{"id":199,"date":"2008-06-06T00:06:56","date_gmt":"2008-06-06T05:06:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/\/?p=199"},"modified":"2008-09-16T21:06:45","modified_gmt":"2008-09-17T02:06:45","slug":"fossil-hunter-by-john-b-olson","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=199","title":{"rendered":"Fossil Hunter by John B. Olson"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

It is time to play a Wild Card<\/span>!<\/strong> <\/span>Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a>. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his\/her book’s FIRST chapter!<\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/strong><\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n

Dr. John Olson<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

and his book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Fossil Hunter<\/a><\/span><\/strong>
\nTyndale House Publishers (April 2, 2008)<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

<\/a><\/a>\"\"<\/a>John Olson is an award-winning novelist and speaker who lives with his wife Amy and two children in San Leandro, CA. John earned a Ph.D. in biochemistry from the University of Wisconsin at Madison, and did postdoctoral research at the University of California at San Francisco. After eight years as a director and principal scientist at a major scientific software company, John has quit his day job to devote himself full-time to a ministry of writing and speaking. He has won several awards for his writing, including a Christy Award, a Christy finalist, a Silver Angel award, and placement on the New York Public Library\u2019s Books for the Teen Age.<\/p>\n

John’s book is part of the Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed campaign. Ben Stein’s movie Expelled is now available on DVD. Find more details at Expelled the Movie<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Visit his website<\/a><\/span>.<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/a>\"\"<\/a>Chapter One<\/p>\n

Katie braced her shoulder against the ladies\u2019 room door. Heavy knocks pounded into her arm, rattling the metal door against its frame.<\/p>\n

\u201cKatie, come out right now!\u201d Dietrich Fischer\u2019s voice echoed through the tiled bathroom. \u201cAlready we are six minutes late. Everyone is now waiting!\u201d<\/p>\n

Squinting her eyes against the hard fluorescent light, Katie tried to clear her mind, but the faces wouldn\u2019t go away. An old man in a brown suit. Bloodshot, yellowing eyes. A generous dusting of dandruff on his shoulders, more on the left than on the right. The Asian woman standing in the back with the Mi-nolta camera clasped tightly in long, manicured fingers. The fat man in the straining yellow polo. The four undergrads in the front row, whispering and nudging when she poked her head into the room . . .<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what is it that is wrong? You are being sick?\u201d Dietrich\u2019s voice broke through the battery of faces. \u201cAnswer me!\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie lifted a hand to her cheek. Her skin was cold and moist. Her stomach felt like it was going to boil over. Maybe if she just told him . . .<\/p>\n

\u201cKatie?\u201d Dietrich hammered on the door, three piercing blows that buzzed into her brain.<\/p>\n

She turned to face the door. \u201cI told you . . . an intimate seminar-\u2014just for the department. You promised.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI did. I invited only the department. They made to put up the flyers, but I told them no.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut the conference room\u2019s almost full. You know I can\u2019t . . . We had a deal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKatie, listen to me. These people are already liking you. They want to meet this smart, brave fossil hunter they read about in the papers. You should be happy to have such fans. What do you want? To disappoint them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I . . . you know I can\u2019t do this. It\u2019s too many people. I\u2019ll just make a fool of myself. Maybe if I did a webcast for every-one. I?could include pictures and all my data. They\u2019d actually get a much better\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

The door pushed in on her, skidding her ridiculous heels clackety–clack across the tiled floor. Dietrich\u2019s jowly face ap-peared in the doorway, squinty eyes darting around the room before settling on her with a frown.<\/p>\n

Pulling herself up straight, Katie stared back at him. She wasn\u2019t budging from the ladies\u2019 room. If he wanted a confronta-tion, he was going to get it right here.<\/p>\n

\u201cKatie . . .\u201d Dietrich cleared his throat uneasily. \u201cKatie, I know you don\u2019t like much the speaking to crowds. But I need you to do this. I and the whole lab. We need you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie searched Dietrich\u2019s face. Something was wrong. Great beads of sweat were rolling down his expansive cheeks. His pupils were too contracted. \u201cThis isn\u2019t about the depart-ment, is it? Something else is going on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing is going on with anything. It is a seminar. That is all. A simple seminar in which Thomas Woodburne just hap-pens to be in the audience. But not to worry about him. He\u2019s one of your biggest fans. He told me this himself. Just tell the story of Peru. Show the pictures of the Pericetus. You\u2019ll be very good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThomas Woodburne? The guy from the Smithsonian? What\u2019s he doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s very important in Washington. In the NAS.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSince when do you care about the National Academy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSince always I care about the Academy. Our grant . . .\u201d Dietrich\u2019s face contorted into a scowl. He cocked his head and turned to face the wall. \u201cGrant money does not grow on the trees, you know. This affects your research as much more than mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy research?\u201d Katie stepped toward Dietrich, forcing him to look her in the eye. \u201cYou said they\u2019d renewed the grant. You said it wasn\u2019t a problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dietrich took a couple of shuffling steps backward until he hit the wall. \u201cIt won\u2019t be. I\u2019m filing an appeal. Once they find out about your new work . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you invited Woodburne without telling me? Who else did you invite? Half of Albuquerque\u2019s in there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dietrich looked down at his watch. \u201cEight minutes late! We must go out there now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFine; go ahead. I\u2019m not stopping you.\u201d Katie turned to walk away, but a meaty paw pulled her up short.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust tell the story of Peru. The capture of the fossil thieves. That is just what they would like to hear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut there isn\u2019t anything to tell. They destroyed the fossil before I could even look at it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKatie, please.\u201d His hand tightened around her shoulder. \u201cI need you to do this. Without the grant renewed . . . we\u2019ll be out of money by November. I won\u2019t be able to pay your salary. Hooman\u2019s salary. Wayne\u2019s, Peggy\u2019s . . . No money, no re-search.\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie took a deep breath. The room was so crowded. . . .<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want I should tell Hooman he has to go back?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, I get the point. I\u2019m being blackmailed.\u201d She resisted the tug on her shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhitemailed only. I\u2019m the good guy boss. Yes?\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie couldn\u2019t help smiling. She stopped resisting and al-lowed herself to be led back to the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis will be very easy. You will see.\u201d He held the door open for her and guided her through. \u201cThey are all your biggest fans.\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie focused on her adviser\u2019s voice as he led her down the hallway. She could do this. It was just like her thesis de-fense. The number of people didn\u2019t matter. Four or four hun-dred. It was all the same\u2014as long as she didn\u2019t look at them.<\/p>\n

Dietrich opened the auditorium door and the roar of voices filled her ears. God, help me. Please . . . She looked down at the floor, allowing herself to be guided to the front of the room. Her heart pounded in her chest, pulsing through her neck. She couldn\u2019t breathe. There was too much pressure.<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone, thank you for being so patient. . . .\u201d Dietrich\u2019s voice beat against the roar. Seats squeaked. Desktops clanged into place. Zippers, papers, the shuffling of feet . . .<\/p>\n

Katie tightened her grip on Dietrich\u2019s arm, leaning against his bulk for balance. One step at a time, she focused on each carpeted stair tread as she climbed higher and higher onto the stage. The murmur of voices assaulted her. She could feel thousands of eyes staring at her. She was naked, exposed, on display for all the world to see.<\/p>\n

God, please . . .<\/p>\n

\u201c. . . earned her PhD in earth and planetary sciences here at the University of New Mexico, where she was the first to dis-cover . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie gripped the podium with both hands and pulled her-self up straight as Dietrich introduced her. The Pericetus whales, the geology of South America . . . She could do this. She didn\u2019t have many geology slides, but she could start with her latest findings and use them as a segue into her research on the Pericetus fossils. And then maybe, if everything was going okay, she\u2019d tell them about Peru. It was the only thing people seemed to care about these days\u2014even the other pale-ontologists were more interested in Peru than in her research. Nothing ever changed. Even behind bars the fossil poachers were still stealing her science.<\/p>\n

A burst of applause washed through the auditorium. Flashes of blinding light. Katie stared determinedly down at the laptop on the podium. Her ears and cheeks were burning scar-let. Who was taking pictures? She was going to look like a blushing radish.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you for coming.\u201d Her words came out strong and clear. \u201cBefore I start talking about ancient whale anatomy, which is, I\u2019m sure, the reason you\u2019re all here\u2014\u201d Katie took a calming breath as a ripple of laughter ran through the room\u2014\u201cI\u2019d like to give a brief summary of some recent work I\u2019ve done on the geology of South America.\u201d<\/p>\n

The auditorium was perfectly still. Katie relaxed her grip on the podium. She could do this. Piece of cake.<\/p>\n

\u201cAs you all know, the Tethys Sea, which once covered In-dia, Pakistan, and most of what is now the modern Middle East, was home to the earliest archaeocetes we\u2019ve uncovered to date: the pakicetids, ambulocetids, protocetids, basilo-saurines\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKatie, a tiny minute please!\u201d Dietrich called out from the corner of the stage. \u201cFor the undergrads and guests . . . Per-haps you must explain the evolutionary significance of these early whales. What is it, the reason of their importance?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay . . .\u201d Katie closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. She wouldn\u2019t let him get to her. Now wasn\u2019t the time. \u201cFifty years ago\u2014\u201d she chose her words carefully\u2014\u201cwhales were held up as an argument against the evolutionary model. If modern whales evolved from terrestrial mammals, why didn\u2019t we see any evidence in the fossil record? Why didn\u2019t we see any intermediary forms?<\/p>\n

\u201cSince then, however, paleontologists have uncovered scores of putative intermediary whale forms. The pakicetids, first discov-ered in Pakistan by Gingerich in 1981, were fleet-footed land animals with very few adaptations for marine life except for a few features of their ears. They lived roughly 50 million years ago during the early Eocene sub-epoch.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe ambulocetids, or so-called walking whales, also lived during the early Eocene of Pakistan. They too seemed primarily terrestrial and had well-developed limbs and feet.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe protocetids of the middle Eocene, however, were pri-marily aquatic. The Rodhocetus, for example, swam using elongated, paddlelike hind feet and the side-to-side motion of its powerful tail.<\/p>\n

\u201cLater, during the late Eocene, we get the appearance of the basilosaurines and durodontines, which were fully aquatic and swam like modern whales using an up-and-down motion of their tale flukes. These archaeocetes differed from modern whales in that they had very small, almost vestigial, hind limbs. They also lacked blowholes on the tops of their skulls.\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie glanced over at Dietrich and received a curt nod. So far so good. \u201cOkay, as I was saying before, most of the earliest whales have been found in and around the Middle East, but due to certain social and political, um . . . factors, most Western paleontologists haven\u2019t been able to get into these areas for a long time. A few privileged scientists have obtained exclusive permits to go into Pakistan, and one scientist in particular, who shall remain nameless, has recently made some pretty amaz-ing discoveries there, but since the fossils aren\u2019t allowed out-side the country, none of the rest of us have been able to verify them. So those of us who want to study ancient whales are pretty much out of luck. Until now . . .<\/p>\n

\u201cIt just so happens that the geology of the western South American continent is very similar to that of the Middle East. In theory we should be able to find the same types of whales there that Nick Murad, our unnamed scientist, has found in Pakistan but without all the social and political factors that make expeditions to the Tethys region so prohibitive.<\/p>\n

\u201cAs many of you know, I had the opportunity to explore a middle Eocene plain in Peru and was able to demonstrate the presence of whale fossils there. Unfortunately, the fossil I found was destroyed before I had the chance to study it. The part of the skull I could see looked fairly modern, but until we return to the area and uncover another one, we won\u2019t know for sure whether the whale had hind limbs and nostrils at the front of the snout like a Rodhocetus or a strong swimming tail and a blowhole on the top of the skull like the more modern Perice-tus whales we\u2019ve already found in Peru. The sooner we\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKatie, a question.\u201d Dietrich called out. \u201cSorry to be inter-rupting again, but Dr. Webb has a question.\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie gripped the podium tighter. She could feel the pres-sure building in her chest. \u201cOkay . . . Dr. Webb?\u201d She kept her eyes fixed on the laptop keyboard.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what makes you question the age of the layer? Was it the appearance of the fossil or the geology of the layer itself?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d Katie ran through the question in her mind. \u201cI wasn\u2019t questioning the age of the layer. It\u2019s definitely middle Eocene. Several other finds confirm the geology report.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen how can you question the morphology? If it\u2019s middle Eocene, it has to be a primitive whale, an Archaeoceti.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow can I question it?\u201d Katie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. \u201cI question it because it\u2019s not known yet. Until we find another fossil, we can\u2019t know for sure what it will look like. For all we know, it could have the morphology of Shamu, the killer whale.\u201d<\/p>\n

A gasp sounded somewhere in the auditorium. So much for her attempt at levity.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. James,\u201d a woman\u2019s voice called out from the back of the room, \u201cthis whale you\u2019re talking about\u2014the one that was destroyed\u2014it was the reason you were attacked by fossil poachers?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I . . .\u201d Katie could feel the blood rushing into her cheeks. \u201cWith more and more private collectors buying fossils on the black market, fossil poaching is getting to be a huge problem, especially in impoverished countries where\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCould you confirm the report that you single-handedly captured five armed men?\u201d A man\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cI . . .\u201d Katie\u2019s face was burning now. \u201cYes, there were five of them. But I . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did you do it?\u201d The woman again. \u201cHow did you stop so many men?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did I stop them?\u201d Katie sagged against the podium. Weren\u2019t these people listening? \u201cI didn\u2019t stop them. I tried, but by the time I got back to camp, they\u2019d already started digging. And then, like an idiot, I let myself get captured. By the time I got back in control of the situation, they\u2019d already powdered the fossil. We think they were looking for teeth. A tooth from a T. rex can sell for as much as five thousand dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n

She hit the Page Down key on the laptop to bring up her first slide. \u201cThe whales I typically study, including the Pericetus whales I want to talk about now, don\u2019t have teeth. They have baleen, which they use to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut how did you do it? How did you get away?\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie gripped the podium tighter. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t a big deal. They weren\u2019t paying attention so I . . . whacked them on the head.\u201d<\/p>\n

A volley of flashes hit Katie in the face as a wave of shouted questions washed over her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Tried to tune out the voices. \u201cBaleen whales\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. James! Please! Dr. James!\u201d The woman\u2019s shouts rose above the roar, beating the other voices down to a low murmur. \u201cDr. James, please. How do you expect us to believe you hit five men over their heads?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot all at once. They only had two men guarding\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. James!\u201d Webb\u2019s bellowing voice. \u201cBack to the subject at hand. You still haven\u2019t answered my question!\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie looked up from the podium. The Asian woman in the back. Her hand was still raised. A man, freckles and thinning red hair, was holding out a microphone. The man with dandruff. The woman beside him, twisting a finger through her hair. Drooping earlobes with big dangly earrings. Mark Cranley from the White lab. Joe Sayers . . . They were all staring, watching. . . .<\/p>\n

Katie\u2019s stomach surged. Cold sweat streamed down her face. She felt dizzy. Couldn\u2019t breathe. Please, no . . . not again!<\/p>\n

Pushing away from the podium, she staggered across the stage to the stairs. A shoe twisted beneath her foot, sending her crashing down the steps. She hit the carpeted floor and rolled back onto her feet, running. Up the side aisle. Out the door.<\/p>\n

The echoes of clacking footsteps chased her down the hallway and into the bathroom. Through the swinging door, into one of the stalls, she collapsed onto her knees in front of a toi-let.<\/p>\n

Reporters . . . Dietrich was such a liar. He\u2019d promised inti-mate, but he\u2019d invited reporters! A shudder convulsed her body. She took a long, deep breath. It would serve him right if she walked into his office right now and quit. Let him find someone else to lead the next Peru expedition.<\/p>\n

Katie stood up slowly, bracing herself against the stall par-tition. The pressure in her stomach was subsiding. She took a few experimental steps.<\/p>\n

Of all the childish stunts . . . She tottered over to the coun-ter, pulled out a wad of paper towels, and started dabbing her skin. It\u2019d serve him right if the visas were denied. She leaned against the sink, staring at the drain to avoid the reflection that hovered mockingly in the mirror. All those cameras. Thomas Woodburne. She\u2019d looked like an idiot.<\/p>\n

A knock sounded at the door. Katie spun around, bracing herself for another encounter.<\/p>\n

\u201cKatie?\u201d It was Hooman, one of the grad students from Dietrich\u2019s lab. \u201cKatie, are you all right? Dr. Fischer sent me. He asked me to make sure you\u2019re okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

Great . . . Does he have to yell? Katie took a step toward the door. Why didn\u2019t bathroom doors have locks?<\/p>\n

\u201cHe wants you to come back to the conference room as soon as you feel better, okay? There are some people in the audience who want to meet you.\u201d<\/p>\n

An unfamiliar voice sounded in the hallway. Another voice, this one female. Katie cast a glance back at the mirror. Tendrils of fine dark hair were plastered to the side of her sweat-beaded face. She was white as a ghost.<\/p>\n

\u201cKatie, are you there?\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie glanced around the room. A window was partially open. It looked big enough.<\/p>\n

Tiptoeing to the back of the room, she slid the frosted glass panel all the way up and stuck her head out. The courtyard was three stories below her, but at least it was empty. And the ledge was more than wide enough. . . .<\/p>\n

\u201cKatie?\u201d<\/p>\n

Glancing back at the door, Katie kicked off her heels and tossed them through the window. Then, lifting a leg cautiously over the sill, she ducked through the opening and stepped gin-gerly out onto the pigeon-stained ledge.<\/p>\n

An image flashed before her eyes. She was five years old, scaling a rocky cliff on the Navajo reservation. Her father was down below, calling up to her with a ragged voice. A geyser of panic surged through her body, freezing her against the dusty wall. Her father . . . She couldn\u2019t lose her job. Not now. Her father needed her.<\/p>\n

She swung a knee over the windowsill and ducked her head back inside. If Dietrich didn\u2019t get his grant renewed . . . because of her freaking out . . .<\/p>\n

Another knock rapped at the bathroom door. The murmur of anxious voices. How many people were out there? It sounded like the whole seminar room.<\/p>\n

Katie\u2019s head started to throb. What was the point? She took a deep breath and stepped back onto the ledge. Going inside would only make it worse. Throwing up on the reporters wasn\u2019t going to get Dietrich\u2019s grant renewed.<\/p>\n

Gripping the bricks with her fingertips, she inched her way along the ledge, careful not to look down. Heights didn\u2019t bother her, but if someone was down there watching her . . . if the crowd from the auditorium . . .<\/p>\n

Flashing cameras lit her memory. The man with red hair. Orange-brown freckles framing pale blue eyes. The man with dandruff . . .<\/p>\n

Stop it! Katie stared hard at a grainy line of off-white mortar. What had gotten into her? She was acting like a baby.<\/p>\n

She worked her way around a projecting windowsill and si-dled to the corner of the building in long, determined strides. She swung herself around the corner and looked down at the roof of the adjoining building. Only a ten-foot drop. Piece of cake.<\/p>\n

Pushing off the wall, she twisted her body into the shrieking air. Pain stabbed into her feet as she hit and rolled across a sweltering surface of gravel and tar. Hot! She hopped from foot to foot across the burning rooftop and flung herself at the edge of the building. Clinging to the blistering cornice work, she swung her legs over the side and climbed down the ladderlike arrangement of ornamental bricks before dropping onto the ground below.<\/p>\n

Brilliant. Katie lay on her back, combing her feet through the soothing coolness of the grass. Jumping barefoot onto a blazing-hot rooftop. Katie James, brilliant fossil hunter. For her next trick she would jump barefoot into a hot unemployment line.<\/p>\n

Nick Murad leaned against an outcropping of rock and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. The dusty fabric gritted like wet sand-paper. His right eye burned as a drop of sweat rolled across his upper lid. He raised a hand to wipe his face, but his fingers were coated with a paste of sunscreen and dirt. His shirt, his hat, his pants . . . the grit was everywhere. Eating its way like hookworms into every crease and crevice of his body.<\/p>\n

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head from side to side, flinging away drops of sweat like a big Labrador after a swim. Beautiful . . . Now both eyes were burning. What he needed was a shower. A hot shower using nonbiodegradable soap and a towel that wasn\u2019t full of sand. He stood slowly, arching his lower back against the Pakistani sunset.<\/p>\n

Tomorrow . . . less than twenty hours away. He checked his watch, automatically subtracting nine hours in his mind. It was almost 5 a.m. in New York. Cindy would already be at the air-port by now. He could see her standing in line at the flight counter dressed to the nines in an impossibly impractical but totally seductive skirt and blouse. He tried to imagine her car-rying twice her limit of suitcases by herself, but his mind\u2019s eye kept drifting to her face. Soft, limpid eyes. Full, pouty lips. Her dark sapphire necklace caressing soft, creamy skin.<\/p>\n

A hungry ache coiled around Nick\u2019s chest, squeezing him until he couldn\u2019t breathe. \u201cOkay. Enough.\u201d He dropped back to the ground and retrieved his geology hammer from the rocky shelf he\u2019d been working on since noon. He\u2019d see Cindy soon enough. But only a third of the whale vertebra was exposed. If he was going to get it pedestaled before he left, he had to hurry. He grabbed a chisel and started chipping away at the mudstone that encased the fossilized bone. His students wouldn\u2019t have time to finish the excavation before their expedition to Iraq, but he at least wanted to know what it was he\u2019d found.<\/p>\n

A soft cry drifted up from the valley. Nick stopped chiseling and turned back to stare into the setting sun. The clank of metal on metal. Nick held his breath, listening.<\/p>\n

Maaaah, maaaah. The bleating of sheep.<\/p>\n

Diving for his pack, Nick pulled a radio out of one of the side pockets.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, people, we\u2019ve got sheep!\u201d He threw open the bag and started stuffing it with gear as the static of answering calls filled the air.<\/p>\n

\u201cNick, this is Andy. Annalise is down by the ridge with Ahamed. Waseem, where are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKarl here. Waseem\u2019s with me. We\u2019re at the ridge, but An-nalise isn\u2019t here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnnalise, where are you? We\u2019ve got sheep coming through!\u201d<\/p>\n

Nick swung the pack onto his shoulder and ran sliding and skidding down the gravelly slope. When he got to the bottom, he held the radio to his mouth. \u201cEverybody, this is Nick. Get to the camp right away. Karl, tell Waseem I need him to find An-nalise now!\u201d<\/p>\n

Leaping a clump of polygonaceae shrubs, Nick took off running toward a point just to the right of the ridge excavation. If Annalise had gone off on her own to do some prospecting, she\u2019d probably work her way west along the hills. That\u2019s what he\u2019d do.<\/p>\n

A bell clanked\u2014just beyond the rise. Nick, already panting for breath, pushed his burning legs to move faster. The bedouin tribes in the north were usually pretty friendly, but this close to the Afghanistan border all bets were off\u2014especially after what happened to the GSP team in western Baluchistan.<\/p>\n

A burst of static cut through the radio. \u201cNick, this is Andy. We\u2019ve got Annalise. She and Ahamed were already on their way back to camp.\u201d<\/p>\n

Relief washed through Nick\u2019s body, turning his legs to jelly. He slowed to a jog and turned back in the direction of the camp. \u201cOkay, everybody. Stay inside! Have Waseem watch the trucks. . . . I\u2019ll be right there.\u201d<\/p>\n

By the time Nick reached the campsite, only a half mile separated him from the advance guard of the camel-mounted bedouins. He risked another backward glance. Still too far to make out their features. Unless they had binoculars, they couldn\u2019t be sure he was a Westerner. Lots of Pakistanis wore baseball caps.<\/p>\n

He jogged into the circle of four tents and three vehicles that made up their camp. Karl and Andy were shuttling equipment from one of the transport trucks to the cook tent at the base of a rocky mound. Annalise was rolling up the win-dows of one of the jeeps.<\/p>\n

\u201cMichigan students out of sight now!\u201d Nick leaned over, swept up a pack emblazoned with a big gold M, and tossed it into the cook tent. \u201cWaseem, stay with the trucks. Ahamed, you\u2019re with me. Make sure you keep your hands out of sight!\u201d<\/p>\n

Nick paced the length of the camp, inspecting all of their visible gear. Some pickaxes, a tripod and surveyor\u2019s scope, a field laptop wrapped in a sheet of plastic . . . There was a lot of expensive -equipment, but nothing to indicate the presence of Westerners. Theft?was the least of his concerns. Bedouins weren\u2019t generally thieves\u2014even?the poorest of them. But with all the anti-American sentiment these days, he couldn\u2019t afford to have their whereabouts leak out. Even if they weren\u2019t harboring terrorists, bedouins liked to talk. And no news traveled like the news of American scientists prospecting alone and unprotected out in the middle of the Baluchistan desert.<\/p>\n

The echo of Pakistani voices carried across the thin desert air. The clomp of heavy hooves. Nick hurried over to his tent and crawled past Ahamed, who was already sitting in the entrance, his right arm extended awkwardly back inside the tent like he was holding a concealed weapon.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay . . . everybody quiet.\u201d Nick hissed in a whisper loud enough to carry to all the tents. \u201cI hear one word of English and I\u2019m shipping you back to the States.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJee haan maan.\u201d Urdu for Yes, Mommy. . . . Nick couldn\u2019t tell whether it was Andy or Karl. A feminine giggle broke the silence off to the right.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m serious.\u201d Nick put a hand to his mouth even though none of his students were there to see his smile. \u201cWe\u2019ll pack this camp up and leave that Basilosaurus behind.\u201d<\/p>\n

A voice jabbered off to the left. The bedouins were almost even with the camp. Keeping well back from the tent opening, Nick angled forward until he had a clear view of the pass. It was getting darker. The shadow of the tents already stretched most of the way across the camp. If those bedouins didn\u2019t hurry up . . .<\/p>\n

A pang stabbed through him like a knife. Surely the bed-ouins wouldn\u2019t set up camp so close to their campsite? He had to drive to Quetta in the morning. He needed time to shower and shave and get a haircut. Cindy would be there by noon. If he was going to have any time at all to clean the apartment, he had to leave by 5 a.m. Why hadn\u2019t he gone with his instincts and cleaned up before he left?<\/p>\n

Come on. Hurry up. Nick\u2019s eyes strained into the shadows, willing the bedouins to appear. Maybe they\u2019d already stopped for the night. At least that way the road would be clear for him. As long as they didn\u2019t see him leave . . .<\/p>\n

Beautiful. Two camel riders plodded into view\u2014not more than a hundred feet from where Nick sat crouched in the shad-ows of his tent. The bedouins stared back silently at the camp, long rifles still holstered against the sides of their complaining mounts. Go on. Keep on going. . . . Nick repeated the words like a prayer as one rider after another passed, guiding a stream of dust-colored sheep.<\/p>\n

One of the riders, a tall, lanky, dark-skinned man in a cloak of dusty brown, pulled his mount over to the side and stood facing the tents. He waved with his left hand, keeping his right hand within easy reach of his rifle. Nick crept around the back of the tent until he could see Waseem wave from one of the trucks. Waseem\u2019s movements seemed wooden, like he was nervous . . . hiding something. Of all the stupid mistakes . . . He should have put Ahamed in the trucks.<\/p>\n

He moved back to the right. The bedouin was just sitting there, staring at the camp. Nick shrank even farther into the tent. Of course the guy was staring. They should have been cooking, preparing for the approaching night.<\/p>\n

A musical ring tone shattered the silence. Ahamed jumped like he\u2019d been shot. Nick searched frantically about the tent, his eyes finally settling on his nylon pack. Crawling over to the bag, he ripped open the outer compartment and pulled out his satel-lite phone. Just as he was about to hit the Off switch, he no-ticed the name glowing on the display. It was Cindy. . . .<\/p>\n

The phone rang again.<\/p>\n

Had there been another travel advisory? Had they can-celed the flight? Please, no . . . She wasn\u2019t chickening out again. Not now!<\/p>\n

He stabbed at the green button and pressed the phone to his ear, turning away from the entrance. \u201cHello?\u201d he whispered into his cupped hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Nick? Are you there? I can\u2019t hear you.\u201d Cindy sounded frantic. Something was wrong. He had to talk to her.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Cindy. I really can\u2019t talk now. Can you call back in a few minutes?\u201d Nick raised his voice to a hoarse whisper.<\/p>\n

\u201cNick, is that you? I can barely hear you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hear you fine. What\u2019s wrong?\u201d His voice sounded like a shout in his ears.<\/p>\n

\u201cMust be a bad connection. Anyway, I . . .\u201d Cindy was about to panic. He could hear it in her voice. \u201cThe Middle East is all over the news. New fighting in Iraq. Pakistanis protesting the president\u2019s visit. I . . . It just doesn\u2019t seem like a good time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo . . . it\u2019s fine. There\u2019s nothing to worry about.\u201d Nick knew he was talking too loud, but he had no choice. He couldn\u2019t let her back out now. Not after all his plans . . .<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re sure? They showed a huge crowd on the news. They were yelling and burning American flags.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s just for the cameras. Just get on the plane. You\u2019ll be safe. I promise. Okay? Just get on the plane. I\u2019ve got every-thing planned. I?even have a surprise.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA surprise?\u201d Nick could hear the life coming back into her voice. \u201cWhat kind of surprise?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust get on the plane, okay? You\u2019ll see when you get here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re sure it\u2019s safe?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m positive. I love you, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNick, I . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got to go now. Bye.\u201d Nick switched off the phone and turned back to the opening of the tent. The bedouin was still watching their camp, his face lit by the faintest hint of a smile.<\/p>\n

Ahamed turned and looked back at Nick, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. \u201cI love you too . . . honey.\u201d<\/p>\n

MY REVIEW:<\/h3>\n

It is always exciting to discover a new author to add to my list of favorites.\u00a0 Thanks to the FIRST Wild Card Tours, I can add John B. Olson to my list. Fossil Hunter<\/a> may\u00a0 be one of the best novels I have read in awhile. The book has all the elements necessary for a good read – exotic setting, interesting characters, humor, suspense, and romance. An added bonus is a look at the customs, mindset, and politics of the people of Iraq. It was also extremely interesting to read about the extreme measures some in the scientific community will go through to justify current theory even if it means overlooking hard facts. I would highly recommend Fossil Hunter<\/a> as an entertaining but intelligent book.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his\/her book’s FIRST chapter! You never know when […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-199","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/199","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=199"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/199\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":433,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/199\/revisions\/433"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=199"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=199"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=199"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}