said as she saved the last remaining file. “Even the cloth remnants are in pristine condition, which must be due to the tomb being sealed off from the climate for so many centuries. Absolutely, a marvelous find,” she repeated softly as she slipped the backup CD into a sleeve and shut down her laptop.
“Tonight looks like a go for us to begin work on the remaining sealed tomb where you found the parchment,” Eli said with a mischievous smile. “I had a feeling the crowds would get bored after a few days of nothing spectacular to report, and, with rain in the forecast tonight, we won’t be bothered with people looking over our shoulders. That way we can take our time doing a thorough study and documentation.”
“It will be good to see Josh again, Dr. Turner. I‘m glad he and Samuel are finished on Grand Canaria. When will they be here?” Maria asked, carefully placing her laptop into its shock-proof metal case.
“They should get here later this evening. I sent Paulo to the ferry landing in Santa Cruz to pick them up.”
“Sure, he gets here after all the grunt work is done,” Maria said with mock indignation.
“I’ll be glad to see him,” Eli said. “I look forward to working with him on this phase of the project.”
They rose from their seats and were walking to the entrance of the tent, when they were met by one of the National Guardsmen coming in.
Captain Rafael Saune was a hulking figure of a man possessing a no-nonsense persona. Normally stationed at the Guardia Civil barracks located near Santa Cruz, he and his three men had been assigned to the dig to maintain security at the site. His gruff attitude the past days failed to mask his pleasure at getting such a light duty assignment for a week or two, saving him from the daily grind of inspections and the constant reports he had to file. As a twenty year veteran, he had risen up among the ranks and become a trusted adviser to the Island administration. He also served now and then as helicopter pilot, providing tours to the many dignitaries that came to Tenerife from time to time.
“Dr. Turner, there’s a man here to see you,” the Captain reported. “I told him to wait in the parking area below. He demands to speak with you. Shall I send him away?”
“Demands to see me, huh? No, Captain, I’ll see him now. Probably a reporter,” Eli said exhaling wearily. “I’ll bore him to death with more monotonous details. I’m sure he’ll soon find an excuse to leave.”
The three exited the tent and started down the dry and dusty path of crumbling basalt rock, ever mindful of their steps.
At the base of the path in the hastily constructed parking area, a man paced back and forth beside an old Jeep CJ-5. Eli chuckled at the sight of the short, well-groomed man wearing blue jeans, a khaki safari shirt, and new white sneakers; making him look quite out of place in this rugged setting. Eli could faintly hear him talking to himself as he frantically paced back and forth, holding a piece of paper in his hand.
Alton Burr was a man not accustomed to waiting for anything, or anyone. His years as a lawyer with the ACLU had hardened and fine-tuned him into a calculated master of intimidation. Now, with his newly established influence in many Washington political circles, and, the growing popularity of his Secular America Movement, he now garnered an arrogance unsurpassed by even the most pompous of Washington’s career politicians.
Burr was on a mission. His practiced ideology of the separation of church and state had been twisted into a vendetta to persecute the religious community wherever, and whenever, he could. Fueled by the fires of anger, he and his legal assault teams left a trail of disillusioned and broken communities in their wake. Many state and local governments they litigated were forced to adhere to judge-mandated policies, limiting a community’s right to exercise religious acts or display religious art in public places. From crosses in Veteran’s Cemeteries to displays in town squares, they were all in his cross-hairs.
Alton Burr’s anger-driven persecution of religion had not always been the case. As a young man, newly graduated from Harvard Law School, he looked to the future with a bright optimism and open mind. However, September 11, 2001 changed all that forever. His parents had been in the second of the Twin Towers in New York City. In stunned horror, he watched it collapse before his eyes on television, which also effectively collapsed a part of his mind and soul. When he attended their funeral service, something inside him snapped when the priest mentioned something about it being God’s will.
“God’s will?” he had cried in a rage at their grave side. “What kind of God would let my parents die that way?” From that moment on, his anguish manifested into fiery hatred of God, and of those propagating any religious or spiritual reasoning. Oh yes, he acknowledged God, but only in the sense of blaming him for his parents unwarranted death. Thus, he’d set out on his personal crusade of punishing God and religion wherever he could find it.
Zero Point Page 6