Timeline - Michael Crichton [46]
“‘Marcellus has the key,’” she said, reading the text. “Wonder what that means. It’s right where the Professor put his marks. Then . . . something about . . . giant feet . . . no . . . the giant’s feet? . . . The feet of the giant? . . . And it says vivix, which is Latin for . . . let me see. . .. That’s a new one. . ..”
She consulted a dictionary.
Restless, Marek went outside and paced up and down. He was edgy, nervous.
“That’s odd,” she said, “there is no word vivix. At least not in this dictionary.” She made a note, in her methodical way.
Marek sighed.
The hours crawled by.
The Professor never called.
Finally it was three o’clock; the students were wandering up to the big tent for their afternoon break. Marek stood in the door and watched them. They seemed carefree, laughing, punching each other, making jokes.
The phone rang. He immediately turned back. Elsie picked it up. He heard her say, “Yes, he’s here with me right now. . ..”
He hurried into her room. “The Professor?”
She was shaking her head. “No. It’s someone from ITC.” And she handed him the phone.
“This is André Marek speaking,” he said.
“Oh yes. Please hold, Mr. Marek. I know Mr. Doniger is eager to speak to you.”
“He is?”
“Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you for several hours. Please hold while I find him for you.”
A long pause. Some classical music played. Marek put his hand over the phone and said to Elsie, “It’s Doniger.”
“Hey,” she said. “You must rate. The big cheese himself.”
“Why is Doniger calling me?”
Five minutes later, he was still waiting on hold, when Stern walked into the room, shaking his head. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Yes? What?” Marek said, holding the phone.
Stern just handed him a sheet of paper. It said:
638 ± 47 BP
“What is this supposed to be?” Marek said.
“The date on the ink.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The ink on that parchment,” Stern said. “It’s six hundred and thirty-eight years old, plus or minus forty-seven years.”
“What?” Marek said.
“That’s right. The ink has a date of A.D. 1361.”
“What?”
“I know, I know,” Stern said. “But we ran the test three times. There’s no question about it. If the Professor really wrote that, he wrote it six hundred years ago.” Marek flipped the paper over. On the other side, it said:
AD 1361 ± 47 years
On the phone, the music ended with a click, and a taut voice said, “This is Bob Doniger. Mr. Marek?”
“Yes,” Marek said.
“You may not remember, but we met a couple of years ago, when I visited the site.”
“I remember very well,” Marek said.
“I’m calling about Professor Johnston. We are very concerned for his safety.”
“Is he missing?”
“No, he’s not. We know exactly where he is.”
Something in his tone sent a shiver down Marek’s spine. Marek said, “Then can I speak to him?”
“Not at the moment, I’m afraid.”
“Is the Professor in danger?”
“It’s difficult to say. I hope not. But we’re going to need the help of you and your group. I’ve already sent the plane to get you.”
:
Marek said, “Mr. Doniger, we seem to have a message from Professor Johnston that is six hundred years—”
“Not on a cell phone,” Doniger said, cutting him off. But Marek noticed that he didn’t seem at all surprised. “It’s three o’clock now in France, is that right?”
“Just after, yes.”
“All right,” Doniger said. “Pick the three members of your team who know the Dordogne region best. Drive to the airport at Bergerac. Don’t bother to pack. We’ll supply everything when you get here. The plane lands at six p.m. your time, and will bring you back to New Mexico. Is that clear?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ll see you then.”
And Doniger hung up.
:
David Stern looked at Marek. “What was that all about?” he said.
Marek said, “Go get your passport.”
“What?”
“Go get your passport. Then come back with the car.”
“We going somewhere?”
“Yes, we are,” Marek said.
And he reached for his radio.
:
Kate Erickson looked down from the ramparts