“So it all comes down to water, then?” Wally asked, slightly confused.
“More or less,” Nate answered, distracted.
The two were seated at a table by the window in Tattersalls Tavern, a pub close to Hyde Park and the Royal Geographical Society. Wally would have vetoed the place, feeling it too close to the tourist area due to its proximity to Harrods, among other things. But he wasn’t given a say in the matter. Nate had come straight here after he finished reviewing the records and was already seated by the time Wally called.
He wasn’t ignoring his friend, but he was still in research mode. Nate had his Microsoft Surface Laptop open and was recording information as well as scouring leads across the internet. First, he had plotted the location of Philby’s well, which was nineteen miles northwest of the Wabar craters, seemingly in the middle of the desert. He then plotted the new routes he had obtained from the expeditions of both explorers, noticing the deviations from their proposed routes. Philby’s passed through the Wabar craters and his referenced well, as was to be expected.
Nate noted the grid where Bertram Thomas was located when his guide provided him directions to Ubar, and added in where he had encountered the Bedouins with their treasures. While it didn’t provide him much context now, with the exception of wherenotto look, he knew that information provided by both explorers would likely become more relevant when he had more information about the subterranean water tables.
Nate had been looking at who the best people were to reach out to for the information he needed. As expected, there were several entities that looked at the issue of water in Saudi Arabia. Groundwater made up ninety-eight percent of naturally occurring fresh water in the country and unfortunately, it was running out. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia doubled the world average for water consumption, using nearly as much as the United States and Canada. Unfortunately, they had some of the world’s largest oil reserves, not water reserves, and a crisis was looming.
Several institutions took an interest in this problem. There were numerous nonprofits, several universities, and of course the United Nations, which was all over the issue. Nate had spent the last two hours researching these entities, listing them on a spreadsheet, and sending them emails explaining a basic interest in the problem and asking for research and possibly a meeting. He referred to himself only as a doctoralstudent from Harvard and explained that he was currently in London conducting research. He was concerned that any mention of his archaeological investigation into the lost city of Ubar might dissuade cooperation from some of these “harder sciences” personnel, and he needed to get his hands on that data. More specifically, he needed hydrological tables that had been charted of the Rub’ al Khali, specifically pertaining to underground water sources and not just dry streambeds on the surface.
Nate used roughly the same template for all his emails, tweaking each slightly to align with the ethos of the given organization, and blasted them out. He wasn’t sure how long it would take to get a response, and decided that he would remain in London in a holding pattern to see who responded. He wanted to be agile, and if someone on this side of the world got back to him, he didn’t want to have to cross the Atlantic again for a meeting. And truthfully, he wasn’t sure his bank account could handle it.
“So are you going to eat that, then?” Wally asked, pointing to his steak and ale pie.
“All yours,” Nate said. He hadn’t touched his food, though he had drunk a few beers over the last couple of hours. He was too focused on making sure he covered all his bases, sending out emails to anybody he thought might be able to help.
“Nah, mate, you gotta eat. Keep your strength up.”
Wally pushed the plate toward him and slowly closed the laptop. Nate was left sitting at the table, staring blankly at the top of his computer. He looked up at Wally and then around at the pub, which was starting to fill with people. Finally, he glanced down at his meal and realized that he was, in fact, hungry. He unrolled his silverware, placed the napkin on his lap, and started digging in. As he broke the crust of the pie, steam rose from within, and he was happy to see that it had stayed warm for so long.
“So what’s the plan, then?” Wally asked after his friend had taken a few bites.
“Plan?”
“Right. From here. What’s the plan?”
“Well,” Nate thought about it, “I guess we just wait to see who gets back to us. Someone out there must have a thorough geographic survey of underground waterways in Saudi Arabia.”
“I’m surprised you can’t just find that on the internet.”
“You can, to a point,” Nate said between bites. “The problem is that it’s low grade, or dated, or unverified. I need the real deal. A large-scale map, say something like 1:500,000 or higher, is not going to present the level of detail we need to overlay with the more detailed points that we have to reference from Philby and Thomas.”
“Makes sense,” Wally conceded.
“Well, think about it. The Rub’ al Khali is a massive landmass filled with practically nothing. Over two hundred and fifty thousand square miles. The smallest mistake could have massive consequences. It’s the same principle as minutes of angle.”
“I don’t follow.” Wally looked perplexed.
“Well, misjudging the minute of angle while shooting means that even the smallest error in aim is amplified downrange when it comes to hitting your target. The farther the bullet travels from the initial point of aim, the more of a spread you get.”
“Right,” Wally said in a bored voice. “I went to sniper school, mate, I know what the term means. What doyoumean?”
“I’m getting to that,” Nate said, narrowing his eyes at the interruption. “The same principle applies here. If we think that an underground river runs through a certain point, but we are off because of the poor quality of the data, we’ll miss the mark. We could be only a mile off and we’d never find what we were looking for. If we are farther off due tomiscalculations on a shitty map, then the chance of hitting the mark decreases exponentially.”
“Got it,” Wally agreed, “although I do keep hearing the wordwein there…”
Nate flushed, visibly embarrassed. “Shit, Wally, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
Wally grinned. “So now I’m not invited, then?”
Nate’s brain was fried from the mental gymnastics of the day, and it took him a second to realize that Wally was messing with him. “Alright, then, wiseass, you do what you want, but I have to see this through.”
“Look, I don’t have a case right now, which means I have nothing but time. I’ll stick around for a while and help out, if you don’t mind,” Wally said.
“Really?” Nate asked. “Not that you’re not welcome, but…”
