Lemuria, Burt Clinchandhill [adventure books to read .TXT] 📗

“That’s it?” Ignatowski asked, widening his eyes. “That’s all of it?”

Mansoer’s annoyance flared as he looked at Ignatowski.

“Sorry,” Ignatowski reacted, folding both hands. “That’s not what I meant. No offense. I simply meant that there were only a few pieces found.”

Mansoer turned to Lindsey and Bishop. “This is a femur.” He pointed to the long bone. “And this is the skullcap,” he said, pointing to the top of the soccer ball. “Of course, these are replicas. All the real fossils were moved to the Netherlands and are now housed at Naturalis in Leiden. Dubois, by the way, didn’t do the digging himself. He used hundreds of forced Indonesian laborers commanded by the Dutch army. Some digs were over thirty feet deep.”

“Where did he dig?” Bishop asked.

“Most of the digs were at the bank of the Solo River. Not far behind the museum. But there’s nothing left but riverbank now.”

Bishop looked at the other two searching the diorama. “Anything?”

Both shook their heads.

“Listen, Matthew,” Ignatowski started. “You dragged us halfway across the world on a wild goose chase. I think it’s time you tell us what it is you’re looking for.”

Bishop pouted his lips. “I told you, I’m not sure what we’re looking for, but what I am sure about is that the messages left in Peru sent us here, or in any case somewhere near here. Someone wants us to look for him or her, here in Trinil, and when the only person missing at this time is Jennifer, I need to believe this is about her.”

“Listen, I believe that you believe,” Ignatowski said, stepping out of the diorama. “But what if we don’t find anything? My assignment—our assignment”—he helped Lindsey over the barrier—“is to try to find an answer for the disappearing tribes.”

“Trust me, they are connected.”

“How?”

As Bishop climbed over the barrier, he stayed silent for a long moment, frowning. He gave a big sigh and paced the room. “What’s this?” Bishop asked Mansoer, pointing to a stone-engraved tablet about one square foot.

“Ah, that’s a copy of a small monument placed by Eugene Dubois himself in 1894, shortly before he went back to the Netherlands in 1895. It’s said to be a road sign to the location of his famous Pithecanthropus erectus finding.”

Bishop gave a big smile as he turned from Lindsey to Ignatowski before addressing Mansoer. “If this is a copy, where’s the original?”

“Just ask Mansoer.” His face lit up. “It’s right here behind the building on our grounds. Can I take you there?”

Chapter 15 – The Business Card

New Haven, CT, Four Months Ago

The sun brightened the garden of Swan House on Livingstone Street. In the garden, Jennifer lay back comfortably on a teak wooden deck chair. Yet, ever since the death of her father, she didn’t really feel comfortable visiting her parents’ house. It wasn’t for the bad memories. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was the good memories of the moments with her father she missed so much. And now she agreed with her mother insisting on staying there indefinitely, until she regained her strength after the treatment in the hospital in Massachusetts.

Although her father wasn’t really there much when she was young—he was often abroad for his work as an ancient book collector—he always made sure he was there on special days, like holidays and birthdays. On those days, they always had a great time with food, drinks and games. Her father loved games. Treasure hunts were her favorite. Missing her father sometimes cut through her body like a knife. And now, after two weeks of staying at the house, she felt that the longing might subside a bit. Maybe she got used to the feeling, or the feeling just faded away, and yet....

She felt she had no right to complain. Her mother had taken excellent care of her these past few weeks. She cooked her meals three times a day, did her laundry, made her bed and ran her errands. Jennifer thought that if it had been up to her mother, she probably would have bathed her too. She could literally feel her mother’s love as soon as she came into the garden. All she had to do herself was move from bed in the morning to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the living room or backyard, and back to the living room for some TV in the evening.

“A big day today.” Sylvia put a glass of fresh-pressed orange juice on the teak table next to her daughter and sat down next to her.

Jennifer put the book she was reading facedown on the table.

“Michael Crichton, Five Patients,” Sylvia read from the cover.

“You know it?” Jennifer asked.

“I don’t. I do, however, know Michael Crichton.”

“Did you know he worked at Mass General, as a doctor, in the late 1960s, before his career as a writer?” Jennifer asked.

“Our Mass General?” Sylvia asked.

Jennifer nodded.

“I didn’t know.”

“It’s about his anticipation on how healthcare would change in the years to come, at that time. In hindsight, it’s funny to read how much of a fortune teller the man was.”

“Maybe I should read it someday,” Sylvia replied. “How are you feeling today?”

“I’m feeling great, Mom. Just like yesterday and the day before.”

“It’s a miracle; they regrew a piece of your brain.”

“It is, isn’t it? Ever since I left the hospital, I have felt great, as if nothing ever happened.” Jennifer looked at her mother’s face. “Is something wrong? You look worried?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” her mother said reluctantly.

“There’s something,” Jennifer insisted.

“It’s just that....” Sylvia hesitated. “Well, I guess I just don’t know what to think of the man and your visit this afternoon.”

“Oh, Mom, don’t worry. I’m just going to meet him in his lab. I didn’t agree to anything. I haven’t even spoken with the man other than in the hospital. You were there. He asked if I was interested in a work-related collaboration that could possibly fund my research for the coming years. As a scientist, how could I refuse to talk