referring to the now universal name for spear and arrow tips constructed from stone, ivory, or bone. “Nice collection too.”
In turn, they began checking the rest of the display cases. Lewis’s collection was as eclectic as his library. While there were plenty of archaeological artifacts-pot shards, carved antlers, stone tools, petrified wood splinters- there were pieces that belonged in the historical sciences: fossils, rocks, illustrations of extinct plants and insects, scraps of ancient manuscripts.
Remi tapped the glass of a case containing a parchment written in what looked like Devanagari, the parent alphabet of Nepali. “This is interesting. It’s a reproduction, I think. There’s what looks like a translator’s notation: ‘A. Kaalrami, Princeton University.’ But there’s no translation.”
“Checking,” Sam said, pulling his iPhone from his pocket. He called up the Safari web browser and waited for the 4G network icon to appear in the phone’s menu bar. Instead, a message box appeared on the screen:
Select a Wi-Fi Network
651FPR
Frowning, Sam studied the message for a moment, then closed the web browser and brought up a note-taking application. He said to Remi, “I can’t get a connection. Take a look.”
Remi turned to look at him. “What?”
He winked. “Take a look.”
She walked over and looked at his iPhone’s screen. On it he had typed a message:
Follow my lead.
Remi didn’t miss a beat. “I’m not surprised you couldn’t get a signal,” she said. “We’re in the boondocks.”
“What do you think? Have we seen everything?”
“I think so. Let’s go find a hotel.”
They shut off the lights, then walked out the front door and locked it behind them. Remi said, “What’s going on, Sam?”
“I picked up a wireless network. It’s named after this address: 1651 False Pass Road.” Sam recalled the message screen and showed it to Remi.
“Could it be a neighbor?” she asked.
“No, the average household signal won’t carry beyond fifty yards or so.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Remi said. “I didn’t see any modems or routers. Why would a supposedly abandoned house need a wireless network?”
“I can think of only one reason, and, given who we’re dealing with, it’s not as crazy as it sounds: monitoring.”
“As in, cameras?”
“And/or listening devices.”
“King’s spying on us? Why?”
“Who knows. But now my curiosity is piqued. We have to get back in there. Come on, let’s have a look around.”
“What if he’s got exterior cameras?”
“Those are hard to hide. We’ll keep an eye out.”
Shining his flashlight along the home’s facade and soffit, he walked up the driveway toward the garage. When he reached the corner of the house, he paused and took a peek. He pulled back. “Nothing,” he said. He walked to the garage’s side door and tried the knob. It was locked. Sam took off his windbreaker, balled it around his right hand, and pressed his fist against the glass pane above the knob, leaning hard until the glass shattered with a muffled pop. He knocked the remaining glass shards clear, then reached in and unlocked the door.
Once inside, he took only a minute to find the electrical panel. Sam opened the cover and studied the configuration. It was an old fuse type. Some of the fuses appeared relatively new.
“What now?” asked Remi.
“I’m not messing with fuses.”
He tracked his flashlight beam from the panel down to the wooden sole plate, then left to the next stud, where he found the electricity meter. Using his pocketknife, he ripped away the lead wire, then opened the cover and flipped off the main power switch.
“Providing King doesn’t have a generator or backup batteries hidden somewhere, that should do the trick,” Sam said.
They returned to the front step. Remi pulled out her iPhone and checked for the wireless network. It had disappeared. “Clear,” she said.
“Let’s go see what Charlie King’s hiding.”
Back inside, Remi went straight back to the case containing the Devanagari parchment. “Sam, can you get my camera?”
Sam opened the valise, which he’d placed on a nearby armchair, retrieved Remi’s Cannon G10, and handed it to her. She began taking pictures of the case. Once done, she moved on to the next. “Might as well document everything.”
Sam nodded. Hands on hips, he surveyed the bookcases. He did a quick mental calculation: there were five hundred to six hundred volumes, he estimated. “I’ll start flipping pages.”
It quickly became evident that whoever King had hired to clean the house had paid scant attention to the cases; while the books’ spines were clean, their tops were covered in a thick layer of dust. Before removing each volume, Sam examined it with the flashlight for fingerprints. None appeared to have been touched for a decade or more.
Two hours and a hundred sneezes later they returned the last book to its slot. Remi, who had finished photographing the display cases an hour earlier, had helped with the last hundred volumes.
“Nothing,” Sam said, backing away from a bookcase and wiping his hands on his pants. “You?”
“No. I did find something interesting in one of the cases, though.”
She powered up her camera, scrolled to the relevant picture, and showed Sam the display. He studied it for a moment. “What are those?”
“Don’t hold me to it yet, but I think they’re ostrich egg shards.”
“And the engraving? Is it a language? Art?”
“I don’t know. I took them out of the case and photographed each individually as well.”
“What’s the significance?”
“For us in particular, probably nothing. In a larger context . . .” Remi shrugged. “Perhaps a lot.”
In 1999, Remi explained, a team of French archaeologists discovered a cache of two hundred seventy engraved ostrich shell fragments at the Diepkloof Rock Shelter in South Africa. The shards were engraved with geometric patterns that dated back between fifty-five thousand and sixty-five thousand years ago and belonged to what is known as the Howiesons Poort lithic cultural period.
“The experts are still debating the significance of the engravings,” Remi continued. “Some argue it’s artwork; others, a map; still others, a form of written language.”
“Do these look similar?”
“I can’t recall, offhand. But if they’re of the same type as the South African shards,” Remi finished, “then they predate the Diepkloof find by at least thirty-five years.”
“Maybe Lewis didn’t know what he had.”
“I doubt it. Any archaeologist worth his or her salt would recognize these as significant. Once we find Frank and things get back to normal”-Sam opened his mouth to speak, and Remi quickly corrected herself-“normal for us, I’ll look into it.”
Sam sighed. “So for now, all we’ve got that is even remotely related to Nepal is that Devanagari parchment.”
4
