2040 Revelations (4 page)

‘Can I help you?’ she asked Sarah, evidently annoyed at the intrusion.

‘Err no – I mean yes – is Dean about?’

‘No, he hasn’t been in today. He’ll be back next week.’

Sarah was crestfallen. She’d come all this way for no reason and the chances of getting any carbon dating done that evening had gone out of the window.
I knew I should have called him first
, she thought;
idiot
. ‘All right,’ – she gave the woman an apologetic smile – ‘no problem. Thanks anyway.’

She wandered back into the hall and considered her options. Get the train back to London tonight or get a room at a local hotel and head back tomorrow. She rubbed the back of her neck, unconsciously easing some tension. Frustratingly, her efforts to get here quickly had proved fruitless. Plus, telling Trish about her problems with Mark had brought up memories she wanted to bury. Sadly, though, her friend wasn’t really the problem as no matter how hard she tried to forget the incident with Mark, she couldn’t seem to shake it.

I need a drink
, she decided. The Turf Tavern was close by. Dean had taken her to it a few times back in the day. It was mostly students and tourists, so not her usual cup of tea these days, but it was familiar and friendly.

Having made her way back out of the building, a few minutes later she was nearing the pub when her phone rang. She looked at the screen; it displayed Mark’s face and he looked agitated.
Great
, she thought,
that’s all I need
. Pressing a button on the screen expanded the image; it also enabled Mark to see her.

‘Where are you? I was worried. Do you know what time it is? It’s getting dark … and who are those people?’

Sarah looked round as some raucous college girls passed by her as she slowed.

‘Just some students from the campus,’ she said. ‘Look, Mark, you’re right, it’s getting late and I’m in Oxford. I’m checking into a hotel. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.’

‘Oxford? What are you doing all the way out there? I thought you were meeting Trish at The Pillar.’

‘I was – I did. She told me some information about those bones we found a while back. You know the ones we were waiting to get carbon dated?’

‘It’s taken that long? I thought you said they’d sped the process up or something?’

‘They have, but you still get dumped on a waiting list and with my rep everyone else gets priority. Finally someone got round to doing it, but they analysed the wrong thing so I came over to sort it out.’

‘Sarah, haven’t we discussed this? It will go nowhere. It’s always gone nowhere and it always will go nowhere. Forget about it.’

‘I’m not so sure. Trish—’

‘So are you coming home, then?’ he said, cutting her off.

She was getting irritated with him now. ‘What? No. I told you I’m staying overnight; I’ve got to go, it’s starting to rain.’

‘Fine!’ he said. The screen went blank; he’d hung up.

Bye then
, she thought. Wrapping her coat around herself as the drizzle turned into a deluge, she hurried on.

Reaching The Tavern, Sarah pushed open the main door. A rush of warm air and noise greeted her, the smell of beer and damp clothing filling her nostrils. The pub heaved with people, the downpour having driven many inside. Not that students needed any excuse to drink and socialise. Ordering a glass of dry white wine, she settled in at the bar on a stool. A group of tourists huddled next to her examined a map and argued in a language she’d guess was Indonesian, although she couldn’t be sure.

A young man came and hunkered down on the bar stool next to her, a tad too close for her liking. He gave her a grin as he called the barman over. Despite herself she smiled back; it was hard not to, he was pretty cute if you liked the young cheeky chappie type, which she had in her younger days.

‘So are you here for business or pleasure?’ he asked her, raising his voice to be heard above the cacophony of noise filling the low-ceilinged room.

‘Neither,’ she said, hoping to confuse him.

‘What else is there?’

‘Education, or something non-pleasurable like a funeral?’ she said pointedly. ‘There are quite a lot of things really.’

‘Shit sorry I—’ he said, mortified –
which is appropriate
, she thought, chuckling inwardly.

‘Don’t be.’ She laughed. ‘I’m kidding.’

He indicated her clothes. ‘You’re wearing black, though.’

‘You’re quick,’ she said, while smiling.

‘Err, so—’

A large hand clamped down on his shoulder, halting him mid-sentence.

‘I’m sorry, miss, is this fellow bothering you?’

She recognised that voice. ‘No, it’s fine, we’re just chatting.’

The young man gave a nervous grin and made a swift exit.

Dean pulled up another stool and sat down next to her, a pint in one hand. ‘Haven’t seen you around for a while, what brings you to these parts of deepest darkest Oxfordshire?’

Sarah appraised him. It’d been a while since she’d seen him. He’d aged a little, now in his early forties, with some grey hair and a few more lines. Still easy on the eye, but he didn’t seem that enamoured to see her. ‘You don’t seem pleased to see me,’ she said.

‘Why should I when the last time we met you left me hanging without another word? No sooner than you hear the word “excavation” or “expedition” you vanish quicker than a fart in a fan factory.’

Sarah gave a wry smile. ‘Lovely analogy.’

Dean glowered at her from under his heavy brows.

‘Oh calm down, Dean,’ she said, and then assumed a pout while fluttering her eyelashes and looking pathetic. ‘You can’t hold a grudge with lil’ ol’ me, now, can you?’

He growled and took a swig of his drink, trying unsuccessfully to hide his smirk.

She pointed at him and laughed. ‘Ha, caught ya!’

‘Very good, I never could stay angry at you for long,’ he said, relaxing a little and placing an arm on the bar. ‘So, why are you are here? Not to see me, I take it?’

‘Actually, yes, but not for what you’re hoping for.’

‘Get you with the big head; I’m actually seeing someone at the moment so I’m off limits.’

‘Me too,’ Sarah said, ‘so we’ve agreed we’re not interested in each other.’

‘At the moment,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

She didn’t reply, merely rolling her eyes in response. ‘I’m down here to find out about a job one of your techs did for me recently. Unfortunately he’s dated the wrong piece in the batch.’

Dean groaned. ‘It’s probably our new guy, Roland. He’s gifted but a bit harebrained. I have to say, though, you don’t seem that angry about it.’

‘Well, I would have been, but the piece he dated actually produced something extremely useful. I just need him, or anyone, to date the correct pieces and I’ll be a happy little camper.’

‘Depending on the results,’ Dean said.

‘Of course, but I’m feeling confident.’

‘So it would seem. Do you want another?’ He beckoned the bartender.

She looked down to see her glass was empty. ‘Sure. So who’s this new assistant you’ve got working for you, have you had your wicked way with her yet? Sorry, I forgot, you’re taken, aren’t you.’

Dean looked at her, puzzled. ‘What assistant?’ he said, passing a fresh glass of wine to her.

‘The brunette, slim about my height, suit. Seemed a bit smart for your office, but hey, it’s your show.’

‘I don’t have a clue what you’re going on about, Sarah; I haven’t had an assistant for a while now. We’ve had a lot of cuts recently, every department has. For that matter nearly every government-run sector has, what with the impending doomsday and all these precautions they’re taking. I think they’ve gone a bit too far recently, though, don’t you think? Some people are saying the asteroid may even miss us altogether.’

‘What? Oh, that. Yes not long till Impact Day now. It’s a little exciting, don’t you think? Takes the mundane out of everyday life.’

‘I suppose, although since they’ve had to evacuate virtually the whole of southern Africa over the last few years, Africans may have a different viewpoint.’

‘I guess,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘So who’s this mysterious woman, then? She was in all your filing cabinets. There were quite a few documents spread about, I just assumed she worked for you. She also told me you wasn’t at work today and would be back in next week.’

Dean looked worried now. ‘Sarah, I really don’t know who this person is and my cabinets are always locked; plus I’ve been in all day today. How long ago since you saw her?’

She looked at her watch. ‘About an hour now.’

He got his phone out, hit a button, waited a few moments and then swore.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sarah said.

‘My camera’s not working.’

‘Camera?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got a small security camera set-up in my office to prevent students nicking things, they’re thieving little buggers.’ He got up and drained the rest of his pint. ‘Right, I’m going back to check this out. Coming with?’

Most of her wine was still in the glass, but she downed it, too. ‘Sure, why not,’ she said, and followed Dean out of the pub.

♦

Total darkness had descended by the time they’d made their way back to the university. A few lights were still on and a lone student scuttled past them as they entered the building. Once in the office nothing appeared to be out of place. Dean went straight to the cabinets, which were locked with no apparent sign of tampering.

‘Where’s the camera?’Sarah said.

‘Eh?’ Turning around he went to the corner opposite the door and gazed up at the ceiling. ‘There.’ He pointed at a tiny dome-shaped object, its white surface making it all but invisible. ‘It’s got motion and heat sensors, time stamps, remote access, video conferencing, upload and download facilities, 32K definition playback and record, it’s a fantastic bit of kit.’

‘Apart from the fact that it doesn’t work,’ Sarah said, peering around the rest of the office.

‘I know it was working yesterday, as I checked its feed.’ He removed the device for inspection and then plugged it into his computer. ‘Strange,’ – he tapped a few keys – ‘it seems to be okay now.’ He went back to the cabinets and swiped across the locks with his phone to unlock them. Sarah sat down in his chair and fiddled with a stapler as he checked the files to see if anything was missing.

‘So what gives, Dean?’

‘Regarding?’ he said, without taking his eyes off the cabinet he was now rifling through.

‘Well, I’ve been waiting a year for my artefacts to be dated; couldn’t you have pushed me up the list a bit?’

‘I’m sorry, I should’ve done. I was angry with you after … well, you know, and then I just forgot about it. I no longer prioritise the list these days.’

Accepting his explanation, Sarah watched as Dean continued to leaf through the documents while muttering to himself. A few minutes ticked by before he stopped and turned around. ‘Shit!’

‘What’s up?’ she said. ‘Something missing?’

‘No, nothing. Are you sure she had the cabinet open and this wasn’t some ploy of yours to get me up here alone?’

‘You wish. No, honestly, she was here and that was definitely open.’

‘Well, I don’t know what’s going on then,’ he said, looking at her in confusion.

‘Don’t look at me, I don’t know either. Doesn’t anyone else have the access code?’

‘Roland does.’

‘Isn’t that the muppet who buggered up my tests?’

‘The very same. Bloody hell, I bet he’s let someone else come up here; if he has he’s outta here. Come on.’ He waved his hand for her to follow him as he locked up the cabinets and headed for the door. Sarah jumped up out of the chair and trailed after him.

The mass spectrometer was housed in the adjacent building and, according to Dean, Roland always worked late.
Probably because he has to correct all his mistakes
, she thought to herself. After a short walk they arrived to find Roland still there, as predicted, although he didn’t appear to be working, as he lay sprawled out on a desk, asleep.

‘Roland!’ Dean’s voice rang out.

Roland stirred and lifted a bespectacled head. ‘Dean, is that you?’

Roland was a small rotund young man in his early twenties, although his clothes looked like they belonged to an elderly librarian.

‘Yes, of course it’s me,’ Dean said with exasperation.  ‘Have you given your access code to some woman today? She was seen rifling through the secure cabinets in my office.’

Sitting upright, Roland straightened his glasses and blinked owlishly as he got his mind back into gear. ‘Of course not, you specifically told me never to let anyone do that, so I haven’t.’

‘And you haven’t told anyone the code or mislaid your phone?’

Roland checked his pockets. ‘Nope,’ – he patted his breast pocket – ‘still here.’

Dean shook his head. ‘I give up,’ he told Sarah, ‘nothing’s been taken, so as far as I’m concerned there isn’t a problem. I’ve got too many other things to worry about without this as well.’

Sarah shrugged and made a face to show Dean she wasn’t that concerned either. She also had more important things to consider. ‘Do you have the dating results for a job for Sarah Morgan?’ she asked Roland.

Roland shifted his gaze to Sarah and broke into a broad smile. ‘Oh, so you’re The Giant Lady.’

Sarah sighed wearily; that was one of her nicknames in some archaeological circles. ‘Yes, that’s me, The Giant Lady.’

‘I always thought you were quite small,’ said Dean, looking at her with an impish grin.

‘Funny,’ Sarah said.

Roland rummaged around in some trays on one of the desks. After a while he stopped and held up a sheet of paper. ‘Ah ha,’ he said, waving it about in triumph, ‘got them!’

He passed Sarah the paper and she read through the results. The hair was, indeed, approximately five hundred thousand years old. She felt exultant, relieved and amazed all at once, and having the proof in her hand was an unbelievable feeling. All she had to do now was get the bones tested and get a credible anthropologist to back up her assertions that they belonged to a very large member of the Homo genus.

‘Dean, you couldn’t do me a massive favour, could you?’