Part 2 (1/2)

In the midst of all this animation, his eyes were invariably calm, the eye in a storm of intellectual and physical action. They were mild eyes, blue and watery. Sort of middling OK. I've seen s.e.xier eyes. Jason has s.e.xier eyes.

But not as interesting. Quite a lot of the time you had to guess what was going on behind them. Quite a lot of the time you guessed wrong.

Raelsen was here in Dogubayazit looking for the Ark. Oddly enough he wasn't looking for it on Ararat. He was looking for it on the slopes of Mahser Dagi, a mountain seventeen kilometres to the south.

When I asked him what was wrong with Ararat he just pointed across the room full of still-arguing people to a small man wearing a cream safari suit, and said loudly, 'That rock ain't big enough for the both of us.'

I did a double take on the cream suit. For a moment I thought it was the Doctor come back to haunt me. But it wasn't. I breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there I was beginning to think a girl's attempt to get away from it all was doomed with a vengeance.

But no. The man Raelsen was pointing to was definitely human. His features - like those of all humans no matter what their age - looked younger than the Doctor. He was about ten years younger than Raelsen.

He was fitter and had a more I suppose you'd call it official air about him.

He looked up at Raelsen's words and smiled.

Bill introduced us. 'Bernice Summerfield, James Edward. Jimbo to his mates, right Jimbo?

The smile widened. 'Jim's fine. Bernice? Charmed.'

He held out a hand. I let him wait and then took it. Best to these sorts of silly pleasantries over and done with as fast sable, I find.

'Benny's fine.'

That was all it took. He didn't shut up for an hour. Raelsen couldn't stop him. I couldn't stop him. Fortunately it was all interesting stuff. He was: Thirty-nine. Ex-military. Air-force. Test pilot. Ex-astronaut. Walked on Moon. Established first lunar colony. Met wife there. Geologist. Proposed in Sea of Tranquillity. Married by Earthlight. Made fortune salvaging lunar sc.r.a.p from last century. Auctioned off same to NASA buffs. Moved to Illinois. Invested money. Local church. Modestly admit to being pillar of community. Marriage excellent. Kids. Three. Two girls. Wife died recently.

Miss her terribly. Belief in G.o.d helps.

He actually talked like that. More clipped than a barber with trim-fever.

Conjunctions and participles simply didn't seem to be part of his vocabulary. I don't think I ever heard him say 'and' or 'the' once. At first I was amused to think of him as little more than a walking military cliche. I later found out his speech pattern was due to a neurological dysfunction.

When you got past the dysfunction the man himself was immensely interesting. At least, I believe he would have been immensely interesting, if he'd lived long enough to form friends.h.i.+p with. .'

Something else to blame Jason for.

What was Allen doing in Dogubayazit? You guessed it. Looking for the Ark.

Whereas Raelsen had forsaken all religious references in favour of a muddy aerial snapshot taken by a mis-targeted spy satellite, and had chosen to search Mahser Dagi for the most important cultural icon in history, Allen was looking exactly where the Bible told him to: on Ararat. It was a source of constant, at first amusing and then annoying, conflict between them.

I decided a little small talk was in order. 'Little young to quit the s.p.a.ce service aren't you?'

He gave a small, precise shake of the head. 'Sorry. Not with you. n.o.body flies over forty. Forty-five tops.'

I panicked, tried like mad to cover it up by telling the exact truth. 'Of course, how silly of me. It's 2003, not 2103 isn't it? Still using chemical boosters aren't you? I always forget what year it is when the company is so much fun. One of my little faults I'm afraid.' I hit him with a smile as big as the, Moon and watched him forget everything I'd said for the last half a minute.

'So tell me, how come you're in here drinking warm mixers when you could be out on your respective mountainsides braving the elements, the soldiers and the sheep to discover which of you is right about the location of the Ark?'

It was a simple question and I got a simple answer.

It was about the only time I ever heard Raelsen or Allen agree on anything before they died.

'Result. of border war. Both mountains in disputed territory. Turkish Government refuses permission to travel. Military escort too expensive.'

'What they mean is they can't be bothered. The idiots have got the whole area staked out like children playing cowboys and indians.'

'New terrorist activity on Turkish border. Government fear repercussions if people injured when expeditions go ahead.'

It was the old Iran-Iraq thing again. Seemed it blew up for a while every few years. Boring.

I shrugged. 'So what? Where there's a will there's a way, surely? Can't you bribe the President? Steal a couple of jeeps? I don't know - just sneak out there one night when everyone's asleep? How hard can it be?' - Raelsen frowned. I think he was trying to work out whether I was taking the mick or not. He nodded towards the huge :packing crate open by the pool table, and the various bits of electronic hoc.u.m scattered around it. 'Do you have any idea how much a side-scanning geological radar array weighs?'

'Of course I do. I've got one in my handbag somewhere -' At that the fat guy with the pool cue pointed at me, braying laughter like a donkey. I stared him down.

When I looked back Raelsen was smiling. 'I don't think you understand how complicated the situation is.'

If you only knew how many wars I've been in and how many fundamental archaeological discoveries I've made.'

'Sure. With the geological radar you keep in your purse, right?' It was the fat guy with the pool cue. Later he would become a good mate but for then he was an irritant to rate alongside household bleach.

I bit my tongue.

Comments were coming thick and fast now. There's nothing so fas.h.i.+onable as taking the p.i.s.s.

'And the chemical a.n.a.lysis plant in your suitcase?'

'Nah - that's in her powder compact. The jeep's in her suitcase.'

'She could take us there in her s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p.' You know the crack.

I was on the point of cracking heads or walking out when the perfect solution presented itself. A man wearing the uniform of a Turkish major and the fifteen soldiers who ' accompanied him crammed themselves into the already overcrowded bar.

I stared at the ring of sarcastic faces.

After a while the comments petered out.

I continued staring for a few minutes then got up and crossed to the major.

I introduced myself. He ignored me. I smiled. He ignored me. I showed him the AmEx Platinum Card the Doctor had given me for a wedding present and told him how much money was in the account.

Two minutes later we were deep in conversation.

The conversation turned to haggling.

Money changed hands.

The major left the room.