by Chris Angus
“No reason he’d be down here without telling us. Certainly not this soon.”
Suddenly, Sam slipped and fell hard on her butt, crying out for a moment. They froze. The voices stopped instantly. Then they heard them rise again, this time excited and wary.
“That sounds like Farsi if I had to guess,” Ryan said tightly. “Come on!”
He grabbed her hand and took the light from her, turning it on.
“They’ll see it!” Sam said.
“Can’t worry about that now. They know we’re here. If we don’t use the light to see where we’re going, they’ll catch up to us in a moment.”
In fact, they could hear men running, sloshing through the wet tunnel.
“Faster!” he said, his heart beating a mile a minute. What had he gotten them into? Bringing Sam down here had been madness. A Secret Service agent’s folly. Like taking the President alone to the Bronx for a cheeseburger. Senator Graham was going to kill him . . . if someone else didn’t beat him to it.
“There must be other tunnels down here,” Sam said. “Ventholes or something. We need some way to throw them off.”
But the sole passageway continued on by itself, still steeply downward, with no branches or recesses. There was absolutely no place to hide.
They both jumped a foot as a rifle shot rang out and reverberated over and over against the rock. It was impossible to tell how far away it was, but whoever had fired the weapon had to be shooting at something. Who that might be was immediately evident as more shots rang out and bullets ricocheted off the walls.
All they could do was try to run even faster. Finally, they came to a place where the walls began to close in, tightening on them. Despite their surging adrenalin, they were both getting tired. Ryan looked for some place to make a stand. He still had his pistol. At least he could make them pay a price for killing them.
They came to a dogleg in the tunnel, and he squeezed Sam’s hand. “Stop,” he said. “Rest here.”
“Are you crazy? They’ll be on us in a second.” But she slid to the ground breathing heavily.
He peered around the dogleg and could see several figures, blackened behind their flashlights. They were no more than twenty feet behind them. Time to make them think twice. He raised the pistol and fired. One of the men slumped to the ground.
There was immediate darkness as the others extinguished their lights, followed by a flurry of unintelligible language, as the men dove to the ground and took whatever small cover they could find. Guns began to blast indiscriminately. Ryan drew back as bullets whined and ricocheted all around them.
Then there was silence. For several minutes there was no sound at all. With his light off, Ryan poked his head around the dogleg. Whoever was out there wasn’t about to provide any light. They’d learned their lesson. It was dark as night.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Sam asked.
He shook his head, then realized she couldn’t see him. “Trying to decide what to do about us.”
Then a voice floated across the intervening space, eerily disembodied in the blackness. There was a strange sort of singsong quality to the heavily accented English.
“Yes, please. Whoever is there, we are sorry for shooting. You frightened us. No one is supposed to be down here. You may come out. We no shoot anymore. Yes? Okay?”
Ryan said nothing.
“Really,” the voice said. “There is no problem. This is restricted area, that is all. You must to explain your presence here, but no longer any danger, I assure you.”
“In a pig’s eye,” Sam said softly.
After a couple of minutes, the voices renewed, this time in Farsi again. They were arguing over what to do. Ryan estimated there had to be at least five or six men. The talk went on for some time. Then they heard movement.
“I’m going to take a look,” he said. Lowering himself until he was on his belly, he slid out around the dogleg. Then he turned the flashlight on and pointed it down the tunnel. What he saw made his insides go cold. Two men were running fuse up the tunnel walls while another was preparing to place a charge of what looked like plastic explosive of some kind. Immediately, two men began to fire at Ryan’s light. He turned it off and backed away.
“Son of a bitch!”
“What are they doing?”
“They’re setting charges.”
“Charges?”
“To collapse the tunnel and seal us in down here.”
He flicked his light back on. Even in the yellow of the flashlight, he could see her face go white. The voices began to move farther away. They were ready.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to move.” He pulled her and they stumbled down the shaft. A moment later, there was a horrific blast that stung their ears and nearly threw them to the ground. A cloud of rock dust floated down the tunnel, making them choke. They moved farther away from it and sat down. After a few minutes, the fine particles began to settle out.
“Might as well go see the damage,” he said in a resigned voice.
They stood and made their way back to the dogleg. As soon as they passed it, Sam took her breath in suddenly. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed.
The shaft was completely blocked by tons of rock. They were effectively entombed.
***
“Exactly where did you find these?”
Dr. Leif Haarde was referring to the bone and small jaw fragment supporting three teeth that Stanley Budelmann had presented to him for analysis several days earlier.
Haarde was a forensic scientist who did contract work for the Reykjavik police. He and Stanley had struck up a friendship after meeting in a nightclub. Like every good reporter, Budelmann was quick to cultivate a source, and he had immediately sized up the doctor as a potentially rich one, though not necessarily one to be fully trusted, given who he worked for.
“I found them while hiking along the southwest coast,” the reporter said vaguely.
Haarde looked at him skeptically.
“Why, is there something significant about the bones? You’re not suggesting it could be a murder victim?”
“A possibility, I suppose, but I think the statute of limitations will have run out on this poor fellow.”
Budelmann looked at him blankly.
“There are two . . . well . . . three interesting things about these bones. To begin with, they are very old. I date the specimens to between one thousand and eleven hundred years of age.”
“What?” Budelmann’s mouth fell open. “Are you sure?”
“The dating technique is quite precise. The second thing of interest is this end that has been cut off on the rib bone. You see the cleanness of the cut? It looks very much like a fine-toothed, high-tech spiral cutting tool was used, the sort I have right here in my lab. There is no way . . . I repeat, no way . . . this cut could have occurred naturally. Nor could it have been done by any human back in the tenth century.”
“So who did it?”
Haarde carried the bone over and sat down at a desk, examining the piece under a bright light. “A very good question. You say you found this, right?”
Budelmann hesitated. He didn’t want anyone to know he’d broken into some secret research center. At the same time, he wanted the doctor to give him the best information he could. “Yes, I found it, just on the beach, but . . . there was a large building nearby, industrial maybe or some other type of facility.”
Haarde grunted. “That’s the first thing that makes any sense.” He held the bone in one hand and tapped it lightly in his palm. “Someone else has obviously worked on this specimen.”
“You said there were three things about the bones that intrigued you,” said Budelmann. “So far you’ve only told me two.”
“The third thing is quite inexplicable. I’d go so far as to say it is an impossibility. For the person this came from was old. Very old. I’d hazard that this person may well have been the oldest person in the world at the time.”
“What?”
�
��The sternal ends of the fourth rib, which this is, change as people get older. If you look at the depth of the pitting on this bone, you can pinpoint age fairly accurately plus or minus two years. Also, the teeth are a useful age indicator. The development of ridges in enamel growth can give an approximate idea of age at the time of death. My best determination is that these remains came from an individual who was at least one hundred years old. Possibly . . . older than that.”
Budelmann looked at him in complete disbelief. “You’re telling me that someone from the tenth century lived to be over one hundred years old?”
“At least.”
“What’s the likelihood of that?”
“Before working on this bone, I would have said none. The average lifespan at the time was probably somewhere around thirty or thirty-five years. A very rare and very lucky individual, who avoided the diseases of childhood, might make it to fifty-five. And there’s one more thing.” He looked Budelmann straight in the eye. “I believe this represents some kind of hoax.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no question about the age of the person this came from . . .” He raised the bone and stared at it as if for the first time. “But the paleopathology is unusual to say the least. . . .”
“The what?”
“Paleopathology. It has to do with ancient diseases. After age thirty, you begin to see signs of deterioration in everyone. You get lower back problems, bones becoming less dense and more porous, increases in little arthritic projections, work-related injuries, and so forth.
“This very old person had very young bones. Some infectious diseases like tuberculosis and syphilis can be found in bones. Anthropathies—that’s joint diseases—like osteoarthritis and gout can also be seen. Bone spurs and other deformities in the knees, toes, and backs also show up, indicating, for example, a woman who might have spent her days squatting, grinding maize into flour. There’s no sign of arthritis in these samples, no age-related deterioration of any kind. It’s as if someone lived to be over a hundred but their body composition never changed after reaching maturity. Never changed at all, despite living in what must have been a very harsh environment.”
He handed the bone to Budelmann. “This is some kind of trick or hoax, as I said. Something along the lines of Piltdown Man . . . only more so. If you can find out who’s actually perpetrating this hoax and why, I’d guess you’ll have one of the biggest stories of your career.”
Budelmann’s face registered complete befuddlement. Instead of the answers he’d hoped for, he had only more questions. With a sigh, he asked, “What about the liquid? Did you examine that?”
“I did. All I can tell you is that it’s some sort of fungus . . . in solution, as though someone were trying to make a concentrate.”
“Fungus? What sort of fungus?”
“Impossible to tell without a lot more study. There are at least a hundred thousand known species, probably a million more yet to be discovered.” He gave the reporter a hard look. “I suppose you found this also, lying on the beach?”
Budelmann ignored the question. “I don’t understand this. What would they be doing with a fungus? Do you use anything like it in your lab?”
The scientist shook his head. “Fungi are major decomposers, more effective than bacteria, worms, or maggots. I suppose someone could be trying to use it to remove flesh from bone, but I’ve never heard of it being used for such a purpose.”
Budelmann stared at him in utter frustration. What in bloody hell were they up to in that laboratory?
***
Eva stared at the pages of recent mineral rights acquisitions in the hall of records with a growing sense of unease. Studying these listings was a regular part of her job. In addition to learning which companies were doing what with regard to thermal acquisitions, something that told her a whole lot about which areas were on the fast track, what their competition was up to and so forth, it sometimes gave a heads-up to places that Ryan’s firm might want to focus its own resources.
Normally, Laki was not an area that caught her attention, for much of the land surrounding the volcanic ring, including the Laki Craters, was protected as part of the Skaftafell National Park. Occasionally, the authorities had been known to sell the rights to exploration and development if it was felt to be in the national interest, though this was a rare occurrence.
But what she was seeing piqued her curiosity. Private interests had been buying rights just outside the protected crater area. Exactly who these purchasers were was not entirely clear. There seemed to be an array of holding companies involved, with names that meant little to her. However, what was clear was that foreign interests were involved. That fact had to be delineated by law, and a number of the purchasing companies were German.
Why was there suddenly so much interest in the areas surrounding Laki? She made copies of the public records of the purchases. It might all be meaningless, but it deserved some attention, especially in light of what had happened to her boss.
She was concerned Ryan might be in over his head and more than glad that Dagursson was involved. She had faith in his abilities. Whatever personal failings he may have had as a husband, he was a damn good police commissioner. And he was certainly capable of handling more than one serious case at a time. His quick action to send an officer undercover to protect Sahar was commendable.
She took the copies and returned to her office. Everyone was busy of course, except Jon. She sighed. At least it would keep him out of her hair for a day or two. She called him in.
Gudnasson looked completely burnt out after the weekend. He usually was barely able to function on a Monday. Or a Tuesday through Friday, she thought bitterly. He took a chair without being asked and gave her a baleful look.
“Hard weekend,” he said, sheepishly. Then, as the look she gave him registered, “I took a lot of work home.”
What a sorry excuse for a man. Or a geologist. But she wouldn’t bite. Instead, she shoved the pile of papers across the desk at him. “I want you to look into these recent acquisitions, Jon.”
He stared at the pile like a high school freshman being handed an extra assignment on a Friday afternoon.
“What are they?” he asked.
Eva noted his bloodshot eyes and general disheveled appearance. She had serious doubts he had the capacity to sign his own name, much less take on something like this. But he was all she had . . . for now. She already had feelers out with two possible replacements.
“Mineral rights sold recently to a number of holding companies. I want to know if we’re missing something here. There seems to be an awful lot of interest in the Laki area and I don’t know why. I want you to go down there and poke around. See what you can find out.”
He picked up one of the pages, scanning it warily. “That’s pretty unusual.” His brow furrowed as he paged through the material. “Maybe they’re trying to expand government holdings for the Preserve. It’s no secret they want to turn the whole area into a huge tourist attraction. Increase foreign tourism and get more dollars and Euros flowing into the ol’ coffers.”
“Maybe,” Eva said slowly. “But it seems a strange time. Tourism has all but shut down from the fear of volcanic activity that’s been touted in the papers over the last couple of years. Why would they choose now to expand their interests? Anyway, if you dig down into that pile, you’ll find that the registered holding companies are based in Germany.”
Jon perked up at this. He leaned forward and shuffled through the papers more intently. “That is strange. Do you think someone could have found something? A major discovery? Maybe a big oil or natural gas . . . or even precious metals . . . strike.” He gathered the papers together and stood up. “Good thing you have me on payroll. This is my area, for sure. I’ll look into it.”
Almost in spite of herself, Eva felt the need to give a warning. “Be careful, Jon. Ryan’s already had trouble, you know. If this does have something to do with a new find . . . you know as well as I do t
hat companies can get pretty proprietary about this stuff.”
“Not to worry. I’ll find out what’s going on. This is my specialty, you’ll see.” The challenge seemed to have sparked something in Gudnasson that Eva hadn’t seen before. His hangover was gone.
“Just go easy, that’s all. And be careful. Let me know what you find out.”
She watched him leave, a sense of foreboding coming over her. Something strange was going on. What if someone had made some stupendous discovery? Maybe Ryan had gotten too close for the comfort of whoever was behind this.
***
Eva had a plan for the evening. She was constitutionally incapable of sitting around doing nothing while Dagursson and Berenson went to work. This was as much her problem as it was theirs. Sahar’s father always worked late, so it was time, she decided, to meet her new neighbors.
The evening before she’d baked a casserole and some cookies. She stopped at her house long enough to grab them and headed across the garden. She could see Sahar’s mother doing something inside but didn’t know if the kids were home. Of course, where else was Sahar going to go with no friends?
She knocked at the door, and in a moment a woman dressed in a colorful robe answered. Suddenly Eva panicked. What if she didn’t speak Icelandic, for god’s sake? Few foreigners did.
But the woman smiled at her and said in what was obviously her only Icelandic phrase, “Do you speak English?”
Eva gave a sigh of relief and said, “Yes. Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to communicate. I’ve been feeling bad that I haven’t come over sooner. I brought some dinner and cookies.”
“Oh that is so nice of you,” said the woman. “My name is Paree. Please come in and meet my children. My husband is still at work.”
Eva entered a small foyer decorated with Mideastern copper pots and a colorful mosaic of a peacock. It felt a little like the entrance to an Iranian restaurant. The house smelled of curry.
Paree took Eva’s offerings and put them on a small table. “May I give you some tea? Or perhaps you would stay and eat with us?”
“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to barge in uninvited.”