“You’re going to drive?” Griffin asked incredulously.
She stared at him over the roof of the car. “Why not? You’d just drive on the wrong side of the road.”
“I’ve been living in this country long enough to adjust to local customs,” the scrivener said in an offended tone.
“I’ve seen you drive. You’re like a little old blue-haired lady who can’t see over the steering wheel. And that’s even when you’re on the right side of the road.” The pythia ended the discussion by sliding into the driver’s seat.
Griffin sighed and climbed into the passenger seat. “I’m cautious, that’s all.”
Cassie started the engine and maneuvered the car out of the terminal. “Back to what I was saying before. I think Erik has a better shot with the New Hampshire tribes. After all, you said yourself that the name ‘Iroquois’ is based on a Basque word that means ‘people killers.’ The fishermen got that description of the Iroquois from the Algonquins. Why would the lost Basque sentinel want to get chummy with the enemy of his friends?”
“Your point is well-taken in that Basque fishermen were friendlier with the Algonquins than with the Iroquois at first,” Griffin replied, checking their GPS readout. “But that state of affairs changed over time. Basque trade goods eventually found their way into Iroquois hands. For example, copper kettles of Basque manufacture have turned up from precisely the time period our lost sentinel would have made his journey to the New World.”
Griffin paused to glance nervously at the speedometer. “Mind the speed limit.”
Cassie rolled her eyes and ignored the comment. “But why go to central New York instead of staying along the ocean? Isn’t the New Hampshire coast a more likely spot for a fisherman to hide out?”
“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be inclined to agree but remember that our sentinel was looking for a safe place to hide the artifact. If he was, in fact, on friendly terms with the Iroquois, there was no safer place than the center of their territory around modern-day Syracuse. The Iroquois were the dominant civilization in this area, with ambitious plans to expand their territories in all directions. They were to North America what the Aztecs were to Mexico.”
“Minus the disgusting blood sacrifices,” Cassie murmured.
“And there’s another connection between the Iroquois and the Basques,” the scrivener added. “Though it’s not generally known, they share a genetic link.”
“What?” Cassie turned her head to stare at him.
“Eyes on the road, please,” he reminded her stiffly. “Do you remember our discussion of DNA in mapping the migration of the steppe nomads throughout Europe?”
The pythia nodded, facing forward. “Sure, but what’s that got to do with it?”
“Maternal DNA or mtDNA from haplogroup X is found to a small degree in the populations of Europe, North Africa, and the Near East. The Basques carry a higher than average concentration of this haplogroup in their gene pool.” He paused for effect. “So do the Iroquois. As much as 25%.”
“What!” Cassie exclaimed in shock. “But how? Is it because the Basque fisherman got involved with local natives?”
“You sped up. Do slow down, I beg you!”
Cassie sighed and tapped the brake pedal.
Griffin continued his explanation. “The DNA signature is ancient. Samples have been taken from Iroquois burials dating back several thousand years, and haplogroup X was already present then. It means that both the Basques and the Iroquois shared a common genetic inheritance. There is a theory that the inhabitants of the Pyrenees travelled along the ice bridge between Europe and North America as early as twenty thousand years ago. The natives of the northeastern United States all bear some percentage of haplogroup X in their genetic makeup. The Iroquios tribes show particularly high concentrations. It’s more proof for my belief that the Americas were visited by all sorts of people other than migrants from Asia.” He paused to consider. “Of course, there’s another hypothesis which argues that the refugees from Atlantis fled in two opposite directions when their continent sank. One group landed in the Pyrenees and the other in New England. Hence the high concentration of haplogroup X in both those areas. It’s a fringe theory, though an intriguing one.”
“I guess you might say that the Basques and the Iroquois are actually blood brothers,” Cassie quipped.
“It’s something YOU might say.” Griffin emphasized the word “you.”
Undeterred, Cassie added, “And I guess you might also say that the reason Basques use the letter ‘X’ so often in their language is because it’s in their genes.”
“I refuse to dignify that comment with a response.”
Cassie slowed the car as it approached a gravel road. “Check the GPS,” she instructed. “I think we’re supposed to turn here.”
“Yes, quite right. Just here.”
Cassie made the turn, and the two suspended conversation while they bumped along the deeply-rutted trail. A mile or so later, she announced, “This is it.”
They pulled up to a clearing in the woods where several cars were already parked. As they exited the vehicle, Cassie noticed that the maple trees surrounding the clearing had all turned a vivid shade of autumn red.
She transferred her attention back to Griffin as he climbed out of the car. Narrowing her gaze, she asked, “What’s up with your face?”
“I’ve decided to grow a beard,” the scrivener replied in a flustered tone.
“I don’t think so. I’ve seen beards before, and that’s not what they look like.”
Disregarding the comment, Griffin said, “I’m surprised you’ve only just now noticed. I’ve been at it for over a week.”
Cassie stared at him appraisingly. “Why?”
Griffin shrugged. “I thought it might give me a more raffish air.”
“Raffish? What’s so great about raffish?”
“It’s all very well to be clean-shaven when one inhabits the vault, but a field mission calls for something a bit more...”
“Scruffy?” Cassie completed the thought. “Seedy? Skanky? And that’s just the S’s.”
“Admittedly, that wasn’t the effect I was hoping for.” Griffin sighed in exasperation. “It’s just that both you and Erik possess a natural bravado which I lack.”
“And you
