It was here, he thought. I was here…
The recollection of the swelling billows of smoke and soot in the sky returned to him. He could almost smell the sulfur in the air and hear the cold crunch of his footfalls on the iridium laced ground gravel when they climbed the ridge, sixty-five million years ago. They were the first men to travel in time, but an error in the calculation had sent them careening into the deeps of the later Cretaceous, millions of years off their target date. In spite of that, the spatial numbers had been dead on target. They were supposed to land in the desert of old Palestine, now modern day Jordan, but when they arrived they found themselves marooned on the volcanic debris of a recently reclaimed seabed—right smack on the KT boundary, the line that marked the end of the Cretaceous and the doom of the Dinosaurs.
It was here.
They had struggled up the hill, straining to find any clue to identify their location. Nordhausen was stooping to collect odd fragments of glittering quartz and dead fern fronds. It did not take them long to realize the error. The discovery of a near perfect Ammonite fossil in the side of the hill had been the last deciding clue. They were lost in time.
Paul stared at the gaping hole in the ground neatly marked by string and small wooden stakes. Nordhausen had been talking about this project for months after their mission. He called it his consolation prize and urged Paul to come with him to recover the fossil. How he planned to get it through customs was a matter Paul never had a chance to discuss with him. When he first raised the question the professor had waved him off with a typical ‘don’t worry, Paul, it’s all arranged.’
The strange feeling swept over him again. Somewhere at the edge of this dig the two of them had sat on the ridge and built a small fire—the first fire ever made by human hands on earth. They had used the supplies Maeve had secreted away in their travel garb to brew a cup of coffee. That thought prompted him to turn to the young woman at his side.
“Find anything else in the area?”
“Sir?” The girl had been watching him closely, a bit confused by his initial silence.
“Anything on the perimeter of the dig site?” He was thinking that they might have uncovered evidence of the charred rocks they left in a small circle.
“There was one thing,” said the girl. “Very odd, in fact. We found an old tin cup, just there, at the lower perimeter of the dig site. It was extremely corroded and barely recognizable. Probably was left by someone a few centuries ago, because it was obviously not native to this strata on the rock formation.”
“Of course,” said Paul with an inward smile. That sealed it for him. The interns had found the very same tin cup that they had used to brew their coffee. Somehow it had managed to remain relatively intact in the dry desert climate, sleeping quietly in the limes and shale of the hill for all of sixty-five million years. He shuddered again, feeling as though he was walking on his own grave site, a resurrected ghost returning to the place where he had chatted idly with Nordhausen about the Alvarez Theory and the demise of the Dinosaurs.
“Come on, Paul! We’ve got to get moving!” The Professor was waving at him from the base of the helicopter. He could see that the rotors were beginning to turn again, and heard the whine of the engine.
“You joining us?” He smiled at the pleasant girl at his side.
“Oh, no sir. We’re taking a rover into Amman next week. The professor wants us to return the dig site to its original condition.
“I see,” said Paul. “Covering his tracks, is he? Well you’ve done a wonderful job here. This will mean a great deal to Professor Nordhausen.” He offered a brief handshake and then hurried off, listening to Robert’s animated chatter as the professor waved him on.
“Come on, Paul, stop flirting with the ladies and get in this thing before it raises a maelstrom in all this dust.”
They clambered inside the small craft, sealing out the billowing haze and quickly fastening their seat harnesses. Nordhausen gave the pilot a reassuring pat on the shoulder and the engine revved up to maximum for the takeoff.
“How heavy is it?” Paul strained to see the cables tightening to taut lines of woven steel as the chopper lifted off.
“God only knows,” said Nordhausen over the noise. “This fellow says he can haul a little over a ton, and I don’t think we’re pulling that much. Besides, we’ll be at a relatively low altitude, and the lift capability of the helo will be at its maximum.“ He leaned forward and handed the pilot something he had written on a scrap of paper. The man nodded and began fiddling with controls on his dash panel.
“What was that?” Paul was curious.
“Our heading,” said Nordhausen. “We’re going to swing out into the open desert for about twenty minutes, and then turn south by southwest at Wadi Safra. Another few hours should do the trick.”
“Do the trick? What do you mean another few hours? That will take us well beyond Amman.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, why waste the fuel? Are you sight seeing? Our plane leaves from Amman tomorrow. How do you plan to get this thing through customs?”
“You’ll see. Just leave everything to me, Paul. As a matter of fact, we’re going to fly over some of the most spectacular terrain on the globe in a few hours, so sit back and enjoy the ride. Wait until we get to Wadi Rumm—The Valley of the Moon! I hear there’s a series of natural rock formations the locals call ‘The Seven Pillars of Wisdom.’ How’s that ring to you, eh?” The professor flashed him a smile, clearly excited about his recovery of the book.
“What? Wadi Rumm is well south of Amman. Just east of Akaba.” Paul had never been there before, but he had spent hours pouring over maps of the region and he also remembered his history quite well. Lawrence often used the spectacular gorges of Wadi Rumm as a hide away during his raiding missions in 1917. He wrote about it all in the Seven Pillars of Wisdom, one of Paul’s favorite reads—particularly after his mission to the Hejaz the previous year.
“Yes, and we should be there in a little under two hours.“ Nordhausen smiled but Paul pursed his lips, suddenly suspicious.
“What are you up to, Robert?” He wished he had Maeve at hand, as she said that so much better than he could.
“Do you realize what we have, Paul? I was here last month, just before they started the extraction. The fossil is amazing! It may be one of the very few complete Ammonite fossils found anywhere—if not the only one. Why, you can even see impressions in the eye socket. It’s wonderful!”
“Yes, yes, it’s fabulous,” echoed Paul. “But what about customs? Are you telling me the Jordanians are just going to let you fly away with this thing, no questions asked?”
“Exactly,” said Nordhausen. “Why should they ask? I’m supposed to be working a wadi terrace site at Baidar. Hell, they’ve got plenty of Ammonite fossils, lots of them at Wala Mujib, not far from our dig. Why should they care about this one?”
“Are you kidding? You just said it was one of a kind. If this thing is in the pristine condition you describe, then they will damn well care about it. What’s going on here? Are you telling me you’re going to try and steal the damn thing?”
“No, not at all. We’re going to steal the damn thing! The two of us. We found it, didn’t we? Sixty five fucking million years ago, my friend! If that isn’t an argument for first rights, then what is?”
“Oh, God!” Paul put his hand on his forehead, clearly upset. It was another classic Nordhausen caper. Now, more than ever, he wished Maeve were here so the two of them could nail the professor’s ears to his head. “Are you crazy?” He burst out in frustration. “You mean to say this guy is some kind of smuggler or something?” Paul thumbed at the pilot who was oblivious of the argument heating up behind him in the passenger’s compartment.