Landslide: Dark of the Moon, New Beginnings, #3

By Philipp J. Kessler

Never a dull moment for Sandra Blackwell and Elaine Franks. Landslide continues their adventures with the unknown. 

Professor Riggs and his team of grad students return from a dig in Peru. They aren't alone. What came back with them? Only Old Man Downing knows the truth and he's not talking.

Riggs and his team join up with Sandra and Elaine to battle this latest development in the college city of Lincoln, NE. Will it result in disaster or can they prevent the ancient gods from wreaking more havoc on their sleepy community?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Saturn Returns Publishing
• Release date: Aug 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781974598199

Philipp J. Kessler

Philipp J. Kessler is a man of many hats.  An accomplished High Priest in the Covenant of Kernunnos Tradition, Phil has been an active practitioner for 25 years and has followed his passion for knowledge by climbing the ivory tower of the written word, from some of the oldest available works to modern, in the moment writings.   This desire for knowledge has led him to change his hat to pursue another passion, which is broadcasting.  He has been co-host of the longest-running pagan radio show, Murphy’s Magic Mess, for 10 years and has been co-host of Pagan-Musings on Blog Talk Radio for 9 and a half years, and co-host of Lavender Hill, a weekly LGBTQIA news show on KZUM public radio for 8 years.   Phil changes his hat and is an editor and the founder of Saturn Returns Publishing. He turns around again, changing his hat as he does, and he is an author of pagan fiction & poetry, with many stories in different genres (from horror to speculative historical fiction) in the works. His first title in the Dark of the Moon, New Beginnings series, Backfire, came out on April 1, 2017, quickly followed by volume two in that series, Waterfall, on May 1. Book two, Landslide, in the series, was released on August 21 of the same year. He’s hard at work on book four, Tornado, and expects to have it out shortly after the first of 2019. Current projects include several anthology projects with Hydra Productions, A Writer For Life, and Stained Glass Publishing, as well as a number under Saturn Returns. He is also engaged in a handful of group-write and co-author projects. At last count, he has 50 projects due out by November 2021. But most of all, he wears the hat of butler to his 3 feline rulers, tending to their every need with utmost devotion. Look forward to much more coming from this energetic and thoughtful author...he will be producing marvelous works as long as the hats hold out...and the cats let him!

Book preview

Lincoln, NE

Holy hell! she screamed from the bed. Her feet up in stirrups and a sheet draped over her knees. She couldn’t see what was going on, but she could feel. Fuuuck! That hurts! she called out into the room full of strangers.

You are doing fine, Lainey, a voice at her head soothed her, hands on either side of her cheeks, stroking her sweaty face and hair. Just breathe. Like we practiced. The voice belonged to her best friend, Sandra.

It’s okay, Miss Franks, the doctor between her legs was saying. You are fully dilated, just push when you feel the contractions and we should have this baby out in no time.

Another wave of pain took her breath away and she pushed down with her abdominal muscles. A wordless scream escaped through her clenched teeth. Sandra was breathing with her, using the lamaze techniques they had gone to class for. The rhythmic breathing was more annoying than beneficial, but she was in too much pain to tell her friend that.

That’s it, Miss Franks, the doctor was saying. One more! I think I can see the head. One more push!

She bore down as the contraction hit her, pushing with all her might. She screamed out as she felt her vagina stretching even further.

There we go, I can see the head. Keep pushing!

Sandra was right there at her head, chanting Push. Push. Push! Elaine was pushing, she wanted to yell that at her friend. But the effort to birth this child was taking the words away from her. She could barely think as wave after wave of agony rippled through her body.

Come on, Miss Franks. PUSH! the doctor encouraged. She did, and a sudden release in the pressure on her vaginal opening was followed by the plop of things she didn’t want to think about hitting the floor. She heard a weak cry that turned into a squall as the baby started to breathe on its own.

Congratulations, the nurse standing next to her said. It’s a boy!

Oh, shit! Elaine screamed again as another wave of pain wracked her body. What the fuck?

The nurse ducked out of sight, taking her baby boy away from her. She couldn’t see what was going on down between her legs, but she knew something wasn’t right. Wave after wave of pain was scorching through her torso. She could feel another contraction coming and couldn’t help but push when it hit.

Nurse! the doctor snapped. Grab some towels. Something is coming.

Yes, doctor, she replied trying to keep her voice calm and neutral.

What the hell is happening, Sandra was snapping at the nurse and the doctor. What is wrong with my friend? The panic in her voice wasn’t helping Elaine at all.

Oh, my! the doctor exclaimed. Looks like you are having twins!

That’s impossible, Sandra was saying as Elaine screamed through another contraction.

Impossible or not, the doctor was trying to calm them both down. She is having a second baby.

Elaine pushed down as yet another wave of pain rippled through her body, she was all screamed out. Just a hoarse breathy screech coming from her throat. She could feel things pushing and stretching down between her legs. It felt different from the first birth. A searing pain ripped through her lower abdomen as she bore down one last time and felt the baby come free from her womb. She passed out before she could her the second child’s cry.

* * *

Elaine groaned and rolled over onto her side. She opened her eyes and saw that she was at home in her own bed. Krikes! Another nightmare!

She stretched and rubbed at her eyes. Not wanting to face the day, she scrunched her eyes shut and buried her head under the blankets. A slight weight pounced on her shoulder and purred in her ear.

Five more minutes, ‘Pheus. The cat ignored her and butted his head against hers. His purr more persistent. Really, baby boy? She asked as she threw back the blankets. What? You hungry?

She rolled to her back and Morpheus climbed up on her stomach, balancing himself between her raised belly and swollen breasts. She stroked his fur and listened to his soothing purr.

That was a freaky ass dream, she whispered to him. He closed his eyes and laid his head down between her breasts. Oh? Is that all you are going to do? A hint of humor in her voice; she scratched between his ears. Fine.

She laid in bed, petting the black cat, trying to figure out her dream. What did it mean?

She knew from experience that dreams meant something. Dreams that woke her up like this one had. It scared her when she came awake, a scream on her lips. She hoped she hadn’t woke Sandra. The last dream that woke her like this was several years ago. She had seen a car careen through the guardrail of a bridge and plummet into a river. Later that morning Sandra called, crying. Her parents had died in a car accident. Their old Buick had slid in a flash flood along the Platte River and they had died

It wasn’t until after the funeral that she was able to tell her best friend about the dream. Instead of getting angry, Sandra took the news stoically. She hid her feelings by asking Elaine for details about the dream. The experience had drawn them closer.

‘Pheus, baby. She said to the cat on her chest. I think I should tell Sandy about this dream. The cat opened his eyes and nudged her nose with his. She rubbed his head again and he crawled off her lap. "But first, I should record this in my journal.

She sat up in bed and reached for her dream journal. She opened it to the marked page and wrote out everything she could remember from the dream. As she wrote the details came back to her. A tear slid down her cheek as she wrote.

* * *

Good morning. Sandra was already dressed and sitting at the kitchen table. A steaming cup of coffee in her hand. Sleep well?

Not really, Elaine admitted as she grabbed a mug from the dish drainer and reached for the coffee pot. Half caff?

Of course.

Ugh, she sighed. I could use the real thing this morning.

No can do, Lainey. Sandra smiled at her friend. Your doctor wants you to cut the caffeine out entirely. You’re blood pressure is swinging up and down.

Having you as my lamaze coach and roommate is not fun. Elaine’s voice was flat, but her lips twitched into a smile.

You’ll live. Her friend quipped.

Not if I have too many more nights like last night. Elaine had fixed her coffee and took a seat at the table.

Tell me, her friend’s eyes were filled with concern.

A nightmare. Elaine wrapped both hands around the mug. Freaky-shit-nightmare.

Want to talk about it?

Yes. And no. She shook her head and stared at the creamy coffee.

Remember those nightmares that come true? she asked.

Like when my parents died? Sandra said, shifting her gaze down to the table.

Exactly. Elaine sighed. The napkins in the holder on the table rustled.

Okay... Sandra was still looking at the table.

I was in labor. A very painful labor. Elaine took a sip of her coffee, building courage to continue.

Labor is painful.  Sandra speculated. She’d not had any personal experience.

I expect it is. She looked up at Sandra. It felt like my insides were tearing me open.

I’ve heard it described that way. Sandra said distractedly. The mention of her parents had hurt. It wasn’t Elaine’s fault. She’d never blamed her. Or the dream.

Are you actually hearing me? Elaine asked her friend. She’d let go of her coffee mug and was watching her friend.

Sorry, she replied. Yes. She took a sip of coffee. I am listening, Lainey.

Elaine sighed again. Talking about these dreams isn’t easy for me, Sandy.

I know, hon. She finally looked at her friend. A tear glistening in her eye. Go on. If I can help, I want to.

I wrote it all down, like I always do. Sandra had given Elaine her first dream journal the Yule after the Blackwells died.

Good. Sandra nodded.

Anyway... I had a baby boy, in the dream. After I heard him cry for the first time everything went weird. She paused, gathering her thoughts. There were more contractions. Not afterbirth pains. Not like our lamaze teacher described. The pain was like another baby coming. Bigger. And something was wrong.

Oh, my Gods, Lainey! That sounds terrible. Sandra didn’t know what else to say.

No shit. She paused again, picked up her coffee without drinking. They wouldn’t let me see my baby boy. They wouldn’t let me see the other baby. It didn’t cry.

Hold up. Sandra put a hand on her friend’s arm. In the dream, the nightmare, you had twins?

That’s what I said. She patted her friend’s hand.

If this is one of your prophetic dreams... Sandra broke off. Can’t be. We’d know by now if she was having twins. Sometimes a dream is just a dream. Or a nightmare.

Sandy, Elaine squeezed her hand. This wasn’t some nightmare that I can shake off. It was too real for that.

But Dr. Becky would have told you if you were having twins. It would have shown up on the ultrasound by now. She couldn’t imagine how twins could happen without seeing them at the obstetrician’s office.

I know. It is scary. Elaine had become a master of understatement since Ugallu had nearly killed them in June.

Shit, Lainey. You should make another appointment with Dr. Becky. Sandra took her hand back and drank some coffee.

I’ve got one tomorrow.

Good. Want me to go with you? She asked, the concern had never left her eyes.

No. Go to work. I’ll be fine. Elaine reassured her friend.

If you say so. Sandra pushed her chair back from the table. Speaking of work, we should both be getting ready.

Nice escape, Elaine said sarcastically under her breath. Sandra had become more focused on work since the school year had started back up. Her own office was getting busier with some new specimens from Peru coming in later in the week.

* * *

Sandra settled in behind the desk in her small office. Her coffee was steaming on the warmer next to a half eaten cranberry muffin. She turned on her computer monitor and waited for the login screen.

She typed in her password and waited for the desktop to load. Computers on campus could be slow. She used to find it annoying, especially when she was running up against a deadline. Over the years she had learned to accept it and use the time to organize her thoughts and prioritize her day.

The machine finally loaded her apps and she accessed her email first. The usual reminders of meetings and updates on projects scrolled across her screen. Near the bottom of the inbox she found what she was looking for. The manifest list for the incoming delivery from the University’s expedition to the Andes.

The estimated delivery date was on Thursday, giving her two days to get the department ready for the large delivery. With student assistants vying for things to do, it would be hectic to parse out the work without leaving someone out. Usually she was lost as to how to get it all done. These deliveries usually arrived during the summer or over the extended winter break.

She scanned through the list of arrivals for Thursday. Some of these finds were unprecedented. How did the University get these out of Peru? She asked herself, scanning further through the list. Do I even want to know?

She scrolled to the bottom of the list and saw that some of the items were being delivered straight to the museum. There was one item’s destination that surprised her. The Downing Building in the middle of downtown Lincoln.

What the hell? She asked out loud. I don’t care how rich they are, all these should come through the University. She opened up a new window in her email and entered her supervisor’s address.

TO: Prof. P. Shaw

FROM: S. Blackwell

Subject: Peruvian artifacts

Peter,

According to the incoming list of artifacts, Item #23q is slated to bypass our cataloging and be delivered to the Downing Building. Can you tell me why the U would approve such a departure from procedure?

Thank you,

Sandra

She pulled the list back up and clicked on the embedded link for item #23q. A small thumbnail image appeared on her screen. It was three views of a silver statue. No indication of size or a label saying what it or who it represented. She continued to click on embedded links looking for other photos that might reveal more about the statue. No luck. She pulled 23q back up and enlarged the thumbnail as far as she could without it getting blurred beyond recognition.

The statue was obviously female, the slit between the legs told her that much. The breasts of the figure were small, the belly flat. The hair was in two braids down the back, joined together with some kind of jewelry piece just above the waist. To Sandra’s eye, the figure appeared to be some kind of an offering piece. It looked like many other offering pieces from Peru and elsewhere in South America. Nothing special about it.

Why are the Downings so interested in this piece? She wondered to herself.

After recent experience with the youngest of the Downing family, she had learned not to trust them. She couldn’t outright accuse them of anything. Who would believe her? Magick wasn’t supposed to exist. Saying that Malcolm Downing, heir to the Downing fortune, was a dark witch who had abused her best friend and then tried to kill them both with a monstrous snake-thing was not something the authorities would accept. If she hadn’t experienced it herself, she wouldn’t believe it.

There was a knock at her door.

Yes? She looked up from her computer.

Sandra, Professor Shaw said from the door. May I come in?

Of course. She smiled at the man. He was in his thirties, handsome in a bookish sort of way. He wore glasses and always seemed to have a pen handy.

Thank you. He walked in and closed the door behind him.

I just sent you an email. Sandra motioned for him to sit down.

I know. He sat. That’s why I am here.

Oh? She was mildly surprised. Shaw rarely came to her over anything, instead he let things go through intra-office mail or for the office manager to relay messages.

Yes. Shaw took a breath and ran his hands through his hair. I wanted to tell you in person about the item you asked me about.

Okay. She eyed him suspiciously. Not only am I confused as to why it would bypass our cataloging. Now I am curious as to why you wanted to talk to me personally about it.

I know, we don’t have meetings like this very often. He avoided her suspicion momentarily.

Try never. She said flatly.

Okay, okay. You got me there. He cleared his throat. This is a delicate situation for the University.

I’m listening... she picked up her coffee and took a sip.

The Downings funded this expedition.

Not unusual. They give the U a lot of money. She held the cup between her hands.

As such, he paused. As such, they put certain stipulations on things.

Now we are getting somewhere. She set the cup back down on the warmer. What kind of stipulations?

Normally I would say none of your business. Shaw was not willing to look her in the eye.

What makes this different? She asked.

I’ve learned over the last few years that you won’t let it drop. He said, still avoiding eye contact.

Peter, she said. What is that supposed to mean?

A simple answer would only make you more curious. He finally looked at her.

And...?

I know you have had dealings with the Downings. He met her eyes, looking for a reaction as he spoke.

Only with Malcolm. She answered, no emotion in her voice.

Anyway... he paused again. I don’t know what happened and I don’t care. I just don’t want you getting involved in this.

You are making this sound very ominous, Peter.

I don’t mean to. He locked his eyes with hers. I just don’t want you doing anything that would jeopardize your position in the department.

Whoa! She exclaimed. That does sound ominous. Just what is going on here?

He glanced over his shoulder making sure the door was closed securely. He leaned in towards Sandra’s desk.

Let’s just say, he paused and lowered his voice further. The Downings might have done an end run around the Peruvian government on some of these items.

Holy shit! She gasped.

Shh! He admonished.

Sorry. She whispered. Are you telling me that 23q was smuggled out?

Not smuggled. Otherwise it wouldn’t be on the manifest.

Then what are you saying? She kept her voice down despite the desire to yell at him.

That the listed item is not what is coming. He answered.

Then what is coming? Sandra sat back in her chair, blowing out a breath.

I’m not sure. He confessed.

Who would know, Peter? She asked, picking up her coffee cup again.

The man in charge of the expedition, perhaps. He replied vaguely.

Oh, right. She sighed heavily. And he’s still in Peru. She set her cup down without taking a drink.

Professor Riggs is supposed to be on the plane with the artifacts. Shaw said.

Really? I thought he was staying through the winter.

Zachariah Downing asked that he return with the findings. Shaw glanced away from Sandra.

And the plot sickens. She shook her head.

I suppose it does. He stood up. Sandra?

Yes? She looked up at him.

Just leave 23q alone. He turned to the door. Please.

I’ll try. She answered.

Lima, Peru

Daniel wrapped his blanket up around the few shards of pottery he was allowed to take for himself. The Peruvian government was letting him take the pottery for one reason only. They were handsomely paid by the Downing Trust. He wasn’t happy that it took bribery, but he was thrilled to be able to have a few shards in his own collection. It may come back to haunt him, but for now he was the proud owner of 15th century artifacts. How he was going to get them through American customs was another matter entirely.

Professor! A young female voice called from the other room.

In here, Abby. He answered, tucking the blanket into the duffle bag.

Oh, there you are! Abby came into the bedroom of the little suite. Are you about ready to head out? She pushed her bottle blonde hair out of her eyes and smiled at the middle aged man.

I suppose so. He sighed and sat on the foot of the bed. All these months. The place was just starting to feel like home.

I know what you mean, she said breathily. She sat next to him, uninvited.

Do you, Abby? He glanced over at her. I wonder...

Wonder what, Professor? She batted her eyes at him.

I wonder if you do know what I mean. He smiled and patted her knee. He stood up and walked around the small bedroom, checking shelves and cupboards.

I don’t get it. She was puzzled.

Not surprised. He grabbed his duffle from the side of the bed. Let’s go.

Abby’s infatuation with him had become bothersome. At first he found it charming, almost sweet. She’d been fun, a great distraction from the loneliness of his life after his wife had left him. His constant absence in his quest for the unknown had caused his wife, Lucille, to ask for a divorce. They’d been married for fifteen years. No children. Just the two of them and his career. She wanted more. She wanted something he couldn’t give her. Himself. Abby didn’t want that. She just wanted his reputation to rub off on her.

The sex was good. As far as that goes. He’d been alone and celibate since the divorce. Abby’s physical attentions were very welcome. But it was not long before he grew tired of her vapid conversation when they were alone.

Abby, He grabbed her attention.

Yes? She said, a smile on her lips.

I wanted you to know something. He sighed.

What’s that, Professor? She insisted on calling him by his title, no matter the context of their conversation.

I’ll be flying back separately from you and the others. He turned to the mirror on the closet door. Not wanting to look at her directly. He pretended to brush some lint from his shirt.

Why? She gasped, the smile gone from her lips. He could see her reflection in the mirror.

Mr. Downing has arranged for a private flight for me. He watched her confusion creep across her face and then turn to anger.

That’s not fair! She insisted.

Might not seem that way to you, Abby. He sighed and turned back to face her. His face was set in a neutral manner. But he paid for this expedition. Who am I to argue with him?

Couldn’t you get me a seat on the plane? She was about to beg. He could hear it in her voice.

No, Abby. He said firmly. You and the others will leave today. I will follow tomorrow on the private plane. No arguments! He could tell that she was about to object. The set of her lips and the anger in her eyes was more than enough to tell him she was not happy.

But, Professor! She did beg. I should be with you. I should be on that plane!

Abby! He raised his voice slightly. Enough. Mr. Downing wants it this way.

Okay, Professor. She said dejectedly.

Good. He came over to her on the foot of the bed. I’m sorry. I know it hurts. But this is the way it has to be, Abby.

Wait? She whispered. Are you ending things between us, too?

I’m afraid so, Abby. He sighed again and dropped his hands to his sides. It has been good. Great, even. Sometimes. But once we are back in Lincoln, we cannot be seen to be romantically involved. It would not be good for either of us.

But! She interrupted him. But, we are so good together.

That’s how you see it. But that is not what the university will see. That is not what the others in the department will see.

Professor! She was nearly in tears. You can’t do this to me. Not here. Not now!

I have done it. He reached a hand out to touch her shoulder. She shrugged it off. The flight home will give you time to think.

I don’t want to think! Not about this! She was crying now. I love you, Daniel.

He froze. That was the first time she had used his name the whole time they had been in Peru. He was confused. He tried to get a look at her eyes. She refused to look at him.

I’m sorry, Abby. He turned away from her again. I care for you. But I do not love you.

She sat there on the foot of the bed for a few minutes. Silent. Not even the ragged sound of her breathing could be heard as she fought with the tears and the sudden emotional slap to the face. Finally, she stood and walked from the bedroom. She paused at the door to the suite before going out and slamming the door behind her.

Riggs sat down on the foot of the bed again. He let his head fall to his chest. He sighed heavily. That’s done. Now she’s safe. I hope.

* * *

Professor Riggs, the voice on the other end of the line was crisp, even through the static of the long distance line. I trust everything is on schedule.

Yes, sir. He replied. Rubbing his free hand across his face. Everything is on schedule, Mr. Downing.

Good, good. And please, we should be on a first name basis by now. Downing’s voice held a hint of humor.

As you say, Zachariah. He sampled the name on his tongue. It didn’t feel right to be calling the man who funded his life’s dream by his first name. He should be in awe of him.

Good, Daniel! Zachariah paused. And the other thing?

Done. Broke her heart. But done. He was clipped with his response to the question about Abby.

Excellent. You will find that it is for the best.

If you say so, sir. He reverted back to formality.

Zachariah, please! The other man chuckled. Trust me. She was more headache than she was worth.

If you say so, he paused and swallowed, Zachariah.

Glad you see it my way, Daniel. You’ll be ready for your flight tomorrow?

Yes. Packed and ready to go. Daniel stood up from his chair and began to pace the small suite.

Wonderful. I’ve booked you a room at the Hilton by the airport. That way you can sleep in a little if you want. Zachariah was lording his power over Riggs.

That’s very kind of you, Zachariah. He paused in his pacing and looked around the small space that had become like a second home to him. Third home might be better. His second home had been dismantled over the weekend as they closed up the dig in the mountains.

Think nothing of it, my good man! Zachariah sounded cheerful. I look forward to your return State side.

Until then, Zachariah. Daniel waited for the other man to hang up before he cradled the phone and fell back into his chair.

Why do I let that man intimidate me so? He asked himself out loud. Is it the money? He shook his head and leaned back into the chair.

Daniel had been gratified that someone took an interest in his research project three years ago. The Downing family was known for their academic charity; donating money to both the university and the attached museum over the years. Zachariah’s sudden interest in Peru was surprising. The family had never funded an expedition before.

He didn’t question the motivation for the funding. He’d been trying to get a grant for several years when suddenly the Downing family took an interest and fully funded the expedition. He was thrilled and jumped at the chance.

The university gave him a sabbatical for as long as the funding held out, being compensated by the Downings during his absence. His dig in Peru was the pinnacle of his academic career. The books to follow would just be icing on the cake.

He was puzzled by the caveat that Zachariah put on the funding. Everything would be paid for, but he wanted a certain piece for himself. If it was found.

Legend and myth had it that a particular idol, sacred to the Inca, was hidden deep in the rainforests between Machu Picchu and Cusco. That was where Daniel wanted to explore. As soon as Zachariah Downing learned of that, the money appeared for the expedition.

Daniel was allowed to assemble a team on his own. He chose his student assistant, Abby Williams, as part of the team. A mistake waiting to happen. He also included five others from his graduate program. Added bonus for the grad students, the Downing family was going to finish paying for their degrees.

Everything went smoothly, almost too smoothly. Daniel was used to hiccups and having to haggle with the government during digs. Cultural sites were often plagued with protests and even ambushes from the locals. None of that happened with his Peruvian dig. It was as if someone had cleared the way for him and his team. The Cultural Attache for the Peruvian government had handed over the appropriate paperwork, waited for him to sign, and was gone. No more dealings with him until they were wrapping everything up.

Not even an argument from the Attache’s office over the artifacts that were being taken to the States. Daniel had carefully chosen pieces that sampled the dig well, without taking items of cultural significance out of Peru. He wanted to leave the Incan civilization as intact as possible for the coming generations and still share that culture and civilization with the rest of the world.

The most valuable pieces were remaining in Peru, for now. Arrangements had already been made for a short exhibition at many of the Midwestern museums and a short stay in both New York and Los Angeles. Many of the pieces going to UNL would eventually be returned to Peru. A few pieces would remain in the Downing collection on permanent loan from Peru. And of course, the few pieces of pottery Daniel had secreted away in his duffle. The Peruvian Cultural Attache didn’t even know about those pieces. Daniel hoped that it would remain that way. He’d make preparations in his will for the pieces to be returned to Lima upon event of his death.

Zachariah wanted one particular piece, if it was found. Keeping the Attache out of the loop when it was discovered was not easy. Even though he had remained off site for the majority of the dig, Daniel and his team still had to report their findings. As chance would have it, he and Abby were the only ones that knew about that find.

He didn’t understand how a small idol, no more than six inches long, could be so important to the Downings. The mask on the other hand, he didn’t even want to know. It wasn’t his place to understand. They funded the dig, they got what they wanted. An unfortunate truth in archaeology, even in the 21st century. Those with the money pretty much got whatever they wanted. If it had been a government grant and partnership with the universidad de Lima, Zachariah wouldn’t have been able to get away with as much.

* * *

A buzz from the room phone woke him from his reverie.

Hello? He asked into the speaker of the phone as he answered.

Profesor Riggs, a heavily accented male voice came through the receiver. Your car is here. Will you be checking out, sir?

Um, yes. He had briefly forgotten that he was leaving his small hotel on the outskirts of Lima. Zachariah Downing had arranged for a room at the Hilton near the airport for his last night in the city. Thank you. I will be right down.

He hung up the phone and grabbed his duffle bag and computer case. He’d learned to pack light for digs. His tools and other equipment would be returning on the same flight as his team. His duffle contained all he needed for the night and the next day. A change of clothes, toiletries, and other necessities.

He took the stairs to the lobby, the elevator had been out of service the entire time he’d bunked in the small hotel. He arrived on the ground floor without needing to catch his breath. His three years in Peru had improved his health and given him a fitter body.

My key. He handed his room key to the front desk assistant.

Gracias, senor Riggs. The woman behind the desk accepted the key. She pronounced his name with a long e sound instead of the short i he would be hearing upon his return to the States. Your rooms have been paid for, senor.

Yes, thank you. He was still surprised that he didn’t have to provide a credit card or cash for anything during his stays in the city. The Downings had taken care of everything for him and his team.

He turned from the desk and walked out through the lobby door. A shiny black sedan was waiting for him, the driver at the rear passenger door with a sign that read Profesor Riggs in his hands.

Daniel approached the sedan and the man opened the door for him, he didn’t ask to confirm it was Riggs. Downing must have given him my picture, he mused to himself. He slid his duffle and computer bag along the backseat as he climbed in. The driver closed the door on him.

Gracias, senor. Daniel said to the driver as he hopped into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb.

Da nada. The driver replied. He drove the sedan onto the street and headed towards the airport.

Daniel was not a fan of small talk and appreciated the driver kept his thoughts to himself. They seemed to be making good time, he could see planes circling overhead and assumed they were getting close to their destination.

The driver made a right turn and the circling planes began to grow more distant.

Excuse me. Daniel said. Where are we going?

To your hotel, senor. The driver replied.

Daniel heard a loud click and looked at the backseat doors. They were locked. He swallowed his panic.

Why are the doors locked? He asked the driver, leaning forward in the seat.

Safety. Not a safe part of Lima. The man replied.

This doesn’t seem to be the way to the airport. He protested.

A... how do you say... desvío... eh... detour. The man glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

The driver’s broken English didn’t make him feel any better. If something was happening, he wanted to know. And understand.

If you say so... Daniel was not at all convinced. He ran the events of the morning through his head on fast forward. He realized that the driver hadn’t confirmed who he was. He’d brushed it off as Downing having provided a photograph. The driver hadn’t said anything to him of consequence since he climbed into the sedan. Something didn’t feel right to him.

He waited for them to come to a stop and tried to open the door. He couldn’t get the lock to budge. He tried the other door, no luck there either.

Hey! He raised his voice. What’s the deal here? He tried the doors again. What’s going on?

The driver ignored him and continued to drive through the busy streets of Lima. Daniel tried the windows. They wouldn’t roll down. He tried getting the attention of other drivers or pedestrians on