Nexus Point (Meridian Series) (9 page)

       “Coordinate
info? For the Arch?”

       “Yup.” He
let that simple affirmation sit with her for a moment before he said anything
else.

       Maeve was
staring at the Arabian coffee server, her eyes riveted to the gold plating as
though inscribing her thoughts there. “And the money?”

       It seemed
to Kelly that she had already come to some inner conclusion, but she wanted to
hear what he thought just to confirm her growing suspicion. “There was a spike
in the electricity usage that month and the deposit was just enough to neatly
balance our books.” He didn’t want to say any more.

       Maeve
pursed her lips until they were nearly white. She set her coffee cup on the
settee, as if she was unwilling to hold anything as delicate as inlaid china
while she let her emotions run with this latest surprise. There was a faint
tremor in her hand as she released it. Kelly was just about to say something
but she held up a warning hand to silence him. He had that pleading look in his
eyes, as if all of this was his fault, but Maeve knew better.

       “What in
God’s name is that man up to,” she breathed, and the question was more an
accusation. “He was running numbers and using gobs of electricity on the
holiday weekend—when no one would be around to bother him. And you say he had a
grad student sign in for a routine security call? Baloney! He used it, Kelly.
He used the Arch, damn him. I
knew
something like this was going to
happen if I let him out of my sight. I just knew it!”

       She stood
up, her knee jostling the service tray on the settee and Kelly put his hand on
his forehead, regretting his candor and hoping he had not re-ignited the
long-standing feud between Research and Outcomes.

       Maeve’s
anger continued to vent. “We’re going to have to lock that place down now,
lease or no lease. My
god
—I still can’t believe he would try something
like this. No clearance, no outcome study: the risk was enormous! How could he
have run the calculations? It took us nine months to get good numbers on the
Shakespeare drop.”

       “Well, you
can get a pretty good bead on spatial coordinates without even using an Arion
system. As for the temporal numbers—”

       “Where?
Where did he go, Kelly?” Maeve seized on that now, and it was clear that she
was very concerned about contamination.

       “Like I
said, I could only retrieve the base code, and there wasn’t enough data to work
that out.”

       “Then we’ve
got to get over there and keep digging. I want to know what he did, and I want
to know it tonight.” She folded her arms, as if trying to set some boundary of
civility on her anger. But Kelly had seen Maeve like this before. He knew that
they were in for a long night in the lab.

       “Do you
really want to do this now? I mean, Robert is in Jordan for the next ten days.
What’s the rush?”

       “What’s the
rush? Don’t you realize what this means? He used the Arch! The last time we
tried that we changed
everything
and you nearly got killed!” She sat
down. Very flustered. “Damn him,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. I
was reading Dickinson last night, and now…”

       “Emily
Dickinson? What has that got to do with any of this?”

       “Oh
nothing—at least I hope as much. But the thought that the poem I read last
night wasn’t the one she wrote –“ She came up short, her anger choking off her
voice. “If there’s one line of that poetry changed—one
word
—I’m going to
roast Nordhausen over a slow fire!” She fixed Kelly with that determined stare
that said she would do exactly that.

       “We better
get started,” he sighed. “Bring the coffee. We’ll need it.”

6

Nordhausen stumbled
his way back through the
winding cave, struggling to remember which way they had turned when they
explored earlier. He made a left when he should have taken a right, but the
false corridor soon reached a dead end and the error self-corrected. He reached
the upper level of the subterranean formation a moment later, and was pleased
to see the rosy red light of the setting sun framed in the irregular opening of
the outermost crevasse. But, to his surprise, the picture was not an empty
landscape! Two men appeared silhouetted in the opening, and he came up short,
caught unawares.

       A moment’s hesitation passed when he
realized that they could easily be one of the touring groups he had told Paul
about earlier. His start was soon colored with the elation of discovery and
good luck as he realized that they would certainly have transportation
nearby—possibly a bus or landrover. He hastened forward, rushing toward the
mouth of the cave with a greeting on his lips, only to find the men had quickly
unshouldered firearms and leveled them at him in a gesture that was clearly
hostile.

       “Don’t shoot!” he said instinctively. “I
mean you no harm. Lord, am I ever glad to see you. We thought we would have to
hike all the way to Akaba from here. Thank God!” He extended his open palms to
indicate his friendly intent, but the men just stared at him with dark, surly
glances. Nordhausen saw that they were clearly Arabic, both dressed in loose
fitting robes and
head dress
, with weathered
olive faces colored by the usual facial hair. One wore a full beard, and the
other sported a trimmed goatee. “English?” he asked gingerly, realizing that
the men probably did not understand a word of his greeting. He began to have
flashbacks of his brief sojourn in the desert with the two Arab guides he had
encountered. Then he recognized a checkered scarf at the throat of the bearded
man, and he suddenly knew that these were the same men he had sought to pull
into his ruse when the helicopter made its forced landing to escape the
authorities! Could we have caught up to that little caravan, he wondered?
Perhaps they meant to shelter here as well.

       When the third man appeared in the cave
opening, all doubt was removed. The white
pith
helmet and khaki overcoat were impossible to
mistake. Before Nordhausen could say another word the apparent Westerner made a
terse gesture, his fingers snapping to accent his command and the two Arabs
rushed forward to seize the professor by the arms, dragging him rudely back to
the cave opening in spite of his flustered protests.

       “English?” The Westerner grinned at him.
“What are you doing here? And do not say you are lost! We have been watching
you for some time.”

       “Thank god,” Nordhausen began, relieved that
he could at least communicate with the man. The stranger’s thick accent made
Nordhausen realize this man was Arabic as well. The notion that they were
Bedouin brigands emerged in his mind as he winced with the hard grip of his
assailants. “Is this necessary? You can see I mean you no harm.” He gave his
captors a wan smile, but they glared at him just the same.

       The man in Western dress gave another
command in Arabic, and one man took a firm hold on Nordhausen, pulling his arms
behind his back while the other patted him down in a cursory search. Once
satisfied that he was not armed, the leader nodded and the Bedu guards released
the professor, stepping back to either side, guns still at the ready.

       “Who are you?” The leader said tersely, and
the impatience in his tone of voice was obvious.

       “I’m a professor of history and archeology.
We’re out here on a dig, you see, and we were landing supplies for our team.”

       “That is a  lie!” The man’s assertion was so
cold and sharp that the warning was implicit. “Another lie and I will have my
guards do a more thorough search. You spent an hour burying the cache you
dropped, and I would guess it is not something you wished to share with the
RJAF, or anyone else, for that matter. What were you carrying?”

       The man’s tone convinced Nordhausen that he
had better leave off his little ruse and come clean. It would be a simple enough
matter for these men to go and unearth his treasure. Besides, Paul was waiting
for him in the dark of the cave. He decided to let out with the truth, and he
told the man about his Ammonite.

       “What I said
was
true,” he began. “To
a point, that is. I am a history professor, and I was working with a dig crew
some miles east. We discovered an interesting fossil, and I was moving it to a
safer location for study. That’s all.”

       “Interesting fossil? You mean valuable,
yes?”

       “It was an Ammonite, if you must know.”

       “Ammonite? What is that? A mineral?”

       “No. It was an ancient sea creature—dating
back many millions of years. A real museum piece, in fact.”

       “Only you do not work for a museum—am I
correct?”

       The man was going to peel the onion one way
or another. There was no point in coloring the truth with him. “No,” he
admitted. “I was recovering the find for personal reasons. I’m a bit of a
collector.”

       “Ah, then you were not simply moving it to a
safer location for study.” The man’s tone had a mocking edge to it now. “It is
illegal to collect such things—for personal reasons. You were thinking to steal
it, then. You are a bit of a
thief
as well, I see. That is why you waved
at me like a monkey when you leapt from your helicopter. Yes? The RJAF was on
to you and you thought to cover your escape somehow. How very clever! This
Ammonite must be worth a great deal of money to take such a risk.”

       Robert gave the man a blank stare. “Yes,
yes, it’s all true.” He was still thinking of poor Paul, but he wanted to get
this conversation to civil ground before he brought him into this. “All except
the money. I may have been taking the fossil out without permits but I’m no
thief as you suggest. I had no intention of selling my find. Why, I would never
dream of such a thing! If you must know, I was planning to mount it on the wall
of my office. After all, the thing was mine. I discovered it you see, and I put
a great deal of time an effort into the recovery. I’m sure things can be worked
out to everyone’s satisfaction and, if the Jordanian government wants
restitution, I would be happy to comply.”

       “How gracious of you.” Robert’s questioner
did not sound accommodating. “You are an American, from the sound of things.
Americans are not welcome here, as you must know. They have been stealing from
us long enough. I can tell you of many other things they take from this land
without permits—like all Westerners. You think all this is here for your
pleasure, eh?” He gestured broadly to the sweeping expanse of the Wadi valley,
barely visible through the winding fissure behind him. “And the Arabs are just
quaint little people of the desert who must be amenable to your every desire.”
The man’s eyes narrowed above a thin, brown nose. “Where is your friend?” The
question was pointed, with just a bit of anger sharpening the words.

       “My friend? Why, he’s waiting for me in the
cave. We were going to make camp and we were looking for water.”

       The man seemed very unhappy with  this
revelation. “In this cave?” He seemed to stare past Robert, squinting into the
throat of the cave. “Is he armed?”

       “Armed?” Nordhausen figured the man was
worried that Paul had them in his gun sights. “Well, we did have a pistol with
us, but I wouldn’t be concerned. Paul’s not the sort to do anything foolish.”

       “Oh? Yet he is in your company, yes? He is
an accomplice, is he not? Call him! And you had best hope that he is as prudent
as you believe.”

       “By what right do you go about ordering
strangers, sir?” Robert mustered a little indignation, his mood rankling with
the temper of this man.

       “You would prefer that I send my men in to
search for him? They
may
not be so gentle in
that event.”

       Nordhausen waved the men off and called out, his
voice receding to an echo in the cave, but there was no answer. “Oh, come now,
Paul. Don’t be difficult here.” Robert looked at the group leader with a shrug.
“I left him just a moment ago,” he explained, “but, as you can see, I have the
flashlight, and it is very dark inside. Perhaps he has lost his way. Why, I was
stumbling on dead ends even with the advantage of the light. I’m sure he can
hear us. Give him a moment.”

       The leader was not convinced. “He hears but
does not speak.” He snapped his fingers again, flicking his wrist at one of the
Bedu guards. The bearded man stepped past Robert, obviously intent of searching
Paul out.

       “Now see here—“ Nordhausen was justifiably
concerned. He had dragged Paul into this mess and he felt bad enough already.
Paul was taking it all with his usual good humor and even temperedness, but the
thought that these men would drag his friend out like a scoundrel kindled a
protective instinct in him. “There’s no need to be uncivilized about this now.
We were just seeking shelter from the sun, and water.”

       “Water is a precious commodity in the
desert,” said the leader. “These caves are very special to us. They belong to
the Bedu who live in this valley. It is not wise to enter a man’s home
unbidden, or to drink from his water without permission. Yet you Americans
would not understand that, would you?”