Treasure for Terror: The 1st Doctor Mike Masters Adventure

By Robert Harbour

A brilliant young British archaeologist. A world renowned Professor. A beautiful girl intent on revenge. The stunning backdrop of the Cornish Coast. A violent encounter with a group of ruthless international terrorists finds the three of them being recruited by a mysterious bystander who is the head of a shadowy arm of the Br

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Whittle
• Release date: Jun 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781916596474

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Mike Masters was as tough and as streetwise as they come.  He studied under the tutelage of the world renowned Belgian archaeologist, Professor Pierre Russolt.  A world authority on the subject in its many strands and spheres.  What Professor Russolt did not know about archaeology simply was not worth knowing.  The pair went on many excavations, expeditions, you may even call them as adventures.  Naturally, Mike Masters had to use his many skills to get the pair out of trouble and some very tight scrapes.

After excelling at sport in school and college, and possessing a great mind, the world was naturally his oyster.  He already had a very keen interest in history, not to mention a passion for archaeology, which was what he intended to do in his future career.  After obtaining numerous A stars at GCSE level, this continued in college with further A stars in English Language, English Literature, Mathematics, History & RE.  The fact was that Mike Masters did not want to be part of the 'OXBRIDGE SET' despite pleas from both Oxford & Cambridge for him to be their star student.  It was all about the reputation of those 'elite' universities, rather than his future career.

A chance meeting with Professor Pierre Russolt changed everything.  He was offered a place at a little known university in West Wales.  By the time he was 25, Mike Masters had become a Doctor in Archaeology.  He had just hit 30 years of age…..

CHAPTER ONE

RETURN TO ROCKY COVE

It was June.  Mike had suggested to Pierre that they needed a well earned rest.  If you studied Doctor Mike Masters, you would find a man who was incredibly good looking, healthy, muscular, but very calm, quiet & extremely self affacing.  In many ways he was the perfect gent, but did not flaunt it.  The extreme self confidence was often masked by doing the right thing, not to mention that if you were backed into a corner there would be no man on earth who could get you out of a dangerous situation or a serious predicament.  Some mistook his laconic nature as some kind of devout arrogance.

He had contacted Pierre that morning.

Pierre.  I have a suggestion.

He spoke with a strong but clear Lancastrian twang.  Sometimes, Professor Russolt got decidedly uncomfortable regarding Mike's 'suggestions.'

Whether it was thirty below in Alaska or the intense heat of the Sahara, or the sweltering temperatures of the Amazonian Rainforests, something usually happened to them, mainly through bad luck, unreasonable people or merely a pretty young damsel in distress.

A suggestion, Michael?

There was the slightest of a Belgian accent when Pierre Russolt talked.

Yes.  A short time away, recharge the batteries.

What I see is a whole lot of trouble, Michael.

Mike gave an insignificant chuckle.

Really Pierre, it will be very peaceful, extremely quiet & totally trouble free.

Where are you planning on going?

Cornwall.

Rocky Cove?

Mike nodded agreeably.

Honestly Pierre, we will have a great time.  We need the break.

The Belgian pondered deeply.  Finally, he relented.

Okay Michael.  NO TROUBLE.  NO PROBLEMS & NO DAMSELS IN DISTRESS.

Mike smiled wryly.

I wouldn't dream of it.

CHAPTER TWO

HAMBURG

In a darkened corner of the dockland area in Hamburg, a meeting had been arranged.  It was all very hush hush, you could say it was undoubtedly pretty much smoke and a whole set of mirrors.  The meeting was spoken in German.

This meeting was ill advised.

The person in question spoke fluent German.

Why did you sanction this?

There was complete and attentive silence.

If they find out that I am still at large there will be severe repercussions, for all of us.

He was handed a small, hand written note.  The note was studied intently.  It read:

'I know who you are, all of you.  You will pay dearly for your crimes.  Those deaths will be avenged lethally and without fear.  I suggest a meeting in a few days' time.  Here are the details of when and where. K.'

The deep, painful frown of his face was recognised by all those present.

Can someone explain to me about this?  And who is this 'K'?

There was no response.  Nothing.

You were all very sloppy.  Your incompetence will ruin all of what we have achieved.  I can promise you this, if I go down, we all go down.  I cannot be identified.  If they find out my role I will be viewed as a war criminal.  Sort out transportation, and do it quickly and quietly.  Furthermore, you need to guarantee silence.

Once the meeting had concluded and the shadowy group had disappeared, just the one individual remained.  This time he spoke in perfectly clear English.

It is your employer.  We have a problem that needs dealing with.  You must liaise with the group up to its conclusion.  I trust you will succeed.

CHAPTER THREE

PORT TREGORRAN

The quaint seaside village of Port Tregorran was situated on the south coast of Cornwall.  In essence, it was two villages in one.  There was a heavy reliance on fishing, yet in modern times everything revolved around tourism.  Mike Masters knew the place extremely well, following long summer holidays staying in the village.  To him it was like paradise.  It was decided that he would drive there.  After negotiating the heavy hustle and bustle of London, a pleasant drive south west was there to look forward to.  Through Hampshire, Dorset, Somerset, Devon & part of Cornwall.  In the late afternoon, Mike & Pierre arrived in Port Tregorran.  The vast expanse of the clear blue crystal sea as the car descended down a steep hairpin bend was a feast to the eyes.

We have arrived, Pierre.

The Belgian archaeologist nodded.

Where are we staying?

The Eddystone Inn, almost there.

Mike pulled into the small gravelled car park.  Pierre surveyed the area.

I must say, Michael, a very good choice.

It was part of my life for so many years.

There was a glint of sadness in his eyes.

I can see why, enthused Pierre.  I do hope the fishing excels as well.

Pierre Russolt was a very keen sea fisherman.  The one interest where he could be left alone to reflect and engage with the ocean.

A young female voice talked on the telephone.

I have set it up.  You owe me.  If you want those responsible then I expect some kind of, what is the word, reward…..

There was a brief pause.

Yes.  On the 18th.  A few days from now.  This is beyond massive.  This is your glorious moment.  Indeed.  On the Cornish coast.  The very same names that we talked about only last week.  If you get them then you get the big fish.  There is no bigger fish than him, and he will be caught in a very large net.

There was a short pause.  She continued.

I am there now.  If you have a map handy, I will give you the details.  There is a small fishing village called Port Tregorran, in South East Cornwall.  There is a small hotel in the village, the Eddystone Inn.  I will be based there.  Naturally, I will update you in due course.

CHAPTER FOUR

ARRIVAL

It had been just a couple of days.  Pierre was out fishing for the day on a boat that he had chartered.  Mike Masters relaxed on the beach, stripped to the waist. A very slight breeze ruffled his short, dark brown hair.  The huge muscles rippled in the bright sunlight, like firm pistons of a high powered engine.  His body tanned, with some slight but noticeable scar tissue, evidence of his exploits around the globe.  Mike was viewed as the perfect physical specimen, something which he did not particularly like or approve of.  Especially so when beautiful young women leered at him or gave lustful glances that clearly said to him, 'take me to your bed.'

There was no thought, however, that there was a burning desire to settle down.  His mind turned back to the claims made by his good friend, Pierre Russolt, regarding the so called 'damsels in distress' who he seemed to become inexplicably involved with.

The young, stunningly beautiful female, barely in her early twenties, approached the bar area.  Her long, blonde hair, silky smooth, and as fresh as a bright summer meadow, received glances all around the bar.  Her perfect skin, tanned gracefully to perfection, gave way to further glances.  If she noticed them she clearly did not show it.  She smiled brightly, her perfect white teeth gleaming.  A small yellow suitcase was beside her feet.

"Miss Kelly Anderson, I believe you have a reservation for me.'

She spoke with a clear, well toned accent. The portly bar manager was lost for words and became extremely flustered.

W…wa..wait, one m…moment please.

He spectacularly lost control of the entire situation.  Kelly grinned at his demeanour. 

Let me check the diary.

There was a certain degree of normality that had returned to the scene.  He browsed the leather bound book.

Ah yes, Miss Anderson.  A single ensuite, with breakfast.

The strong Cornish twang rolled off the tongue.

My name is Colin Green, the Manager of the Eddystone Inn.  I hope you have a pleasant stay with us.

At that precise moment, Mike strode in the bar in flip flops and colourful beach  shorts.  He browsed the body of Kelly.  She turned around slowly.

Please, put some clothes on.

He smiled brightly.

Happy as I am, thanks.

She shook her head in disgust.

Kelly bent down to pick up her small suitcase, but was beaten to it.

Allow me, Miss…?

Ditch the gentlemanly act.  I am not interested.

Her tone was vicious and ice cold. Mike promptly handed over the suitcase.  He smiled widely.

Maybe, I'll see you later.

Not in a million years.

The Ice Queen Cometh……

CHAPTER FIVE

THE BOAT

In a coded text message from a stolen mobile phone was sent.  It read:

'Cargo left today.  The usual route.  The charter has been arranged and preparations made to complete the task.  Update.'

The five men located the area where they were told to contact the skipper.  They were not ordinary men.  They were, in fact, cold blooded murderers and sadistic criminals.  They were known persons of interest.  Terrorists.  They were led by a psychotic Frenchman, Jean Claude Merbert.  His second in command was Victor Portes, a Spaniard.  Then there were the two Germans, Klaus Schmidt & Karl Fritz. The final member of the group was Dario Silva, half Italian & half Portuguese.  They were all committed to the cause of their secretive leader.  The one thing you could say with confidence was that they were well financed, highly trained and undoubtedly vicious.  They sat in a rented white van.  Everything was calm.  There was no reason why there would be any imminent danger.  They spoke in English.  Merbert opened the conversation.

This is it, gentlemen. An unnecessary distraction, and a vitally important operation….

He spoke in very good English, though with a strong French accent.  Merbert continued, the calmness extinguished.

I want that slut blown away into tiny little pieces.

The rage was explosive, just for a few brief seconds.  Then calmness returned.

We need to locate this boat, the Cornish Serenade.  Then we set sail.  By tomorrow we should be in the village, what is it called again, Port Tregorran?

They all nodded in agreement.

The following morning, the battered and bloody body of a fisherman was found in a dark corner of Falmouth Harbour.  It had been a gruesome killing.  The throat had been slashed from ear to ear, the neck was broken.  There were several fingers left lying on the ground, bloodied and sliced beyond recognition.  It was a horrific murder beyond any form of reason.  It was, according to the senior police detectives who were leading the case, as a classic underworld slaying.  This was despite the fact that the innocent victim was a local fisherman, with good connections within the local community of Falmouth, and a very popular figure in the town.

THE FOLLOWING DAY

The modern fishing vessel serenely approached Port Tregorran.  It was a bright, sunny day.  The Spaniard, Portes, talked with Merbert on deck.

How are we going to do this, boss?

Merbert looked at his associate glumly.

Simple.  We kill the bitch.

Boss, the beach is going to be full of tourists.  We could be figured out.  Then the cops will arrive.

Merbert sniggered.

A couple of local policemen will not be a worry.  We will do them.

A satisfied grin enveloped his face.  A large, deep scar was etched on his right cheek.  Portes replied.

You asked me to get the info.  This is exactly what I am doing.  There is one small hotel in the village, overlooking the beach, the Eddystone Inn.  I pretty much think that 'K' will be staying there.  It would be easy enough to finish her there, in her room.  It would avoid unnecessary attention on the beach.

Merbert laughed maniacally.

Good thinking, Victor.  You see, you are not totally stupid.  You have given me an idea.  We can have some fun with her in the room, then when we have finished with her, we can slowly and silently kill her, just like we did with the fisherman.

Portes nodded.

I will tell the others.

After a leisurely breakfast, Mike and Pierre relaxed in the bar.

I must say, Michael, this was a good idea of yours.

Pierre Russolt was in his sixties, slightly chubby, with thinning grey hair and a large beard.  He resembled a kind of Santa Claus figure at first glance.

I did say, Pierre.  There was nothing to worry about.

We have a few days left for us to find trouble, responded the Belgian.  I saw you looking towards that very attractive young lady at breakfast.

Mike thought about that for a moment.  Attractive in looks, undoubtedly.  In attitude and demeanour, absolutely not.

Like you said, Pierre, another damsel in distress.

Pierre had left for a day's fishing.  That left Mike at a loose end.  He was still intrigued by the rather bitterly toxic blonde that he had the deep misfortune to briefly meet the day previously.  He thought that she needed closer inspection.  The best way was to idle on the beach, thought Mike, a book at his disposal, sun tan oil and a large bottle of iced mineral water.  This was a sure fire way to engage with her in the faint hope of her opening up.  Sure enough, within twenty minutes Kelly breezed past as Mike lay there soaking up the sun.  There was a slight glare as she passed by.

Settled in okay, Miss….what is it, Anderson?

The frown was unsurprisingly vicious.

Are you spying on me? questioned Kelly.

Do you have something to hide? retorted Mike.

No.  I despise being spied on.

Don't we all?

Just keep out of my face, and my business.

The pleasure has been immense.

The sarcastic tone displeased Kelly.

Oh screw you, she snapped.

Mike became very deep in thought. Either she was hiding something or there was a