…

I woke up and immediately felt cold.

It was odd because when I had gone to bed the previous evening, it had been quite warm, after one of those balmy autumn days.  We had all been basking in what seemed to be an endless heatwave and finally getting some relief, and the last thing I’d seen was storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

It had been the strangest of summers, unprecedented, and as some of the more radical climate change so-called experts said, the beginning of the end.

The more rational scientists, the people the government relied on to advise them, had said that changes were occurring though not in a manner that rang ring alarm bells, but it was not part of the normal weather patterns.

Storms like that being predicted were normal, what was not normal, was feeling cold.

Also, I’d woken to an eerie darkness because there didn’t seem to be any lights on in the room. A few minutes later, that darkness had given way to a murky light as dawn broke, and I shivered.

Something was not right.

I looked at the clock, and it had stopped.  I checked my phone, and it had a seventy per cent charge where it should be full.  The charger was not working.  A few seconds later, I tried the light switch.

Nothing. There was no power.

Another shiver went through me, but this time, it was generated by fear.  I was being drawn to the window, and then when I looked out, what I saw took my breath away.

What in hell’s name had happened?

Outside, there was nothing but snow as far as the eye could see.

I’d gone to sleep after spending a few hours on a warm balmy night with Tricia, the waitress from the flat above, over a cold bottle of white wine.

Over the last few weeks, we had talked about this, about that, about nothing at all, slowly discovering that spending these few hours together relieved the boredom and inanity of our mundane lives.

For me, it had given me the hope of something else in the future than of being nothing of consequence and going nowhere.

That landing we had sat on only a few hours before was now deep in snow.  If it was January, I wouldn’t give it a second thought, but this was September.

I threw on some warm clothes, buried in the bottom drawer and smelling of mothballs because I wasn’t supposed to need them for a few more months.  It looked bleak outside, and I wanted to see just how bad it was close up.

After another look out the window to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, I went downstairs where there were a dozen or more people in the foyer and more out on the sidewalk, most of whom had looks of stunned disbelief.

As I descended the stairs it got colder, and with the door open, we could all feel the breeze swirling the lightly falling snow outside and in through the opening.  The building supervisor was rugged up, standing by the door, making sure it closed after someone entered or left.

I knew most of those downstairs.  I also recognised the looks on their faces.

Fear.

“What’s happening,” I asked.  “Aside from the obvious.”

Mr Jacobson, the oldest member of our little enclave and the most educated, peered out the door and then looked at me.  “It seems winter has come early this year.”

There was a hint of irony in his tone.  The previous day had been in the low seventies, and the weather forecast had been for rain.  Instead of rain, we got snow.  How was that possible?  I’m sure he would tell me if I asked, but I was not sure I’d understand him.  He was a scientist in his previous life before forced retirement.

“Or, if it isn’t that…”  I said, perhaps expecting him to complete the sentence.  I knew he had a thing about climate change, even though everyone else had dismissed it when it seemed the planet’s climate appeared to have readjusted itself a few years back.

Some said it was a miracle. Some said we were all worried about nothing, but some said it was a sign, one last chance to stop going down the path we were on.  If it was a reprieve, we ignored it.

Mr Jacobsen had told everyone that adjustment was only temporary, but he’d been saying the same thing for the last few years, and nothing had happened.  Now he was simply the man who cried wolf.

“Mother Earth has been waiting patiently to take her revenge, and because we preferred to be complacent, this is just the beginning.”  Mr. Jacobson wasn’t saying it out of spite, I believed he knew what was happening but couldn’t explain it in words any of us would understand.

But Harry Johnson, the man who knew everything but knew nothing, threw in his two cents worth.  “You scientists have been banging on about this nonsense for decades, and nothing has happened.  This is an aberration.  Something had to give after an abnormally hot summer.  It’ll be gone in a day or two. Mark my words.”

Mr Jacobson shook his head, but he said nothing more.  There was no point. No one was going to believe him now.  “There’s no power,” he said to me.  “And it’s going to get colder.  They should have insulated the power stations when they had the chance, but they didn’t.  My advice, to everyone, get some extra blankets.”

“Or head south,” someone yelled out.

“You think it’s going to be better there?”   Someone else asked.

“Out in that cold.”  Another resident, one from a few floors above me, came in from outside shivering as if to emphasise his point.  “You wouldn’t get far. The police are saying it only goes as far south as Washington, but everyone has the same idea, and the roads are clogged with people trying to get out of the city.  They also say we’re actually not as badly off as those further north.”

“I didn’t see any police outside,” Harry Johnson said, and I’ve been out a few times.”

“They’re moving from building to building, telling people to stay indoors and keep warm until the power is back on.  There is only limited transport options and office buildings and shopping centres are closed due to the blackout.  They say we should tune into the radio for further information. Didn’t any of you take notice after the last disaster when we were told to be prepared in case it happened again?”

“That was different,” Harry muttered.

“How?  This is worse.  Then they rationed power, but we had power, and trucks and transport could move.  This time, we have no power at all, and nothing can move because of the snow and icy conditions.  This is going to take a while for the authorities to fix. If the weather changes out there, and it doesn’t look like it will change any time soon.  Go to your apartments and keep warm.  Find a radio and keep yourselves informed.”

There was murmuring, and a few complaints about people telling them what to do, but within five minutes, they were all trudging back up the stairs.  With nothing more to see, I went back up the stairs myself.  When I got to my apartment, Tricia was outside the door, dressed in her ski gear.

“What happened?  Where’s the heat.  I just woke up freezing.”

“Mr Jabobson says it’s Mother Nature taking revenge on us horrible humans.”

“The mad scientist?”

It was one of several names the residents gave him.

“I don’t think he’s as mad as we want to believe he is.  He says it’s going to get colder and we need extra blankets.”

“I could get mine, bring them down, and we could share if you like.  I know you’d like to be with me as much as I would like to be with you.  It’s as good a reason as any.  I am assuming you like me as much as I like being with you.”

I hadn’t expected whatever we had to move quickly, but I had thought my feelings towards her were not fully reciprocated.  I didn’t want to take advantage of the situation, but it was a sensible idea.

“I do, and I’m happy if you’re happy.  I don’t think the heat or the power will be back in a hurry, so we are not likely to be going far.”

“Then let’s go up and fetch the blankets.”

It was coincidental that recently, I had been reading about doomsday events.  The oil crisis was not likely to happen again, and someone had thought about that Hormuz bottleneck, built alternative pipelines, and considered a lot more scenarios again after the recent mini-crisis.  Then there was the possibility of a meteor crashing into the earth and knocking us out of orbit, but that was a bit more extreme and unlikely.

Nor was it because I was one of those prepper types who were hoarding necessities in an underground bunker, but because for a few months, about a year ago, the Middle East went up in flames and the oil supply briefly stopped, again.

It just proved that we should never put politicians in charge of trying to de-escalate a potential war.  For those few months, it began with anarchy until the order was restored, and everything was rationed until common sense prevailed.

We saw what could happen, and it wasn’t pretty.

This, however, was a different problem.  What could be a prelude to the next ice age had just arrived on our doorstep, and it would be interesting to know what was happening, even get a weather report that could tell us it was temporary. If we had learned anything from the past, people needed to be kept informed.

Even if they told us a lie, that everything would get better soon, it would be better than nothing.  After the last crisis, everyone was aware that there had been precious little truth spoken as time passed, and inaction was met with unrest.  It came very close to martial law, and no one wanted to see that again.

After that, I bought a small battery-operated radio, knowing there would be a designated radio station that had its own power supply to advise people of what was happening and what to do in a crisis like this; once Tricia and I were comfortable and warm, we tuned in to the station. It wasn’t confidence-inspiring, and the deadpan announcer’s voice only added a sense of the sinister to the news.

It definitely wasn’t good.

What we did learn; the snow basically blanketed the whole of the northern hemisphere from the north pole to the latitude below Washington, though there were snowy conditions for a further hundred miles south past that point.  It was similar to the southern hemisphere, where it reached as far up as the bottom of Tasmania, an island south of mainland Australia.

And it wasn’t predicted to stop snowing for a few days at the very least.  The poles were apparently clouded over and in a similar situation to being fogged in.  There, the temperatures were a lot, lot colder.

No one was commenting on why it was happening, only that it was an unexpected turn of events that was not expected to last, and that the city’s services would be soon operating on a reduced scale, predicted to be within 24 hours, and that people, unless they were designated as working for essential services,  should stay home until advised otherwise.

They acknowledged that power stations had been temporarily disabled by an abnormal amount of snow.  The drifts had also caused problems in the substations and along the feeder lines, whatever that meant.

Then, the message looped after saying to stay tuned for any change in the situation.  At the very least, they would advise the latest weather report on the hour.  That was twenty minutes away.

We both listened to the weather report, and we both agreed that the wording was a signal.  Not necessarily to us, but to others, and that was most likely to say things were not going to get better in the short term and to prepare for trouble.

The announcement underlined the necessity that we all stayed in place, the conditions would soon improve, and, shortly after that, another announcer said there would be limited power returning in a matter of hours.

A specific number wasn’t mentioned.  It was as close to saying that no one knew definitely.

After several minutes of a rather sombre symphony playing softly in the background, both of us agreed it was weird because New York was never this quiet, ever. Tricia said to no one in particular, “What are they not saying?”

She was right.  The announcer had spoken for nearly half an hour and told us nothing we already didn’t know. In words we really didn’t understand.

“My father always said that when people start using big words, they’re trying to hide the truth.”

“It’s not getting better, is it?”

“We don’t know.  Mr Jacobson, the man you call the mad scientist, said that winter had come early, and while he made it sound like a joke, I don’t think he meant it that way.  I’m going to see him and ask him what he’s going to do.”

“Don’t you think he’s crazy?”

Everybody did.  Especially after he lost his job after telling anyone who would listen that exactly what happened was going to happen.  Maybe if it had been five years ago, someone might have listened.

“No.”

Outside the door, we could hear raised voices.  Had Harry decided to tell Mr Jacobson to keep his theories to himself.  “I’d better go and see what’s happening.”

By the time I got the door open, it was to see Jacobson being escorted by two policemen.  I ran up to them before they descended the stairs, yelling out, “He’s not mad, just concerned like all of us.”

He stopped and turned to me.  “It’s fine, Alex.  I’m going to have a talk with the meteorologists.  They requested I go and meet with them.  Remember what we talked about a few months back?”

For the moment, I couldn’t, but I had made a note of it on my phone.

“No matter.  When you do, it’s Z.  Do you understand?  Z.”

I repeated it, and he nodded.  Then they continued down the stairs, a few of the residents following.

On the way back to my apartment, I tried to remember what it was we were talking about.  He had been, I remembered now, rather disjointed, as though he was having a hard time articulating what he wanted to say. He’d been more distracted than normal, but I had put it down to the anniversary of his wife’s death.  It had hit him very hard, and I could only imagine what it would be like for him.

I went in and closed the door behind me.  Tricia was still under the blankets. “What was it?”

“Jacobson, your mad scientist, was being taken away by the police.  He says he’s been taken to see the meteorologists.”

“Or the loony bin.  I heard Harry say more than once Jacobson was a loose cannon.”

“Harry wouldn’t know his ass from his elbow.  Jacobson reminded me of something we talked about a few months ago.  It might not be relevant; he was rambling more than usual at that time.  He asked me to write it down, so all I have to do is find the notes on my cell phone.”

Which then took the next two hours to go through.  I hadn’t realised that I’d accumulated so much junk over the years, nor so many photographs of New York all through the year, a visual reminder of what it was like before the snow.

“We will have to think about food soon,” Tricia said. “I usually only cater from day to day, like everyone.”

It was probably what a lot of people inside and outside the building were also thinking about, and given what happened the last time food supplies were interrupted, it could get ugly very quickly.

That was why I stocked up on some essential long-life items like milk, canned meat, vegetables, and fruit.  Enough for two people to last a month.

“The thing I do remember from talking to Jacobson several months ago was to store up some essential items in case the oil stopped again.  He said it was prudent these days to have supplies because of how things are in the Middle East.”

Tensions never die down there, and rockets were always flying about threatening to extend the current conflict between Israel and the Palestinians into a wider war with Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.

Who knew we’d have something else to worry about.

“For you, perhaps.”

“For two.  I have always included you in my disaster plan.”

“Then believe me when I say you are the first.”

“I know how that feels.  But only if you want me to.  I don’t want you to feel obligated or have to do anything in return.”

She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.  “I know.  Now, what was the mad scientist trying to tell you?”

I found the relevant document file and scrolled through the pages, a whole mass of disjointed and in places almost unintelligible notes.  Jacobson had been reciting stuff so fast that I could hardly get it down.  His wife had been an expert on shorthand, and he forgot that I was not her.

But then I got to the section that had a ‘Z’ on it, in capitals and bolded so that it stood out.  He must have slowed down by then.

“It says that Plan Z was to get ready for an ELE event.”

“ELE, what is that?”

“Can’t remember, hang on.”  I scrolled through a few more pages and then stopped reading.  It was not on the page, but I suddenly remembered what it was.

An apt description of what happened when the meteor struck Earth and killed all the dinosaurs.  I said, “It’s what is known as an Extinction Level Event.”

“I thought that was when meteors were coming.”

“It could also be a deadly virus like Covid, or an ice age, though that wouldn’t kill everyone, but it would make things very difficult to survive.  Maybe that’s not what he specifically meant. Perhaps it’s just some of the suggestions he made if such a thing happened.”

“He did say z, plan z.”

“No, just Z, but he did say it was what we had been talking about, and that was the only z I can remember, or made notes on. And if they’re pulling him back to be an advisor after scoffing at his ideas, then what they’re not telling us is quite telling if you ask me. If you don’t mind the irony of it all.”

It was met with a wan smile from her.  “What did you think we should do?”

I shrugged.  “If It was just me alone, I’d probably head south.  There’s no transport, so I’m not sure what I’d use.”

“And go where?”

“Always wanted to go to California, and that’s past the current freeze line.  Somewhere where there’s power for starters, though.”

“I’ve got a car.  It’s not a very good one, but I used to hang out in my dad’s workshop, and I pretty much know everything there is about cars and trucks.”

“And you waitress?”

“Girl mechanics don’t get far, just hit on.  Lasted a week before I hit one jerk with a spanner.  They’re very useful for teaching jerks lessons.  Do you have any hidden talents?”

“Aside from washing dishes, not really.  I can read, not comics, but textbooks and learn from them.  Very good at trivia questions. I can program computers, and I have a funny little program running at the moment collecting every digitised book on the planet.  Useful, of course, to no one but me.”

“Every book?”

I shrugged.  “That can be freely downloaded, yes.”

“Why?”

“The usual reason, because I can.”

“How about speaking other languages, like Russian, or German?”

“Yes, several.  Why?”

“Another quirk, I guess, that I have too.  I can speak about six or seven different languages.  I just can for some reason.  Helps to talk to the customers at the diner when their English is kaput.”

Interesting.  But time for a change of subject.  “Does the car have petrol?”

“Diesel.”

“Spare fuel?”

“Some.  So, we have a car, we have food, we have blankets and warm clothes.  Still might not be enough.  We certainly will not get on the roads with the stay-at-home order in place, but when things get better, it’s a possible plan.”

Another announcement had just been made, that if you had no reason to be on the street, stay at home, until further notice.  There was also a specific reference to looting and the fact that perpetrators would be apprehended.  This time, they were not waiting until everything went to hell.

“The question is, and don’t take this the wrong way if I was to consider going anywhere, I would not want to leave you here, not while this is all going on.  And if it does pass, I would consider going south, but again, I don’t want to leave you unless…”

“I have something better to do with my life, or I have a secret boyfriend or ex-husband, or maybe I just don’t like you.  What you see is what you get, Alex.  I don’t want to be alone, and yet that’s what always happens.  The type of guys I get to meet, well, you’re not one of them.  Let’s see what happens in the next few days when we are so close; bad habits are bound to surface.  I’m not perfect.”

“Neither am I.  Nor do I have many dates.  Talking to you on the fire escape has been the highlight of my life.  Make of that what you will.”

It was hard to tell what she was thinking, though, at times, it was easy enough to gauge her mood.  At the moment, with everything, there was an element of fear, tinged with something else.  But the fact she wanted to stay with me and see what happened was a good sign.

She took my hand in hers and held it with both of hers.  “I’m not sure if I should curse or thank this weather.  But one thing is for sure, it brought us together in a way I never expected, though part of me was hoping something might develop.  Lives such as ours don’t give scope for much, but it doesn’t mean we can’t try.  Plan for two.  I think soon, we’re going to be in for a hell of a ride if we can get in front of it.  That said, in the meantime, what have you got to eat?”

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

…

…

“What the hell?” Amelia asked her grandmother, somewhat exasperatedly, after suddenly waking, and finding her missing.

Despite any misgivings that briefly passed through her mind, Amelia threw on some clothes and went looking for her. If this was home, she would not be caught dead outside without the proper preparation, a half-hour system at the very least for makeup application and clothes selection.

Her instructions from her parents were quite clear.  Don’t let her grandmother out of her sight.  It was not that she couldn’t be trusted. It was just that she didn’t see the evil in people, and Italy was a whole different world than she was used to.

“Breakfast.  I did give you a shake, then tell you where I was going?”

“You should have tried harder.”

Her grandmother gave her one of those looks, one that bordered on disdain with a tinge of incomprehension, one she was getting used to because of the generation gap, and things were getting lost in translation

“Who was he?  Some rando imposing on you?”

There was that look again.  “What is a rando?”

“Some guy who comes up and tries it on.”

“In the restaurant over coffee?  I should be that lucky a guy would be interested in me that way.  I think your imagination is a little too fertile, young lady.  He’s just another tourist, and I imposed on him, not the other way around.”  She looked her granddaughter up and down.  “You look a mess.”

“Well, I was worried you might have gotten into trouble.”

“Your father has so little faith in me, I see.  This isn’t going to work if you’re going to stress out every time I go for breakfast and you’re still asleep.  You need to change your habits and be ready when I am.  I’ll wait here until you get yourself together. And now you’ve enlightened me about randos; I’ll try to avoid them if possible.”

Amelia simply shook her head.  She was between that proverbial rock and a hard place and regretted volunteering to chaperone her grandmother.  Of course, the alternative was equally impossible.

She needed to get away from her so-called friends and that weasel of an ex-boyfriend.  The idea of enduring the summer holidays with any of them was painful enough, but this gig was probably going to be worse.

She compromised on her morning routine, going with the minimal makeup look and a summery dress that she wouldn’t wear back home.  It was not likely she was going to run into anyone she knew.

Back down in the foyer almost fifteen minutes after she left her grandmother in one of the lounges, she spilled out of the elevator and quickly strode into the foyer where … no one was sitting in any of the chairs.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath.  “Now, where is she?”

Her grandmother was going to be a nightmare to supervise.  Her father said as much, not exactly denigrating a woman for being independent and also having a mind of her own, but he seemed to be bordering on a man who had definite ideas about a woman’s place.  She was surprised her mother put up with it.

The one conversation she had with her grandmother on serious stuff like her life, was about how she had spent more of her time trying to fight against the strict social norms of her day, that she be a dutiful wife and mother, and not entertain any of those nonsensical ideas of going to work or going places, and worse still doing it on her own.

It was everything that Amelia had now without questioning how it came to pass; just that it was a right she had.  Like most girls her age, she knew nothing about how hard it had been just to get some of those rights.

She went over to the door and looked out.  Out by the dock where the Vaporetto came to collect and drop them off, she saw her talking to that same man and an Italian woman in a very smart suit.

She dashed out and almost ran into several people who made an unpredictable turn outside the entrance.

…

“Ah,” her grandmother said, “just in time.  Jay, this is one of my four granddaughters, Amelia.  She was the one I was telling you about.”

I looked at her, making out the similarities between the generations.  Same eyes, same amusement lurking there.  “I’ve never been called a rando before, but in any case, it has a slightly different meaning in my generation, which I was just telling your grandmother about.”

Amelia glared at her grandmother.  “Did you have to mention that?  Really?”  Scratch that idea she was not going to suffer embarrassment.

The grandmother added, “She generally speaks in riddles, and I can never understand a word of it.  This new teen language…”

“Oddly enough, I know what you mean.  I have a few teens and a few older grandchildren who, as you say, talk in riddles if they talk at all.”

“Gran, we should be getting on the boat.  We have places to see.”

The Vaporetto was just pulling into the dock.

“About that, Jay here has a private guide, and it seems to him overkill for just one person to benefit. He thinks we might benefit from Conchetta’s experience and knowledge.  I’m inclined to agree, just for today, until we get our bearings.  Unless, of course, you want to do battle with the guidebook and impress me with your Italian language skills?”

Put that way, how could Amelia refuse.  Her Italian was awful, and the last thing she wanted was to take charge of going to see old buildings and boring museums.  And don’t get her started in the number of churches…

“Just for today then, as you say.”

Rather than take the hotel’s vaporetto, Conchetta had arranged for a private water taxi that also had catering.  It was going to be a warm day, and we would need water.

I was right when I suggested that having such a knowledgeable guide all to myself was almost criminal, and when I’d ascertained from Millie that she had no other plans than getting the Vaporetto to St Mark’s Square and wandering around, it seemed simple.

To me, anyway.  I hadn’t factored in the possibility of a somewhat truculent granddaughter, but then I got the impression she had been sent against her will.  It was a surprise she was not at home with her friends.

It seemed there was a little tension between the two, which made me think that the granddaughter might have been co-opted as a nursemaid, and this trip was punishment.

Or perhaps she was a little suspicious of me and whatever my motives were.  There were none, but given time to think about it, it did seem like a pickup line, though given my age, that would be almost ridiculous.

But that notion of being called a rando did bring the matter back to a level of reality.  A foreign country and a foreign tourist, was anyone really safe?

I assured them both that I had no other intentions other than to share my good fortune, and she seemed to accept it.  After all, it was never my intention to seek out a female company or anything like that.  I was quite content to be on my own.

We took a roundabout route and covered a few canals and sightseeing points, which Conchetta was quite happy to mark on the map, along with a chart of the route we were taking.

She also gave us a history lesson, because nearly everything was as old as the hills, as my mother used to describe old stuff.  Of course, my idea of questions, when prompted, was more relatable to the topic.

Amelia had a more fertile imagination, like I’d expect of a teen, and asked about how many bodies were fished out of the canals and did the mafia run everything in Venice.  I was sure they didn’t, but it was not a question Conchetta was going to answer definitively.  In fact, she seemed amused at how Americans and the English thought.

She was very patient without being condescending.  In her place, I might have been more so.  It was just another painful reminder of how our children had abandoned their responsibility to bring their children up properly.

After the canal exploration, the morning was spent in St Mark’s Square, and then the Palace of the Doges.  My highlight was the Whispering Bridge and the story behind it.  Along with a lot of very old paintings.  Amelia, predictably, was bored witless.

When it came to lunch, I politely suggested they might like to join me, though, at the time, I was not sure what Concetta had organised.

To Amelia, it signified the end of a morning of looking at boring stuff and asked if we could have lunch at a real Italian restaurant, and I could see Conchetta roll her eyes, slightly before her grandmother did, so in a quiet moment I asked Conchetta if such a venue existed given the touristy nature of the island, and melting pot of cuisines and visitors tastes.

Fortunately, she did, and I paid her extra to be our culinary host.

It was a divine lunch for many reasons, to have the authentic food, completely dissected and described with the history behind it, the authentic wine to match the food, and the company despite the youthful brashness.

At the end of the day, when the taxi was taking them back to the hotel,  Millie was sitting in the cabin looking like she was having a nap, not very far away from Amelia, who seemed lost in thought.

“A penny for those thoughts, Am.”

The girl turned and smiled.  “It was not as bad as I thought, even if I had to endure all that old stuff.”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, dear.  Tomorrow, we’re going to visit churches.”

“Really?”

“You might not be interested, but I am.  And the food and wine.  It certainly pays to have someone like Conchetta along for the ride.”

“We could never afford that.  This guy must be very wealthy.”

Millie looked back into the cabin.  Not in the normal sense perhaps, she thought, because not once did he make mention of anything that gave an indication he was rich, unlike so many of his compatriots. Big, loud, brash, and demanding.

There was more to that story, but this was a one-day thing.  She had been reluctant at first to agree to his proposal, perhaps a little suspicious of his motives, but as the day progressed, it was clear to her there were none.

“Perhaps, but it is none of our business.”

The girl came back to sit next to her grandmother.  “Perhaps,” she said in almost a whisper, “you could cosy up to him, and we could ride his coattails around Europe.”

Millie put on her most shocked expression.  “I thought you said he was a rando trying it on.”

“I might have been a little hasty.  I don’t mean, you know, just if he offers, I’m sure it would be better than us two trying to muddle through.”

“I won’t ask you to explain ‘you know’, but I don’t think we can impose on him.  If he suggests it, I’ll think about it, but this is about you and I going on what your father described as the trip of a lifetime.”

“Yeah.  Dad says a lot of stuff, but none of it belonging to this century.  As you wish.”

I woke when the boat gently bumped against the dock, and Conchetta gently shook my shoulder.

“We are here,” she said.

“My goodness.  What did I miss?”

“Nothing of any consequence.  It has been a long day, even for me.”

“Perhaps less formal clothes tomorrow?”

“If only I could.”

At the front of the boat, Millie and Amelia were about to get off.  I looked over time the pontoon and gasped.

A surprise.  Jasper, second son to my daughter Samanthan was waiting, that usual lopsided grin and shock of red hair making him stand out.

That and the fact he was wearing a suit and looked every bit the formal figure like his father.

I could see that Amelia had seen him too and had that effect he had on women of any age.

I came up behind them.  “I see you’ve seen my grandson, Jasper, though why he’s here is a surprise, and hopefully not because something has gone wrong.”

“You have to be kidding, he’s your grandson?  He’s like in every magazine on the planet.  He is that guy that does those ads isn’t he?”

The red hair sometimes gave it away, but yes, his mother was one of those stage mothers.  The movie world shunned him, but the advertisers didn’t.

“Sometimes.  He has better things to do with his time.”

We were helped off the boat, and he came over and gave me a hug.  I then introduced him to the two women.  Amelia all of a sudden couldn’t speak.

“Dumb question,” I said to Jasper to break the moment, ” but why are you here?”

“I had to get away from mom.  She was making all these plans, none of which included my input, so I got on a plane and came here.  Boring churches seemed so much better than modelling gigs.”

“Then just in time.  That’s our tomorrow.  Oh, sorry, Millie, if you want to that is.”

“We’d love to, “Amelia said before her grandmother could take a breath.

I looked at her, and she smiled.  “Of course, we’d love to.”

In that moment both Jasper and Amelia were heading towards the hotel looking almost like they’d been together forever.

Millie watched them with an amused expression, then headed up the ramp towards the hotel.  “This morning, Amelia was telling me this was going to be the most boring month of her life.”

“That might also be the case for Jasper.  I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, but my daughter pretends to worry about me.  You’ll be glad to know Jasper is the sanest of the seven.  Perhaps I am glad he’s here.  And I don’t mean to put you in an awkward position.  If you have other plans for tomorrow…”

“I have not, and today was a good day.  One day at a time, I’ve been saying for a while.   I’m sure it’s a philosophy you can understand.”

She smiled, and I held out a hand to assist her in going up the ramp.  “Very much so.  Now, any particular churches you want to see?”

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©  Charles Heath  2024

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…

I had no idea which way Jamieson would go. 

I had damning evidence, and he would ponder why I didn’t play that card back when he was trying to stop the publication of that first story, which was essentially a parody of his discovery.

It was true that Antoine had been totally discredited, not in small part by Aristotle Jamieson himself, and when he had died in the so-called accident, any controversy that had been lingering died with him.

It was almost too convenient, and I didn’t want to think that my investigation of the Jamiesons had anything to do with his death, but I guess it had, and it wasn’t hard to guess who did it.  Jamieson may not have personally killed him, but he was not above paying someone else to do it for him.

What had precipitated that critical interview was Antoine himself, having read an article I’d written about the Jamieson find, and thought I would be interested in what he had to say.  I knew before that interview his reputation was tarnished, but to me, it seemed he would be exactly the sort of person Jamieson would go to if he wanted to fabricate artifacts.

What Antoine had to say and show me was a revelation.  He was doing the interview because Jamieson had short-paid him quite a considerable sum of money, and it was the old story, thieves fall out.  He said that he would have one more attempt at getting his money before giving me the OK to publish, and it was the last time I saw or heard from him.

It wasn’t a surprise to read about his death in the papers some days later.  The fact it was believed to be an accident got my interest and set my investigative journalist persona into overdrive.  I didn’t relax until I found the evidence it was not an accident, but convincing the police became an uphill battle because they were more interested in closing the case.

It would keep.  One day, his death would be avenged.  Just not today.

Elizabeth asked me why I’d been so long, and I think she may have suspected I’d gone to see Jamieson.

 She didn’t press the matter as she was in a hurry to leave for her dig site and was ready to depart the moment I walked in the door.  I was also ready. The quicker we got away from the hotel, the less chance of Jamieson, or his odious son, coming to see me.

I hadn’t taken the time to consider the consequences of confronting Jamieson and should have realised just how unpredictable they could be, particularly Jackson.  He would be very annoyed that I had any sway over their activities.  It made me wonder whether Aristotle had told his son exactly what was going on, and if he hadn’t, I could understand why.

I looked over at Elizabeth from time to time and could see the confrontation earlier had shaken her.  I found it difficult to understand why the Jamiesons would be interested in a minor investigation like Elizabeth’s.  Pirates were never high on the glamourous archelogy list.

Perhaps it held that certain amount of exotic appeal and that in moving from the Egyptian discovery, now losing its shine due to the way they were marketing it, it would be good to have something new to divert the archaeological world’s attention.

Then there was the revelation from Jamieson that she had let the permits for her dig expire.  The Elizabeth I knew was a stickler for details and would never let it happen.  Perhaps the loss of funding had something to do with it, but she had not said anything about it.  Why?

This whole episode was beginning to take on elements that would, in other circumstances, become the makings of one of my novels.  In fact, I found my mind starting to write the outline, starting with the mysterious appearance of a renowned archaeologist suddenly coming back to an old flame, looking to renew their relationship, with the plan to convince him to fund one of her projects, one that if it played out the way she hoped, it would be the next big archaeological event.

Step in the evil Dr Blob, a notorious villain who made a handsome living out of stealing sites and plundering their treasures for personal gain and glory.  Who will win the battle?

Was it fiction or was it fact.

It seemed to me the catalyst for the real saga was the loss of funding from the university.  Jamieson might have had some influence on the decision, after all, he provided a grant to the university archaeology department and enabled graduates to gain some practical experience at his dig site.  That would enable him to swoop in.

It would not be the first time I’d based the evil archaeologist on him, and Jackson made a perfect belligerent henchman.

And what if they had, and expected the Dean to pass on the news in the hope it would drag her away long enough for them to step in and take over, perhaps hoping she might not return until after they had found what she had been looking for.  After all, ad hoc funding for speculative projects like hers was not easy to arrange.

There were just too many questions that I should have asked before embarking on this odyssey, and perhaps I should not have allowed my feelings for her to get in the way of making the proper decision.

We’d been driving for nearly two hours when she suddenly said, “You went to see Jamieson, didn’t you?”

I glanced sideways at her, and I could see she had been thinking about it.  It was a logical conclusion.

“What makes you think that?”  I’d try to deflect it if possible.  I was not quite sure how she would react, which was why I didn’t say anything.

“Your haste to leave.  You’ve never been that enthusiastic about anything in your life.”

“I could see the distress this whole affair was causing you.  You needed to see if he really has stepped in.  Yes, I did drop in and we had words.  I basically told him to leave your site alone.”

“And what did he say to that?”

“He would think about it.  The problem was, he told me you had let the permits expire.  Did you?”

Another glance told me it was true.

“I was going to renew them but the fact my funding had been cut made that a little difficult.  I was hoping I could find replacement funds and sort that out.  He renewed the permits, didn’t he?”

“You made it easy for him to swoop in.”

“How could he possibly know any of this?”

“Jackson.  You know he was obsessed with you.  He would have been watching your progress with a keen interest, especially if it meant he could use any trip on your part against you.  And the fact your ex-assistant called him, or perhaps the other way around…”

I’d been looking for a way and forgot about Jackson.  He was not the sort to forgive and forget.  Especially when she preferred another struggling archaeologist instead of one who was rich and famous, well, handing onto the coattails of one who was rich and famous.

“Well, if nothing else, you’ve got the makings of a very good story here.”

“We have the makings of a very good story here.  I’m not averse to collaborating with a real archaeologist.”

I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze.  I could see a tear or two escape and felt the enormity of the loss.  Seven years of hard work was about to disappear, and someone else would take the kudos.  It wasn’t fair, but it wouldn’t be for the first time.

Ten miles out from our destination, according to the latitude and longitude coordinates she had given me, we passed a convoy of trucks going in the opposite direction.  Earth moving equipment, generators, portable huts.  It might have been from Jamieson’s dig, it might not.  I wasn’t getting my hopes up.

She had noticed it but said nothing.

Then, we were upon the very edge of the area she had set as the exploration site.  There was a portable wire fence set up with a gate, and in front a car with a man sitting in it.

“What do you think he’s waiting for?” she asked.

“Us.  Wait here, and I’ll see what’s going on.  This is part of the area you based your permit on isn’t it?”

“We’re on about the middle.  It’s where I would set up camp.  We had two years ago while we branched out in both directions.  Our camp was about to be moved to the new site.”

“OK.”

I got out of the car and went over to the SUV.  He watched me come over and when I got there, he would down the window.

“You Alan?”

“I am.”

“I was asked by Mr Jamieson to tell you the site is yours.  For what it’s worth, we did an extensive radar search and found nothing.  We covered the whole site.  The pirate didn’t exist, and the treasure doesn’t exist.  I’d leave while I had the chance.”  He handed me an envelope.  “The permits, his gift to you.  He still expects you to keep your end of the arrangement.”

“I will.  He has my word.”

“Good.  My work is done.  Good luck, you’re going to need it.”

With that, he wound the window back up and drove off.

It didn’t surprise me Jamieson would do a radar survey.  If there was any treasure it would not be buried too deeply and would be found quite easily.  Of course, radar searches were very expensive and would never get funding from the university, and Elizabeth could never afford it.

I watched the car until it disappeared, shrugged, and went back to my car.

“What was that about?”

“Jamieson has given you the dig site back.”  I held up the envelope.  “The permits, pain in full.”

“Ehat else did he say?”

“That Jamieson ordered a radar survey on the whole area, and they found nothing.  They were here long enough to do that.  They found nothing, which is why they have gone.”

“Or they did and have already taken it with them.  Take me to the coordinates and we’ll soon see.”

Indeed, we would.

It was about a half mile, after turning off the main track to a lesser one defined by two distinct tracks where cars had been before.  It was overgrown and the trees brushed the side of the car continuously. 

At the end of the track, or what seemed to be the end, we stopped at a wall, just ragged enough to look like it was natural, but on closer inspection under the headlights of the car, showed it had been man-made.

I turned off the engine and we got out.

“This the site?”

“No.  This way.”  She had a flashlight and switched it on.

The beam was quite powerful and cut through the night like a beacon.  In the distance I could hear the ocean, waves crashing on shore.  Had the pirates tramped up here, set up camp, and buried their treasure?

With my own flashlight, I checked the ground.  There had been a second set of tyre marks on the ground, and there were footsteps, recent, everywhere.  They had definitely been here.

I followed her as she made her way along the wall, then down a track that looked hazardous.  Luckily it was dark, or I might have suspected it was on the side of a cliff.  There was nothing but inky darkness surrounding us.

All the time we were getting closer to the sound of the waves.

Then we stopped.  It was a small clearing, and to one side the rocky outcrop of the cliff face behind one very dense underbrush, the other, a view of the ocean at night.  It was not that far down, the beam of her light showing the water below.

“How did you find this place?”

“I actually got lost going around in circles.  This is where I believe they made camp.  Below the lagoon is reasonably deep and it’s where I think they repaired their ship after a battle with one of the King’s navy ships.  I’ve found a variety of objects here.”

“But no treasure.”

“Not in the clearing, no.  But here’s the surprise.”  She went over to the underbrush and did a quick search until she found a spot where the undergrowth was not as thick, then beckoned me over.”

She held a branch back and shined her torch.  Just discernible in the light was an opening, and not much further back from that, a doorway.”

The veritable entrance to Aladdin’s cave.

“How could they have missed it?”

“Easy.  If you’re not looking for it.  It wasn’t until I heard noises coming from within the trees.  Imagine my surprise when I found it.”

“Have you investigated it yet?”

“No.  For a long time sitting there, it’s still very strong.  The hinges are rusted, but intact, and the door is made of oak, and not rotted as you would expect.  It was another reason why I needed to go home.  I needed more sophisticated tools.  I was hoping no one would find it while I was gone, but this is a very remote part of the coastline.  The cove has changed a lot in 400 years, and I doubt anyone could see it from the ocean now.  Ideal to hide in.  So, let’s set up camp, and tomorrow, see what we’ve got.”

It was a find in a million, I thought. 

I also wondered if Jamieson would have given up so easily had he not done the radar survey.  It was a moot point.  He was gone, we were here, and time would tell.

She came over to me and took my hand in hers.

“Thank you for being my guardian angel.  If it is what I think it is, then the find will be as much yours as it is mine.”

“My pleasure.”

With that, and for the first time in my life, I felt that thrill of being on a real dig, hoping that we would make a discovery.  Even if we didn’t, nothing was going to take that feeling away, that sense that finally, all that study was going to pay off.”

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©  Charles Heath  2024

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