Professor Simons sat alone in his office at the University of Berkeley's History Department complex. As usual it was before eight 'o clock in the morning. In spite of this early habit, he had not slept well the past few nights following his meeting with Dr. Williamson, President of the UC Board of Regents. The unexpected cadre of intelligence personnel, which he had recently faced at the inquiry and presentation, along with their snowballing global concerns, totally eclipsed what he had felt was so phenomenal about the California find.

The professor never dreamed that his initial survey of physical remains at a site of interest—a task he was so adroit in carrying out in the past, would have jumped off-track and developed into such a growing international issue. There had remained to those in attendance at the gathering little emphasis on the archaeological or historical concerns the tholos had to offer to science. And as a person forever dedicated to the truth in history, this now troubled the old archaeologist greatly.

As he looked up at the crowded shelves and stacks of books on the floor of his small office, Dr. Simons reflected on his long career. He could not help but wonder if that tenure would not now, or should not now, be finally coming to an end. He had felt strongly after leaving the meeting that he and Nicasio had been unfairly moved aside. They were now to pass the torch to others who might somehow locate a greater insight into the ad hoc project he and his young assistant had initiated. It was only natural that given more time and resources, someone eventually would take over. Yet, they had only been on the case for the six weeks granted them with the responsibility. Essentially the two of them would logically have to be superseded by other academics regarding the Big Sur discovery through further, more scrutinized analysis. This was expressed tactfully but clearly by Dr. Williamson.

But this outcome saddened him even more, knowing that expert fields throughout the nine campuses of the California University system would now be incorporated into the illusive find, and somewhat capriciously. He could only envision this massive array of departments and personalities, all in vicious academic competition, crowding into the elegant tholos to do battle. The small chamber was never intended for such irreverent traffic, he sadly mused. It was only designed to be occupied by one soul of great importance—but who? Those missing remains from the sarcophagus, if there ever was such a body in it, were lovingly intended to be isolated, perhaps hidden for all eternity. Or were the remains intended to one day to be found?

Dr. Simons considered with some consolation, that he and Nicasio would at least get some initial credit for their preliminary scratching around the tholos. But then he realized the final publication would be authored by a collaborative team of classicists and historians, possibly more specifically versed in Near-Eastern and Mediterranean Studies. He wondered how he would eventually break this unsavory news of their immanent and official dismissal to his young and loyal assistant.

Jack Simons put his head into his hands as he always had in moments of great consternation—even while at home in his equally solitary world. He closed his eyes and thought of the only image which had the capacity to rescue his soul during such times of outright depression:

It was Irene, his long diseased daughter—aged ten, running along the California beach in her faded yellow and green bathing suit. As always in this iconic image, she was dancing and jumping with a solitary joy which he admired. Her lithe body was eternally summer-tinted and glowing with life. She played with the foaming fringes of the waves, alone at the ocean's edge. He could see her standing still now, looking out to the sea, deeply entranced, as she had been on many occasions. Was it some private contemplation she perseverated upon? It seemed some other-worldly thought had consumed her once more. That picture he had seen so many times in his mind, frozen like a last enduring photograph. What was it she wondered? What did she see out there in the vast Pacific's serenity which brought her to such a motionless awe? If only he could ask her this now, as he had wished on so many lost occasions. He longed once again for that simplest of answers to the simplest of questions—the unborn fruit of a dialogue he would never have. Nevertheless, he pondered once more this isolated question he had asked himself for over half of his lifetime.

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