Revelations

by Robert Storey

  ‘So you must have been using nano tubes to strengthen the chambers,’ Steiner said, gazing down at the floor in thought, ‘otherwise the depth would have been too great to support the vast pressures above.’ He looked back up. ‘How have you managed to go so deep? Unless you’ve devised a new extraction method, of course, but then—’

  ‘Professor,’ the VP said, interrupting him.

  ‘What? – yes, of course – sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologise, Professor. This is what you have been hired to do, but you will have time enough to think and plan to your heart’s content.’ The VP stood up, with everyone following suit.

  Steiner, caught on the hop, rose last.

  ‘Nathan will take you to your new home and help you settle in. All your research and equipment will be shipped to the Dulce facility in due course,’ the VP said. ‘I’m sorry to have to drop all this on you so suddenly, Professor, you are coping remarkably well, which confirms our choice was a sound one. We will be meeting again very soon, but until then Nathan will be able to answer any further questions you may have.’

  Steiner shook hands with them all, feeling a little bewildered by this sudden life-altering turn of events. At the door he turned. ‘I won’t let you down, Madam Vice President.’

  ‘I have every confidence in you, Professor. We all do.’

  Steiner gave her a nod of his head in acknowledgement and let himself be led out the door and into his new life.

  ♦

  After everyone else had left, Deputy Intelligence Director Malcolm Joiner turned to the Vice President. ‘Let’s hope he delivers,’ he said.

  The Vice President poured some scotch into two tumblers and handed one to him. ‘Oh, he will deliver. We’re here to help, after all; he’s by no means alone in this.’

  ‘The other nations will not want to follow him.’

  ‘He’ll win them round, you’ll see.’

  ‘Perhaps we should have told him everything? I believe he could handle it.’

  ‘Hmm, perhaps.’ She sipped her drink, the ice cubes rattling softly inside the glass. ‘We will feed him more information pertinent to his job when necessary. He knows what he needs to know … for now.’

  Chapter One

  Twenty-two years later. London, England. 2040.

  Trish looked at her watch – again. Twenty minutes past the hour and Sarah had yet to arrive. Trish wasn’t surprised at the tardiness; she’d known Sarah too long to expect anything else. Waiting around did grate after a while but something else bothered her much more. She’d been concerned about her friend’s recent behaviour. Sarah hadn’t seemed happy or even remotely motivated for some time. Less focused, more introverted and less sociable, very un-Sarah like. Trish hadn’t seen her like that since Sarah’s mother had died tragically in a fire five years ago. How time flies, she thought; it seemed like it had been only a couple of years since that fateful day. She took an idle sip of her tea and heaved a small sigh.

  Trish had decided to meet Sarah for a drink at the new café located near the top of the Sky Pillar, the latest and by far the tallest London skyscraper, recently opened to great fanfare. An awe inspiring spectacle, the tower rose up over two thousand feet into the crisp blue sky, shining like a beacon of light across the city as the sun glinted from its smooth, glass-clad surface.

  Looking down from her vantage point Trish could see the tops of some of the smaller towers far below, One Canada Square, The Shard, and its sister tower, The Spire. The building was so high it granted the observer a clear view of aeroplanes and helicopters as they bustled their way around the city. As she took another sip of her drink, she caught sight of Sarah stepping off the escalator and gave her a wave to catch her attention. Seeing the movement, Sarah waved back and began wending her way through the tables and chairs towards her friend.

  Sarah was quite tall, taller than Trish, anyway, and at five eight she wasn’t particularly short. Sarah also managed to catch the attention of many a passing man as she was a true blonde with a beauty, figure and complexion many models would envy. Sarah complained her looks were the bane of her life as many people only saw her features rather than the actual person behind them. Trish could see her point – she could, although she wouldn’t have minded the attention that Sarah enjoyed. Her friend’s physical attributes also helped her in the befuddlement and – usually inadvertent – manoeuvring of the opposite sex. This sparked jealousy in some women, but Trish knew it was a woman’s prerogative, whether intentional or otherwise; men had testosterone and women had their wiles, it was just the way things were. “Gotta make use of what God gave you,” her ma always said.

  Unfortunately Sarah’s looks had also helped to curtail her career prospects as an archaeologist. Strangely, many people didn’t take her friend seriously, even though she was quite brilliant in her chosen field of anthropology. Trish knew Sarah had noticed people’s attitude towards her, too; not everyone, but a reasonable proportion, enough to make it a recognisable problem. Some of her colleagues had even purposefully ignored her, and in some instances during her PhD studies their behaviour could have been classed as psychological bullying. Dealing with these attitudes shown Sarah by her peers had made her a little intense and insular at times. They had also undoubtedly been a factor in her decision to investigate the more dubious and obscure subject matters on offer; but then if you weren’t respected or aided by your peers you would have to forge your own routes or face mediocrity, and Sarah wasn’t one to settle for that.

  Sarah dumped her bags down next to the table and gave Trish a hug in greeting.

  ‘So, how are you keeping?’ Trish said, as Sarah sat down and picked up a menu to browse.

  ‘Fine, thanks.’ Sarah glanced in her direction but didn’t make eye contact. ‘Busy, as normal. You?’

  Trish wasn’t convinced her friend was fine at all. In fact she looked like she’d been crying.

  ‘How’s Mark?’

  ‘Yes, he’s fine too,’ Sarah said, still looking firmly at the menu.

  ‘Sarah.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Sarah.’ Trish leaned forward and eased the menu out of her hands. ‘Look at me, will you? I know there’s something wrong. For a while now you haven’t been yourself. You can tell me. Whatever it is, I won’t judge, you know that.’

  Sarah looked at her friend, anguish suddenly coming to the surface; she quickly looked away again, out over the city. A waiter came over and Sarah ordered a half-caf and a piece of chocolate cake with whipped cream. Trish raised an eyebrow. Sarah normally took great care with her figure, so whatever troubled her must be serious.

  Sarah caught the look. ‘It’s nothing, really,’ she said, unconsciously wringing her hands together, which belied her words. ‘Mark and I are just going through a bad patch; everyone does, right?’

  ‘Of course, but it seems a bit more than that. You haven’t been out much and when I’ve tried to talk to you about it you’ve fobbed me off with lame excuses. I’m worried about you, Saz.’

  Sarah turned away again, her arms folding protectively against her chest. Trish noticed the tension in the movements. She’s not going to tell me, she thought, but then Sarah’s shoulders dropped and she sighed.

  ‘Mark hit me,’ Sarah said, her voice breaking.

  ‘What! When?’ Trish said, shocked that he could do such a thing. He wasn’t perfect, but hey, who was? However, she was even more shocked that Sarah was still with him and had taken it. The fire that had taken her mother had mentally scarred Sarah, making her more vulnerable; could this be the reason she now found herself in such a position?

  ‘A few weeks ago,’ Sarah said, ‘and yes, before you say anything, I should have left him but he was so sorry about it. He got really upset. He didn’t mean to, he just lashed out, he’d been drinking.’

  ‘Oh, my God, Sarah, are you listening to yourself? He friggin’ hit you, the piece of shit. I don’t care how sorry he was or what it was about, it’s unforgivable.’

  ‘I
know – I know. He won’t do it again, he promised me and I believe him. I love him, Trish, I do.’

  Trish groaned inwardly; she knew her friend was wont to fall in love quite easily. Sadly this had left Sarah in some emotionally retarded relationships. She’d hoped Mark would be different, but it seemed those expectations had been well and truly dashed now. She had suspected Mark of trying to control Sarah; over time she’d seen warning signs, but when she’d raised the subject Sarah had dismissed her concerns out of hand. What else could she have done? It was her life after all.

  ‘Hang on,’ Trish said, ‘is that why you didn’t go to Marta and Keith’s wedding reception the other day, when you said you were too tired? I thought that wasn’t like you.’

  Sarah’s hand went to her left cheek.

  Trish took her other hand to comfort her, but Sarah pulled it away.

  ‘How hard did he hit you?’ she said, softening her voice but finding it difficult to hide her anger.

  ‘It left a bruise; it was a slap, really, not a punch or anything.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Trish said vehemently.

  A couple sitting at a nearby table looked round but Trish ignored them. ‘That’s fucking bollocks and you know it,’ she said, a little more quietly. ‘Punch or slap, it’s the same thing. If it’s hard enough to leave a bruise or otherwise, he hit you.’

  ‘I know. Look, I’ll wait a while and see how things go. It won’t happen again. He’d had a bad day at work, you know how it goes.’

  ‘Err, hello? I don’t think so. A bad day at work doesn’t give you carte blanche to beat up on the ones you supposedly love. Nothing does.’

  ‘Trish, I know you mean well, but I can handle this. I’m fine, honestly. Can we talk about something else, please?’

  Trish didn’t want to push it. At least she’s opened up about it, she thought, that’s a major breakthrough. I’ll raise the subject later, perhaps speak to—

  ‘And no, I know what you’re thinking. You will not call my brother, and besides he’s off God knows where with God knows who.’

  Trish gave a sheepish half-smile. ‘You know me too well. Seriously though, Saz, if he does it again—’

  ‘I know – I will – promise.’

  ‘Good. And you best keep him away from me for a while, too, as I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

  Sarah didn’t reply as a waitress arrived with her order. She dug into the cake with gusto while Trish considered her in silence.

  ‘Sarah?’ she said at last.

  Sarah glanced up at her between mouthfuls.

  ‘I wanted to meet not just out of concern,’ Trish said. ‘Well, that was the main reason, but there’s something else. You know that dig a year or so ago where we found those artefacts that you got so excited about?’

  Sarah’s head came up quickly, any distress vanishing from her expression as her eyes came alive. ‘Of course, I’ve been waiting over a year for the crossmatch carbon dating on those bits of bone. Have you got the results? Why didn’t you tell me over the phone?’

  ‘I didn’t say over the phone as I was more concerned about you. I wanted to see you and I’m glad I did.’

  A pained look crept back onto Sarah’s face, only to be replaced with a sterner resolve. ‘Get on with it, then,’ she said, sounding impatient.

  Trish concealed a grin; that was the Sarah she knew and loved.

  Sarah’s expression grew annoyed as she caught her friend’s amusement. ‘What?’

  ‘Eh? Nothing,’ Trish said hastily, losing the upturned corners of her mouth under her friend’s penetrating gaze. ‘Anyway,’ Trish continued, ‘the lab tech, some newbie, got the items to be dated mixed up and the bone fragments weren’t done.’

  Sarah swore loudly and the couple near them looked over again in disapproval.

  ‘That’s not all; after I gave them an earful I took a cab and went down there to find out what was going on. It was as they’d told me; they’d dated the wrong item, which is obviously bad.’ Sarah was about to say something, but Trish held her hand up, cutting her off. ‘Turns out this guy had actually dated some of that stringy rope we found wrapped round what looked like a phalange bone, except it turns out it wasn’t rope at all – it was hair!’

  ‘Hair? No way!’

  ‘Yes, way, and what’s more, and this is the really good bit,’ Trish said, pausing for dramatic effect.

  ‘Arrgh – get on with it already!’

  ‘Well, they dated it and it was five hundred THOUSAND years old. I thought, what – that’s rubbish, as your trinket, that pendant thing the hair had been bound around, was properly cast. So I told them to test it again, but they said they already had, three times, and the results came back the same.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Sarah reached across and gave Trish a big smacker full on the lips.

  ‘Yuck.’ Trish wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve; she couldn’t help but grin, though, as Sarah sat back down.

  ‘Oh, Trish, this could be the break I’ve been looking for these past years, finally some more hard evidence!’

  ‘Okay, I thought you might act like this. It’s not really sufficient proof for your theory, though, is it? A few odds and ends?’

  Sarah eyes blazed with defiance. ‘It will be when I get those bones dated too.’

  ‘Hey, I’m on your side here, but you’ve got to think how they will look at it. You need supporting evidence, you know that, otherwise it will hold no water. Even if you did have supporting evidence, many would still dismiss the claims and say the conclusions are wrong. They will pick it apart piece by piece and you will be ridiculed. We’ve seen it before and we’ll see it again. It’s the game; it’s just how it works.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that? Friggin’ Ada, of course I know that, but it won’t stop me from trying. If I still had those parchments—’

  Trish didn’t comment; she didn’t want Sarah to dwell on that period of her life, especially considering her already fragile state of mind. The parchments in question, destroyed in the same fire that claimed her mother’s life, were discovered by Sarah many years ago on a remote dig in the Zagros Mountains in Iran. Sarah had claimed they were from an advanced, extremely ancient human ancestor, since they had shown detailed maps of the continents equivalent to those that we have today; including Antarctica, which has only been mapped with any degree of accuracy in recent times. This theory was much more out there than another, which claimed a pre historical human civilisation existed around ten thousand years ago, one that was wiped out in a great flood when the ice caps melted. While this idea would also account for the maps, Sarah had other evidence to the contrary.

  Sarah theorised a race of larger humans existed hundreds of thousands of years in the past alongside Homo erectus, cited by the scientific community as the direct ancestor for Homo sapiens and Homo neanderthalensis. She’d become obsessed with this theory after finding an oversized femur bone and subsequently meeting other like-minded archaeologists, mostly amateurs, following the completion of her PhD in her mid-twenties. Sarah, and her group, had gone from country to country following up on leads found on the net and in medieval documents contained within libraries of obscure religious orders with tenuous links to the Catholic Church.

  Trish had always been open to her friend’s ideas on the subject, but had never really believed in the theory like Sarah did. It was interesting, exciting and more than a little mysterious, but to prove it as fact was nigh on impossible. If she needed convincing, and she had an open mind, then sceptics making up the majority of the scientific community would need more than a few scraps to even begin to change their views.

  ‘Five hundred thousand years old,’ Sarah murmured to herself. ‘Do you know what that means?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Trish said, trying to keep her tone conservative. The dating was intriguing, but no more than that.

  ‘It means modern humans didn’t cast the pendant we found with the bones,’ Sarah told her, ‘as according to acc
epted theories, Homo sapiens didn’t even evolve until what? – an absolute maximum of four hundred thousand years ago. The earliest evidence of sophisticated casting equivalent to what we found was made by humans perhaps only four thousand years ago. So who made it, Homo erectus? Possibly, but extremely unlikely since there is no evidence they had the capability to cast anything. Couple this with the massive finger bones we found that indicate the individual’s height was about ten feet and—’

  ‘Come on, Sarah,’ Trish said chidingly, ‘that’s pure conjecture verging on fantasy.’

  ‘All right,’ – Sarah raised her hands to placate her friend – ‘perhaps eight feet. But considering Homo erectus, neanderthalis and sapiens all average roughly five to six feet, then eight is enormous. I have to get to the lab and get them to date the bones.’

  Excited, Sarah jumped up and grabbed her bags, hugged her friend and zoomed off, leaving Trish sitting alone, bemused and left staring at the remains of a piece of chocolate cake discarded and forgotten on a plate.

  Trish picked up Sarah’s unwanted morsel and popped it in her mouth, savouring the rich taste as she chewed. Waste not want not, she thought, unsure if she’d helped her friend or just put her onto another destructive path; she was the one, after all, who’d introduced her to Mark in the first place. Heaving a sigh, she gazed out across the extensive metropolis of London, laid out like a beautifully crafted urban tapestry below, and thought, I love this city.

  Chapter Two

  It was seven o’clock post meridiem by the time Sarah reached the Oxford Radiocarbon Accelerator Unit. Fortunately, the recently upgraded Research Laboratory for Archaeology was still open as the lights blazed forth from the Dyson Perrins Building where it was housed. Dean, an old flame, would hopefully be working late. He had a soft spot for her and he might push through the bone fragments for analysis. She was lucky; about ten years ago this process had taken a few days or even a couple of weeks, but a new technique pioneered at this very lab had changed all that. Radiocarbon dating could now be carried out in a matter of hours, regardless of the age of the sample or its composition. And if this advance wasn’t enough, another even bigger breakthrough made by the Chinese a few years later, enabled carbon dating’s seventy-five thousand year limit to be extended tenfold. This new process, known as crossmatch radiocarbon dating, utilised big data arrays, stratigraphy, quantum modelling and molecular retracing, which had shepherded in a new era of accurate dating techniques; and Sarah knew if she was ever to make use of them, the time was now.