Chapter 3
I arrived at Heathrow airport to find a substantial portion of the world's population milling about in the terminal. Fortunately, only a few of them were at the car rental desk and within half an hour, I was entrusted with a bland, grey, Ford Focus. At least, I think it was a bland, grey, Ford Focus. I'm not really sure any more. Anyway, I set off for the two hour drive to Cambridge, trying to reorientate myself to miles, rather than kilometres, and driving on the wrong side of the road. Surprisingly, in view of all the people packed into Heathrow, there were still a fair few members of the human race on Britain's roads.
The GPS unit guided me politely, but sternly to the Department of Archaeology on Downing Street, a modest, by Cambridge University standards, building. I parked and rang Professor Glenda Worthington who had a surprisingly light and bubbly voice for the name. She suggested I wait for her in the museum. She would join me in a few minutes. I followed her instructions and was delighted to find the museum was free. Claiming back the price of a museum ticket from the Commission's Financial thugs was more trouble than it was worth.
I was looking at the faces on a totem pole when a woman with straight, white hair walked purposefully towards me. I was puzzled for a moment until she extended a hand and said, in the same bubbly voice I had heard on the phone, “Simon Delvaux?”
“Yes, and you must be Professor Glenda Worthington,” I said, shaking her hand.
“That is the rumour, yes,” she said. In spite of her hair, her face suggested she was in her mid forties at the most. She was nearly my height, of average build and sported a tweed jacket, light blue turtle neck blouse and a pair of blue jeans that did her legs proud.
“Have you got the relics with you?” she asked.
“In my rucksack.”
“Good, then let's go up to my office.”
She spun around and led me out the front entrance, into a neighbouring building, down corridors, up another staircase and through another corridor. If she had suddenly run away, I am not sure I would ever have found my way out again. Instead, she knocked on a door.
“What?” shouted a voice.
“Come,” said the professor. “The mystery camera relic has arrived.”
“I'll be in your office in five,” said the voice, with hints of a German accent.
Meanwhile, Glenda and I continued down the corridor to a surprisingly modern office. Unsurprisingly, it was lined with packed bookshelves, a desk stacked with documents and a small meeting table.
“Have a seat,” she said, waving at the table. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Water would be grand,”
“Then you shall have water.”
She stuck her head out the door and called, “Mark? Would you be so kind as to grab a bottle of water for our guest and a cup of coffee for me?”
We exchanged small talk until a large, bald chap in a tweed jacket, tan trousers and massive sport shoes marched into the room. He held a coffee in one hand, an A4 notebook in the other hand and a bottle of mineral water under each shoulder.
“Sparkling or plain?” he asked.
“Sparkling, please,” I replied as he put the coffee in front of Glenda, dropped the note book on the table, glanced at both bottles and handed me the one under his right arm. “This one is the sparkling,” he said.
“Don't worry, he uses deodorant,” said Glenda.
Mark raised his eyes in a look of mock exasperation. “Mark Ziegler,” he said.
“Simon Delvaux.”
“Umberto has explained to me that you have found what looks like the remains of a very old camera and some glass shards that you want to date,” said Glenda.
“Yes, that's right, I said,” pulling a couple of boxes and a collection of prints out of my rucksack.
“You should know that it is not uncommon to see what seem to be anomalies in ancient ruins. Our brains are programmed look for patterns and sometimes ancient things that we do not understand can look to us a lot like modern things,” she said.
“Yeah, Erich van Däniken made a fortune claiming that prehistoric and early historic pictures were of rockets, flying saucers and aliens. And, when he told readers what to look for, readers saw it,” added Mark.
“Yes, I remember him,” I said. “Anyway, my job is to investigate scientific and technical anomalies. I am keeping an open mind and want to find out what these things are. I am extremely skeptical that someone sent a camera into the past. If the technology to do so comes to exist in the future, we would expect archaeological sites to be littered with cameras from the future. Yet, nothing like this has ever been found before.”
“Unless something went terribly wrong this time and no one tried again,” said Glenda, speculatively. She shook her head and then continued in a more confident voice, “but I am doubtful about time travel. Still, you have a mystery on your hands and I am interested.”
“Here are some pictures of the camera – or whatever it may be,” I said pushing several images across the table. The archaeologists studied them.
“I understand you have a few pieces for us to analyse,” said Glenda.
I pulled three plastic boxes from my rucksack. I opened the lid of one and pushed it across the table. Here is a piece of the camera body that broke off,” I said. “Be careful, it is remarkably brittle.”
Glenda smiled at me and I realised my warning was redundant. I remembered Magdalena telling me about how meticulous she had to be when digging up artefacts.
“And this is one of the glass disks that was found near the body. And here are the flat glass shards that were found nearby,” I said pushing the other two boxes towards the archaeologists.
Glenda was especially taken by the glass disks that I presumed to be lens elements.
“So, I understand you want an analysis of the composition of everything and an age analysis,” said Glenda.
“Yes, that's correct,” I said.
“Did Umberto tell you to bring along a modern camera to use as a comparison?”
“Yes, he did. My assistant ordered a rental that should have been sent to you. Has it not arrived?”
“Oh,” said Glenda, looking at her desk. “That must be what's in the parcel.”
Mark fetched the box over, which was indeed labelled with the camera hire company's name, and tore off the wrapping to reveal a case and a modern version of the camera I had seen embedded in the mud in Ostia Antica. Glenda held the photo of the relic next to the new camera.
Mark whistled. “Yeah, that's a strong resemblance.”
Glenda hummed in agreement.
“I understand this is rather urgent, so we'll prioritise it. Fortunately, the analysis is largely computerised these days. Could you come back tomorrow at four?” said Glenda.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Very good,” she said, standing.
Mark and I stood up as well and hands were shaken all around. Glenda opened the door and I walked out, paused and turned around.
“I am not sure I could ever find my way out of here again,” I said.
Mark laughed, “I expect Glenda brought you from the museum, no?”
“Yes.”
“It is far easier just to go down this hall to the stairs and go down. You'll find yourself at the entrance to this building.”
“Got it, thanks!”
I hadn't been to Cambridge since mastodons roamed the Earth, or thereabouts, and was keen to spend my afternoon exploring rather than working, though let it be said that I do my best thinking while walking and this case needed thinking about. But first, I found a pub where I ordered a half-pint, some kind of baked vegetarian dish that involved too much cheese and contemplated a suitable text message for a woman whom I had kissed and had a strong interest in more kissing; a woman whom I barely knew, but wanted to know better. I needed a message that would express enough interest, but not scare her away. I realised I should also send off the message before I got too far into my pint.
I spent a half hour writing, deleting, rewriting, editing, deleting, writing again, editing and finally clicking send and wondering if I had sent a terrible message.
Within a minute, I received a message saying, simply, “Happy to get your msg. Busy now. Let's talk tonight” together with a handful of hearts, kissy faces and smiles. Pleased with the result, a finished off my pint and headed off to explore the streets of Cambridge.
The next day, at four, I was seated with Glenda and Mark at the same table. They both looked as if they had just seen a kitten explode.
Glenda pushed a plastic folder with several sheets of papers that were covered with numbers and charts. “Well, Simon, you do have a mystery on your hands?”
“Go on,” I said.
“Rust on the camera remains is 2000 years old, with a 60 year margin of error.”
“Could that be wrong?” I asked.
“I could be, but the composition of the rust and the non-rusted metal is an alloy of aluminium and titanium both of which, as I expect you know, were discovered long after the Roman empire became history.”
“Okay...” I said.
“We did an analysis of the material on your new camera and it is a match, once you account for the two millennium age difference.”
“Okay...” I repeated.
“We did a spectral analysis of the thin glass shards and they are also about 2000 years old, give or take a century or so. It is also tempered glass, which again post-dates the Roman empire by centuries, lots of them.”
“Wow...” I said, not wanting to repeat myself.
“And,” added Mark, “the tempered glass looks to me like the kind used in solar panels, though that is just a general observation; we've not tested it.”
“Jesus Christ on a stick!” I said.
“What?” said Glenda with a smile of delight.
“Sorry,” I said, “I have little control over my exclamations.”
“No, it's delightful,” she said.
“Getting back to this,” I said, patting the report, “and just to confirm, do I understand correctly that the relic is composed of basically the same thing as the new Hasselblad and is about 2000 years old?”
“Yes,” said Glenda.
“And that the flat glass shards are also around 2000 years old?”
“Yes,” said Glenda.
“Can you think of any rational explanation of those results?” I asked, looking at both of them.
Glenda and Mark looked at each other.
“No,” said Mark. Only the obvious, not very rational one: that someone, somehow, sent a modern camera back in time, perhaps with a solar panel to recharge the batteries, and you've found it.”
“Is there any way the ageing could be faked?” I asked.
“No,” said Mark. “There can be mistakes, but I do not know of any way to fake the findings.”
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