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Appetiser 2:

The eye of Zeus

Tiberius Black

The euphoria was great. After nine months of sailing around the Aegean Sea they had finally found a clue. Actually it was so logical that it surprised Efros that he had not seen this before. The thought that he had convinced his lender now made his mood even more cheerful. The entire financing of the operation was indeed paid by a large international pharmaceutical company, but the thought that the project could be a big failure would have undermined his credibility and the chance of appropriations for possible future investigations. Now there is no longer any doubt and they would have to take his claims more seriously.

“Dimitri? Can you call my wife Leila and say that I have found it? Oh, and first thing tomorrow we will get one from the bottom of the sea!” “Why don’t you call her?” asked Dimitri. “Because, I would probably talk with her all night and then I am not fit enough to go diving tomorrow!” “Yes, yes!” laughed Dimitri. “You have often said to her that you had found it and you are just scared that she will not believe you, so I get to do your dirty work!” “That too! Just tell her to come on board in two days then she can see it for herself!” The last few months had been heavy for Efros. He had just gotten married and bought his cutter, the Anisakis Marina, when the economy collapsed. Everything was expensive and he could forget his quiet fishing existence.

Fortunately, he had heard the old stories of his uncle, as every little Greek boy was told these stories, about a Greek Armada from Athens that traded with Egypt. Trade flourished and the wealth of the Greeks rose. More and more beautiful objects were traded between the two countries. It started out with salt and spices, but eventually clothing and even books with all the knowledge of the Far East were shipped from Alexandria to Athens. According to tradition, all the wisdom of Egypt had been gathered in these books: from astronomy to medical science - such as the use of herbs that could cure all kinds of diseases. Efros had told his wife that if he found the books then he would have more than enough money to support her and the children. From the moment that his uncle had told him that these scrolls actually never arrived in Athens and it was assumed that the ship that carried them sank during a storm, Efros planned that when he was big, he would go treasure hunting. For years he had spent all his free time in the great museums of Greece in search of that one clue that would indicate in what direction he should look. Now, 25 years later, he had found the evidence on an amphora that was exhibited in the National Historical Museum of Athens. How it was that no one had noticed before was a mystery to him. However, he also kept his mouth shut to prevent someone else from taking the credit. Luckily the amphora was on a rotating platform so he was able to take photographs from all sides, which he later studied at home. The drawings on the amphora gave the story again of a storm and an Egyptian ship that lurked in a harbor. The diagram showed that a part of the cargo from the ship was taken. The last picture showed men in boats, watching a volcanic eruption. It seemed that all residents had left their homes in haste and had left behind all their valuable goods. Fortunately, Efros had previously been paying attention in history class. The island of Thera - now called Santorini - was hit by a massive volcanic eruption in 1683 BC. There is much ash and pumice found from this volcano’s eruption, but there were never human skeletons, such as what was found after the eruption of Vesuvius. This indicated that the inhabitants got away in time and that was exactly what Efros had found on the drawings of the amphora. While he knew that more than half of the island was underwater from the volcano’s explosion, there was still a chance that the precious amphorae could also be there under water. Fortunately for Efros, he found a lender who saw a reasonable chance of success to retrieve archeological artifacts of great historical importance, literally ‘above water’. Efros looked over the railing of the Anisakis Marina into the water. Although the water was almost transparent, the bottom could not be seen. But, because of the last earthquake a few weeks ago, traces of remnants of homes under water had become visible on his radar. It was immediately clear to Efros that the original port for the coastline of Akrotiri was here before the volcano had done its destructive work.

Accordingg to the engraving on the amphora, the quay was still full of goods when everyone was looking for a safe haven, so it was inevitable that this was the place where to look.“If it is not here, then it is nowhere,” Efros thought.“Efros!” “What Dimitri?” Dimitri put his hand on the telephone handset. “Leila still wants to talk to you!” “How does she sound?” Efros asked, afraid to hear sermons about not taking responsibility and that he had to go fishing now instead of chasing delusions. “Quiet,” was all Dimitri said and gave the radio to Efros. Efros frowned and looked at the radio as if he could read her mood. “Hello, darling.” “Efros. I miss you. When you coming home?” “Honey. I’ve found it.” Efros tried to sound as convincing as possible. “You’ve already said that many times. Meanwhile, I live with your parents. Is it not time that you go fishing and earn money so that we can live on our own. Your father and mother are very nice, but their house is small and I feel too embarrassed here.” “Come to me, baby. I really found the quay of the harbor and the old houses of Akrotiri are literally under my feet. I recognized them on the sonar. The last earthquake had uncovered them and tomorrow I’m going to look for the first amphorae. You can help me with the cleaning of the amphorae before we sell them to Globodine. You know what they promised us. Then we can buy our house!” There was a pause on the other end of the line. Leila had heard this story before, but this time he sounded more convincing than ever. “Okay, honey. I’ll come to you. What’s your location?” “Four miles off the coast of Akrotiri. South of Nea Kameni Island. I’m the only ship in the area. You can’t miss it,” said Efros delighted. “I miss you honey. I’m glad you’re coming. On the quay of Akrotiri is the Dinghy from Alexandrou. Ask him to bring you to me. He must still bring supplies.” Efros hung up and looked relieved to Dimitri. He had to convince Leila that he had not looked for that piece of precious history of Greek culture for all these months for nothing instead of fifishing for sardines to earn a crust. “I’m going to bed, Dimitri. Would you check my tanks so we can go diving directly tomorrow morning? I want to surface with the first amphorae before Leila is here!” Dimitri smiled and nodded. He himself was very enthusiastic about the discovery of his brother and could not wait to see what was on the bottom of the sea. The next day Efros rose very early from his bed. The smell of fried eggs from the galley came out to meet him. He was not the only one who had noticed the first rays. He needed a hearty breakfast, diving takes a lot of energy. As Efros walked into the galley, Dimitri put the plate with eggs on the table. “The dive gear is ready on deck!” “Thank you Dimitri. Once we have eaten, we go.” Despite his hunger, Efros found it difficult to eat. After three bites, he thanked Dimitri for the food and put the rest in the fridge until he returned. Together they walked to the back deck. Efros checked the sonar once more. They were perfectly over a dividing line that was supposed to be quay walls. He could also see angular stone walls that with some imagination would be the decayed houses here. In any event, it was clear that this form of the stone was not natural. For Efros, there was no doubt; this was what he had been searching for: the original port of Akrotiri. It was not long and Efros was already in the water and began the descent. He tested his radio and depth sounder. “Dimitri, you hear me?” “I can hear you fine. Tell me when you’ve reached the bottom.” “I am now thirty meters. I can see the bottom. Start the vacuum.” Dimitri started the unit and a minute later the first stone chunks were sucked from the bottom. The sand swirled in all directions. Sometimes visibility for Efros was hampered and he had to stop by tossing the bottom of the sea. Some curious fish looked over Efros’ shoulder to see what he was doing. The rumble of the nozzle on the bottom of the sea also caused small fish to fl ee which became easy prey for the larger fish that swam around Efros. This arrangement of eat or be eaten went completely over Efros. He was fifixated on the bottom and the treasures that had to be found herein. Yet he was sufficiently concentrated to

the safety precautions when diving so important not to forget to report every ten minutes to Dimitri who then knew that all was well.“Yeah, I got one!” He cried out suddenly. Carefully he sucked the soil away from around the amphora. Slowly an intact vase became visible. What little sunlight there was at this depth was enough to see that even the drawings on the amphora, despite the very long time that the vase had been on the fl oor of the Mediterranean had lain still evident. The cork on the amphora showed that the content was still intact and had survived more than three thousand years. “Jackpot!” Efros shouted to Dimitri who could only imagine what Efros saw. Dimitri also really wanted to jump into the water and swim to the bottom in order to become partaker in the euphoria that Efros expressed through the microphone. Before Efros placed the amphora - with the utmost caution - in a cage sent down by Dimitri, he saw a second and a third vase that were also exposed. He could not believe his luck. After he pulled the rope of the cage, the first vase was brought up to Dimitri on the deck. “Empty the cage. There will be even more to come. Make room on deck!” Efros could actually fit several vases at a time in the cage, but he took no chances. If they were to bump against each other they would break and that would greatly affect the value of the content itself and the vase. Efros spent the next hour at the bottom of the sea collecting seventeen amphorae. Eight of them were in excellent condition, which even the drawings seemed intact. The other nine had either been damaged on the outside so that restoration was needed before the drawings would give up their secrets. Four vases were the same size, three were no bigger than two forearms measured at each other and one vase was exceptionally large. Efros struggled to get this vase out of the soil, but eventually he won the battle with the vase that seemed to want to stay trapped in the seabed. Unfortunately, he did not know yet that this vase would elicit the greatest value. In contrast to the other amphora, the top of this amphora was sealed with a kind of black shiny metallic stop. Also, this vase seemed to be made of an ironcontaining material and seemed to be heavier in the water compared to the other earthenware vases. This amphora was brown and had no visible markings to give an idea of what the content would be. The only thing Efros could observe on the amphora was an engraving of a black sphere with a circle drawn around it. Before the price could be determined, archaeologists would first want to examine the contents which could take months. That’s why he sent up many shards of broken vases. The drawings were invaluable for historians, but because of the lack of content and time-consuming investigation of a vase, it would bring instant money. Although Efros was not an expert in deciphering drawings and hieroglyphics, it was not hard to imagine that the vases could tell about the origin, rise and possible fall of a civilization. The amphorae were distributed by dealers throughout the then known world. From the vases it could be seen how they lived, what they ate, where trade was conducted and with whom. Even the type of tools that were used at the time could be traced back to the manner in which the vase shapes were made. Therefore Efros treated every piece of shard he uprooted with respect, as if it was a four thousand year old history book that the pages could be damaged. Maybe some of the amphorae shards or other treasure would be of historical significance, Efros thought. Then he would be able to give Leila everything her heart desired. After three hours had elapsed, Dimitri had to dampen the Efros’ enthusiasm. “You must come up, Efros. You bottles are nearly empty, even your safety margin is almost consumed.” Efros was a good diver and was also able to adhere to the rules, but it was now difficult to comply with the request. “Okay, twenty minutes and then I’m up.” Taking into account the safety, he slowly swam back up as to not get decompression sickness. Even though he quickly wanted to see the face of Dimitri, he did not go up faster. “Efros, I see a Dinghy and it looks like Leila is on board!” Efros now did not know how he could have it. She could not have come at a better time. He just had not expected her until tomorrow. She had to come from Thessaloniki and that distance cannot be traveled so fast. But, who else could it be? “We’ve got visitors. I see several people in that boat!” Dimitri said through the microphone. “Then you have to welcome them Dimitri. I’m about fifteen minutes away.” A few minutes disappeared in silence. Unfortunately Efros could not really enjoy the excitement of the spectacle of sunlight in seawater as fish peacefully swam back and forth seemingly without any purpose. Suddenly Efros heard shots through the microphone. “Dimitri?” No answer. “Dimitri?” Efros cried out for the second time. Everything was quiet on the other end of the line.

Efros looked at his diver’s watch, five more minutes. Swimming faster up would put him in danger. With about fifteen meters to go under water, he looked up and saw the outlines of the Dinghy moored beside the Anisakis Marina.

Before he could think of what could be happening over his head, he was drawn to the cable to which he was attached. Out of instinct, he took his knife and cut the cable.

Efros felt something was not right on the boat. Again a few seconds later, bullets were fired into the water. Apparently they were indiscriminately fired because they missed Efros by some distance. Efros swam under the boat which offered him some protection from the hail of bullets that had not stopped. He looked at his watch, approximately three minutes of oxygen! He swam to the bow of the ship. Since the bow was fairly far forward, he was slightly invisible to the shooter. He held the chain of the anchor and pulled of his oxygen tanks and goggles. When he surfaced with his head, he heard a helicopter approaching. Since the helicopter was coming from a different angle, the pilot could have seen his head. Not much later he heard footsteps on the foredeck and then there were two splashes in the water. Whoever was up there was trying to get him with grappling hooks. Again there was gunfire. Although they could not shoot under the bow, he could not swim out underneath. He had no choice but to swim under the boat to the rear deck. Quickly he took a deep breath and dived under the cutter. He had to swim along the length of the thirty meter long boat.

He barely arrived at the quarterdeck, gasping for air. However, when he came with his head above water, there were two men standing there with guns pointed at him. A third blond man with hexagonal glasses on his nose spoke to him: “You have done your work,” said the man with a German accent. “Now I’m doing my job!” Then he gestured with his finger to the two shooters. At this they started shooting again. This time it was hit. A veil of blood fl owed into the sea. Efros disappeared under the boat. “Beautiful.” The blond man turned and waved to the helicopter to get closer. The helicopter lowered a cable with a basket. Some minutes later the load on board the boat was removed and put in the helicopter. When this was all done, he lit a cigar and called to his henchmen, “Burn it and let’s go!” As the sun rose to its highest point in the sky, the men were back in their Dinghy and the helicopter disappeared with the treasures on the horizon without even glancing back to see the results of their action - the burning Anisakis Marina disappearing under the lapping waves of the Aegean sea.

Julie Somers hated to be wet. Her blonde hair hung around her head and she thought that damaged her image as a top journalist. It was not for nothing that she moved to sunny Florida. She did her job well and she was widely praised by colleagues. Until yesterday, she had always got the impression from her boss, Harry Duncan that both her reports for CNN and her columns in the ‘Daily Chronicle’ were short and powerful and managed to touch the audience. As she walked down the street, she was recognized and she visibly enjoyed that. So why had Harry now removed her from her familiar surroundings and put her on a plane to England for a trashy story about a village in ‘the middle of nowhere where five very elderly people all have died simultaneously?

She had tried to convince Harry that it was not a story for her and that everywhere in the world the very old died, but Harry once again had his famous phrase about his gut feeling. In addition to this story, she wouldreturn with a report to do with Senator Owen who had promised her an exclusive interview about his involvement against a bribery scandal in the sale of illegal pharmaceutical drugs. “Fine!” Julie thought, “But to England? It rains there forever!”

On her whether anyone else could go to England, Harry was short. “You go!”

It was clear. She had little choice: Acclaimed reporter or not, she had to do whatever the boss says. Before she could say more, she was given a portfolio of information about the case and Harry was already being called. “Mr. Duncan? I’m Richard Shaw. I need to talk to you!”

Harry glanced at Shaw who nodded at him and turned back to Julie. Now he looked at her sternly: “No discussions. You go. Your plane leaves in three hours. Here’s your ticket!”

Harry shoved the ticket in her hands and turned back to Shaw. Harry then gave the man a hand and he motioned the blonde, bespectacled man to follow him to his office. “What can I do for you?” Julie heard Harry say as he walked away from her. Normally Harry would not be so quick to run away and he had the man wait for quite a while, but this time it was different. It saved him a lot of discussion with Julie.

Four hours later Julie – with gritted teeth - was already on the plane to England. She had an information folder in her hands that she could now go through over the next few hours. Although she was not happy with this contract, she would be well prepared for her mission. Carefully she took note of the file. The incident with the five elderly people had played out on a deserted road about 36 kilometers east of Sellafield near a remote village called ‘Moon’. Sellafield is on the edge of the west coast of England, near the place Seascale, which was well known for its famous reprocessing plant which at the end of the eighties and early nineties, many protests were held there. The disasters at Three Mile Island, in Harrisburg and Chernobyl had grown antipathy against all companies where the words radiation or nuclear power companies were involved. Would this have something to do with what had occurred?

“This village, which is in the shadow of Sellafield should be, well, conversely, as the wind was good, turned out to have been resistant to the negative image of the nuclear plant,” Julie thought. According to the portfolio, the average age of the villagers was 71 years out of a total of 618 people. The younger people had probably already left in search of work and the elderly pensioners stayed behind. This would of course affect the average age of the residents which would therefore go proportional up. Further described in the portfolio was that only the local newspaper, ‘the Seascale Domestic’, stated in a few lines that a cyclist found the deceased and was asked if there was anything suspicious in the area that he observed.

“The elderly were probably demented runaways,” Julie thought, “and they could not find their way home!” Just a small smile appeared on her face: If that were so, her “small report” would be finished quickly and she could perhaps spend a day shopping in London. That would be a blessing in disguise! However, a second report in the same newspaper, a day later, said it rectified the first message: the young man, not mentioned by name, had invented the story. Thus the matter was settled as a hoax and ‘all of England’ need not pay any more attention to it. Now it was not unusual for young people to make themselves look important and invent something to get in the papers. She thought of Harry. She did not feel that the cost of sending her there would cover against the benefits of the story and Harry would be very disappointed. But, when she looked at the next page in the portfolio, she saw a blurry color photo of five elderly people half sitting against a two piece, closed wooden gate. It looked like they were all just leaning against the closed gate that had a crossbar that held the two halves together,

having a rest and had fallen asleep. Furthermore, standing next to the fence was a wooden direction sign pointing to the fence. However, the photo was too blurry to read the text. In the picture she could see four women and one man. Indeed, the women looked pretty old, but Julie was always bad at guessing. ages. However, given the wrinkles on the hands and sunken faces, they looked to be an average of eighty years. The male had a slightly younger appearance, but also had to have at least exceeded seventy. The clothes were out of time and the colors were very dull. The fl oral design on the dress of one of the elderly women was completely faded. Furthermore, she noticed that the sunken faces seemed to indicate dehydration as if they had not drank any water for days. She saw on the hand of the man and one woman a relatively large gold ring on the small finger. Perhaps they were a couple. The picture was further blurred in order to properly identity them. Finally she even noticed that three of the persons from whom she could see the neck, was a brown stain, which looked something like a large birthmark. Possibly they were one family. She turned the photo over and looked at the back, there she saw, written with a pen, the following text:

Malcolm,

That’s how I found them near Hardknott Pass in the Lake District. I was going cycling to take some pictures of some rare birds that breed in that area. Since there was no signal for my mobile at that place, probably because of a thunderstorm, I took this picture. When I went to get help and returned with the police, they were gone. Then I went to the local newspaper and told them what I had experienced. In the article the readers were asked if anyone in that area noticed something special. The next day my house was broken into and my phone and laptop were stolen. Police in Seascale registered the break-in, but indicated that there are no old people missing. They gave me the impression that they thought I had staged everything. Luckily I had some pictures on my old analog camera and not just on my phone. The thieves had apparently overlooked or underestimated the value of this camera. At least I can thus prove me right. On the way home from having the picture printed it seemed like a blue police car was following me. After I arrived home, I noticed an article in the same newspaper that they rectified my story the previous day because it was invented. You’re right. Now I also feel that something is wrong. As you suggested, I will not actually be involved. That’s why I took this photo as proof and sent it to you and I urge you to go out and research it for yourself. There’s something going on! The burglary at my house was not accidental and I plan to just leave before I disappear in the same way as the elderly people in the photo. I told you that I have an assignment for a photo shoot in Kazakhstan. This is a good time to do so now. Maybe you can send this photo to your friend at the Daily Epitah. This is something for a journalist, not an ornithologist.

Regards, JM.”

Julie looked away. Now the story began to be interesting. However, more information was not available in the folder. She found only a card: “Trust this only to your best assistant.” It was signed by one ‘Malcolm’. Julie put the folder in her bag and went to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror while she supplemented the missing lipstick on her lips and combed her hair, she thought, “Trust only your best assistant.” Suddenly she got a very different picture of the cover that she had to make, and a very different picture of Harry who had her doing this because more or less he saw her as his best assistant. With a sense of pride she then went back to her place. Who is that Malcolm and who is JM? She decided to call Harry that night and ask him. Once she arrived in Seascale she would go ask the police what happened there and then ask at the local newspaper, who placed the rectification? It certainly was not JM or Malcolm, so there is still a party that has interfered. Julie heard a ‘ping’, looked up and saw that the “Fasten your seat belt” light had come on so she put her seat belt on. It was time to land.

Julie only had hand luggage with her and therefore quickly went through customs. As she walked towards the exit of Heathrow Airport, she saw a large sign of the car rental company with the familiar logo of a lemon. She walked to the counter and immediately took out the company gold card. Her position as a renowned reporter was even known outside the US. “Ms. Somers!” laughed the clerk. Charmed by her fame, but at the same time aware that apparently she could not just walk in the streets here, she asked for the price list. The list was more about the models which she could then choose from than about the prices. Her company was paying for it anyway. She chose a smaller model Ford, but one that was

equipped with all the luxuries she could ever imagine. In the garage she choked a moment when she realized that the steering wheel was on the right here and she had to drive on the left. Hoping that the navigation system would protect her from making big mistakes, she tapped in the destination, Moon. Almost immediately the navigation system gave a few names on which Julie could choose from. However, ‘Moon’ was not among them. “Strange,” she thought, “I’ve spelled it correctly.” She tried again. Unfortunately, she received the same result. “Then just pick a place nearby.” Instead of typing a city name, she now looked at a map of the area around Sellafield. Apart from Sellafield and Seascale, there were few places in the perimeter of the 36 kilometers as described in the portfolio that would bring her near a village. Since Sellafield was a name of the nuclear complex and had no homes, she then chose Seascale. She tapped Seascale and saw almost immediately on the screen, the distance and estimated time of arrival. “Five and a half hour drive: arrival time 1:30 AM.”

Since it was almost 8 o’clock, Julie decided seek a motel that was along the highway. Near Stafford, just over one-third of her trip was a motel on her route. “Two stars. Does not sound too bad! Anyway, I just need a simple room for the night and that is better than arriving in Moon in the middle of the night,” she thought. She started the car and drove away through the streets, a little uncomfortable at first, but once on the highway she began to get used to driving on the left side of the road. After a hundred miles she saw a gas station. She parked her car and went inside to get some sandwiches and a large cup of strong coffee. When she went to pay she asked about the way to Moon. However, the clerk did not know anything of that village. More or less frustrated by the ignorance of the employee of the gas station, she bought a roadmap. “Maybe this was a trick of the clerk to sell roadmaps,” she thought. Once in her car, she took a sip of her coffee. It seemed that she immediately got some energy back. Another half an hour and she would be able to get some sleep.

She looked at the map and saw Sellafield at once, but not Moon. This was too crazy. The scale of the map observed the whole area. She drew a virtual circle, taking into account the conversion of kilometers to miles, 23 miles to Sellafield. After two sandwiches and half a cup of coffee, she came to the conclusion that the village did not exist. “No point bothering to go to the coast,” she thought. If she told Harry that she could not find the place, her image as ‘best employee’ would disappear. She told herself to find the motel near Sellafield and ask the next day. Being so close to the target, someone should have heard of the village of Moon.

Fortunately, a motel was better indicated. After Julie had the key to her room, she casually asked the clerk where to find the town of Moon.

“Never heard of it,” was the short answer. “But, I’ll just ask my colleague.

She knows the area better than me.”

The receptionist came back with a handsome, dark-blonde woman of about forty. She looked at Julie with amazement. “Why would you go there?”

Actually, Julie did not think that the woman needed to know, but she would not be difficult.

“I am a journalist and I am here to write a report on old age,” she answered curtly.

“I would not go there, ma’am! It’s not safe there. It is said that the government has put down that village and the people there are not allowed to leave.”

“A prison?” Julie asked.

“No, but it is discussed that the village is hermetically sealed and other citizens cannot get in there. The village is not on the route maps and there isn’t any information on where the village is exactly located.”

“I already noticed that!” Julie thought.

“I am surprised that you have heard of Moon. I would not talk about it too much with the people around here, if I were you. It is a sensitive subject for the British government and the walls have ears here, if you know what I mean. They say that even the birds don’t fl y over the area.”

“Have you any idea where the village is?” Julie returned to her earlier question.

“They say that the village can only be found on cloudy days, supposed to be due to gleams of houses and lamp posts that refl ect off the clouds. But, these are rumors, of course.”

Julie thanked the woman for the explanation and then somewhat surprised, walked to her room. She thought of what she had heard now. Do residents believe that the village is not real? Would it be a military base? Well, they still do not have very old people in the service. Later, after showering, she would rethink everything. Her room was simple, just as you could expect from a two-star motel. No TV, just a clock radio, no internet and no bathtub. Nevertheless, the bed felt tight and more importantly, it looked clean and fresh smelling. After a quick shower, she thought more of the trip and about what the woman at reception had told.

A whole village that was not shown on any map was bizarre. She was also intrigued by the story that the woman had told. She speculated as to what awaits her. The village was near Sellafield. Perhaps that had something to do with it. Soon, a “light” came on; maybe she could not get out of the village once she was inside! Maybe it turns out to be a village like the one described in the movie ‘Resident Evil’ and she would be attacked by radioactive zombies.

She grabbed a bottle of Coke from a rusty fridge that was in her room. A price tag on the fridge indicated that the drinks were sufficient to pay the mortgage of the hotel. But, yes, without television and the internet there was little to do at the motel. A drink was welcome. As she opened the bottle, she picked up the handset of the room-phone and asked the hotel reception to call her employer. Harry should still be in the office since it was six hours earlier in Florida. She still wanted to know about Malcolm and JM.

Julie was at least two minutes on hold before she heard a woman’s voice on the other end of the line. “Julie? It’s Amy. You want to speak to Harry?”

“Yes.”

“I have to tell you something bad. Harry had a heart attack and was transported to the hospital deceased!” Julie, startled, let the horn fall out of her hands. She was overwhelmed. Harry was a sporty guy, healthy, young, strong and without stress. She sat down on her bed and could just barely breathe.

“Julie? Julie?” The voice cried out on the other end of the phone line.

Julie picked up the handset off the fl oor. “This ... this ... can’t be true!”

She stammered.

“Fortunately, you’re still there!” Amy replied.

“How did it happen?” Julie asked.

“We do not know exactly. Carl found him alone in his office. It appears that he had been lying there for some time. He immediately called an ambulance and during the ride to the hospital they tried to revive him, but apparently too much time had elapsed between the attack and when the ambulance arrived. I know that you were very fond of Harry! If there is anything I can do for you ...?” Julie had no more words. “Very appreciated!” was exaggerated. The love-hate relationship between her and her boss was more from the fact that they needed each other. She knew full well that she had been allowed to cover important news to add a charismatic appeal to the reader and he never seen such good sales. However, in spite of everything, she had great admiration for Harry because of the way he encouraged the staff and took the best out of them. She just had to handle this. She thanked Amy for her compassion, wished her strength and she would have to call her back later. She went to bed, trying to organize her thoughts and what she should do the next few days, but she decided she would just take them as they came.

Julie felt some shivers go down her body. Could it be that there is a link between this mission and the death of Harry? Through this thought, she could not sleep. These were the facts at this time and she could do little to change them. The next day she hoped to find answers to all the questions that now arose in her. So she needed to have a good sleep. She decided to force it by taking a sleeping pill meant for the plane - she finally fell asleep. In memory of Harry, she was determined to perform well in this last assignment.

dan maar een motel aan de snelweg te pakken als ze er omstreeks een uur of 10 in de avond eentje tegen zou komen. Hier bood de navigatie wel uitkomst: Nabij Stafford, op iets meer dan een derde van haar reis was er een motel op haar route. ‘Twee sterren. Houdt ook niet over! Maar goed, met een eenvoudige kamer kom ik de nacht wel door en is beter dan midden in de nacht in Moon aan te komen.’, dacht ze. Ze startte de wagen en reed eerst wat ongemakkelijk door de straten. Op de snelweg begon ze wat aan het rijden op de linkerhelft van de weg te wennen. Na een kilometer of 100 onderweg te zijn, zag ze een tankstation. Ze parkeerde haar wagen en liep naar binnen om wat sandwiches en een grote beker sterke koffie te halen. Toen ze wilde afrekenen bedacht zij om meteen even hier de weg te vragen naar Moon. De bediende wist haar echter ook niet te vertellen waar dit dorpje was. Min of meer gefrustreerd vanwege de onkunde van de medewerker van het tankstation, kocht zij dan maar een routekaart.

‘Misschien was dit wel een truc van de bediende om routekaarten te verkopen…’, dacht ze. Eenmaal in haar auto nam zij een slok van haar koffie. Dat smaakte. Het leek wel of zij meteen weer wat energie kreeg. Nog een half uurtje en ze zou in slaap gevallen zijn. Ze pakte de kaart en zocht opnieuw naar het dorp. Sellafield zag zij meteen op de kaart staan maar Moon niet. Dit werd toch te gek. Met de schaal van de kaart in acht genomen, trok ze nu een virtuele cirkel, rekening houdend met de omrekening van kilometers naar mijlen, van 23 mijl om Sellafield heen. Na twee sandwiches en een halve beker koffie, kwam zij tot de conclusie dat het dorp er niet op stond. ‘Dit zou nog moeite gaan kosten.’, bedacht ze.

Bij Harrie aankomen dat ze de plaats niet had kunnen vinden, zou haar imago als ‘beste medewerker’ ook geen goed doen. Ze hield zich voor het motel op te zoeken en vervolgens de volgende dag in de buurt van Sellafield nog maar eens te vragen. Zo dicht bij het doel zou men toch van het dorpje gehoord moeten hebben.

Gelukkig werd een motel beter aangegeven. Nadat July de sleutel van haar kamer had gekregen, vroeg zij terloops aan de receptionist waar het plaatsje Moon te vinden was. “Nooit van gehoord!”, was het korte antwoord. “Maar ik zal het mijn collega even vragen. Zij is hier beter bekend dan ik.

” De receptionist kwam met een knappe donkerblonde vrouw van een jaar of veertig terug. Zij keek July vol verbazing aan. “Waarom wilt u daar naar toe?” Eigenlijk vond July niet dat dat de vrouw wat aanging, maar zij wilde niet moeilijk doen. “Ik ben journaliste en moet daar zijn om een reportage te maken over ouderdom.”, antwoordde ze kort.

“Ik zou daar niet heen gaan, mevrouw! Het is daar niet pluis. Men zegt dat de regering dat dorp daar heeft neergezet en de inwoners daar niet uit het dorp mogen.” “Een gevangenis?”, vroeg July.

“Nee, maar er wordt over gesproken dat het dorp hermetisch is afgesloten en andere burgers daar niet naar binnen kunnen. Het dorp staat ook niet op de routekaarten. En er is geen enkele informatie te vinden waar het dorp zich exact bevindt.”

‘Dat was mij inmiddels al opgevallen.’ dacht July. “Ik verbaas mij erover dat u van Moon hebt gehoord maar ik zou er ook niet te veel over praten met de mensen hier in de buurt, als ik u was. Het is een gevoelig onderwerp voor de Engelse regering en de muren hier hebben oren, als u begrijpt wat ik bedoel. Ze zeggen dat zelfs de vogels niet over het gebied heen vliegen.”

“Heeft u enig idee waar het dorp ligt?”, vroeg July weer. “Ze zeggen dat het dorp alleen op bewolkte dagen ‘s nachts te vinden zou moeten zijn vanwege lichtschijnsels van de huizen en lantaarnpalen die reflecteren op de bovenliggende wolken. Daar zou het aan te herkennen moeten zijn. Maar dat zijn natuurlijk geruchten.”

July bedankte de vrouw voor de uitleg en liep vervolgens enigszins verbaasd naar haar kamer. Ze moest nog eens goed op een rijtje zetten wat ze nu had gehoord. Inwoners die het dorp niet uitkomen? Zou het een militaire basis zijn? Nou, die hebben toch geen hoogbejaarden in dienst? Straks, na het douchen, zou zij alles nog eens overdenken. Eerst haar kamer opzoeken.

Haar kamer was eenvoudig, precies zoals zij van een 2-sterren motel kon verwachten. Geen tv, slechts een radio-wekker combinatie, geen internet en geen bad. Desalniettemin voelde het bed stevig aan en belangrijker, het zag er schoon uit en rook fris. Na een korte douche kwam zij weer wat bij van de reis en dacht zij na over wat de vrouw bij de receptie haar had verteld. Een heel dorp dat op geen enkele kaart werd aangegeven, was toch bizar. Ze werd nu toch geïntrigeerd door het verhaal dat de vrouw had verteld. Ze speculeerde er heerlijk op los wat haar te wachten zou kunnen staan. Het dorp lag in de buurt van Sellafield. Misschien had dat er mee te maken. Straks begon zij ook ‘licht’ te geven en mocht ze niet meer weg uit het dorp als ze eenmaal binnen was! Of werd ze aangevallen door radioactieve zombies en bleek het een dorp zoals beschreven in de film ‘Resident Evil’ te zijn.

Ze pakte een flesje cola uit een roestig koelkastje dat wel in haar kamer stond. Een prijskaartje op de koelkast gaf aan dat de drankjes voldoende waren om de hypotheek te betalen. Maar ja. Zonder televisie en internet viel er in het motel weinig te beleven. Een drankje was dan wel welkom.

Terwijl zij het flesje opende, pakte ze de hoorn van de bakelieten telefoon en vroeg de hotelreceptie om haar werkgever te bellen. Aangezien het in Florida nog 6 uur vroeger was, zou Harry nog op kantoor moeten zijn. Ze wilde toch graag van hem weten hoe zij die Malcolm zou kunnen bereiken en of hij nog wat meer informatie had. De verbinding leek moeizaam tot stand te kunnen worden gebracht. July stond zeker twee minuten in de wacht voordat ze aan de andere kant van de lijn een vrouwenstem hoorde. “July? Met Amy. Je wilde Harry spreken?” “Ja.”

“Ik moet je wat vervelends vertellen: Harry heeft een hartaanval gehad en is onderweg naar het ziekenhuis overleden!”

July liet van schrik de hoorn uit haar handen vallen. Ze was overdonderd. Harry was een sportieve gezonde vent, jong, sterk en zonder stress. Ze ging zitten op haar bed en kon even bijna geen adem halen.

“July? July?”, schreeuwde de stem door de telefoon. July pakte de hoorn van de grond. “Dit…..dit… kan toch niet waar zijn!”, stotterde ze. “Gelukkig je bent er nog!”, antwoordde Amy terug. “Het spijt mij dat ik je zo bot op de hoogte moet brengen.”

“Hoe is het gebeurd?”, vroeg July weer. “We weten het niet precies. Carl vond hem alleen in zijn kantoor. Het leek of hij daar al enige tijd had gelegen. Hij had meteen een ambulance gebeld en tijdens de rit naar het ziekenhuis heeft men geprobeerd hem te reanimeren, maar blijkbaar was er al te veel tijd verlopen tussen de hartaanval en het tijdstip waarop de ambulance bij het ziekenhuis arriveerde. Ik weet best dat je erg gesteld was op Harry en hij op jou! Als er iets is wat ik voor je doen kan?…….” July had geen woorden meer. Ze moest dit even verwerken. Ze bedankte Amy voor haar medeleven, wenste haar ook sterkte en ze zou haar later nog terugbellen. Ze ging op bed liggen, probeerde haar gedachten te legen en de komende dagen maar te nemen zoals ze kwamen.

July voelde enige rillingen over haar lichaam: Het zou toch niet zo zijn dat er een verband bestaat tussen de laatste opdracht van Harry en zijn dood? Door deze gedachte kon ze de slaap niet vatten. Op dit moment waren dit de feiten en kon ze daar weinig aan veranderen. De volgende dag hoopte ze antwoorden te vinden op alle vragen die nu in haar opkwamen. Goede nachtrust had zij dus wel nodig. Ze besloot dan maar op een wat onnatuurlijke manier de slaap te forceren. Met een meegenomen slaappilletje, bedoeld voor in het vliegtuig, viel ze uiteindelijk in slaap. Vastberaden om, ter nagedachtenis van Harry, zijn laatste opdracht goed uit te voeren.