Astarte Rising

By Greg Thomas

The strangest rescue mission of all time.

Harry Bonneville is a private detective who suffers from recurring dreams. He has no idea that he is being summoned by the ancient goddess Astarte, imprisoned 2000 years in the past.

When he’s drawn into the plans of the mysterious, ultra-secretive Foundation, they project him, together with his friend the infrasound-mapping pioneer, Professor Rowan Forrest and the brilliant Dr Rosa Almeida, back in time to rescue a missing American Agent and a fragment of something called the Time Faeder.

They struggle to survive and achieve their goals in the midst of a landscape that is beginning to witness the terrifying return of forgotten gods and their followers.

Blending time travel fantasy with humour, but still delivering a punch, there are colourful characters to meet – some human – and others unforgettably supernatural.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Thomas
• Release date: May 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311445421

Greg Thomas

Greg Thomas has been a developer, technical lead, architect, product manager, project lead, program manager and vice-president. He has worked with software and teams for the last nine years and continues to ship code as often as he can.To keep in touch, read and listen to more of Greg's work go to www.codeyourwayup.com or email directly at [e-mail].

Book preview

Astarte Rising

Greg Thomas

Copyright

 Smashwords Edition.

Text Copyright © Gregory Thomas 2015

Cover image Copyright © Shutterstock

Published by Gregory Thomas 2015, United Kingdom

All Rights Reserved

 This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, organisations, businesses or locations are purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Dedication

To Yvonne, family, friends and Wagners everywhere.

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Chapter 1

The raven tapped its beak against the window, causing Frau Schalke to look up from her packing.

Come with me, she said. But the raven turned its head away. Its home was here in the Black Mountains in Wales, where Frau Schalke had spent the last eighteen years, waiting for the news that she’d hoped would never come. But on a grey December morning when the low clouds brushed the roof of her solitary cottage, she’d learned of the death of one of her oldest friends, the Western Valkyrie. Fate had decreed that it was now her turn to take on the role of bringing solace to the living and the dead, so she made the journey to London and re-opened the large but empty Victorian house in Falshaw Street where she would play her part in the oncoming storm.

Years later, on the eve of his 27th birthday, Harry Bonneville woke from a recurring dream in his room at the re-named Ceridwen Hotel, now owned by Frau Schalke. The dream was always the same: a sensation of falling into a grey mist, with the knowledge that someone he knew – a woman – needed help.

He didn’t need an analyst to tell him what lay behind the dreams, but what puzzled him was the growing sense of urgency that accompanied them, for the life of his sister had been taken years ago, leaving his heartbroken parents to mourn, and filling him with a burning desire to find the killer. The police had tried, and tried hard, to get justice for the family, but promising lines of enquiry always turned into dead ends, and the young Harry had become determined to solve the case himself when he was old enough.

He’d gained his Masters in Psychology and worked a few jobs, saving enough money to elevate his personal need to find the truth into a career by starting his own private detective agency, specialising in cold cases that others were reluctant to handle.

With his recurring dream fading back into memory, he started to think about his plans for the day. He’d spend the morning researching a case, and later, he’d be going into London to meet up for coffee with an enchanting woman he’d initially met online. She’d seen his agency’s website and was intrigued to find out more about the man behind it. Today would be their third meeting and he was pleased that their friendship was developing into something more. While he thought that she was probably the most attractive woman he’d ever met, he wasn’t sure what she saw in him, apart from satisfying her curiosity. He needn’t have worried though, as he wasn’t bad-looking himself, and his six foot tall, well-developed frame combined easily with his striking grey eyes and dark hair to give him a physical presence, kept in shape by regular visits to the gym. During their conversations it had quickly emerged that they both had a fascination with unsolved and unusual crimes, and Harry was looking forward to meeting her again.

He heard a familiar muffled thump coming from outside his room. It would be Wagner, Frau Schalke’s friendly old dog, who was in the habit of wandering up the stairs of the hotel every morning to sigh loudly and lean heavily against his door. The old dog had taken to him and, in turn, Harry had developed a soft spot for the animal and always sneaked him a bit of breakfast when Frau Schalke wasn’t watching. Harry suspected that there was something exceptional about the owner of the old dog, but it would be a long time before he knew the truth, and all that mattered to him at the moment was that she provided a decent, inexpensive place to live, where the unusual guests mostly kept themselves to themselves.

Now that Wagner had made it abundantly clear that he was ready for food, Harry quickly threw on his old grey shirt and blue jeans and opened his door, leaning down to pat him affectionately on the head before walking down one flight of stairs to the Professor’s room. He stopped to give the door a couple of gentle knocks. After a moment, his friend’s tired-looking face appeared. Harry knew that he’d been troubled recently and hadn’t been sleeping too well.

Are you joining us for breakfast, Professor?

Us? Oh, I see. Wagner’s large head peered out from where he was sitting behind Harry, and Prof continued I see you have your admirer with you, before briefly disappearing to retrieve his favourite brown jacket. Wagner led the way down to the ground floor, where he knew that their food would be waiting.

As they walked, Harry thought back to the day when the tall Professor had first moved in to the hotel. He’d said it was ideally placed for the commute to London Balfour University, but he hadn’t mentioned that he’d needed a new place to live after the breakup of his marriage. This was typical of Professor Forrest, who was essentially a kind and private man, now in his late fifties. He always came across as awkward at first, but quickly became more at ease once he got to know the people he was with. His sharp mind and endless curiosity could have taken him far in almost any field of research, but the Welsh academic had chosen acoustics and had loved almost all of his successful career, which had taken him all over the world.

The empty dining room welcomed its first guests of the day with the warm, aromatic embrace of freshly cooked food. It was relatively spacious and allowed seven sets of heavy oak tables and chairs to be accommodated easily, but there was seldom any need for the extra seating, as the hotel was never full. This morning, the long wooden counter boasted the appearance of Frau Schalke’s almost legendary version of the traditional Bavarian sausage. The Professor had once joked that it was so dense that it could be thrown through a brick wall if hurled with sufficient force, but no one had tried it, as they didn’t want to risk being on the wrong side of the formidable woman with a Germanic accent who wore her long blonde hair in braids.

 Guten Morgen, dear Harry, dear Professor, said Frau Schalke, who’d retained her strong accent despite the years she’d spent living firstly in Wales and then London. I hope you weren’t troubled by our night-time visitors? I had to insist that they move on.

They shook their heads, No, Frau Schalke, we didn’t hear anything, said Harry.

There wasn’t any trouble, was there? asked the Professor, concerned about Frau Schalke’s safety.

Nothing I couldn’t deal with, thank you.

If there’s ever anything we can do to help, just give us a call, offered Harry.

That’s very kind of you, but there wasn’t anything you could have done. They wouldn’t have listened to you. She thought back to the restless souls she’d had to despatch swiftly. I’ve had years of training and been well prepared.

And there’s always the Neighbourhood Watch, Harry persisted, trying to be helpful.

I’ll keep them in mind, thank you.

She placed a thick, dark sausage on each of their plates: it looked more like an old police truncheon than something you’d have for breakfast.

To set you up for your journey.

Our journey, Frau Schalke? asked the Professor, surprised.

She looked at them thoughtfully and said I’m sure you said you had a long journey planned for today.

They looked puzzled, and Prof said, I’m going to the university as usual, and I was thinking of asking Harry to visit the lab to have a look around.

There! said Frau Schalke, quickly. That must be it. And I’m sure he’ll have a good time. Well, enjoy your breakfast. And with that settled, she wandered into the kitchen to prepare food for other guests.

What’s this I hear about a visit to your lab, Rowan? asked Harry, contemplating where to make the first incision into the compacted tube-shaped breakfast.

The Professor couldn’t reply, as his mouth was already full, and held up a wait-a-moment hand as Wagner, padded up to Harry and dropped something in his lap, looking up at him expectantly.

Harry picked up the carved wooden raven and placed it on the table. The dog continued to look at him until he sliced a generous helping of sausage and offered it towards Wagner’s cavernous mouth. It was taken so slowly and gently from his fingers that it felt like it hadn’t gone at all, despite its weight. Wagner moved away with a surprising turn of speed when he heard his name called from the kitchen.

Harry looked at the raven and absent-mindedly picked it back up. It was jet black and stood around three inches tall. The dark eyes sparkled as he turned it in his hand, and just for a second he formed the impression that it had winked at him.

Ariel, Frau Schalke’s ancient cat, who had now joined them in the dining room in the hope of acquiring a little extra food of her own, looked steadily at Harry before disappearing to find her owner, who returned almost immediately and retrieved the carved figure. I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t realise Wagner had taken this from my room. He doesn’t normally do that. I think he’s telling you to be very careful.

Well that’s very kind of him, Frau Schalke, but there’s really no need. Apart from a tour of the Professor’s lab, and a coffee date in town later, I don’t have a great deal planned for today.

She nodded and looked around for Wagner, to fix him with a stare, but, wisely, he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, Harry, but just be a little more careful. And with that she returned the raven to its former position on the window sill in her room.

Strange, said Harry with a smile. I knew she could be a little eccentric, but mysterious breakfast-time warnings are taking things a little too far.

She’s harmless, Harry, and means well, the Professor responded, before glancing towards the door, to ensure that no one could overhear their conversation. Satisfied that they were currently on their own, he opened up. Harry, I need to talk to you about a couple of problems.

Ok, Rowan, let’s talk.

Last week I found out I have a great deal of money.

Oh, said Harry, who didn’t regard this as a problem. He thought about the state of his own bank account, which was suffering, as even though his clients were grateful for the work he did, many of them simply couldn’t afford to pay him very well, and his ongoing investigation into the death of his sister had taken a great deal of both time and resources over the years.

His friend continued: I don’t know where the money came from. All I can find out is that it originates from an account in London. I’ve asked my bank several times to give me more details but they either can’t or won’t give me any more information.

Harry thought the unexpected news over. He knew that the Professor wouldn’t be involved in anything shady, but that still left a large and unexplained sum of money sitting in his bank account.

The silence was broken by the familiar sound of Frau Schalke starting to work on her set of long stainless steel kitchen knives. She used a natural whetstone and had a habit of keeping the blades razor sharp, which was curious, as Harry had never seen her using them.

I’ve got another problem, said Prof quietly, and Harry could see he was struggling to make up his mind whether to continue or not.

Rowan, we’ve known each other for a couple of years now, and if you want my help with something, you only have to ask.

My work at the university has become somewhat controversial.

Harry looked surprised I thought you worked in acoustics. How can that be controversial?

When the Ministry of Defence and my own university insist I withdraw my research.

Harry frowned. Maybe there was something more to acoustics than he’d thought. OK, can you explain a little more about what you do?

Prof pushed his plate aside and leaned forward, I’ve been creating sound maps of the city. It started as a project to monitor the environment for damaging levels of sound, and together with my new colleague, we developed and refined equipment to create real-time maps.

The Professor looked up when he heard other guests nearing the dining room. The sound of steel being sharpened in the kitchen ground to a halt.

C’mon Prof, said Harry, getting to his feet. His friend was obviously uncomfortable talking about his work around other people and needed some privacy. Let our fellow guests enjoy their breakfast while we continue our chat upstairs.

Harry recognised one of them – he’d seen the young, dark-haired woman at the hotel a couple of times before. He didn’t know much about her, only that she was a bit of an oddball, her name was Maria and she claimed to be a witch, but he didn’t recognise her companion, a serious-looking man in his early twenties.

 They exchanged a brief good morning as they passed each other, and Harry and Prof walked slowly back up to the second floor. They stepped inside the Professor’s room and he relaxed again now that he felt they could talk privately. He’d arranged the room exactly as he wanted it – lined with bookcases – and piled high on the wooden desk were various parts of dismantled electronic equipment.

 I’m just curious about how things work, Prof had explained the first time he’d invited Harry into his room a couple of years ago. Nothing seemed to have changed since then, although the pile of components had become smaller as the relentless drive to miniaturise almost everything had found a more-than-willing partner in electronics.

Professor Forrest walked over to the window and Harry couldn’t help but think that his unhappy friend seemed way out of his depth, and so now that he was finally willing to talk about his problems, Harry resolved to help out in whatever way he could.

Why don’t you come and have a look around the research centre this afternoon, Harry? You’ll get a better understanding of my work and meet my Brazilian research colleague, Dr Rosa Almeida. She’s helped me to get quite a breakthrough with those sound maps I was telling you about.

Harry thought quickly. If he spent a few hours working on his current case, he’d still have time to visit the lab and find out a little more about the Professor’s apparently controversial research, and then meet his new girlfriend for coffee afterwards. The day would work out just fine, he thought, but he was very much mistaken.

Oh, I’ll be there, said Harry I wouldn’t miss a tour of your lab for the world.

Chapter 2

Harry’s new investigation concerned the disappearance of a young tour guide who’d gone missing over five years ago. Her parents had been distraught, and had travelled over to London from their home in Prague to try and find out what had happened to their daughter. But the case had failed to receive the oxygen of media attention, becoming buried under the blanket coverage given to revelations about a fallen pillar of the British establishment.

The police had run an efficient investigation, but with no witnesses coming forward, and no evidence of a crime, the case was closed. Five years to the day after the woman went missing, Harry had been contacted by her sister, who refused to believe that she’d seen the last of her sibling. The family had made enquiries and someone had given them his name. They couldn’t pay him very much money, she said, but had heard that Harry would do the best he could to find the truth.

After working through the morning, studying copies of old letters and emails, plus photographs taken from her many tours that the family had sent to him, he still couldn’t find the way in, the new perspective that would be needed to get a breakthrough.

Taking care to save the documents securely on his computer, he took his black jacket and set off for the university to keep his appointment with Professor Forrest, pausing to pat Wagner affectionately on the head as he left the hotel. Even though the cold wind held a cutting edge, he still enjoyed the short journey to the tube station where he melted into the anonymity of the crowded train. The walk had refreshed him, and he found himself looking forward to unravelling the problems distressing the Professor. It shouldn’t be too difficult to trace where the money had originated from, but anything involving the MoD was naturally a cause for concern.

Thirty minutes later he was standing at the entrance to London Balfour University, where Professor Forrest had suggested his colleague, Dr Rosa Almeida, would meet him and take him to the acoustic lab. He’d planned to meet Harry himself but had called to explain that the Dean had summoned him to a meeting with very short notice. Harry was perfectly happy with this new arrangement because Rosa’s richly accented voice was as beautiful as the elegant researcher from Rio de Janeiro herself, and Harry couldn’t help admiring the intricately woven beads in her long hair, which swayed gently with the rhythm of her steps.

 She explained a little more about their work while they walked towards a small grey building on the outskirts of the campus. She shivered a little in the cold, as she was still struggling to adjust to Britain’s weather.

He’s such a brilliant man, Rosa continued, and Harry could hear the genuine affection and admiration in her voice. But the university has been putting him under a lot of pressure to retract claims he’s made regarding our research. They passed a large rectangular pond set into the flagstones and both watched as the smaller fish darted for cover, leaving the larger koi to slide gracefully under the aquatic vegetation partly covering the surface. The gentle ripples briefly distorted the reflections of clouds and buildings.

He did say the research was controversial.

I’m sorry to say, Harry, that it’s less controversial and more just plain wrong. It’s partly my fault, as I wrote the software to analyse the sound waves, and I must have made a mistake.

I’m just amazed you created a map with sound.

It wasn’t so difficult, Rosa said, deflecting the compliment, we simply placed a network of sound detectors not just in our lab, but also around the campus and even into the streets surrounding the university. We found that if we used my new software to analyse the data from the network, then we could use sound as a tool for mapping the environment. We’re only copying what creatures like dolphins and bats do all the time – using sound waves to work out what’s around them and hunt their prey. And don’t forget, people have used Sonar to create maps of the sea floor for decades. So there’s nothing controversial about our work with sound. But, the real problems began when Prof focused on subsonic or infrasound frequencies – those that are too low for the human ear to detect but are still around us all the time. We’d found it allowed us to develop more accurate maps with greater range, but in one of our experiments he insisted that we’d tracked a large object moving from the direction of the River Thames and across our campus.

What was it? Harry asked, pleased to be making some progress already.

Rosa shook her head and said That’s just it, Harry. There was nothing there. There has to be a problem with my software.

But Prof thinks that you really found something?

Yes. It’s caused a lot of damage to his reputation, and to be honest, it’s damaging the credibility of the department.

Well, he’s no fool. He must have some proof that it happened. Is there any CCTV evidence?

No, Harry. It’s good of you to try and help your friend, but there’s no evidence: only my analysis of the infrasound, and I know that has to be wrong.

Harry thought about this latest development. If his friend was starting to chase invisible objects, then that would explain why his claims were being attacked, but not the interest from the MoD.

Despite the serious nature of their conversation, he was enjoying the company of Dr Almeida, and she’d already given him valuable information about their work in only the few minutes it had taken to walk from the university entrance to the acoustic lab where Professor Forrest would be joining them later.

After she’d used her ID card to swipe them through the insulated doors to the lab, Harry found himself in a large square room with wedge-shaped projections on the walls and a solid-looking box in the middle of the floor. A closer inspection revealed that it contained five blades of a fan.

That’s what we’ve been using to generate our controllable infrasound. It’s a rotary subwoofer, said Dr Almeida, and it’s portable!

Harry wasn’t quite sure how to react to this information.

She explained a little more.

With a compact and reliable source of controllable infrasound we could measure the strength of the sound waves at different locations, and apply my new algorithms to create our map.

Harry found himself nodding along with her explanation and was pleased to think that he was beginning to follow what was going on, although there was no explanation as yet for Prof’s controversial claims about detecting an object.

The door opened behind them and his friend stepped into the lab.

Hi Prof, said Harry. He noticed that his friend was looking even more worried than earlier.

How was the meeting with the Dean? Rosa asked.

It didn’t go too well, to be honest. Our research budget is going to be cut. He didn’t exactly accuse me of making things up, but he came close to it.

He was obviously upset, but forced a smile.

Now, Harry, has Rosa answered your questions? I told her there might be quite a few.

She’s been very helpful thanks, Prof, answered Harry. This lab certainly looks unusual, to say the least, but Rosa’s explained about your research – not in detail, thankfully, but well enough for me to get a basic understanding of what’s going on.

So what do you need Harry to look into, Professor? Rosa had no desire to be kept in the dark about any problems or developments with the research, or, for that matter, the Professor’s involvement with it. Her own career could well be in jeopardy if the department was losing both credibility and money.

He didn’t reply immediately, as her direct question had touched a nerve and he felt defensive. But he’d grown to trust his younger colleague and he really needed her help to understand why he was coming under so much pressure to withdraw what he believed to be perfectly good research.

Rosa, now that I’ve invited Harry to the lab to help me with a couple of problems, I’d be grateful for your help too.

Of course, she said, pleased to be involved and able to help