The Prophet: AMC, #2

By Scott Andrews

If you thought disappearing into the Bermuda Triangle was just a myth, think again. But what really happens to the aircraft and ships which disappear under mysterious circumstances? And if all those lost souls could talk and share their secrets, what would they tell us?

In this thrilling follow-up to The Chosen Ones of Callanish, archaeologists Kian Hunter and Alex Pilette are enjoying their new-found fame after discovering a haul of valuable 14th century artifacts. Invited to star in a provocative new marketing campaign being shot in Miami, the pair find themselves thrust into another dangerous adventure when the airplane they are travelling on with a modelling team ends up flying straight into the Bermuda Triangle.

As the aircraft crashes straight into what they believe is the Atlantic Ocean, their journey turns into a fight for survival. But when they swim their way onto an exotic island, they are stunned to find the inhabitants are like no one else they have ever met before. But where, and perhaps more importantly, WHEN have they come from?

The Prophet is an exciting fantasy thriller and the second book in the AMC series. Will the archaeologists and the rest of the team ever find their way back out of the triangle? And as they begin to question everything and trust nothing, what secrets will they discover as they try to make their way home?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Andrews
• Release date: Mar 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781912680863

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

ELLEN MACMILLAN

Ellen Macmillan sat, biting her lip in the extravagant lobby of Miles Casanova’s modeling agency in New York City—recognized as one of the largest and most renowned firms across the globe. If it had been all about looks, Ellen wouldn’t have been nervous. At 17, she stood at 5’10 with long glossy brown hair and an hourglass figure. She had been modeling in Atlanta for less than a year, after which the agency director had sent her impressive portfolio to a professional contact at Casanova.

Apart from the typical headshots, it contained glamour shots in natural and city settings and two stunning body shots which were captured in South Beach, Miami, by Greg Rittson—a sensational photographer who had been on the lookout for rising talent. She smiled at the memory of him, instantly remembering his facial features— his thick black hair, striking smile, and breathtaking eyes. He was around 5’10, and his usual attire consisted of a loose white button-down shirt, black jeans, black leather shoes with a matching belt, and no socks.

Ellen’s director, Steffy Seymour, knew she had talent but shifting from local modeling to the fast lane of global modeling was a massive leap. Nonetheless, she was skeptical about whether Ellen was prepared for the drastic change in lifestyle and working environment. However, money was the driving force that compelled Ellen to give Casanova a try. All Ellen had left in this world was her mother, with who she shared a close bond with ever since her father passed away in a tragic car accident when she was young. A few months ago, Mrs. Macmillan was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, which caused Ellen to shoulder both her mother’s financial and dependency burden. She had concerns about Ellen not being ready for the big time, but finally, let Ellen talk her into allowing her to ship her pictures to Casanova’s world-renowned agency. She was a savant with computer technology but was years away from making enough money to support her mother. After weighing out possible alternatives and receiving the approval from her mother, Ellen was convinced about pursuing the job. Although she preferred to wait another year of seasoning, she believed that if her agent had confidence in her talent, then she should give it a try.

The Casanova Agency had arranged a flight for her to New York and registered her at the Waldorf Astoria. She couldn’t believe the money and wealth that she was suddenly surrounded by. There were telephones in the bathroom, astoundingly prompt services just a call away, and famous people walking through the chandelier lit and leather couched lobby. Taking in her surrounding she knew very well that this job could potentially be her ticket to helping her mother.

Making her way to the room, she noticed the magnificent flowers—huge purple and white orchids which dropped over a crystal vase. Next to the vase lay a bucket of ice-chilled Krug Brut champagne and a gift-wrapped box—attached was a note by Miles Casanova, which read:

Welcome to my city. I hope you feel comfortable in your new environment. Be at my office Tuesday at 10:00 A.M. Please bring your portfolio and make sure to wear your present. – Miles

Ellen was aware of the rumors about Casanova— I mean, who wasn’t? But at this very moment her thoughts were clouded by the heavy scent of orchids making her feel like royalty. He was supposed to be something of a satyr, hungrily choosing partners from among the beautiful young models which passed through his offices, not to forget, he was also ostensibly knowledgeable and well read. She had heard that he self-educated himself in the Caribbean and relocated to New York. Casanova built his agency from bottom-up over 20 years ago but was known to have an unpleasant temper and ruthless business practices, which was evident from his rigorous criteria for selecting a model.

Putting those thoughts side, she tore open the package to reveal a black Armani skirt, alligator belt, pink backless sheer blouse, and Giovanni black pumps. This must have cost a fortune, she thought. She hurriedly took off her sneakers and slipped out of her tight jeans, while grabbing the Armani skirt to try it on. It fit tightly around her thin waist, but she could live with it. No more sweets, she thought. Slipping out of her University of Georgia sweatshirt only to reveal a Victoria’s Secret lace bra underneath that her mother had bought before she left. You ought to leave with something nice, her mother had said, never realizing the wealthy life she would be encountering soon. Ellen slipped the delicate fabric of the blouse over her shoulders and buttoned it up—her bra underneath didn’t look right. Besides, the blouse was backless, so how could she wear anything underneath?

Throughout her modeling career, she had worn revealing clothes, but it was always in a studio or on a runway—basically a private setting. So, wearing a sheer, braless outfit in the streets of New York was something entirely new. A wave of anxiety rushed through her, and she was so close to putting the outfit back but as she was about to, she was hesitant and thought that maybe she was overreacting. A lot of models dress this way, she told herself. They’re just more comfortable with their bodies. This must be what the agent meant by wanting me to get more seasoned.

She reached behind her back to unhook her bra, sliding out of the blouse, and moved towards the front of the grand, gold-trimmed mirror. Her anxiety had resurfaced when she saw that the blouse was completely see-through, revealing her upturned white breasts and rosy, nervous nipples. She immediately slouched on the ginormous bed and began to sob. I am definitely not ready for this, she said to herself. Her mind wandered back to home, her high school friends, homework, and even which boy to dance with at prom. The homesickness made her cry harder. After much contemplation, she picked the phone to tell her agent that she would be coming back. But as her hand brushed the keys, she quickly remembered the sick women laying on the hospital bed, depending on her –wiping her tears on her sweatshirt sleeve, she set the phone back down.

This is for you, Mom. This is for you.

CHAPTER TWO

INTRO TO MILES

The talent scout brought Ellen out of her reverie. Miss Macmillan, Mr. Casanova is ready for you now. Ellen looked up in a daze, pressed the portfolio to her chest, and followed the other woman, nervously returning the receptionist’s encouraging smile as she left.

I’m Chiloe, the woman said dismissively in a strict business tone. Mr. Casanova’s talent scout, fashion consultant, occasional model, and personal assistant. She was stunning; her tight designer suit clung to her long and slim figure—the short skirt showing off her smooth legs and curvaceous figure. Ellen knew she recognized her from a magazine she read recently. She lowered her expensive black glasses from her forehead, and with a questioning expression, she gave Ellen a once-over, inspecting her like merchandise. Giving Ellen a quick smile she led her into the office.

The office was beautiful, to say the least, two walls of windows overlooked Central Park making it look even more spacious. In addition, the office was decorated with what appeared to be valuable relics. From the knowledge she gathered in history class she was able to identify the relics as a Venetian mask, religious scepter, satanic medallion, and a couple of cutlass swords in a display case belonging to the 17 th or 18 th century. She also noticed an odd triangular metallic device that looked like a relic from the past—it was locked in a cabinet behind the desk, along with other ancient looking artifacts. It was evident that Mr. Casanova was a collector of antiquities. Nothing seemed out of place, not even a piece of paper on the black marble desk. His chair was facing the window, but Ellen observed him as he dropped an expensive pen on the black tile floor—picking it up, he began to tap on it, in a deliberate pattern before placing it on his desk. As he turned around, he regarded his pen in total absorption, focusing on it as if it were cursed.

After some time had passed by, Mr. Casanova instructed Ellen to take a seat with a stoic face. Remember to never play poker with him, she thought. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, with a gray-edged black beard; he was tall, well-built, and fashionable in his jet-black suit. Chiloe was seated beside Ellen in a comfortable black leather chair, Hello, Ellen, Mr. Casanova said with an unusual British accent. Have you been enjoying your stay?

She smiled nervously. Yes… you’ve been very kind. Trying to keep the conversation going, she questions, What is that metallic relic in your display case? It looks priceless.

He grinned, and said, Please walk for me across the room, and motioned for Ellen to walk in front of him—completely disregarding Ellen’s pending question.

Ellen knew that he was eager to observe her runway skills; she had been practicing for months and was beginning to feel confident about her grace on stage. She stood up, momentarily forgetting her sheer blouse, and walked crisply across the room. Glancing at Mr. Casanova, Ellen realized that he was staring intently at her breasts as they bounced in rhythm to her swaying hips. Apprehension nudged at her as she quickly remembered his reputation. By then, Casanova had requested her to take her seat. Ellen began feeling like nothing more than a piece of meat. Although she was familiar with the expression cattle call, she never truly understood what it meant—that is until now.

I’m impressed, said Mr. Casanova. Hand me your portfolio.

Ellen complied as she passed her portfolio across the desk. He scrutinized each picture, spending more time observing the photos captured in South Beach by Greg Rittson. As he turned the page of the portfolio, he mimicked aspects of Ellen’s facial expressions, almost exhibiting CCD.

I must say, I am impressed Ms. Macmillan. Why are you interested in modeling?"

People in the business tell me I have ‘the looks,’ Ellen responded confidently—sheepishly adding an almost inaudibly, and… and I really need the money."

Mr. Casanova grinned devilishly at Chiloe.

Would you be interested in shooting pictures for a possible cover and editorial spread for Harper’s Bizarre and Calvin Klein?

Instantaneously, Ellen’s face lit up like a deer caught in a headlight. She knew how much of an impact that would have on her career and her mother’s health. She dismissed the fear from her mind that Calvin Klein made use of erotic photos to sell their products. After debating with the inner voice that told her to refrain from such shoots—she ultimately said, Yes! I’d love to!

Casanova passed the portfolio to Chiloe. This trip will be in 93 days; you are expected to stay here in New York and land some jobs with local photographers before you leave.

Whatever it takes, responds Ellen, with a reaffirming smile. As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted her naïve response.

Casanova spent several minutes providing her with the details of the shoot. Ellen listened attentively as she suddenly felt her body become taut and nervous. Her change in body language didn’t go unnoticed by Casanova; he was able to discern her place in the industry right from when she walked into the office.

"I would like to offer you $150,000 for a 4-month contract. However, you are required to do more than just modeling"

Ellen felt elated and confused simultaneously. What do you mean? she said, her eyes shifting between Casanova and Chiloe in hopes to get some answers, but to her luck, there was no avail.

Casanova opened his desk drawer and signed a check for $150,000. Neatly tearing the slip from the thick company checkbook, he rested the pen on the table and returned the checkbook into the drawer. His eyes meet with Ellen’s in an inexpressive manner as he proceeded by saying, This could be yours, that is if you’re willing to assist me.

Ellen stared at the check, I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean? –her naiveness extremely evident at this point.

Casanova grinned, You know, Ellen, this is a big city; you could use a friend up here, and I could be that friend. He finished his sentence with a wink.

Ellen was taken aback. I won’t do that, she thought. She was unsophisticated, but she was beginning to understand what was happening. Maybe this was a mistake, she said, making her way to retrieve her portfolio.

Before she could reach for her file, Chiloe grabbed her hand; her fingers felt warm and tense around Ellen’s wrist. What about your mother, Ellen? she said innocently. It’s life or death for her now. It was apparent that Chiloe was toying with her only weakness and subtly blackmailing her. The woman had obviously done her homework.

Casanova gently pushed the check across the marble desk with his long fingers. Although it was just another slip of paper, she realized how significant this amount was with each passing minute. The slip of paper seemed to grow immensely large as it came closer, large enough to swallow her up. It had been a full minute since Ellen began staring at the characters on the check—ridiculous possibilities ran through her head, 30- rent checks, 15- insurance payments, possibly cancer treatment. She was cut off from her deep thoughts when she noticed that the check was no longer positioned in front of her. It took her a while to realize that she’d taken the check off the desk and grasped it firmly into her hand.

Her decision came down to her survival instincts and, unfortunately, going against everything she believed in, I will do it.

Casanova smirked, Very well, it is agreed then. He walked over to the large window which overlooked Central Park and was intently gazing at the magnificent view. Ellen placed her check in her portfolio, but her fingers were shaking like a leaf.

As she stood from her seat, Chiloe was standing right in front of her; she slowly began unbuttoning her skirt while also trying to unbuckle her belt. Casanova smiled with a devilish look before interjecting, We would like to get our money’s worth, as he gave Chiloe a nod to continue.

Ellen felt numb; all she wanted to do was run but, instead, dropped her portfolio, surrendering to their offer. As she reminded herself of why she was here to begin with, she stood in her position, horrified as Chiloe gently removed her skirt. Once Ellen’s skirt was off, Chiloe proceeded to move her hand underneath Ellen’s lavender colored Victoria’s Secret thong and lowered them until they were entirely off. Chiloe caressed Ellen’s smooth and softback with both her hands and lips—just on cue, Casanova sauntered up to Ellen and lowered his mouth for a passionate kiss. It was clear that he was enjoying himself by spreading his tongue along her neck; he grabbed the top of Ellen’s blouse aggressively, popping each button off in the process. They rolled across the marble floor with an empty cadence.

As he pulled away from her lips, he looked at Ellen, and she could see the dominance and lust in his eyes. At this point, Ellen stood in her place with her shirt wide open; she was experiencing a range of extreme emotions—she was utterly incognizant, scared, alone, and desperately wanted to go home. Miles effortlessly glided behind her and pressed her body against the window. Although he enjoyed every second of this moment, he knew he had to cut this interaction short, as he had another appointment to be at.

CHAPTER THREE

KIAN AND ALEX

Archeologist of Mysterious Civilizations and Paranormal Activities offices:

As Kian held the phone against the speaker, she pressed the play button on her answering device. Did you hear that, Alex? she asked excitedly into the phone once the message played. Kian struck many as a strawberry blond bombshell, but she never felt anything more than a naïve country girl. On the contrary, Alex was a fiercely intelligent young woman with black hair and light brown skin. Her academic pedigree and feminist upbringing, not to forget severe anxiety, led her to remain hostile and standoffish towards the prospective of any male attention during her first few years in college. However, her experiences during the Callanish expedition had imbued her with both newfound confidence and a sense of self-importance that needed to be vindicated.

When she had returned to the University of Maryland for her last year, it dawned on her that her anxieties concerning being viewed as an object of predatory desire had resulted in her fearing male attention—although she loved to flaunt her looks. Yet, she never thought that she was good looking enough to have magazines and cosmetic companies coming after her with modeling offers— even if she were famous in the archaeological world.

Are they crazy? Alex responded with a large grin. Her white teeth sparkled, Another outlandish offer, just like the last one. We aren’t models! They laughed like giddy schoolgirls, not believing that some of the largest modeling agencies in the country wanted to hire them. Alex was especially thrilled; acting modest was part of her flirtatious charm. Her past of displaying genuine modesty only made it more interesting for her and compelling to others. She wore her raven-black hair long past her shoulders and loved how it contrasted against her creamy brown complexion. It didn’t hurt that she flaunted her magnificent figure with revealing clothing—she had spent part of her money’s share from the Callanish expeditions on a new wardrobe. She enjoyed spending time with Kian because she would receive all the attention from men as Kian was more reserved and quieter. She was more intellectual, while Alex was considered a class flirt, occasionally getting her friend into awkward social situations.

Do you think they are serious? said Alex.

Kian laughed, thinking about how exciting and glamorous it would be, but still questioning whether it would be at all possible. Why? Are you actually interested? she asked.

What the hell!? exclaimed Alex, starting to consider the possibility. We could use a vacation, and the money will go a long way towards our next archeology dig.

CHAPTER FOUR

GREETINGS AND THE SPECIAL GUESTS

Casanova was good with his words; the check had cleared. During the first month, there were two short visits from him and Chiloe. Although she told herself to forget about them, the vivid images of Chiloe stroking her thighs or Casanova on top of her while Chiloe’s hot pink tongue in her mouth seemed to tell her otherwise leaving her repulsed. Thankfully, after those two visits, his interest seemed to decline as he was, obviously, preying on other newer females. Two months had gone by without any extracurricular encounters from Casanova. Her mother was still hospitalized; however, with the $150,000, Ellen was able to provide more effective treatments for her and afford frequent plane tickets to drop by every other weekend.

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Meanwhile, Ellen’s career skyrocketed under Mile’s mentorship. In less than 12 weeks, she was being photographed almost every day, strutting down a catwalk, and was scheduled to be featured on the cover of Cosmopolitan. She was growing up quickly in a city that never sleeps.

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Casanova still took care of Ellen while she stayed at the Waldorf Astoria. She had heard that the General Manager owed Casanova a favor, and that her room was gratis; the thoughts lingered in her head as she wondered: what was the favor?

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In under 90 days, she had shoots with 30 different photographers; they were pleasant and cooperative to work with, for the most part. The shoots took place in various settings which ranged from sitting in a West Side café to holding perfume in a studio all day. However, the shoot she enjoyed the most was for a book by Greg Rittson; he was the photographer with whom she had shot in Miami. The pictures turned out to be very artistic and even included her nude, at times and they strangely made her feel empowered. She had slowly built up her confidence to the point where she was, shooting for European companies and magazines that were somewhat risqué. However, Greg and his crew identifying as gay helped her out, apart from a sweet Miamian man in his twenties named Pedro.

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The big modeling excursion was upon her. Although it didn’t hold much importance in the eyes of most industry veterans, it was especially important for Ellen. There would be five other models, three women and two men, the photographer, a fashion coordinator for Calvin Klein, and a cadre of support staff to look after the makeup, and wardrobe. All of them were expected to fly out in a chartered jet. Ellen was certain that this opportunity could propel her to attain the It girl status.

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Casanova was going on the shoot, too. He was expected to oversee a million-dollar account and superintend two special models that they would be picking up at Reagan Airport in D.C. If it wouldn’t have been for these reasons, Casanova would not have flown along to chaperone his commodities.

Ellen had arrived at Kennedy airport much earlier and wandered back and forth, whilst waiting until her gate opened. Ellen was seated on the noisy private jet; she clutched her purse and a Vogue she purchased at the airport with great strength when it came time to take off. She was dressed in her favorite type of travel clothing which included ripped denim jeans and a white t-shirt.

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She had requested an orange juice from the flight attendant to enjoy