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Only the Future is History
by Rich Lewis
***No portion of this text may be reproduced or copied without the expressed written permission of the author. If you have comment or questions please email the author. You may print a single copy of this novel for your personal enjoyment, which must be destroyed upon completion.***
CHAPTER 2
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I arrived back at the Institute within thirty minutes of having seen the report of Dave Jenkins death on the television. It had taken a few minutes for the initial shock to pass, and without thinking I had grabbed my coat and headed to the car. When I got there the parking lot was lit up like daylight by the police spotlights. There were four squad cars there along with the coroner’s vehicle. Added to the congestion were thirty or so onlookers trying to see what a man who had fallen from a high building on to a solid surface looked like. It amazed me how ghoulish the human species was concerning death, and how death drew them like flies. I was glad the coroner's office had already placed the body in the wagon.
I was still in shock at the news of Dave's death. I did not know why I had returned to the Institute. Maybe I still could not accept the fact that David Jenkins was dead. I started to push through the crowd into the Institute but was stopped at the police barrier by a young officer. I began to explain that I worked here when I heard John Paulson's voice.
"Officer, you can let him through," he said, "He is employed here."
Reluctantly the officer let me pass. I quickly ducked under the barrier and pursued Paulson, who had turned and headed for the door the building.
"Mr. Paulson", I called as I ran to catch up with him. "What happened?" I was still having trouble dealing with the fact that Jenkins was dead, or how it could have happened. I simply could not make any sense of it.
Not stopping his walk towards the building he told me what he had found out from the police. Dave Jenkins had been found by one of the late shift janitors about nine this evening. The police were calling it a suicide, saying he jumped from a seventh story window. Continuing into the building I tried to digest what I had heard. I just could not believe that Dave would do that, and voiced my thought to Paulson as he headed for the elevator and his office.
"What do you mean he jumped?” I said emphasizing the last word.
"Just what I said. The police found a seventh story office window broke out, and no sign of any struggle. He just jumped."
I followed him into the elevator, neither of us speaking on the ride up. For some reason I just could not let go and Paulson was the only straw I had to clutch at the moment. Stepping off the elevator at the sixth floor I continued to walk with him down the hallway. We stopped at his office door and John Paulson turned and faced me. "There's nothing that can be done tonight Jarrett. That's all the police have told me. They're looking into it."
"Come on Mr. Paulson," I kept on, "you know Dave Jenkins wouldn't do something like that."
"You don't know that Jarrett," he said, trying to convince himself, "there's nothing we can do tonight. Go home and get some rest. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
With that, and a soft hand on my shoulder, the only emotion he had displayed to this point, John Paulson turned and went into his office. The door closed and I stood there, simply staring at it. How could Paulson be so detached from what had happened? Voices down the hall brought me back to reality, and I turned and started toward them. At first I did not realize where I was going, passing the two janitors I had heard. I automatically began walking towards the elevator on my way down to my office. I pushed the button and stood there waiting for the elevator.
The door opened and there was George McCall. Standing there for a second he just looked at me then started out the door, which was beginning to close. I grabbed the door and turned to gaze at George.
"George." I called, "are you all right?"
"Yeah, fine Scott."
"How come you're still here?" I asked, still holding the elevator door open.
He turned and spoke as he continued walking down the hall. "I was working on a few things, then heard all the commotion and found out what had happened. I'm just going home. It's really terrible."
He headed down the hall for the front entrance. I released the door and let the elevator take me downstairs to my office thinking to myself on the way. For some reason McCall failed to convince me of his sorrow over Jenkins' death. There was also the fact that in two years of working here at the Historical Institute I had never seen George McCall work late. He was always the first one out the door at quitting time, even faster than Carolyn, with somewhere else to go. For some reason his grief over Jenkins death just did not seem too sincere.
The elevator stopped and the door opened at the basement. Recovering my stomach from the sudden stop I stepped out of the elevator into the hall. Turning towards the archives and my desk I suddenly stopped all the questions I had been asking myself. The entire area was a shambles. Someone had given Carolyn's and my desks a pretty thorough work over. Books and papers were strewn everywhere, desk drawers overturned, and a real mess. I was starting to get paranoid again.
* * * *
For the next three hours I worked at restoring some order to the area. By the time I finished it was almost midnight. I sat in my chair with my feet up on the desk, thoroughly exhausted, contemplating the situation. Too much had happened too fast and I had not been able to sort everything out yet. I could not fathom why Dave Jenkins had jumped out of a seventh story window, let alone my question as to why he had even been on the seventh floor? If he had not jumped then who had pushed him, and why? I also wondered why my office had been ransacked on the same day? Nothing that I was working on was so important that someone would be murdered over it. I just could not put my finger on what was happening. One thing that did keep coming to mind was George McCall.
I returned home around one and decided to try and get a few hours sleep before work. Maybe I would take the day off and stay home. I had plenty to do around the apartment as well as some reading I wanted to get done. I was still shook up by the events of the night but my head was slowly beginning to clear. I just needed time. Maybe Dave's death and the ransacking of my office were not connected. I had spent the entire trip home watching for the dark sedan but it had never appeared. Maybe I was getting paranoid, but events seemed to strengthen that feeling. I decided for the night it would be better to put my mind at rest so I went to bed.
At six a.m. the alarm went off, causing me to jump almost straight out of bed. Bolting to a sitting position I sat there for a moment listening to my heart pounding inside my chest. I reached over and turned off the alarm and remained sitting in the bed for a few minutes trying to compose myself. For a minute I thought about going back to sleep but decided I was already awake so I might as well get up and do something. The dreams I had been having were not anything I was real anxious to return to anyway. I still thought I might take the day off or at least the morning. I was not very anxious to return to the Institute.
Quietly I made breakfast while listening to the morning news on the television. They were reporting Dave Jenkins death as a suicide. The police had offered very little other information, except to say the investigation was on going. Finishing breakfast I busied myself with some domestic chores until seven thirty when I showered and dressed.
Sitting on the couch I scanned through the television channels looking for something to watch. About the only thing that occupied my mind in the fashion that I wanted were some early morning cartoons. Putting down the remote for the television I picked up the telephone and called the Institute. Talking to Mr. Paulson's secretary Betty, I explained that I would be in around noon. After a moments pause, probably conferring with Paulson, she replied it would be no problem but Mr. Paulson wanted to see me when I came in.
For the next hour I reclined on the couch and read the newspaper. There was already a brief story of Dave Jenkins death in it. After reading through the entire paper I decided I would not waste the whole morning and went to get the Cranston book summary Carolyn had done. As usual, it was very organized, well typed, and actually made for interesting reading.
The report summarized a 1954 archeological dig made on Crete. Not much had been found except for a few pottery items, such as bowls and vases. I read carefully trying to find something of value. Mysteriously the project had ended a full month before it was suppose too. From what the book had mentioned, the chief archeologists had just decided to give up their work citing they had found all there was to be found. I could hardly believe an archeologist on a project of this magnitude would pack it in early. There was always the hope that one more day would yield that major discovery.
Carolyn had also photocopied some pictures of the vases and bowls that had been found. All told they had only found fourteen artifacts. It seemed to me there had been a lot of work and only a small yield in artifacts. Again I wondered why the chief archeologist had quit early? I also marveled at the fact that the man's name was not printed anywhere within the summary. I did not think Carolyn would have made such an oversight. Returning to the pictures and examining them more carefully one of them caught my eye. On one of the vases, at the very base, was some writing. Writing I believed to be more of the Linear C script we were working on.
Getting up from the couch I went to my small desk in the bedroom and retrieved a magnifying glass to look closer at the picture. I had often been chided about keeping a magnifying glass handy but it was one of the most widely used tools in my profession, especially by me. Looking closely at the picture I could see that there was writing at the base of the vase. Again the chills swept through my body, as I was sure I had found another clue. There were Linear C symbols there.
Going to my briefcase I pulled out the master sheet of all Linear C symbols. Spreading out the symbols sheets on the kitchen table I began comparing the ones on the vase to the sheet. They were actually letters of this ancient Greek culture but to my eye they appeared more like symbols. There were twelve symbols on the vase. As I checked through the picture I found they had all been previously identified. All but one. The photocopy was a bit blurred but I was sure I had found yet another symbol. I stopped and pondered why this symbol had been overlooked before. It just did not seem possible. A lot of things had been happening lately that did not seem possible.
Going back to the symbol sheet I again checked for the new symbol I had found on the vase. I had seen this symbol before. Maybe I was just trying to invent some new information since I had met with so many dead ends in the last week. I wanted so much to make a significant find. Carefully I rechecked the master sheet for the unidentified symbol, but it was not there. I still could not shake the feeling that I had seen the symbol before. Maybe it had inadvertently been left off the sheet.
There was only one way I would find the answer to the many questions I had and that was to report to work. I finished getting dressed, picking out a pair of dress shoes and a tie, and packed up my briefcase. Stopping at the phone I reset the answering machine. I paused for a moment remembering the message from Dave Jenkins. Again I felt confused. Why had he jumped from a seventh story window, and what had he found? At least the discovery had temporarily taken my mind off of Dave's death.
The drive to the Institute was more enjoyable than usual, as the normal morning traffic had subsided. It was almost eleven a.m., still an hour before the midday rush, so traffic was light. Because of that fact it only took me twenty minutes to arrive at the Institute.
Pulling into the parking lot I was again reminded of the fact that Jenkins was dead. The police barriers around the spot where he had fallen remained in place; an unmarked police car was parked next to it. I came to the conclusion that a police detective would be inside interviewing all of us who knew Dave Jenkins trying to find a reason for his suicide in order to close the case. I doubted he would find very many answers.
When I entered the building I was met by an eerie quiet. It was almost like no one was there, but they were. No one had much to say this morning so I followed suit and headed downstairs for my office. Carolyn was at her desk working on sifting through a couple of books we had been planning to get to. Seeing me come in she marked her place in the book and raised up to look at me.
"How are you?" she asked. I noted it was a rare moment when Carolyn Williams was actually serious.
"I'm okay, just needed a little rest."
"Paulson said you came back up last night. Stayed for awhile huh?"
" Yeah, didn't figure I'd sleep much, so I put in a few hours."
"Um, explains why things are so messed up around here. What were you into on my desk?"
For some reason I declined to mention the mess I had found when I had arrived in the basement last night. She had given me a bad time last night about the sedan and would have a ball with this one. Besides, I saw no reason to give her any cause for worry, at least not yet.
"Just checking a few things. Here," I said, handing here the photocopy of the Crete vase, "see if you can find this picture in the Cranston book. I think there may be another new symbol."
"Okay, I'll run it down. In the meantime you're.."
"I know," I said cutting her off, "Mr. Paulson wants to see me when I come in."
"Righto Mr. Scott." She paused staring at me. "Are you sure you're okay?" For a moment I was touched by her actual sincerity, but I knew it would pass.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just have a lot of things on my mind."
"Speaking of on your mind, there's also an Detective Robuck wandering around here that wants to visit with you too."
Fine," I replied, "I kinda expected that. See you in a short."
Carolyn returned to her book, and I headed upstairs for Paulson’s office. I really had no idea what he would want to see me about. Coming out of the elevator I ran into a new face in the hall. Clean-cut, nice blue suit, I came to the immediate conclusion that this must be Detective Robuck of the New York police department.
"Mr. Scott," he asked as I exited the elevator.
"Yes, I'm Jarrett Scott, " I replied, stopping in the hall and facing him.
"Thought so. I'm Detective Robuck. I'm on my way down to the second floor to speak with a few people and wondered if we could visit sometime after lunch." He entered the elevator I had just vacated and pressed the button for his floor.
"Fine, around one o'clock?"
"That'd be fine," he said as the elevator doors closed behind him.
I turned down the hall and headed for Paulson’s office. As usual, Betty was sitting at her desk, smiling away. "Ah, Mr. Scott, just a moment and I'll see if Mr. Paulson is ready to see you."
"Fine," I replied, standing in front of her desk. I felt like a schoolboy going to see the principal. I could never explain to myself why it unnerved me so when I had to see my superiors. I was quite content working in the basement unmolested, and unsupervised.
"Go ahead Mr. Scott, the door is open."
"Thanks," I said, and headed into the office.
Mr. John Paulson sat behind his large desk and watched me enter his office. Motioning me to sit down, he remained seated and played with a pencil in his hand, twirling it back and forth. He sat there for a minute, not saying anything, then leaned forward and broke the silence. He was not a big man, but something about his presence seemed to intimidate people.
"The police haven't found anything new concerning Dave's death," he said, hanging his head. "I'm afraid they're about ready to close the case."
I thought for a moment and then asked him, "You don't think he committed suicide either, do you?"
"No I don't think so, but all the evidence says he did. Neither you nor I are police investigators. There's not much that can be done about it. I'm sure the police department knows what its doing."
I did not say anything. I just could not believe Dave would have committed suicide, nor could I contemplate why anyone would want him killed. There had to be an explanation yet I was at a loss to come up with one.
Paulson sat staring at his desktop and spoke again. "I've also been asked to gather everything you were working on with Dave. I've asked George to get everything together from his end. Mr. Erickson has asked for all the material to be gathered in case the police want to look at it. Until then he's asked for a temporary halt to the project."
This was starting to be too much for me to handle. I looked at Paulson almost dumbfounded. A temporary halt in the project. Why would Erickson, the president of the New York Historical Institute call for a halt in the project? I had to ask. "Why stop the project?"
John Paulson looked up at me for the first time. I noticed that he looked very tired. It appeared to me he had not slept in quite awhile and seemed to me to be under a lot of pressure.
"Look Jarrett," he began, "I don't know why. I was just told to do it. And save your arguments. I spent all morning giving them to Mr. Erickson. Just do it. There should be a memo in your office on what you're to work on for now."
After he finished speaking he swiveled around in his chair and stared out of his office window. I came to the conclusion that our discussion was finished. At the moment I was speechless. There were a hundred things I wanted to say. Any other time I would have argued, and pursued the point, but something in the look of Paulson’s face told me it just would not matter. Here I was on the verge of what could possible be a major discovery and I was being closed down.
Leaving Paulson's office I headed back for my mine. It was almost time for lunch but I decided I would just get started on gathering everything from the project. Carolyn was still sitting at her desk, this time with a magnifying glass, staring into a book. As I walked up to her desk I noticed that she was looking at the picture of the vase from the Cranston book.
"I checked out the symbols on the vase. There is a new one," she said, putting down the magnifying glass and looking up at me beaming brightly. "It's not on the symbol sheet anywhere. I can't place it, but I've seen it somewhere before."
Pausing for a moment, chewing on her lip, she picked up the magnifying glass again. "So, how did your meeting with Paulson go.”
"Great, they're calling a temporary halt to the project."
"Yeah, I got the memo about a half hour ago. Who every reads the lousy things anyway," she said winking at me.
I smiled broadly and turned towards my desk." I was hoping you'd say something like that." We both understood that we could get into serious trouble, but what would it hurt? I wondered how many archeologists and researchers were not around to answer that question?
Opening my briefcase I pulled out the symbol master sheet that I had and hurried it over to Carolyn’s desk. It was three pages of computer printout in all. She sat there smiling, waiting to see what I was up too. Handing her the printout sheets, I asked "Why don't you run this up stairs and use your girlish charm to make us a copy?"
"Why Mr. Scott, " she said in her most innocent voice, "isn't that a bit dishonest. We're supposed to turn in all papers having to do with this project. Besides, why don't you just make a photocopy?"
"Because it doesn't have the clarity of the computer printer," I answered. "We need to see every detail on every symbol." Many of the symbols were shaded or written in a two tone style. "Think you can manage us a printout?"
Turning she winked at me and headed upstairs. I had no doubt in my mind she would get the printout and no one would be the wiser. I returned to my desk and began assembling everything Paulson wanted in a file folder. Luckily I had two copies of almost everything. One for myself and one for Carolyn. Maybe the second copies would be overlooked for now and we could quietly keep working here in the basement.
After lunch Detective Robuck came down and visited. A tall man, dark complexioned and athletically built, he gave the impression of an ex-pro athlete. He talked politely and quietly, confident in his abilities. He really did not have much to say, nor did I. I voiced my concerns that I did not think Dave Jenkins would hurl himself out of a seventh story window but he convinced me that I really did not know Dave that well, or what had been going on in his personal life. After a quick good-bye he left the basement and Carolyn and I returned to work. Dave Jenkins suicide still did not set well with me no matter how strong Detective Robuck's arguments were. For a moment I thought the New York Police Department simply wanted another quickly closed case.
It was not until Thursday night that I found what we had been looking for. Really I should say I stumbled onto it. Both Carolyn and I were convinced that somewhere the symbol from the vase had already appeared. We rechecked all the sources that had previously given up Linear C symbols and began looking into other languages that had similar styles. Not having any luck we called off the search for the day and I returned home.
As I got out of my car and headed into my apartment building I had a chill run up my spine. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the sedan. There was of course no way for me to know if it was the same one I had seen before but those paranoid feelings began to creep back into my mind again. Why did that car keep appearing every time I turned around? Was it even the same car, and why did it bother me so?
I stopped at my mailbox in the hall and picked up the days mail and headed up to my apartment. On the way I sifted through what I had received. As I shuffled through the collection of bills and junk mail one envelope caught my attention. It was from the Institute.
Once inside my apartment I dumped my briefcase and coat, turned on the television and dropped on the sofa. Tearing the envelope from the Institute I pulled out its contents. Again I had a cold shiver race up my back. There were two photocopies of cave drawings and a note in Dave Jenkins handwriting. A quick shiver ran up my back. A letter from the grave. Turning the letter over I noticed the postmark, which was Monday, the day he had died. Why had it taken three days for the letter to travel fifteen miles? The Post Office never failed to amaze me.
The note accompanying the photocopies simply said that I might find these pictures interesting. Why Dave had mailed them to me I couldn't figure out. Looking at the photocopies I quickly zeroed in on the symbols at the bottom of the cave drawing. The third symbol on the bottom was the same as the one I had found on the vase. Along with it there were three other symbols that had already been identified, as well as four or five other symbols. Turning the photocopy over, hoping that Dave had written down the source of his find, I froze, paralyzed, staring at the title of the book title; The Ancient Anasazi Indians. The Anasazi's had been a small, almost forgotten tribe that had resided in the southern areas of New Mexico beginning around 3000 B.C, and disappearing around 500 A.D. The period of their existence was extended but broken down into several phases. The Anasazi were most famous for their cliff dwellings, built around 1000 B.C., and their mysterious disappearance a thousand years or so later.
I could not believe my eyes. It had to be a mistake. How could the symbols from ancient Crete jump from a cave drawing in Tibet, to an Indian civilization in the badlands of New Mexico? This was becoming a very difficult and confusing riddle. One I was more and more determined to solve.
Believing I had just made a find that would cause all of the worlds history books to be rewritten I just could not be content to sit on it for a whole night. There were a hundred implications from this information, if it could be verified. Crete, Tibet, and New Mexico, all linked together? It was unbelievable. For the moment how I had received the information faded from my consciousness.
Immediately I called Carolyn and asked if she had any plans for the night and informed her I would be right over. I was frothing at the mouth to share this with someone. Without waiting for a reply to my coming over I hung up the phone, grabbed my coat, and raced to my car. The drive over seemed like it took days as I was busting with excitement and wanted to share my discovery with someone. My elation suddenly vanished when I thought that was probably how Dave Jenkins had felt too. Suddenly those thoughts of paranoia began to return. There was still a catch to this puzzle.
It took just over a half hour for me to arrive at Carolyn's house even though it seemed longer. Carolyn's place was a duplex in a rather singles type complex. I had been here once before when she had invited me over to a little party she had been throwing. Parking my car on the street I jogged up to her door and rang the doorbell.
The door opened a second later and Carolyn ushered me in. For some reason her appearance struck me as strange until I realized this was the first time I had actually seen her in jeans and a t-shirt. It had never dawned on me that the social butterfly Carolyn Williams would relax at home, or look so nice in doing so.
"Well Mr. Excitement" she patronized me, "what's so all fired important?"
I looked around the apartment real quick expecting to see some tall dark stranger sitting here, feeling like I had just interrupted her in a very serious moment. Finding Carolyn alone, for some reason, made me feel even better.
"I found something," I began, "rather interesting. Or maybe I should say Dave found something?"
For a second she stared at me like I was losing touch reality, then it dawned on me I had not explained about the letter from Dave. "In the mail today. I got a letter from Dave, that he mailed before," pausing a second, I searched for a right way to say it but knew there was no right way, "before he died," I finished.
"Why would he mail a letter to you when he'd see you the next day?" she asked.
" I don't know, he just did. Anyway, he must of found a way to input the symbols we've found already into the computer and look for a match."
"Let me guess," she interrupted, "he found something?"
For the next hour I explained what I had already figured out, pointing out the symbol from the vase and the other identified symbols also in the photocopy. I recapped what I knew about the Anasazi's, mystic Indians who built the cliff dwellings in the southwestern United States and then disappeared without an explanation. After I gave the evidence we both just sat on her couch and stared at the photocopies for a few moments.
"So where do we go from here?," she asked, breaking the silence.
"I'm not sure. I guess the first step will be to find out exactly where this cliff dwelling is with the wall drawings and have a closer look."
"That's gonna be a little difficult since we're not suppose to be working on this right now."
I thought for a moment. "No, finding the cliff dwelling site won't be that difficult. I've got the title of the book Dave found it in; I just have to get a location. I'm sure it's in the book."
"So how do you get a look at it?"
"I've got a couple of personal days. I guess I'll just take a little time off."
"Sounds great, when do we go?" she asked.
"We don't. You'll have to stay and get started on whatever busy work they've given us to do. I think we should show we've done something the last couple of days." The real reason for convincing Carolyn to remain in New York was that Dave Jenkins death had spooked me. There was more here than what we had so far uncovered. I was also convinced someone unknown to us did not want any of this uncovered. There was still the sedan and the ransacking of our office. I did not want to do anything to jeopardize Carolyn's safety.
"Oh right," she pouted, "I get to stay and do the work while you jet off to Arizona."
"New Mexico," I corrected her. "Besides, you're the one without any personal days left, remember. I believe it was a cousins wedding in Niagara."
"Fine, fine. When do you plan on going?"
"I suppose I better show up for work tomorrow morning at least, then take the next two days and the weekend off."
With the plans for my excursion partially laid out we sat around and made small talk for awhile before I decided I had better get home. Packing up my papers and putting on my coat I headed for the door. Carolyn walked me out and watched as I headed down the sidewalk to the street.
"See you tomorrow Mr. Scott," she called after me. "Be careful out there."
Nodding my head to her I climbed into the car and started it up. I was almost ready to stop worrying, then Carolyn's last comment had struck a nerve and again I began to worry. Great, I thought to myself, just what I needed. Once again I began feeling paranoid.
Leaving the residential section where Carolyn lived I decided to take the freeway home. It was a little bit longer distance wise but probably shorter in time. I concentrated on the road ahead of me, my mind whirling with the implications this discovery could have. Not paying attention to the rest of the traffic on the road, I failed to notice the dark sedan pulling up alongside of me.
Out of the corner of my eye I suddenly caught the movement of the sedan. I looked over but could not see the driver as the windows of the car were tinted. A quick moment of panic seized me and then I realized I had good cause for panic. The sedan began swerving over into my lane, pushing me onto the shoulder of the freeway.
Punching the gas the old ford I was driving surged forward but I eluded the sedan for only a brief moment. Within seconds the car had caught up with me. This time the driver left no doubt in his intentions as the sedan slammed into the side of my car. The Ford Ltd., not as heavy as the sedan, swerved onto the shoulder. Quickly I corrected and brought the car back onto the road only to be hit again by the sedan.
This time I could not regain control. The car dropped off onto the shoulder and struck the soft dirt there. I really do not know what happened next. Something in the front caught hold on the soft shoulder and the car spun out, sending the car lower into the barrow pit along the road. After what seemed like hours the car came to a stop. The dust made from the Ltd.'s spinning swirled around the car.
As the dust cleared I sat immobile behind the wheel of the car, searching into the night for the sedan, but nothing happened. I waited for the car to return and finish the job it had begun. As the dust cleared I could see the highway again but the sedan was nowhere to be seen. I sat there along the highway for a few moments trying to regain my composure.
Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I took my foot off the brake and restarted the engine. Slowly I eased the battered car back onto the road. This time the paranoid feeling that I had been experiencing did not go away. Someone definitely did not want me to keep working on this project. I also came to the conclusion this was the same person who had wanted Dave Jenkins to stop.