“I think the big match will have to wait for a bit, Charles.” Dracup, fearing a major digression, let his expression bring Sturrock’s concentration into focus.
“Serious, eh? Righto, what’s all this about a trip to France, then? Got some floozy tucked away? Bet she’s not as cracking as that corker you’ve been escorting recently.”
Dracup sighed. “No, nothing like that, Charles. Listen, I’d better give you a rundown on the situation. It’s not good.”
Sturrock was a good listener. When Dracup had finished he let out a low whistle. “Well I’ll be damned. I can’t believe it. And this girlie of yours – she just vanished?”
Dracup nodded. “Yes. Her house is empty.”
“Her disappearance could be nothing to do with Natasha’s, of course.” Sturrock removed his glasses and began polishing them with a grubby tissue.
“That’s what I’m hoping. I can’t believe she knew something and kept it from me.”
“Funny creatures, women,” Sturrock observed. “Never got the hang of them, personally.” He put his glasses back on and tossed the tissue back onto the desk. “But she could have been under threat herself.”
“You think?”
“Why not? Perhaps she was tasked to keep an eye on you – to make sure that the diary found its way back to base.”
Dracup’s eyes widened. “Oh come on, Charles. Do I look that gullible?”
Charles looked at him over his glasses.
“All right. I suppose it’s possible,” Dracup conceded wearily. But back to base? You make her sound like a member of a terrorist cell. And we haven’t a clue where ‘base’ is.”
“No. But you’ve made a reasonable deduction, Simon. The wax tablet summary does appear to suggest a link with Lalibela. So I rather suspect I know what this favour is going to be.” Sturrock raised his eyebrows theatrically.
“You’re the only pilot I know. Otherwise I wouldn’t risk it.”
“A vote of confidence, as expected. Makes a chap feel good.”
Dracup sighed. “Look, Charles, if I can get across the Channel I reckon I’ll be on for an international flight without getting picked up. If I try from Heathrow, odds are that Moran will nab me. Is it possible, or am I clutching at straws?”
“Of course it’s possible. I just need to make the arrangements with White Waltham and book it up. Only proviso is that the other syndicate chaps haven’t made a reservation.” Sturrock absently scratched his head with a pencil. “Come to think of it, two of them are abroad on business, so we should be all right.”
“Charles, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Then consider it done!” Sturrock leaned forward. “Simon, I’d love to take a look at this metalwork. Any chance?”
Dracup shook his head. “Not for the moment. I had to let the CIA take it away for analysis. But I have photocopies. That’ll keep you happy for a bit.”
“Love to. You never know, I may be able to shed a bit of light.” Sturrock rubbed his hands together in anticipation, then fixed Dracup with an expression of barely concealed excitement. “Have you considered the implications of all this?”
“Implications?”
“Yes. That the Ark exists.”
Dracup sighed. “I went through this with Sara. So ‘The Ark’ – or at least a large, ancient, vessel – exists. There was a flood. Someone had the good sense to build a boat and get his family on board. Period.”
“Oh come on, Simon – even you can’t be that blinkered. Look, the book of Genesis contains a lot more than Noah’s story. But at any rate the diary kicks out the old tradition that Moses borrowed the flood story from the epic of Gilgamesh when he wrote Genesis.”
“Possibly. But then I’ve always thought the Gilgamesh epic had all sorts of flaws – particularly in the design of the vessel.”
Sturrock chortled. “That’s right. The boat was cube-shaped according to Babylonian records – not a particularly seaworthy design, whereas the Biblical Ark of Noah –” Sturrock jumped up and fished a book from his teetering shelves. “Here we are. Noah’s Ark had the proportions of a true ship. The ratio given in Genesis 6:15 can’t be faulted: 300 by 50 by 30 cubits. Perfect for its purpose.”
“Well, the majority of primitive societies have a flood story, Charles. The Bible record is one of many.”
“I’m aware of that, dear boy. And the reason is that the flood was a reality. China, India, South America, Greece, Africa – they all have their own version of the same event. But the essentials are the same: a global flood; and out of the Earth’s population, one family saved. The Chinese in particular consider the head of this family – chap called ‘Fuhi’ – to be the father of their race.”