He swallowed hard and tried to avoid the steely gaze. “Some of the material is very clear as you’ve seen, but most parts make no sense at all. Context is everything, and in this regard I need assistance from someone more specialised in the field.” He put his hand on the folder and opened it. “Otherwise, it would take at least another two years for me to decipher it in its entirety, if at all.”
“Then I will need to find you some help.” Mallus paused and looked across at the transcripts in front of him. “We have experienced some unexpected setbacks that have already subjected this project to a great deal more risk than we anticipated. I need to be sure that you understand how important it is that this work remains secret, Dr Patterson.” His cold eyes met the scientist’s across the table. “I know how you academics work, and I know that you like to bounce ideas around the community. But for this project, the community is comprised of you and me. Do not seek contact from anyone else, I will send someone to you,” he ordered.
“Sure,” he muttered, “I understand.”
Mallus relaxed his gaze. “The cliché tells us that time is money, but you will understand more than anyone that in this case, a lot more is at stake. You will get the help you need, and in return you will provide me with the answers I want, quickly.” He smiled and leant back in his chair. “And as for getting our hands on more context,” he continued, “we’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed, won’t we?”
Dr Patterson nodded his head in agreement as he moved his eyes slowly across the hieroglyphs on the pages in front of him.
“On a positive note,” he said happily, “the Mars mission is bearing fruit. They have uncovered a jetty of some sort, which I think you’ll find interesting and may help you further.”
“A jetty?” Patterson queried.
“Indeed. I would suggest that you make your way through to Mission Control straight away.”
After Patterson had gone, Seth Mallus browsed through a series of résumés on his computer display.
He wasn’t happy bringing more help in: keeping things running smoothly was a trial at the best of times, and the last thing he wanted was more questions. For that reason he wasn’t about to openly put an advert for the post in the local paper, either.
How on earth had he ended up with Henry Patterson? All that time ago in the corridors of the Peabody Museum it had seemed a good bet. He had certainly delivered what had been asked of him, and in return Mallus had given Patterson the single most important discovery in human history.
But now, enough was enough. Years with the texts, and still he had no comprehensive translation. How hard can hieroglyphs be? Things had started out well enough: the first leads had been very promising, and had led him to where he was right now. But the time had come for that final push.
Of all the archaeologists, linguists, Egyptologists and anthropo-logists that Patterson had put forward, one was head and shoulders above the rest because of her Amarna experience. He looked at her photo on-screen; possibly not the most recent snapshot, as the file said she was forty-one years old and the attractive dark-haired woman looking back at him could barely have been a day over thirty. The same age as me, he thought wistfully.
She was married, but with no dependents. No known close family. Her academic work involved regular, frequent travel abroad. The husband would be an annoyance, but he’d dealt with worse.
Walker would probably be best suited to the job: reliable, and able to use his head. If things did go wrong, he could make any mess-up look like an accident.
Leaning back in his chair, he sent the résumé through to Walker with a quick note attached: quickly, quietly and in one piece.
He was looking forward to meeting Dr Gail Turner, and to finally getting the answers he was looking for.
Chapter 32
Larue looked at the photos that Martín had handed him. His hands were trembling. In his wildest dreams he had not imagined this.
Whilst far less economical and safe, even Larue had to admit that the manned mission had its virtues. It took Beagle half an hour to extract a good geological sample from the soil. In comparison, one of the astronauts could literally bend over and pick up a rock in seconds.
And from the look of the photos, even the versatile rover wouldn’t have been able to climb down three hundred metres of cliff.
He placed the pictures carefully on his desk and looked at Martín Antunez and Jacqueline Thomas, sitting in front of him. It was the first time he had seen them both together, and he fancied he could feel the electricity between them. What it must be, he thought to himself, to be in love again.
“What shall we do with the pictures, Monsieur?” Martín said. “They were taken over four days ago, and still nothing has been released by the Americans. The other agencies are still jumping up and down about some of the rock samples that came through yesterday, so I doubt they know either. We have a lead Beagle engineer in Bristol, England on the phone to us every hour or so asking about this data and what it means. They’re going crazy over there, and it’s only a matter of time before things start leaking out.”
Larue opened his drawer and pulled out his cigar box. Now was the right time for one, he thought. Removing one of the Diplomáticos from within, he ran it under his nose slowly, before snipping the end off and putting it between his lips. As an afterthought, he offered the box to Martín and Jacqueline.
Martín shook his head. He was amazed that Larue would dare light a cigar inside a place of work, but for some reason he couldn’t help feeling that his real indignation came from the fact that he had not offered first before taking one himself.
Jacqueline simply ignored the gesture entirely.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that it is time for us to release Beagle 4’s newest findings to the press.” With this, he took a box of matches from his drawer and lit his cigar. The thick plume of smoke snaked up to the alarm in the ceiling, which remained silent.
“The press, Monsieur?” Jacqueline couldn’t stop herself from bursting out.
He raised an eyebrow, prompting her to explain herself. Since his conversation with Martín the previous week, and the shocking revelations that had followed, he had found himself full of energy and confidence. The old Larue was back, he thought to himself, and the ridicule that had fallen on him with the ESA’s exclusion from the Clarke would soon be but a distant memory.
Jacqueline was not accustomed to addressing people of Larue’s status. She took a breath and did her best. “Monsieur Larue, if you don’t mind me saying, the Agency does not normally address the press with this sort of information. This is not a Public Relations exercise. We should release these photos through the appropriate scientific channels.”
Larue smiled. “And we shall. But sometimes, you need to point the press in the right direction, so that they find our properly released material. And if they happen to ask for copies of the photos before anyone else has the opportunity, then so be it. The photos will be released across the scientific network before they appear in Le Monde, Jacqueline, trust me. Just not by much.”
Martín wondered how much Larue would take for the exclusive. If Le Monde was able to publish high resolution photographs in its daily edition, it would only have exclusivity for a few hours, half a day at most. But in the world of Journalism, and with the headline that Martín could already see in his mind’s eye, sometimes a few hours was all that was needed to sell a few extra million copies.