“Okay, so when was that?” Matt answered, annoyed at Meier’s smug tone.
“Nine thousand years ago. Simple pottery before that; the oldest fired-clay pots we know of are from fourteen thousand years ago. That would be about the extent of human technology anywhere in the world.”
“And the potassium thing said it was more than a hundred and fifty million years old?”
“Well, they couldn’t actually date the fabric itself. The estimation is based upon the minerals it was embedded in.”
Matt’s skepticism set in. Anyone could say they found a hammer buried with a Stegosaurus. But, he supposed, these researchers like Pete Sharma wouldn’t be pursuing this if it were that easily dismissed.
“Okay, so if I were to believe that it was as old as the stuff it was found in… that’d be saying what? That humans were more advanced at a way earlier date than everyone has believed so far?”
“Well, Matthew, there’s a rather important fact that you’re missing here.”
There was that smugness again. This call would be ending soon.
“What’s that, Doctor?” Matt said with a yawn.
“That the earliest humans—and we’re talking really primitive and not that bright—didn’t exist on earth until only a couple million years ago. You recall your work with Lucy?”
Matt remembered the tiny lump of bone they had handed him. As usual, he had been able to “experience” only the scientists who had discovered it. He had never been able to pick up emotional imprints from people or their remains. But from what he recalled, they had said it was three million years old. So the fabric in this photo was from, say, a hundred and forty-eight million years—give or take a week or two—before the oldest known human ancestor?
“So this is from aliens then, you’re saying.”
“We have no idea, Matthew. But it would be pretty interesting to find out, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, I suppose it would. All right, I’m interested enough. Go ahead and ship it to me, and I’ll have a go at it when I’ve got a chance.”
“Obviously, there are some pretty important people for whom this item’s security and protection are of great importance. It cannot be moved from its present location.”
“Okay, so you’re asking me to fly to New York? London? I’m about to go to Tahiti, so maybe I’ll stop by on my way back.” Matt’s call-waiting tone bleeped in his ear. He pulled the phone away to see who was calling—it was blocked. “Look, Doctor, I have another call I need to take.”
“Matthew, this might be the most important discovery in the history of mankind.”
“Okay… well, then have you considered that maybe it’s too high-profile? Since you brought it up, you remember what happened when you had a seventeen-year-old brought in to examine that Lucy skeleton? We obviously couldn’t talk about what I might have to offer in the investigation, so it not only made the museum look stupid, it also put way too much attention on me. I’m not interested in being tested, mocked, talked about on the news, or called for interviews. Let everyone’s imaginations run wild with this thing. It’s probably a piece of some knight from the Crusades’ chain mail that fell in a crack. A few earthquakes later, there you go—he was hunting T. rex.”
Silence on the other end of the phone—obviously, Meier was having a word with the someone again. Then he returned. “This is quite humorous, Matthew. I… uh… I don’t think you could realize just… hah! Well, it really just reemphasizes how much we need you on this.”
“What exactly is so festive, Dr. Meier?” Matt moved his thumb over to the end button on his phone’s screen.
“Well, it’s just… that there have been some key scientists all over this mystery since its discovery, and, well, you pretty much just stated—actually, exactly stated—the best theory they could come up with to date. Right down to the source era of the Crusades. Quite impressive, despite the flippant manner in which it was expressed. And off the top of your head, too—hah!”
Matt had the sneaking feeling his ego was being stroked, but what the hell—it was working; he did feel rather impressed with himself.
“I’ll tell you what, Doctor, I need to check this voice mail, but I’ll think about it and call you back. But listen, nothing’s changed with the rules about me, yeah? No one knows anything unless I approve.”
“Yes, of course, Matthew. Now don’t wait too long getting back to me…”
Matt hung up and took a deep breath. It may have waited 150 million years—what was another few weeks?
He checked his voice mail and listened to the message from FedEx. Apparently, they were trying to deliver a package to him, but the street name they had was Jasper Avenue instead of Kaspar Avenue. He called to sort it out.
By the time he was finished with his deliveries and some cleanup, Matt had stopped thinking about Meier’s photos. He was back to his vacation plans and the prickly task of finding a suitable guest to join him.
6
GARRETT RHEESE AWOKE TO AN INSISTENT tapping on his trailer door. How long had they been knocking? His workers wouldn’t dare—not even Enzi. What time was it? The light outside suggested a little past sunrise.
The tapping grew more insistent, and an unfamiliar voice called his name.
“… we need to speak with you.”
Kenyan accent, speaking impeccable English.
“Just a moment,” he replied as he stood up unsteadily and shucked on a pair of khakis. Sneaking a peak through the blinds, he could see a gray government SUV and three men poking around. One was clearly the driver; another wore a plain black suit but with epaulettes on the shoulders, apparently with bars of rank. Military? The third man, also in a suit, carried a large belly, several chins, and a shiny black walking cane. He must have been the door rapper.
Rheese had had to report the find to the Ministry of the Interior, in accordance with the terms of his license to excavate in-country, but there had been little fanfare in response. They had requested a daunting stack of paperwork, including the standard no-export agreement to ensure that they not lose any treasures from the national patrimony. But what was this visit about? A change of heart on the value of the find, clearly. Perhaps they wanted to seize the artifact and conduct their own incompetent research.
Rheese finished tying his boots and slid his pith helmet over his head. About to turn the door latch, he had a thought and went to his safe. Suddenly, the overwhelming interest of others had changed his perception of the artifact’s value. He turned the key, locking the safe, withdrew the key from the lock, and searched for a suitable hiding place. Not on his person—they would check. Indeed, if they really wanted it, they would tear this trailer apart from top to bottom. There was only one place they wouldn’t want to look.
The loo.
The key disappeared into the dark blue liquid and clinked onto the metal bowl. After a quiet flush, Rheese pocketed a stack of American hundred-dollar bills from his briefcase, then swung open the door to greet the men with feigned delight.
“Lovely morning, good sirs. How may I be of assistance?”
The fat fellow with the cane spoke first.
“Dr. Rheese, good morning to you. I am Kenneth Odumbe, and this is Ohun Modi from the Ministry of the Interior. We have come to—”
Rheese cut him off. “Yes, yes, of course, gentlemen. We all have our grandchildren and our gray hairs. Let us not have this carry on until they are in college and the hair is all gone.” He lifted the pith helmet to reveal his glistening pink pate, and retrieved the sheaf of bills from his pocket. He shook hands with Mr. Odumbe, then with Mr. Modi, leaving a folded stack of bills in each eager palm. He glanced at the driver, who appeared to feel left out, and shook his gloved hand as well, giving him a single hundred. Stepping away, he smiled at them but then noted something off in their expressions. The well-nourished Mr. Odumbe was holding the cash as if it contained something foul-smelling. Rheese then looked at the ministry man, who looked equally confused but was counting the bill
s nonetheless.
“Very well, then,” said Rheese with a chipper smile. “I’ll just be returning to my business and you good gentlemen can find your way.”
Kenneth Odumbe’s face turned serious; his hand still held the apparently revolting cash almost at arm’s length. A bribe wasted? Rheese wondered.
“Dr. Rheese, I think there has been a misunderstanding. We did not come to collect money from you, though the gift is certainly appreciated.” Into the pocket it went, and Minister Modi followed suit. “We have come to investigate the preservation breach.”
“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Rheese replied.
“Bombo over there, Doctor. He was apparently startled from the Masai-Mara Game Reservation, several kilometers from here, and we are to examine the carcass to rule out wrongdoing. After which we will order the cleanup crew to recover the remains.”
“The elephant! Of course.” Garrett, you buffoon! he thought. “It’s right over there, gentlemen.”
“Yes, sir.” Ohun Modi opened a folder and clicked a ballpoint pen to write notes. “We can see that. Did the animal come into contact with you or any of your men prior to the fall?”
“Oh, no, not at all. The bloody thing came crashing through the trees over there and fell straight into the pit. All quite tragic, I thought.”
“So no interaction at all, then, Doctor?” Modi clarified.
“None—that is, not until after it was already at the bottom there, thrashing about.”
“Oh, and what interaction took place at that time?” The fat one glanced back at the carcass, then took a step toward Rheese.
“Well, the thing was clearly in agony, and so we did the only decent thing! I had my site foreman, Enzi, put it out of its misery.” Don’t say that! Garrett, you blithering git, why did you say that?
Both men stepped toward him now with shocked expressions.
“You did what?” asked Modi, incredulous.
“Well, Enzi… the site supervisor… see, we keep a shotgun for the beasties…” He gulped. “Not the elephantine beasties, you understand, but the others. And, well, he went over to it and gave it a clean one to the head. It was at peace after that. We had a quiet moment and said a prayer for its soul.”
Silence replaced his lies as the two officials communicated with each other using their eyes and then began to walk toward the lift. Where was bloody Enzi when he needed him? He would have been so easy to throw under the bus, and he was the one who pulled the trigger anyway!
“Can you operate this crane device to get us down there?” asked Modi.
“Of course, of course. Just step right on and slide that little gate closed. Safety first on our site here… that’s the thing, safety at all times.”
The driver remained behind Dr. Rheese as he lowered them into the pit. He appeared to be looking over Rheese’s shoulder to see how the lift was controlled. No trust. What was he going to do—leave them down there to starve with nothing but a cask of amontillado?
Rheese made his best effort to appear unconcerned as the men examined the dead elephant. He watched from the corner of his eye as the Modi bloke appeared to be estimating the angle of the shotgun blast. The professor wondered if the creature had begun to smell just yet. How long had it lain there? Certainly no more than eight hours. It couldn’t be in too bad a shape—other than the broken neck, mashed-up face, and brains blown to aspic. Rheese withheld a chuckle as he paced and puffed at a cheap cigar.
As the lift surfaced again ten minutes later, Modi started right in. “So you say the animal was shot after it had already fallen?”
“That is correct, sir. And my foreman, Enzi, can tell you all about it upon his return.”
“And where is this Enzi fellow now?”
“Well, I’m not exactly sure about that. It’s likely he is traveling back from our base camp with some men to—”
“To assist with removal of the evidence? If this creature was shot after it fell, tell me, sir, how was it shot from below? The blast appears to travel in an upward angle through the base of the trunk. A shot such as this would come from a man standing in front of an upright elephant.”
A vehicle could be heard rattling up the dirt road, and soon the Jeep appeared with Enzi behind the wheel. With him sat four others.
Impeccable timing, Enzi. “Ah, here now, gentlemen. This is my foreman, Enzi. He’ll be able to answer all your applicable questions.”
Enzi parked the Jeep, and all the men jumped out, anxious to see the enormous carcass. Enzi, wearing a solemn expression, walked straight to Rheese and the investigators. “You from the Ministry, yes? I call as soon as I reach telephone this morning.”
Odumbe raised a thick eyebrow. “You placed the call this morning?”
“Oh, yes, sah. Enzi Wata—I am the site foreman.” He reached out his hand. After the handshakes, Modi and Odumbe walked Enzi to their SUV and began to question him out of Rheese’s earshot.
Rheese walked to the other four men standing at the ledge and attempted to instruct them to clear the loose mud away from the new slope created by the toppling elephant. At first they stood there looking doubtfully at him while he mimed and pointed, but then one of them appeared to grasp his meaning and then explained in Swahili what the mkundu had said. They all rushed off to comply, grabbing shovels along the way. Rheese turned back toward the SUV and saw the two government men and Enzi chuckling among themselves while the driver poked around outside the equipment trailer. A few friendly good-byes later, Enzi came strolling over to Rheese with a smile.
“All taken care of, Professor. They send cleanup people soon.”
“What exactly did you tell them?” Rheese asked with an unconvincing smile as he watched the departing SUV over Enzi’s shoulder.
“I tell them what happen. How it crash through trees, fall into excavation, and I shoot with shotgun.”
“And they were pleased with that, eh?”
“Pleased, sah? I think not so pleased, but Mister Modi write down notes and they say cleanup people coming soon.”
“Right. Good, good, Enzi. So, the laughing at the end there—what was that about?”
“Laughing, Professor?” Enzi’s face morphed to frank innocence.
“Never mind. So I told these men to secure that slope, to be sure nothing more falls down on top of the creature.” He glanced back at the elephant. “They say anything about clearing the debris for their cleanup gang?”
“No, sah, they say we not touch animal or the mess around. They clean up everything.”
Rheese began to walk back to his trailer and then remembered. “Blast it!” he shouted as he stomped the drying mud.
Enzi turned and asked the problem.
“When those men are done over there, I need them to empty my septic tank. But they are not to throw away anything.”
He received a blank stare in return.
“I accidentally dropped a bloody key in the loo!”
Enzi nodded, understanding.
Behind Dr. Rheese’s trailer, the two lowest-ranking men, who had drawn the septic tank duty, had placed the end of the hose into a garbage bag and zip-tied the top of the bag around the hose. They had agreed this was the safest way to proceed without “losing anything.” Unfortunately, the first trash bag had burst, and the rest of their work had to take place amid a large puddle of lumpy blue liquid.
When the tank was empty, the men stood behind Enzi, who asked on their behalf if they might enter the trailer to search for the key from the inside hatch.
After a glance at their soiled boots and pant legs, Rheese said, “You must be bloody daft. Show me the hatch—I’ll check it myself.”
Enzi lifted the small panel beside the base of the toilet and moved aside for Dr. Rheese to slip in, gloves and flashlight at the ready. He tried to hold his breath but caught a nasty snort before he could turn his head. He sucked in another breath, through the mouth this time, and tucked his head and the light into the small opening.
And there the bugg
er was!
It was just within reach, beside the drain plug. Key in hand, he stood up in triumph, then held it under the faucet, washing it well with hand soap.
“Please drop these in the outside bin, if you don’t mind,” he said.
Enzi accepted the latex gloves and let the trailer door swing shut behind him.
7
DR. JON MEIER HUNG UP HIS desk phone after leaving the fourth message for Matthew Turner in as many days. The man was clearly ignoring him. Peter Sharma, meanwhile, had not been as patient with his calls, which now averaged five a day. Dr. Meier considered telling him it was a lost cause. Turner was a millionaire now and too selfish to consider the big picture around the Kenya discovery. If opening the doors to an entirely unknown past weren’t inspiration enough, what did anyone have to offer him?
He knew the exact moment when he had blown any chance of getting Matthew onboard, and now chastised himself for the slip. It was the first voice mail he had left him after their initial conversation. Meier hadn’t realized he had thus far omitted the part about actually traveling to the forests of Kenya. It occurred to him later that day that his cheerful close of “Kenya awaits!” may not have been the best idea.
Meier’s computer speakers emitted the familiar tone, and he switched back to his in-box. Pete was asking what it would take to have “the expert” on-site in Kenya in two days. Meier typed his honest assessment: “Another $10 million.” He deleted that and searched his office for an idea. Another ten…
“That’s it!” He said aloud. He just needed to get Turner another ten million dollars!
He dialed the extension.
“Yes, Doctor Meier?” George answered.
“I need you in my office in five minutes, and bring Hank Felch with you.”
“All right, but, um… Hank is setting up the exhibition for this afternoon’s—”
“Four minutes, fifty seconds, George.”
Hank Felch cursed to himself as he tried to wipe the dust off the old animatronic Stegosaurus. Whoever had painted it last had left the original texturizer layer instead of resurfacing the whole thing. Laziness, pure and simple. Now, as he tried to clean it, little bits fell off, leaving obvious unpainted speckles. Great! he thought. People would be strolling through here in just a few hours, and they had a dino who appeared to have suffered horrible acne in its adolescence. Not to mention the scale was completely off. Probably someone’s bright idea to save space for the installation.
The Dig Page 4