Diablo Mesa(28)

“Well,” said Tappan, “that’s pretty stunning, Greg. I’d say we’ve just found the smoking gun, or something close to it. Proof that this was extraterrestrial.”

“Could it have been,” Nora asked weakly, “an unknown meteorite impact?”

“It’s possible,” said Banks. “But these microtektites seem to be associated with the groove you’re excavating, and it’s highly unlikely a meteorite made that trench. We would have found fragments. I’ve looked at numerous dirt samples, I’ve raked them with magnets, I’ve done chemical tests. There isn’t a trace of meteoritic debris, neither nickel-iron nor chondritic. No—whatever plowed that groove did not break up into fragments. It may have left subtle chemical traces, however. I’m having that tested now—I should have the results in a few days.”

Nora swallowed. This was pretty stunning evidence in favor of an extraterrestrial UFO. She glanced around the room and noticed an unusual expression on Bitan’s face. It was almost beatific with excitement. The others, in varying degrees, also expressed elation. These were by and large true believers, and they’d just been handed the proof they so fervently desired.

Tappan stepped over and gave Banks’s hand a vigorous shake, clapped him on the back, and turned to the group. “This is a big moment. This proves we’re on the right track.” He lowered his voice. “We need to keep this discovery under wraps. Absolutely under wraps. Do you all understand? You’ve signed NDAs, but I want to emphasize that we say nothing to no one. Because if word leaks that we’ve found proof this is a UFO crash site, the press will be all over this, the government might intervene—and our work will be disrupted, at the very least.”

Everyone nodded their silent understanding.





17



CORRIE PAINSTAKINGLY ATTACHED the last flesh-depth marker on a cast of the first skull, glanced at the clock—precisely 5:00 PM—then stood back to admire her handiwork. At John Jay College of Criminal Justice, she’d graduated with a simultaneous BS/MA with a specialty in forensic anthropology and facial reconstruction. Usually, it took a team of two to reconstruct a face from a skull—a forensic anthropologist and an artist—but she had studied both disciplines and was qualified to do an entire facial reconstruction by herself. It was a painstaking process involving both craft and art. Computer simulations, despite what was shown on TV, were just not as good as what could be accomplished by careful reconstruction working by hand.

Of course, Lathrop knew nothing about this, having graduated a million years ago and never making any attempt to keep up with the field. She couldn’t wait for him to retire. But here he was, busying himself with nothing while she warmed up a block of Plasticine in a bowl of water over a Bunsen burner, getting ready to sculpt the muscles on the skull cast.

“Knock, knock,” said Morwood, leaning in the doorway.

“Come in!” cried Lathrop, rushing over to shift some boxes away from the entry. “We’re making brilliant progress, Agent Morwood.”

Corrie waited, saying nothing, while Lathrop led Morwood over to the worktable. Corrie decided to let Lathrop go ahead and talk all he wanted. She was tired of trying to compete with him, and besides, she felt confident that Morwood would see through it.

“As you can see,” Lathrop said, “we’ve made a cast of the male skull, and now we’re about to lay on the muscles and flesh—and give this poor victim a face and, hopefully, a name.”

“Very nice,” said Morwood, bending over the skull with a sidelong glance at Corrie that spoke volumes. “Nice work indeed. Any chance you’ll get that ID soon?”

Morwood had looked at Corrie while asking the question, but Lathrop forged ahead anyway. “Without doubt. We also have dental records. Some rather odd dentistry, actually: the male had four crowns made not of gold, or even the silver amalgam typical of the time, but rather stainless steel.”

The composition of the crown material was something else Corrie had discovered on her own.

Morwood raised his eyebrows. “How unusual is that?”

“Most unusual,” said Lathrop quickly.

“That should help pinpoint where the dental work was done, shouldn’t it?” Morwood asked Corrie directly.

“Quite possibly, sir,” she said quietly.

Abruptly, Morwood was taken by a brief fit of coughing. Then he cleared his throat. “May I make a suggestion? Why not send those four crowns to the main lab in Quantico? They have world-class specialists in dental forensics.”

“An excellent idea,” said Lathrop. “Although unfortunately no prints remained for us to match against the databases, we’ve sent off DNA for sequencing. I’m quite confident, Agent Morwood, that we’ll soon be able to identify both individuals.”

“I’d like you both to present this at our weekly meeting next Tuesday. Think you’ll have an ID by then?”

“Yes,” said Lathrop, even as Corrie said, “No.”

Morwood looked at each of them in turn. “Which is it?”

“The DNA sequencing,” said Corrie, “won’t be done by then. The dental work might lead somewhere, but I doubt we’ll know by Tuesday. That only leaves the facial reconstructions, but they date back over seventy years, so it’s unlikely anyone’s alive to recognize them. It’ll take some time to match them with existing photographs, if we can do it at all.”