The frazzled couple were having a rough vacation. Jeremy and Paula just couldn't get into a festive mood. They were in the sultry hills of Chiapas on an archeological trip. But was that the crux of the problem? Their holiday break was merely a week old, and they were exhausted and at loggerheads.
"Nice day for it," Jeremy said with heavy sarcasm. Water flooded the manicured lawns of the five-star hotel and had transformed the grass into a glutinous mix of reddish clay. He could foresee the drudgery of scaling ruins in his brand-new Nike cross-trainers. He'd left his hiking boots back in London since his partner had assured him they would be superfluous in southern Mexico.
"A frightful downpour. Can we cancel the outing?" Jeremy urged. He'd a quick temper, and this wasn't the way the aspiring British bank manager envisioned his spring getaway. Jeremy was more the swim-up-bar hedonistic hombre.
Paula, a Canadian nurse posted in London and the brains behind their expedition, brushed it off. The day was just unfolding and she was in no frame of mind for a bitter row. "I never decide at 5:30 am about anything. Order me more coffee if you want a genuine conversation. We've travelled for fifteen hours by bus all the way across the Yucatan peninsula to view these Mayan monuments. We've paid for the semi-private tour and a professional guide. It's boring to just lounge around the pool I can't see throwing all my planning out the window over a bit of inclement weather."
They sat in the Hacienda Hotel lounge waiting for their first cup of java to kick in. The showers had relented slightly and settled into a swirling mist. It occurred to Paula that this was a wild and primitive rainforest. the turbulent climate was a necessary evil and worthy any temporary discomfort. Within this delicate eco-system were the remains of a 3,000-year-old empire ready to receive them. Complaining about the weather could wait.
******Thanks for reading folks. For more please go to Amazon-Kindle and purchase the ebook.
Gilgamesh - A sequel
'The Return of Gilgamesh - a wicked murder/mystery in Istanbul
Franz Gothberg paused outside the common room door of his United Nations office and adjusted the tilt of his new fedora. Tanned and relaxed after a three-week sojourn into southern Mexico, he came bearing gifts. A large bottle of the finest mescal, complete with a plump worm, a bag of traditional sugared wedding cookies and a box of dark chocolates for his staff.
Stepping across the threshold, he was engulfed iin an uproarious welcome. There were high-fives from his colleagues. Two university research interns bowed to him as if he were a Greek god returning from Mt. Olympus. "We are not worthy," they brayed. Franz smacked them with his fedora good-naturedly.
It was good to be back, Franz reflected, as he poured himself a fresh brewed coffee and sauntered into his expansive 10th floor office. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered one of the best views in the complex, a panoramic vista of the Italian Alps laced with spring snow. A bright bouquet sat on his glass desk and the floors were spotless. He could see Mt. Blanc in the distance and got a powerful urge to hike the labyrinth of trails visible from his perch. Geneva was ideal for alpine adventures. It was all there, enticing him. Shut off the ubiquitous internet and embrace springtime outdoors.
Please go to Amazon-Kindle to continue your reading of this thriller. It's at an attractive promotional price under $5.00 for the novella in Turkey. Check it out!
The 8th Ancient Wonder of the World
Franz and his colleagues are asked by the United Nations to build a new gallery for the Bedouin people. Read this engaging just released thriller set in the eerie desert of Petra, Jordan.
The introduction to the story is reprinted below and is now available at Amazon-Kindle!
Preface:
The wiry twenty-seven-year-old Swiss explorer could not believe his incredible good fortune. He had stumbled upon remote ruins in the rugged cliffs of Arabia. An ancient kingdom had remained hidden for over twelve centuries in the vast desert had now been located. But there was just one minor problem: he couldn't disclose his identity without risking instant death. He was a trespassing infidel in a strange land.
Sheik Ibrahim Ibn Abdallah was the alias of Johann Burckhardt. Keeping up his disguise as a visiting Arabic nobleman was essential on this expedition in August 1822. The red-rose mausoleum at the entrance of Petra was distinctive and spectacular. Massive 40 metre pink sandstone columns were carved with fine reliefs that rivalled the artwork of ancient Greece. The existence of the fortress had been a rumour circulated amongst nomadic tribesman of the Trans-Jordan. Now it was a confirmed historical fact.
Johann had immigrated to England as a teenager and enrolled at Cambridge. Fascinated with astronomy and Arabic, Johann excelled in his academic subjects. After moving to Aleppo, he became fluent in dialects of the desert tribes. He studied the Koran and adopted Arabic customs. The bearded sheik had been sent on countless excursions, which had all resulted in dead-ends. Johann had been beaten, robbed, and left for dead on his odyssey across the unchartered wilds of Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan. Having heard whispers over the years of a lost empire, he surveyed the area for his employer, the British Foreign Office.
Johann had concocted a story to the local authorities that he wanted to sacrifice a goat at the ancient shrine of the sun god. This ruse led him into the entrance of the lost kingdom. Unfortunately, he only had one day to admire the exquisite ruins of the old Roman capital.
As quickly as the tombs of Petra appeared out of the dust, they vanished. Johann was forced to trek onward to Cairo, clutching his hurried sketches, and scribbled notes in fear of his life from his suspicious guide. After a brief walkabout, the treasures of the Nabataean kings had slipped through his fingers like the finest grains of sand.
A year later, he carried out a clandestine trek to Mecca, again disguised as a devout pilgrim. Another desert outing to discover the colossus at Abu Simbel was ground-breaking. But Burckhardt never returned to Europe and any official recognition by his peers. He died of dehydration in the slums of Cairo. Barely thirty, he took his fleeting memories of Petra, Abu Simbel and Mecca to the grave.
He won't be the first or last explorer to be punished by the onerous heat, swirling winds and djinns who dominate the bluffs of Petra. Evil forces prevail here and they extract a hefty price for all audacious foreigners who dare to invade their realm.