His expression turned serious. ‘Do you have anywhere to stay?’
‘I’ll be fine, thanks. I’ll check into that nice little hotel next to the Tavern, the one we—’
He was smiling again.
‘Oh,’ she said, blushing, ‘never mind, yes, that one.’
Ever the gentleman, Dean escorted her to the hotel where she bade him goodnight.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to—?’ he asked her, darting his eyes pointedly up at the hotel rooms above.
‘You’re terrible; I thought you were seeing someone, anyway?’
‘I’m not really, I was hoping to make you jealous. Did it work?’
‘No, ’fraid not,’ she said, even though she was tempted to take up him up on his offer, what with her situation with Mark. She’d felt a lot happier today than she had for quite some time and a night with Dean would be very enjoyable, but she wanted to make it work with Mark.
‘So?’ he said.
‘Sorry, Dean, I—’
He held a hand up. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow and we can finish off the rest of your tests if you want? Perhaps have lunch, strictly platonic. Sound good?’
‘It does.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’ With a wave goodbye, she turned and walked into the hotel. It had been a long day and she was looking forward to resting her head on a nice soft pillow.
Once in a room and tucked up, snug, ready for sleep, her mind wandered on the day’s events, settling at last on the carbon dating breakthrough she’d been waiting for, seemingly for her whole life. As she drifted off to sleep she dreamt of receiving the International Archaeology Award for Archaeologist of the Year. And this year’s winner is … Sarah Morgan.
Chapter Three
Sarah arrived back bright and early the next day at the mass spectrometer building to find a police car parked outside. Wondering what was going on, she went inside to where Dean was talking to one of the officers, while a disconsolate Roland sat alone at one of the desks, around which papers were scattered and trays upended.
‘Roland, what’s happened? Is everything all right?’
‘Hi, Sarah; no, not really. We’ve had a break-in; they trashed the office and broke into the vault.’
‘What! Hell, no one was hurt, were they?’
‘No, it must have happened some time late last night. The vault is like a bomb site, artefacts all over the place.’
Sarah looked at him suddenly feeling anxious. ‘What about my bones and hair?’
Roland shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The police won’t let us in there now. They want to take photos and see if they can get prints and that.’
Sarah had a dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Slumping down on a chair next to Roland, she ran one of her hands over her head, her brow furrowing. She’d suffered the loss of evidence a couple of times before, not only her mysterious maps, but also a bone she’d found early on in her career, a complete femur. This fossilised limb had been massive in comparison to modern day humans. Dating revealed it to be two hundred thousand years old and she declared it as a previously undiscovered human ancestor or cousin, the ever elusive Homo gigantis.
The bone indicated the height of the individual must have been at least nine feet, fully erect. At the time she made comparisons with fossils of an animal known as Gigantopithecus blacki, a giant ape estimated to measure ten feet in a standing position. This massive creature lived between nine million and one hundred thousand years ago, in what was now India, China and Vietnam. That such an animal evolved, an animal that was a member of the Hominidae family – of which humans were also a member – added credence to Sarah’s claims. The fact that massive giant apes had evolved in Earth’s history opened up the door to the real possibility that humans, or more specifically, their ancestors, may also have grown much larger.
To some this sounded preposterous. Giant humans, people scoffed at the notion. This entrenched cultural scepticism, or modern day superiority complex, seemed to Sarah to be wholly out of touch with the palaeontological discoveries displayed in museums and taught in schools the world over. Huge great lumbering beasts had roamed the Earth for millions of years; none better known than the dinosaurs, pterosaurs and the fabled giant mammals of the ice age. Descendants of these colossi were even with us today in the form of elephants, giraffes, crocodiles, and the largest animal ever to have existed, the one hundred foot long blue whale.
These arguments began to gain purchase with a few academics – until, that was, the femur in question had been stolen from one of her cases soon after she had published a paper on Homo gigantis. Sarah’s work had utilised a plethora of supporting data, written accounts, photos and videos she had compiled over the years, with the femur as the crowning evidence for the new species.
Of course she had been ridiculed by the general scientific community. She had expected resistance, as many of her friends outside of more credible circles had also received such treatment. Sarah, however, being an up and coming archaeologist at the time and predicted to do great things by some top academics, had believed she could give credence to the subject, especially with her new proof.
The intense scepticism shown by most had briefly waned when a couple of her colleagues had shown tentative interest after they had seen the bone in question. Sarah had been so excited when a senior scientist and her mentor, Dr. Middleton, had been willing to go out on a limb for her and take a look at the bone. This was when her world had been turned upside down by the theft. Without the bone, she had no hard evidence and without evidence, she had nothing. Her career had taken a nosedive since that fateful day and she had been treading water ever since.
The most disturbing thing was the fact that it wasn’t just she who had been plagued by bad luck. Many of her friends and like-minded believers in the existence of Homo gigantis had also experienced many accidents and thefts of finds that may have proved their theories. Too many to be coincidence, many argued. Sarah had initially thought they were paranoid; however, she had come to feel the same way over the years. If this break-in had targeted her evidence then it was time to take a stand, but how? That was the question.
Sometime later, rousing her from these increasingly speculative musings, Dean finished talking to a policewoman and came over to Sarah and Roland. ‘They’re bringing in the investigators shortly to try and gather evidence but they seem to think it’s a professional job, as the vault couldn’t have been opened by amateurs. They knew what they were doing. I had a look around before I rang the police and it looks like a few things were taken, but most were just trashed mindlessly.’ He looked at Sarah, his expression sad. ‘Sarah, I’m so sorry, your pieces weren’t there. I looked everywhere for them. There may be an outside chance they’re amongst the debris, but the box they were in is one of the ones that are missing.’
So there it was, her proof gone – again. She put her head in her hands wondering why she deserved such bad luck.
‘Roland, you didn’t happen to see a woman hanging around here yesterday, did you?’ Dean said.
Roland looked confused ‘Can you be more specific?’
‘Sarah, what did she look like, the woman in my office?’
‘I don’t know; my height, grey suit—’
‘Dark curly hair and glasses?’ Roland said, finishing her sentence.
Sarah’s head shot up. ‘Yeah – yes!’
‘What was she doing here?’ Dean asked him.
‘She said she was meeting you here, but you never showed up. She waited a while and then went.’
‘Me?’ Dean said.
Roland nodded.
‘Did she look at the vault?’ Sarah asked him before Dean could say something else.
‘Actually she did. She looked at everything, really, just wandered about. I didn’t think anything of it then, but now—’
‘Well, that’s it then,’ said Dean. ‘We know who did it, this mysterious woman. You two had better tell the police and give the
m her description. I already told them about last night, Sarah, they were going to talk to you anyway.’
After Sarah and Roland had given their accounts to the police Roland went home and she and Dean went to a café around the corner for lunch.
‘So what are you going to do now?’ Dean asked her as a waiter cleared away their plates.
‘I’m not giving up on this. There’s something going on here, it’s too much of a coincidence. Two times now this has happened to me.’
‘They never did recover that femur, did they?’
She shook her head, not wanting to discuss it further. She was already too angry and upset to think about that right now.
‘You think someone is deliberately preventing you from finding or going public with any evidence to support your theory?’
She heard the scepticism in Dean’s tone even though he tried hard to hide it. She shrugged, not trusting herself to answer. What can I do now? she wondered. I can’t let this keep happening. One thing was for certain, someone was doing their best to discredit her and prevent her theories from seeing the light of day and she would find out why or, at the very least, get the better of them. She stood up, suddenly knowing what she had to do.
‘Are you going home?’ Dean said.
‘Yes and no.’
He looked puzzled by her answer.
Without elaborating, she thanked him for all his help, kissed him on the cheek goodbye and headed for home. No sooner was she out the door than she was on her phone, booking a flight to Turkey.
♦
Sarah arrived back at her apartment early in the evening and went straight into the bedroom to pack her flight case. First things first, though, she thought to herself. Going to the closet she opened the double doors and parted the clothes hanging on the rail inside. Grabbing a stool, she climbed up, the top of her head now grazing the ceiling. At eye level a small air vent nestled off to one side behind some old musty smelling boxes on a shelf. Sarah pushed her hand over and popped off the plastic grate from the wall. Feeling around inside, her palm brushed against a flat metal object; curling her fingers around it, she pulled it out. For a moment she looked at it and then gave it a quick kiss before slipping it into her pocket; it represented her final piece of evidence and she felt a great sense of relief and comfort that she still had it in her possession.
As she walked back into the lounge to go into the bathroom to collect toiletries, something caught her eye. She slowed to a stop in front of the mantelpiece, on which sat a rustic oak picture frame. Sarah picked it up with care and stared into her mother’s beautiful blue eyes. A thought suddenly struck her. Her discoveries – the femur, the finger bones, the hair – if they had all been taken from her due to some kind of conspiracy, then it stood to reason that the maps had been destroyed on purpose, too; especially considering the fire investigation report had been inconclusive, perhaps even hinting at foul play. That means Mum didn’t die in an accident at all, Sarah thought in horror, she was murdered!
Memories of the fire all those years ago came flooding back to her, the smell of the smoke and the intense heat of the blaze. She remembered the noise of the flames as they consumed her mother’s house. Perhaps the most vivid recollection of that terrible day was the sound of her own screams as firemen fought to hold her back as she tried in vain to get into the house to save her mum’s life.
Sarah felt faint and put her hand against the wall to steady herself. Her head swam and the room grew dim. The thought was too much to take and she crumpled slowly to the floor, the picture frame falling with a clatter from her hand. Her mind awash with emotion, she dragged the photo back towards her and stared at her mother’s face through distorted vision as tears welled. A dark, slow realisation wound its way around her heart, constricting and restricting it; it was my discoveries that killed Mum. If I hadn’t taken the maps to the house she’d still be alive today. Agony lanced through her stomach and she scrambled to her feet and rushed to the kitchen sink, where she retched until her throat burned with pain. She stood there for some time in silence, her head hanging limp; finally she turned on the tap, washed out her mouth and cleaned her face.
A couple of hours later Mark rolled in. He’d been out drinking with his friends by the look of it and he wasn’t pleased to see her.
‘So you’re home, are you? About time,’ he said, and then he noticed her cases by the door. ‘What’s that?’ He pointed at them. ‘Are you leaving me?!’ His voice had gone up an octave. He came over to her, pushing his face into hers. She pulled back as his breath stank of lager, but he grabbed her arm.
‘I’m not leaving you,’ she said, subdued and without emotion. ‘I’m going on a dig in Turkey. I leave tonight.’
‘What? What you talking about, you’re going to Turkey, for how long?’
‘A few weeks, six at the most. Look, Mark, I’ve—’
‘Six weeks!’ His eyes bulged at the thought. ‘I don’t think so! I’ve got a work do next week and the week after that it’s my sister’s wedding, and you’re not going to let me down on that. I’ll show my sister I’m better than her. She said I’d never get married, but I’ll show her!’ He pushed Sarah away and stumbled over to an oak cabinet against the wall to get another drink.
Sarah saw this wasn’t going to go well so she began collecting up her gloves, keys and phone. As she pulled on her coat, Mark swung her round and red hot pain exploded on the side of her face and she was flung to the floor. As her eyesight came back she saw him standing over her, swaying from side to side.
‘I told you,’ he said, a hint of madness in his eyes, ‘you’re not going anywhere.’ He emphasised the last word with his hands.
Sarah managed to get to her feet with Mark looking on, an exultant look on his face. Calm settled upon her. She had been working on a numb sort of autopilot as she’d prepared to leave, but the blow had brought her to her senses and her mind felt strong, somehow, and needle sharp.
‘Mark,’ Sarah said softly as she laid a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, but she took his hand with a tender touch and pulled him closer. He was about to say something when she rammed her knee with full force into his groin. He hit the floor hard, writhing in agony. Sarah bent down to him; her anger raised, and grabbed his cheeks between the fingers of her right hand making him look at her despite his pain. ‘I’ll go where I damn well please,’ she said to him through gritted teeth.
Pushing him back to the floor, she picked up her bags, and as she walked out the door she turned back to see him staring up at her with undisguised hatred.
‘By the way, Mark,’ she said, ‘I am leaving you now.’ Slamming the door behind her, she walked off down the hall, looking at her watch; she had a flight to catch.
Chapter Four
Dust clouds swirled and streamed across the distant plains as fierce winds battered the tents at the base camp of Mount Ararat on Turkey’s eastern border. Fabric panels rippled as the air drove against them, end flaps snapping as they whipped endlessly back and forth. Like an invisible assailant the storm whistled and screamed around a man who stood just outside one of the temporary shelters. Pulling his coat tighter about him he ducked back inside to rejoin his two team mates.
‘It’s colder than a frigid rat’s arse out there,’ he said, taking off his gloves and blowing into his hands.
‘Is a frigid rat’s arse colder than a sexually active one, then?’ a man on the far side said.
A woman laughed. ‘Perhaps he knows by experience. Have you been putting little Jimmy in places he shouldn’t go, again, Jas?’
‘You should know, Trish,’ Jason said, grabbing himself and thrusting at her.
Trish wrinkled up her nose in disgust. ‘Ew – you’re gross!’
‘Ha ha, bollocks, you’d love a bit of ol’ Jas.’
Just then another gust of air ripped into the tent as someone else came in, wrapped in a thick red puffer coat.
‘Don’t you agree, Sazza?’
Sarah closed the t
ent flap behind her. ‘Agree with what?’ she asked, as Jason looked at her, waiting for a response.
‘He reckons women find him irresistible,’ Trish said.
Sarah looked at her friend with a serious expression on her face. ‘Irresistible? Course, I know plenty of women who find Jason the dog’s doodahs.’
Jason clapped his hands together in jubilation. ‘See? I told you so!’ he said, while Trish looked at Sarah in disbelief.
‘Although these women have been mummified for five thousand years,’ Sarah continued, ‘and would find a rotten turnip an attractive proposition.’
Trish doubled up and Jason’s exuberant grin turned into a hurt scowl. As Sarah walked past she gave him a friendly whack on the back of his head with her gloved hand.
‘Carl, do you know how long this weather is likely to last?’ Sarah said.
The man across from Trish made a face and shook his head. ‘Hopefully it should be only a few hours; it’s a fairly regular occurrence at this time of year.’
Sarah nodded and then lay down on a sleeping bag, zoning out while Trish and Jason argued over whose turn it was to cook. She was glad to be out there, away from all her troubles. Surprisingly Mark had tried ringing her, but she had just blocked his calls. The only thing she regretted about that night was that she hadn’t kneed him harder.
The stolen bone fragments still gnawed away at her, although the theft was a welcome distraction from the terrible guilt over her mother’s death, something that dwelt immovable in the recesses of her mind.
Who’s sabotaging my work? she asked herself for the umpteenth time. She’d been in touch with her group, people who, like her, believed that a large human ancestor lived and flourished in the distant past. They had suggested the Catholic Church as a culprit, as according to some it had been covering up the existence of giants for a very long time. Sarah was unsure if such claims had any credibility, but it was put to her that the Church covered it up because it proved that an advanced race populated the world prior to – according to the Bible – the creation of the universe. This was a fact the Church could not allow to become common knowledge as it directly challenged and fundamentally undermined their whole faith.
Revelations Page 4
