The Trespass(32)

The American waved a dismissive hand. “No problem. Just pretend I’m not here.”

In the kitchen, Sara leaned on the draining board and folded her arms. “Simon, I’m really sorry. I have to go back south. Something’s come up. It’s nothing awful – don’t look at me like that.”

Dracup’s first reaction was cautious relief. “Anything I can do?”

Sara laughed softly. “You’ve enough on your plate without my problems as well. Don’t look so crestfallen.” She moved towards him and put her arms around his waist. “It’s just some domestic bother. I’ll sort it out, but I have to deal with it straight away.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

She tilted her head to one side and sighed. “Compared to your problems it’s nothing. Maria wants me to vet the new girl before she signs up.”

“Your new flatmate?” He knew she’d had issues with her landlady before – the Spanish owner of her rented house. Still, this was a bit sudden. He gave her a tight smile. “When do you need to leave?”

“Asap really. If you drop me at the airport I can be back home tonight.”

“That urgent?”

She shrugged. “I’m really sorry. You know what Maria’s like. She wants to see me first thing tomorrow.” She tapped him lightly on the nose. “But keep me in touch – I can still use my brain in transit.”

Dracup felt a strange foreboding. “Right. Sure. I’ll call the airport.”

Two hours later Dracup returned to Forest Avenue with a heavy heart. She had held him tightly in the departure lounge; her lips had spoken the expected words – “See you soon” – but Dracup worried that her eyes had said something else.





Potzner was thinking about his wife, enduring her post-lunchtime chemo. He wanted to call; to tell her that their dreams had come true, that he had the answer to her condition. Here, just take this, my darling – our guys have come up with something to regenerate your damaged cells; the cancer cells will be destroyed and replaced. And your new cells will be better than before. Stronger. Longer lasting. You’ve never seen anything like this. Trust me. Everything’s going to be fine. We’re going to live forever, you and me. Imagine that! We’re going to live forever.

He rubbed his eyes and stretched back in his chair. The afternoon had sped past like a runaway automobile. And had ended a write-off. How did he feel? Disappointed. Despairing. Desperate? The phone rang. He sighed deeply and snatched the buzzing receiver from its cradle.

“Yeah? Oh, Mr Dracup. How’s it going?” Potzner listened carefully. “Yep. Right. Okay, that sounds very promising. I kind of had a feeling that old Theodore had a trick or two up his sleeve. How’s Farrell shaping up?” Potzner gave a sardonic grin as he listened to Dracup’s reply. Farrell had an IQ of 158 and had scored the top results in his training year – in fact his had been the highest mark obtained in the Department’s rigorous logic and numeracy tests since 1969. All packaged up in a baseball star’s physique. Even Potzner thought he was too good to be true.

“He does what? Yeah, I know. But then he’ll come out with something that’ll blow you away – what’s that? Sevens?” Potzner gave a short laugh. “Yeah, just like that.”

Potzner’s PC beeped as a new email arrived. He glanced at it briefly. It was from Art Keegan, head of Molecular Biology. He knew what it would say; he’d been expecting it. He opened his drawer and extracted his A4 notepad. “Well, Mr Dracup, I wish I had some encouraging news from this end, but the fact is I don’t. What I do have is a translation of the cuneiform verses from the diagram. You want to hear them?” Potzner smiled wryly. “Yeah, I know. They don’t make a lot of sense on their own. Here they are, for what it’s worth:





“From holy resting place to rest upon the water –

But Noah, the faithful son –

Once more in the earth you will find peace –

From whence you came –

Between the rivers –’





“That’s all we’ve got so far.” He paused, listening to the precise enunciation of the Englishman’s voice. “Okay. Well, tread carefully – I don’t need the police after you on top of everything else. Farrell will take care of any problems.” Potzner wondered briefly whether he should share the flickering electronic information with Dracup, then quickly decided against it. There was nothing to be gained from confirming that the Department’s hopes were resting on the conundrums of a deceased, mentally unstable geologist and his grandson’s determination to find a missing daughter. Potzner hoped the daughter was still alive, but had his doubts. He didn’t share that thought with Dracup either. He signed off and stared at the screen.