Day 350 – Writing exercise
He had never liked the desert, or anywhere hot, if he was telling the truth.
…
It started out as a joke and ended up as the reason for defunding my project, but irrespective of the reason given, it was not unexpected because of the lack of progress and cost overruns.
And the fact that I had suffered a minor breakdown, having laboured day and night, in very hot, dusty, trying conditions for longer than I expected.
Of course, the fact that I had assured the Management team that I would be available 24/7, and was forced to go on indefinite sick leave, was probably the final nail in the coffin.
That, and the fact that I had participated in an interview where I had confessed, in a moment of reflection, that I preferred to live in the cooler climate of the mountains than in the middle of the desert, the place where I had been running a major investigation into underground rivers.
Or, as my hard-working and cynical assistant project manager had put it, they didn’t want a woman taking my place, and worse, they didn’t want anyone to know they had run out of funding.
In the end, none of it mattered. They shut down the site.
…
Melanie, Acting Project Manager, resident cynic, and all-around conspiracy theorist, had dropped in on her way home, or as she put it, a welcome deviation before returning to a ‘rat hole’ at her sister’s residence while in transit between jobs.
I had just left the hospital, and arrived at my ‘Shangrila’ the day before. She had just wrapped up the operation in Mexico. She looked as exhausted as I still felt.
When Melanie watched the replay of the post-project interview, curious to see what had been said, she realised one very important point. “You were led. The interviewer had a definite plan to lead you down a particular path and then took a run with it.”
“I was tired and wanted to get it over with.”
“You didn’t ask for the slate of questions ahead of time?”
“I did and was given a folder. There was nothing about climate preferences, or the possibility of exhaustion, in them.”
“There you are. It was nothing less than a set-up, clearly designed to derail your project.”
Melanie always suspected the organisation that funded the projects to be exactly the sort of people they portrayed to the outside world, and she had been very vocal at the first meeting, and several since, citing the world needed water, not geothermal energy.
In the beginning, it had been a hard sell. Until suddenly they changed their minds from a hard no to a three-year deal.
That was until the two board members who agreed with her had retired in the last six months.
“If they hadn’t retired, we wouldn’t be here.”
Actually, we would. We had not found irrefutable evidence that there was water under the impenetrable rock. It was somewhere near there, I just wasn’t sure exactly where, and drilling bores wasn’t cheap.
I had been assured they’d come back to it later.
Meanwhile…
I was on administrative leave. Melanie was supposed to go to Peru or Chile. Instead ,she stayed with me.
…
Melanie had also suspected the Project Management organisation of having ulterior motives. I had also heard the rumours that somewhere of the projects had two purposes.
The most recent, an archaeological dig turned into a search for oil, in a place where the local government had been prevented from prospecting.
Our project had the security team ‘enhanced’ because of ‘perceived’ threats to our safety, which, in the end, didn’t materialise.
Just before the funding dried up.
It was not as if they didn’t have a reason. Suddenly, we found it difficult to bore through the hard rock to get down to the suspected cavern where an underground river ran from the Arctic to the north to the equator.
We had found what was believed to be the entrance in northern Scandinavia, but not the outlet, other than ancient evidence of water feeding a flourishing Aztec city, not just dry dusty ruins. It had been paradise.
And as much as I would like to also give my archaeological skills a run, that hadn’t been our focus. We just had to work around the archaeological aspects of the site.
Even so, I had a feeling someone was poking around the ruins, with people going missing, and strange noises at night.
Melanie was adamant that the ghosts of the city’s once-inhabitants were rising up to protect their final resting place from us invaders.
It became the subject of a conversation one morning, after about a week, the amount of time it took for Melanie doing nothing to start getting bored.
She had just latched onto the archaeological aspects of the site, just arriving at a conclusion I had considered a possibility, but unlikely given the local government’s stand on exploration of the ruins.
“It’s an unjustified cost to bore through impassable rock, especially when we cannot prove an outcome.”
“What if it wasn’t and they’re just telling you that?”
I looked at her over the conference table with surprise. Melanie was my guru for superstitions and conspiracy theories and was often closer to the bone than most.
She had said once after a few too many margaritas that the site we were working at had been an old Aztec temple and place of worship and sacrifice, and more than one ghost had been seen at night.
I thought I had seen one myself, but I didn’t believe in such things. But I did suspect that there might be an element of truth in another myth she had uncovered, that somewhere within the boundaries of the site was a reputed entrance to a network of caverns and tunnels, where artifacts had been hidden from the Spanish conquerors, and which several items had been found nearby.
It would make more sense to think we had been shut down so that another clandestine expedition was being funded to locate the entrance or determine whether there was any truth to the supposition that gold and or artifacts were hidden there. That would make more money than finding underground watercourses.
“Then what are you telling me?”
“Those extra security staff sent to save us from the revolting masses would know one end of a gun from the other. Did they look like mercenaries?”
After a few more margaritas, she confessed her ideal man was that Hollywood stereotype mercenary. This stereotype was not supported by the members of the security team or the additional people sent.
“Not really, but do we really know that security people have a ‘type’?”
“Girls who look like they just came from a fashion show in Milan. You remember Joanne and Louisa?”
I don’t think anyone could forget them. She had a point, but by that time, I was almost overcome by exhaustion.
“You think they were archaeology students?”
“Isn’t that how digs work? One or two experts and a dozen students are working towards their degrees. You went through that process.”
I had, though, not been so lucky to find a dig so rich in history. “We were strictly forbidden from any archaeological exploration.”
“And Management knew you’d assure them that nothing like that was going on. They relied on your reputation, one of the main reasons the local government allowed the project. That you’d run it and you’d find water. Especially if you found water. When I stopped by the mayor’s office to give him the keys, half a dozen of the newbies, including the girls, were still there. They were supposed to be on a plane a week ago.”
“They don’t have permission to conduct archaeological exploration of the ruins.”
“Who needs permission to do anything, other than us good guys. We’ve been running a distraction. I think they’ve discovered the tunnels and caverns. And they, more than anything else, might lead us to the water. We were looking in the wrong place. I think the city was built on top of the water outlet, and the Aztecs destroyed it themselves to spite the Spanish”
“But we were not in the business of treasure hunting.”
Or were we?
“Why don’t we go and find out?”
…
© Charles Heath 2025
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 