The Carlswick Mythology: The Carlswick Mysteries, #5

By SL Beaumont

Ancient cultures destroyed by terrorists trafficking artefacts.

 

When recently recovered Syrian antiquities are stolen in the Greek Islands, Stephanie Cooper and boyfriend James Knox find their vacation interrupted as they help their archaeologist friend Kerry and her Greek love  Nico try to recover the treasures. But Nico is hiding secrets of his own and brings danger to their door. When one of the missing artefacts turns up in London, suspicion falls on James, who is in financial strife following the death of his grandfather.

 

With antiquities traffickers also hunting for the relics, Stephanie and her friends become the target of their search. An irresistible clue sees Stephanie going against her better judgement and following a trail that leads to Geneva and Rome. Too late, she realises that there is more at stake than just two precious ancient artefacts.

 

The Carlswick Mythology is a fast paced, action packed novel infused with mystery, romance and history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SL Beaumont
• Release date: Nov 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780473458492

Book preview

Prologue

The storm came from nowhere. One minute the small fishing boat was motoring across the sea battling a strong current, the next it was being lashed by sheets of cool sharp rain, driven by a swirling wind. The surface of the deep blue ocean broke apart as white caps formed and tossed the little boat from side to side. Its hull shuddered as it crested a large wave, pausing for a moment at the top before being thrown into the trough. A sickening crack sounded from somewhere below the waterline.

The four men on board abandoned their card game in the cabin and scrambled to find oilskin raincoats as the boat lurched and rocked in the churning sea. Two of the crew climbed onto the deck. One followed close behind the captain, who bounded into the wheelhouse and was fighting for control of his vessel.

We’ve lost our navigation, the captain called in Arabic, above the sound of the wind. Ahmed, can you help the men secure the load? We are at the mercy of Allah.

So long as you still get us to the meeting point by dawn, Ahmed replied. Beneath the large raincoat, he was better dressed than the others. His deeply tanned skin and dark hair offset cold, calculating eyes.

The captain gave a shrug. I will do my best.

Both men glanced toward a locker near the door.

We both know that getting the box delivered, decides the fate of this vessel and its crew, Ahmed said. He adjusted his jacket revealing the firearm and knife strapped in a cross body holster, reminding the captain who really was in charge.

The captain gave a nervous swallow as a lump of fear stuck in his throat. He had agreed to just one journey in his fishing boat; one journey which paid enough to support their families for a whole year.

Ahmed turned and followed the crew out onto the deck. The wooden boards were slick with rain and sea water, and packing crates were breaking free, sliding across the surface as the boat pitched at a dangerous angle. The crewmen were wresting the crates back into position, trying to secure them with strong ropes, when one heavy wooden crate plunged over the side into the churning water. Ahmed cursed as the boat rose to the crest of another wave. They hung on as the vessel rode the wave down into the trough. A loud splintering sound reached their ears as the boat crashed into the lost crate. Water gushed in through a gash in the stern. The men rushed into the cabin and grabbed life jackets.

Ahmed braced himself with his legs apart and pulled the sealed plastic box from the locker. He undid his raincoat, lifted his heavy woollen shirt and secured the container against his skin wrapping it around his middle with a length of twine that he found on top of the locker. He tucked the shirt back into his jeans, repositioned his holster and snapped the buttons closed on his raincoat. He glanced at the captain and crew who were huddled together in the wheelhouse, praying. The light of pre-dawn turned the sky from black to slate grey as the rain continued to lash down. The rocky outline of a group of islands rose out of the gloom.

We will try to shelter there, the captain shouted over the howling wind.

Ahmed tapped his phone and glanced at the GPS map image. Santorini. It will do. If you value the lives of your families, you’ll forget that I was ever on this boat. The men nodded, cold and frightened. Ahmed returned his phone to its waterproof pouch and fastened it in an inside pocket.

Hold on, the captain urged as the tide pulled the little boat towards the shore. It crested a wave, teetering precariously, before twisting to one side and dropping with a crash.

Ahmed was thrown clear of the boat and when he resurfaced coughing and spluttering, a life ring was floating next to him. He grabbed hold of it and held on tight as the waves carried him towards the beach.

* * *

Ahmed looked down from the top of the cliff. The rain was still falling in steady sheets. Amidst the debris of the smashed boat strewn across the beach, several large crates had washed ashore, spilling their illegal contents. He could see the figures of the captain and his crew lying on the sand.

Shouts sounded from the far end of the beach and flashlight beams bounced as rescuers ran towards the men.

Ahmed turned and made his way inland, keeping to the edge of the road. His body was battered and bruised and his clothes wet and heavy, but he limped on. He stopped beneath a copse of trees and retrieved his phone from its waterproof pouch. He tapped the screen, studying it for several moments before nodding. He set off again, walking at a brisk pace through the rain for half an hour before he came upon a cluster of long low buildings with gently sloping roofs. A road sign reading ‘Minoan Ruins, Akrotiri’ pointed toward the complex.

Taking a furtive look behind him, Ahmed hurried down the road. Avoiding the range of the security cameras mounted around the front entrance of the main building, he kept to the shadows and skirted around the back of the site. He climbed with considerable difficulty over a low fence into the staff parking area. He glanced at the sky; the rain had eased and the sun was beginning to rise. He had to move quickly.

Keeping to the fence line, he crept to a side door of the building. He pulled two thin wires from a zipped pocket in his raincoat and made quick work of disengaging the lock. He crept inside, closing the door behind him. He was in a staff lunchroom. The bench along one wall was tidy with a kettle and microwave at one end. The room contained two long tables set with condiment holders; salt, pepper and olive oil. He listened for a moment before he let out a long breath. He crossed between the tables towards door on the opposite side of the room, cursing as his feet left wet imprints across the floor. He cracked the door open and peered through. The space beyond was silent.

He stepped out onto a small platform and gazed down at a labyrinth of excavations spreading out in front of him for several hundred meters. The building was deceptive from the outside. It looked small and contained, but in actual fact the interior was vast. An enormous sloping roof, supported by sturdy poles at regular intervals protected the excavated earthworks from the weather. The foundations of a city of broken shops, houses and public buildings, were laid out in front of him. He shook his head in disbelief and walked down the wooden staircase to the elevated boardwalk which stretched around the excavations. His plan solidified in his mind and he jumped down from the boardwalk into the actual ruins and bent to pick up an archaeologist’s trowel from a bucket of tools tucked beneath the platform.

He weaved his way among low stone walls of varying heights, past collections of clay water jars and cooking pots towards some more intact structures at one side of the site. He leaned over the roped-off doorway of one building and gazed at the colourful wall paintings depicting aspects of the life of the Minoans. He moved on to the next structure and crossed the threshold. He crouched down and moved four cooking pots and began to dig a hole in the dusty volcanic soil. After a few minutes, he stood again, wiping sweat from his brow, and reached inside his shirt for the plastic container, which had settled around his middle at the point where his shirt was tucked into his jeans. He removed the lid and lifted out two small canvas-wrapped figurines, laying them in the hole with great care, as one would lay a new-born baby in its crib. He began to push the red soil back into the hole around and on top of the figurines, until they were covered. He packed the top layer of soil flat and moved the cooking pots back in place on top.

He stood and wiped his hands on his damp trousers. He backed out of the ruin, scuffing the floor clear of his footprints and crouched down, scratching a small symbol into the wall low down beside the doorway. His task completed, he hurried back through the site to the workers’ office. He let himself out of the building, dumped the now empty plastic box and melted into the shadows.

Chapter 1

June

You have to give me a clue, otherwise I don’t know what to pack, Stephanie Cooper said, standing with her hands on her hips in the bedroom at her grandmother’s house in the village of Carlswick in Sussex. She’d arrived from Oxford University the night before with all of her belongings. Her books, papers and computer cables were stacked on the desk in one corner of the room, where they’d likely remain until she returned to university for the start of her third year in October.

Nice try, her boyfriend James replied. He grinned, interlaced his fingers behind his head and reclined against the pile of pillows on her bed.

Stephanie gave an exasperated sigh. She wandered into her small walk-in wardrobe and returned carrying a little wheeled suitcase, throwing it on the bed next to him. Will I need to dress up?

Only if you want to, James replied.

Are we going by train?

No.

I can’t believe that you won’t just tell me where we’re going? she said, rolling her long dark hair into a knot on top of her head and securing it with a hair tie.

You said to surprise you and that’s what I’m doing, James said with a smirk.

I just meant, you organise it, because I was too busy with exams over the last few weeks, Stephanie replied.

James shook his head and smiled.

Argh, you are so annoying sometimes, she said, glaring at him.

James reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her down beside him on the bed. That’s what you love about me, right?

Stephanie’s eyes narrowed.

Tell you what. You can have two questions, he said.

Stephanie opened her mouth to speak but James placed two fingers over her lips. Choose wisely, he advised, replacing his fingers with his lips for a moment.

She sat up, looking thoughtful. Okay, then. Do I need my passport?

James nodded. Good question. Yes, you do.

Stephanie frowned. It’s not a beach resort though, right? Four days isn’t long enough for me to unwind and enjoy a beach holiday.

No, it’s not a beach resort, but you should pack your bathing suit. And that, my darling girl, are your two questions, he said with a smug smile.

Wait, no. Hey, that’s not fair. One was simply a confirmation.

Posed as a question, James said.

Aw, you’re enjoying this way too much, Stephanie said, pulling the pillow out from beneath his head and hitting him with it. James wrested it from her and pushed her away.

Come on, pack already. We need to be on the road in less than an hour.

Stephanie grabbed a few items of clothing from her wardrobe and threw them on the bed beside her bag.

Do you realise that we’ve been together more than eighteen months and this is the first time we’ve been away on an actual holiday together? James said watching her.

Stephanie smiled. I know, crazy huh? How can our lives be too busy for holidays?

She wandered into her bathroom and returned with a bag of toiletries.

Have Dante and your mother returned to Venice? she asked adding the bag to her suitcase. James’s mother had remarried following the death of his father a few years earlier and she now lived with her new husband, Dante Bonetti, on a private island in the Venetian lagoon. The marriage had split the family, but following the revelation of Dante’s true identity as an undercover law enforcement officer, the rift was well on its way to being healed.

James nodded. Yeah, they went back last weekend.

It was good that they stayed on after the funeral to help.

James’s grandfather, Charles, had died a few weeks earlier after a short battle with dementia. He had been living alone in the family home Knox Manor, after James’s partial move to London and the disappearance of his older brother Alex, who was abroad somewhere.

Yeah, Mum surprised me. She and Grace packed up my grandfather’s rooms and dealt with all of the physical stuff, so that I could work through everything else.

I couldn’t believe how big the funeral was, it was as though the whole village turned out, Stephanie said, rolling her tops and layering them into the suitcase. I suppose his death was the end of an era. There are not many of the war generation left.

James nodded. Yeah, he was so unapproachable for most of my life, but as we now know, he was battling demons from his past.

He was lucky to have someone like Grace to care for him at the end. She was so much more than a housekeeper, Stephanie said. What will she do now?

She’ll still be in charge of the house, especially when I’m away, James said. With Ken managing the farm, it makes sense. They’ve been so good to me over the last few years since Dad died and Mum left. Grace has spent the past week fussing over me and making sure that I’m eating enough.

She’ll miss not having anyone to cook for at the manor.

James nodded. I know.

* * *

An hour later, they stood on the front porch of Wakefield House preparing to depart. The large Georgian home on the outskirts of Carlswick had been in Stephanie’s family for generations. Now Stephanie’s grandmother Ellie lived in it alone, except for when Stephanie returned from university for the holidays.

Have a lovely time, Ellie said. You’ve both been working so hard over the last few months, that a break will do you good. Recharge the batteries, as they say.

I know, I can’t wait, Stephanie said. It seems like James and I haven’t spent any length of time together for months.

James tightened his arm around her waist. That’s the best part about this trip, he said. I’m hoping that mobile reception will be patchy, so that no one can get hold of us.

I think they will have good coverage where you’re going, Ellie said with a knowing smile.

Wait. Do you know where we’re going? Stephanie asked.

Ellie nodded, a smile creasing her lined face. She patted her coiffed white hair. I couldn’t let you go off without knowing, could I?

Stephanie turned to James. So you told my grandmother, but you won’t tell me?

James nodded. Ellie was the one who suggested our destination.

Now I’m even more intrigued, Stephanie said, leaning forward to hug her grandmother.

Just as long as you keep away from any intrigue this time and just have a holiday, Ellie said.

Of course, Stephanie replied. I want nothing more. I’ll message you when we get there, Grandma.

Ellie returned her hug and reached out a wrinkled hand to squeeze James’s arm. Travel safely, you two.

Stephanie skipped down the steps to the car parked in front of the house. Ellie had given her the purple two-door Fiat 500 two years earlier when she’d first come to England from her native New Zealand to study. Ellie had been dismayed to learn that her declining eyesight meant that she was no longer able to drive her favourite car, but had been delighted that her granddaughter would get to enjoy it.

James placed Stephanie’s bag beside his in the back and climbed into the passenger seat.

Stephanie adjusted the rear view mirror, clicked her seatbelt into place and turned the key in the ignition before looking across at James. So, Mr Secretive, where to?

James laughed. Down the driveway and turn right.

Is it going to be like this the whole way? she asked as she accelerated away from the house, tooting the horn and waving to Ellie.

No, James said. Once we get to Heathrow, you’ll find out where we’re going?

Stephanie’s face broke into a grin. Ooh, Heathrow. So we’re flying somewhere, then? She did a little excited jiggle in her seat.

You’re so funny. Yes, we’re flying, James said, pulling his phone from his pocket and syncing it with the car stereo. I take it that I’m in charge of music?

Of course, there have to be some benefits to having a musician for a boyfriend.

James was the lead guitarist of The Fury, a rock band comprising mates from his school days, whose increasing popularity was beginning to make them a household name in the UK. Their last album had been an indie hit and they had a busy summer touring schedule lined up.

Glad that I’m useful for something, he replied, running his hand through his hair. He’d let it grow out over the winter and it was now cut in long layers down the sides and back. The blue streaks he’d had put in while he was in Tokyo on a press tour earlier in the year were gone and his hair was the closest to its natural dark brown than it had been for a while. He selected a playlist, and rock music boomed through the car’s speakers.

James smiled, closed his eyes and let out a contented breath. I’m so pleased that Michael upgraded the stereo for you. I think the one that your grandmother had in here only picked up Radio 4.

Grandma’s right, this break will do you good too, Stephanie said glancing across at him. You’ve had a lot to deal with since your grandfather died.

"I know. I