He went on, warming to his subject. “Now, if the Sumerian cubit was used, the metric equivalents would approximate 155.2 metres in length, 25.9 metres in width and 15.5 metres in height. Okay, so using the most conservative of these measurements would give the Ark approximately 40,000 cubic metres in gross volume. You remember the Titanic? Well, it’s estimated that a vessel with these kind of dimensions would have a displacement nearly equal to the 269 cubic metres of the Titanic.”
“Good grief,” Dracup said. “That’s colossal.”
“It sure is,” Farrell beamed. “You don’t get to hear about that in the kids’ story books, huh?”
“No. No, you don’t,” Dracup replied. Interesting detail; not what he was looking for, but a start anyway. He opened his mouth to ask another question but Farrell was getting into gear all by himself. Dracup let him carry on.
“Now, the account in the Bible says there were two floors in the Ark,” Farrell said. “The boat would gain a lot of stability from that design. And it would be internally strengthened.”
“So there would have been three decks altogether?” Dracup prompted.
Farrell nodded. “Right. That would yield a total of about 8,900 square metres of space.” Farrell nodded his head emphatically. “Plenty of room for a lot of animals.”
“I suppose so.” And much more, he thought. A sceptre; a sarcophagus…
“That sure is something, sir: your grandfather actually walked on the remains of this vessel.” Farrell paused to take a draught of coke. He swallowed with relish and placed the can carefully back on the table. “Now that is awesome.”
Sara spoke up. “What baffles me is why no one else has reported any sightings of the Ark. Surely with all the effort that’s been made over the last fifty years someone would have succeeded in rediscovering it? It’s a huge object, you say. How can any serious expedition miss it?”
“Well, ma’am,” Farrell replied, “those mountain ranges around Ararat are simply vast. And the altitude is a real problem. Weather conditions up there are pretty bad too.”
Dracup was thinking about the politics. “And it’s in Turkey.”
“That’s right, sir. The Turkish authorities don’t allow research expeditions a lot of leeway.”
Dracup thought about two men, bivouacked together, guideless, with the storm raging outside, and something else recorded in his grandfather’s precise copybook lettering: I saw it too. A was lifted away — not the wind.
“Have you seen the — Red Earth material?” Dracup asked. If he could just get Farrell’s confidence, put him at ease. “Potzner was telling me about the research project…”
“I’ve heard a few things, but I’m not security cleared to that level.”
“So, what have you heard?”
Farrell looked uncomfortable. “Ah — I don’t really have a lot of exposure to—”
Dracup’s frustration levels finally burst. “Look Farrell, my daughter has been kidnapped. If there’s anything you know that might help, for heaven’s sake tell us. You’re more clued up than you’re letting on, aren’t you?” Out of the corner of his eye Dracup noticed Sara watching him anxiously.
“I just have to look out for you, Professor Dracup. That’s all. I’m real sorry about your daughter.”
Dracup checked himself with an effort. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure you are, Farrell.” The American seemed genuine for all the party line stuff. One step at a time, Dracup, don’t push it. “Thanks, Farrell,” he said. And left it at that.
The fire was blazing as they reassembled in the front room. Dracup went to the pile of letters and picked the next from the heap.
Sara rubbed her hands by the fire. “Nice job, Farrell,” Sara said, straight-faced. “You must have been a Boy Scout after all.”
Farrell selected a blackened poker from the fire stand and prodded the coals speculatively. “Well, thank you, ma’am.” Dracup noticed that he held Sara’s gaze until she uncharacteristically looked away. It wasn’t hard to spot. He liked her all right.
Dracup shifted in his seat. He read the last letter and threw it on the table. Nothing. He tried to remember what his aunt had been involved in, what contacts she had had within her community. She had been a committed Christian, that much he knew, a regular church attendee. And there was her work for charities. He racked his brains. Which church had she attended? The local one, of course; Forest Avenue Baptist. He glanced at his watch: 5.21. Not too late to call at the manse. He grabbed his coat.
Sara frowned. “Where are you off to?”
“To see the minister. Won’t be long.”
“To see who?”
Farrell reached for his coat.
“No.” Dracup told him. “You stay with Sara. I’m only going up the road, and it’s still daylight.”
Forty minutes later Dracup strode briskly along Forest Avenue, a cream envelope tucked securely in his jacket pocket. His heart was thumping with adrenaline and his face wore a grim smile of triumph. He took the stairs two at a time and found Farrell and Sara at the top, their faces quizzical.
“Listen to this.”
Sara and Farrell froze at the excitement in Dracup’s voice.
Dracup opened with shaking hands the letter the Reverend Anthony McPhee had produced from his filing cabinet. “It’s from the Alexandra Nursing Home, Aberdeen. From the matron.”
“But how did —?” Sara’s mouth was open.
Dracup shushed her into silence. He read the letter aloud:
Mrs Hunter
c/o Forest Avenue Baptist Church,
Aberdeen
Dear Mrs Hunter,
As we haven’t heard from you for a while, I thought I’d drop you a wee line to see how you were. We always appreciate Pastor McPhee’s visits — and all the wonderful things your church does for the home. Things here are busy as usual — we’ve had the builders in for quite a time now and the dust makes a terrible mess. But we are looking forward to the finished results and the new lounge extension should be ready by Christmas. We’re hoping to hold the carol service there as we’ll at last have plenty of room! Now, I must mention that Mr Churchill is asking for you — he won’t listen to us when we tell him you’ll no doubt pop in soon. He keeps on asking! Well, you know that he does so enjoy your visits and is keeping awfully well considering he’ll be 105 in November and is our oldest resident by a long way!
Anyway, I mustn’t keep you any longer but do accept all our best wishes. Hoping to see you soon.
Yours sincerely,
Joan Mayfield
Matron
Sara looked blankly at him, searching for significance. Dracup watched their faces for any glimmer of understanding. His words tripped over themselves as he tried to explain. “My aunt — she was a member of the local church — she did a lot of charity work in the nursing homes in the area. There was one in particular that was a favourite. Now I know why.”
“Churchill?” Sara’s eyes reflected the light Dracup was searching for. He could almost hear the penny drop.
“Yes! Churchill!” Dracup shouted. “Reeves-Churchill. Theodore’s colleague on the expeditions. He’s still alive!”
Chapter 7
The time is now, Ruth told herself. He will listen. She hesitated and then heard herself speak, surprised at how calm she sounded. “Forget this Professor Dracup,” Ruth told Kadesh. “He cannot harm us.”