Deep Past

by Eugene Linden

  The copter landed on the roof of Transteppe’s office building, and Claire got out, accompanied by Rob, who had come along to make sure she had what she needed to meet with Dr. Tabiliev and to oversee logistics for Fletcher Hayden’s transport from the airport to the concession. If Claire convinced Tabiliev to come out to Transteppe, the helicopter could bring him back and drop him off before picking up Hayden.

  Claire had asked for a nondescript car, and the dented beater Rob had waiting for her certainly fit the bill. There were many good reasons to fly under the radar until she had lined up Tabiliev or some other honest Kazakh counterpart. The driver looked scruffy, but Rob had assured Claire that he was one of his men and he was used to assignments that required discretion.

  The man, who said his name was Igor, dropped her off near a coffee shop and pulled around the corner. It was 10:35. She ordered an ultra-sweet Turkish coffee and was about to take her first sip when a young Kazakh man appeared. He was wearing a sports jacket made out of some synthetic material that had seen better days.

  “Hello, beautiful!” he said with boundless confidence. “May I sit with you and practice my English?” He sat down without waiting for an answer and was about to begin speaking. Claire knew English was a big deal in Kazakhstan; indeed, the entire curriculum of the brand-new National University was to be conducted in English. But she doubted that the young man simply wanted to practice his language skills.

  “I’m meeting someone and have to prepare, so if you will excuse me …,” she said in a friendly but firm voice.

  “Oh, who are you meeting? I will translate for you.” He spoke jauntily enough, but there was something more than boyish enthusiasm in the young man’s cold eyes.

  Claire sighed. She picked up her coffee and day pack and got up to move to another table. The young man started to follow, but he was immediately intercepted by Igor, who spat out rapid-fire Kazakh. The young man sneered and shook his coat when Igor let go of his arm but didn’t attempt to follow her. As he left the café, he turned to Claire and said, “Bitch! I had plans for you. Make you porn star.”

  Claire sat down again, a bit ruffled. “Bitch.” She was hearing that word a lot. Maybe she could introduce the young man to Samantha. He could “make her porn star”—which Samantha would then somehow rationalize as the apex of female empowerment.

  The encounter crystallized her unease about Astana. Many of the new buildings were stunning, but there was something sinister in the air. She signaled the waiter for another Turkish coffee. The waiter, glancing around nervously for Igor, hustled to bring it over.

  Claire spotted Tabiliev when he showed up ten minutes later. She had looked up his picture on the web. She waved to him and rose when he came over. The waiter recognized the professor and greeted him warmly. This was good; the waiter would conclude that Claire was just another student.

  The academic introduced himself. “Welcome to the ancient capital of Kazakhstan with its storied past dating back almost sixteen years,” he said with a sad smile as he made a dismissive gesture at the brand-new buildings around them. When he sat down, however, he adopted a no-nonsense expression that suggested that he wasn’t sure what she was selling but that he would listen to what she had to say. Understanding his reticence, she decided to be as brief and straightforward as possible. After he had settled and been brought coffee, she reached into her bag and brought out a photo of the array as she first saw it on the lip of the escarpment. She placed it in front of him on the table.

  Tabiliev stared at it for a long time. “What kind of bones are these?”

  “Ulnae, probably from some unknown species of ancient elephant.”

  Tabiliev snorted. “Elephants in Kazakhstan? Who knew? How old?”

  “Five million years, thereabouts.”

  At this Tabiliev’s head snapped. “Was there any evidence that the ground around this arrangement had been disturbed?”

  “None, and the bones are petrified.”

  “How did they come to be arranged this way?”

  “Good question! That’s what I’m hoping to find out—with your help.”

  Tabiliev thought about this for a long time. “Tell me everything.”

  Very quickly, Claire walked him through events exactly as they had unfolded, including the changing of the guard at the dig and her interim consultancy with Transteppe.

  “So, in the middle of the Transteppe concession …” Tabiliev whistled softly. “I can see why you felt the need to be so cloak-and-dagger …” He tapped his fingers on the small table and took another sip of coffee. “Five million years old and arranged …,” he muttered to himself. After a few more minutes, he looked at Claire. “What do you want from me?”

  “I’m hoping that you will come out with me to Transteppe—their helicopter can bring us both out there and have you back this afternoon—and while there you will be informed by Transteppe of the discovery and asked by them to guide them in the proper coordination with the appropriate Kazakh authorities.”

  Tabiliev leaned forward, listening. “If I do this, we must proceed, or,” he said with a wry smile, “let me rephrase—try to proceed—in an impeccably proper fashion, yes?” He raised an eyebrow.

  Claire couldn’t help it. Her eyes welled up. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted from the very beginning; that’s why I reached out to you.”

  Another long silence ensued. Finally he sighed. “As they say in your movies, ‘What could possibly go wrong?’”

  As they were getting up, she turned to Tabiliev. “There’s one other thing that I hope you will consider.” She explained how Sauat’s praise and admiration had first brought Dr. Tabiliev to her attention, and how the boy’s position at the dig was now untenable. She said that she hoped that he would consider taking on Sauat as an intern.

  As they walked to the car, Tabiliev nodded. “I’ll think about it. I can see how he might be useful.” Then he stopped and turned to Claire. “You do realize, though, that doing things in an impeccably proper fashion entails some risk in my native land. Are you sure you want to bring more attention on this young man?” He let that thought linger.

  24

  Claire introduced Dr. Tabiliev to Rob at the Transteppe office in Astana, and the group quickly boarded the helicopter for the trip back. Claire encouraged Dr. Tabiliev to sit next to Rob so that the two could get to know each other, while she took a seat in the back.

  Sergei met them when they landed, and Claire introduced him to Tabiliev. The Kazakh scientist looked at Sergei curiously. “You’re Russian?” he said mildly.

  “Don’t worry,” Sergei replied, “I’m even less popular in Russia than Russians are here.”

  Dr. Tabiliev smiled, not warmly, but still a smile. Claire wondered if what Sergei had said was true.

  Once introductions were complete, Sergei told them that while Claire had been meeting with Tabiliev, he had briefed Transteppe’s senior officials by email and had taken a quick meeting with the project manager, a man named Ripley, on the discovery and his proposed plan going forward. Sergei said that he had stressed that the investigation would in no way impede the work of the concession. “At first he got red in the face,” Sergei told Rob and Claire with a smile, “then the penny dropped. He said, ‘Fuck’s sake! So that’s why Hayden’s coming with almost no notice.’” That’s when Ripley decided to reserve judgment and also to skip the meeting with the Kazakh liaison. “God bless bureaucrats,” said Sergei. “They have a sixth sense to know when to stay away.”

  At the warehouse, Sergei showed Tabiliev the bones and the lip and confirmed the account of events that Claire had given the professor earlier. Sergei stressed that with the lip now in the warehouse, announcement of the find need not interfere with mining operations, at least for the foreseeable future, as the part of the escarpment from which the lip had been taken was not on any immediate schedule for exploration. They then discussed the details of formal notification of the Kazakh authorities and the sensitive matter of bringing t
he minders into the loop. They agreed that it was best to do that while Dr. Tabiliev was there, as he had sufficient stature within the Cultural Ministry to limit opportunities for mischief.

  While Sergei dispatched a clerk to invite his Kazakh counterpart to the warehouse, Rob went over the logistical details of Claire, Katie, and Francisco’s transfer to Transteppe. He’d arranged lodging at visitors’ quarters as well as a vehicle. He said that he would come over later that afternoon to fetch all three of them. Claire asked Sergei if she could use the company Wi-Fi network to send emails (she had brought her laptop) and he installed her in his office. Claire quickly dashed off notes to Katie and Francisco saying that they should be packed and ready and added Sergei and Rob’s contact info. After sending, she remained online for a few minutes in the hope that one of them would acknowledge. Nothing appeared, and she logged off and rejoined the group.

  The representative of the mining ministry had arrived. Sergei, Dr. Tabiliev, and a middle-aged Kazakh in a business suit were sitting at a worktable talking.

  They all rose when Claire arrived, and Sergei made the introductions. “Dr. Knowland, I’d like you to meet Azamat Suleimenov, our liaison to the mining ministry. Azamat,” he said, turning to the Kazakh, “Dr. Knowland did the first analysis of the find, and Transteppe has hired her as the company’s principal scientific consultant on the find.” The man gave Claire a quick look and an absentminded handshake.

  After the introduction, Sergei said, “I was just telling Azamat that since we’re dealing with objects five million years old, they fall into the category of a discovery of scientific—paleontological—interest rather than something that is culturally important. This is a significant distinction, because its further study will not invoke all the regulations pertaining to matters of cultural sensitivity—unless, of course,” he joked, “it becomes evident that there were very, very large Kazakhs here five million years ago.” Sergei’s attempt at humor was either lost on or ignored by Suleimenov, whose expression never changed.

  Once again, Claire was struck by Sergei’s ability to find room to maneuver where none was apparent. Moreover, she liked the distinction he was making—it might prove useful in her inevitable confrontation with Tamerlan. “That said,” Sergei continued, “Dr. Tabiliev, who has broad discretion over all studies of Kazakhstan’s past, has graciously offered to intermediate so that Kazakh scientists can offer their expertise in the study of this remarkable find.”

  Suleimenov looked cornered and angry. He addressed his remarks to Sergei. “This is a matter that must be brought to the attention of the relevant authorities,” he said, stressing the plural and thereby implying that the suffocating regulations of the Cultural Ministry—and all its attendant opportunities for bribery and extortion—were not off the table despite Sergei’s finely drawn distinction.

  With that, the meeting broke up. Claire sought out Sergei while Tabiliev talked with Rob about logistics. “I thought you were brilliant! Don’t know why I hadn’t thought of stressing that the find predated any conceivable Kazakh culture.”

  Sergei looked at her, smiling. “Brilliant, no. I simply have a gift for seeing the obvious.” Sergei paused, and then added, “And it’s obvious to me that we should get a drink later and talk about elephants.”

  Caught off guard, Claire stammered, “Oh, look, Tabiliev’s leaving. I’ve got to thank him.” And she rushed off. As she was walking, she glanced back and saw that Sergei was still smiling. As she turned back, she smiled as well. What the hell—she held up an imaginary glass and mouthed, “Later.”

  When she caught up to Tabiliev, he waved off her thanks. “I’m never going to be rich,” he said, “but there are better satisfactions to be had in doing the right thing, yes? Besides,” he continued a bit wistfully, “Five million years? Arrayed? How could I not?”

  After confirming when Rob would arrive at the Delamain camp, Claire started for the Land Cruiser. After two steps she stopped and called after Rob. “Might be better if you held on to this,” she said, handing him her laptop. “Who knows what’s going on back at camp.”

  25

  As Claire drove into the encampment at about three p.m., Katie intercepted her, mouthing the word, “Tamerlan!” Katie then made fake bug eyes. Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh,” Katie added, “and we’re packed!”

  Claire steeled herself as she entered her Quonset. Tamerlan was sitting in the one chair. He looked up when she came in. He was seething but composed. “Anything new I should know about?” he asked.

  “Much,” Claire said, “but we’re not talking here. I’m heading over to the mess. We can talk there, or you can continue to go through my stuff.” With that she left.

  She had calmed herself down by the time she seated herself at a table. Waylon was the only one there when she arrived. “I need this to talk to Tamerlan,” she said. Waylon got the message and beat a hasty retreat. Tamerlan arrived shortly thereafter.

  He sat down and launched right in. “Failure to follow procedure, failure to notify the ministry, stealing artifacts, moving artifacts without following proper procedure, damaging artifacts because of your irresponsible actions, failure to notify your counterpart that you have been removed from this project—shall I go on? Do you know what I—Tamerlan—can do to you on any one of these violations?”

  Claire was shaken by the sheer venom of Tamerlan’s recitation. She took a breath. “You know as well as I do that not one bit of that is true.”

  Tamerlan leaped up and slammed the table. “What?”

  Claire flinched but held her ground. “They aren’t artifacts, Tamerlan, they’re bones. I didn’t find them—Transteppe did. We didn’t know what they were at first, and when the age came back—five million years plus—Transteppe did not know which ministry to notify, since they clearly predated anything that could be called Kazakh, and now Transteppe is coordinating with one of the most eminent scientists in Kazakhstan. Nothing was stolen. Transteppe reclaimed them while they are deciding what to do, leaving one here for further analysis.”

  The mention of Transteppe and an eminent Kazakh scientist paused Tamerlan’s rage. “No matter,” he said, “I will have your visa revoked on the basis of the change in leadership.” He leaned back with an evil smile. “I want you out of Kazakhstan in twenty-four hours.” He paused a second, measuring his words. “If this gets to the president,” he said in a voice laden with menace, “I doubt you’d want to stay anyway.” He stood up and leaned over her. “And I’m going to get those bones!”

  It was boiling in the Quonset, but Claire felt a chill with those words.

  “Of course, you could decide to help me out …” He left that hanging but didn’t need to draw her a picture since he was staring at the open button on her blouse.

  Claire got up and left. Let him think she was considering it. As she was leaving, Tamerlan followed her with his eyes but said nothing.

  Outside, Claire shuddered. She knew Tamerlan was bluffing about kicking her out in twenty-four hours, but the bit about the president opened up unpleasant possibilities. He wasn’t bluffing about getting the bones, either. She thought a bit more. He had not asked Claire which eminent scientist Transteppe had contacted. Either he already knew—unlikely—or he was just trying to take advantage of the situation. He might be a tin-pot tyrant, but Tamerlan was not going to take unilateral action without first investigating how strong her ties might be to Transteppe and which scientist they had contacted.

  Still, she was faced with a dilemma. Now that she was vulnerable, Tamerlan might not wait for a yes before deciding to have Claire “help him out.” The sooner she got out of there, the better. On the other hand, she owed it to the others on the dig to wait until Benoit arrived to hand over control, and she also needed to get back to Transteppe for the meeting with Fletcher Hayden. If she was going to talk anything other than gibberish, she also desperately needed some rest before that.

  On her way to her Quonset, she waved down Waylon, who was reading in the p
icnic area. “Isn’t Benoit supposed to arrive today?” she asked. Waylon nodded.

  “OK, here’s the deal. I’m going to go over to Transteppe to consult with them on the bones.” Waylon’s eyes widened; he was clearly curious. “I’ll have cleared out my Quonset so that he can take it over. Please have the mess attendant clean it and make it ready. I’ll stay at Transteppe tonight, but I’ll come back tomorrow morning to brief him and formally pass the torch. That sound OK?” Waylon clearly had a thousand questions but held himself to another nod. “Katie and Francisco are coming, too,” she added. Claire was about to walk to her Quonset when she had another thought. “By the way, Tamerlan seemed to have a complete but distorted picture of what’s been happening. Any idea how?”

  Waylon shook his head vigorously. “No idea, probably Delamain.”

  “Probably,” said Claire in a tone dripping with doubt.

  Once in her Quonset, she spent a few minutes stuffing her belongings into large duffel bags. It didn’t take long, as she traveled light. There was a scratch at the door. It was Lawrence. He sniffed the duffels and then looked up at her. “OK, today you get a feast,” she said as she opened two cans of food.

  She looked at her watch. She had maybe forty-five minutes before Rob arrived to pick the three of them up. She lay down on her cot. Lawrence hopped up, too, and snuggled in beside her, purring loudly. She looked at him. “Maybe you can come, too. You could guard the site!”

  Her thoughts were swirling again. She reviewed the litany of disasters. Was she missing anything? Actually, she was, but she was understandably preoccupied with the many missteps and betrayals in her own world of science and academia.

  She tried to think of anything good. There was Tabiliev. And there was Sergei’s sweet approach. She thought about that for a second. She wondered what he might be like in bed. She liked his wiry strength and wondered where he got it. Rock climbing? Windsurfing? The thought of the brainy Russian on a windsurfer brought a laugh. Her thoughts returned to sex. Oddly, she felt that it would be familiar. Thinking about his intelligence and perceptiveness, she decided that he was one of those men who could read a woman’s thoughts and anticipate what they wanted. Maybe it would happen, she thought—if Katie didn’t get there first.