Jake hastily formulated a plan and turned to his right, making a wide circle away from the capsule and approaching it from the opposite side. The whirring sand kept him from view until he reached a large sand drift that had formed against the heat shield of the craft. As he huddled behind it, he could see the woman clearly. Though difficult to determine with any certainty, she appeared to be Asian. Her knees were pulled against her and she was shaking.
Brandishing his friendliest smile, Jake stepped into view. Immediately, her frightened eyes caught sight of him, and she hurriedly glanced right and left for a means of escape. Jake held up his hand.
“It’s OK,” he spoke in a calming voice as he squatted a short distance from her. “I’m not one of the bad guys. Do you speak English?”
The girl slid closer to the craft as Jake riffled through his limited Mongolian vocabulary with no success.
“Russian?” he asked in the second most spoken language in Mongolia. “Do you speak Russian?”
The girl still gave no response.
“I’m Jake Evers,” he pointed to himself, removing his hat. “I’m guessing you’re in some trouble. I saw that your jeep had been sabotaged.”
Her eyes were wide with fear as she stared up at him.
Wiping the sand from the corners of his eyes, he paused for a moment to consider how to proceed. It also entered his mind that her fears should probably be his own. Since she was obviously hiding, someone was looking for her.
“I want to help you,” he offered in broken Russian. “Do you understand a single word…”
Jake was suddenly cut off by the undeniable sound of a gunshot somewhere within the canyon. The girl jumped up and was about to bolt when Jake caught her.
“Wait,” he said with a restraining grip on her shoulders. “Stay with me. I will get you safely out of here. You have to trust me.”
The girl looked at him with flowing tears that cut channels through the sand and grit that encrusted her face. Her form was delicate and her dark eyes were beautiful.
“Trust me,” he said again.
She offered no more resistance.
“Now,” he spoke softly, trying to maintain the comforting facade, “let’s see if we can find anything in here that might help us.”
Jake leaned over the open hatch of the capsule and suddenly came face to face with the yellowish skull of a long decomposed occupant of the craft.
“Ugh….,” he made a startled sound and looked back at the girl. He shrugged as an awkward smile crossed his face.
Inside the hatch once more, he pressed against the dead man’s clothes to see if he had been carrying a weapon. Finding nothing, he looked behind the ejection seat and discovered a flat aluminum case hanging from a wide strip of Velcro. The white polymer grips of a knife or short machete protruded from one end. After removing it from its sheath, he held it in his hand and examined the serrated blade.
“Survival knife,” he thought aloud. “A Colt .45 would have been better, but if it’s all you have….” He climbed down and took the girl by the hand. “Time to go.”
On the windward side of the spacecraft, the whir of sand nearly knocked them to the ground. Jake recovered his footing just in time to see two men rapidly ascending the rise from the canyon floor. Also caught off guard, the one in the lead could not react in time to draw the rifle he had slung over his shoulder. Jake gripped the girl’s hand tighter and pulled her over the ledge behind him. When they struck the soft sandbank below, they tumbled but quickly regained their footing and sprinted down the hill. Jake who was no stranger to exercise noticed that his companion was equally swift on her feet.
Ahead of them, Jake observed a craggy precipice that would hopefully allow them to hide until they could decide what to do next. When they reached the overhang, he looked up and saw that the cliff wall was nearly vertical for the first twenty feet. It would not be an easy climb without proper equipment.
Jake gripped the bottom of his t-shirt and tore off the bottom portion which he then ripped in pieces to protect their hands. Taking the girl’s hands, he quickly wrapped her palms and then motioned up. She immediately understood, and they began the hard climb. When they reached the top, Jake removed the binoculars from the cargo pocket of his pants and peered back at the crash site. Visibility had not changed, but through breaks in the gusts he could make out the forms of at least three men, all carrying weapons.
“Do you see them?” the girl spoke in a weak voice.
Jake snapped around and looked at her. “You speak English,” he said with surprise, “and with almost no accent. Russian?”
The girl nodded. “My grandmother was an English teacher for over thirty years. She taught me well.”
“Then why didn’t you…” he started to voice his frustration but stopped. “Are there others traveling with you?”
“I had a local guide. When we heard the helicopter land and saw the men carrying guns, he told me to stay with the capsule while he went back to our jeep to get a radio. He was going to call for help. Do you think the gunshot we heard….?”
“I think you have some powerful enemies,” Jake replied. “Do you have any idea who these people are?”
“I don’t have a clue,” she shrugged.
BOOM!! A thunderous explosion sounded from the far end of the canyon. It was followed by a reverberation shaking the rocks around them and causing tiny bits of sand and gravel to fall across their backs. Jake determined that the sound had originated from the side of the cliffs where he had parked his UAZ.
“What was that?” the girl cried.
“Our way out of here,” he said flatly. “They don’t intend on us leaving.”
“What do we do?”
Jake’s attention was suddenly drawn to movement below them. He pushed the girl down and lay beside her.
“You there!” came the forceful call in Russian. A tall, broad shouldered man was standing at the edge of the sand with his hands cupped around his mouth. “We do not wish to harm you.”
“Said the spider to the fly,” Jake mumbled. He could see through a crack in the rocks that the group was moving their way.
“I don’t see a way out of this!” the girl gasped.
Jake’s thoughts raced quickly as he scanned the cliffs in both directions. They were roughly in the center of the boxed end of the canyon, and the ledge that they had climbed gradually tapered down the left adjacent wall until it reached the floor below. The ledge to the right continued into the higher canyons, an area he had superficially explored on his earlier scouting trip.
“I want you to stay put for now,” he instructed. “I think I can draw them away if I can make it around the northern rim. When you’re sure they’ve taken the bait, go as quickly as you can in the opposite direction and hide. There are deep cuts in the rock at the higher reaches of the mesa. Little chance of them finding you there, especially not in this storm.”
“But what about you?”
“Don’t worry,” Jake replied. “Just pray for me.”
The young woman began to cry and Jake put his arm around her, giving her a gentle squeeze. “What’s your name by the way?”
“Katrina,” she replied. “But I go by Katie.”
“Beautiful name. How about dinner when all this is over?”
His attempt to ease her fears made her smile. “OK.”
“One more thing,” he reached into his daypack and removed a satellite phone. “Take this. It won’t work in this storm, but press redial when you’re in the clear and you should get my partner Murray. Tell him where you are and ask him to send help.” Jake paused for a moment and looked at her. His heart was racing, though most of his concern was for her. “You’ll be all right.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a hesitant nod. “I don’t know how to—”
“You just take care,” he said quickly, gently brushing away a tear that ran down her cheek. “I’m looking forward to that date.”
Without another word, Jake turned an
d quickly disappeared into the blur of sand. He hoped it would leave him just visible enough to trace without presenting an easy target. Katie turned to the right and moved with equal speed in the direction that he had instructed.
Carefully working his way around the ledge, he covered the distance to the opposite side in less time than he’d expected. His planned escape had not gone unnoticed. Though his view of the men was obscured, he could see that they were tracking his path from below. He looked down at the survival knife in his hand and swung it in the air a couple of times to get a feel for its balance. The whole scene felt surreal, like some old war movie he had watched on late night cable. It was impossible for him to comprehend what he was about to do, and he suddenly became aware that his heart was pounding from the flow of adrenaline.
“Help me, Father,” he breathed as he sprinted blindly ahead.
The terrain at the far end of the canyon wall changed dramatically, and the slope became more gradual. Unfortunately his projected path had not escaped the notice of his pursuers. Before he realized it, a squat man brandishing an AK-47 was standing directly in front of him while one of his partners stood behind him.
Thump, Thump, Thump! The Russian fired a burst as Jake dove behind a fallen slab of rock. He quickly rolled back to his feet and scrambled over the top of the boulder. Without hesitation, he leapt down on the attacker and swung the machete with determination against the man’s firing arm. Screaming in pain, his assailant dropped the rifle and gripped the wound with his other hand. Jake instantly retrieved the weapon, swung it toward the second attacker, and pulled the trigger. Two shots went wide from the powerful recoil, but a third struck the man in the knee. As the second attacker fell to the ground, he fired his weapon, grazing Jake across his left thigh. The force of the bullet ripped the cargo pocket from his pants and made a deep cut as it blazed across the muscle. Jake cried out from the searing pain and braced himself against the rocks. He felt the sensation of warm liquid slowly flowing down his leg into his boot.
Like a frightened wounded animal, he darted beyond the entrance to the canyon and into the open desert. Falling intermittently between awkward sprints, he stumbled blindly into the raging torrent of the storm. The reverberating sound of machine gun fire from an unseen third attacker was almost deafening until it was gradually muffled by the wind and blowing sand. When he reached the base of the first dune, he dropped to his hands and knees and scrambled up like a crab about to be swept away by the outgoing surf. Then, in an attempt to deceive his pursuer, he made a sudden turn to the right which would take him closer to the site where he had parked the UAZ. Unarmed and wounded, no one would expect him to double back.
The wind continued relentlessly, and he shielded his eyes from the bits of gravel that pelted his face. But this time the storm was a welcomed friend, hiding him within its grasp. His only concern was for Katie.
When he was several minutes into his wide circle around the canyon, he stopped to regain his bearings. Out of breath, he struggled to collect his thoughts when suddenly the darkness of the storm surrounding him seemed to take on a cavernous quality, dark and cold. The wind and whirring sand that had stung his skin for what seemed like ages now merely produced a numbing tingle, and he found it difficult to concentrate. Without warning, the loss of blood mixed with the downside of an adrenaline rush had overtaken him. Jake struggled through a few more steps and fell face first to the ground. He helplessly watched as the last hint of sunlight faded from the storm swept desert.
So this is how it ends, he thought as the darkness pulled him under.
2
Russell Dawkins stepped from a cab on Central Park West and paid the driver the metered fare, rounding the tip to the nearest dollar. He was dressed in the stylishly rumpled clothes of an academic adventurer. The dark haired young man slung his leather backpack over one shoulder and turned toward a large columned building across the street. Already late for his meeting due to an unexpected delay in customs, he zigzagged quickly through the cars in the two opposing lanes.
The New York Natural History Museum was a well-recognized landmark within the city, especially to residents. Dawkins had loved the museum since his childhood, growing up in Manhattan where fieldtrips were an annual event. Pausing for a moment before climbing the marble steps that led into President’s Hall, he reflected on his life’s passion—paleontology. The wondrous exhibits within this building had been a huge part of that decision. It was good to finally be back in New York.
The usual late afternoon crowd was beginning to thin as the 5:45 closing time approached. When he crossed to the central elevators located in front of the North American Mammals exhibit, Dawkins briefly noted the mix of remaining visitors, mostly families with young children crowded into the main gift shop. As he exited on the fourth floor, he almost collided with a young boy no more than five who was running ahead of his family. The blonde haired child had a stuffed T-Rex under his arm, obviously a new purchase from the Dinostore just around the corner. His haggard parents rushed up to take him by the arm and made a halfhearted apology before following him onto the elevator. Dawkins smiled as he reached into his pocket to retrieve an elevator key that allowed him into the Employees Only section behind the Saurischian Dinosaur hall.
Once inside, the fetid smell of old carpet and books triggered his senses. The odor was familiar and comforting.
“Russ,” shouted an immaculately dressed man wearing a dark blue Hugo Boss suit. He was older than Dawkins, whose age was not known to his employees but guessed to be in his late fifties. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”
He walked over, shook Dawkins’ hand, and gripped his forearm as a long absent friend or marketing executive might. But Kirk Hoffmeyer was neither.
“Sorry I’m late, Dr. Hoffmeyer,” the younger man replied. “Typical inefficiency and pig mentality of the TSA. My cell phone battery also went dead just as I turned it back on when we landed.”
“Not a problem,” Hoffmeyer assured him with uncharacteristic kindness. He patted Dawkins on the back, motioning him into his palatial office and a leather backed chair in front of his desk. Dawkins suddenly felt uneasy.
“How has your work been going in Argentina?” Hoffmeyer began as he took a seat behind his antique desk. “This is your first time in the number one position isn’t it? Excavation Director—that’s quite an honor for a young man just out of grad school. It speaks well of you.”
Dawkins knew with absolute certainty that Hoffmeyer was the final decision maker on who was appointed to what jobs. His reputation for being controlling about every aspect of his professional life was well known. It was not by some careless oversight that he had picked Dawkins for such a coveted job. But what was behind his furtive posturing now? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“The dig is going well,” Dawkins answered. “We’ve discovered a new Titanosaur. It may end up being in the Puertasaurus family, but we’re still hopeful that it’s a new species. The fossil is still partly articulated so there is a chance that we’ll find a skull.”
“So I hear,” Hoffmeyer offered jubilantly, “so I hear.”
As he reached for a file folder from his desk, the older man hesitated before picking it up just long enough to allow Dawkins to read his own name typed across the white labeled tab. With a contemplative stare offered merely for effect, he thumbed through the documents and then placed the opened file back on his desk.
“An impressive resume,” Hoffmeyer observed as he looked up and smiled. “Brown University, U.C. Berkeley, post doc Museum National d’Histoire Naturelle, Paris. Top notch.” Dawkins couldn’t decide if a reply was expected so he chose to remain silent.
Hoffmeyer drew an exaggerated breath, leaned back in his chair, and placed his hands behind his neck. He suddenly pitched forward and stared intently at Dawkins.
“Ex-cept,” the older man spoke pointedly, extending the word, “for this one unfortunate thing.” Hoffmeyer removed a report from the file folder and
handed it to Dawkins who recognized it immediately.
“Would you care to explain this report from the…” He paused to read the heading on the paper still in Dawkins hands. “From the Boone County Sheriff’s Office in Kentucky? It seems that your name figures prominently among others as suspects in a thwarted vandalism attempt on my favorite museum there. Would you care to elaborate?”
Dawkins stared at the document, which he knew well and had hoped would never materialize, certainly not in his professional life. He looked up but avoided making direct eye contact.
“You do things when you’re younger that make sense at the time,” he began, “things that you wish you could undo. I have always been passionate about paleontology. It is a love that started with my grandfather, whom you know well as a respected professor and former chair of vertebrate biology at Yale. His personality was contagious and his love of science unbridled. His great uncle had served aboard the HMS Beagle with Charles Darwin, and those stories fueled his passion which, in turn, fueled mine. My love for the science of evolution runs violently counter to this renewal of religious nonsense about creation. I am frankly sickened by those fools and wanted to voice my anger. That’s why we broke into their stupid museum in Kentucky. Yes it was foolish, but—”
“Were you convicted?” Hoffmeyer interrupted. “I find no record of that, only the arrest report.”
“Just a misdemeanor,” he replied. Dawkins hated saying the word. It didn’t mesh with his current station in life. “That along with a stiff fine and the police record you’ve found.”
Hoffmeyer rose, slowly and deliberately walked around the desk, and sat on the corner facing Dawkins.
“Russ,” he said with the same affable tone with which he had greeted him earlier. “I am not a man bereft of passions. I would not have gotten to this place without them. I started out as an angry young man, much like you, but I learned to control that anger and use it in a positive, constructive way.
The Genesis Conspiracy Page 3