"Show me what you've found so far?" Ms. Marple's face registered the open expression of someone very used to getting everything she wanted.
Teddy looked over at Jonah sleeping peacefully on the bed, hands clasped tight, light brown bangs falling into his eyes. His mother would have cut their hair by now, but Teddy had never wanted to—he felt short haircuts made them grow up too fast.
All of the boys sported blonde highlights from lots of high altitude summer sun and tanned muscular torsos from good, honest manual labor, but that is not what struck Teddy about Jonah right now—it was his angelic countenance—innocence and peace radiated from his soft cheeks, long eyelashes and whisper-like eyebrows. What was I thinking bringing them to this place? I almost lost one of our children today!
"Unfortunately, I don't think I am going to be able to help you… or your employer." Teddy wore a resolute expression.
"What?" Ms. Marple appeared to have a hearing problem.
"I know this is not the answer you expected, but I almost lost my son today. The information I am seeking is dangerous… I mean the places where it can be found are dangerous. The whole thing is dangerous." Teddy wasn't even looking at her when he finished, just staring into space somewhere beyond the wooden floor of his tent.
"What do you see?" Ms. Marple spoke softly, almost reverently.
"What?" Teddy broke out of his reverie.
"What are you looking at beyond the floorboards? What is it you are thinking?" Surprisingly, Ms. Marple had a genuine side.
"I don't want to say." Conflict showed in his creased brow and the set of his jaw. It was clear he loved what he was doing. Ms. Marple understood dreams and anyone who met Teddy Fairchild lately didn't have to study too hard to know he was living his dream.
"What would she tell you to do?" Her voice dropped an octave, her tone serious.
"How did you know?" Teddy's eyes bore into hers.
"Women admire men who are genuinely in love. It's rare. We can sense it. What would she have said?" Teddy read honest care in her expression.
"She would tell me to be more careful next time… but…" Teddy's gaze found the far distance again.
"But…"
"But… she would have told me to keep trying. To accept your offer and prove what I know to be true." Teddy wasn't talking to Ms. Marple now. He was watching the smile lines curl at the edges of full lips, violet eyes, auburn hair with golden highlights—a 5' 3" Irish bombshell that could explode with ribald laughter at the drop of a hat… Dearest Claire, I can hear you now: Fairchild's keep trying.
"It's settled then." Ms. Marple smiled a soft smile.
Teddy raised his eyebrows and smiled too. Things were looking up. The truth was that Jonah was safe, his funding was back, he could continue the pursuit…
"Show me what you have found so far. I need something, no matter how small, to take back to my employers. They will want to know they are betting on the right horse." The chipper and demanding Ms. Marple was back. The moment had passed.
"That may be another problem…" Teddy was still speaking slowly, not quite free from his reverie. While one part of his mind was reeling with the possibilities presented by big-time funding, equipment, support—the whole nine yards—another part was screaming at him: You've got nothing! Nothing to show for an entire summer! They are going to figure out you are a fake and a phony. What are you doing following this stupid dream?
Teddy wouldn't meet her eyes and his lack of response was hitting that uncomfortable space. Ms. Marple shifted uneasily in her chair, but she said nothing. Teddy studied the floor, casting about in his mind for truthful answers that would sound more positive than the truth really was. This was it then: I just got new funding and lost it in the same conversation! Oh, Lord, what are you doing with me?
"Unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to convince them to back you without some tangible evidence that you are the real McCoy?" Ms. Marple let the other shoe drop.
Teddy looked her in the eye, beginning to slowly shake his head: "No…" disappointment clouding his eyes. When her eyes began to mirror the same disappointment, he could hold her gaze no longer and looked over at Jonah—he'd failed the boy twice today!
Teddy's eye was drawn to something gripped tightly in the boy's hand—it glinted gold. He hadn't noticed it at first. He recalled the boy's fists had been clenched tight since the accident. He'd been too worried about his health to worry about what lucky charm the boy might be carrying. There was something strikingly familiar about the object. At first glance Teddy thought it might be a plastic child's toy. It looked like a tiny fighter jet molded out of golden plastic: Who would color a toy fighter jet gold?
The object bore a remarkable resemblance to the pre-Columbian artifacts known as the Tolima fighter jets. Two to three inch long, hand-sculpted gold objects in the shape of modern day jet aircraft. Hundreds of the tiny zoomorphic objects were found in Tikal, Guatemala.
Certain items from the cache had caught the media's attention: instead of resembling animals, they were accurate representations of modern aircraft or spaceships. Full-scale models based on the art pieces had proven to be flight-worthy. There were only a dozen or so known in the archeological world. Jonah's would make a baker's dozen and rock the megalithic world. Way to go, Jonah! Teddy thought.
There was no possible explanation for how pre-Columbian peoples could have produced accurate scale models using scientific formulas and ratios discovered by modern aeronautical engineers—except one: they had seen these aircraft in person! Still shaking his head, Teddy intoned: "Noth... nothing except this little example of an ancient aircraft or spaceship." He reached over and gently removed the zoomorphic object from the boy's uncurled fingers and handed it to Ms. Marple. "You know what that is, don't you?"
Ms. Marple's grin spread from ear to ear. "Tolima." She whispered, eyes wide. "The discovery of these exact replicas of airplanes and spaceships at Tikal stunned the archeological world. I was rooting for you, Mr. Fairchild, I really was! You had me for a minute there! I thought I had wasted my time. I'll take photos of this to them. Tell them I held it in my own two hands. I already know what they are going to say!" Ms. Marple stood to go. Taking a business card from her purse, she casually laid it on his desk.
"There is a telephone number on the front of this card. Call it when you need additional funds, special equipment or assistance. There is a bank account number on the back—we thought half-a-million might help you get started. More will be deposited as needed. Keep impressing us, Mr. Fairchild, and your dreams really will come true."
The horn rims, pencil skirt and shiny pumps turned and teetered away.