.4 .7 1 1.6 2.8 5.2 10 19.6 38.8 77.2
Harding underlined the last row of numbers with the marker pen. `Bode believed that those numbers were the distance of each planet in the solar system from the sun in Astronomical Units. I'll show you...' He added the following table to the sheet:
Planet Actual distance from sun (AU) Bode's Law distance (AU)
Mercury 0.39 0.4
Venus 0.72 0.7
Earth 1 1
Mars 1.52 1.6
Asteroid 2.8 2.8
Belt
Jupiter 5.2 5.2
Saturn 9.6 10
Uranus 19 19.6
Neptune 30 38.8
Pluto 39.4 77.2
`Interesting,' Malone commented. `But it doesn't seem work too well in the case of Pluto.'
`Pluto's a weird planet,' Harding replied. `It wasn't discovered until 1930. Its orbit isn't concentric, and it's not even in the plane of the ecliptic like the other planets. Many astronomers now believe that it's a captured body that wasn't part of the solar system to begin with. Or it may have been a moon of Neptune.
`Of course, when Bode published his law, the scientific establishment tore him to shreds. A totally arbitrary law governing the distance of the planets from the sun didn't make sense, and still doesn't. His law predicted a planet after Saturn and there wasn't one. Then Uranus was discovered in 1781 by Sir William Herschel at a distance of 19 AUs from the sun -- exactly where Bode said it would be.
`Bode's enemies went into their corner, and came out fighting, pointing out that there wasn't a planet between Mars and Jupiter. They were shafted in 1801 when the first of thousands of asteroids was found in what is now known as the asteroid belt... At the exact distance from the sun that Bode predicted.'
`The planet smashed by the wrath of God,' Malone commented.
`If you believe nutters like Adrian Roscoe,' said Harding. `He sometimes turns up at council meetings. Good talker. Hypnotic. But as loony as a lemming.'
There was a few moments silence as both men contemplated the strange table before them.
Malone toyed with his notebook. `What do you believe, Mr Harding?'
`I'm an atheist, Mr Malone. I don't believe in a divine force. Like most scientists, I think that Bode's Law is nothing more than a coincidence. The asteroid belt may have been a planet in the making that never made it.'
`Extraordinary coincidence though.'
`A coincidence,' Harding insisted. `It has to be.'
`Am I right in thinking that no other planetary systems have been discovered?'
Harding found it easier to avoid Malone's gaze. `You certainly are, Mr Malone. No hard and fast evidence as yet. All the nearest stars are being researched. The Hubble orbital telescope has found what could be a planet around a star some 450 light-years away. And it may be that Barnard's Star, which is only a few light-years away, has an invisible companion.' He smiled. `If there are astronomers on planets out there, they've probably came to the same conclusion about our sun. That the solar system consists of the sun and a dark companion -- Jupiter.'
`What if Bode's Law is found to apply to other planetary systems?'
`Then I'd take a leaf out of Blaize Pascal's book. I'd buy me a bible and start studying it to hedge my bets.'
The police officer folded the Bode's Law table into his notebook, and thanked his host.
`Any news on the electricity fault?' Harding asked as he showed Malone through the repair shop to the front door. `The voltage was still down a couple of hours ago.'
`I don't think so. Lots of Southern Electric vans rushing about.'
`It must be the knock-on effect from a burst water main. It seems to have affected everything,' Harding grumbled. `Luckily we've got the bottled gas cooker out of our camper otherwise we'd have to start cooking Sunday lunch today. And most of my customers with Astra systems are getting sparkly pictures. All moaning like hell because there's a decent film on the Movie Channel tonight. Now there's a real mystery for you to solve. I'm sure it can't be due to the weird high pressure we're getting.'
He unlocked the door and hesitated. `There is something else you ought to know, Mr Malone. I'm not saying that Bode's Law isn't a coincidence, you understand, but the damnable thing about it is that it also works for the moons of the planets.’
Chapter 23.
TO ELLEN'S DELIGHT, a close scrutiny of Harvey Evans' aerial survey photographs while she was waiting for David Weir showed the grass covering the cave site on the hillside as being a slightly different hue from the surroundings. On the other hand it was much the same as the mottling of the grass all over the site but, with luck, it would be enough to sell the idea to David.
She heard the sound of a small petrol engine and jumped to her feet. A movement out of the corner of her eye. She wheeled in time to catch a brief glimpse of a crab-like device disappear down the slope.
What the hell was that?
She stared at the spot where it had disappeared, in half a mind to go after it, but the slope was dangerously steep at that point.
Vikki said something about a sort of mechanical crab. That young lady's daydreams are catching.
A loud whistle shifted her attention. David had finally appeared, riding his Kubota, climbing the narrow track from the lake. The machine's articulated arm with its digging bucket was tucked in sideways. Ellen was too relieved at seeing him to be annoyed that he was alone. David saw her frantic waving of her donkey jacket and altered course to take the higher path alongside the stream. The track-laying miniature digger was a sure-footed beast on uneven ground. With its narrow, slit-trench bucket, the little Japanese machine, not much bigger than a ride-on mower, was ideal for digging new drain trenches and cutting ditches in Sussex's heavy Weald clay. It had paid for itself in weekend rentals to do-it-yourselfers for scratching out the footings of extensions and patios.
He drew up alongside Ellen and stopped. There was an eager light in her eyes which he had last seen when she had dug out a flint axhead with her bare hands.
`Where're the others?' Ellen demanded.
`It's Saturday. Where are all of the Crittendens on a Saturday after they've been paid? Boozed out of their skulls. Young and old. What's all this about, Ellen?'
`David -- I think I've found the site of a cave!'
David slid off the Kubota's seat and wrinkled his nose. `Smells like you also found a perfume rep to unload some samples on you. If you're going to wear that stuff tonight, then I'm going to feign a headache. You smell worse than that dreadful Ginkgo tree -- like a warthogs' graveyard.'
`Where do you get your wonderful chat-up lines from, David?'
`Same place you get your wonderful perfumes from, m'dear.' He put an arm around Ellen's waist and gave her an affectionate hug. `Okay -- so show me.'
Ellen gave him the photograph and pointed out the discolouration. As expected, he was unimpressed and voiced a number of objections.
`This isn't cave country, Ellen. What limestone has been washed out has been replaced by silt and sand which is now solid sandstone.'
Ellen pointed to her little cairn marker by the bank. `Please, David. Dig.'
`What angle?'
`Straight into the bank. Levelish and down at a slight angle.’
`Nothing like a precise job spec.'
`Dig, please, David.'
`The bank might collapse.'
Ellen seized a shovel from the digger's tool rack and brandished it menacingly. `David, my love, light of my life, my little swede-bashing dreamboat. If you don't start digging I'm going to chop your cock off and splatter your miserable balls all over this valley.'
Realising that he'd have no peace until she had been proved wrong and that she might just carry out her threat, David started the Kubota's engine. He manoeuvred the machine into position and worked the row of hydraulic control levers so that the bucket cut out a neat metre square of turf in strips which Ellen moved clear of the site.
The first bucketful dumped to one side was yellowish loa
m and clay. David said nothing but continued working methodically, cutting into the opening and not going deeper until the first bucket depth was clear. Half a metre into the bank and he was dumping heavy blue clay that stuck to the bucket and had to be dislodged by Ellen with the shovel. It slowed them down. At the end of thirty minutes they had a huge, sticky pile of spoil to show for their efforts and a square hole, now a metre deep, that tunnelled at an angle into the bank.
The bucket grated on rocks. David stopped digging to poke at the large stones. `Bits of sandstone, chalk, flint, and that lump looks like granite... Ellen -- we're getting erratics. What we're digging into is probably an old landslide. We could be weeks--'
`I shall pickle it and keep it in a jar on my desk. The refractive index of formaldehyde will make it look bigger than it is. You'd like that, wouldn't you?'
David mopped his face with a handkerchief and decided that it might be unwise to complain about the warmth. He continued digging. Eventually he was working virtually blind, with the digger's arm fully extended, reaching two metres into the tunnel. `I can't go much deeper, Ellen. We're going to have to widen the opening to get the Kub in further -- Bloody hell...'
`What's up?' Ellen's eyes were suddenly alight with hope. David rarely swore.
`There's nothing there...' said David wonderingly. He waggled a lever. `No resistance. The bucket's broken through.'
Ellen gave a little dance of impatience as David backed the Kubota away. As soon as the bucket was clear she wriggled into the tunnel with the torch, ignoring David's suggestion that they ought to shore-up the roof first.
`Hallo! Hallo!' she called.
`Hallooo!' David answered in a spectral voice.
`Shut up. And leave my arse alone.'
`Sorry, m'dear. I yielded to temptation.'
`You'll be yielding to a black eye in a minute.' Ellen emerged backwards, her hair and face streaked with clay but she too excited to care.
`Anyone at home?' David asked.
Ellen's eyes were shining. `It's a cave all right! I couldn't get the torch in position but it was a bit echoey when I shouted. You'll need to cut to the left and up a bit.'
This time David worked with some enthusiasm, reaching the bucket deep into the opening and dragging out spoil. When he had done all he could, Ellen crawled in with the shovel, dislodging rocks and small boulders, and rolling them out of the way with gusto.
David was no coward but he reckoned that what Ellen did next took guts: she seized the torch and crawled straight into the opening at the end of the short tunnel. He peered after her but saw only a flash of light.
`Come on, David!' Ellen's voice was cracking with excitement. `There's just enough height to stand.'
`There might be... something in there.'
`I'll look after you. Come on!'
David wriggled along the tunnel and through the opening. Ellen helped him to his feet. The torchlight flashed on bright points of garnet and silicates that were sprinkled across the rockface like star dust. They were in a narrow, triangular chamber formed by huge slabs of fractured stratum.
David was about to express disappointment when Ellen's torch picked out a darker triangle that led into a narrow passage. She directed the beam down and David saw the unmistakable mark of Man: flat stones skillfully tessellated to form a floor.
`It's exactly how I saw -- visualised it!' breathed Ellen. She moved forward and told David to keep to one side because she had seen footprints. The passage was at least ten metres long, rock-strewn which made for hard going, yet surprisingly dry considering that it was near a stream and lay beneath tonnes of sticky, wet Weald clay. David was about to suggest that they go back and fetch better lights when their voices suddenly acquired a noticeable echo, and the torch's beam plunged into nothingness. Ellen swung the light, screamed, and dropped the torch.
In the half second before darkness engulfed them they both saw the huge, wide-eyed, salivating creature that was charging straight at them.
Chapter 24.
BEN WATSON WATCHED Mike Malone's tracksuited figure pound past the snarled-up traffic crawling up Duncton Hill and veer into his lay-by. He placed a glass of orange juice on the counter of his mobile snack bar. Malone was hardly sweating yet he downed the drink in one gulp.
`And another, please, Ben. Throat's parched.'
Ben refilled the glass. `Fumes from that lot, Mr Malone,' he said sourly, nodding at the crawling traffic. `Buggered my trade, it has.'
`Certainly buggered my day,' Malone replied.
`Any idea what's behind it?'
Malone smiled. `You're asking me for info, Ben?' He became serious. `No one knows. Some bright spark thought it might someone playing around with a radiation device that swamps ignition coils. But drivers of diesel vehicles have been reporting the same problem, and light aircraft have been affected -- so that's that idea knocked on the head. Anyway, every bloody road in and out of Pentworth is affected. Last I heard when I left the nick was that a garbled fax had come through from the AA's BIS Room at Basingstoke saying that they'd had over twenty reports of burnt out clutches in this area today, and what the hell was going on.'
`Lot of electricity and water vans running around like chickens with their heads cut off,' Ben observed.
`And British Telecom,' Malone added. `And British Gas have been going spare. Pressure's so low they're convinced that there must be a major leak somewhere that they can't find. They're thinking of cutting the area off altogether. Latest theory is that a burst main has caused problems with the electric and gas supplies but no one knows where.'
Ben jerked a thumb at a portable TV. `Given up on the Pompey-Aldershot match. Lousy picture. Usually works well here, too. Runs off me battery. Radio's the same.'
`It's been put down to the exceptionally high atmospheric pressure, Ben. 1060 millibars. That is high. A record.'
`Bloody weird,' said Ben who thought a millibar was a chocolate snack. `Hot too. Not like March, is it?'
Malone finished his drink and paid his bill. `March is the month for madness. Looks like our cosy little world is falling apart, Ben.'
`It's a curse on us for our sinful ways, Mr Malone.'
Normally Ben's information was reliable but Malone doubted the credibility of this latest pearl. He adjusted his sweatband. `There'll be a curse on me if I'm late for my daughter's school concert this evening. Be seeing you.’
Chapter 25.
THE SHARPNESS OF THE STARTLING image on Ellen's computer monitor was a credit to the makers of her digital camera and its built-in flash because her hands had been trembling when she had started taking pictures in the cave.
The strands of reddish wool, hanging like a huge, shaggy blanket from the great beast looked so realistic that she imagined that she could reach out and touch them. The second picture, with David standing beside the palaeolithic mural, gave a better indication of the woolly mammoth's size. It stood about four metres to its whithers. The artists had exploited a natural protrusion in the rock face to give the great beast's head a startling three-dimensional quality which was why she had screamed. The huge head was lowered, as if about to charge, inflicting terrible injuries on the diminutive figures of its human tormentors in the foreground. The creature's tusks were truly formidable: they swept outwards and then inwards, the tips crossing each other. So accurate was the giant wall painting that the chipped and damaged state of the ancient ivories was clearly apparent. Their purpose was not so much as weapons -- the mammoths had had no enemies other than Man and warmth -- but for breaking up the ice that covered the sedge grasses of the northern steppes. The creature had been blinded by volleys of absurdly small throwing spears that clung to it like porcupine quills.
Ellen clicked on the next thumbnail image and experienced an almost sexual thrill when the picture exploded to full screen. This was a detail of the group of hunters, some clutching discharged spear-throwers -- the forerunner of the bow and arrow. Others, including women, were ready to rush in with loaded spea
r-throwers.
It was quiet now. The shop was closed and Vikki had been sent off with a substantial bonus. Ellen had had a bath, not as hot as she would've liked because the gas pressure was down, and now was feeling relaxed and content, and going through the pictures for the twentieth time. Her cave would become world-famous for it was the world's only example of a life-size mammoth painting.
She looked up as David came padding bootless through the backdoor. He kicked off his mud-caked jeans, pulled his T-shirt over his head and flopped tiredly into a chair in just his underpants.
`Done,' he said. `Just beat the light. All the spoil taken away in the dumper. I cut an old sheep hurdle to fit into the opening and put the turf back. Fed the sheep around the site so that they've churned up the Kubota marks. They don't seem to mind the appalling stink from that wretched tree of yours.' He fell silent, watching the changing images on the computer monitor and asked Ellen to stop at a picture that showed Lowry-like figures driving a rhinoceros into a corral trap. They had found six such hunting scenes in the cave.
`Amazing,' said David shaking his head. `They had discovered perspective.'
`How do you mean?'
`They knew that painting figures higher up, and smaller and fainter made them appear further away... I took another look before closing up.'
Ellen smiled without taking her eyes off the screen. `I don't blame you.'
`A close look -- a really close look with a halogen lantern and a magnifying glass. None of the paint strokes are continuous -- they may look like straight lines but they're broken up by thousands of tiny erosion gaps and crystalline formations. All the scenes are like that.'
`Meaning?'
`Meaning that the paintings are genuine,' said David wearily. `That's something a forger could never reproduce. And all those bones scattered about. They look like cave bear remains. Several of them -- probably trapped by the landslide. Where would a forger get such remains?'
Ellen turned and looked sharply at him. `Was there ever any doubt?'
David hesitated, not trusting Ellen's temper but feeling bound to tell the truth. `The way you knew exactly where the opening was? Yes -- of course there was doubt. Forgive me, Ellen, but knowing how keen you were to make such a discovery... Well -- I thought...'
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