“Forgive me, Dr. McCauley. Of course. I didn’t mean to disparage your scholarly endeavors. Sometimes I forget myself.”
McCauley nodded appreciatively. “We have the same desire, Monsieur Bovard. To delve into the unknown, evaluate the possible, and postulate on the impossible. As academicians, we also have a hell of a lot of paperwork to do.” He looked at Katrina. It was a light-hearted glance that was returned with a kick to his shin.
“Thank goodness I have only had to please the foundations who support me,” Bovard replied. “But they fête me with far too many broiled chicken dinners.”
“Chicken? You do realize you’re eating the same protein structure that was contained in dinosaurs,” McCauley noted.
“Point well taken. Perhaps there are more similarities than differences to our work.”
With the mood lightened, they moved into a spirited discussion about the spelunker’s explorations.
“Permit me to cover some basic ground…or underground as it were.” Bovard laughed at his own joke.
“Please,” McCauley encouraged.
“Of course, you have long learned things from the dinosaur bones that speak to you. I get my stories from the earth’s bones; the vessels of which are different types of caves. As you know, limestone caves are the most common. To my mind, these are the most adventurous and challenging. I’ve also explored many of the world’s majestic ice caves including the largest in Eisriesenwelt, Austria which is more than forty-two kilometers in length.”
Next, he talked about lava and sea caves. Most were formed by volcanic rock, weakened along fault lines and carved by the action of waves. “I’ve been to the longest in the world, the Matainaka Cave in New Zealand.”
Finally, he gave his guests a primer on how wind and rain had carved caves out of compressed sandstone, fused at the bottom of ancient oceans turned to deserts. All of this was important to Bovard. He sought to make certain that the paleontologists would see the earth’s hidden spaces as he saw them. “I have been to the earth’s most magnificent natural cathedrals; awe inspiring, profound and humbling, with spires reaching through the darkness toward the heavens and light streaming through cracks that pointed to God’s greatness.”
“That is my world — speleothems, the cave formations that can positively leave you speechless. Like dripping icicles, but rock. Flowstones that appear to be frozen water. Stalactites that hang like curtains from the ceiling. Gypsum crystals that rise like shards from Superman’s Fortress of Solitude and crystalline calcite and aragonite that resemble frost on a winter’s window.”
The explorer dropped his voice. “However, make no mistake, caves are dangerous places as much as irreplaceable grand museums,” the explorer explained. “They’re forged by the ages, shaped by wind, water, earth’s movements, tsunamis, and yes, the changing climate. As permanent as we may think they are, they are not. Nothing about the earth is permanent. And,” Bovard offered, “they’re unpredictable. The forces that created them are the same forces that, over time, alter them. Water tables rise and fall, weakening foundations, ceilings and walls. Rain causes runoffs which can lead to rock slides. In mere seconds, earthquakes close caverns for good and open others we’d never known. And gas leaks are a true threat to deep cave explorers and casual hikers. They’re volatile and flammable. You don’t want to be around, near, or in one when it explodes. But many times, a human presence in a cave is the destabilizing factor to cause a major change.”
The Frenchman shook his head. “And when destruction comes by man’s stupidity or man’s intention, it should be considered a criminal act against nature; against the earth itself.”
“Monsieur, you’ve seen such incidences?” McCauley asked.
“Of course. When you’ve explored as much as I have, you’ve seen it all.”
McCauley wondered if that was true. He’d find out soon enough.
“I’ve made my way through the deepest, longest, most remote, dangerous and out of the way caves in the world,” Bovard further explained. “Those that others have put in their history books, and a fair share for which I can take all the credit. Among the most fascinating — the Covaciella Caves in Asturias, Spain. Tremendous finds. Upper Paleolithic age. Real evidence of how human groups helped one another survive the last glacial period. Then there’s Reed Flute Cave near the Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region of China and Atta Cave, in Sauerland, Germany. All with remarkably different histories. I also spent a good deal of time, many years ago, exploring the Kungur Ice Cave in the Perm region of east central Russia.”
“Actually, there is another cave in Russia that interested us,” McCauley stated.
“Which?”
“Denisova.”
“Denisova,” the old explorer recalled. “Yes, Denisova. I was there when I was much younger. I know its story.”
“The complete story?” Katrina wondered.
Bovard frowned. “Considering you put it that way, perhaps I’m not certain. I was referring to Saint Denis, the hermit. Is there more?”
McCauley and Alpert looked at one another for affirmation. McCauley nodded.
“There was a large cavern within the cave that contained remarkable” —McCauley thought about how to phrase his point—“out-of-place artifacts.”
Bovard’s mind was sharp. He responded without any hesitation. “I can assure you, there was no large cavern with any such things when I explored. What are you talking about?”
Quinn passed Father Emilianov’s book to the explorer. “Look at this.”
Bovard opened the memoir and turned to the page flagged with a yellow sticky. He looked troubled. He examined the book cover and the copyright. Then he leafed through other pages in the section and read the Russian quite easily. He whispered the words as his finger trailed across the sentences.
“This isn’t the same cave I explored. Or at least it’s a different entrance to the system.
“Exactly,” McCauley said, leaning in.
Sixty-six
“Ms. Dunbar,” Kavanaugh said, breezing past his secretary’s desk, “book me on a flight to Rome tomorrow morning. Non-stop. Premium class.”
She didn’t show her surprise. But her response surely questioned his judgment. “Mr. Kavanaugh, this week is deadline.”
“I’m quite aware of my magazine’s deadlines and my responsibilities.”
“I understand, but sir, Mr. Gr…”
She didn’t get to complete her sentence. Kavanaugh hovered over her and proclaimed, “Reservations tomorrow. Rome.”
“Yes, Mr. Kavanaugh and Premium class.”
Kavanaugh returned to his office and slammed the door.
Sixty-seven
“Describe what you saw at Denisova?” McCauley requested.
Bovard considered the question with multifold interest; his own and wonder over his visitors’ interest.
“For accuracy sake, I would have to search my notes,” the Frenchman said. “It could have been a natural cave-in. I recall tunnels that should have led somewhere, but appeared to be blocked. Remember, I am not a miner. I don’t dig my way into caverns.”
“So it’s possible the hermit and the priest’s access was closed up?”
“Yes, quite possible. Or that it collapsed. That wouldn’t prevent another entrance from being discovered. But now that you raise the question, I’d like to check other incidences. It will take a while. Help yourself to some coffee in the kitchen.”
Bovard excused himself for twenty minutes. He returned with a large carton of files.