“So explain to me, archaeologically, just what it means that this furrow or groove seems to have just faded into nothingness.”
Nora opened her laptop. “It’s easier to show you a three-dimensional reconstruction of the site.” She tapped away and the overall 3-D image came up. “You’ll have to come around to see it.”
Tappan sat on the couch next to her.
“This,” she said, “is a 3-D rendering of the excavation so far. All we’ve really found of large-scale significance is the groove. You can see that here.” She rotated the image with the press of a button.
“Understood.”
“It shows that a fairly small object, less that ten feet in diameter, hit the ground at an angle of about twenty degrees from the horizontal.”
“Ten feet in size? Really?”
“That’s the width of the trench at its narrowest point. If it was round, it was ten feet in diameter. Of course, it might have been longer—say, cigar-or rocket-shaped—and struck point-first.”
“Okay.”
“It made a large, shallow crater where it first struck, here. The impact sent out a broad spray of sand, which is where a lot of those microtektites Greg found were created. As you know, it must have been moving really fast to do that. The groove gets narrower and deeper as it plowed into the ground, while the angle gets shallower. At a depth of twelve feet, the groove becomes almost horizontal. And then here, it just seems to dissolve into a big mess.”
She rotated and magnified the image.
“It’s like the UAP just vanished,” he said. “Is that possible?”
“Whatever impacted wouldn’t just vanish. I think what we’re seeing is where the government bulldozers came through and dug around. They obviously removed whatever was there—and destroyed the archaeological integrity of the site in doing so. What’s left is all confused: no layering, no structure, just churned-up sand and dirt.” She paused. “So it isn’t really the mystery it seemed at first. At least, that’s one idea. More excavation and test trenches on either side should clarify things.”
“I see,” said Tappan. “So whatever made the trench is now sitting in one of those sealed hangars in Area Fifty-One.”
Nora didn’t reply.
He glanced at his watch and stood up. “Stay for a drink?”
Nora hesitated. Her immediate instinct was that this might be a bad idea—yet she had a hard time putting a finger on what made her, a woman in her midthirties, think so.
“Sure,” she said.
“What’s your poison?”
“A glass of white wine would be nice.”
“Coming up.”
He went over to the bar, pulled a bottle out of the fridge, opened it, and poured a glass. He set it down in front of her and quickly shook up a martini for himself, pouring it into a cocktail glass.
“Cheers.” He tapped her glass and smiled. He took a sip and leaned a little toward her. “I’m wondering if you’ve gotten to ‘yes’ yet.”
Nora was momentarily confounded by the question until she realized he was referring to their earlier conversation. She sipped her wine, then set down her glass. “Well, I was awake half the night, thinking about that superheavy element discovery and the microtektites. I guess you might say I’m still a skeptic.”
“Really?”
“Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.”
“You don’t think this evidence is extraordinary enough?”
“There still could be a mistake. Something we haven’t thought of. The problem is, you’re all true believers. You have to admit, that can distort results.”
He held up his martini. “I salute, and respect, your skepticism—even if I think it’s going a little overboard.” Then he paused. “What is it?”
“What is what?”
“That look on your face.”
“I don’t have a look on my face.”
“Yes, you do.”
Nora sighed. What the hell. “All right. It’s about you, actually.”
“Me?” Tappan reared back in mock surprise.
“Well…it’s just that you seem to shroud yourself in a veil of ignorance. I mean,” she added hastily, “about technical stuff. You have a grand vision, you’ve certainly got the passion and the imagination—but when it comes to the details, you let the scientists speak for you.”
“And rightly so. That’s what I’m paying them for.”