“Excellent. Now is the time to be a good pawn!”
After he hung up, he took several deep breaths. He thought back to the call that brought him to Transteppe.
A recruiter had contacted him about Transteppe’s search for a chief geologist. With his growing reputation in the field, Sergei was used to these approaches and had demurred, saying that he was happy in his role doing research at Lomonosov Moscow State University. Not long after this conversation, he found a small package in his mailbox. It had no return address. He opened it, and there was a note and a few pictures. He felt near panic. Shortly thereafter his phone rang. After seeing the contents of the package, he expected the call.
“You should take the job at Transteppe.”
“Why?”
“Pawns don’t get to ask questions.”
“I won’t do anything illegal.”
Andrei gave a short laugh. “We’ll see what you will or will not do, but, for the moment, I just need reports.”
“Why me?”
“Isn’t that obvious? I need a geologist I can trust, someone who can give me details of subsurface profiling that may or may not be given to management. It’s a bit of luck—for me at least—that you have just the skills I need.”
15
Sitting in his temporary office at the Page Museum in Hancock Park in Los Angeles, Byron Gwynne absently tapped his finger as he read the email for the third time. A coiled, dark-haired man in his mid-forties, Gwynne radiated energy. If he always looked on the verge of anger, it was because he always was on the verge of anger. He swiveled his chair to face a stack of papers and monographs on the shelf behind him. He riffled through a few until he found the illustration he was looking for. Grabbing it, he swiveled back to his computer screen and, holding the drawing alongside, stared intently as he compared the images. After a few moments, he hit reply and began writing a message. Then, abruptly, he stopped. He got up from his chair. “I’m going for a walk,” he said to the administrative secretary as he passed her without stopping. “If anyone calls, I’ll be back in about half an hour.”
Outside, it was beastly hot. It was May, a time of year when Southern California ordinarily would be lush and green, but the beautiful lawn that surrounded the Page Museum was already scorched brown. He pondered the dilemma that prompted the walk. What the fuck was that creature doing in Kazakhstan? Worse, whatever that ulna came from, it was not his discovery, and Byron Gwynne did not like the idea of someone waltzing in and stealing the spotlight. He tried to remember where he had met Claire. He certainly remembered what she looked like. He’d even tried to humor her absurd ideas about elephant consciousness in the hopes that he might get lucky.
On his return to his office, the receptionist handed him a padded book mailer. Great! He thought with some bitterness. A week earlier he would have been overjoyed to receive the package. He snatched the envelope, went back to his office, and tore the mailer open.
There it was, the result of fifteen years’ work. He looked at the title of the copyedited manuscript: The Evolutionary History of Elephantidae. He let out a groan. The last thing he needed was an eleventh-hour discovery of some previously unknown branch of the family, particularly if it was contemporaneous to Primelephas, the ancestor of both modern elephants and mammoths. He looked again at the image of the ulna. Suddenly, he was glad Claire Knowland had reached out to him. He knew what he had to do.
16
When Claire arrived back at the camp, the team, which had been speculating among themselves about what their leader was up to, drifted out of the mess to greet her, forming a rough line in front of her. If the situation wasn’t so fraught, she would have laughed, as they looked like birds perched on a wire. Naturally, Abigail and Tony were standing together, furtively pressing into each other at the hip as if their hookup wasn’t known to, and hadn’t been exhaustively discussed by, every other member of the team. As the silence stretched to awkward lengths, Claire finally sighed. “OK, I don’t know where to begin, so maybe I’ll just show you.” She started walking to the back of the truck, and the team, even Francisco, who made a point of never hurrying anywhere, dropped all pretense of cool and rushed to the back of the pickup.
Everybody crowded up to look at the jumble of rock and bone. Naturally, it was Waylon who stated the obvious. “These aren’t horse bones.”
“That’s right, Waylon,” she said in a voice she might use to address a not-particularly-bright third grader, “these aren’t horse bones.”
Katie, smart as a whip, was the first to get it. She looked at Claire. “Elephant?”
Claire nodded.
At this, the whole group closed in, jostling each other and peppering her with so many questions that Claire couldn’t begin to answer until Sauat interrupted.
He had been staring at the bones and took out a pocket magnifier and studied the one closest to him. He then tapped it with his finger. He looked up at Claire and said, “Petrified?” At that the group went silent.
Claire nodded. “Let me tell you the bare bones—so to speak.” When no one smiled, she hurried on. She took them through Sergei’s discovery of the array, the dating of the strata to over five million years old, and her near accident that broke the array on the way back. She didn’t lie, but she did not give them the whole story.
It didn’t matter, as the team absorbed the sheer irresponsibility of her ad hoc transport of such a monumental discovery. Samantha looked daggers at Claire and muttered loud enough for all to hear, “This bitch needs help.” Katie shook her head. Abigail shrank back as though Claire’s blunder might be contagious. Francisco spoke for the group when he said, “Delamain’s not going to like this.” Claire took it all in numbly.
Sauat, however, got it. He had, after all, grown up in Kazakhstan. “Sergei wanted to help, yes? He wanted the bones out of there because they were in the mining concession?”
Claire looked at him gratefully though she knew that she still had to tread carefully. “Something like that. He just felt that they weren’t safe there and needed to be examined by professionals. We were the nearest around.” Maybe her makeshift plan could work.
She looked at the rest of the team. “Francisco’s right. Delamain is going to freak—at least at first.” After an uncomfortable silence, she added, “You’re probably thinking that I screwed up. You’re right.” Nobody protested. Abigail looked at the ground and traced the outline of a horse in the dust with the tip of her sneaker.
Claire forged on. “You’re going to have to make your own decisions about whether you want to continue, but I know what I’m going to do. The most probable explanation, even though it’s hard to believe, is that somehow these bones were arrayed five million years ago. I’m going to do everything I can to find out who or what did it and why … with or without the support of the Delamain Foundation … with or without this team,” she added. She looked directly at Sauat. “And I’m going to do it working with the Kazakh antiquity authorities.” His intelligent eyes widened. He suddenly realized what she was saying and why she was saying it to him. Claire’s mind lingered briefly on the irony that her career and a momentous discovery depended on the insight and integrity of an overeager teenager.
She thought of what Sergei had said before she left and turned back to the group. “Look. When I came here to fill in, you’d had two years of spinning your wheels. I can’t comment on whether you—we—might ultimately find something of interest, but clearly, there was—is—a strong likelihood or Delamain wouldn’t have invested its money and you wouldn’t have invested your time.” She paused for a second. “But this”—she pointed to the pickup—“is real, and it’s here now.”
Claire let that sink in before continuing. “Things are going to have to happen fast, so let me know tomorrow whether you want to continue with me. I completely understand if any of you don’t, and for those who do, right now I’ve got no idea of how I’m going to get the money for it. In the meantime, I’d appreciate some help.”
Katie, Tony, Abigail, and Waylon struggled with the trolley to get the bones into the storage Quonset. After locking it, Waylon started to put away the key, but Claire held out her hand. “I’d better take the keys until we figure out what’s going on.”
Back at her desk, Claire spent two hours composing an email to the Delamain Foundation. It was perhaps the most persuasive thing she had ever written. She began by pointing out that many of the greatest discoveries in paleontology came from looking for one thing and finding another or from accidental discoveries, particularly, she stressed, in mining concessions. She cited workers finding a hominid at the Broken Hill Mine in Zambia, the first Australopithecus remains in a quarry in Taung, South Africa, and the discoveries of Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon fossils by workers in limestone quarries. She also cited a number of major scientific discoveries that resulted from scientists making finds they hadn’t been looking for.
With that introduction, she moved on to the invitation from Sergei to examine the bones, focusing on their age and the fact that they seemed arrayed, which raised the most profound questions about the origins and nature of intelligence. If the bones were not arrayed by some ancient human ancestor, could they represent the rise of intelligence in some other mammalian line, which became extinct many millions of years ago? Given the long sweep of life on earth, if evolution could produce intelligence once, could it have produced it more than once?
One million years from now, how much evidence would there be that intelligent humans once dominated the planet? How much in five million years? She didn’t put all these thoughts into the email, but she stressed that the mission of the Delamain Foundation was to explore the linkages between animals and humans, and what could be more central to that mission than evidence that intelligent creatures inhabited the planet many millions of years before modern humans took the stage?
Claire wrote a straightforward account of the lurch that splintered the array but downplayed the circumstances that caused her to be transporting the fossils in the first place. She noted that she was planning to contact Timor Tabiliev from the National Museum to determine the best way to proceed, and she attached some photos of the array before the block had been extracted as well as a picture of the array of two bones after the accident. In her last sentence, she humbly requested that the foundation consider supporting this change in direction in the research considering the profound implications of the find.
After she finished the email, she reread it several times and then spent a few long moments with her finger hovering over the send button before finally hitting it. Before going to bed, Claire sent several more emails, including one to Sergei. After thinking a bit, she wrote one more email that she didn’t send but kept in her drafts folder.
17
She awakened in the morning to find a reply from Delamain. As she opened it, she remembered someone once saying that bad news travels at the speed of light, while good news arrives in a horse cart. This was fast!
“Dear Dr. Knowland,” it began, and she steeled herself for what would follow.
As you noted in your email, the Delamain Foundation supports basic research on the relationship between animals and humans in scores of projects spread across the globe. Our ability to work in many different jurisdictions has always been facilitated by our reputation for scrupulously abiding by the negotiated contracts that specify the responsibilities of the researcher, the governing local regulations, and the involvement of local counterparts. Maintaining that relationship supersedes the requirements of any one project—no matter how important that research may be. The Delamain Foundation cannot be associated with any scientist who puts at risk that reputation. Counsel has reviewed your account of the “discovery” of ancient bones that appear to be elephant, and reviewed your actions against the agreed-upon protocols specified in the work permit that governs the dig in Kazakhstan. In counsel’s opinion, your actions subsequent to the discovery contained no less than eight serious instances of improper procedures and failure to follow protocol …
The email went on to detail each of the infractions. The final blow came in the concluding paragraph:
While the “discovery” may well constitute a significant find, it is the decision of the board, following the advice of counsel, that you are directed to immediately cease work and secure all objects and related papers while the foundation assesses the proper way to notify and involve Kazakh authorities without further damage to our relationship. The foundation has already commenced a search for a qualified research scientist who might continue this project in a way that does not blight the reputation that the foundation has taken such pains to develop over many years.
The remainder of the message recited the various relevant clauses from her grant from Delamain that gave the foundation the right to take over the project.
Claire reeled. Then came a punch of unbearable shame. This was immediately followed by a flood of deep rage. “Pompous assholes,” she muttered. She looked at her watch. It was seven a.m., six p.m. in Chicago. She had maybe the rest of the day to decide what to do. She wrote a brief message to Sergei. “Want to update your team on what we’ve found. Exciting stuff! Is there a good time to meet?” She hoped that he would realize that she wanted Rob to meet as well, and, even in her misery, she was happy to have an excuse to see Sergei. A minute later, she dashed out of the Quonset to rouse Sauat.
She’d installed the boy in a spare room on the rear of the storage Quonset. He was already up and looked bright-eyed as he answered her knock. “Dr. Knowland.”
“Hi, Sauat. Have you got a moment?” He nodded mutely, a bit awed that the leader of the dig had sought him out. “Good.” She jerked her head toward the picnic tables. “We can talk over there.”
Once they were seated, she got right to the point. “I appreciate that you seem to understand that this is a very delicate situation.”
Sauat dropped his eyes, embarrassed. “Yes,” he said softly, “I know I’m young, but I’ve seen how things work in my country.”
“Then you will understand that it is urgent that I speak with Timor Tabiliev. For reasons that I think you understand, I can’t now go through ordinary channels.”
Sauat nodded slowly, but he looked troubled. What he understood completely was that Dr. Knowland did not want to go through his uncle Tamerlan.
“Can you arrange that—this morning if possible?”
Sauat looked worried. “Maybe. As you know, I am just a student, and he is a great man.” Claire waited while Sauat thought it over. Then something clicked. “Yes, maybe he will take my call. It was Dr. Tabiliev who encouraged me to do some fieldwork.”
“OK, let’s give it a try. And don’t worry—all you are doing is helping me to get in touch with one of Kazakhstan’s most distinguished scientists.”
“My uncle Tamerlan …”
Claire didn’t let him finish. “Sauat, look at me.” The young man looked up reluctantly. “Be assured that I’m trying to make sure that a truly significant find gets studied in the proper way and with Kazakh involvement.”
This time Sauat did not drop his eyes.
“All you need to say is that an American scientist would like to talk to Professor Tabiliev about a potentially very significant find. And you might add that she says that it is potentially more significant than Kyzylorda.”
Sauat’s eyes widened as he grasped the full significance of what she was saying. He nodded with determination.
Claire took a look at her watch. It was seven thirty. Everybody would be at breakfast. She took a deep breath and headed over to the mess. She wanted to know who was staying and who was going, and she owed it to the group to provide clarity, but she needed to know a bit more before she could address them. She poked her head in to the mess. As she expected, everybody was locked in animated conversation. The din immediately died down when they saw her. She did not want to get trapped into an extended conversation, not yet anyway, so she hesitated at the door. “I know everybody’s got
a lot of questions, and I’m sure some of you have already made up your minds about what you want to do. I’d like to talk to each of you individually this afternoon. Waylon?” She saw him standing in the back. “Will you set up a schedule, starting at two thirty? Say, fifteen minutes apiece? We’ll talk at the mess.” Waylon nodded.
“Why not now?” someone, she didn’t see who, yelled aggressively.
Claire had never been in the military, but she knew enough to know that tolerating insubordination could allow a situation to spiral out of control. “Quiet!” she said in a voice that—she hoped—brooked no rejoinder. “Things are moving fast,” she said evenly. “I’ll know a lot more by this afternoon.” With that she ducked out and went back to her Quonset.
She immediately checked her email. She was gratified to see that everyone had responded—they were taking her seriously—but she put off reading all but one until after she had spoken to the staff. The one she did respond to was from Sergei and consisted of one word: “When?” She typed in, “Does nine a.m. work at the picnic spot? I’ll bring sandwiches for three,” hoping that he would understand the reference to the creek crossing and that she hoped Rob would come.
She got up, quickly threw together a day pack, and started to leave. At the door, she stopped and looked at her laptop on her desk. After a second, she put that in her pack as well.
18
The day was setting up to be another scorcher. The air shimmered on the horizon. A kettle of white-headed griffon vultures drew lazy circles as they rode the rising air. For a moment she enjoyed the elemental simplicity of the parched land and brilliant blue sky. Yes, she thought, this elemental landscape of dust, rock, and scrub against a cloudless sky could hold secrets for millions of years.
Rob and Sergei were both at the crossing when she arrived, standing in the shade of a jumble of boulders not far from the arroyo. Sergei was wearing shorts and a soccer jersey with the name Capablanca on the back. Rob looked like he was dressed for fishing, with a shirt that had lots of pockets and a Velcro strip across the chest, which was amusing since they were standing near a creek bed that looked like it hadn’t seen water in a hundred years. Sergei took one look at Claire’s expression and said, “Blyad, I was really hoping that you really meant ‘exciting’ when you wrote ‘exciting’ …”
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