Lemuria

by Burt Clinchandhill

  “Where did he dig?” Bishop asked.

  “Most of the digs were at the bank of the Solo River. Not far behind the museum. But there’s nothing left but riverbank now.”

  Bishop looked at the other two searching the diorama. “Anything?”

  Both shook their heads.

  “Listen, Matthew,” Ignatowski started. “You dragged us halfway across the world on a wild goose chase. I think it’s time you tell us what it is you’re looking for.”

  Bishop pouted his lips. “I told you, I’m not sure what we’re looking for, but what I am sure about is that the messages left in Peru sent us here, or in any case somewhere near here. Someone wants us to look for him or her, here in Trinil, and when the only person missing at this time is Jennifer, I need to believe this is about her.”

  “Listen, I believe that you believe,” Ignatowski said, stepping out of the diorama. “But what if we don’t find anything? My assignment—our assignment”—he helped Lindsey over the barrier—“is to try to find an answer for the disappearing tribes.”

  “Trust me, they are connected.”

  “How?”

  As Bishop climbed over the barrier, he stayed silent for a long moment, frowning. He gave a big sigh and paced the room. “What’s this?” Bishop asked Mansoer, pointing to a stone-engraved tablet about one square foot.

  “Ah, that’s a copy of a small monument placed by Eugene Dubois himself in 1894, shortly before he went back to the Netherlands in 1895. It’s said to be a road sign to the location of his famous Pithecanthropus erectus finding.”

  Bishop gave a big smile as he turned from Lindsey to Ignatowski before addressing Mansoer. “If this is a copy, where’s the original?”

  “Just ask Mansoer.” His face lit up. “It’s right here behind the building on our grounds. Can I take you there?”

  Chapter 15 – The Business Card

  New Haven, CT, Four Months Ago

  The sun brightened the garden of Swan House on Livingstone Street. In the garden, Jennifer lay back comfortably on a teak wooden deck chair. Yet, ever since the death of her father, she didn’t really feel comfortable visiting her parents’ house. It wasn’t for the bad memories. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was the good memories of the moments with her father she missed so much. And now she agreed with her mother insisting on staying there indefinitely, until she regained her strength after the treatment in the hospital in Massachusetts.

  Although her father wasn’t really there much when she was young—he was often abroad for his work as an ancient book collector—he always made sure he was there on special days, like holidays and birthdays. On those days, they always had a great time with food, drinks and games. Her father loved games. Treasure hunts were her favorite. Missing her father sometimes cut through her body like a knife. And now, after two weeks of staying at the house, she felt that the longing might subside a bit. Maybe she got used to the feeling, or the feeling just faded away, and yet....

  She felt she had no right to complain. Her mother had taken excellent care of her these past few weeks. She cooked her meals three times a day, did her laundry, made her bed and ran her errands. Jennifer thought that if it had been up to her mother, she probably would have bathed her too. She could literally feel her mother’s love as soon as she came into the garden. All she had to do herself was move from bed in the morning to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the living room or backyard, and back to the living room for some TV in the evening.

  “A big day today.” Sylvia put a glass of fresh-pressed orange juice on the teak table next to her daughter and sat down next to her.

  Jennifer put the book she was reading facedown on the table.

  “Michael Crichton, Five Patients,” Sylvia read from the cover.

  “You know it?” Jennifer asked.

  “I don’t. I do, however, know Michael Crichton.”

  “Did you know he worked at Mass General, as a doctor, in the late 1960s, before his career as a writer?” Jennifer asked.

  “Our Mass General?” Sylvia asked.

  Jennifer nodded.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s about his anticipation on how healthcare would change in the years to come, at that time. In hindsight, it’s funny to read how much of a fortune teller the man was.”

  “Maybe I should read it someday,” Sylvia replied. “How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m feeling great, Mom. Just like yesterday and the day before.”

  “It’s a miracle; they regrew a piece of your brain.”

  “It is, isn’t it? Ever since I left the hospital, I have felt great, as if nothing ever happened.” Jennifer looked at her mother’s face. “Is something wrong? You look worried?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” her mother said reluctantly.

  “There’s something,” Jennifer insisted.

  “It’s just that....” Sylvia hesitated. “Well, I guess I just don’t know what to think of the man and your visit this afternoon.”

  “Oh, Mom, don’t worry. I’m just going to meet him in his lab. I didn’t agree to anything. I haven’t even spoken with the man other than in the hospital. You were there. He asked if I was interested in a work-related collaboration that could possibly fund my research for the coming years. As a scientist, how could I refuse to talk about that?”

  Sylvia took a deep breath. “It’s just that I have a strange feeling about it all.”

  “That’s only because you looked him up on the Internet.”

  “So what,” her mother urged. “You read it yourself. He’s an eccentric, self-centered, self-absorbed, egomaniacal person.”

  “With a lot of money to give away.” Jennifer laughed. “I can tell you like him already. But seriously, Mom. I’ll be fine, and I promise you that I won’t commit to anything. Trust me.”

  “I trust you, darling, absolutely. I’m just not so sure about him.”

  Jennifer rose from her chair, walked to her mother, and from behind, hugged her in her chair. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I know, dear.” Sylvia took her daughter’s hand and squeezed it tight.

  “But I gotta go now, Mom.”

  “It’s a five-minute drive.”

  “But I don’t want to be late. I’ll be fine and back in a few hours.” She bent over and kissed her mother on the forehead before taking her bag from the table. “Love you,” Jennifer shouted as she walked the garden path to the front of the house. She got into her car—a white 2016 Chevrolet Spark that she’d bought solely because of the two black stripes across the body. In under a minute, she turned from Livingstone Street onto Whitney Avenue.

  She considered herself lucky that her meeting was this early in the afternoon. At the end of the day, Whitney Avenue was filled with cars from people trying to get home after a day’s work at Yale University. After a few minutes, she turned onto Prospect Street. She drove slowly, searching for the building. Almost at the crossing with Canal Street, she saw the modern, yellow brick building with the sign that read, ‘Logynous Laboratory New Haven.’ The staff had told her to park in the back, so she turned onto the premises and parked behind the building. As she walked back to the front, she realized the lab was directly across from Grove Street Cemetery. The oldest burial ground in the U.S. where, during her breaks from college, she’d liked to wander, looking for the graves of famous people like Glenn Miller, Eli Whitney and Noah Webster. The historic landmark was designed as a ‘city of the dead,’ with named streets, avenues and cross streets.

  Jennifer had always thought the cemetery was completely surrounded by the Yale University campus, and wondered how a private lab facility fit in. I guess money still opens every door. Through the entrance, she went to the only deviation in the otherwise speckless clean white hall. A transparent video screen on a concrete column showed a projected woman.

  “Hi, my name is Lea. Can I help you?” the avatar spoke.

  It took a moment for Jennifer to adjust to speaking to a computer animat
ion. “Ah, sure,” she stammered a bit. “I have a two o’clock meeting with Eldin Mulder. My name is Jennifer Porter.”

  The avatar looked down a short moment as if looking at a paper or a screen. “Yes, I see it here. Do you have any identification with you, a driver’s license, perhaps?”

  “Sure, one moment.” Jennifer searched her bag and presented the card.

  “A bit closer, please?” Lea asked, and Jennifer held the card up to the screen. After the sound of a camera shutter, an image of her card appeared on the screen and moved to the top right corner. “Thank you. Now, if you please sign your name over here.” On the screen appeared a paper-like form that mentioned Jennifer’s name, her entry time, and a copy of the picture from her driver’s license.

  “On the screen?” Jennifer asked.

  “You can draw your signature with your finger on the screen, in the square, just below your name.” Jennifer drew her signature on the screen where it appeared. “Thank you. Now, if you walk behind me into the corridor, take the elevator on the right to the second floor. Someone will be waiting for you there.”

  “Thank you.” Jennifer started walking toward the elevator. After a few steps, she turned to see if Lea also had a backside. Two front sides, eyes in the back of your head. That might come in handy. She took the elevator.

  When the doors opened on the second floor, a young woman, dressed in a white lab coat, greeted Jennifer with an outstretched hand.

  “Hi, I’m Deborah. You’re here to see Mr. Mulder?”

  “You’re a real person,” Jennifer replied. “And yes, I am.”

  The young woman smiled as Jennifer shook her hand “I’m sorry, but he’s rounding up a meeting at this very moment, but he’ll probably be with you in about five minutes. If you will, please take a seat.” She pointed to a white leather couch opposite the elevator.

  “Thank you.” Jennifer stepped toward the couch and sat down. Next to the sofa, a small table was filled with magazines, and she browsed through them. The Journal of Human Genetics, Nature Genetics, Genetic & Genomic News and Genetics Time Magazine. She picked up the last one, and as soon as she took it, she heard a loud voice from the hallway to the right. She recognized the voice as Mulder’s. At first, it was hard to make out, but when it came closer, she clearly understood that it was an intense discussion. She quickly leaned back in her chair and opened the magazine, put her head behind it and pretended to be focused on her reading.

  “You can’t do that. There are procedures,” she heard a man yell at Mulder. “These things take time.”

  Then Mulder called out again. “Of course, I know the procedures, and do you have any idea how much time these procedures take? It will be a wonder if we get anything done in our lifetime. I’m afraid I can’t wait for that. I can keep you informed, but that’s it.”

  “I still think you’re making a mistake.” The other voice sounded fierce. “You can’t possibly fathom the implications. There’s no precedent.”

  “Of course there’s no precedent. That is precisely the reason why we’re planning this. Listen, there’s no need to worry. We did the math. We’re good.”

  Jennifer felt the voices were only a few feet away, and when she peeked over her magazine, she saw Mulder, wearing a white lab coat, put his hand on the shoulder of the other man, fully dressed in black. As they walked toward her, she quickly dove back behind her magazine again. After a few seconds, the footsteps stopped again, and she felt that the two men stood straight between her and the elevator.

  “Like I said. No need to worry,” Mulder assured the man in black. When he tried to shake his hand, the man held his hands in his jacket pockets. Mulder turned to the couch when he saw the young woman reading. “Ah, Jennifer.”

  With a feeling of complete unease, she squinted her eyes and opened them wide again to make sure she had a neutral expression on her face. Then she lowered the magazine. “Mr. Mulder.” She tried to sound as normal as possible.

  “Please, call me Eldin,” Mulder replied. “You look better.” He took in the young woman dressed in jeans and yellow-flowered T-shirt. Then he addressed the man in black. “This is the young woman I was talking about.”

  “Ah, the one whom you are trying to convince to work with you,” the man said now in a calm voice.

  Jennifer was amazed by the friendly interaction between the two men who had just been yelling at each other. She put down the magazine, got up, and with an outstretched hand, approached the man in black.

  “I think you better go,” Mulder addressed the man, pushing the elevator button, and quickly turning the man’s shoulder toward it. “Sorry, but I’m already late, and I don’t want to keep Miss Porter waiting any longer.”

  The man in black quickly took his hands from his pockets, and with two hands, he grabbed Jennifer’s hand and shook it. As he let go, she felt something in her hand, a paper card.

  “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Porter.” The man gave a tiny bow.

  “Thank you. Likewise,” Jennifer replied, and when Mulder guided the man into the elevator, she took a quick, hidden look at the card.

  A priest? She quickly took out her phone and took a picture of the card before putting it in her pocket, as she always did with business cards.

  “Hi, again,” Mulder said as the elevator doors closed, reaching his hand out to her.

  “Hi.” Jennifer shook his hand, and when she took back her hand, a feeling came over her. She tried to describe it to herself, but she couldn’t. It was something she never felt before.

  “All right then. Let’s do this.” Mulder smiled. “Please follow me.”

  Chapter 16 – OostNoordOost

  Trinil, The Present

  “How far is it?” Bishop asked Mansoer.

  “Not too far.” At the end of the museum grounds, Mansoer opened a small iron gate that led to a narrow path of dried mud. “Please be careful. The path from here goes up and can be a bit tricky. If you follow me closely, nothing can happen.” For some ten minutes, the path snaked its way through green bamboo and cane that became denser and denser.

  “Ouch,” Lindsey called out as she twisted her ankle and fell to the ground on her knees.

  “Are you okay?” both Bishop and Ignatowski asked simultaneously.

  “Just a second,” Lindsey replied, trying to stand.

  “Here.” Bishop took Lindsey’s hand.

  Ignatowski offered to take her other hand.

  “Look at you being gentlemen.” She groaned, trying to get up.

  “You think you can walk?” Ignatowski asked.

  Lindsey took her hands back and put weight on her ankle. “I think so.” She limped a few steps.

  “Are you sure?” Mansoer asked. “You want to continue?”

  “How far is it now?” Ignatowski informed.

  “Only a few depa,” Mansoer laughed as he started walking again.

  “Excuse me?” Ignatowski sounded a bit irritated.

  “Mansoer makes a joke,” he explained. “A depa is an old Indonesian unit of measurement. It’s about five foot seven, or as we say here in the metric system, one point seven meters. But trust me, we’re almost there.” After the last twenty feet up the steep rise, Mansoer suddenly bent over as he crossed tightly packed green shrubs and walked out into the sunlight.

  The others followed him quickly.

  “Wow,” Bishop uttered as he walked onto the edge of the platform.

  As the others joined him, they all fell silent for a moment. They stood above the land, with green jungle as far as they could see. A narrow, curving river, filled with rapids, disrupted the green oasis. The Solo River originated from two sources: the volcano of Mount Lawu in the west and Mount Kidul in the east. In the past, the river played an essential role in the prosperity of the island, transporting fertile volcanic soil downstream, replenishing the soil of the rice-growing hinterlands.

  “Look here on the left,” Mansoer pointed out.

  Surrounded by a small picket fence, a marble
column held the tile they recognized from the copy in the museum.

  “The Dubois monument,” Bishop said.

  “Amazing that this sign points to the location of the Pithecanthropus erectus,” Ignatowski said. “Do you know how to read it?”

  “We think so,” Mansoer replied. “The ‘P.e.,’ of course you know what that stands for, and the arrow points in the direction of the location. The dates below are the years in which Dubois dug out here.”

  “And the one, seven, five, mono?” Lindsey asked, still limping.

  “Actually,” Mansoer corrected. “That doesn’t spell mono. It’s one hundred and seventy-five M, for meters. That’s about um, five hundred and seventy-five feet.”

  “In the direction of the arrow, I figure?” Bishop asked.

  “That we’re not completely sure about. It’s about correct, but when you look at the letters O.N.O., they mean oostnoordoost, which is Dutch for east-northeast or E.N.E.. The arrow, however, doesn’t point exactly in the correct direction. The theory is that the monument was replaced part of this lookout point threatened to break off due to heavy rains, so they moved the monument more to the center, not copying its position carefully. But the east-northeast should be the correct direction. There might only be a few feet difference due to the replacement.”

  “Where’s the east-northeast?”

  “There,” Mansoer pointed to a place left of them, near the river.

  “At the riverbank?” Bishop asked.

  “Not exactly. You see that small island with the big hill, just before the turn of the river?”

  They all nodded.

  “That’s it. The location was over there on that small island.”

  The island couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet across, surrounded by wild water rapids.

  “It used to be a peninsula, but due to the current, it broke loose over time and became an island,” Mansoer pointed out.

  “What’s over there now?” Bishop asked.