The Trespass Read online

  “Yes. Go on.”

  Potzner gave a little grunt. “I guess artefact is a misnomer. Firstly the artefact in question wasn’t man-made, and secondly it’s linked with state-of-the-art research going on back in the US. It must be recovered.”

  “Research into...?”

  “Longevity. The human life span.”

  Dracup nodded. Such research had a counterpart in the UK and he had a few contacts working in the field of gerontology.

  The American smiled. “I can guess what you’re thinking. No big deal. Everyone’s into it, right?”

  Dracup nodded impatiently, searching for relevance. “Yes. I was reading recently that our leading research labs have made some progress –”

  “Forget it,” Potzner interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m talking breakthrough here. No theories. This is the real McCoy.”

  “In what sense?”

  Potzner regarded the grey outlook from the office window. London was at work, traffic was sparse. The only movements in the street below were initiated by the odd passing taxi and the continually slanting rain. “I’m not a scientific person, Mr Dracup. I’m an outdoors man. Always have been.” He carefully replaced the unlit Winston in its packet with an expression of regret. “But I’ve taken a special interest in this research. It’s a subject close to my heart.”

  Dracup was fighting a losing battle with his patience. He gripped the chair arms tightly and made himself listen. At least Potzner was communicating.

  “You’ll no doubt be aware, Mr Dracup, that there are many theories as to why the body ages as it does,” Potzner continued.

  “Well, yes. There’s cell depletion and damage, DNA affecting chromosome degeneration, toxin intake – alcohol and nicotine being prime culprits –” Dracup waved at the red and white packet on the desk.

  Potzner was nodding, ignoring the slight. “I’m not surprised you know a little about this, Professor. But let me tell you, our guys in the white coats have long subscribed to the theory that there is some coded obsolescence built into our DNA structure.”

  “You mean we are all genetically programmed for the ageing process to kick off at a predetermined time?”

  “Exactly. It’s as though each of us comes into the world as a machine that is programmed to self-destruct.”

  “Ah. The ticking of the biological clock. Time to have sex, time to have babies, time to buy a pipe and a pair of slippers. Time to pop off.” Dracup shuffled his feet under the desk, fighting the instinct to grab Potzner by the collar and force the truth out of him.

  “I’m serious, Professor. When the alarm goes off it sends a signal through our DNA structure to begin the ageing process that ends in death. At that point we become more prone to disease; our bodies lose the elasticity of youth. We take longer to heal. Sometimes, we don’t heal at all.”

  Dracup looked into the American’s eyes and wondered what weight of sadness had etched the lines around them. This was personal, no mistaking the signs. A sudden guilt replaced his hostility; he’d trespassed on some deep, emotional property. Strangely it had a calming effect. “All right. I didn’t mean to be flippant. Go on.”

  Potzner’s tone became more formal, as if he were quoting from some uncontested results sheet. “Our research reached conclusive status with the most recent experiments performed on the artefact in question.”

  “Hang on. Isn’t it time you told me what the artefact actually is?”

  “Organic tissue. That’s all I can say. The codename for the recovery operation is Red Earth. It may be easier if I refer to that name in future.”

  “What kind of organic tissue?”

  Potzner hesitated and then said, very slowly, “Tissue that is palaeontologically old.”

  “And this is what my grandfather discovered on the second expedition?” Dracup frowned, remembering the diary entry: RC is concerned re the location of the sarcophagus. A body; moved centuries ago from the Ark; palaeontologically old…

  “Your grandfather was a bright cookie, Mr Dracup.” Potzner leaned forward. A fresh cigarette was out and tapping on the packet. As if reading his thoughts, the American went on. “As I said before, the Red Earth material was originally resident in the Ark. Then it was transported to the location discovered by your grandfather. And so it came to us. For years it waited for technology to mature. That time is now. I have to tell you the possession of this material is critical for further testing and fine-tuning. If the research is allowed to continue uninterrupted the consequence for the human race will be one of inestimable benefit.”

  “Forgive me if I relegate the human race in general to second place for the time being.” Dracup recognized the signs of Potzner’s almost religious commitment to his cause and felt his new-found restraint crumbling. “Potzner, I need answers. Who kidnapped my daughter? What has Natasha got to do with Red Earth? And where do we start looking?”

  “Red Earth wasn’t a straightforward acquisition, Professor. It was the property of a religious sect – for want of a better description – who have been planning its reinstatement, or return if you will, to where it was originally discovered – the place Theodore found. This sect made fools out of us. We assumed the threat was long past.” Potzner spoke evenly, as if he were describing the activities of some local charitable committee.

  “Reinstatement? But where?” Dracup’s heart lurched. At last, a possibility. Could this be where Natasha was being held?

  “That, Professor, is the million dollar question. Whoever these people are, they successfully infiltrated one of the most secure organizations in the Western world. You can imagine what level of security we had on this research.” Potzner leaned forward again. “Professor Dracup, is there anything you can remember from the diary that we could use? Any detail at all? Take your time.”

  Dracup closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. “There was a diagram – in the diary – cuneiform script. I only had a brief look at it.”

  “Brief may be enough...”

  Dracup clicked his fingers. “Hang on!” The Plant Sciences lab, the photocopier. “I might still have something…”

  Potzner’s eyes lit up. “Are you telling me you have some information regarding the contents of the diary?”

  “Maybe.” Dracup was cursing himself for a fool. How could he have forgotten? He stumbled to his feet. “My girlfriend has it. It’s safe.”

  Potzner pushed back his chair and grabbed his coat. “But she may not be, Mr Dracup. She may not be.”

  Chapter 5

  Dracup’s worst fears were confirmed when he saw the police cars outside Sara’s house. He threw himself out of the car and battered on the front door.

  Sara’s surprised face met them in response to Dracup’s frantic knocking. “Simon – thank goodness you’re here – there’s been a break-in. They’ve made such a mess –” She registered Dracup’s drawn, anxious expression and took his arm. “It’s all right. I’m okay.” Then she turned her attention to Potzner. “Hello again. You’d better come in.”

  He felt Sara’s arm guiding him. “Simon, is there any news? This is – trivial – it’s just a pain. I don’t think anything’s missing.”

  Dracup shook his head and stepped aside to make way for a policeman. “No news. We need to see the diary copies. Can you get them?”

  “I’m sure – I know where I put them – oh, you don’t think...” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Just a minute. Make yourselves at home.” She left them in the front room and after a minute or so Dracup heard her footsteps descending again. Potzner stood by the window, hands in pockets, waiting, analyzing. His eyebrows raised the merest fraction as Sara came back in.

  “Gone.” Sara spread her arms in a hopeless gesture. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Right.” Dracup said. “Wait here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the campus. I’ll be fifteen minutes. No more.”

  Potzner’s face took on a quizzical expression. “I’ll be w
aiting, Mr Dracup.”

  Dracup screeched to a halt in the Plant Sciences car park. He ran through the doors, impatiently brushing the large transparencies aside as they swung open. He strode briskly down the corridor past the reception desk, answering the receptionist’s unspoken query with a fierce proprietary stare in return. She withered and returned to her paperwork. Dracup found the office and pushed his way past a group of students loitering in the passage. A middle-aged lady in a tweed suit was flicking through the contents of a filing cabinet and tutting lightly to herself. She looked up as Dracup entered and gave him a brief look up and down. Evidently satisfied of his respectability she resumed her task.

  Dracup went to the photocopier and slid his hand down the back of the machine. His hands found paper, and he carefully moved the A4 sheets out from their imprisonment between the copier and the wall. At last he had enough paper protruding to make a grab for them. Seven sheets came out. The first was blank and his heart did a little dance of despair. The following sheets bore the familiar marks of his grandfather. He whooped aloud, and the tweed lady looked up in surprise. By then he was gone and running down the corridor. Ten minutes later he was back at Sara’s house. The police cars were gone.

  Potzner strode out to greet him. “May I?” He took the papers from Dracup and smiled, nodding his head in appreciation. “You’re a resourceful fellow, Mr Dracup.”

  Sara appeared at the door and her eyes widened as she saw the papers. She looked at Dracup with surprise. He returned one of reassurance. It’s okay.

  Sara held the door open. “Simon, how –”

  “Just my cautious nature. I set the ‘number of copies’ counter to two and stashed the second batch behind the copier.”

  Sara gave him a tense grin. “I’m impressed.”

  “We’ll give you a hand with this first.” Dracup indicated the trashed sitting room. For forty-five minutes they cleared and tidied while Potzner made telephone calls from his car. Dracup signalled to him from the window, and Potzner came back in and hung his raincoat over the back of the sofa. His face was sombre and Dracup thought he detected a slight film of water over the American’s eyes.

  Sara made coffee and eventually they settled around the coffee table while Dracup spread the papers out on the glass surface.

  “Are you all right with this, Sara?” Dracup asked. He felt a stab of guilt as he took in Sara’s pinched face. Nothing personal had been taken, but it was still a violation. He had suffered a break-in a few years back, and he remembered that the anger had taken a week or so to fade.

  Sara managed a weak smile. “Yes. Of course.”

  He quickly found the sheet he was after: the page featuring what his grandfather had described as a curious iron object, with a tantalizing profusion of symbols. “This is significant,” he said. “It’s an object my grandfather’s colleague was excited about – you can read the entries. The script is some kind of cuneiform derivation.”

  Potzner looked blank. “I’ll take your word for it, Professor.”

  “Why don’t we have a look on the internet?” Sara said. “There’s bound to be a lot of info about cuneiform.”

  Dracup nodded. “Right. Go for it.”

  “I’ll shout if I find anything.” She sat down at the PC in the corner of the room, leaving Dracup to ponder the contents of the page in front of them.

  Potzner pointed to a line of symbols directly beneath the diagram. “This looks a little different to the rest.”

  Dracup grunted. Potzner was right. A footnote of some sort? There were no lines of connected annotation... The room fell silent save for the tapping of Sara’s keyboard. Frustrated, he got up and joined Sara at the computer. “Anything?”

  Sara clicked a link on the favourites menu. “There’s this. A school website. I don’t know how accurate it is – it’s for kids really, to translate their names into cuneiform.”

  “Does it work the other way round?”

  “Cuneiform to English? Yep. There’s a key symbol chart. It’ll be pretty basic though.”

  “Worth a try. Put this in.” He pointed to the line of symbols beneath the diagram. Anything was worth a try. Dracup realized he was holding his breath and let it out in a frustrated rush.

  “Okay.” Sara’s tongue protruded slightly from her mouth as she concentrated on selecting the correct – or closest – symbol from the website’s cuneiform chart. “There. Here we go.” She completed the selection but Dracup grabbed the mouse.

  “I’m not sure that’s the same symbol.” Dracup pointed to the third letter.

  “Hang on – it looks the closest. Let’s see what happens.” Sara pressed the enter key. In the results box, a sentence appeared:

  In time you will find the hole.

  A cloud of smoke drifted across the screen. “Great.” Potzner said. “Very enlightening.”

  Dracup felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “But the point is made, isn’t it? That’s colloquial, not an inscription from the Ark – it’s a message from my grandfather. To the reader. Not to himself.”

  “Okay, but what does it mean?” The American found a waste bin and flicked ash in its general direction.

  “A reference to another compartment on the Ark?” Sara mused. “They originally found the curious iron object in a hidden cupboard of some sort.”

  “Possibly.” Dracup wasn’t so sure. In some indefinable way the answer felt closer to home. He checked the symbols again. “Hang on a minute. Look – you missed this character altogether.”

  “Right. Sorry.” Sara reselected the symbol and stabbed the enter key.

  In time you will find the whole

  “Much better,” Potzner observed.

  Dracup had had enough. “Damn it, Potzner. A little encouragement wouldn’t go amiss.” He turned on the American. “Haven’t the CIA got any record of these expeditions? You must have something to go on. Maps, dossiers, anything. You’re an intelligence organization, for God’s sake.”

  “The archive files were removed, Mr Dracup. There is no record.”

  Dracup turned away in exasperation. Either the organization had been negligent in this case, or its adversaries were very clever. Or both. He turned his attention back to the screen, then to the photocopy. There was something incomplete; he’d noticed it before on the original sketch – something about the shape... Then he had it. “Ah. Look.” He waved the paper to attract their attention.

  Sara and Potzner both looked at the diagram blankly.

  “It’s not complete. Look at how the inscriptions run to the very edge.” He pointed excitedly. “And there is a border from the extreme left, as you would expect.”

  Sara squinted at the picture. “You mean if the object was complete, you’d expect an equivalent border on the right hand side.”

  “Exactly.”

  Dracup felt his excitement grow. There was significance here, he was sure of it. “And what shape would be produced by adding the mirror image of the object to itself?”

  Potzner drew a line in the air. “Right. I’m with you. A cross.” He frowned. “Well, leastways that’s what it looks like.”

  “An ornate cross, granted, but you can see the symmetry. It wouldn’t look out of place as the headpiece of a –”

  Sara whistled softly. “A sceptre, or … a standard? Could be.” She chewed her finger. “So we only have half the picture.”

  Dracup remembered his grandfather’s hastily recorded entry – the sceptre may hold the answer. I have many reservations. “Yep. This is the object he referred to, I’m positive. Now think about the footnote.”

  Potzner read aloud. “‘In time you will find the whole’. So, your grandfather recognized there was another section – a matching section – to be found.” He scratched his blue jowl thoughtfully. “Well, so what? Maybe it was just a reminder – an encouraging entry made for his own benefit?”

  “No, no,” Dracup said. “Remember my grandfather was a geologist, not an archaeologist. This clearly had s
ome interest for him, but he probably sketched it for his colleague, because –”

  “Because your grandfather was a talented artist and his colleague, the archaeologist, knew that,” Sara finished for him.

  “Right. RC – Reeves-Churchill – was the on-site archaeologist. This was for him, I’ll bet, by request.”

  “But why code it in cuneiform?” Sara frowned.

  “Maybe they had some inkling that they were dealing with something dangerous, something that shouldn’t have been exposed.” Dracup was thinking about Theodore, how his mind had gone. And then Potzner’s discomfort when he had asked how the Ark discovery had been hushed up...

  “All the same,” Potzner said, “it doesn’t get us any further. To get a clear picture what the inscriptions on the whole object actually say, you need both halves.”

  Sara spoke up. “Well, we have half the script. Surely the first thing is to get an expert review of these inscriptions?”

  Potzner nodded. “I’ll take care of that.”

  Dracup was humming. “There is one place I can check out. My aunt transferred a number of my grandfather’s belongings to her own house. There may be something that’ll shed some light – letters, other documents. Who knows?” He walked to the window and looked out onto the street. A mother and toddler were making slow progress along the pavement. An image of Natasha came to his mind, smiling and holding out her arms. “Excuse me,” he turned abruptly, his voice catching. “I have to call Yvonne.”

  “Please do,” Potzner said, folding the photocopies carefully and depositing them in his briefcase. “I’m headed back to London. When I’ve had this analyzed I’ll call you.”

  Dracup went into the hall and took out his mobile. He dialled Yvonne’s number. Ten rings later Malcolm answered.