CRO-MAGNON (14 page)

Arbitrarily following the Western custom of reading left to right and top to bottom, Blaine focused her light on the black-bordered painting on the upper left. Rendered in red, yellow, brown, and black, it depicted a cluster of three seated figures, each holding what appeared to be a partially finished garment.

She stared. “Such detail! Like Russian ikons.”

Calder nodded. “As intricate as any parietal art I’ve seen. Fully as accomplished as the Chauvet and Altamira murals, if not more so.”

Blaine leaned forward. The three dark-haired figures with necklaces sat cross-legged on what looked like a rush mat. Judging from their figures, revealed by their fitted clothes, they were female. The one in the middle had long hair and a slightly caricatured face with an upturned nose. Her mouth was open as if speaking. Another woman nursed a baby large enough to be a toddler. The third, a long-legged woman, had a lined face and a nose upturned like the first. Through a tent door could be seen stick figures of people and outlines of teepee-like tents.

As Blaine leaned forward to study the tall third woman, her left breast pressed through the layers of thermal underwear and rubbery dry suit and crushed against Calder’s shoulder. Was he slow to move away? Perhaps merely intent on the artist’s technique, she thought.

She pointed, careful not to touch the prehistoric work of art. “How did the painter put those lines in the older woman’s face?”

“
The same way someone carved a hundred fifty-five human faces into rock slabs at La Marche cave maybe sixteen thousand years ago. The artist used a flint burin to add detail.”

Blaine reared back for a more inclusive view. “The colors are from varieties of ochre?”

“
Yes. Probably mixed with animal fat.”

“
The other women look surprisingly detailed too, considering they’re painted on rock.”

“
People tend to assume that, because prehistoric people had a primitive culture, they were less talented,” Calder said. “As you can see, that’s wrong.”

Blaine let her gaze wander over the other three paintings in the panel while Calder continued.

“
Next, see how the artist managed to depict women and children picking cattail shoots under the eye of a distant guard on higher ground—you can tell by his build that he’s male—while also including a close-up of the woman with the tip-tilted nose escaping the clutches of a man.”

Blaine squinted. “You can even see a wound on his left cheek.”

“
Notice how the wound looks fresh, with blood seeping, while the woman seems to have something in her hand. Even a modern artist with refined materials would be hard-put to include that kind of detail in a pastoral scene.”

“
It all looks so realistic.

“
That’s because she used three-point perspective, something modern artists study in school.” He pointed. “We can see that the horizontal elements—people and vegetation—project to the left and right horizon, while the vertical elements—distant guard and upper forest—project to a zenith.”

Although Blaine was slightly put off by his professorial manner, she kept silent, wanting the benefit of his expertise.

Calder pointed to the bottom left panel. “The older man with the feather in his hair is pointing at the same woman and man, judging by her nose and his scarred face. Notice how the artist managed to suggest the woman is shaking her head.”

If he’s this good at interpreting the painting,
Blaine thought,
we might be able to reconstruct these people’s lifestyles.

“
And the fourth picture again presents a pastoral scene with remarkably detailed people—the same woman approaching a river bluff, while the scar-faced man and man and two others run after her.”

“
I get the impression that the closest one has tripped and is about to fall,” Blaine said. “And the woman is in a slight crouch, as if gathering herself for a leap.”

Calder nodded. “First-rate artistry, by any standard.”

“
I agree,” Blaine said, wanting him to go on. “No Dutch master could do better.” If she could reconstruct these people’s lives, she thought, it might be of use ion her genetic analysis.

Calder seemed fully into his role. He pointed to a detail in the second picture.

“
That’s a dirk-toothed tiger lurking on the edge of the forest.”

“
Dirk-toothed?”

“
The Central Asian equivalent of the sabertooth.”

Blaine leaned closer. “I believe it’s a tiger. But how can you tell the species?”

“
By the teeth.” Calder traced a detail with his fingernail. “Even on such a small scale the artist was able to suggest the size and shape of the canines.” He glanced up, his eyes screened by his faceplate. “The dirk-tooth has been extinct for maybe ten thousand years.”

“
Speaking of years, I need some idea of the time frame, Ian. My gene-sniffing program is set for modern human genes. I need to know how much drift I should allow for before I discount a match.”

Calder nodded. Putting his face to the third picture, he squinted at the black smudges representing the terrain.

“
Charcoal, not manganese dioxide, was used to suggest shadings. When we get back to the States we’ll radiocarbon-date the bones and paintings. And we can use luminescence on the hearth stones and electron spin resonance on the tooth enamel to get an accurate age.”

Professors.
“I need an estimate now,, to calibrate my equipment.”

He indicated the three human bodies. “For starters, look at the garments.”

“
Made from animal skins.” She shot him a look. “Quelle surprise!”

“
What else?”

“
They look fitted.”

“
So these people lived some time after the invention of sewing.”

Maybe he’s getting to it.
She glanced at him. “And we know that was . . .”

“
We don’t ‘know’ anything. The oldest needles were discovered farther west. But it sets a data point. And the people in the painting are anatomically modern human—no doubt about it. We have a general idea of when they reached the Caucasus from the Levant, and this is some time after that.”

“
So? Give me an estimate I can use.”

Calder glanced at his pressure-proof watch. “We’ve used a chunk of our time. I need to inventory what’s here, and you probably need to start assessing the condition of the bodies.”

I need that date.
“That’s right, blow me off.”

“
I’m not. I’ll be able to make a preliminary estimate of the age tonight after I study these pictures and the tools by the hearth.”

She sniffed. “How are you going to do that? Nobody’s memory is that good.”

He unsealed a pocket of his dry suit and took out a small digital camera.

Blaine felt her jaw drop. “I heard Fitrat say she took your camera, along with mine.”

“
My main camera, yes. This is the little one I use to log finds and record search grids. I had it on my person.”

She snorted and moved to the woman’s body. “Aren’t you the sly one.” She took a small tool kit from her pocket. “You better hope Fitrat or Teague doesn’t search your stuff.”

“
I’ll keep the camera and photos at Ayni’s hut.”

He unbuttoned a pocket in his dry suit and withdrew a cream-colored object about an inch long.

“
I was going to wait till tonight when we’ll have more time, but since you’re so interest in the timeline . . .” He held out his hand.

In the yellowish light, Blaine squinted at an exquisite figurine carved from what looked like ivory. Belatedly, she remembered the object he’d pocketed on their first dive, when shed been too distracted to mention it.

She peered at the object. A stylistic representation of a woman with huge breasts and hips and attenuated limbs, its sheer beauty made her gasp.

“
Venus of Willendorf?”

“
Yes. Probably carved from mammoth ivory. They’ve been found throughout Central Europe, but not this far east.” Calder turned the figure in his hands. “An indication that the woman is a true Cro-Magnon, the European brand of anatomically modern humans.”

“
What were Venuses used for?”

“
We don’t know their purpose. Maybe some kind of talisman, maybe not.

“
Does it give us a date?”

“
Afraid not. But it does provide another index.” He slipped the statuette into a pocket of his dry suit.

“
You’re taking it?” If the unformed idea she’d had this morning took shape, she thought, pilfering a little statue would be small potatoes. But even if she could develop the notion, she knew Calder would never go along with it.

“
Well, I’m not leaving such an artifact for some corrupt Tajik official.” he said.

“
What do you think it’s worth?”

“
Priceless.”

“
Not to sound crass, but I mean in dollars.”

“
Hard to say what a collector might pay on the black market. I’d guess seven figures. Or if Laszlo Salomon got hold of it he’d probably just keep it.”

“
What are you going to do with it?”

Calder rubbed his fingertip lovingly over the polished surface. “It belongs in a museum and that’s where it’s going.”

“
We need to decide on our primary objective,” she said. “Where to put our effort, so we don’t spin our wheels.”

“
I plan to stick to my assignment. Assess what we’ve found, tell Salomon, and get out with our skins intact.” He moved to the Neanderthal’s body and took out a steel tape. “Let’s get to work.”

“
Right.” Balancing her tank, she duck-walked to the Cro-Magnon woman and took out her “art kit.” What was their real objective? She had an uncomfortable feeling that she no longer knew. She suspected Calder was somewhat ambivalent himself, and that was probably to be encouraged.

Again, the idea she’d had this morning nibbled at her brain.

Preparing to take a core sample, she said, “Your actions don’t jibe with what you say. For example, you’re pilfering the Venus. Anyway, Salomon is interested in Neanderthal DNA, not some artifact.”

“
I know. And that bothers me worse than if he was an antiquities pirate.”

“
I’m worried, too.” She walked to the body of the woman, reached down, and pinched a frozen ear lobe. “Worried that he mounted the mission in secrecy. Worried about him ignoring the risk to us. Worried about Teague.”

“
Do you think we’re in danger?”

“
With Salomon it’s hard to tell.” She frowned. “But Teague being here is not good news. I think I told you there’ve been rumors about people disappearing.”

“
Why would Salomon consider us expendable?”

“
He could decide we know too much.”

Calder shrugged. “You know him better than I do.”

“
Nobody knows Laszlo Salomon. Of course, we’re well-known scientists. He’d know there would be questions.”

“
That Delyanov character. Did he strike you as a straight shooter?”

“
No.”

“
Me neither.” Calder bent to adjust the portable heater, now directed at the ice that covered the next section of panels. “We need to keep any findings secrtet, at least for now.”

“
Absolutely
.

“
That is, if he’ll allow us to.” Calder walked to where the prehistoric woman lay and focused his headlamp on her attractive face.

“
Look at the tilted nose,” he said. “This is the young woman in the paintings.”

Chapter 7

“
Damn,” Blaine said.

Calder glanced up from entering data into his laptop for a multivariate regression analysis of the Neanderthal’s cranial proportions. Blaine was bent over the trailer’s work table, her shapely breasts swaying distractingly as she alternated between an instrument and a printout.

In view of their decision to keep the details of their discovery away from snooping eyes and ears, Calder had suggested they use the work trailer only when Blaine used the generator-powered sequencer, and perform their computer work in Ayni’s cabin. But Blaine had reminded him that Salomon wanted them available in the late afternoons for radio contact.

“
What’s the matter?”

“
Too bad I don’t have a better sequencer.” She hunched over a metal box about a foot square and two feet high on the table next to her keyboard. “I’m using a DNA chip that includes the entire human genome and comprises the guts of ConGen’s new automated sequencer.”

Calder regarded the homemade-looking box in surprise. “You mean you can derive the genetic code from a physical sample in one go?”

“
Uh-huh. But it’s touchy.”

He wondered if they should be talking about this, in view of the possibility of Teague’s bugging the trailer. But then he remembered it was Fitrat, not Salomon, that they had to keep in ignorance of the bodies.

“
I thought you had to use electrophoresis,” he said. “Scan the results, feed them into a computer . . .

“
That was last year.” Blaine straightened and curtsied. “Welcome to the twenty-first century.”