“Very exciting,” Peña said. “We’ve been running tests with the Riegel VZ-4000 Terrestrial 3-D scanner using modified RiMining 2.0 software. Really extraordinary.”
“Impressive,” Corbett nodded extending his hand to Peña. Then shaking Karim’s hand, he asked, “Which college…?”
“Merton. Do you know it?” His accent was British with a Pakistani lilt.
“I studied at Magdalen…,” Corbett said. “But of course, that would have been a bit before your time – closer to the first Crusade.” Unsure how to take this, Karim glanced at Asurias who quickly added “I believe that was a joke,” he said with a wink at Corbett. Karim managed a self-conscious smile as the others laughed.
Hearing a soft knock at the door, all eyes turned to find an attractive young woman in her mid-twenties standing in the threshold. Seeing her, Asurias motioned to her to step forward.
“Ah, there you are,” he said, turning to Corbett. “And this is our American graduate student, Ella Beckwith from Chicago. She will be responsible for maintaining a complete photographic record of whatever art and artifacts you discover.”
Her hair was a lighter shade of auburn and cut short, giving her a look of defiant independence. Wearing dark-rimmed glasses and no make-up, she was dressed in a dark blue blazer, white sweater and jeans. Smiling, she held out her hand. “Actually, I took my undergraduate degree from Northwestern,” she said as Corbett shook her hand.
“Northwestern…? Interesting. I spoke there a couple of years ago at a seminar on Early Man. Did you know Dr. Van der Hoven?”
“He was my advisor. Your lecture was one of the reasons I changed my major.”
Corbett grinned. “And you’re still speaking to me? Encouraging.” Half embarrassed, Ella tried not to smile.
“Actually, I did my senior thesis on the Galeras, an indigenous tribe from the Brazilian rain forest.”
“A long way from Brazil to the caves of Spain.”
“Not really. In some ways, the petroglyphs of the Galeras are strikingly similar to several paintings found at Altamira. Who knows what we’ll find in the Pyrenees.”
“Excellent point.”
“Actually, we were thinking you might join us for a drink this evening,” Roberto suggested. “Perhaps give us a chance to get to know one another.”
“Sounds good…” Corbett began only to be cut off as Asurias interceded.
“Indeed, a fine idea. Unfortunately, there is much to do. Dr. Corbett will need every minute to prepare.”
“Dr. Asurias is right,” Corbett reluctantly agreed. Then reading their faces, he attempted to ease their disappointment, “But not to worry. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time once we reach the site.”
“Do we know when we’ll leave?” Ella asked.
“You must be packed and at El Puente Romano tomorrow by five,” Asurias replied.
“Five…?” Karim looked slightly stunned. “…in the morning?”
“Si, si, mañana…” the professor confirmed with an exasperated smile, “So you will not be late. Comprenda…?”
“Si...” Karim answered. “A las cinco de la mañana.”
“See you in the morning,” Corbett nodded to Ella and the others as they said their goodbyes then turned his attention to demands of the upcoming trek into the mountains.
*****
Outside Asurias’ office, the three graduate students stood briefly discussing what lay before them. Clearly excited by the prospect of being part of such a project, the two men decided to meet for supper later that evening and suggested Ella join them, but she declined. Too much to do if she was to be ready by the crack of dawn. Saying goodbye, she moved off alone.
“Otro lesbian.” Roberto said with a derisive shake of his head once he felt she was out of earshot.
“No…? You really think so?” Karim asked. “How do you know?
“Just look at her. She wears her hair like a boy and dresses like a man. Definitely a lesbian. I’d put money on it. Let’s go for coffee.”
The two young men moved off together down the corridor.
*****
Returning through the meandering streets to her rented room, a cramped single on the second floor of an older building located off the Calle de la Compañia, Ella unlocked the door and stepped inside. Smelling vaguely of Lysol and aging wallpaper paste it was sparsely furnished: a narrow bed, dresser and a small desk with a chair barely left room to maneuver. A common bathroom, shared with five other young students, all female, was down the hall. Despite the cramped conditions, she had taken it on a week-to-week knowing that she would only be staying a short time before heading into the mountains.
Dropping her backpack on the desk, she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed, propping up her head with a pillow. She would have to write her mother this evening and let her know that she would be travelling into the Pyrenees and would be unreachable for at least six weeks.
Her mother, Nora Joyce, was a professor of Women’s and Gender Studies at Carleton College in Northfield, Minnesota. Having reclaimed her maiden name following the divorce from Ella’s father, an executive with Aetna Insurance, who now lived with his new wife and their young son in Manhattan, Ella’s mother tended to worry if she didn’t hear from her regularly.
Her parents had separated when Ella was ten. It had been an acrimonious divorce. She had been aware of her father’s infidelities but never expected he would leave them for another woman. She could still picture him coming into her room late one night and sitting on the edge of her bed. He spoke in a low almost inaudible voice as he attempted to explain that this had been the most difficult decision of his life. But the truth was, he and her mother had drifted apart, and he had found someone else. Assuring Ella that he still loved her and always would, he had explained that he would be there for her no matter what. Which of course, she would soon learn meant as long as it was convenient for him. It bothered her that her father had not fought for custody. But to be honest, her mother had not helped matters by accepting the teaching position a thousand miles from Manhattan.
In truth, Ella had intrinsically understood her mother’s need to put distance between herself and her former husband. Even so, she could not deny the shock and hurt she felt when her father soon announced that he intended to remarry. He asked her to be in the wedding and offered to pay for her to fly to New York. But sensing her mother’s taciturn rage, she had declined. Over the intervening years, her contact with her father had become limited almost exclusively to holidays. And even then, when she saw him, she felt that she was somehow betraying some unspoken bond with her mother.
The divorce had affected her other ways as well. Socially she rarely dated in high school and had few close friends. As a result, it was the fall of her sophomore year at Northwestern before she decided to have sex. As a teenager, she had resisted because it seemed that everyone was doing it. But by the time she was nearly twenty, her virginity had begun to feel like an encumbrance. For Ella, shedding it had become a necessary rite of passage, something to be dispensed with so that she could get on with the rest of her life. She was thinking of becoming an English major and had met the boy she gave herself to in a class on 17th century English poetry. It was an unseasonably warm October evening, and they fumbled together beneath a blanket he had spread out on the edge of Lake Michigan. Awkwardly quoting Andrew Marvel, he satisfied himself but left her wondering what all the fuss had been about. “Had we but world enough and time...” indeed. After it was over, he dropped her back at her dorm and never called again, not that she wanted him to. As her mother was fond of saying: “Girls will always be women, men will always be boys.”
It was shortly after this, just before Thanksgiving break, that she had gone with a girlfriend to a lecture titled “New Discoveries in the Evolution, Culture and Eventual Extinction of the Neanderthals” being given under the auspices of the Anthropology Department in Fisk Hall by Dr. Michael Corbett. To be honest, she had not expected much. But fro
m the moment Corbett took the stage, she had not been able to take her eyes off him. Barely thirty and charismatic, he had a dynamism about him that was infectious. As he covered the Neanderthals’ emergence during the last Ice Age, the recent breakthroughs in DNA mapping and the emerging theory of their possible interbreeding with Humans, Ella couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her own recent encounter along the lakeshore. Neanderthal indeed. By the end of the evening, Corbett’s passion for Paleoanthropology had clearly ignited her own. Before leaving for Christmas break, she had decided to change her major.
Now that she had actually met him – that same Michael Corbett who had so radically affected the course of her life – the fact that they would actually be spending the next several months together exploring a cave in the Pyrenees seemed somehow extraordinarily serendipitous.
Checking her enthusiasm, she rose at last, opened her backpack and removed her laptop. Packing could wait. Connecting to the Internet, she clicked on the icon and began an email to her mother. But as she typed Corbett’s name, she hesitated, then deleted it. No point in providing her mother with something to obsess over when there was really nothing there. Instead, she simply wrote about the incredible beauty of the city of Salamanca and the university and her good fortune at being included in the upcoming expedition. Finally signing it “Love, Ella,” she clicked on “SEND. ” The rest would have to wait.
*****
After the students had left, Asurias escorted Corbett down a short corridor and into an adjoining room as they continued to discuss the work that lay ahead.
Unlocking the door leading to a dark rectangular chamber, the professor turned on the switch, flooding the room with light. “Do you have any questions regarding the advance materials I sent?”
Corbett shook his head as the professor stepped to a large, glass enclosed mahogany display case. “On the plane,” he assured him, “I was able to go through everything. Quite a discovery. A cave system carved through folded limestone and formed over hundreds of millennia by a subterranean river. No telling what we might find down there.”
Taking out a key, Asurias unlocked the case. “Very true. Which is why, to assist us in our preparations, I commissioned this scale model.” There within the case was an exact replica of the archeological site rendered in minute detail out of plaster of Paris and painted by hand. Along the walls of the room, photographs and topological maps provided the additional specifics. Indicating the contours of the landscape as he spoke, the professor continued: “You can see the entrance to the cave there near the crest of the ridge. And here, nearly a kilometer below, is where the river emerges. Quite unique.”
Leaning in for a closer look, Corbett was impressed. “Your notes said the site is virtually pristine. Not to sound skeptical, but…”
“Si, you are right to question this. We are very fortunate. A seismic event, perhaps 30,000 years ago, sealed the mouth of the cave. Only a recent shifting of the earth approximately a year and a half ago exposed the entrance. It was discovered by a Basque shepherd, who then reported it to authorities. They, in turn, contacted the university. As a consequence, we were able to secure the site before it became contaminated. An extraordinary opportunity, you agree?”
“Sometimes the gods smile,” Corbett nodded, pointing to a plateau halfway up the mountain. “You mentioned setting up our base camp here and using it as a staging area.”
“Exactly so. Several weeks ago, I sent Sebastian Vega of the Museo Archeologico Nacional in Madrid ahead with the advance party to begin preparing the camp and assembling the equipment so that everything will be in readiness when you arrive. You will like him. He will act as your chief lieutenant in all matters related to the dig itself.”
“And the rest of the team…?”
“Gorka, of course, whom you met last night, will manage the day-to-day operations. Hector, who picked you up at the airport, will be in charge of the generators as well as installing and maintaining the subterranean lighting grid – a major undertaking given the dimensions and depth of the cave. You’ve already met your key interns. The rest of the labor will be provided by student and faculty volunteers plus local hires. Considering the interest this discovery has aroused, we should have no shortage of manpower.”
“What about medical assistance? On the chance something unexpected comes up?”
“There is a small clinic run by a female doctor named Amaia Alesander in the nearby village of Xeria. We have made arrangements with them to cover most emergencies. For anything of a more serious nature, there is a medevac service out of Bilbao.”
Hearing her name, Corbett felt a sudden tightening in the pit of his stomach as her face momentarily flashed across his mind. Refusing to show any emotion, he forced a smile. “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”
“We try. In Spain, there is a saying: ‘Espera siempre lo inesperado.’ You are familiar with this?”
Corbett nodded: “‘Always expect the unexpected.’ Words to live by.”
*****
Having spent the rest of the day and into the evening with Asurias going over the details and demands of the dig – from stratigraphy to carbon dating (both relative and absolute) to typology, weathering and magnetometry – Corbett finally thanked him for all his help and bid him good night, promising to meet him and the others at five in the morning at the Roman Bridge for the convoy north.
Walking back toward his hotel, Corbett stared up at the blended façades of Salamanca’s two Cathedrals. Begun in the 12th century, the old cathedral had lasted 400 years before being supplanted by the new. But unable to part with its past, the citizens of Salamanca had refused to demolish the old edifice. Instead they had created a curious hybrid with the north wall of the original supporting the south wall of its replacement.
Their joint exterior now rose into the night sky, illuminated by floodlights from below. Reaching the entrance to the Old Cathedral, he turned to his right and stepped through the doorway into the musty silence of the basilica. The smell of burning tapers clotted the air. Directly before him at the far end of the nave beyond the transept stood the apse, a monumental gilded reredos by Dello Delli Florentino. In 53 painted panels it retold the lives of Jesus and the Virgin Mary capped by a ceiling fresco of the Risen Christ on the Day of Reckoning painted by his brother Nicola. Dating from the 15th century, as a work of art alone, it retained a kind of majesty that still seemed formidable, Corbett thought, even for a non-believer like himself.
Stepping to the right of the altar, he found the statue of the Blessed Virgin and bought a votive candle for two Euros, depositing the coins in the wooden collection box. Lighting the taper, Corbett said a silent prayer for his sister, Margaret, her husband and three-year old daughter as the haunting memory of their terrified screams reverberated once more through the chambers of his mind. Forcing the image of the burning towers from his thoughts, he slipped the taper into a glass cylinder on the rack beneath the statue of the Blessed Virgin. At the same time, as if materializing out of the darkness, Reed was standing beside him. Purchasing a candle, Reed prepared to light it as well.
“You’ve been busy,” he said in a quiet businesslike tone.
“Yeah. The nightlife’s been killing me.”
“So we hear. Anyone we know?”
“No idea… but he wasn’t Spanish.”
Digesting this, Reed frowned. “ISIS…?” He glanced at Corbett out of the corner of his eye as he inserted his candle into a cylinder as well.
“Could be.”
“Watch yourself. It would be extremely inconvenient if the Company had to find someone to replace you.”
“I’m touched,” Corbett replied. The Company’s concern exuded all the warmth of a fart in a snowstorm. “What are we talking about?”
“Nothing fancy. Just locate Tariq. Exfiltrate him. We’ll do the rest. Whatever you need, let us know.”
“Right,” Corbett nodded, inwardly amused by Reed’s use of Company jargon. “Exfiltrate.” W
hat a word. Why not just say it in plain English? Find Tariq and get him out of Spain without attracting the authorities.
“Unfortunately, you’re going to have to work faster than we’d hoped. The word we’re hearing is that his father may not make it much longer. I’ll drop you an encrypted email. Code name: ‘Mother.’ As soon as you make contact, reply in kind.”
“Got it.”
“Any questions?”
“Just one…” Corbett hesitated. “Gibraltar – did the funding really fall through… or did the Company ‘intercede’…?”
Reed said nothing. As the silence lengthened, Corbett glanced to his right to find himself standing alone.
“Fuck me,” he whispered as if in answer to his own question. Then turning, he headed back along the side aisle and out into the evening mist.
*****
In the darkened backroom of a cramped apartment beyond the Rio Tormes, Jarral turned toward Mecca and prepared for the evening prayer known as Isha’. Having bathed and donned a freshly laundered thawb, he stood on the prayer mat and raised his hands, palms outwards, until they were even with the lobes of his ears.
“Allahu Akbar,” he whispered placing his hands upon his chest, right over left. Continuing to pray, he began to recite the Ayat as-sayf, the Verse of the Sword:
So when the sacred months have passed away.
Then slay the idolaters wherever you find them,
And take them captives and besiege them,
And lie in wait for them in every ambush.
Completing his prayer, Jarral bowed from the waist. “Allah is attentive to those who praise Him. Our Lord, to You is due all praise.” Then prostrating himself twice, he whispered again: “Allahu Akbar,” before rising.
The evening prayer had helped him to regain his focus. Rolling up the prayer mat, he put it away and moved to where a cot stood against the far wall. Lying down on his back, he stared into the darkness. His mind, however, was still too cluttered to sleep.
The Exfiltrator Page 6
