“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 some 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.
“It’s me. Any news?”
“Ah. Simon. Nothing yet, I’m afraid. But the police are being very helpful.”
“Right. What have they got?”
“A man and young woman were seen at the school shortly before Natasha went missing.”
“And?”
“They’re, er, following a line of enquiry.”
“Really? So they have nothing. Look, Malcolm, my mobile is always on, day or night, so don’t hesitate if anything comes up.”
“Yes, of course.”
“How’s Yvonne?”
“Well, you know. Not so good.”
“Tell her — tell her I’m doing all I can.”
“Of course. I will. Goodbye.”
Dracup joined Potzner and Sara in the lounge. Potzner raised his eyebrows.
“Nothing.”
Potzner fixed Dracup with a steady look. “We work together on this, okay? You find out something — you let me know. And vice versa.”
“If you assure me that your first interest is my daughter’s safe return, I’ll share everything I’ve got.”
“Listen, Dracup.” Potzner spoke quietly but with an audible edge to his voice. “If you play ball with me I’ll help any which way I see fit. If not, you’re on your own.” Potzner picked up his coat and made as if to leave. “Oh, there’s one more thing. I’m leaving you with a little muscle.”
Dracup exchanged glances with Sara. A moment later the doorbell rang. Potzner ushered the newcomer into the lounge. Suited, expressionless. Potzner clapped him on the shoulder. “This is Farrell. He’s a bright guy. Just do what he says, when he says, and you’ll be okay.”
“You mean we’re stuck with this gorilla?” Sara was indignant. “I can look after myself, thanks.”
Farrell’s face remained impassive. He was around the thirty mark, with an easy, laid-back manner. He wore a pair of shades pushed up onto his crew cut and a flesh-coloured earpiece in his right ear. Dracup wondered how much he knew about Red Earth. He intended to find out soon enough.
Dracup took Sara’s arm. “It’s probably a good idea.” He looked over to Farrell. “No offence.”
“None taken,” Farrell drawled.
Potzner was rummaging in his briefcase. “I suggest you make the trip to Scotland sooner rather than later. This is a hotline to the London office.” He handed Dracup a card. “Check in once a day — without fail. If you don’t, like I said before, I’ll come looking.”
Chapter 6
“There you go — Forest Avenue. Next left.” Sara folded the street map and shoved it down into the side pocket.
“Got it.” Dracup swung the car into the street and crawled along its length counting the numbers down. He glanced in the mirror. Farrell was scanning the pavements on either side of the street. Next to the agent lay the flotsam of a long journey: empty biscuit packets, juice cartons, chocolate papers.
“There!” Sara pointed.
Dracup found a space, eased the Saab along the high kerb and killed the engine.
“I’ll do the neighbourly thing.” Sara was out of the car and Farrell followed suit.
“Meet you at the front door. Ah — looks like it’s side access,” Dracup called over, and walked up the path of the old granite house. The property had been converted into two flats, according to the solicitor, and his aunt had owned the first and second floors. Dracup found the side door and strode briskly past it to the garden gate. He peered over the top. It was overgrown, neglected. His aunt would have been mortified.