CRO-MAGNON (7 page)

She wondered what a facilitator did at Salomon Industries. Was it anything like an expediter? She bet he wasn’t any kind of gofer.

“
What do you do at the company?” Calder said, and Blaine sensed he had similar misgivings.

“
Facilitate.” Teague flicked his dead eyes at Blaine, then back at Calder. “I want to remind you both of your promise to keep your mouths shut. You are not to talk to anyone but appropriate officials about the purpose of your visit.”

Blaine said, “And we tell them . . .”

“
Your cover story. No details. I’ve arranged lunch tomorrow with the Tajik nature minister and the director of antiquities. Afterward, depending on weather, we’ll fly by feeder airline to Khorugh in the southern Pamir and by helicopter to Lake Achik.”

“
What do you mean, ‘depending on weather’?” Calder said.

“
Khorugh lies at almost seven thousand feet in a valley at the confluence of the Panj and Gunt rivers. The pilot needs good weather to make the approach, so they only fly if it’s clear.”

“
Wonderful,” Calder said.

“
I figured to sightsee for a couple of days,” Blaine said, more to hear Teague’s response than because she’d actually thought Salomon would afford them any tourist time. “I’d pay my expenses.”

Teague’s heavy brow knotted. “Negative, unless we get socked in.”

Negative?
The word had a military ring.

“
We can’t drive?” Calder said. “I was looking forward to seeing Tajikistan close up.”

“
The country south of Khorugh is one of the most remote areas of the Pamir. There is no road to the lake.”

“
How are we to converse with these people tomorrow if we’re not to talk details?” Calder said.

“
As far as the Tajik government knows, human remains have been found in the dry portion of an underwater cave along with some kind of drawings on the wall. That’s all you discuss, and not even that if you don’t have to.”

Blaine said, “But we’re supposed to be working on their behalf. We’ll have to at least seem cooperative.”

Teague fixed his flat gaze on her. “You are to tell them nothing without my permission. No chitchat. Understood?”

Blaine nodded, glancing out the window to break the man’s stare. At this late hour no other vehicles were on the road. Beyond the curb, lights played on Soviet-style buildings. The cab turned onto a narrow street, the houses dimly perceived beyond open ditches and masonry walls, then emerged onto another broad boulevard.

In the glass, Blaine could see Teague’s rough reflection. It was difficult to picture the man in a corporate conference room. Granted, a “facilitator” might be useful in smoothing their trip, but why had Salomon sent someone who came off more like a hit man than a travel guide?

The taxi pulled up by a glassy structure, the roof sign unreadable from that angle. Blaine and Calder got out, and the driver unloaded their bags and set them on the sidewalk.

“
Your rooms are reserved,” Teague said. “I’ll pick you up at noon.” He waved at the driver and the cab pulled away.

“
Nice guy your boss sent us,” Calder said. “I saw what could be the bottom of a knife sheath hanging from his belt.”

“
The expedition should be short,” Blaine said. “We swim in, take a few measurements, grab some samples, and go home.”

“
You hope,” Calder said. “I don’t like the looks of this.”

Blaine mustered a thin smile. “Leastways we agree on something.”

#

Next day, the high-ceilinged restaurant reminded Calder of a Russian teahouse—bare and functional. Which wasn’t surprising, he thought, since until a few years ago the country had spent a century under the heavy thumbs of first the czars and then the Soviets.

Diners sat at tables scattered under chandeliers that had been electrified. About three quarters were men, mostly bearded, some dressed in western clothes and others wearing traditional long jackets and embroidered black caps. Calder saw daggers in curved sheaths. Most of the female diners were obvious Westerners. The few Tajik women wore trousers under colorful long dresses, and printed head scarves.

Teague led him and Blaine to a row of coat trees where they hung their parkas beside quilted jackets. Their hosts, a man in his fifties and a woman of indeterminate age, sat by a tall window overlooking the boulevard.

“
Dr. Ian Calder and Dr. Caitlin Blaine,” Teague said. “Meet Evgenii Delyanov, Tajik minister of nature conservation, and Gulnaz Fitrat, director of antiquities.”

Delyanov was a stocky graying man with a vigorous air. Shaking hands, Calder felt the soft palm of a bureaucrat. Fitrat, a short woman with a closed Turkic face, bowed slightly to Blaine and placed her right hand over her heart. Blaine returned the greeting awkwardly. Delyanov waved her and Calder into the two vacant seats, while Teague muttered to the occupants of an adjacent table as he appropriated a chair.

Delyanov waved at the appetizers that had been set out—green tea, unleavened bread that Calder’s phrase book had called
non,
and slices of white melon.

“
So. You are Mr. Salomon’s two experts.” The nature minister spoke with a heavy Russian accent. Calder wondered if Tajik government business was conducted in Russian.

“
Which of you is the expert in cave art?” Fitrat said, in a raspy smoker’s voice.

“
I am,” Blaine lied. “What do we know about the drawings?”

“
Nothing,” Fitrat said. “Beyond the fact that the American diver saw black lines and areas of color below the frost.”

Her accent sounded to Calder like that of a professor he knew from Iran. He bit into a slice of melon. Although slightly bitter, it was juicy and delectable. He savored it, using the moment to glance from Fitrat to Delyanov. He thought he sensed mutual antagonism.

Blaine said, “How extensive are the drawings?”

Teague shot her a warning glance. Calder remembered that, in her guise as the expert in cave art, she was to say as little as possible. For the time being, the less the Tajik functionaries knew, the better.

“
The diver said that as far as he could tell, some kind of art covered both walls of the cave,” Fitrat said, her tone grudging.

“
I see.” Blaine sipped her tea and nibbled at a bit of
non.

Calder sensed that, having established what the government knew, she was waiting for him to jump in.

“
Mr. Salomon expects us to make a preliminary survey,” he said to Delyanov, more to seem committed than for any specific reason.

“
That is all you are authorized to do,” the minister said. “If you find anything notable, you will relay it to my colleague, here, orally. You are to speak to no one else.”

Calder glanced at Fitrat. As director of antiquities, she might suspect the cave art could be old, but not how old.

He saw that the nature minister was waiting for him to go on. “Frankly, I don’t expect to find any prehistoric remains,” he said. “There have been no such discoveries in the Pamir. However, it may take time to make a determination, so I beg your indulgence.”

Apparently, Delyanov had already ordered for everyone, because a waiter in a Nehru jacket began to serve. Which didn’t take long, as the meal consisted of a large bowl of carrots, onions, and beef cooked in oil and mixed with brown rice.

“
This is called
osh,
” Delyanov said. “It is the Tajik national dish.”

And well it might be, Calder thought. It smelled delicious—similar to Mongolian barbecue, but heartier.

The five ate in silence, spooning the food onto individual plates and using western implements. Befitting its aroma, it proved delectable. Calder stole a glance at Teague, who sat at his elbow, and saw that even the no-nonsense facilitator seemed to be enjoying the meal. At least, he thought, the man had some sensibilities.

When they were finished, Fitrat took out a cardboard package, extracted a twisted black cigarette wrapped in tobacco, and lit up. As a tendril of pungent smoke curled around his head, Calder guessed the Tajiks had yet to ban smoking in public buildings. Either that, or government functionaries simply did what they wished. Pushing back his plate, he sighed.

“
Your country’s food is wonderful.”

“
They’ve had much time to establish their culture,” Delyanov said, and Calder noted he used third-person pronouns. “The area is a crossroads between the Hindu Kush, Tien Shan, and Karakorum ranges, so it has been civilized for thousands of years.”

“
Even so, I understand you’ve had some trouble in the southern Pamir.”

The nature minister frowned, and Calder reckoned he’d touched a sore point. “After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, Tajikistan was torn by civil war. There is still unrest in Gorno-Badakhshan province. At present there is no fighting, but we cannot tell if there will be a recurrence next summer. That is one reason I am allowing Mr. Salomon to make a preliminary survey.”

Calder reckoned there were more tangible reasons, but held his tongue.

“
Great,” Blaine said. “Will we be safe?”

Delyanov nodded. “Government agents, including our forest rangers, keep watch on the militants.” He indicated Fitrat. “Gulnaz will accompany you and will make all decisions. In case of trouble, she will evacuate you.”

“
Humpf,” Fitrat muttered. Her thick body was hunched over her cheroot and she was scowling. “As director of antiquities, I should be making this survey. Not a pair of foreigners.”

Delyanov looked amused. “And how are you at—how they say—scuba diving?”

Fitrat glared at Calder, then Blaine. “Upon your return from the cave, you will inform me of everything you found. Is that clear?”

“
Quite,” Calder said.

“
You are to look, only. Do not to disturb anything. And you must work quick.”

“
Agreed. But you understand that, at a depth of ninety-five feet, we cannot spend long on any one dive. To investigate the remains, plus determine the nature of the drawings, may take a few days.”

“
You must conform to my guidelines,” Fitrat said. “If you deviate, you will be expelled.”

She glanced at Delyanov, who nodded.

She frowned at Teague. “Although these two are making the preliminary physical examination, you are to remember that I am in charge.”

The facilitator’s hard face remained blank. “Of course,” he said in his hoarse voice.

#

The vintage Yakovlev was jammed with passengers and cargo bound for Khorugh. Calder and Blaine found seats halfway back, behind Teague and Fitrat. Calder tried to fasten his seat belt but discovered it was broken. Most passengers wore the quilted coats favored by Tajiks. The 32 seats filled quickly, later arrivals sitting cross-legged in the aisle. A tethered goat wound up next to Blaine.

After a long run-up, the aircraft seemed to Calder to barely lumber into the air. He wondered how the overloaded Yak-40 would function in close quarters at 7000 feet. He glanced at Blaine, and thought he detected nervousness.

“
Teague told me they haven’t been able to fly for three days,” he said. “That’s why they’re jammed.”

“
I hope the pilot knows his stuff. I don’t mind depths, but I’m not crazy about heights.” She glanced past him out the clouded window. “That’s why I take an aisle seat.”

During the next forty-five minutes, Calder familiarized himself with the terrain, which was easy because the unpressurized plane flew though narrow mountain passes, icy rocks looming on either side. Snow-covered peaks glistened in bright sunshine, seeming to tower above the plane, though he knew they were modest compared to the High Pamir they were approaching. The plane banked and flew above the Panj River, the Oxus of ancient times. The mountains to the east and south were higher now. Gazing at the blue-white glaciers crawling between them, he could well believe that it might snow here in any month. He wondered how long before Lake Achik froze for the winter.

We left the river and flew in a broad circle, the three aging engines beginning to howl as the plane skimmed the mountains. Calder looked out the yellowed window at an oasis of green among the barren mountains. A town of perhaps twenty-five thousand straddled a narrow river, obviously the Gunt, the water a milky gray-green. Another tight turn at the confluence of the Gunt and Panj rivers, bare rocks and icy crevices looming off the starboard wing.

Calder glanced at Blaine. She stared straight ahead, fists clenched. At least her phobia involved heights, he thought, and not confined spaces. He hoped he wouldn’t seize up during the dive to the water-locked cave. That could prove fatal to one or both of them.

The plane lurched and lost altitude as the pilot crossed the flaps and rudder. Calder glanced around. The other passengers chatted unconcernedly. Either they didn’t appreciate the trickiness of landing an overloaded plane in tight quarters and thin air, or they were fatalistic enough not to care.

Despite the straining engines, the pilot casually manhandled the chunky plane past a primitive-looking waterwheel and descended toward a small airfield beside the river. They skimmed over a domed structure of gray stone supporting an incongruous parabolic antenna, plunked down, and trundled along a pitted asphalt runway. Calder watched Blaine’s whitened knuckles unbend.