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“I’m still not taking any chances.” Miyuki waved Karen to the clean suits hanging on their wall. “C’mon. Gabriel has discovered something interesting.”
“Really? About the language?”
“Yes, he finished compiling the other examples of the Easter Island script.”
Karen hurried into her clean suit, zipping it up and standing. “Do you think he has enough information to translate it?”
“It’s too soon to say. He’s working on it though.”
Tucking her hair into a paper bo
Miyuki shrugged and keyed open the door to the main lab. A whoosh of air sounded as the seal broke. “That’s not what you should be asking.”
Miyuki, always Japanese stoic, was seldom playful when she talked business, so the trace of mischief in her voice intrigued Karen. “What is it?”
“You need to see this.”
Clearly, Miyuki had discovered something important. “What? What is it?”
Miyuki led the way to the bank of computers. “Gabriel, could you please bring up Figure 2B on Monitor One.”
“Certainly. Good morning, Dr. Grace.”
“Good morning, Gabriel.” By now Karen was growing accustomed to their disembodied colleague.
The two women sat down. On the monitor before them, Karen saw data scrolling, flowing so rapidly it was almost a blur, but she noted that many of the fluttering images were of the unknown hieroglyphics. Within a few seconds five glyphs were centered on the screen.
She was unimpressed. “Okay. What am I looking at? Can you translate this section, Gabriel?”
“No, Dr. Grace. With the current level of data, a decryption of this language remains impossible.”
Karen frowned, disappointed. “Have you found any other examples of the rongorongo script?”
“I have found them all, Dr. Grace.”
Karen’s brows shot up. “All twenty-five? So soon?”
“Yes. I contacted 413 websites to obtain all known examples of this language. Unfortunately, three of the artifacts contained identical scripts, and one artifact contained only a single glyph. The amount of data was insufficient to complete a decryption.”
Karen eyed the monitor. “So what is this? Which artifact are these glyphs from?”
“None of them.”
“What?”
Miyuki interceded. “Please explain, Gabriel. Elaborate on your search parameters.” Miyuki turned to Karen and added hurriedly, “He thought of this all on his own.” Her face shone with excitement and pride.
Gabriel spoke. “After searching under the term ‘Rongorongo,’I performed a worldwide search under each individual symbol, 120 searches, to be precise. On an archaeology website at Harvard University, I discovered a matching post. It matched three of my search parameters.” On the screen, three of the five symbols suddenly glowed red.
“What about the other two?” Karen asked, struggling to understand.
“They do not match any known Rongorongo glyph.”
“What are you saying?”
Miyuki answered, “They’re new symbols. Glyphs no one’s seen before.”
“Th-That would mean we’ve discovered an undocumented artifact.” She sat up straighter. “A new find!”
“The note on the Harvard website was posted two days ago.”
“Can I see the posting?”
“It’s right here.” Miyuki slipped out a sheet. “I printed it out.”
“This is unbelievable.”
“I know. Gabriel was able to extend the search parameters on his own. It’s true independent thinking. Unbelievable progress.”
“Miyuki, I meant the new symbols.” Karen rattled the paper. “This is the unbelievable part.”
“In your field maybe.”
Karen realized she had slighted her friend’s accomplishment. “I’m sorry, Miyuki. Both you and Gabriel deserve my heartfelt appreciation.”
Miyuki, mollified, pointed. “Just read it. There’s more.”
Karen touched her friend’s wrist. “I do appreciate it. Really.”
“Oh, I know. I just like making you admit it.”
Rolling her eyes, Karen turned her attention to the e-mail post.
Subject: Inquiry about unknown Language
To Whom It May Concern:
I would appreciate any help in ascertaining the origin of the following hieroglyphic writing system. These few symbols were found etched on a piece of crystal. For further details, I would be happy to share data with anyone willing to assist my research.
Thank you in advance for your help,
George Klein, Ph.D.
Deep Fathom
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From: “George Klein” <[email protected] /* */>
To: [email protected] /* */
Karen lowered the paper. Besides the glyphs, she couldn’t help but notice the reference to a second crystal. It was too much of a coincidence.
“Do we know where this came from?”
Miyuki nodded. “Gabriel ran a trace. It’s from a salvage ship, the Deep Fathom. Right now it’s located in the middle of the Pacific. Gabriel was able to track its current position by tapping into the GPS system.”
“Where is it?”
“Near Wake Island. But that’s not the weird part. Gabriel discovered a news article about the ship. The Deep Fathom is currently aiding in the deep-sea salvage of Air Force One.”
“How strange…” Karen frowned, trying to figure out how the two items could possibly be co
“Gabriel is already working on it.”
Jack sat tensely in the leather chair in the long conference room. Though the room was crowded, no one spoke. They all awaited the appearance of Admiral Houston. He was conferring with the Joint Chiefs after last night’s explosion. All night long, investigators and military perso
The remains of the chief investigator, Edwin Weintraub, had been found and brought to the ship’s infirmary. His body was badly charred and blast-burned. The initial identification was made by his wedding ring. It had been a long and somber night. With security as tight as an angry fist, Jack had been refused admission to the Gibraltar until this morning.
But even with the lead ship locked down, rumors had spread to the support vessels, including the Deep Fathom. A bomb. Hidden in the Chinese jade bust. Shards had speared everywhere, piercing the tent’s tarpaulin, even embedding into the bones of Weintraub’s skull and limbs. Additionally, the explosion had ignited a nearby tank of cleaning oil, creating the brilliant fireball that had blasted forth from the shaft of a cargo elevator.
Jack shivered. He had handled the jade bust himself. If the stories were true, what if it exploded while he’d been on the ocean bottom? He pushed away that stray thought.
Around him, in the room, the silence remained tense. Everyone looked bone-tired and thunderstruck. Not even whispers were shared.
At last the door to the conference room swung open. Admiral Houston stalked into the room, flanked by his aides and trailed by David Spangler. The admiral remained standing, while the other three men took seats. Jack made eye contact with Houston, but the admiral did not acknowledge him. His face was ashen, his eyes as hard as agates.
“Gentlemen,” Houston began, “first let me thank you all for your industrious efforts this past week. The tragedy last night will not minimize your significant contribution.” The admiral bowed his head. “But I must now sadly a