“Yes sir. Well, I used to keep a notebook for all the sermons I heard – we were taught that in Sunday school. I looked it out the other day. The boat wasn’t shaped like a boat we would make today. It was a kind of box. The measurements given in the Old Testament, if interpreted as Egyptian cubits, would make the Ark 129 metres long, 21.5 metres wide and 12.9 metres high. This was pretty likely, the preacher said, because Moses – the author of the flood account – was educated in Egypt.” Farrell paused and grinned when he saw their faces. “I have a pretty good memory. Particularly for numbers.”
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.