CRO-MAGNON (15 page)

“
How do they do that?” he said, genuinely intrigued.

“
They’ve designed a chip that mimics the way nature reads genes by stretching out the DNA like a ticker tape. Salomon Industries is developing programs for a supercomputer. My computer guy, Peter Golub, is doing the work. When he gets it perfected, it should be possible to sequence an individual genome in a matter of hours.”

Calder indicated her laptop. “That gizmo maybe top-of-the-line, but it isn’t exactly a supercomputer.”

“
Peter developed a simple program for pre-sorting the data. I can use it together with the chip part of the hardware to read snippets of DNA. Relatively short sequences encompassing an appreciable part of a gene.”

“
Only part?”

She turned up her hands. “I can use the gene-sniffing program in comparison with the 30,000 genes in the human genome to get at least some idea of how intact the DNA is.”

“
Wouldn’t the work go faster if you’d brought the whole machine, so you could read entire genes in one go?”

“
It’s too bulky, the only full-scale machine is in beta testing, and the program’s incomplete. And like you said, my laptop is not a supercomputer.” She adjusted a knob. “I’ve set the sniffer to search for only parts of the genes in its data bank.”

“
You can work that way?”

“
Sure. But the downside is, it’ll go much slower. And we both know we’re not blessed with time.”

Calder watched her fiddle with the sequencer’s controls. “I’m surprised Salomon was able to bamboozle Fitrat into allowing analytic equipment. We’re supposed to be taking inventory of the cave, not removing anything.”

“
She is suspicious. She braced me when you went next door to use the toilet. I told her it processes microscopic samples of the paint on the brushes used for the drawings.”

“
She bought that?”

Blaine pulled a face. “I don’t think so. And she didn’t like it that we were removing samples of anything, even minute ones.”

“
She’d have a fit if she knew the cave contains intact bodies and you’re sampling the flesh and bones.”

“
She won’t find out from me. But she works for Delyanov, and he and Salomon seem to have something going. So it could get back to her.”

“
Why not just take a lot of genetic samples and process them when you get back to the States?”

Blaine stood and tiptoed over to him. “Because I don’t trust Salomon’s motives,” she whispered, her breath warm on his ear. She glided back to the worktable and flipped a switch and the little machine started to hum. She said aloud, “I need to know now about the genetic information contained in the bodies . . .”

The door to the trailer swung open to a blast of frigid air and Teague appeared, his buzz cut contrasting with the frozen backdrop. “Mr. Salomon wants a report.”

Calder glanced at Blaine. “We haven’t analyzed our findings,” he said. “Tell him to call tomorrow afternoon.”

The longer they could stall the industrialist who’d sent them here, he thought, the more chance they’d have to decide what to do. Of course, stalling a man as seemingly obdurate as Salomon entailed personal risks.
We need to complete the mission and get out, before it blows up in our faces.

But Teague was not to be denied. His deadpan stare took in both scientists.

“
Zinchenko’s trailer. Now.”

#

Zinchenko was bent over a coffee table, fiddling with a battered radio as Calder, Blaine, and Teague squeezed into the cramped living room of his trailer. Fitrat, seated beside the big Russian on the short couch, shot the two scientists a sour look. Calder knew that the antiquated transceiver comprised the only link to the outside world. There were no booster stations for cell phones, and he and Blaine had been forbidden by both Salomon and Delyanov to bring a satellite phone. He also knew that radio contact throughout the High Pamir was dicey.

Zinchenko tapped the microphone, sat back and motioned. Calder stooped to the mouthpiece.

“
Ian Calder here, Mr. Salomon.”

Static surged and receded. “. . . did you find?”

“
What we think is a male and a female human,” Calder said, raising his voice. “Plus a child, probably male.”

“
Were they as Dr. Mathiessen described?”

Calder knew the industrialist was asking if one of the bodies was Neanderthal. Of course, the Tajiks could not be told.

“
The male, I think.”

“
What do you mean, you think?” A longer fade. “. . . authority on prehistoric humans, or not?”

“
They are as he described.”

“
Is this conversation private?”

“
Not really,” Calder said, feeling thankful. Salomon did not want the intact state of the bodies to come out, and the lack of privacy would make it easier for he and Blaine to keep a cap on what they had found until the situation clarified.

The static swelled and Zinchenko leaned to adjust the squelch.

“
Were the remains in good condition?”

Calder knew the industrialist was asking if the bodies were intact. “I would say yes.”

“
Is Dr. Blaine with you?”

“
Right here, sir,” Blaine said.

“
Will you two be able to extract useful information?”

Calder knew this question was intended for Blaine, concerning DNA. Since the Tajik government had been told she was an expert in prehistoric art, not anthropology, he would have to answer.

They could bow out right now, he thought. Tell Salomon they’d got what he wanted, pack up and go home. He glanced at Blaine, who gave what he knew was a warning look.

“
I don’t know yet,” he said, mentally kicking himself for helping her to play their own game until they knew more.
What was the “germ of an idea” Caitlin had refused to discuss on their first visit to the cave? Did it involve risk?
He sensed she was more impetuous than he was. He felt it was up to him to be sensible, get them home intact. But he also felt a duty to see that the information he and Blaine were uncovering was not used to the detriment of mankind. A vision of legions of robot-like soldiers with Neanderthal bodies and automaton brains flitted across his mind.

“
Why not, Dr. Calder?” Salomon’s scratchy voice cut into his ruminations. “Either you can vet the situation or you can’t.”

He glanced at Blaine, who stared back, frozen-faced. “It’s not that simple, sir. I need to appraise what I’ve found. Then take more readings and assess those.”

“
When will you know?”

The industrialist’s tone, though still restrained, was growing more demanding. Calder noticed the transmission was getting fainter as Zinchenko fiddled with the squelch and volume. Glancing at Blaine, he saw her blue eyes turn chilly.

“
I’ll need several more days,” he said, and saw his partner—
are we really partners?
—give the faintest of nods.

“
Why?” Salomon’s tone smacked of skepticism.

“
To make sure the data will be adequate for further processing.”

He watched Fitrat’s gaze narrow.
She suspects something.
And if she did, probably Salomon did too. He caught Blaine’s eye again. She bent to the mike.

“
I’ll need time, also, sir. To process paint samples and correlate the materials with other known cave art.”

Another pause. “But you found everything to be as the diver reported?”

Calder thought,
He’s asking if she thinks the Neanderthal DNA is useable.

“
Yes, sir,” Blaine said. “The parietal art seems in relatively good shape.”

Teague, standing by the door said, “Parietal?”

“
Painted on the cave walls,” Calder said.

Fitrat’s dark eyes bored into him. “Speak so all can understand.”

Salomon’s voice said, “Dr. Blaine, I want you to assess the art quickly.”

“
What appear to be paintings are obscured by ice,” she said. “I’ll need several days to thaw them.”

Calder knew that in her art-expert guise she was confirming that what Calder had said was correct, and that she would need several more days in her true role as a geneticist to assess the DNA.

“
Why can’t you do it in one long session?”

Calder said, “I need to assess each mdeasurement before knowing where to take the next. The ninety-five foot depth is enough to give us the bends, and decompression is impractical. We’re making two short dives per day, and it takes time to get past two blockages in the tunnel.”
Blockages you knew about.

“
I will be traveling,” Salomon said, his voice fading. “You will hold yourselves available each day at this time.”

Calder made a hasty calculation. That would be 6:00
a.m.
in California and 9:00 in the east. Which meant Salomon would be calling before he became too busy in meetings, assuming he was traveling in the U.S. Calder felt annoyed that the time zones were not such as to limit the calls more effectively.

“
. . . want you” . . . The industrialist’s voice grew faint . . . “as expeditiously as. . .”

You and Fitrat both,
Calder thought.

Salomon said something apparently directed at Teague, but unintelligible.

Zinchenko said, “Meester Salomon?”

There was no response. The camp master backed off the squelch but got only static. After several more attempts, he flipped the power switch and the static died.

Calder felt relieved. He glanced around the cramped room. “I guess we’re incommunicado.”

Teague stared at him. “You two keep that in mind,” he said in his husky voice. Intentionally bumping Calder, he marched into his room and slammed the door.

Calder looked at Blaine, who stared back. What had the “facilitator” meant?
He hoped it wasn’t what he thought.

#

Murzo Ayni did not return from his rounds that evening. After a supper of fried goat’s meat and boiled turnip that Blaine found filling but unappetizing, Calder pulled the table to the bunk and she took the single chair. She watched him clear off the chess set.

She grinned as he set the ensemble on a wide shelf that served as a cupboard. “You didn’t fare too well last night.”

“
Murzo is stronger, but not hopelessly so.”

She cocked her head. “An optimist. I like that in a man.”

“
One of these times, I’ll nail him.”

“
That, I want to see.” Blaine loaded the results of the afternoon’s sequencing session into her laptop and opened the gene-sniffing program. Moving to her microscope, she focused on a skin cell from the woman. Ice crystals had burst the walls, but she was glad to see the nucleus was intact.

An errant thought crept in, having to do with the idea that was taking shape, and she frowned, then dismissed the notion.
Nothing I can do about it now.

Calder had spread his digital photos of the cave paintings on the bunk. He surveyed them, then got out a magnifying glass and began to go over them inch by inch, squinting in the yellow lamplight.

After a few minutes, Blaine said, “What do you think? Do we have a mixed family?”

“
Yup. The statistical analysis shows the man is Neanderthal. The woman is anatomically modern human. And the boy does look hybrid, although I have no database for comparison.”

“
I could see that the woman is AMH. But are you confident she’s of the Cro-Magnon subset?”

Calder nodded. “Judging by the family’s culture and the cave paintings, almost certainly.”

“
We’re a long way east of the Cro-Magnons’ home ground in Western Europe. You don’t think the woman’s dark complexion suggests that her people could have come directly from the Levant by way of the Caucasus without previously occupying Europe? Or even that they could have traveled up through Persia?”

“
Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Most us have followed Ian Tattersall’s lead and extended the Cro-Magnon designation to all the earliest
Homo sapiens
of Europe, the Levant, and Western Asia. I’m going to use it here.”

“
Whatever. You promised to work up a preliminary estimate of the bodies’ age so I can allow for genetic drift.”

“
And so I shall.” Calder slipped his hand from his pocket and opened it over the table. Something made a small clatter.

Blaine peered over the top of her computer screen. On the scarred wood lay a three-inch bone needle.

She leaned forward. “You really are a packrat. What happened to the archaeologist’s credo of maintaining site integrity?”

“
As far as we know, Neanderthals never developed perforated bone needles, nor did the earliest migrants from Africa. So this is further evidence that the woman is Cro-Magnon.”

“
And what does that tell us, time-wise?”

“
Needles begin to appear in dated sites across Europe and Asia about thirty thousand years ago, and parietal and mobiliary art of that period show hooded parkas and other fitted clothes.”