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#21 toddyboy

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Posted 25 March 2020 - 12:20 am

CHAPTER 8

 

 “That my friends is The Great Platform of Baalbek!” he announced.

     Michel and me just looked at him bemused.

     “The platform of what?” I asked.

  “The Great Platform of Baalbek,” Jean repeated. “One of the greatest archaeological mysteries of all time. Mon Dieu, I can’t believe it!”

  “Baalbek. I’ve heard of this place. It’s about a hundred kilometres from Kfar Hazir,” said Michel. 

     “Well at least we know we’re still in Lebanon,’ I said. “Whether that’s a good or bad thing I’m not sure though. I take it you know a bit about this place then, Jean?”

     Jean had a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. He looked like a kid who had just stumbled into a fully stocked candy shop. “Know about it! I have been studying about this place for years but I’ve never managed to visit it due to other personal and professional commitments. There have been many theories bandied about regarding what it was originally created for, one of them being that it was a landing platform for spacecraft. Another theory is that Baalbek was created by giants. These assumptions have always been fobbed off by the mainstream archeologists but after what we’ve just seen and done I think you’ll agree that this was almost certainly built by the people of Ra.”

     With a pointed finger Jean guided the our attention to the side of the platform. “You see those massive foundation stones up there. They are one of the greatest mysteries of the ancient world. Sitting on top of them is what is called the Grand Terrace. The courtyard of the Roman temple of Jupiter was built upon that platform during the height of the Roman Empire. You can see the huge outer wall of the temple at the edge. Now look at the lower courses of the outer wall. They are formed of huge, finely crafted and precisely positioned blocks. Each one weighs approximately four hundred and fifty tons each. There are more of them on the south and west sides. The three much larger blocks of stone above them are called the Trilithon. They weigh approximately one thousand tons each, are sixty feet in length and about fifteen feet high. Another even larger stone lies in a limestone quarry a quarter of a mile from here. It’s known as the Hajar el Gouble, the Stone of the South, or the Hajar el Hibla, the Stone of the Pregnant Woman, and it is the single largest piece of stonework ever crafted in the world. It is lying at a raised angle with the lowest part of its base still attached to the quarry rock as though it were almost ready to be cut free and transported to its presumed location next to these other stones of the Trilithon.”

     “So, what’s the significance of them?” I asked.

     “No one knows. Well ……..” Jean corrected himself. “I should say, no one knew, until now. My God! We are probably the first people on Earth to have figured it out. These stones have been an enigma to contemporary scientists, engineers and archaeologists since written records began. No one has ever been able to understand how ancient civilisations could have quarried, transported and precision placed them because it is quite simply beyond the technological ability of any known builders, ancient or modern. Because they couldn’t understand it they decided that they must have just been dragged here from the nearby quarries. The problem with that concept though, as you can see, is that the route to the site of Baalbek is uphill, over rough and winding terrain, and there’s no evidence whatsoever of a flat hauling surface ever having been created in ancient times. Then there’s the problem of how the mammoth blocks, once they were brought to the site, were lifted and precisely placed in position. It’s been theorised that the stones were raised using a complex array of scaffolding, ramps and pulleys powered by large numbers of humans and animals.”

     “You mean, like the Pyramids were supposed to have been built?” I asked.

    “Yes, kind of,” Jean concurred, “but even that monumental task is still inconceivable to have been done by humans and animals so they based their theories on more modern times, specifically, how the three hundred ton Egyptian obelisk in front of St Peter's Basilica in Rome was erected. There the builders used about forty huge pulleys, eight hundred men and a hundred or more horses. But it’s no comparison really because that obelisk weighed only three hundred or so tons, whereas the trilothon stones are more than three times that weight. Also, the area where the obelisk was erected in St Peter’s Square is completely different than here. It was and still is, a great open space that could easily accommodate all the lifting apparatus and the men and horses pulling on the ropes. As you can see for yourself, there’s no such space available here to place stones this big. The hills slope away from where lifting apparatus would need to have been placed and no evidence has ever been found of a flat and structurally firm surface having been constructed and then mysteriously removed after the lifting was done. Also, these giant stones are precisely placed side-by-side. There simply is no conceivable place where a huge pulley apparatus could have been stationed here to do such a thing.”

     “Look at those stones,” Jean said, pointing at the lower section of the structure. “It was built to withstand a severe amount of weight and pressure. Perhaps it was a landing pad for spaceships, or a transfer platform for sending things to the moon. That duct we just climbed up through; it has something to do with the structures far below ground.”

     “You could well be right,” I agreed. “Maybe we’ll figure it out at some point but right now if this is Baalbek then we’re very close to the Syrian border. We need to head West and get to the coast as fast as is humanly possible.” As I spoke I looked towards the Eastern horizon. “It’ll be dawn in about two hours. I don’t know about you two but I for one would like a hot bath and some decent food.” I added.

    To cover our tracks we replaced the stone slab we’d crawled up out of and filled in the mortar cracks with sand and earth. When we were satisfied that the entrance hole to the shaft below was suitably covered and disguised we set off towards the town of Baalbek.

     When three bedraggled characters, covered in dust and looking like they’d just been dragged down the street by a horse and cart walked in to the foyer of the Palmyra Hotel the proprietor did a double take. The first thing out of his mouth (in Arabic) didn’t sound very hospitable. Michel understood a little Arabic. Apparently the man thought we were Syrian refugees and was telling us to get lost but he soon mellowed down a bit when Michel paid up front for three breakfasts and enquired about renting their largest room. He explained to the man in very broken Arabic that we were tourists on our way to visit the Baalbek ruins but that our vehicle had broken down ten miles out of town and that we’d walked all the way here in the early hours of the morning. The man seemed to accept that and immediately lightened up, profusely apologising for his previous rudeness and offering us a hot cup of coffee on the house.

     After eating a hearty breakfast of eggs and sautéed potatoes we felt a whole lot better and after each taking a long bath we sat out on the balcony of the room, surveying the bustling streets of Baalbek down below while we contemplated the  tumultuous events of the past few weeks. 

     “You know, I keep thinking about that Nazi Iron Cross you found in the Silo when we first went down there,” I said to Michel. “How did they find out about it?”

     Michel just shook his head. He had no idea, but Jean did.

     “The Nazi’s were obsessed with ancient artefacts, Tod,” Jean replied. “The SS in particular spent a lot of time and resources investigating such things. Believe it or not the Swastika is actually an important symbol in both ancient and modern religions. It indicates, among other things, good luck, the infinity of creation and the unconquered, revolving sun. Coca-Cola even used this symbol at one time. Carlsberg used it on their beer bottles. The Boy Scouts adopted it and the Girls' Club of America called their magazine ‘Swastika.’ Incredible as it sounds now they would even send out swastika badges to their young readers as a prize for selling copies of the magazine. It was used by American military units during World War One and it could even be seen on RAF planes as late as 1939. Most of these benign uses came to a halt in the late 1930s as the Nazis rose to power in Germany. The Nazi use of the swastika stems from the work of 19th Century German scholars translating old Indian texts who noticed similarities between their own language and Sanskrit. They concluded that Indians and Germans must have had a shared ancestry and imagined a race of white god-like warriors they called Aryans, and we all know what that led to once Hitler added his maniacal spin to it.”

     He definitely had my attention now, and Michel’s.

   “By the early 1920s, the swastika had been adopted as a symbol of the German Reich and although it is reviled in the West today it is still popular within Buddhist and Hindu societies.”

     “So you think that they may have gotten wind of the fact that some ancient artefact was down there then?” I asked.

     “I have no idea but it seems likely. I can’t think of any other reason why the Nazi’s would be digging down there. I’m just glad the British drove them out before they found anything.”

     “Who needs Google when we’ve got you!” I remarked.

  Michel then mentioned something else that had been on his mind since our encounter with Him-she. “Have you two given any actual though about what we’re going to do now?” Michel asked.

     It was a genuine question and not without reason.

    “To be honest, no,” replied Jean. I have thought about it many times since we surfaced at the Baalbek ruins. I cannot think of anything effective to undo the trap we are in. We are in effect prisoners. The apparatus that controls the entire human race, and that includes us, is advanced in the extreme. You heard what that creature said. There is no solution to something like that.”

     I however had also given it some thought. “I don’t believe that, Jean,” I retorted. “Where there’s a will there’s a way. That’s what my old Mum used to say to me. I know this may sound a bit over the top but hear me out, okay.”

     “I’m all ears my friend,” replied Jean.

     “Me too. What’s on your mind,” added Michel.

    “Okay, the way I see it is this: One thing’s for sure, we are very likely the only people alive on this planet who know about that place down there.” I stopped talking for a moment to gather my thoughts. “Jeez Louise! Who’d have thought I’d ever hear myself talking like this,” I gasped. “I sound like some kind of unhinged prophet on an LSD trip! Anyway, bear with me here,” I continued. “That metropolis down there or ‘city of the damned’ as we like to call it is inhabited by some very nasty characters who mean the human race nothing but pain, toil and trouble. Now if that city were physically destroyed or if the creatures operating it were rendered incapable of functioning the operation would shut down, right?”

     “Ok, I’m following you,” said Jean.

     “Me too, I think,” Michel added.

     “With the enslavers, or whatever they call themselves out of the game, the human race would no longer be subjected to the same horrific fate they have been for aeons.” I said.

     Jean and Michel had been listening carefully to my hypothesis and were beginning to get where I was going with this.

    “So let me get this straight, you want to destroy or somehow shut down that operation down there and incapacitate every living creature in it?” said Michel.

     “In a nutshell yeah,” I replied.

     “What about Him-she?” Michel asked.

     “Not much we can do there; collateral damage, I’m afraid,” I replied.

     “But Him-she’s the reason why we got out of there. We can’t just wipe him - her - it out along with the rest of them!”

     “And exactly how do you suggest doing something like that?” Jean interrupted.

     “Not sure about that for the moment but it’ll come to me, don’t worry,” I asserted.

     “I took you for a builder, not Ghengis Khan!” mocked Michel.

     “Maybe I was once,” I joked. And despite the ridiculously hopeless situation we were faced with, the three of us broke out into uncontrollable laughter.

     “Maybe you were, mon-ami! Maybe you were!” replied Jean, slapping me on the back as he laughed himself silly.

     That night we all slept like babies. The next morning we woke with a spring in our step. The cleaner knocked on the door and returned our clothes which had all been washed and ironed.

     While Michel ordered a taxi to take us to Beirut I phoned Gerard to see if he’d gotten anywhere with the sphere. By the sounds of it he definitely had. My old friend was very happy to hear my voice and relieved that I’d come to no harm. Reports on the news about the fighting in Syria and the refugees pouring across the border into Northern Lebanon painted a grim picture and when he couldn’t get in touch with me he’d feared the worst. But if he was happy to hear from me again he was even more ecstatic about the sphere. During the past few weeks he’d done pretty much nothing else but investigate, research and experiment with what he called ‘this fascinating artefact’ and he was desperate for me to get back to London ASAP so he could explain to me what he’d discovered in detail.

     Michel had booked the next available flight to London and the very next day we were all standing in Gerard’s workshop in Battersea while he relayed his findings to us.

 

To be continued ........................


Edited by toddyboy, 25 March 2020 - 09:26 am.


#22 Oafski

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Posted 25 March 2020 - 03:19 pm

This is great, I hope I'm able to finish it before Osiris's mob get me.


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#23 chrisbee

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Posted 25 March 2020 - 04:51 pm

What an amazing story👍👍👍👍
Loving it, cheers Todd

#24 toddyboy

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Posted 25 March 2020 - 05:40 pm

Glad you like it. This is quite fun actually. I haven't written so intensively for a while. Lockdown has it's advantages I suppose. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, thats right ...................

 

 

CHAPTER 9

 

“The first thing I want to say to you all is that this object you found must be worth an absolute fortune,” Gerard effused. “It’s made up of dozens of anatomically perfect diamonds, thirty five of them to be exact, which are impregnated into a carbon shell under which is the core. One of the diamonds is missing but it still works nevertheless. The core consists of a very advanced form of tungsten metal encased in a thick layer of carbon.”

     “So, what does it do then?” I asked.

    “Not totally sure,” he replied. “If I were to take a wild guess though I’d say it was some form of highly advanced solar energy device that focuses sunlight into the tungsten core, heating it to an immense temperature and creating some kind of electromagnetic pulse to generate energy. I tested it once, up on the roof terrace, but it can only be left in the sun for a few seconds. The first time I tried it the electrics in the entire building as well as half the street blew out!”

     Michel and I exchanged knowing glances. That exact same thing had occurred on the boat when we were bringing it here. At that time, we were blissfully ignorant of its origins but now, after our harrowing discoveries below the Lebanese desert we knew where it came from and who made it. We still weren’t totally sure what it was for, though I had an inkling. However, I also realised that now was not the time to explain, so I allowed Gerard his moment of glory.

     “Go on,” I said.

    “Well, tungsten, as we know it, has the highest melting point of any known metal,” Gerard continued. “Carbon has an even higher melting point and the sheath surrounding the tungsten is made of extremely refined carbon. The diamonds must somehow focus the sunlight into the central core of the sphere where the condensed energy heats the tungsten core up to incredible temperatures. The inner core of the sphere is directly connected to the core of the pole, so I imagine it then transfers that heat down to whatever it’s connected to. The carbon sheath encases the heated tungsten core. Its finely weaved, a bit like carbon fibre but much more exotic in its makeup and incredibly strong. It also seems to have some form of magnetised inner layer sandwiched between the carbon sheath and the tungsten core. I have no idea what that does. Maybe it helps retain the heat or assists in pushing the heat downwards using magnetic pulses, or something like that. That’s the only conclusion I can come to as to what it is or does. In essence, I’d say it’s an incredibly potent heating element, but what it heats up I have no idea.”

   As Gerard finished speaking, my thoughts flew back to the huge vats of salt surrounding that large cathedral like structure that was set apart from the underground city complex.

     “Gerard, if you were to heat up vats of salt what would happen?” I asked.

     “Vats of salt; what does that have to do with anything? Gerard asked, perplexed at the random question.

     I bit my lip. I was bursting at the seams to tell Gerard the whole story, but…. “Can you just answer the question please,” I urged.

   “Well, er, okay. That’s pretty simple,” professed Gerard. “When salt reaches a certain temperature, usually around 220 degrees Celsius, it becomes molten and molten salt is a very efficient source of latent heat. That exact technology is just being put to use now in hot countries like Spain and South America. Those apparatus use vast arrays of parabolic mirrors to reflect and focus sunlight on to a single collector made of titanium which gets heated up and transfers the heat via a conduit, also made of titanium, down to subterranean salt vats. During the day this focused solar energy causes the salt to become molten generating controllable heat that steam turbines work off to produce electricity. When the sun sets, that energy continues to be produced due to the latent heat retained in the molten salt vats. It begins to cool down overnight but only a little. As soon as the sun rises it heats up again. Very clever actually and radically advanced. Makes you wonder how they dream up ideas like that.”     

     I just pursed my lips and nodded but said nothing, for I’d suddenly realised how the people of Ra had powered their underground cities, by using the power of the sun to heat up huge vats of salt into a molten state and then to use that latent heat to convert water into super heated steam to turn turbines that created electricity! There were huge machines down there that could well have been steam turbines and there was enough water in that lake to float fifty battleships on. It was all making perfect sense.

     Michel wasn’t so obtuse. He came right out with what he was thinking.

    “That must mean there are probably more salt vats directly underneath the building site at Kfar-Hazir,” he exclaimed.

     “Which means there is probably another inert power station connected to another of those cities down there, just like Him-she told us,” exclaimed Jean.

     Gerard’s eyes darted to and fro between Jean and Michel. “Cities – what cities and who’s Him-she?” he asked. 

     But Michel was on a roll and ignored Gerard’s plea. “More than that even,” he asserted. “You remember that huge stone map in the terminal station showing all the tunnels criss-crossing the planet? Him-she was right on the money. There must be many more of those cities under the ground, probably all with devices like these that would have once energised subterranean power stations like the one we discovered!”

     At this point Gerard exploded. “Hey! Who the hell is Him-she, and what’s all this about underground power stations and tunnels?” he screamed.

     I clasped my old friend on the shoulder and asked him to sit down. This was going to be a difficult one to explain.

     It took me over two hours to recount the entirety of it. As I did so Gerard just sat there wide eyed and bushy tailed. When I was finished all he could do was manage to utter the words “Oh my god!”

 

The subterranean city of the damned had to be destroyed, we all agreed on that, but how? It was a huge place some two miles below ground, accessible only by the tunnels and a thin vertical duct that led to the surface under the ruins of Baalbek. Knocking out a complex like that wasn’t exactly going to be a walk in the park, if it were possible at all.

     Various scenarios were discussed but nothing seemed feasible. We decided to call it a day and resume the next morning. Well rested minds functioned better. During dinner that evening, a hearty feast of good ol’ fish and chips with mushy peas and curry sauce, we got to talking about the tunnels again. Jean had been perusing Google maps and he’d calculated that the first tunnel we trudged down was approximately forty five kilometres long. The shaft we’d attempted to climb up but had to come down again near the burned out city and huge lake was directly under a place called Hararm-as-Sarmadi in the province of Mohafazat. He’d spent some time checking the maps and had noticed a small imperfection in the desert landscape which he reckoned must be where that particular shaft had surfaced way back in the annals of time. It must be well camouflaged now, most likely due to damage inflicted on it aeons past and subsequent erosion and sandstorms since.

     “There’s another one of those sphere’s down there,” he said.

     He was right, there was. It had been crushed against the curved wall of the shaft by large boulders and debris but we’d all seen it. The mind boggled at the sheer worth of these spheres what with the diamonds and precious metals they were made of. There were dozens, probably more than that of them dotted around the planet all nicely tucked away under the surface. The infinitesimal value was virtually impossible to conceive. Anyway, we could deal with that at a later date. Firstly, we had to get rid of those creatures two miles beneath Baalbek before they succeeded in culling the human race like Him-she had warned us. 

     After a good sleep and a decent breakfast we got our think tank hats on and had at it once again. Eventually I came up with a plausible idea. “Flooding it might work,” I suggested.

     Michel screwed his face up. “Not sure if you noticed Tod but Lebanon is mostly desert,” he opined.

    “How?” asked Jean. “It would take a sea to fill that cav…ern,” He stopped talking and grinned like a Cheshire Cat. “Sacre-bleu! The underground lake! It was immense and it was situated at a higher level than the city,” he exclaimed.

     I nodded in agreement. He knew what I was getting at. “We had to walk a long way at a constant downward incline to get to it from that lake. If we could somehow channel all that water down through that second tunnel it’d be like Niagara Falls & game over for anything at the bottom,” I replied.

     “Incredibla!” Jean exclaimed. “You are right, Tod. No matter how insane it sounds it might just work!” 

     Michel stood up. “Well, that’s settled then. I think we should celebrate. Who wants a beer?” he asked. 

     The answer was a unanimous yes. However, Gerard quickly informed us he was all out of beer but that there was an off licence down the end of the road.

     “I’ll go,” Michel volunteered. “I could do with a walk,” and without further ado he went out the front door.

   Jean, Gerard and I began discussing the logistics of what to do next when I noticed Michel’s coat hanging on the chair. The silly sod had walked out without his phone or wallet!

     “I’ll go,’ I said, and grabbing Michel’s wallet I rushed out the door after him.

       

Michel walked off down the street whistling and in good spirits. Things were moving along nicely. Tod’s friend Gerard was exactly as he’d described; eccentric, clever and loyal. Jean had more than excelled himself and had been an incredible asset to their intrepid little team. Tod would come up with a way to pull off what they intended to do. He had no doubt about that. Yes, despite everything they’d been through, things were looking up.

    He hadn’t walked more than fifty metres or so when he heard a vehicle driving up the road in his direction going pretty quick. Then it skidded to a halt next to him and before he knew what was happening two men jumped out, grabbed hold of him and bundled him into the back of the car. He struggled to free himself but they were too strong. The car immediately sped off up the road. Michel started to panic, then a pungent smelling rag was thrust over his nose and mouth and moments later it all went black.

 

I was jogging up the road to catch up with Michel who I could see in the distance sauntering along as if without a care in the world when a car sped past me going at quite a lick. Then it suddenly skidded to an abrupt halt. I stopped in my tracks wondering if a kid had run out into the road or something but to my horror, two men jumped out of it, grabbed Michel and bundled him into it. Then the car accelerated off. It all happened so fast I could hardly believe what I was seeing. 

     My mind went into overdrive, then it clicked into gear. Gerard’s bike! I high heeled it back to the house, barged through the front door and like a mad bull ploughed straight down the hallway and kitchen, grabbing the keys and crash helmet as I went. Seconds later I was on the bike, keys in the ignition and Varroom! The big twin fired into life. Wasting no time and not even bothering to secure the helmet strap I blasted out through the rear gates and accelerated down the street in pursuit of that car.

    Gerard and Jean didn’t know what the hell was going on. All they saw was me come crashing through the front door acting like a lunatic and then shoot off on Gerard’s pride and joy like I was in a drag race at Santa Pod.

     Reaching the end of the street I slammed on the brakes causing the bike to squeal and skid to a halt. I looked left and right. Nothing. Shit! Which way? Then I saw someone lying in the road. A couple of people were rushing to help the person. Something had just happened there. That way! I opened the bike up and roared past them. No time to stop and help I’m afraid, sorry. Up through the gears I went, the Delkevic exhaust barking and popping as houses, bus stops and pedestrians flashed by in a blur as I gave the bike all it had in a frantic effort to catch up with Michel’s kidnappers. 

     Then I saw them, about a hundred metres ahead of me, driving at speed through the congested traffic of South West London. Now that I had them in my sights I needed to keep track of them. I realised that it’d be stupid to try and catch up and confront them. There were at least three thugs in that car and I was on my own on a bike. Not good odds. They were heading for Battersea Bridge. I’d watch and follow to see where they were taking him, so I toned down the speed and filtered past the vehicles ahead of me till I was three cars back and waited in the queue of traffic.

   Gerard’s helmet had a bluetooth system built in to it. I pressed the on button, yanked my phone out of my pocket and stuck it on the SatNav holder that Gerard had conveniently placed on the handlebars. It connected automatically. I spoke into the helmet mic. “Gerard,” and the phone started purring through the speakers in the helmet. A familiar voice answered.

      “Gerard, get the sphere out of your place and take it somewhere safe,” I ordered. 

   Gerard’s voice crackled back through the helmet speakers: “Where are you. Where’s my bike more to the point?” he pined.

    “Never mind that now,” I retorted. “Michel’s been kidnapped. I’m tailing them now. Someone’s on to us. Get the sphere somewhere safe and don’t let anyone see you doing it either,” I barked.

     Gerard got the message. He said he and Jean would get moving on it right away. 

     I told him I’d call them again when I knew where Michel was being taken. Then I ended the call.

    The traffic lights at the intersection by the bridge went green and I watched the car drive across the road and head towards Chelsea. The traffic wasn’t as heavy here due to the congestion zone restrictions and the car began to speed up. Being on the bike made easy work of following it and before long it had pulled in to a Mews just off Holland Park Road where it entered a garage that sported an electrically operated up and over door. I stopped the bike at the end of the street, carefully watching which property it was. 36 Berkeley Mews. I also noted that the property next door had scaffolding erected and workmen were clambering up and down it. I made a note in my phone of the name and telephone number on the billboard outside advertising the company doing the work. That could be useful I thought.

     I called Gerard again. He and Jean were already on the road in his van with the crated sphere aboard. I told him not to tell me where he was going over the phone. He understood why. These days there was no way of telling if your phone was being monitored. Better safe than sorry. I also warned him to be extra vigilant that they weren’t being followed. After ending the call I started racking my brains as to how I was going to get Michel out of there. 

 

To be continued .................................



#25 Timbo1866

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Posted 25 March 2020 - 07:29 pm

More more more

#26 Snowbird

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Posted 25 March 2020 - 09:49 pm

Good stuff keep it coming. :good:


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#27 toddyboy

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Posted 25 March 2020 - 10:30 pm

CHAPTER 10

      

Adel al Ammadi was the quintessential Arab billionaire, at least that was how the public world perceived him. A Bahraini by birth, he came from humble beginnings. Now he was one of the richest men on the planet, an oil baron, collector of fine arts and gemstones as well as an international property developer. He owned a fleet of luxury yachts, hundreds of properties around the world and his main residence in Dubai was a veritable palace replete with air conditioned garages filled with a plethora of priceless cars that made Jay Leno’s Garage look like a backstreet shed. He boasted six wives and eighteen children and despite the fact that he was 69 years old, he looked ten years younger. 

     The man was suave and extremely well connected. God had bestowed on him a gift that few men possessed, the ability to succeed in everything he did. He wanted for nothing yet as is often the case with such prolific individuals he was always on the lookout for something more. To him, life was simply a game of chance and opportunities. It would be true to say that he had had his fair share of both, and when he got wind on the grapevine that the only son of a now deceased Lebanese man who his organisation had been tracking for some time was in town his interest piqued no end. This young offspring had been busy these past few weeks. Something was afoot and he felt it was time to find out what.

 

When he came round, Michel found himself laying in a makeshift bed in a small featureless room no bigger than a prison cell. He tried to move but his body wouldn’t respond properly. It was as if his muscles weren’t connected to his brain. His arms and legs had been tied down to the bed. He started to panic. Then he looked over to his right. A man he’d never seen before was sitting next to him. He was olive skinned, aged around fifty or so and his eyes were dark grey. Michel’s first thought was he was  of Mediterranean descent, maybe Arabic and of a high caste. As Michele’s own eyes focused those grey eyes became more intense.

     “Who the hell are you? What have you done to me?” Michel gasped.

     Grey eyes leaned forward and spoke in a low gravelly voice. “Good morning Mr Yasbek. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” 

     Michel tensed. “How do you know my name? Who the hell are you?” he asked.

     “I know a lot more about you than just your name,” the man said. 

    Michel was totally disorientated. The last thing he remembered was leaving Gerard’s flat and walking down the street towards the off licence, then being grabbed, bundled into a car and a cloth smelling of some pungent odour being pressed over his mouth and nose, then blackness. He’d obviously been kidnapped, but where the hell was he and who was this stranger?

     “Do you work for the Government?” asked Michel. 

     Grey eyes cracked a wry smile and shook his head slowly side to side. “Nothing of the sort young man. I’ll come right to the point. We have been monitoring your father’s affairs for many years now. To be more precise, ever since he walked into a Golders Green jewellers way back in 1951 and attempted to have a rather unique diamond valued that he purportedly owned. I have to tell you, it caused quite a stir in the rather chummy and close knit Jewish fraternity of gemstone traders when he did so. Back in those day’s controls weren’t quite as stringent as they are now. I was just a boy at the time but my father, himself a renowned collector of precious gems, always took a keen interest in, shall we say, unusual occurrences such as that.”

     The man then reached into his pocket and withdrew something. He held it up to the light. It glittered and sparkled. Michel immediately realised what it was. The shape, size and sheer beauty of it left no doubt in his mind that it was the missing diamond from the sphere! He felt himself shaking and clasped his hands together so it wouldn’t show.

     Grey eyes continued. “This diamond was of particular interest however, as it was anatomically perfect, the likes of which had never been seen before, or since for that matter. My father was therefore particularly interested in where your father obtained it. From that point on his movements were monitored very closely. His house, your childhood home, was bugged and his phones were tapped. A round the clock surveillance of his movements was conducted. I have to say, the bedtime stories he told you were fascinating but unfortunately extremely cryptic.”

     Michel was aghast at what he was hearing. “You, you listened to bedtime stories my father told me! What sort of perverts are you people?” he crowed.

     Grey eyes just smirked and continued. “That was quite a while ago. However, your father was a rather astute man and he soon surrounded himself with security measures making it difficult to keep tabs on him. We noted that he never let go of his own childhood home in Kfar-Hazir, Lebanon which was interesting in itself as it is basically worthless. However, because he never returned to homeland his entire life we began to suspect the diamond was nothing more than a lucky find and the money he got for it, along with the land in Kfar-Hazir was simply an investment for his offspring, and so when he passed away our attention shifted to you. My condolences by the way.”

      “So you’ve been keeping tabs on me as well then,” Michel asked.

     “Indeed we have, with a little help from our friends of course,” his captor replied, and as he said that he looked past Michel who suddenly became aware of two other men in the room behind him. Michel turned round to find the two old men who had visited him at the property in Kfar-Hazir a few weeks back; the men who said they were old friends of his father. What The Fuck!

     “You!” he gasped.

     Neither of the men spoke. They just stood there, obviously aware that they were now merely pawns in a much bigger game, and that the man questioning Michel was the Chess Master and would be directing all the moves from this point on.

     “Rashid and Hashim here were delighted to see their old friend’s young protege visiting the family home again,” said Grey eyes.

     Michel took a deep breath to calm himself. What was happening here? He thought to himself. Those old men were obviously in cahoots with this guy and they knew something, but what? He focused on the gem that Grey eyes was holding in his hand. He’d honestly never clapped eyes on it his entire life till now. He knew full well what it was and where it had come from and all this made perfect sense in a perverse sort of way but this was bad. This crazy Arab knew something. These two old men knew something too. But did they know about the sphere? If they did the game was up. 

     “So, you think there are more of these diamonds, is that it?” Michel asked. 

     “More to the point, do you?” the man cross queried.

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michel lied, a lump forming in his throat.

   Grey eyes continued his dialogue unfazed. He was obviously a well trained hound dog and he wasn’t going to be put off the scent quite that easily. “We know all about your little excursion to Kfar-Hazir recently and your subsequent boat trip to Saint Vaast La Houge & then across to England. Quite a clever little detour to keep a low profile when I think about it. You chaps would do well in our subterfuge department, you know. We’re always on the lookout for intuitive young scallywags like you. Anyway, I digress. That was quite a long way to travel in a small boat don’t you think. Now, perhaps you’d like to tell me what you were actually doing in Lebanon recently. Was it a spot of diamond mining perhaps?” 

     As the man spoke Michel was beginning to feel a knot tighten in his stomach. No, the game wasn’t up - not yet, but it was bloody close. He sensed that these characters didn’t actually know about the existence of the sphere or they’d have asked him directly about it. He realised he had to keep it that way or it was game over. More to the point, who was this guy with the dark grey eyes?

 

Outside, I’d already formulated a plan. Those workmen in the house next door at Number 38 Berkeley Mews would be clocking off at 4pm, if I knew anything about site workers in London they would anyway. This was a pretty upmarket area so I reckoned that once they’d clocked out there would most likely be a site watchman left on duty to keep an eye on the place. In my experience, these site watchmen were usually fat slobs who didn’t give a toss about security. They just sat on their arse and twiddled their thumbs or watched porn. I figured I could easily pass myself off as a building control officer and turn up late in the day, pretending I’d got stuck in traffic to gain access onto that scaffolding and hopefully see what was happening next door.

     Sure enough, just as I predicted there was a mass exodus of workmen at just past 4pm, most of them jabbering away to each other in Polish. I waited ten minutes more just to make sure there were no stragglers then I made my way down the cobbled Mews on foot and walked into the front driveway of Number 38. Sure enough, there he was, just as I’d predicted, Mr Super Slob munching on a McDonalds and riveted to the screen of a laptop. I banged on the site hut window which made him jump. Quickly shutting the laptop cover he got up and opened the window. I informed him I was a building inspector on a ‘flying visit’ which basically meant I was there with no prior warning. The fat bastard didn’t appear the least bit bothered and seemed to relax a bit. He said he couldn’t show me around the site as he had to ‘monitor the CCTV.’ Yeah right, I thought to myself, the CCTV sporting big tits and dildo’s, right? I told him not to worry, I could manage it on my own. I asked him for a yellow plastic site hat and day-glo jacket and off I went. Easy peasy!

     Up on the scaffold I had a sneaky peek into the property next door. The house had a large conservatory at the back and I had a birds eye view into what was obviously the kitchen, plus a view into the upper landing area at the top of the stairs. Other than that not much. No sign of life though. I reckoned that if Michel was being held captive they’d probably be holding him in the basement, if the place had one. Getting down there and hoiking Michel out didn’t seem very feasible. I had no idea how many people were in the house with him. At a minimum there were three. There could also be a dozen. I had no way of telling.

 

Before Gerard and Jean left the house, Gerard took Jeans phone from him, opened it up and removed the Sim card and battery. Jean didn’t quite understand why but Gerard said it was because Smartphones could easily be tracked. He didn’t go into any more detail as they were in a hurry. Twenty minutes after receiving Tod’s call they had loaded the sphere in its crate, secured it in the back of his van and were on the road heading South along Tooting High Street. 

    Gerard had a lock up garage in Sussex which was situated on a farm not too far from Lingfield race course. No one but the farmer he rented it from knew he had it and he never checked on what he had in there nor monitored his comings and goings. Gerard paid the rent to him in cash every six months up front which suited the ol’ boy fine. Gerard had all kinds of bits and pieces stored in there. 

     There wasn’t a soul in sight when they arrived outside the two big wooden doors of the garage. Farmer John was probably down the betting shop or the pub, one of the two. He never seemed to do any work these days. They unloaded the crate containing the sphere and placed it at the back of the garage, then covered it up with a tarpaulin. If anyone found it here they were cleverer than he was!

     It was obvious to Gerard that whoever had kidnapped Michel knew where he lived in Battersea. Whatever his friend Tod and his two friends had gotten themselves into here, it was major. Someone with fairly large tentacles and a high degree of surveillance skills was behind this. His first thoughts were that it was the UK Government, but that didn’t seem likely. They’d have been more upfront about it and simply confiscated the sphere and arrested the lot of them citing smuggling of precious gems or something of the sort. No, this was something else. The CIA weren’t above kidnapping British nationals in their own country, nor were Mossad or a host of other Secret Intelligence agencies. Something like that wouldn’t go down well with MI5 but it had happened before so it couldn’t be ruled out. Whatever, or whoever was behind it though, the fact remained that Michel had been kidnapped for a reason and he couldn’t think of a better one than to get their grubby paws on that sphere. It was priceless! The burning question on his mind though was how did they know?

      They couldn’t be too careful at the moment. He and this Frenchman Jean would have to find alternative accommodation for the foreseeable future and also make the van disappear. If these people knew where he lived they’d be able to trace this van too. He just hoped that no one had followed them like Tod had warned and that there wasn’t any kind of tracker fitted secretly to it.

     Just to tick all the boxes, the two men carried out an exhaustive search of the van. They looked everywhere, under the wheel arches, on the chassis, even on the roof but found no tracking device. They then decided the best plan of action would be to leave it in the lock up and find alternative transport.

     Gerard then handed Jean another phone, an old Nokia. It wasn’t a smart phone and it had a new Sim card but it was untraceable apparently. A ‘burner phone” as he called it. He’d already programmed Tod’s and his own number into it. His was also a “burner”. If anyone was trying to trace them they’d be struggling at this point. Michel had left his phone in the house when he went out to the off licence. There was no danger of that being tracked, not that it mattered now, he’d already been nabbed. The only other one who could potentially be located by their phone was Tod, and he hadn’t called back yet. He hoped his friend was ok but he didn’t want to attempt to call in case he was in a compromising position. He and Jean would have to wait until Tod originated a call.

 

To be continued ...................................



#28 Norwegian

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Posted 26 March 2020 - 09:36 am

Love it!


2002 TDM 900 Red/Yellow Cocktail (it's yellow)., biggified some


#29 toddyboy

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Posted 26 March 2020 - 02:47 pm

CHAPTER 11

 

Crouching down behind a stack of roof tiles that had been piled up on the scaffold, I was beginning to get anxious. There was no sign of life at number 36. I’d been wistfully watching for any activity for nigh on half an hour but there’d been none. I couldn’t spend much longer surveilling the joint or Fatso down in the site hut would start wondering where I’d got to. Then I noticed movement! Two men had walked into the kitchen. They were both bearded, dark tanned and fairly well built. One of them opened the rear conservatory door, went out onto the patio and lit up a cigarette. The second man came out a few seconds later and joined him. They were talking to each other in dulcet tones. I couldn’t properly hear what they were saying to each other but I knew they weren’t speaking English, it sounded more like Israeli, or perhaps Arabic. Yes, that was it, they were speaking in Arabic. I could tell because they sounded similar to the proprietor of that hotel we stayed in back in Baalbek.

     Then another man, obviously their boss, walked into the kitchen. I knew he was in charge because the two men tensed, stubbed out their cigarettes and became very attentive. He was talking to them in rapid verse in the same Arabic dialect. Both of the men nodded then reached into their jackets, pulled out a gun each and checked to see that they were loaded, then they slipped them back into their coats. Shit. These guys were armed! I was momentarily stunned. What were they going to do? More to the point what was I going to do. I felt completely helpless. The leader then barked some instructions to his two cohorts and they immediately swung into action.

    Through the landing area window I saw more movement. Another man was  roughly manhandling someone else along the landing and down the stairs and unless I was badly mistaken that looked very much like Michel! Two other men followed and as I watched, the front door opened and the two armed men I’d seen smoking cigarettes came out. One of them got into the drivers seat of the car I’d previously followed, a brand new Audi Q8. The other opened the back door of the car and stood waiting. Then the man I assumed must be their boss walked quickly out and jumped in the back. The last guy dragging Michel with him followed suit. The rear door slammed shut and the other man jumped into the passenger seat.

    Two other men, older than the others appeared and were saying something in Arabic to the bossman sitting in the back seat of the Audi. They seemed a little agitated and the three of them appeared to be arguing amongst themselves. From what I could tell, they wanted to get in the vehicle with the others but weren’t being allowed to. The argument started to become heated then they suddenly stepped back as one of the armed men drew a gun and shouted at them. The taller of the two old men turned around and I got a good look at his face. He looked familiar for some reason. Then I realised who these old geezers were, they were the two ‘old friends’ of Michel’s Dad who’d come round unannounced in Kfar-Hazir asking all kinds of awkward questions. What on earth were they doing here?

     I had to move fast. They were taking Michel somewhere and I needed to follow them or I may never see him again. The car engine started and the electric gates to the property started opening. I rushed to the scaffold ladder and literally slid down it. The Audi had already exited the front driveway and had started off up the cobbled Mews road. I sneaked past the site hut so the watchman wouldn’t notice me just in time to see the Audi turning right at the end of the Mews. I’d parked the bike up just out of sight at the end of the Mews, so running like Hussein Bolt on speed I reached the bike, jumped on, flicked the ignition on and fired her up. Seconds later I was blasting down the road in pursuit of the big Audi - again! 

     It didn’t take long for me to catch up with it but I kept back to avoid being spotted. They were heading South along Holland Park Road keeping within the speed limit. I maintained my distance keeping it in view and turned the helmet bluetooth on. I voice-called Gerard. He answered immediately.

    “Gerard, they’re taking Michel somewhere else now,” I explained. “Heading South along Holland Park Road but no idea where they’re going. Where are you?” I asked.

   Gerard informed me he was heading back towards London with Jean and that the ‘cargo’ was safe and secure. He asked me what he should do next.

    “Keep going and wait till I know what they’re doing. I’ll call you back,” I replied, and ended the call.

    The Audi was now approaching Battersea Bridge from the North side. It occurred to me that they seemed to be following exactly the same route they’d used after they’d kidnapped Michel. Then I twigged what was happening. They were heading back to Gerard’s place! And sure enough, a mile or so further on they turned into Gerard’s street. I immediately phone Gerard again.

     “They’re going back to your gaff,” I said. “I reckon they’ve pressured Michel into telling them where the sphere is. They’re going back to get it.”

     “They probably don’t know its been moved and anyway, we’re not there anymore, but Michel wouldn’t have known any of that,” Gerard replied.

     He was right! These bastards had probably threatened Michel at gunpoint and he’d had no choice but to tell them that the sphere was at Gerard’s, along with me, Gerard and Jean. He’d also probably been forced to tell them that we were just ordinary guys, not armed or any kind of threat to them. Easy prey for a bunch of terrorists with guns. Then I had a light bulb moment. Terrorists with guns! Jesus, this could work out to our benefit if we played our cards right. I phoned Gerard again and explained what he needed to do.

 

Adel-al-Amaddi didn’t need to go with his men to retrieve the merchandise. They were more than capable of doing the job on their own. It was extremely risky, him being who he was, but he knew why he was there. It was because he enjoyed the thrill of the chase and the adrenaline surge he got from taking unnecessary risks. This young fellow had been very compliant once he’d had a Beretta handgun slipped in his mouth with the firing pin cocked. Three unarmed common-or-garden infidels were no match for his small team of battle hardened henchmen. They would be in and out within minutes and no one would be any the wiser. This young chap and his friends would of course have to be disposed of; collateral damage as he saw it.

     The three thugs already knew what to do. They’d cased the joint previously and were aware that there was a private driveway behind the property; perfect for keeping the operation away from prying eyes. One of them got out of the car and walked up the front driveway to the front door. The other two, with Al-Amaddi and a trussed up Michel in the back seat drove round the back. The man out front knocked on the door. He held some packages in his hand, pretending to be a delivery guy. There was no answer. He knocked again - nothing. He spoke quietly into his headpiece.

     Out back, the other two men drew their guns and exited the Audi. Al-Amaddi stayed in the back with Michel who was gagged with his hands tied behind his back. The man out front had told them no one was answering the front door so they decided not to delay any further. One of them tried the back door handle. It was locked. He stood back and kicked the door in and with guns at the ready they both rushed inside. One of them went to the front door and let the third man in. They then split up and checked each room but to their surprise they found no one. After thoroughly searching around they realised the house was empty. One of the men went out back to tell his boss the news. 

     Amaddi turned to Michel. “Your friends are not here, Michel. Perhaps you were not telling me the truth,” he seethed. As he spoke, he pulled a pistol out of his pocket and pushed the barrel onto Michel’s forehead. “Where is it?” he growled

    Michel cowered further back in the corner of the rear seat, wide eyed and making grunting noises. He couldn’t speak due to the tight gag over his mouth. 

     Al-Amaddi tore it off. “Where is the merchandise, Infidel?” he barked. 

     “In, in the basement. I swear to you, that’s where it is!” Michel gasped.

     Al-Amaddi nodded to his henchman to go check it out. The man rushed off talking into his headpiece as he went.

    Then all hell let loose. The guy who’d just gone back into the house came running back out waving his weapon in the air and screaming something unintelligible. A split second later there was a loud crack and the front of his head exploded. He fell forward in a pool of blood, lifeless. At that exact moment two Police cars surged through the back yard gates, blocking the Audi in. Six armed response Policemen jumped out. Two of them focused on the Audi, dragging Al-Amaddi and Michel out and throwing them to the ground, screaming at them to remain where they were. The other four rushed into the house shouting “Armed police. Give yourselves up!” Then shots rang out. Then more shots, then screaming and shouting, then a barrage of cross shooting, then finally, silence.

     The three armed men inside had been shot dead after threatening to open fire and refusing to stand down. Adel-Al-Amaddi was handcuffed, read his rights and whisked off in one of the police cars under armed escort. Michel however was untied and sat down on a chair in the living room where he was offered a cup of weak tea by one of the armed cops. That’s when he saw Gerard who was sitting at his dining room table being interviewed by another one of the Policemen.

     It was a risky plan and it could have gone very wrong but it didn’t. It worked beautifully! Gerard and Jean were driving through Wimbledon Northside when I’d phoned him. They’d hired a car from a local garage in lieu of hiding his van in the garage. On my instructions he had phoned the police and told them several armed men of Middle Eastern origin had broken into his house and kidnapped his friend and were holding him hostage there. 

     Now, you can say all you like about the Met Police but when they get wind of the fact that Middle Eastern looking dudes armed to the teeth, are breaking and entering and kidnapping people on their turf they don’t fuck about. Three dead terrorists later and what appeared to be the ringleader in custody was a fair days work for these guys. Michel and Gerard were of course interrogated as to why these terrorists would target them specifically but they simply pleaded ignorance. After all, who knows what goes on in the heads of crazy assholes like that? they said. The Police couldn’t come up with any other explanation other than they were unwitting, innocent victims of what was probably a Jihadi cell operating in London. 

    Over the next couple of days there was a fair amount of media buzz about the incident and Gerard and Michel were hounded to give their account of what occurred but eventually it began to die down. Things like this were becoming more and more common in London and the media soon turned their attention to other news. Jean and I kept well out of the way through all of the aftermath. We didn’t need to be involved with any of this. It would have just complicated things so we kept our distance and didn’t contact either Gerard or Michel for a couple of weeks. 

   Adel-Al-Ammadi was held in Belmarsh Prison on charges of terrorism, kidnapping, breaking and entering and attempted murder. Naturally, he had an army of lawyers who feverishly tried to get him off the hook but they were having a really hard time of it. He’d been caught red handed with a loaded gun pointed at his bound and gagged victim after kidnapping him. The other three ‘terrorists’ were confirmed as his bodyguards on his payroll and were now all dead after firing back at armed police during a raid at Michel’s friends property. No, It was going to be more than a little while before he got to play any ‘risk and dare’ games again.

 

A couple of weeks went by while we allowed the dust to settle. Michel had been mentally traumatised by that kidnapping attempt but otherwise he was okay. When he told us all the gory details of what they did to him in that house in Berkeley Mews none of us were surprised he’d spilled the beans and told them about the sphere and where it was. All three of us admitted we’d have done the same under those circumstances. 

    Gerard’s pad was given a spruce up courtesy of Her Majesties after-the-event clean up brigade. They even fitted new back and front doors for him which he though was quite generous of them.

     The subject of the two old men I’d seen at number 36, Michel’s Dad’s so called old mates, was a matter of concern though. They weren’t at the bust when the three armed thugs were shot dead. I recalled there had been some kind of altercation between them and the Arab chieftain guy and one of his henchmen had threatened them at gunpoint to back off, but where were they now? I didn’t have time to see where they went after the Audi pulled out of the driveway in Berkeley Mews; I was too preoccupied with following Michel’s kidnappers. We were pretty sure they weren’t still there though. The Police had raided the place shortly after the incident at Gerard’s place and found it empty. Nevertheless, it was a bit worrying. That Arab dude was now out of the picture and no longer a threat to us, at least for a while, but those two old guys, they almost certainly knew the whole story now. They could well be plotting something else. There was no way of knowing.  

 

We soon got back to the burning question of exactly how we were going to obliterate the city of the damned. I was pretty damn sure that getting hold of enough explosives to do what we intended was going to be next to impossible but Gerard just happened to have a mate in the controlled demolition game and apparently said mate owed him a favour. Always useful that, especially if you’re going to blow something up on the sly. Good ol’ Gerard! I mean, we needed about two hundred pounds of Semtex or C4 and that stuff is closely regulated and logged. However, somehow, someway, Gerard managed to wangle it. Not only that, he obtained detailed instructions from his mate on how to place and detonate it underwater. Result!

     Gerard and I got to work on making up the explosives packs. We came up with a  means of “packaging” the C4 into pseudo ‘wheels’ each with an axle. The plan was to lower these ‘wheel bombs’ down the side of the lake walls so they could be accurately placed to do the most damage. I got the idea from the film ‘The Dambusters’ where Barnes Wallace invented the bouncing bomb, designed to skip across the Rhone Valley reservoir, hit the dam then slide down it till it hit the bottom then explode. We weren’t going to bounce our bombs but we needed to place them under water so they would crack the sides of the lake in exactly the right place. Fortunately, Jean was an experienced diver. He would go down and find the best locations to place them and the rest of us would lower them down to him.

     Gerard then got to work on the detonator devices. These would be activated by a simple battery wire arrangement. Jean went out to purchase some diving gear while Michel got the boat ready and arranged all the necessary permits and Visas for the four of us to go on our ‘deep sea fishing trip.’

     A couple of days later we were ready to go. Everything we needed was loaded into the van and the four of us headed off for Twickenham. By 10am we had all the gear securely battened down in the boat and we set off down the Thames. By 3pm that afternoon we were cruising across the English Channel en-route to Fecamp, a medium sized fishing port on the Northern French coast; our first stop off point.

     We slept on the boat in Fecamp. We didn’t want to risk leaving it unattended. The next morning, after a nice continental breakfast of coffee, croissants, ham and cheese we set off again and rounded the Cherbourg Peninsular. As before, when Michel and I were heading for England, the Bay of Biscay was pretty choppy. Gerard didn’t like it one bit and puked up more than a few times during that part of the trip but once we reached the North Portuguese section of coast it evened out a bit and by the time we’d pulled in to Albufeira to refuel it was calm. There were no issues passing through the Strait of Gibraltar and the Med was also calm. We stopped off in Malta to refuel again and docked the boat in Marsaxlokk Harbour which had been prearranged by Michel. Again we all slept on the boat that night but this time we had a few drinks  on board courtesy of the local bar just across the quay.

     The last part of our sea-faring journey between Malta and Lebanon was by far the most pleasant. The weather was warm, the sea was sparkling blue and we were all extremely relaxed with plenty of beers to go round. Looking at us sitting out on the deck as we cruised gently past the Southern coast of Cyprus on our starboard side with dolphins in tow you’d never have believed that we were actually on our way to destroy the city of the damned two miles below the surface of the Lebanese desert and save the entire human race in the bargain! 

     By 7-o-clock that evening we were moored up in Rocca Marina in Tripoli and ready for the last part of the trip to Kfar-Hazir. Michel had previously arranged for his Land Rover to be brought to the harbour by one of his cousins-second-removed who was waiting for us when we arrived. He was a strange little bloke, friendly enough but there was something about him that made me uneasy. Getting rid of him was a bit of a nightmare. He wanted to come back to Kfar-Hazir with us in the Land Rover but there was no way that was happening! He and Michel almost got into a fight about it. Eventually, he relented and buggered off muttering under his breath but only after Michel had handed over an extra hundred dollars more than they’d agreed. As he walked off I noticed him talking profusely on his phone, probably trying to arrange a lift from someone. 

     Anyway, as soon as the little hustler had disappeared from sight we rapidly transferred all the stuff into the Land Rover and then Michel and myself headed off towards Kfar-Hazir. Jean and Gerard would hire a car from a car-hire place just across the harbour and get there in that. There wasn’t enough room in the Land Rover for all four of us along with all the ‘gear.’ 

     As we set off we were fairly relaxed. The weather was nice. It was the best part of the day, nearing dusk, and it was only ten kilometres to Michel’s place. What could go wrong? Well, thinking about it, this was probably the riskiest part of the whole trip to be honest. We were in Lebanon now. Anything could happen, and you know the old saying, if it seems too good to be true - it probably is…..

     We were about halfway there, cruising along the Chekka-Amioun  Main Road with virtually no traffic to contend with when I spied an old Mercedes coming up behind us a going quite fast. Michel noticed it too and pulled slightly over to allow the car to pass, which it did. Then, oddly it started slowing in front of us, causing Michel to start braking. Something didn’t feel right, and seconds later we found out why!

    Some gun toting dude leaned out of the back window, aimed his weapon at us and fired several shots. There was a loud bang and the front nearside tyre blew out. Michel lost control as the steering wheel tried to wrench itself from his grip. The Landy careered off the road, slid down an embankment and ploughed into a dirt culvert, keeling over onto its side in a plume of dust. Fortunately we hadn’t been going that quick but it had all happened so fast that we were both in a state of shock. I was pretty much lying on top of Michel. He was conscious but groaning. As I tried to lift myself off him I looked up and found myself staring down the barrel of a rifle that someone had poked in through the smashed windscreen.

 

To be continued ....................................


Edited by toddyboy, 26 March 2020 - 03:24 pm.


#30 toddyboy

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Posted 26 March 2020 - 09:08 pm

CHAPTER 12

 

Someone was shouting something at us in Arabic. Then he started banging on the roof of the overturned Land Rover. He obviously wanted us to get out. Michel was still semi conscious and unable to move. I managed to squeeze out through the opening and got to my feet. My eyes were full of dust and I couldn’t see very well. The guy flicked the barrel of the gun at me, indicating he wanted me to raise my hands above my head. I complied. Then my eyes began to focus and I realised who this noisy aggressive bastard was - it was Michel’s cousin, second-removed. The little shit! No wonder he’d wanted to come back with us in the Landy. He must have intended to rob us en-route, only we’d kiboshed his little plan when we told him to buggar off and make his own way home.

     I then became aware of someone else standing behind me. I turned my head only to find that old fart, one of Michel’s Dad’s old mates standing there, and behind him the other one. So this is where they went. These old bastards were determined, I’d give them that.

     The younger guy motioned to me to help get Michel out of the upended Landy. I crawled back in under the watchful eye of all three and managed to drag him out. He was pretty shaken up. The vehicle had overturned on his side and he’d taken the brunt of the impact. When we were both out the taller one of the old men started asking questions about what we were carrying.

     I told him it was just a few tools and some building materials.

    The shorter one had been foraging about in the wreckage but it was apparent from his his body language that what he was looking for wasn’t there.

     “Where is it?” the tall guy rasped in broken English, directing his ire at Michel. If I recalled correctly this one was called Rashid.

    Michel still wasn’t completely compus mentus. Rashid slapped him round the chops which prompted me to go for him but the young guy intervened, shoving the barrel of his gun into my neck and shouting something in Arabic at me so I backed off. 

     These three characters were nervous and obviously out of their depth with all this kidnapping and shooting at people malarky. They weren’t professionals and the two older guys looked like they’d rather be sitting in a market bazaar sucking on a bong and drinking jallab than be out here chasing red herrings. The young one was just a twat who’d obviously been promised a big reward and was now seriously worried that he was going to end up with nothing for his troubles. 

     Now that what they were hoping to find wasn’t here they started arguing amongst themselves in unintelligible gibberish. I took advantage of this to reach into my pocket and surreptitiously turn the sound off then phone Gerard’s number. I then slid the phone back into my pocket. I wouldn’t be able to speak to him but if he picked up he’d be able to hear what was going on. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was occurring. Michel noticed what I was doing and gave me a sly wink. 

 

Gerard and Jean had just set off in the car they’d hired with Jean driving when Gerard’s phone rang. He answered but there was no one on the other end of the line. He could see it was me ringing but all he could hear was muffled noises that sounded like people arguing. He switched it to loudspeaker so Jean could also hear.

     

Young Cuz second-removed was starting to lose the plot, waving that gun around in the air and getting really agitated. I couldn’t understand a word of what he was saying but from the tone of his voice and body language I could tell that he was really pissed off at his co-conspirators Rashid and Hashim. The two older men were attempting to placate him but he wasn’t having any of it. This was all going to go pear shaped if someone didn’t do something. Then Michel spoke: “There is nothing,” he croaked.

     The shouting stopped and the three Bandidos all focused their attention on Michel.

     “There is nothing,” he repeated.

     Now that he had their attention, Michel explained that there was actually nothing to take. The person who had what they were looking for was that Arab billionaire sitting behind bars in Belmarsh Prison, Adel-Al-Amadi. He went on to inform them that yes, his father had gone to London and eventually did sell the diamond to some unscrupulous dealers on the black market but for a much smaller price than it was worth simply because no one else would touch it. He said his father had used that money to establish a business in London and had worked hard all his life to expand it and make it a success. When the financial crash occurred in 2008 the business went bankrupt.  When he died he left what little he had left to me, and all that consisted of was a small house in Chiswick that was in his Mothers name, a boat and the run down property in Kfar-Hazir. These had not been repossessed because they were registered here under Lebanese title.

     “So you see, you are boxing shadows my friends. There is nothing I can give you except this old Land Rover, the junk inside it, my boat and my house,” Michel pined.

     I gave Michel a side glance. He was singing a pretty song here. I hoped the audience appreciated it.

     It appeared to do the trick though. Michel’s cuz lowered his gun and the two old boy’s seemed to calm down. 

     “Fuck this, I’m going home,” cursed young cuz. Then he turned his attention to Hashim and Rashid. “You old idiots have wasted my time and created bad blood in my family now. Fuck you!” He cursed, then he stormed off up the embankment, jumped in the Mercedes and wheel-spinned away. 

     Hashim and Rashid just stood there, crestfallen. All the wind had been taken out of their sails. The game of cat and mouse was over - and there was no cheese! 

 

Gerard and Jean had been listening to this whole thing as it happened through his phone. They were travelling on the same road as we had been and Gerard had plotted our position using the ‘find a phone’ app. They turned up just as little Cuz was disappearing in the distance.

     Michel agreed to take old Rashid and Hashim home if they’d help upturn the Land Rover. So with theirs and Gerard and Jeans assistance we lifted up the poor old beaten up Landy onto it’s wheels, reloaded the spilled gear and got it running again. Fortunately the explosive packs really did look just like old wheels and Hashim and Rashid were none the wiser that they were helping to reload 200lbs of C4 into the back of the vehicle.

     The two old men got in the back of Gerard & Jeans hire car and we set off in convoy for Kfar-Hazir.

     Michel, Rashid and Hashim parted on relatively good terms, all things considered. Michel informed them that he was going to hand over the deeds and title of his property to them after this one last visit here. He said he wouldn’t be coming back after this brief trip so someone who lived here should have it and he definitely wasn’t going to give it to that little cunt of a cousin second-removed!

     Even Hashim and Rashid managed a laugh at that. They also applauded him for his generosity and apologised for their previous bad behaviour, hoping that they could all remain friends in the future.

     Michel shook their hands and we left.

     “That was quite a story you told back there Michel’” I remarked. “You almost had me fooled!”

     “I learned from the best me old cockney sparrow,” he joked, with a wry smirk. 

     “Well at least your rhyming slang is improving,” I replied.

     

With every potential danger now resolved we got to work organising the last part of our plan. Michel drove off in the Landy with Jean and came back a couple of hours later towing a hay trailer he’d bought from a local farmer. We’d need a trailer to carry all the equipment and explosives down along the tunnel. We were going to tow it using the two Yamaha’s. Getting a four wheeled powered vehicle down the silo and into the tunnel wasn’t feasible. The bikes and the trailer were the best option.

     The small hole that Michel and I had originally made in the cement/wood cap on top of the silo was increased in size to enable us to lower down all the gear, bikes and other stuff. This would need to be camouflaged once we’d all gone down so Gerard and I made a plywood cover that could be slid across and be secured in place, similar to a manhole cover in a road. We tested it a few times to ensure it worked okay. It was vital that it was virtually impossible to detect after it had been closed so we coated the top of the plywood with sticky resin and chucked some sand, dirt and a few stones on top of that. Once it was set in place you couldn’t differentiate it from its surroundings. Just as a precaution we secured some netting on the underside so that a fairly heavy rock could be placed in it. That would keep it in place in case something like a wild boar or heavy winds tried to dislodge it. 

     Getting the two bikes down in one piece was fairly easy. They weren’t overly heavy. I’d previously done a few repairs and mods to them to ensure that they’d be up to the job. Firstly, I replaced the sprag clutch on the bike I’d been using previously. The headlights on a standard TTR are rubbish so I replaced them with a couple of big powerful LED spotlights and fitted Gel batteries to both bikes just to be sure. The trailer had to be dismantled into three parts, the axles, wheels and side panels, but that all went back together easily enough once we’d winched it down below. We were extra careful with the explosives but we got them all down without blowing ourselves up and by the end of the day we’d reassembled everything and loaded up the trailer with the tools, equipment and explosives and were ready to go. 

     That evening tensions were high. By the end of play tomorrow our plan would have worked or it wouldn’t. There was no additional planning to be done. We’d covered every aspect and double checked all the calculations. If we didn’t pull it off we were pretty certain that we wouldn’t get another chance, so this was it; D-Day!

     The next morning, after making sure we’d all had a good breakfast we locked up the house and one by one lowered ourselves down into the silo using the rope. Jean, being the last one in ensured the canopy was pulled securely over the top and weighted down. 

     In the tunnel we saddled up. Michel and I rode the TTR’s while Gerard and Jean sat up back in the trailer. Once we were past the rubble and were riding on the smooth level surface of the tunnel it was easy going. We kept our speed to a maximum of 30 mph just to be safe and burbled on into the inky black void.

     “Sure beats walking,” I said to Michel.

      He just grinned back at me and nodded. 

      It took us less than two hours to reach the end of the tunnel and that included a halfway stop. Gerard was utterly gobsmacked when he saw the underground cavern and lake and wanted to dally for a while to take pictures and samples but Michel, Jean and myself were more focused on getting the explosives into place. We knew first hand what we were dealing with and wanted to get this over and done with as quickly as possible, so we wouldn’t let him.

     Traversing the shoreline of the lake was no problem, the knobbly tyres of the two Yamaha’s making easy work of the pebbly terrain. When we reached the area where we thought would be the best location to deposit the bombs we stopped and unloaded the gear.

     Jean got kitted out in his diving gear while the rest of us got to work setting out the bombs ten feet apart along a section of the lakeshore rock. There was no telling if this cocka-hoop idea of mine would actually work but we were fully intent on giving it our best shot. The distance between the edge of the lake and the tunnel we wanted the water to flow down was approximately six metres. That was a lot of rock to crack open. The level of water in the lake was some thirty metres higher than where the tunnel disappeared into the rock face below. Jean had calculated that based on the size of it, if we split the section of rock in the right place approximately three hundred million gallons of water would gush down that tunnel. It was all downhill from here to the end of the tunnel and the city of the damned was situated at an even lower level still. The resultant flood would be greater than the Tree Ents attack on Isengard. The bastards wouldn’t stand a chance. 

     The problem was, the explosion could also knock out a large enough chunk of rock that might inadvertently block the tunnel, reducing or even completely stopping the flow of water, in which case we’d be screwed. To prevent that from occurring the rock would need to be shattered into small pieces, akin to a cars windscreen being broken. That meant placing the explosives in key positions underwater and also on the other side which was a sheer drop. We were pretty sure we’d packaged the C4 into big enough lumps to create a powerful enough impact. 

    It was daunting stuff. We hadn’t even considered what we’d do if it didn’t work. Run for it? Then there was the mystery of what these enslaver creatures actually were? Were they reptilian or some other form of life that could survive underwater. That wouldn’t be good! If that were the case, even if we did succeed in flooding them out they might well swim back up the tunnel and eat us alive. There were quite a few loose ends in all of this. However, we got cracking on it. It was going to be shit or bust in only a few hours and we didn’t have any toilet paper!

    It took several hours to place all the bombs but eventually they were all securely in position. When everything was set to go we climbed halfway up the spiral steps of the shaft in the centre of the salt vats and prepared ourselves for the big Bang. Gerard had brought half a mile of cable and a voltage booster had been inserted every hundred metres on the line. After connecting up the end to the gel batteries he signalled that he was ready. Each of us donned ear protectors and held on tight.

    “Three, two, one,” - he closed the circuit. 

  The explosion was immense. A huge mass of water reared upwards, creating a gigantic ripple effect across the lake. Then the shockwave hit us. It nearly knocked us off our perches. The edge of the lakeshore appeared to shudder then it collapsed. Godzillions of gallons of water surged out through the huge gash the bombs had created and began gushing down the tunnel opening.

     We’d done it!  

       

For at least an hour we all just sat there watching the torrent of water flowing down into the tunnel. We had no idea if what we’d done had achieved the desired effect but by the looks of how much water had flowed out of that huge lake already the chances were pretty high. We determined that it would be impossible to go and take a peek for at least a couple of days. We’d have to wait until the lake had emptied out. On that basis we decided to go back to the house, only this time we were going to have a bit of fun doing it. With no need to tow the trailer any longer Gerard jumped on the back of my bike and Jean hopped on Michel’s and we had a race to the end. Yeehaaa!

     We camped out in the house for the next 48 hours. During that time me and Michel had gone into town and bought another couple of trail bikes, a Suzuki DR400 and a Honda XL 250. Gerard and Jean received a crash course on how to operate them from the both of us and when they were confident they could ride them okay we hoisted them down the silo and into the tunnel. After filling all four bikes to the brim with fuel we were ready to go and check out the results of our handiwork. 

     When the four musketeers shot out of the first section of tunnel the landscape had forever changed. Where there had been a huge glittering body of water now there was just a massive deep gouge in the terrain with dead & still flapping fish in the sediment at the bottom. We rode round the perimeter and stopped just outside the 2nd tunnels entrance. This was going to be the moment of truth. It was another forty or so kilometres to the end of this one. I for one was a bit nervous. Had it worked, or would those creatures be laying in wait for us, all wet and slimy and pissed off. I sure hoped not. Michel took the lead and off we went!

     An hour or so later we exited the tunnel. The first thing we noticed was the lack of light. There was no bluish tinge in the air. The incessant humming noise that permeated the place the last time we were here was absent. To be honest, it was as black as it had been inside the tunnel. With the four bikes turned off the only sound we could hear was the ping ping of the engines cooling down. Otherwise nothing. We had all four headlights turned on but Jean also unpacked the large spotlight he’d brought in his backpack and switched it on. It was 20,000 lumens but it didn’t light up much. This place was pitch black and as far as we could tell lifeless. 

     “Poor ol’ Him-she,” Michel lamented.

     “At least it won’t have to slave away down here any longer,” I replied.

     “We would never have achieved this with out that little creature,” Jean said.

     “Shit. I wanted to see Him-she!” Gerard pined. 

     “Let’s go boys,” I said. “I dunno about you but I need a cold beer!”

     And with those parting words we fired up the bikes and tore off back up the tunnel and hopefully to a brave new world.

 

 

 

EPILOGUE

 

The head of the snake had indeed been severed but unfortunately the body was still wriggling. Although there would be no new strains of the viruses those bastards had manufactured down there the fact remained that the ones they had produced and already put into circulation throughout the world were very much alive and kicking still. These viruses didn’t need a central source any longer. They were a force-majeur all of their own and could multiply at exponential rates by transmitting from human to human. Like a cancer they could spread rapidly of their own accord.

     Yes, the evil source of the maladies plaguing the human race for millennia such as war, starvation, disease etc. no longer existed. The individuals that the enslavers had placed into society no longer had their power of source to fall back on and because of this they were dwindling away. Key politicians, advisors, physicians, psychiatrists et-al seemed to be inexplicably resigning, dying off or just downright vanishing at a rapid rate. In reality, what was occurring was that key individuals (and it was always an individual, never a group) who had surreptitiously been stirring things up, inciting conflicts and generally throwing spanners in the works were suddenly without direction, funding or purpose. Because of this things would eventually turn out for the better globally, but unfortunately the biological warfare legacy that they had already started implementing now had a life of itself. It didn’t need its masters to propagate and flourish. It was a self replicating monster operating on its own steam. 

     The enslavers had obviously been experimenting with biological warfare for centuries in preparation for when a major cull of the human population would be called for. A few examples of these experiments can be seen throughout history. For example, the Great Plague in the 16th Century, the Spanish Flu in the early 20th Century. The Aids virus in the 80’s, followed by the Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (S.A.R.S.) virus in 2003. By mid 2011 the city of the damned had been wiped out yet shortly after that the Middle Eastern Respiratory System (M.E.R.S.) virus appeared in 2012, then the Ebola epidemic in West Africa erupted in  2014. These viruses had already been formulated and shipped to the surface many years earlier and had been kept in secret labs ready for deployment and testing on ‘inmates.’ 

     After the destruction of the subterranean city, these labs became uncontrolled and the viruses leaked out in one way or another. True to form, humans managed to find a way to control and eradicate these pathogenic killer viruses but there were still more out there waiting to strike due to the fact that the secret vaults in these the labs were no longer secure. Coronavirus, which broke out of one such lab in Wuhan, China in December 2019 has since run rampant round the world causing not only thousands of premature deaths but rampant panic and civil disorder.

     Michel, Jean, Gerard and myself knew the battle wasn’t over yet but it was when I was told I couldn’t ride my motorbike anymore that I decided that’s it; something workable had to be done about this. We’d eradicated the city of the damned and now things were worse than ever!

     We sold several of the diamonds from the sphere and set up a foundation dedicated to tackling Coronavirus as it was obvious that the Governments around the World were hopelessly inept in dealing with the pandemic because they'd failed to isolate the source of it quickly enough, most likely for economic reasons. Lockdown slows the spread but its a short term solution that doesn’t really have a happy ending. At some point people are going to start coming out again and if the authorities try to stop them there’s going to be civil unrest on a scale never before imagined. Human beings are social creatures, they need to eat and they need to keep active. With lockdown continuing for months on end while Governments faff about trying to find a universal vaccine that may take over a year to perfect, it’s a time bomb waiting to go off. 

     With trillions of dollars now at our disposal we will find a cure and it will be eradicated much faster than originally envisaged. We also set up a ‘find and destroy’ unit that scours the planet for any vestiges of biological warfare labs still containing specimens that could potentially cause another global pandemic. With the ‘war mongers’ either vanished or running for the hills and the source of their power destroyed this will be a much easier task. Eventually, if we do a thorough job the last vestiges of potentially crippling viral pandemics will also be gone forever. In the meantime the lockdown will have to continue to protect the most vulnerable members of our race. It’s kind of ironic really that all these people who were once prisoners of the Enslavers and never knew it are now prisoners in their own homes. 

     Hopefully, within a very short time an antidote for Coronavirus will be produced and once it has passed testing it will then immediately be administered to every living being on the planet. If we have anything to do with it will anyway. 

     As Winston Churchill once famously said “Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

    Anyway, the future looks good. Humanity will prevail as it always has, but this time it will have a chance to really flourish and prosper like never before and hopefully Planet Earth will never be the same again.  

 

 

                                                                                                                                            ————  The end ———-


Edited by toddyboy, 26 March 2020 - 10:56 pm.


#31 Snowbird

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Posted 26 March 2020 - 10:13 pm

I've got it sussed now, with those tunnels the enslavers must have been wombles! Who'd have guessed it?

Nice one Tod, a bloody good read indeed. :drinks:


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#32 chrisbee

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Posted 27 March 2020 - 09:26 am

Thanks Tod, that was a fantastic read 👍👍👍👍

#33 toddyboy

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Posted 27 March 2020 - 09:47 am

Thanks guys. Glad you enjoyed it. I'll have to think something else up now to while away the days.



#34 Rallyist

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Posted 27 March 2020 - 10:09 am

Excellent awaiting the next adventure :good: :good:


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#35 Oafski

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Posted 27 March 2020 - 12:56 pm

That was great, really entertaining read. Thanks.


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#36 Timbo1866

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Posted 29 March 2020 - 09:39 am

Just finished it
As I don’t read much (dyslexia) fully enjoyed it
Think you need to get started on a screen play would make a film
Keep up the good work
Thanks

#37 dablik

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Posted 29 March 2020 - 03:32 pm

Blimey wot a read Tod, i just did chapter 4 through 12, as an avid reader i have to say that was pretty riveting, you have a talent for sure :good:


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#38 toddyboy

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Posted 30 March 2020 - 09:59 am

Thank you fans!  :good: I'm working on Book Two now. Might make this a trilogy



#39 Oafski

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Posted 30 March 2020 - 02:15 pm

Brilliant, looking forward to that.


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#40 Robodene

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Posted 10 April 2020 - 02:39 pm

Late finishing, a great read. Many thanks, toddyboy.
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