Timeless

by Teresa Reasor

  “Yes. It’s difficult for women, because we have less muscle mass than the men and the suits are heavy out of the water. But it beats living in the pot, as the men call it, for weeks at a time. That would not be my idea of the best working environment.”

  Regan looked down at her plate. Her stomach finally settling again, she cut up her own fish and tucked into her breakfast. “Quinn says you have no sense of taste or smell while you’re in the pot. So food is just eaten to feed your body for the twelve hours you have bottom time.”

  “Jesus—twelve hour shifts working in water. You’d have to be strong as an ox,” Rick said then bit into his sandwich.

  “It would definitely keep you in shape,” Henry agreed.

  “I’d worry about the physical ramifications of working under pressure for that length of time,” Helen said as she brushed her chestnut hair away from her face with her hand and pushed away her plate.

  “We have to worry about the joint problems and stuff that goes along with breathing compressed air and other mixed gases just as much,” Rick said. “Which would be the lesser of the two evils?”

  In the midst of a debate between the pros and cons of different diving techniques, Regan rose to go to the restroom. A few minutes later she exited the facilities to discover Henry waiting outside.

  His dark red hair stood on end in a manner consistent with his having just run his fingers through it more than once. His brows drew together in a frown over the straight long blade of his nose. “I wanted to speak to you without the others around. I know you’ve been avoiding me since we had the argument a few days ago.”

  Regan nodded. “I was angry and needed a cooling off period, Henry.”

  He dipped his head. “Me too. I haven’t been running my mouth to anyone. I know that’s what you think, but I haven’t.”

  Regan studied his expression. “Good. I haven’t mentioned our disagreement to anyone either.”

  He nodded. “I just want you to be careful, all right? More careful than you have been so far.”

  If she agreed, she’d be admitting that she hadn’t been as cautious as she needed to be. And even if she hadn’t been, owning up to it to Henry rubbed her the wrong way. “I’m very aware of the safety issues of the dig, Henry. Dr. Fraser more than made the point the other day.”

  “All right. I get it. I’d hate to see you hurt, Regan. We’ve known each other since we started freshman classes together.”

  “I can’t get hurt cleaning the monolith I’ve been assigned to and drawing, now can I?”

  “No. But you’re getting awfully close to the SAT divers. We’ll be leaving at the end of the summer. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt there either.”

  How would she feel when she had to leave at the end of the summer? She’d be leaving Quinn. The idea cramped her stomach with dread. Would hearing it from any one of the other students have made her any less resentful, though? She didn’t know. She drew a deep breath and worked at keeping her voice even. “I’ve made some friends here. Hopefully we’ll be able to keep in touch when this summer is over. I’d like to think so, at least. After all, what we do leaves the possibility of international cooperation wide open. It never hurts to build professional contacts with people, now does it?”

  “No. It doesn’t. If that’s all it is.”

  She studied him for a long moment. Was he just trying to look out for her? Or was there some kind of jealousy going on here? She couldn’t read his expression. And his strange red-brown eyes held a flatness, a blankness that made her uncomfortable. She’d thought him an open book. She’d done exactly what she’d warned him about, and taken him at face value. But she wasn’t now. Uneasiness took root and had her defenses going up. She had the sudden desire to get away from him.

  “I appreciate your concern, Henry. I’ll be sure to watch my step from here on out.” She brushed past him and arrived at the table just as Hannah rose from her seat.

  “Are you through eating Regan?”

  Her appetite gone, Regan grasped the tray to empty it. “Yes, I am.”

  “Good before we go back to the dig, I had a detour in mind.”

  “Where are we going?” Regan asked as they turned east and climbed the hill to one of the tiered sidewalks.

  “It’s a surprise,” Hannah said with a mischievous smile.

  Regan turned her head to study the SAT system that dominated the starboard side of Grannos’s bow. A hydraulic wench raised the diving bell free from the system and lowered it over the side of the ship. Anxiety hollowed her stomach as it hit the water, bobbed on the surface, and then sank.

  God, she wished they’d hurry and raise that damn stone. Please be safe, Quinn.

  The bell submerged, and she forced her attention back to Hannah. “Logan said they’d be raising the stone later today. I don’t want to miss it. He’s promised to send one of the men down to tell us when they’ve filled the lift bags.”

  “You’ve been on edge ever since they started the recovery. Have anything to do with a certain Douglas brother who’s been out of touch the last few days?”

  Regan, still trying to shake free of the strange vibes she’d gotten from Henry, remained silent a moment then offered a half-hearted smile. “Yes. I’m a little concerned. Saturation diving is a big deal. Only a very few men are trained to do it.”

  Hannah’s brows rose. “Uh-huh. And that’s why Logan came about to check on you yesterday and again today?”

  Regan frowned. That was a bit strange. As was Logan’s business-like behavior. What had Quinn told him? Had something else happened? He’d seemed fine this morning when she’d talked to him.

  “Have you told him about our cabin being broken into?” Hannah asked.

  “Yes. Just this morning. I tried to make out as though it isn’t a big deal. There’s nothing he could do about it from inside the SAT system. With only my laptop and yours stolen and nothing destroyed, the security people Dr. Fraser sent didn’t think it was a big deal. Have you told Logan?”

  “Aye. He’s coming by every evening to make sure everything is as it should be.”

  Regan raised one brow. “Just in case.”

  Hannah laughed and looped her arm through Regan’s and drew to a stop. “We’re both frauds, aren’t we? Ready to go in?” Hannah motioned toward the building they’d stopped before.

  “Why are we going to the preservation lab?”

  “I thought seeing the skull they recovered last week would cheer you up. Dr. Shumaker has promised to show it to us.”

  “Really?” Regan smiled. She’d wanted to see it since its recovery but it had been put under wraps.

  The door opened before they reached it, and they stood aside as Andrew Argus exited the building. Regan tensed as his dark gaze settled on her face. Niggling discomforts shimmied down her spine.

  “Good afternoon,” he tipped his head in their direction. “How are the new computers working for you?”

  “Wonderfully,” Hannah said.

  “I’m glad you’re pleased.” He turned toward the building that housed the site supervisor and surveyor’s office. He turned back, his movements so quick, she and Hannah both started.

  “I meant to tell you earlier, I enjoyed the song you sang the other night very much,” he said, his accent an attractive mixture of English and Greek.

  Regan’s face grew hot. “Thank you.”

  His dark eyes appeared more brown than black with the light shining on his face. It accentuated the hollows beneath his cheekbones. “It sounded familiar to me. Has it been recorded?”

  “No. Mr. Douglas, Quinn, wrote it.”

  His black brows rose, and he studied her face. “He has been teaching you Gaelic?”

  It wouldn’t do to let him think she and Quinn were involved. The powers that be might frown on it. “No.” Regan shook her head. “Just the song.”

  “I will congratulate him on it when next I see him.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear you liked it.”


  He glanced toward the sign in front of the lab. “You are going in to see Dr. Shumaker?”

  “Yes. She’s invited us to look at the skull and some other artifacts she’s analyzing,” Hannah said.

  His attention shifted to her for a moment. “The skull is an amazing find, if it is truly connected to the monoliths in some way,” he said.

  “Yes, it is, if that can be proven. If not, it will still be preserved, studied, and protected as an example of the people of the area,” Regan said. God, what if Nicodemus wanted the skull as an artifact? Nausea had saliva pooling in her mouth. “It is important for us to treat any kind of human remains with respect, not just as an archaeological find.”

  “Yes, of course.” He nodded. “I’ll let you get to it then. Good afternoon.” Argus turned and sauntered away.

  “He’s a bit intense,” Hannah said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Do you think?”

  Hannah laughed. She tugged Regan inside the building.

  On the first tour Dr. Shumaker had given her, Regan had learned the complex encompassed several labs in one. To the right was a dry lab, where artifacts discovered beneath the ground could be cleaned, analyzed, and preserved. To the left lay the wet lab. Underwater discoveries kept there remained submerged in fluid until they could be dried or processed to ensure they wouldn’t crumble or degenerate. Farther down the hall lay the x-ray facilities, the restoration lab, and the storage facility for artifacts.

  “I wondered why Nicodemus would spend so much money building such an elaborate space for just this dig. Dr. Shumaker told me that because the facilities are so state of the art, they’re getting more and more artifacts from all over Scotland to analyze and preserve. Especially those with Ogham carved on them,” Regan said.

  “Maybe he’s hoping for a donation or two for his collection in payment for the expense,” Hannah said. “Hope he doesn’t get them. What’s discovered in Scotland should remain in Scotland.”

  Hannah opened the door to the wet lab and led her in.

  The room, about eighteen feet wide and twenty feet long, contained several long tables cluttered with plastic containers of various depths. A bank of tall cabinets with a sink at one end lined the east wall. A computer station sat in the opposite corner flanked by screen drying racks, all empty.

  Dr. Sandra Shumaker looked up from the microscope she leaned over and rose from her stool at one of the long lab tables. The weight of dark blond hair secured at the base of her neck curled across her shoulder. Her round pleasant face wore a smile as she approached them.

  “I’m glad you could come. Hannah said you wanted to view the skull.”

  Dr. Shumaker’s American accent sounded strange after so many weeks working with the Scottish and Irish men and women on the dig.

  Regan tried to shrug aside her remaining tension and worry about Quinn and focus on the unexpected treat. “Yes,” she said, her tone so eager Hannah grinned.

  “I meant to thank you for running the coin by. I really do wish the divers would leave things in situ for us to recover, though,” Dr. Shumaker complained.

  “I believe the coin was recovered on the surface near the cofferdam. It had to have been kicked up when the supports were sunk. I spoke with Gordon this morning on the way here. They did mark the location so that we could explore it later. Have you discovered anything about it?”

  “It’s Roman, fourth century and made from copper alloy. It’s very similar to those found on a beach in the Western Isles in 2007. Considering how long it must have been in the water, it’s very well preserved.”

  “I thought so too. Will you be sending it on to Edinburgh to be studied?” Regan asked.

  “No. It will be analyzed and maintained here. I’ve been told that we’ll have a visitor’s center with display areas to hold anything we recover from the dig.”

  “That will be excellent!” Hannah exclaimed.

  Dr. Shumaker smiled. “Yes, it will. Now the skull. He’s become very popular today. Mr. Argus just left.” Dr. Shumaker turned to lead the way. “We took small specimens from the interior of the skull to analyze and withdrew some of the water saturating the bone to test for pollutants.” She opened a cabinet and eased a three-quart Plexiglas container forward from one of the shelves, her movements slow and careful. “We cleaned the skull with ionized water and used baths of alcohol and water to leach the liquid from the artifact. It’s still spongy and very fragile, so it’s drying in a vacuum.” She lifted the cube out and set it on the table.

  ”Later today, depending on how dry it is, I’ll brush on a solution of polyvinyl acetate to stabilize it.”

  “In the analysis, did you do radiocarbon dating?” Regan asked.

  “Yes. I’m in the process of writing up the findings as we get them. I’ll be sharing them with all of you when I do.”

  Regan nodded. “And what about using the FACE software to reconstruct the features?”

  “Yes, once we’re able to do the measurements. I have a friend in Washington D.C. who’s promised to do the reconstruction and email it to us. There’s talk of displaying the skull with a clay model of the reconstruction.”

  Dr. Shumaker stepped away from the container.

  Regan turned to look through the Plexiglas at the skull. She stared at, not bare bone, but a face transposed over the structure as though projected there. A gasp escaped her.

  Time stopped.

  Quinn’s features looked back at her.

  Fear sliced through her bringing tears to her eyes. It isn’t Quinn. It couldn’t be Quinn. But, dear God, what was happening to him?

  *****

  Stepping out from under the bell, Quinn and Struthers followed the glare of the canister lights to the site. The stone appeared shrouded by the yellow ochre air pontoons secured to it by team two.

  “I’ll be glad to see this bugger afloat,” Struthers said.

  “Aye. The sooner we get the air hoses connected, the sooner we’ll hand it off to the men topside,” Quinn said, moving forward. After only four or five steps, silt muddied the water and blurred their vision. Going to the gear basket, they retrieved the hoses and hardware they would need for the first few bags and felt their way around the stone.

  Because of the silt, the glow of his hat light bounced back at him as though he stood before a mirror. Using touch alone, Quinn plugged the first section of C.P. hose into the port of the pontoon, then twisted it to secure it. The other end he fastened to a tee fitting. His heavy gloves made pushing the clips in to lock the gasketed fittings difficult, and it took several minutes to complete the task.

  “Tell me again why we spend ninety percent of our time on the bottom being blinded by mud and working in the dark when we could be topside in the clear,” Struthers said.

  “’Tis for the bloody good pay, man.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” Struthers grunted as though having a difficult time with something.

  Quinn moved on to the next hose. After an hour and one other trip to the gear basket he had the three hoses locked in place. He ran his fingers over each connection to double-check them. The tee-fittings would ensure the bottom two air pontoons would inflate, followed by the side two, and then the last one fastened atop the stone.

  Struthers bumped against him and thrust the manifold forward. Quinn fed both lines run from the pontoons into it and twisted them into place. “Get the main line and we’ll release the ropes on the air bags and begin filling them.”

  “Roger, boss.” Struthers shuffled off to do as he asked.

  He’d be relieved to have this done and begin work on the other one. The faster they got through, the sooner they’d be topside decompressing.

  He was a fool. He was just eager to see Regan and check on her himself. The vision he’d had down here had more than shaken him. The dreams continued to taunt him, growing worse, more insistent.

  Rob checked on her every day to make sure she stayed out of trouble. In the five days he’d been in SAT, she’d b
een cleaning the stones and hanging about with the other girls.

  She was fine.

  Yeah, he’d keep telling himself that and hope she’d not do anything impulsive.

  “Here’s the topside feed, Quinn,” Struthers said as he guided the hose to him. I’ll attach the pneumo Fathometer on the load.”

  “Roger.” The monitor would ensure topside would know the depth of the load as it rose. “Untie the ropes on that side of the load once you’ve secured it.” Quinn took the hose and twisted it into the manifold. He laid the unit carefully on the loch floor. Resting a hand on the lift bags, he felt for and found the ropes, compressing them into narrow bundles, and pulled them free.

  “They’re free, Quinn.” Struthers came around the side of the stone his form a shadow moving in the silt that rolled and curled like mist in the slow currents.

  “Topside, lower the cable,” Quinn said. Should the load become unstable as it lifted, he didn’t want to lose it. The ship’s crane would hold it until they could move it ashore.

  In the dull glow of the canister lights a steel cable snaked down from above and landed close to the gear basket. Quinn retrieved it and tugged it toward the load. He looped the heavy steel shackle through the one fastened to the top of the woven straps surrounding the load and securing it.

  Quinn picked up the manifold. If the connections were loose and the air pumped through the lines, they would shoot off and injure one of them if they stood too close. “Step back, Struthers. Topside, give me air on line one.”

  “Roger.”

  The hose grew taut and jerked as the air shot through it and hissed as it entered the pontoons. Almost there. They’d get this bugger topside in a few hours.

  As the pontoons filled, they had to be monitored constantly to ensure they didn’t work free of their rigging, get twisted, or spring a leak. Going into the third hour, Quinn checked the connections one more time.

  “What’s it going to take to get this fuckin’ thing to rise?” Struthers asked from his position a few feet to Quinn’s right.

  “It may break free any minute,” Quinn said. He motioned Struthers to take the manifold. He stepped along one side of the load to check the pontoons, then moved around to the front. He gave the straps a tug, testing them.