Free The Trespass by Scott Hunter Page A

remains of this vessel.” Farrell paused to take a draught of coke. He swallowed with relish and placed the can carefully back on the table. “Now that is awesome.”
    Sara spoke up. “What baffles me is why no one else has reported any sightings of the Ark. Surely with all the effort that’s been made over the last fifty years someone would have succeeded in rediscovering it? It’s a huge object, you say. How can any serious expedition miss it?”
    “Well, ma’am,” Farrell replied, “those mountain ranges around Ararat are simply vast . And the altitude is a real problem. Weather conditions up there are pretty bad too.”
    Dracup was thinking about the politics. “And it’s in Turkey.”
    “That’s right, sir. The Turkish authorities don’t allow research expeditions a lot of leeway.”
    Dracup thought about two men, bivouacked together, guideless, with the storm raging outside, and something else recorded in his grandfather’s precise copybook lettering: I saw it too. A was lifted away – not the wind.
    “Have you seen the – Red Earth material?” Dracup asked. If he could just get Farrell’s confidence, put him at ease. “Potzner was telling me about the research project…”
    “I’ve heard a few things, but I’m not security cleared to that level.”
    “So, what have you heard?”
    Farrell looked uncomfortable. “Ah – I don’t really have a lot of exposure to –”
    Dracup’s frustration levels finally burst. “Look Farrell, my daughter has been kidnapped. If there’s anything you know that might help, for heaven’s sake tell us. You’re more clued up than you’re letting on, aren’t you?” Out of the corner of his eye Dracup noticed Sara watching him anxiously.
    “I just have to look out for you, Professor Dracup. That’s all. I’m real sorry about your daughter.”
    Dracup checked himself with an effort. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure you are, Farrell.” The American seemed genuine for all the party line stuff. One step at a time, Dracup, don’t push it. “Thanks, Farrell,” he said. And left it at that.
     
    The fire was blazing as they reassembled in the front room. Dracup went to the pile of letters and picked the next from the heap.
    Sara rubbed her hands by the fire. “Nice job, Farrell,” Sara said, straight-faced. “You must have been a Boy Scout after all.”
    Farrell selected a blackened poker from the fire stand and prodded the coals speculatively. “Well, thank you, ma’am.” Dracup noticed that he held Sara’s gaze until she uncharacteristically looked away. It wasn’t hard to spot. He liked her all right.
    Dracup shifted in his seat. He read the last letter and threw it on the table. Nothing. He tried to remember what his aunt had been involved in, what contacts she had had within her community. She had been a committed Christian, that much he knew, a regular church attendee. And there was her work for charities. He racked his brains. Which church had she attended? The local one, of course; Forest Avenue Baptist. He glanced at his watch: 5.21. Not too late to call at the manse. He grabbed his coat.
    Sara frowned. “Where are you off to?”
    “To see the minister. Won’t be long.”
    “To see who? ”
    Farrell reached for his coat.
    “No.” Dracup told him. “You stay with Sara. I’m only going up the road, and it’s still daylight.”
     
    Forty minutes later Dracup strode briskly along Forest Avenue, a cream envelope tucked securely in his jacket pocket. His heart was thumping with adrenaline and his face wore a grim smile of triumph. He took the stairs two at a time and found Farrell and Sara at the top, their faces quizzical.
    “Listen to this.”
    Sara and Farrell froze at the excitement in Dracup’s voice.
    Dracup opened with shaking hands the letter the Reverend Anthony McPhee had produced from his filing cabinet. “It’s from the Alexandra Nursing Home, Aberdeen. From the matron.”
    “But how did –?” Sara’s mouth was open.
    Dracup