Reasonable Doubt

By Steven Allinson

- Book #2 in the 'Gods and Men' series -

Carl Walters believed the worst was behind him. How wrong he was.

After the events in Egypt and his failed attempt to recover the Ark of Ra, Carl disappeared to the hillsides of South America to await his time to finally return home.

When the long-awaited trial of Justin McDonald ends with an explosion, Carl realises all may not be going as planned.

Led by an encrypted message, Carl begins another quest, this time across his own homelands, to track down the origins of a series of modern myths and discover the web of lies at their heart.

From global warming to assassinations, Carl must piece together the clues and rescue a series of ancient documents before their usage turns the tide in a hidden war that threatens to destroy mankind.

- - -

Reasonable Doubt is the second part of the story author Steven Allinson began with Coincidence Theory. Focussing on our collective modern myths and the reasons we hold them dear, it gives a distinctly slanted perspective on the truths we all mistakenly take for granted.

For anyone who ever questioned the official story, there's always Reasonable Doubt...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Allinson
• Release date: Feb 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311383525

Steven Allinson

Steven was born and raised in England, where he still lives with his wife and daughter.From an early age, he was always intrigued by the possibilities overlooked so eagerly by the mainstream.Pulling from a vast array of knowledge gained through his veracious thirst to learn, Steven's books are a roller-coaster ride through what you thought was fact.Already having published two books, and with three more to come in the next year, it looks as though Steven's action-packed writing style and thought-provoking plot choices are here to stay.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The morning sunlight crashed through the un-shuttered windows and awoke the room’s lone occupant from his slumbers. Yawning and stretching his limbs, Carl Walters threw the covers off his tired frame and made his way to his bathroom. Turning the light on and wincing with the pain shooting through his head, he realised he was too old to get that drunk again.

He squinted through the throbbing in his skull and made a rough check of his features. His once perfect, dark-skinned visage was curled and furrowed, giving him the air of a sleeping bloodhound. He vainly attempted to brush his teeth before staggering into the shower. The cascading water helped to soothe his aches, washing away the grime no-doubt oozing through his skin. After a quick groom, he selected something casually academic from his wardrobe, and took one last look in the mirror, before leaving for another day’s work.

The heat of the Peruvian sun beat down as he made his way through the small town of Urubamba. Here and there, children played in the street with stray dogs, as battered pick-ups took the town’s workers to their daily routines. At the end of the dusty stretch of earth on which his dilapidated hostel lay, Carl spied his own convoy of transportation and the growing crowd of volunteers standing around it.

This was the fourth South American town he worked in since the events in Egypt. Even if the authorities knew where he was, there was no extradition treaty in place from any of these countries and so it was the logical place to hide out until Justin’s work was complete. And today was that day. He knew tonight, perhaps ten hours from now, the decision in the trial would be read to the court. He hoped for that young, brave man’s sake, the decision taken was done so fairly. On a much more selfish note, it would be nice to go home.

Carl knew for him to be allowed back into America without being arrested, Justin must win his trial, and then he must hope the US State Department got the information it needed to hand him a pardon. If all went to plan, he would be back in his home, enjoying a hot shower, without having to accommodate local vermicular fauna whilst he did so, within three to four months. That should allow him just enough time to finish the season’s dig in the valley.

Urubamba was a small town sat high on the edge of the Andes between two of the most famous archaeological sites in Mesoamerica; Cuzco and Machu Picchu. When Carl heard the local dig team were looking for assistance at a new site at Huyro, he jumped at the opportunity. Peru, and the Incan civilisation that once flourished here, fascinated him. It was not a chance he wanted to miss.

As Carl approached the array of open-sided trucks that were the regular transportation to the site, he looked around for his dig buddies. His newfound companions were the usual array of archaeological volunteers; students on a year out or academics looking to make a name for themselves. It was a mix that allowed him to blend in nicely.

Good morning, Carl. Do you feel any better after your drinking antics in the cantina last night? said a female voice, from behind.

Carl turned to see a graduate student called Natalie Rivas smiling at him. She was attentive and eager to learn, and they hit it off straight away. They spoke at length during their toils about her life and how she found herself up a hillside in Peru. Being half American and half Cuban meant her scholastic endeavours were much harder than her ability dictated they should be, purely because of her breeding. Even with the intelligence she possessed, she was not accepted into any of the Ivy League colleges and was eventually forced to settle for a place at Williams College, near Boston. Her intellect and the fact she was graced with the type of girl-next-door beauty and perfect, olive skin, which he found so alluring, meant he spent many happy hours simply watching her roam around the dig site. Good morning to you, Natalie. I’m sorry about my awkwardness last night; there was something on my mind. I hope I didn’t get offensive.

Not at all, Carl. It was just out of character. Actually, you have to be one of the most gracious drunks I’ve met.

He’s a damn sight more gracious than I would have been, if I were in that kind of mess. said an aristocratic, American accent.

Carl turned to see Anthony, another student from the dig, loading his kit bag into the truck to their side.

Anthony was a striking example of another of the types of student who opted to work here. He was brought up in a family steeped in banking history. His grandfather was Jonathan Fairbanks, a giant of the post-war banking cartels. Every single member of his family made their living from the bank. As the eldest son of the eldest son, it fell to Anthony to take over the business when his father stepped aside. However, if he wanted to get his hands on any of the multi-billion dollar family fortune, he needed to prove to his father he was capable before he would be allowed to take his place on the board. So, in an attempt to do that, he spent his time volunteering for one organisation after another in the far flung corners of the globe. He was bright, easy to get along with, ridiculously well-manicured, and a hard worker, but it was easy to tell his heart was not in what he was doing. It was a shame. The boy possessed real potential.

I have seen you in far worse states, Anthony. I can tell you now, it is almost impossible to determine what kind of person someone is when they are half asleep and drooling onto the bar! said Natalie.

Carl and Anthony laughed, as the group hurried into their standing positions on the back of the vehicle. As soon as all the passengers were safely on, the engine started and they made their way slowly out of town.

-

As the convoy disappeared from sight, a lone traveller removed a cellular phone from a leather trench coat and dialled an all too familiar number. Confirmation was all that stood between his target and death.

Chapter 2

George Stirling stared at the television in horror. If the events unfolding were allowed to continue, it would not be long until everyone involved with this man was rounded up and killed.

He rubbed his eyes and absently neatened his moustache, as he changed the channel. He was greeted by the same information. It was as though the story was of national importance, but he knew better. It was a message, designed to drop the guards of those individuals still off the radar of the authorities and make them wander out into the open. Knowing the people it was aimed at, it would probably work.

He walked over to his fridge, picked up a carton of apple juice, and downed its contents eagerly. He should leave. There was little chance he was directly associated at the moment, but it would not be long before that would change.

He was a policeman in his youth and a damn good one. Back then, it was his nature to select his friends carefully. A skill he thought lost when he found out the sort of woman his ex-wife was. He knew some secrets should be kept out of the light until the right friend was found, but soon there would be no time left.

He grabbed a jacket, clanking with the sounds of sewn-in metal plates, from the back of a chair and stepped outside into the California sunlight. Throwing it onto the passenger’s seat, he started the engine of his pick-up. He needed to make sure those few on his side remained alive. Checking his wallet was carefully stowed in his pants, he made his way off his drive and into the unknown.

Chapter 3

Carl and his companions worked through the morning in the Huyro compound. The sun bulged in the sky and sent waves of warm wind down the slopes. The scrubland in which they worked was as unforgiving today as it was when the Incan people first built the towns dotting the edge of the mighty Andes mountain range looming on the horizon. It was incredible to think, just a few hundred miles away, the Atacama Desert lay. That short distance separated them from a place where rain had not fallen for ten thousand years. Yet here, under the scorching South American sky, one of the world’s greatest civilisations flourished.

Their workplace was an area of the north wall, partially exposed by time. The beautiful granite stones, no two of which were the same shape in the entire structure, were so intricately carved not a single sheet of the finest paper could be slipped between them. It was a feat of engineering that still evaded the greatest minds on the planet and one the group discussed at length, at least once a week. Natalie’s theory that cuboids were only an obvious building shape if you were using mortar, and interlocking, perfectly aligned stones were best if you are not and want to resist earthquakes appeared to be the current favourite, but Carl knew there would be others. Furthermore, he would probably be the one who suggested them.

He enjoyed their discussions; it reminded him of the time he spent with Justin on their grand crusade for the Ark. Once he knew his colleagues were interested and capable of holding them, it was something he instigated every day.

After a lunch spent looking out over the glorious vista surrounding their dig site, the discussion turned to something close to Carl’s heart.

I’m telling you, the Inca believed in a heaven. It was called Omeyocan. said Anthony.

That’s not an Incan belief, Anthony. It’s the highest of the Nahua’s thirteen levels of Heaven. It’s actually known as the home of the two; Ometecuhtli and Omecihuatl. said Carl.

There’s that thirteen reference again. It keeps cropping up everywhere. said Natalie.

Yeah, it does. said Carl, with a grin.

How do you know all this stuff? asked Anthony.

Carl did not want to tell anyone of his past, for fear it would alert the wrong people to his presence. He always maintained, when pushed for an answer, he was a teacher of art who held a fascination for archaeology and was on a year out to pursue it. I’ve done a lot of research in my time. It has meant I’ve come across a few facts and have subsequently stored them.

You mean you’re an archaeology geek?

Anthony! said Natalie, shocked. You can’t call someone that.

"It’s ok, Natalie, really. I’m not bothered. I’m happy to be classed as a geek. Knowledge is power, as they say. I think it’s a backhanded compliment anyway. It’s like saying ‘Wow, you man, are way more intelligent than me’, but a little snappier."

So, oh Jedi master of all things ancient, surprise me with your thoughts. What do you think heaven is?

Carl caught the expectant stares of his work colleagues and accepted the challenge. There are two schools of thought on heaven. It’s either real or it isn’t. The majority of people who think it isn’t real, base the assumption on the fact it’s just too convenient for there to be a place you get to go if you do exactly what your particular variant of mythical being wants you to. That’s called a pay-off consideration. The majority of people who think there’s a heaven believe entirely the opposite. If you do what your God wants you to, he has a place where you will be rewarded for eternity for your efforts. That’s a goal consideration.

So which side of the fence do you fall on? asked Natalie.

Tough question. I don’t have any evidence to support the denial of the possibility of a heaven and so I cannot state there isn’t one with emphatic conviction. On the other hand, the existence of a heaven as stated in the religions of the world is all messed up. It’s simply not the right way to think about it.

What do you mean? asked Anthony.

Think about it this way. If there truly was a God, an all-powerful creator of everything, and our souls are simply placed into these earthly bodies whilst we are here, it stands to reason we were with him before he created the universe and whilst there, we would do and enjoy all the things God allows us to.

Many religions already posit that thought.

They do, and I’m not denying it. It therefore stands to reason we spent an almost infinite amount of time with God before he created the Earth. Then, he placed us here, to test whether we should go back, to be with him again. It’s axiomatic the same, almost infinite amount of time is the gift of heaven.

True, but I’m not seeing…

How many gifts do you know that are earned in seconds and are enjoyed forever? For there to be a heaven, it would have to be a gift, potentially of free determination, where it is your wants, not those of your god, which are played out. You would also spend significantly less time there than the time spent earning it, just like an expensive holiday, to make it worth the effort. Does that make sense?

Kind of; go on.

So, if there was a heaven, and I’m not saying there is, but if. This would be it. said Carl, emotively motioning to their glorious scenery. That’s why you never see God or any of his minions here on Earth, and that’s why God seemingly allows horrors to happen. Wars, plagues, fear, pain, anguish, terror, murder, rape, and hatred are all inventions of man, and he alone. God neither involves himself nor helps us, because the Earth is his gift of heaven to us. The time you spend here is your own to do with as you will for your achievements with him, not the other way round.

So, Adam and Eve were the first two people to be granted the gift of heaven? asked Natalie.

If you believe that rubbish, then sure; why not. said Carl, returning his attention to his work.

Anthony chuckled, as he continued to carefully expose another stretch of wall.

Carl knew Anthony was an atheist. His upbringing, so entwined with money, meant he was afforded the kind of intellectual freedom so many were denied. That freedom allowed him to make his own sense of the information he was provided as he matured. Invariably, as he knew all too well, that meant God’s power, and the fear of death enforcing that power, diminished as information was collected. Most of those people who possessed wealth and claimed to be religious did so because it appeased the masses around them, not because of any actual belief. When he lectured on religion, he often pointed to American presidents as examples of people who clearly were not as religious as they made out.

Natalie however, was a catholic. Her childhood environment, raised on a chicken farm in Idaho, meant her community was small and their usual place of meeting was the local church. This sense of belonging to a greater society, beyond the confines of the village, was what bound her to her belief. It also meant she was probably insulted by his comment.

I’m sorry, Natalie. I get carried away sometimes. said Carl, catching himself and attempting to soothe the situation.

Natalie did not respond. She carried on clearing her area without even acknowledging the comment; her feelings clearly hurt. Carl resolved to correct the issue after they finished for the day, even if that meant going back to the cantina for another evening of drinking.

As soon as their work was done, Carl suggested the rendezvous. He even offered to pay for all the drink Natalie could handle. In the end, it was that offer, more than any olive branch, which swayed the deal. After splitting up to shower and change, the group arranged to meet at half seven.

By the time Carl made it to the Muse cantina, the late evening sun was washing the town in the failing vermillion hues of nightfall.

Muse was little more than a well-appointed shed, but it served its purpose well. The bars were possibly the best looked after buildings in the entire town. The through traffic of travellers and holidaymakers, who came to Urubamba before going on to Machu Picchu, meant the sale of alcohol was a profitable endeavour. The bar’s small television showed hijacked satellite TV from all over the world and its beverage selection included Cusquena, one of his favourites. As one of the cheapest places in town, it was usually quite busy. This evening was no different.

After purchasing another round, Carl pushed his way through the array of students crowding its entrance and over to where Natalie and Anthony sat.

As the beers flowed and the night progressed, all thoughts of his rudeness from earlier melted away into their empty glasses. The bar was heaving all the way through the night. By the time the local quiz began, Carl was on his way to the bar for one last round.

As he stood, waiting for the chance to be served, his attention was grabbed by a story on the TV. It was from England. With stark realisation, he looked down at his watch. It was time. He turned, ignoring the calls from the barwoman regarding his order, and walked up to the set so he could hear what was going on.

The CNN report showed the outside of a courthouse and a small podium sat on its steps. The ticker-tape along the bottom of the screen said the verdict in the ‘Three Continent Killer’ case was innocent and they were expecting a statement from the wrongfully accused, Justin McDonald, any moment.

Carl grabbed the beers the barwoman was jabbing him with and tossed her some money to cover costs, without once losing focus on the screen. A few minutes later, in a mirror hung by the side of the TV, he caught a glimpse of an annoyed Natalie and Anthony, making their way across to him.

Have they got football on, or something? asked Anthony, grabbing a beer from Carl’s grasp and looking up at the screen.

You’re watching the news? asked Natalie.

Shhh! said Carl, trying to silence his colleagues. This is my friend.

The Three Continent Killer is a friend of yours!

Shhh! repeated Carl, even louder, as he watched Justin walk to the podium.

His two friends stood silently, as Justin began to address the crowd of people gathered.

It has been a long and fraught journey to reach today. When I first told the authorities I was not involved in what occurred, they did not believe me. I am glad that here, today, I have been given the chance to prove my, and my friend’s innocence in those matters.

In many ways, I am relieved to be able to put the horrible events forced upon us behind me and…

Without warning, a lone, trench-coat wearing figure ran up the steps toward Justin. The crowd around the podium erupted into panic and started to flee, as the figure dove over the stand and tackled Justin, sending them both tumbling back. At almost the same instant, a violent explosion engulfed the area in front of the courthouse and the scene dissolved to static.

Carl’s mind was in shock. He turned away from the screen, his attention momentarily distracted by his reflection in a mirror. It was then he saw the gun held out toward him.

In an instant, he dropped to the floor, reached out, and grabbed the arm of the figure holding the weapon. As he fell, he pulled as hard as he could, and dragged the owner off balance. The figure flew straight into the bar with a resounding crack of their skull and flopped down at his side. Turning, he could see they were wearing a long trench-coat.

What the hell is going on! said Anthony.

Without answering, Carl stood and surveyed the room. He could not see a second gunman anywhere. He looked down at the man by his feet and flipped him onto his back. He was tall, dark haired, muscular and probably Italian in origin. The damage to the left side of his head was extensive and a large cut, potentially a fracture, ran the length of his brow. A small crowd was forming around the fallen man, and he knew he should exit quickly or risk being incarcerated.

As he turned to leave, Natalie grabbed his arm. What the hell is going on?

I don’t have time to explain. You need to stay away from me, both of you. It’s not safe anymore.

Why has someone just blown up your friend? Why has someone just tried to shoot you? asked Anthony.

Let go of my arm. I need to leave Natalie.

And how are you going to get there? I am the only person you know with a car. said Anthony.

Then give me your keys, Anthony. I’ll pay you back.

No dice. You think I like dirt? Given the choice between digging in the sun all day and joining you on the run from the cops, I’ll take my chances with you. If I get in any trouble, my father will clear my name. Hell, he might even see it as an excuse to bring me back home.

These people aren’t playing games Anthony! Give me the keys!

Anthony backed off, held the keys in the air, and smiled, as the sounds of distant sirens wafted into the hushed silence of the bar. You’re running out of time, man.

Carl was out of options. He did not know what was going on, but he needed to find out. You get out at the first sign of danger.

Deal.

That means you’re staying here.

No I’m not. said Natalie. If people come and look for you, it will lead them to me, your friend. I don’t suspect they will be subtle in finding out where you went. The only way to keep myself safe is to stay with you. I have to come along.

With little option and the sirens almost on top of them, he nodded his acceptance and the three headed out of the back door.

As they ran through the narrow streets, Carl’s mind resolved to determine what was going on, before it consumed his new friends in the same way as his old.

Chapter 4

Cardinal Patrick Kilkenny looked out of the marble clad window of the beautiful Santa Maria Maggiore and rubbed a furrowed brow. The sounds of horns, thrown out by the cacophony of motor vehicles crowding through Rome’s busy streets, wafted into the room and did little to soften his mood.

He lounged in his chair, crossing his fingers contemplatively, and thought back to that dreadful day in nineteen seventy eight. The day he, and indeed the entire Vatican, realised the error of allowing themselves to believe they were invulnerable.

He looked down at the newspaper on the desk and shook his head. The headline proved the decision to reignite the war and bring it back into the streets was taken. What he needed to find out now was why. To do that, he had to ensure his people were still in position. He must also make certain they would only react to any situation that arose, and not instigate it. Too much was lost to the effort of containment to allow a breach to occur now. There were no two ways about it. It was time to make a stand.

He grabbed a phone from a marble desk and rang a number he swore he would never use again. After informing the call’s recipient to ensure complete anonymity in their actions, he replaced the receiver and sighed. It was too late to turn back now.

There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state to another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, that we may appreciate the enjoyments of life.

Alexandre Dumas

Transfer Eighteen

22nd March, 1913

Carlton Brown, as he was now known, stumbled down between the rows of houses lining the outskirts of the movie set. He was a fool to imagine they would never trace him here, and his arrogance had cost him dear.

He wiped tears from his eyes with a blood-stained hand, as he staggered on through the night. He valiantly tried to clear the thoughts of his dead wife and child from his mind, as he clutched the invaluable collection of papers to his chest through his jacket.

It was that bundle which led to the terrible sequence of events in his recent life. Ever since the incident in Plumerville, his life was never the same. As soon as the spotlight was gone, the men sat around the table on that fateful night began to die. A horse trampling here, a failed burglary there; one by one they fell, until the one man saved alive was he.

By the time the last man in Plumerville died, shot in the back during a bank robbery, he had changed his name. He moved again, taking his only possession of worth, the documents, with him to the west coast city of Los Angeles to start anew.

He returned to his roots and started a farm. He married within four years, and watched as the arrival of the new cinematographic industry changed the area beyond recognition.

It was one of the many thousands of men who flooded into the area, a young actor who himself changed his name and sought refuge is this vast metropolis, he would now entrust with the next leg of the document’s journey.

The documents were his treasured companion for longer than he could remember. He often added to them, especially with newspaper cuttings highlighting the chain of events leading to the amazing expanse of this great city, and everything he could find on the hands guiding it; just as every other owner once did.

Carlton spent hours reading with great joy the words written in them by some of the greatest men his country had seen. One poem, added to the collection by the great Edgar Allan Poe, was an inspiration in his life, and encouraged his endeavours to continue the compilation.

He looked down at the documents and glanced behind through the dimly lit streets. He must make sure his precious cargo continued on. Perhaps, somewhere in the future, they would find a home with someone capable of using the information they contained to benefit mankind, but for now, they would just have to settle for the only man in the area he trusted.

As he turned another corner and made his way through the ranks of simple apartments the younger actors rented, he reached the door he sought. Being careful not to get any blood on or around the doorframe, he carefully posted the hefty bundle through the letterbox, before continuing down the street.

His heart lifted as he continued to stagger on, his job complete. As he wandered, ignorant to any plan of direction his legs bore, his thoughts drifted to his fallen family. He knew blame would be placed at his door for the killings, but that did not matter. Tears began to flow down his face once more, as he thought about cradling the mangled form of his only child, one last time.

He rounded the corner of one of the town’s many banks and skidded to a halt on the loose surface. There, stood no more than six feet in front, were the four men who killed his family.

You’re a difficult man to pin down, Mister Brown. said the lead man, as the others surrounded him. Unlike your wife.

Go fuck yourself, Morgan! he replied, spitting in the man’s face. There’s nothing more to take from me, so why don’t you just shut the fuck up and get on with it? Maybe my wife noticed something I’ve just seen as well. You’re all mouth and no britches, you cock-sucking fagot!

With a snarl, the men descended on Carlton Brown and began their assault. As the blows landed and took away his life, he drifted away in his mind; certain that, for the moment at least, he was the victor this day.

Chapter 5

As Anthony sped away from the town, Carl sat in the back seat and watched the night sky drift lazily by. Anthony was doing a remarkable job of driving without headlights along the mazy roads winding down toward Cuzco. Even though he repeatedly told Anthony the airport would be crawling with people looking for him, the young man simply continued on, reminding him every time he spoke, he was no ordinary somebody.

Carl’s mind was still spinning. He could not fathom why anyone would kill Justin as soon as he was out of prison. Why not kill him whilst he was locked up? His own attempted murder, if that was what it was going to be, could have taken place at any point, so why leave it to coincide with Justin’s demise? The only thing linking them was Egypt, but why now? He carried no artefacts and Justin was incarcerated. It made no sense.

Soon, the car was pulling up outside the airport. The hour long drive seemingly taking but a few moments to Carl’s beleaguered mind.

We’re here gang.

We’re going to get arrested as soon as we go into the terminal, Anthony. said Carl, refusing to move.

We’re not going into the terminal. I’m Fairbanks family, I don’t fly charter. said Anthony, as he ushered Carl out of the car.

Anthony led them away from the car park and round to the private hanger to one side of the runway. As he approached the perimeter fence, he flipped open a phone and made a brief call. Only a couple of minutes later, two burly men in black suits opened the gate and led them toward a hanger on one edge. As the men escorted them through a locked security door and inside, it was clear the hanger contained just one thing; a sleek, white, private jet.

Is this your father’s? asked Natalie.

No it is not. said Anthony. It was a gift from my mother; my eighteenth birthday present.

You were given a seventy million dollar jet as a birthday gift?

I had an iPhone already and I am capable of buying my own socks. said Anthony, with a smile. Now, if you wouldn’t mind getting on board, we can chat about what we’re going to do next.

Carl had to laugh. Only a man who did not understand the worth of money could possibly be so blasé about owning such an item. It was strange, and slightly disconcerting, one such individual was the heir to largest banking group on the planet. Not that the fact bothered Anthony. Many times, whilst they worked and chatted, the details of his arrangement with his father were brought up. As the days turned to weeks, Carl began to realise Anthony bore no interest in banking. His love was money. He was not sure Anthony’s father would fall for a ruse about wanting to be part of the family business, when it was so easy to see he was only interested in the trappings of wealth accompanying the position.

The three made their way into the plush interior of the plane and sat in the luxurious leather seats.

Carl visited Pers-Air-Nality in Amsterdam once, but even he could tell the difference between the two planes. The plane of his late friend was refined and elegant, a statement of authority and class. This plane was gaudy and draped in the sorts of ridiculous finery the rich employed as a measure of status. It was akin to being trapped in Ivana Trump’s handbag.

Help yourself to anything you want. There’s a galley at the back for food and fridges next to your seats. I’ll go get my security to move my car out of sight of the authorities, and get us prepped for take-off. said Anthony, as he left the plane.

Carl looked round. The events of the last few hours were surreal and he felt an uneasiness beginning to surface he thought long in his past.

Are you ok, Carl? asked Natalie.

Not really. I can’t understand what’s going on. If they wanted us dead, why didn’t they just organise for it to be done straight away? Why wait until now?

Straight away? After what?

Carl realised he had said too much, but it was too late to take the comments back. You would never believe me if I told you.

Try us. said Anthony, joining them and taking a seat.

Ok then. said Carl, realising lies would get him nowhere. About three years ago, I, Justin, and a group of other individuals, were tracked across the planet by mercenaries attempting to recover the Ark of Ra. What you, Natalie, would probably be more familiar with as the Ark of the Covenant. Natalie and Anthony simply gawped their response to the comment. I said you wouldn’t believe me.

You seriously want us to believe, said Anthony, breaking the deadlock, that you were in possession of the Ark of the Covenant.

I never said I was in possession of it. It’s true we carried around the artefacts the Ark contained, but I only ever got to see the Ark for a brief moment before one of our group destroyed it.

You’re being serious? said Natalie.

Completely.

And so what are you doing on a student dig in Peru?

Hiding from the authorities. Justin took the rap for the whole thing whilst I and another… Carl stopped. If he and Justin were targeted, that would mean Louisa was now in mortal danger. I need to use your phone, Anthony. he said, holding out his hand.

What for?

Give me your phone! said Carl, grabbing Anthony by his jacket and wrenching the phone from his pocket with his free hand.

Calm there, man. said Anthony, straightening himself.

Carl typed a reserved number, from memory, and pressed the phone to his ear. The call rang and rang before finally going to voicemail. Hi Sandra, it’s Barry. Just checking in. If you get this message, drop me a line on the work number to let me know you’re ok. When done, he tossed the phone back to Anthony. You should probably destroy that phone and the SIM as soon as you can. They’ll be tracking you on it from now on.

Who the hell is they? said Anthony, as he turned his phone off and put it in one of the plane’s trashcans.

Look guys, Anthony can obviously use his money to protect you, so that’s what you should do. Get back to America and get your father to take the heat off you and Natalie. It is the only way to guarantee your safety. I’m sorry I got you involved in this.

You didn’t. said Natalie. We involved ourselves, remember? And I for one am not giving up that involvement until I know you’re safe.

The woman has a point. said Anthony. My father’s money will go a long way to protecting us.

"You don’t get this, do you? The people who chased us last time only gave up their pursuit because the Ark and the artefacts were destroyed. There wasn’t any point in chasing us further. But these are not the sort of people who baulk at killing. Just about everyone we came in contact with was killed by them. We lost a lot of people along the way