The Trespass

by Scott Hunter

  Did he? Potzner doubted it. His light, his reason for living had been extinguished. In his absence. Without him even knowing. He stared at the plastic dash, counting the patterned lines, the fake leather indentations that seemed to him like wrinkles in an old world’s face. Everything was different now. Everything had moved on. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

  “Jim? Are you still there?”

  Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps Al had got it wrong. It happened. There had been cases where the patient had revived, stunning both doctors and family alike. Potzner nodded at the recollection. Why not? Thing was, he’d better get himself over to the US so he could be there when she woke up. But then his problem still remained. Dracup. And the research. It must continue at all costs. No, at any cost.

  Al’s voice was an electronic babble in the handset now. He put the noise back in his pocket and looked out of the car window. Moisture was scattered over the glass in small, bead-like tears. The front door was closed. Yvonne was standing at the picture window, arms folded. He’d read a book once, The Naked Ape – told you all about human gestures, what they meant. It was very informative because he now knew that when a guy raised his hand behind his head during conversation it meant he saw James Potzner as a threat. That was useful to know. There were lots of little responses and gestures that gave the game away. Arms folded. That meant defence. He heard the sirens in the distance, watched her face as she heard them too. Her shoulders relaxed fractionally. Potzner shifted across to the driver’s seat and started the engine. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with the policeman, Moran. Not yet. That would come later, on his terms.

  As he steered the car out onto the trunk road he tried to remember: who had written The Naked Ape? And then it came to him: Desmond Morris, the renowned British anthropologist. Dracup was an anthropologist. When he saw Dracup again – and he surely would – he’d better be careful not to give too much away. No unguarded gestures. Potzner gripped the wheel and let his subconscious babble on inside him. He knew what was happening, rationally; his mind was trying to compensate for the earth-shattering news it had just received. He wanted to listen to his subconscious; it didn’t hurt as much. But his training wouldn’t allow it to continue. Despite his best efforts his rational mind resumed control. He let out a howl of anguish, a desperate, animal noise, battering his fist on the steering wheel. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

  Chapter 25

  The chamber was in semi-darkness. The omnipresent glow, refracted light from innumerable solar ducts, lay over the living space like a luminous fog. Sara stole a last glance along the walkway before entering. Now she had trespassed. She’d better be quick.

  Kadesh’s quarters were basic: a table, a rack of clothing, shoes discarded in a corner. There was no concession to decor. Everything was functional. The laptop lay on the table, beside it a box of CDs, a pile of magazines. A pitcher of water. Kadesh allowed no other refreshment within the caverns. Her heart thumped. She could hear her brothers and sisters singing; their voices carried from the chamber of worship. It was habitually a comforting sound, evocative of her childhood, of times when this had been a safe place, the only place to be. In God’s will.

  Sara put one foot in front of the other, increasing the distance between her jittering body and the entrance. She was too far inside now to plead a social call. It was intrusion. I can’t believe I’m doing this. As if in a dream she moved forward. The small of her back tingled as she reached the table and slid the computer’s locking clasp open. She pressed the On button and watched the screen flicker into life, fumbled briefly under her robe and produced a 1Gb memory stick, sliding it into the USB slot with shaking fingers. Soft, floating hymnody filled the chamber. Sara prayed that Kadesh’s roving eye would not spot her absence. If he did then she was as good as dead anyway. This was all or nothing. Double or quits.

  The machine completed its start-up routine and Sara examined the desktop folders. Military, Comms, BSc Hons, History. She double-clicked, her eyes scanning the file list for significance. There. CIA. She clicked again. Ten, no more, all pdf documents. There wasn’t time to read them all now. Sara opened the remote drive and copied all the folders to her stick. She was in the process of stopping the device when her eye caught another ‘My Documents’ folder. Sara. She swallowed and double-clicked. Another folder. Photographs. Hundreds of them. She scrolled through the file list, randomly opening the jpgs. Herself and Simon outside the University. Simon and some friends, her house – an evening dinner party. Simon in his campus office. Another folder. Childhood. She opened it. Two folders. One, Sara. The other, Dracup. He’s obsessed. . . She opened Dracup. Hundreds of files – all of Simon. Baby pictures, toddler shots, teen photographs. She bit her lip. He knows everything about him, about us. She was concentrating, unaware that the strains of worship had died away, leaving only stillness. And then with a start she realized her danger. She clicked the shutdown option on the main menu, pulled the stick from the USB slot. The laptop went into its closing routine. Windows is shutting down. Sara shuffled her feet in frustration. Come on.

  She watched the blue screen flicker then fade to blackness, snapped the lid shut and walked quickly to the door. The passages were filling with her brothers and sisters, talking in small groups of two or three but in hushed whispers, low breathy exchanges, not with the laughter and confident chatter she was used to. She walked quickly away from Kadesh’s quarters then stopped to compose herself, pressed her back against the wall and watched them go by. Sweat ran down her face and the back of her neck. She looked at the pinched, drawn faces passing by, felt their fear. A people who should be happy, ecstatic at the blessings of recent circumstance. But the truth was etched on her face as well, she knew. We are no longer servants of God; we are servants of Kadesh.

  In her quarters Sara examined the CIA files. Her machine was illegal and she risked punishment if caught, but she had already crossed a more perilous line. And Simon needed this. She couldn’t bear to consider the impossible goal of being reunited with him. And yet she couldn’t prevent the thoughts creeping in: He’ll never take you back. You betrayed him. She bit her lip hard. I didn’t. I tried to help.

  Sara forced her attention back to the files. They had been removed from CIA central archives over a period of time, cleverly, carefully and thoroughly. Whatever else Kadesh was, he was efficient. Sara shivered. It was all here: the links with the Smithsonian Institute who had sponsored the expeditions to Ararat, comprehensive logs detailing the exploration of the great boat and the discovery of the artefact that would eventually lead Theodore Dracup to the home of the Korumak. But for her purposes it was the record of US government intervention in the lives of the geologist and his expedition colleagues that was of paramount importance. They had been – what was the sanitised term? Neutralised. Their minds had been systematically shut down by an experimental drug – a drug that was destined in later generations to become the recreational preference of the hippy movement. Lysergic acid diethylamide. It had been an opportunity to trial the drug and to observe the effects of increased dosage. It was also a convenient way to exercise control. She read a brief excerpt, dated March 1927:

  Re. Blackbird. Clearance has been given to proceed with Blackbird. Intentions and aspirations are to create an exploitable alteration of personality in selected individuals, specific targets include potential agents, defectors, refugees, POWs and others.

  Others. She couldn’t forgive Theodore Dracup for his part in the rape of her heritage, but he had suffered enough at the hands of his masters. A picture of Reeves-Churchill shot into her head, bobbing and nodding in his wheelchair at the nursing home. Simon needed to know. He had already guessed that his grandfather’s decline was caused not by some random biological failure but by a powerful and manipulative external influence. And the Americans had decreed that the discovery made by the second expedition was not for public consumption. No, Sara’s mouth was a firm, angry line. It was for furthering the knowledge of US Intelli
gence. She shuddered. The ultimate blasphemy. To think that they had actually begun to – the thought was overwhelming. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. It’s all right now. We can at least thank Kadesh for that.

  Sara closed her PDA with a soft click and glanced at her watch. It was almost time to leave. She was desperate to get the information to Dracup, but there was no available network for her to tap into. Kadesh monitored a private link and she couldn’t access it even if she wanted to. So be it. She would just have to wait until they reached Baghdad. If they reached Baghdad.

  At midnight she collected a sleepy Natasha from Ruth’s chamber. Her sister was calm, almost her normal self. She had packed two bags with essentials, and hurried them on their way with a pinched face and dry eyes. Natasha was too befuddled with sleep to ask any awkward questions, and as Sara jostled her through the twilit corridors the girl seemed unaware of their newly acquired fugitive status. The air temperature slowly increased as they climbed to the surface until, like ants emerging from a nest, they found themselves under moonlight in the open air. It was a beautiful night, the stars airbrushed across the sky like a broken necklace. Natasha tilted her face upwards and smiled. “It’s nice outside,” she whispered.

  The vehicles were lined up in the shelter of the mound, their angular geometries silhouetted against the horizon as Sara squinted, tried to pick out the one most appropriate for their needs. Not too heavy. We’re in a hurry. A few minutes later she had settled on an open-topped four wheel drive with a robust set of fat, deep-treaded tyres.

  “Okay. Hop in,” she told Natasha. The girl sleepily obliged and immediately curled up on the passenger seat. The keys would be in the ignition, Ruth had assured her. No car thieves around here. Sara almost laughed aloud at the thought. The keys were not in the ignition. She opened her mouth to ask Natasha to look for a set on her side when they were bathed in a brilliant, blinding light. The voice that told them to step out of the jeep and stand with their hands above their heads belonged to the one man she feared more than God himself.

  Kadesh stepped into the searchlight’s exposing beam. His face showed a curious mixture of anger and disappointment. Sara put her arm around Natasha and waited for their fate to be decreed.

  Chapter 26

  Dracup stood just inside the threshold and shook his head in wonder. He removed his hat and allowed the cool, scented air to dry the sweat from his forehead. The place was enormous. It reminded him of an English cathedral, but without the clean lines favoured by mediaeval architecture. He angled his head to examine the distant roof, then returned his attention to the carved columns of reddish volcanic rock that served as gigantic, asymmetrical supports. The building was almost organic in structure, as if it had come into being not by premeditated plan or design but through some accidental quirk of geology – albeit enhanced by considerable skill. Dracup was speechless. It was as if he had stepped into Tolkien’s Mines of Moria, into a space that seemed timeless and set apart from the world.

  “So what do you think, eh, boss?” Bek prompted.

  Dracup frowned and stroked his beard. Something wasn’t right. “Think? I don’t know what to think, Bek.” He turned and looked at the boy. “How did you find it? It’s well hidden – there’d be no reason to deviate from the path –”

  “I told you. Bek knows stuff.”

  Dracup smiled. “Yes, I’m coming round to that idea. So – what else can you tell me?”

  “Come further in, boss, I know what you want.” Bek ran forward into the building and gesticulated impatiently.

  Dracup glanced behind him. The entrance was a reassuring rectangle of light, but his intuition would not be placated. The church possessed an ambience, a stillness that bordered on expectancy. Dracup murmured quietly to himself, his attention concentrated on the young guide. This feels different. Bek seems very keen...

  And then came the sound, a grinding, rolling noise of heavy weights coming together. The light diminished abruptly. Dracup, half prepared for the unexpected, didn’t bother to turn. The entrance had been sealed. Bek was standing to one side, inanimate, as if his sideshow had come to a premature but premeditated conclusion and there was nothing more for him to do. In the darkness, a torch flared. Dracup stood still. There was nothing to be gained by running. He was standing in the central space, the nave of the church. Further pinpricks of fire danced in the darkness until their collective light allowed Dracup to make out at least ten figures advancing towards him. He called over to Bek, alarmed by the boy’s transformation from extrovert guide to forlorn – and clearly frightened – teenager.

  “Anything you can tell me about this, Bek?” Dracup spoke kindly, hoping for a few final words of explanation. But Bek was curled into a knee-hugging ball, rocking backward and forward in the shadows. His shoulders heaved in syncopated jerks. Eventually Dracup was able to interpret the repetitive mantra: “I’m sorry, boss. He made me do it.”

  Dracup turned his attention from the sobbing boy to the procession. It was led by a tall figure in black. The man’s face was partially obscured by the traditional Ethiopian turban-like wrap, but his eyes were bright in the torchlight. As Dracup watched, the figure held up his hand and the procession came to an obedient halt. The man peeled his scarf away and opened his mouth in a wide, gleaming grin. Dracup wasn’t surprised. The runner from the Thames promenade had finally caught up with him.

  Dracup walked between two priests – he assumed they were priests – with the man in black leading the way. Towards the altar, Dracup thought. Not good. But as they reached the plain stone block the leader turned. He looked at Dracup for a moment, studying him with interest. His opening words were preceded by a smile of evident pleasure. “Professor Dracup, I shall show you what you have been looking for. It seems only fair. And I have a great sense of fairness, as do all you – British people.” He spoke in measured, educated tones and although there was a faint trace of accent it was hard to place. The nose was pure Arabic, his height – very unusual. Dracup had studied African tribes where the least in stature measured six and a half feet, but he had seen nothing outside the Guinness Book of Records to compare with this. His size lent the man an alien quality; there was something otherworldly about him. The voice went on confidently, as did Dracup’s linguistic analysis.

  “But I am being rude. I was speaking of fairness whilst all the time retaining an unfair advantage. My name is Mukannishum.” He bowed, his long body folding over at the waist like a hinged gantry. There was something in the vowel inflexion that rang a familiar bell. Where had he heard that same intonation? That odd flattening of vowels?

  The torchbearers had formed a circle with Dracup and Mukannishum a few metres apart in the centre. The altar was directly in front of them, and Dracup noticed that raised up on its surface was a curtained container of some sort – a tabernacle perhaps, not domed in the Catholic or High Church tradition, but broader and bigger. Mukannishum issued an order and one of the priests raised his torch, casting a clear orange light onto the altar. The material covering the tabernacle was pure white and the pictorial detail was of a great tree, its branches spreading over the fabric like a protective roof. The embroidered foliage portrayed a density of leaves and fruit through which slanted rays of brilliant sunshine. It was virtuoso art, so lifelike that Dracup could almost smell the fruit and feel the wind against his cheek.

  Mukannishum moved the curtain aside with a rapid, precise movement of his fingertips, destroying the illusion. Dracup blinked, suddenly disoriented. He heard a scurrying noise behind. Bek had shuffled up to watch. The boy’s face was grimed with dust and long tear tracks stained his cheeks. Dracup attempted to catch his eye, but he looked away and began to scuff the floor awkwardly with his feet.

  “Gaze upon it, Professor.” Mukannishum held an object aloft, the torchlight reflecting along familiar contours.

  Dracup felt a mixture of emotions. Here it was – the mirror image of his Scottish find: Omega. It was forged exactly like a half section
of the Lalibela cross, but the metalwork was covered with indented script. Cuneiform script. In the top left hand corner was a single mark: O He moved his hands slowly to his side. If he could just get one frame. Mukannishum was concentrating on the object, his face radiating satisfaction. The priests watched impassively. Dracup’s hand reached his trouser pocket. And it was empty. Empty. How could it be empty? He had checked the camera thirty minutes ago... before or after their last rest break? It must have slipped out. No camera. And little time. Dracup’s brain raced. If he could set up some distraction –

  “What is this place?” he asked Mukannishum.

  Mukannishum slotted the sceptre into a recess on the altar where it gleamed, reflecting the artificial light.

  “This place?” Mukannishum smiled. “It was built by one of the first men to come to Africa. His name was Ham.”

  Dracup felt a growing excitement in spite of his predicament. Noah’s sons: Shem, Ham and Japheth.

  Mukannishum went on. “And he brought with him a reminder of his roots, a signpost to ensure he would never forget where his kin had settled, so that they could be found – if need be – in times to come.”

  Dracup nodded. “The sceptre. Yes. Alpha and Omega – when brought together they complete the stanza that reveals the location of Ham’s brethren. His special brethren.” Dracup paused to gauge the reaction. “Ham, Shem and Japheth did what they were told, didn’t they? They moved away from the Ark and spread across the earth. But there was an elite band, a remnant of Noah’s family who were charged with the protection of something, sworn to the preservation of a treasure. And my grandfather found it – with the help of this ‘signpost’.”