The Trespass(57)
Chapter 20
“No dice.” Farrell replaced the receiver. “No one of that description has passed through any major UK airport.”
Potzner wasn’t surprised. “Well, he must have got out somehow. How about the wife?”
“She’s not giving anything away. I don’t reckon he filled her in. Either that or she’s a damn good actress.”
“Maybe, maybe,” Potzner grunted. “What about the car?” He shifted his legs under the desk and grimaced as his injured foot caught the pedestal.
Farrell shook his head. “It was found two blocks away from Dracup’s apartment. Empty.”
“Terrific.” Potzner picked up the phone. “Get Fish on, would you?” He arranged his legs across the desk, taking care to place right over left. Farrell wandered to the glass wall, gazed out onto the busy office thoroughfare.
Fish’s high voice announced itself in Potzner’s ear.
“I need an update, Fish. Preferably a good one.” Potzner listened impatiently. He had learned to dissect Fish’s offerings, weeding out the scientific gobbledegook from the pertinent information. “Yeah, yeah. And?” Fish rambled on. “What’s that? Say again –” Potzner covered the mouthpiece and called over to Farrell. “He has a theory about the purpose of the cross.” Then into the phone: “Yeah, go on. I’m listening.” As Fish spoke, Potzner reflexively began the task of associating new information with what he currently understood. “So it’s a staff headpiece, a sceptre of some sort. Marked with cuneiform script and a large A indentation, possibly the Greek letter Alpha. Yeah, I know Greek wasn’t around that far back. No, I can’t explain it either. It’s partially complete, uh huh. The rest is most likely on the missing half. Right. Traces of wood splinter within the bottom join, hence the sceptre theory. Carbon dated – 5–10000 BC. Okay. That figures.”
Fish’s voice was rising with excitement. “You’ve commissioned an artist’s impression of the whole thing? Very nice, Fish, but we need results, not airy-fairy art exhibitions. What about the additional markings? Shem, Ham, Japheth, represented on each arm of the cross. Okay, so? Noah, yeah. That was expected. What’s that? Something on the Ham extension? Africa? Right, traditionally that’s where Ham’s descendants migrated. Yeah, Fish, I know it’s a big place. Okay, so let me see if I understand this correctly. The two separate parts that form the headpiece of this sceptre, staff, whatever, are deliberately designed to be separated – ritually separated? All right, maybe – one is left on the Ark, as we know, the other you theorize was taken to Africa somewhere – as a marker, a pointer, one to the other. So the African half will point to the Ark half and vice versa? Right. Reason being to preserve and protect the whereabouts of another location, to provide a clue, a kind of map, yeah? It’s what Theodore Dracup found, some link with Africa, and what? He discovered the missing piece and put two and two together. Then came the second expo to X, which led us to our acquisition. Too many blanks, Fish. Keep at it and call me with anything new, okay?”
“Sounds like he’s getting there,” Farrell said.
“Not fast enough.” Potzner rubbed his eyes. For a moment his vision was filled with dancing black specks. High in his temple a vein throbbed with a heavy pulse. “Dracup’s ahead of the game, somehow. What have we got? Missing subject, missing girlfriend...” Potzner tapped the desktop. “Bandana man?”
Farrell shook his head. “Not a trace.”
“Have we checked Dracup’s cell phone tariff?”
Farrell nodded. “I made the request this morning. Network’s sending it through asap.”
“Give me their number. I want it faxed. Now.”
Smoke was emanating from the blasted entrance of Dracup’s flat. The firemen had done their work efficiently and a few of them still moved among the hoses and paraphernalia, packing away and tidying up with the efficiency of an army unit. Chief Inspector Brendan Moran looked on approvingly. Nice to see some order in the midst of chaos. He flashed his ID and approached the chief fire officer. “All right to have a look around?”
The fireman wiped sweat away from his forehead. His face was covered in soot and grime. “I suppose. There’s no structural damage as far as we can see - it’s a right mess, though. We’ve turned the electrics off at the mains. You’ll need a torch – the windows are black. Hey! Careful with that!” He barked out an order to a subordinate. Turning back to Moran he said, “No naked flames either. Gas is off, but you never know.”