Ed Sutter's 3-Book Box Set, page 16
As I was manhandling my bags out of the back of his Jeep, he said, “Take a couple of days off, Alec. You deserve them.”
I popped to attention, executed a snappy salute, and said, “Si, si, mi Capitain!”
He just shook his head and drove off.
Mom and Colleen were sitting in the living room watching TV when I walked in. They both jumped up and came over to hug me.
Mom said, “Alec, we’re so glad you’re back. How was your vacation?”
As I disentangled myself from the women in my life, I said, “I’m totally beat. I feel like I could sleep for a couple of days.”
“Partying can be pretty exhausting, I guess,” commented my sister.
“Yeah, I need to go back to work to rest up,” I said, sticking my tongue out at her.
“Okay, you two,” said Mom. “Alec, dinner’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes. You might want to get a shower and change clothes.”
Colleen said, “Yes, please do.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Gee,” I said, walking back towards my room. “It’s so great to be back home.” I paused in my doorway and called back to them, “I guess this means you won’t want those presents I picked up for you in Mexico.”
I closed the door before either could answer. It was good to be home.
* * * *
Two days later, as advertised, I showed up at work, ready to perform sorcery, slay villains, and recover ancient treasure. Instead, I got women with blue hair, men with cowboy hats, and Fed Ex deliveries. This was good in a way, I reasoned. After our trip to Mexico, a little boredom sounded like a very good thing.
I’d also brought in the Sunday paper’s classified ads: the automobile section. I was finally looking for my dream car and reading this depressing section with its vastly overpriced vehicles, wondering if I could afford a twenty-year-old Toyota. Zack walked in.
“Hi Alec,” he said, stopping by the counter. “Checking out cars, I see.”
“Yes, sir. And it’s not looking too promising. Boy, do they want a lot for even used cars.”
“Well, keep looking, and let me know what you find.”
The phone rang in Zack’s office, and he walked briskly back to pick it up.
I couldn’t hear what he had to say, but a couple of minutes later, he called me back.
“That was Megan,” he said. “She invited us all out to dinner tonight. I’ll have Marina come by and pick you up at about seven. We’ll be going to the Top of the Rock over by the hotel on the Boulders.”
I gave a low whistle. “Pretty nice. Who’s buying?”
“She is. Apparently, the Discovery Channel has advanced her a large check to investigate her find of an Egyptian pyramid in Mexico. They’re going to be sending a film crew down with her.”
“Guess this means her funding for the project is in good shape, then.”
“Yeah, she emailed them some of those photos she took in the lower chambers, and they’re slavering at their bits to get down there. It’ll be a feather in everyone’s hats. ASU is also extremely happy. This all makes them look real good.”
“Sounds good to me too.”
* * * *
Later that evening, Marina showed up at the door. She was wearing a midnight blue mini-dress of some silky material with high-heeled strappy sandals, and she looked great. Beyond great.
Never at a loss for words, I said, “Wow!”
Mom was a little more verbose. “Marina, you look marvelous. And I love your hair.”
Marina’s hair was black and silky, and her dark eyes looked enormous.
I guess I was staring, because Colleen said, “Marina, you’re not dating this dope, are you?”
Marina looked at me quizzically and said, “I don’t know. Is this a date, Alec?”
I’d gotten my wind back by this time. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”
“Well, okay. As long as we’ve got that straight.”
Colleen started to say something else, but Mom put her hand over her daughter’s mouth. In the blessed silence, we escaped into the night.
I kept checking out Marina from of the corner of my eye on the drive to the restaurant.
“Well, do I pass inspection?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been looking at me ever since we left your house. Do I pass inspection?”
So much for subtlety on my part. It was time for the direct approach.
“Actually, you look gorgeous.”
“Good.”
After that, we talked about Mexico and the tomb until we got to the restaurant.
Zack and Megan were waiting just inside the doors of the restaurant as we pulled into the little turnaround driveway. Megan was using a cane but otherwise seemed pretty healthy. Zack had directed us to allow the valet parking guys to park Marina’s car. Otherwise, we would have faced a long uphill hike from the parking lot.
We were exactly on time, so we were seated in short order. Our table was by a window, and the view was spectacular. The Boulders overlooks pretty much the whole Valley of the Sun, and with the city’s lights coming on below us, it was like being in a fairytale land of light and shadow.
“Alec,” Zack said, “I’d like to congratulate you.”
“On what?”
“On becoming a sorcerer.”
“A sorcerer? Me?”
“Yes, you. Think about it. Over the last several months, you have used powerful magical tools, raised a pyramid from a swamp, and overcame the influence of a powerful ancestral spirit.”
“Yeah, but—”
Marina said, “That defines sorcery to me, Alec. What’s even better, you did it in the face of the spirit of Alexander, one of the most powerful personalities in history. You’ve proved that you’re your own person. You’re not Alexander.”
Zack said, “It’s one of the tenets of those who believe in reincarnation that a soul evolves over time. Each lifetime is a new role, a new opportunity for spiritual growth and change. This is no longer the Age of Empires, but it may well be the Age of Sorcery. We’ll see, I guess.”
“So, Megan, tell us about the upcoming TV show,” I suggested, to get off the subject. After all, she was buying.
She smiled radiantly. “Oh, this is going to be great. Not only do I get to throw a major spoke in the wheels of conventional archaeology, but I’m also going to be able to do it on national TV. My boss is ecstatic, and a large raise is looming on the horizon, not to mention world-wide recognition.”
Marina said, “That’s really great, Megan. So, when do you head to Mexico?”
“It’s going to be a couple of weeks. There’s a lot of logistics involved in getting a film crew and a lot of archaeologists down to Mexico, and that doesn’t include getting all the proper permissions from the Mexican government. Fortunately, I’m good friends with some folks in the Mexican archaeology community, and they’re helping to pave the way for this expedition.”
“Expedition?” asked Zack.
“Oh yeah. This is going to be a major effort this time— nothing exploratory or tentative about this project. We’ll probably be down there for six months, and that’s just the first part of the dig. That pyramid and the land around it will be the subject of research for years to come.”
“Megan,” asked Marina, “what ever happened to the Egyptians who built the pyramid? I mean, it’s like they just disappeared.”
“That’s an answer I hope to prove, but I have a theory, based on the evolution of the wall paintings in the pyramid.”
“Oh, boy,” said Zack. “The great scientist is now in her element. Let’s hear it.”
Megan punched him in the shoulder. “Okay, you asked for it. It was clear from the paintings that the Egyptians brought Nubian slaves with them. There’s nothing too surprising in that. The Nubians were Negroes from the lands south of Egypt and served the Egyptians for hundreds of years. In this case, though, something happened. I suspect that the Nubians intermarried with the local Indians, and then revolted against their numerically inferior masters, killing them all. Remember those monolithic African heads? They looked African, right? Yet the mainstream archaeological community has stuck to the story that they were portraits of Olmec chieftains or kings.”
I saw where she was going with this. “So the children of the Nubians became the Olmecs?”
“Go to the head of the class, Alec. Yes, the Nubians, or more properly, the children of the Nubians, became the people who we call the Olmecs today. It all fits, now that we have the missing key.”
“Then, as the years went by,” said Marina meditatively, “the Nubian strain of the Olmec kings would have been more and more diluted.”
“Yes, until they were finally overrun by the Mayans. Remember, the Mayans drew a great deal of their culture from the Olmecs. Now we know where the Olmecs got it to begin with.”
And dinner was good, too.
* * * *
As we were leaving, grouped just outside the doors of the restaurant, Zack said casually to me, “So, Alec, have you found a car yet?”
“Not really. I guess I’m going to have to buy some old clunker and just repair it a lot until I can afford something better.”
I saw a strange smile on Marina’s face, which made me think something was up.
Zack continued. “Well, I have several old clunkers, and I’d be willing to let you have one for maybe five hundred dollars. You could afford that, couldn’t you?”
“Sure. What kind of shape are they in?”
“Actually, I drove the one I have in mind here tonight. You can take a look at it and tell me what you think.”
Just then, the valets pulled up in a cherried-out, candy apple red 1967 Mustang convertible that looked like it had just driven off the showroom floor. Zack looked at me and raised his eyebrows interrogatively.
I stared at him like he was crazy.
“Is that the car you’re talking about?”
He nodded.
“Are you serious? That’s worth a whole lot more than five hundred dollars!”
“True, but I never drive it anymore, and it seems a shame to let it go to waste. What do you say? Do you want it?”
“Absolutely.”
Marina said coyly, “Uncle Zack, would it be okay if Alec drives me home in his new car?”
“Sure. Alec, here are the keys. Take it easy until you get used to it. It has an eight-cylinder engine, not a toy like a lot of these new cars.”
I could tell that the two Torres had cooked this up between them, but I decided not to argue. A sixty-seven Mustang convertible. Wow!
Of course, we had to ride with the top down. Zack showed me how to work that, and then got Marina’s keys from her.
“If you drop off Marina’s car,” I asked, “how are you going to get home?”
“Megan has graciously agreed to take me home.” He looked at her, smiling. “And I hope she plans to stay awhile.”
Megan gave him a million-kilowatt smile. “You better believe it.”
* * * *
The drive home was just fantastic, but it was a little hard to talk with the top down. Finally, we pulled up in front of Marina’s house, and I turned to her.
“I know you planned this whole thing with your uncle, and I’d just like to thank you,” I said.
“You could start by kissing me.”
And that’s just what I did.
Epilogue
“Alec,” Mom said, “Zack Torres dropped this article off on his way to work this morning. You’d already gone off to school. He said you might find it interesting.”
Mom handed it to me. It was an article from the Arizona Republic, apparently from the international section. Zack was right. I found it interesting.
SECRET CULT CENTER DESTROYED BY FREAK LIGHTNING
UPI-Cairo. What appears to have been an underground temple dedicated to the ancient Egyptian god, Anubis, was destroyed today in a spectacular way. The building that housed it was struck by a freak lightning bolt. Other than the temple itself, the building was empty, but the charred remains of five cult members were found in the wreckage. Meteorologists have no explanation for the occurrence because Cairo is in the midst of a drought, and there hasn’t been a cloud in the sky for over a month.
I checked the date on the paper header. It was the same day we’d used the ark on those guys in Mexico. Apparently, we wouldn’t be looking for interference from those folks anytime soon.
That was good news. After all, this was Friday, and the last day of school for the week, and I had a date with Marina for Saturday.
I’d be driving.
ANCIENT MAGIKS:
THE ALEC GAVINS CHRONICLES
BOOK 2:
THE DEFENDERS
by
Ed Sutter
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Published by
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Copyright © 2010, 2015 by Edward B. Sutter
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-60313-922-9
Credits
Editor: Marsha Briscoe
Printed in the United States of America
No one could have ever been more supportive or more patient with my constant babbling about the next book. Thanks, Carolyn. Again.
PROLOGUE
The waters beneath the little boat were clear enough to see the bottom fifty feet down, but dark clouds were in the sky out near the horizon.
Doctor of Archaeology Megan Lee looked from the ominous clouds to her companion, who was piloting the boat.
“Zack, look at those clouds. Should we maybe blow off the diving for today?”
Zacharias Torres was a tall, lean man with salt and pepper hair. He handled the boat effortlessly as he looked over at the horizon.
“It doesn’t seem to be coming this way, and, of course, no storm was in the forecast,” he replied, smiling ironically.
“Yeah, right. Like I’d believe any weathermen anyway, especially here. How they get away with calling meteorology a science, I’ll never understand,” Megan replied.
Zack looked over at her, a wider and slightly devilish smile on his face. “There are those who question archaeology being a science, you know. Physicists, for one.”
She rose to the bait. “Physicists don’t study anything smaller than a galaxy or larger than a molecule. What do they know?”
Their sixteen-foot Sea Ray was the property of a local dive shop in Sliema, on the east coast of Malta. The two Americans had rented the boat and air tanks from them in anticipation of diving on some rumored underwater ruins off the northeast coast. Unfortunately, their guide, a smarmy expatriate Brit by the name of Hutchinson, had bowed out at the last minute, saying he was sick. Megan suspected that his “illness” was more the result of too much gin the night before than any bug. The man had sworn up and down that he’d tracked down what appeared to be the ruins of a megalithic temple about one hundred yards offshore of the little island of Comino, which was situated between Malta and its northwestern neighbor, the island of Gozo.
“Interesting choice of vacations you have,” commented Zack. “First we go look at ruined temples in Egypt, then Roman temples in the south of France. Now this. Where’s the romance in our relationship gone?” he ended plaintively.
Megan punched him in one sinewy, tanned shoulder. “Where’s the romance? What was that last night, tiddly-winks? Besides, we not only visited ruined temples, we also spent time on the beach of the French Riviera and dined at the most exotic restaurants in Cairo and Toulon. Where’s the romance? Have I missed something?”
“Don’t forget my James Bond imitation at the casino in Monte Carlo. Was I Joe Cool or what?”
“You did look scrumptious in that tux.”
“I did my best. Jaws hit the floor when you walked by in that backless evening gown. No one would have ever guessed that you were a stuffy archaeologist, and I was a bourgeois shop owner. I wonder how the shop’s doing by the way? I know it’s nothing for you scholastic types to take a month off in the summer, but I need to keep some money coming in.”
Megan laughed as she pulled her sun-streaked blonde hair back into a ponytail. “As I recall, when you went on vacation last year, the shop actually made more money than when you were there. I trust Alec to run things to your satisfaction.”
“Oh, I guess so,” he replied with mock reluctance. “Of course, Alec wound up getting in a heap of trouble at that same time. This year should be calmer. I hope.”
Motoring roughly northwest, they had passed St. Paul’s Bay and were now past the main island of Malta, making toward the second largest island in the chain, Gozo. In between was the little island of Comino, no more than a few miles across and near the reported site of a megalithic stone circle that rested beneath the waves. Supposedly.
Megan and Zack wanted to take a personal look at the theoretical stone circle, to see if it really existed. There’d been rumors of underground ruins around Malta for some years, but nothing had ever been officially confirmed. If such a circle did exist, history books might gain a footnote, and Megan might gain a grant. Megan’s specialty was Meso-American archaeology, but her interests ranged over the whole field. Thus, they had interspersed their Mediterranean vacation with visits to various sites that she found particularly interesting.
