The Dig

by Michael Siemsen

  Enzi caught his eye as he came out of the forest. Rheese gave a single nod of inquiry, then watched Enzi make a subtle gesture toward the RV. Damn! He speeded up his pace, rounding the excavation while doing his best to look composed. The door swung open in front of him, and out stepped the buxom Collette woman with the Turner brat in tow. Behind them, he could see Hank Felch rolling up more of his maps and replacing them in their bins.

  He glanced back at the pit, looking for Sharma, and there he was, of course, getting his hands dirty so he could feel like a real field scientist. And what about the dusky Amazon? She and Turner were seldom apart. Very soon he would have to find something else to occupy her interest. Entering the RV, he heard the toilet flush and realized that it had to be her. Felch turned toward him and gave him an accusing look. What’s on your mind, sheep-head? Rheese wanted to say, but instead he gave him a cordial sneer and looked casually at the maps still on the table. What the hell would he be looking at on that one?

  The door snapped open behind him, and Tuni came out, drying her hands. “Oh, hello, Mr. Rheese,” she said.

  “Hi, there,” he replied cheerily, seething behind his smile. Keep calling me “Mister,” cheeky little slag—soon you won’t be so perky.

  She walked out the door, leaving the two men alone.

  “So, Doctor Rheese,” said Hank, “I was noticing the circles you have on some of the satellite imagery—”

  “It’s lunchtime, lad,” Rheese interrupted. “Let’s discuss your fascinating observations later, shall we?”

  “Oh… well…” Hank hesitated and began to move one of the maps.

  “I’ll take care of putting those back in their proper bins, Mr. Felch—you needn’t bother, m’kay?”

  Hank sighed and handed Rheese the map. “Fine,” he said, “but we need to discuss something after.” And donning his leather-lined shades, he left Rheese alone in the RV.

  Discuss something—a line from Sharma’s book if ever there was one. They would do no such thing, of course, for soon there would be ample goings-on to distract them all.

  Rheese picked up the sat phone and punched in a number.

  Matt sat hunched over at the food tent, his chin resting on his gloved hands as he munched on peanuts. The dark bags under his eyes were growing. Gazing absently toward the pit, he saw the silhouettes of Hank and Peter chatting. The lowering sun hung just behind their heads.

  A girl’s voice behind him, “So… why are you here again?”

  Matt spun around and saw the American girl—Felicia, he thought he’d heard. She was cute, though the generally flirtatious type.

  “This and that,” Matt smiled.

  She squinted accusingly while still smirking. “Funny, I haven’t seen you do either. You just disappear into the RV and talk to Peter and that tall chick.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Are you and her… like, together?”

  “Often.”

  Felicia sighed and appeared flustered by him: clearly not something with which she was accustomed. She plopped down right next to him, a little too close for strangers or familiars.

  She looked him over. “What are you, twenty? Twenty-one?”

  The RV door swung open and Tuni stepped down. Matt watched her survey the site. Was she looking for him? Well, this is an interesting opportunity…

  He turned to face Felicia directly. Her face was only a few inches from his. “Twenty-five,” he replied. “You’re what, seventeen? Eighteen?”

  Obviously offended: “Twenty-two.” She looked him over. “So seriously, what do you do?”

  “I’m just looking over the artifacts. Offer theories, stuff like that.”

  “Okay, but what’s your field?”

  “Matthew?” Tuni was right on top of them.

  “Oh, hey,” he said. Her face didn’t reveal anything as he had hoped.

  “I was waiting for you,” she said, nodding pleasantly toward the RV. She turned to Felcia, “Mind if I steal him for a bit, dear?”

  Felicia wore a saccharin smile, “Not at all, dear.” She got up and walked off toward the pit.

  “She seems to like you,” Tuni said.

  Matt shrugged. Still nothing to read from Tuni. He wondered why he thought she would have cared. Deluding yourself, he thought. “I’m on break. Gotta get my head clear. Starting to not feel so good.”

  “Oh—I hadn’t realized… sorry if I’ve been pushing or anything…”

  Hand and Pete spotted them and made a beeline for the table.

  “Hey, Matt,” Peter said as they approached. He was even more animated than usual. “We’re getting a helicopter brought over tomorrow to map out a proposed site path. We’re going to start doing small sample sites in a broad line from here west. Radar units coming in the morning, along with some other cool stuff that will let us find underground anomalies without having to dig anything up.”

  “Yeah,” Hank added. “If this site is representative of their migration path, we might be able to find more artifacts along the way.”

  “Sounds great,” Matt replied. “Do you need me… you know, to do anything?”

  “Oh, no, not really,” Peter replied. “Just do as many sessions with the k’yot as you’re comfortable with, and keep track of any directional changes as they go. Oh, and uh…” Peter smiled apologetically. “I didn’t want you to think the chopper was for you.”

  “Got it… so, about that, when do you think would be a good time for me to go? By Saturday?”

  “Oh, yeah, Saturday, definitely! That’d be great if you stuck around that long—I really appreciate it.”

  They walked away, enthusiastically discussing their plans.

  Tuni said quietly, “Don’t feel pressured by him, either. He’s eager, but if you’re not feeling well…”

  “Thanks, no, it’s fine. I’ll be fine after a long break. Maybe after dinner.”

  “I was wondering about that—what if you were to eat something ghastly and rotten and then do a session? Would you still vomit?”

  “This is the kind of stuff you think about?”

  “It’s a serious question, Matthew.”

  “Yeah, I would probably puke my guts and drown in it. It would be a horrendous tragedy.”

  They turned to the table as Wekesa slid stainless steel bowls of unknown foodstuff in front of them.

  “Speaking of… ,” Tuni murmured.

  “Absolutely!” Rheese answered when Matt and Tuni asked for the artifact from the safe. He squeezed his cigar into the ashtray by his folding chair and popped up on his feet.

  Tuni and Matt exchanged a skeptical look as he opened the door and bounced up the steps into the RV. He pulled the artifact from the safe and placed it on the empty table.

  “Enjoy,” he said, and went back outside, whistling.

  “He seems a little too happy,” Matt whispered.

  “He’s faking it, dear. I bet you Peter gave him a stern talking-to after the episode with Hank.”

  Matt sat down and pulled the timer from his pocket. “What do you think?” he asked. “An hour?”

  “You said you were feeling ill…”

  “Oh that passed quick. It’s really annoying doing short sessions now. It used to be, I’d only get the good stuff, so to speak, but with them, they have to leave the k’yot on the floor for there to be a gap—you know, the dark space. He’s always wearing it, though not in his sleep yet, thank God. It’d be hours of dreams, I’m sure.”

  “Well, I’ll be here for the next hour, then, dear.”

  He frowned. “You have to stop that,” he said. “Not with me, okay?”

  “Stop what?” she said, obviously puzzled.

  “The ‘dear’ thing. I’m sorry… It’s just that it’ll keep bothering me until it means something.”

  Her face changed and she put her hands in her lap, looking at him for a moment before saying quietly, “Okay. Sorry.”

  34

  MATT’S SENSES RETURNED TO HIM QUICKLY as he felt
his shoulder being shaken. He heard garbled yelling. He hadn’t felt the timer’s buzz, but Irin had more than likely gone through an hour of walking around caves and talking to people. It had been utterly uneventful, and he was ready for the hour to be up. He realized that the k’yot was no longer under his hands and that it was Tuni’s voice yelling at him for “missing it.” But, missing what? Her face came into focus, and her expression was very different from the one she had worn when he went under.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Say it again—I didn’t quite catch what you were saying.”

  “Hank is missing!”

  “What? Where… he was just…” He paused, realizing he had no idea where Hank just was, because he had been unconscious for the past fifty-four minutes. He pulled off his timer and slid his hands into his gloves as Tuni stood over him, looking out the blinds. Outside, Matt could see flashlight beams bouncing about and could hear people yelling, “Hank!”

  The door swung violently open, and Rheese appeared, with Peter right behind him. Peter looked frantic, but Rheese exuded only anger.

  “God damn it!” Rheese barked as he picked up the sat phone and began pushing buttons. “This is what happens when you treat a bloody jungle like a summer camp! Bloody nature walks in the dark…”

  “Who are you calling first, Rheese?” Peter said as he riffled frantically through his notebook. “I think we should call the American embassy—that’s his embassy.”

  “Waste of bloody time, Sharma! You think they’re going to care about someone who’s missing for an hour? They have no idea what that amount of time means out here in the jungle. Besides, they don’t have searching resources themselves—we have to go right to the source.”

  “And who is that?” Peter asked.

  “Law enforcement, lad—the bloody law enforcement. They’ll be far more responsive to an American missing in their country than the Americans themselves. They’ll also understand that an hour’s no joke out here. We need dogs; we need choppers… hello? Hello! We have an emergency here! English—need English, not bloody Swahili!” He listened on the line for a moment, shaking his head, then glanced at Tuni. “You speak their damned jabber, don’t you?”

  She nodded and took the phone.

  “Hebu?” She began. “Habari za jioni… jina langu ni Tuni Saint James… ndiyo… ndiyo. Samahani, kuna mtu anayesema Kiingereza? Ndiyo…” She turned back to Rheese. “She’s getting someone who speaks English for us. She’s just the cleaning lady.”

  He took the phone back from her and gave her an almost polite nod of thanks.

  “Hello? Hello, yes, English. Yes, I am English, too. We have an emergency out here. We are scientists… yes… researchers. We are in the forest and we have an American citizen missing out there. Yes, American… Ah, a couple of hours ago, but he is not answering our shouts. Yes… yes… I have GPS coordinates I will give you. Okay, we’ll do that, but we need dogs out here, too, and spotlights… You have helicopters, yes?” He cupped the receiver and turned his head to Peter. “They said to turn on any lights we have so he can see us from afar. It’s a good idea—can you tell Enzi to raise the floods as high as they go?”

  Peter nodded and dashed outside as Rheese stayed on the phone, describing the location and Hank’s physical description. When he was off the phone, he told Matt and Tuni, “Go outside and bang on the equipment trailer with a wrench or something else metal. People shouting gets lost quickly in the woods, but a loud clang like that resonates—he could follow it back to the site if he hears it.”

  They ran out into the night and headed to the trailer to find something to bang on. Through the tree line, they could see flashlights and hear the team shouting “Hank!” from all sides. Near the trailer they found Felicia, pacing back and forth and sobbing.

  “He was right behind me… ,” she wailed.

  Matt found what he was looking for: a four-foot length of steel pipe and a heavy adjustable wrench. He handed the pipe to Tuni, and they began banging away on the sheet metal wall of the trailer.

  Felicia turned to them. “What are you doing?” she cried, “That man is out there somewhere! He could be hurt!” She ran to Matt. He recoiled, but not fast enough, as her arms flew open and wrapped around his neck in a desperate embrace.

  He collapsed and slid to the ground.

  I am Felicia McWharter. I am twenty years old, from Anaheim, California. I’m anxious and spinning around. Trees surround me. My flashlight beam plays across the wall of trees.… “Omigod where’s that Hank guy?”

  Matt blinked and saw the faces above him. Felicia was crying harder than ever. He sat up with Tuni’s help as Felicia cried out, “What’s wrong with me!”

  Matt brushed the dirt from his hair and tried to tell her it was okay, that she didn’t do anything wrong. Her jacket had touched his neck, but he wasn’t about to explain what had happened. She wasn’t hearing anything, so he just found the metal pipe, stood up, and began banging on the trailer again. Felicia screamed and covered her ears.

  “Felicia,” said Tuni, grabbing her arm forcefully, “why don’t you go try to calm down at the food tent?” Felicia stared at her for a second, holding her ears, pigtails bobbing as she nodded. “Go, honey, go,” nudging her in the direction of the food tent and watching her shuffle away.

  Peter and Enzi were cranking away at the floodlight tower, raising it above the low canopy of trees. Tuni rushed over to them.

  “Peter,” she said, “isn’t there a risk of someone else getting lost out there while they look for him? We should get everyone back and pair people up together. Perhaps have everyone search for a time, maybe ten minutes, and then come back to check in?”

  He nodded, despair written on his face.

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea… um… Crap! How do we get them all back?”

  They pondered this for a moment, and then Peter shouted out to the bobbing flashlight beams nearby, “Hey! Everybody! Everyone come back to the site to meet! Pass it on!”

  Ten minutes later, most of the team stood at the food tent. Rheese was inside the RV, calling more government agencies, while Enzi banged on the trailer with the pipe every twenty seconds or so. Peter took a head count—all present but Hank. Assigning the searchers to groups of three, Peter instructed them not to separate for any reason. They were to walk out from the site in as straight a line as possible for ten minutes, turn right and walk for two minutes, then walk back to the site.

  Rheese stormed out of the trailer and stomped to the tent, swearing all the way. “Goddamn bureaucratic bollix!” he snarled.

  “What’s the deal, Doctor?” Peter asked.

  “Well, we supposedly have two helicopters on their way, but get this: only one has a searchlight. Backwater idiots. There is also a truck full of Defense Forces troops with bloodhounds on the way, but it won’t be here for four bloody hours.”

  The teams had gone out and come back twice, not only calling out for Hank, but also searching the forest floor for a body.

  The helicopters had arrived, and the one with the searchlight blared from a loudspeaker to get everyone back to the site while they searched. From the food tent, they all watched as the choppers flew in straight lines, back and forth, until it seemed that the whole area had been covered. In the distance, the gathered team could hear them still calling from their speaker, “Move to a clearing and wave your arms.” The choppers had flown much farther than the searchers on the ground had been able to walk, and everyone tried to keep up hopes of finding him before the dogs arrived. If it did come to that, no one wanted to think about what the dogs might find.

  A little after three a.m., the police arrived in two unmarked SUVs, a crime scene van, and a small patrol Jeep, while the soldiers, who had arrived with their dogs, combed the woods. Their dogs had gone straight to the buried elephant remains and had to be taken some distance away before they began sniffing for anything else

  The policemen moved recklessly over the site, tripping over gridlines, tossing gear from tents
, and treating the three Kenyans—Enzi, Wekesa, and Zuberi—rudely and accusingly. By five a.m., they had spoken to most of the team. Rheese and Peter had explained several times why there was a decaying elephant in the woods, but the detectives could reach no one at the Interior Ministry to verify their statements. The stress on everyone present mounted as it became clear that Hank’s disappearance was being treated as a crime.

  The policeman in charge, a Detective Chitundu, sat in the RV with Rheese, Peter, Matt, and Tuni. He rubbed at his large, round head as if it ached. He had large bags under his eyes, and when he opened them they were droopy and red-rimmed, much like those of the hounds that the soldiers had brought.

  “You surprise me, all of you,” he said in a slow, deep baritone. “Your friend is missing, and you first look for him for an entire hour before calling anyone. Why would that be?”

  “As we said, Detective,” Peter explained yet again, “we’re all field researchers. Most of us are used to environments like this. We didn’t get concerned until after a half hour; then we grew more concerned when everyone came back in and said they couldn’t find him anywhere.” The others nodded agreement.

  “Of course,” Chitundu laughed. “You thought he had been eaten by a snake.” More laughter. Then all the merriment left his voice. “You know what concerns me?” he said, fixing each of them in turn with those droopy, doleful eyes. “It concerns me… that someone has made a mistake.” Again, he regarded each of them. “You know what that mistake was? It’s so simple, ha-ha-ha. I can see how you forget this.”

  Everyone just stared at him in confusion. Matt and Tuni thought he was doing typical cop tricks from TV crime shows, watching to see who got nervous at suggestion that their plot had holes.

  He slapped his hand down flat on the table. “Everyone say Mr. Felch had a flashlight!”

  His weary eyes moved over their faces as if he had just found the smoking gun that each of them had fired. When they did not respond as he had expected, his eyebrows rose, creating three gleaming black cigars in his forehead.