Guarding the Past, Revised Edition: Ancient Secrets Will Be Revealed!

Guarding the Past

Trilogy Christian Publishers A Wholly Owned Subsidiary of Trinity Broadcasting Network

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Copyright © 2023 by D.L. Crager

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ISBN: 979-8-88738-786-4

E-ISBN: 979-8-88738-787-1

Chapter 1

Sitting at his desk in the archaeology department, Ben was working on his doctorate at Stanford University. As a research adjunct professor for the department, he has great ambitions to continue in his field of study after he graduates.

There was a knock at the door of his small office. Come in.

A longtime friend and coworker walked in. Here’s today’s mail, Ben.

Thanks, Nathen. You saved me again from getting out of the office to stretch my legs, Ben jokingly replied.

Nathen ribbed him back, I know how much you like being cramped up in here, burying your nose in the books. Thought I would help out.

I appreciate it. I owe you big time for always getting my mail. I’m starting to feel guilty, Ben said as he looked at the handful of normal-sized mail handed to him and one legal-size envelope that came by certified mail.

No problem. It’s always perfect timing when I get here for my afternoon class and when the mail arrives in our school mailboxes. You know, for not actually being a full-fledged professor, you get more mail than most in the building.

Ben looked up and smartly answered, I think I do more research and corresponding than all professors put together, but don’t tell them I said that. Changing his tone and getting serious, he added, I’ve been applying for grants all over the place to get me going once I graduate next month. Hopefully, one of these has some good news for me.

You’ll get one. Just keep applying. You’re really good at what you do. See you tomorrow.

Later, Nathen, he said, looking back down at the large envelope as the door closed.

I wonder what this is, he thought, flipping it over and looking for a return address, but there was nothing written. That’s odd, especially being certified mail.

He took out his letter opener from the drawer of his desk. It was a jade-colored stone in the shape of a knife with the handle carved in the image of a dragon. Ben bought it in a small mountain village in China just south of Mongolia over a year ago when he was on a minor expedition at a dig site where fossils of plants and animals were found by local miners.

These past six months, Ben was getting more and more discouraged because no one to this point had replied to his requests for a grant, as anxiety was beginning to show its face.

Slowly, he sliced the end open and looked inside. Pulling out a single, unfolded, firm piece of paper, a normal-sized envelope fell out onto the desk, having the name of a major airline on it. Looking at the paper, he quickly understood it was an official letter. The parchment was very different—thicker and off-white, almost tan as fibers weaved themselves through it, giving it an exotic and an aged appeal. But what caught his eye was how it was written. It was handwritten but not with a modern pen. From experience in historical studies, he recognized the words were scribed with an old-style pen that was dipped in ink. There was a slight unevenness with the thickness and the darkness of the lines with each stroke of the pen.

Finally, at the bottom of the letter where the signature was supposed to be, a reddish splotch of flattened melted wax a little larger than the size of a quarter took its place. It reminded him of medieval times when kings would put their signature mark on letters, stating it came with their authority and power.

The signature imprint was a male lion roaring as a human eye appeared to be clutched in its jaws.

He looked in the large envelope to see if there was anything else, but it was empty. Ben started to get the feeling someone was playing a joke. Then, he turned on the reading lamp on his desk to brighten the letter as he read:

Mr. Benjamin Maschel,

With precision, you have been selected from others around the world to be part of what we have and who we are.

We are presenting you with an invitation to visit our remote facility in order to spark your interest in continuing your studies and research here with us after you receive your doctorate at the end of the month.

Our invitation comes with an offer of a sizeable lifetime grant that has no equal, which will be discussed during your visit. Along with this letter, we have sent prearranged transportation for you dated one week after your graduation. Also, in appreciation for you following through with this invitation, we have set up a separate bank account in your name at your present financial institution with a balance of one hundred thousand dollars. This will immediately be available to you upon your return from your initial visit as good faith and to demonstrate how we value you working with us. If you choose to work with us or not, the deposit will still be yours.

What we ask of you is simple. In no way, form, or fashion mention or show this letter to anyone. We are extremely protective of our identity, location and what we have, which is for your eyes only. We are supremely confident who we are and what we offer will be of great value and create a lifelong passionate interest for you.

If you do research or discuss the contents of this letter with anyone, we will immediately be informed through our sources, and your invitation and transportation tickets will be terminated—along with the bank account and the funds within it. Though, you may confirm the account is valid and the deposit within it.

I cannot caution you enough to secure this letter. For you will not be permitted to continue with your travels to us unless the letter is with you, starting with your first connection in London, England. The seal below is your only key and pass.

Thank you for your consideration. We look forward to your visit, and I guarantee you, Mr. Maschel, you will not be disappointed! Again security and confidentiality is of utmost importance. Until we meet, Isaiah 55:8–9.

Sincerely

Ben dropped the letter flat onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. He was speechless and didn’t know where to start. His thoughts were going in different directions at a hundred miles an hour. Who are these people, what were they doing, and what do they have to be so paranoid about? Then, he said aloud, A hundred thousand dollars just to go visit these guys? No way! He leaned forward in his chair, taking out his wallet and pulling out his bank card. Picking up his cell phone, he flipped the card to its back and dialed the customer service number.

A woman answered, and he said, Hi, my name is Benjamin Maschel, and I have a checking account with your bank. Hesitating and trying to figure out what to say next, he found the words. Actually, I have two, but I forgot one of the account numbers, and I’m needing to know the balances.

I can help you. What are the last four digits of your Social Security number and date of birth?

Ben gave her the information she asked for, and after a couple of other security questions to confirm who he was, the bank personnel said, Okay, Mr. Maschel, you have two accounts with us. Which one were you needing information on?

Ah, the newest one.

Okay, I see it here. You opened it…this morning? her voice questioned, wondering how he could have forgotten the large deposit from just hours ago, and then asked, You want to know the balance? He thought to himself, This morning, but how did they know when to… Oh yeah, the certified letter and its time of arrival. But how do they have all my private information? He was starting to get concerned.

Hello, Mr. Maschel? Are you still there?

Oh, yes. Um, how much was deposited? I forgot.

Well, the deposit shows 100,000 dollars, but let me look here… She paused for a moment and then finished. But the funds will not be available until after the sixth of June because you’re locked into a money market account until that date.

June 6. That’s five weeks away, he thought.

Is there anything else I can assist you with, Mr. Maschel?

No, thank you for your help. Hanging up, the date she gave him kept going over in his head, and then his eyes caught the airline envelope. He opened it, looked at the departure date, and said aloud, June sixth.

Leaning back in his chair and staring across the room out the window to the campus, he thought again, Who are these people?

His cell phone rang, still in his hand, jolting him a little out of his deep thoughts. He answered, Hello.

In a loud, happy-go-lucky tone, the voice said, Hi, Ben. It’s Mom. She rarely called while he was at school, usually calling him only on the weekends. Is this a bad time?

No, it’s fine. Is everything okay? Ben asked, trying to clear his head.

Oh yes, sweetheart. Sorry to bother when you’re at school, but I have a question… She paused, a little apprehensive. I called because your dad was wondering if you would go on the annual father-and-son retreat with the men of our church at the end of June. I know it’s short notice, and you’ll probably be busy after graduation and all, but I just thought we would ask.

Mom, you know how I feel about the church and God thing. I don’t believe the way you two do anymore. I’m a realistic evolutionist. The facts of life are the way you see it; I am not a God-creating believer walking blindly by faith.

I know, Ben, but it would really make your father happy if you would go with him. It’s been a long time since you two did anything together as father and son.

I’ll think about it and let you know. I’ve got a lot of work to finish up before I graduate, and something else has come up—Ben reached over, picking up the letter—that I probably need to do after graduation. His eyes scanned the whole letter, and when it got to the end, where Isaiah 55 verses 8 through 9 was written, he asked reluctantly, knowing his mom might get the wrong idea. Hey, Mom, do you have a Bible near you?

She perked up, glad to hear her son was asking about something she and her husband lived by and felt very strongly about. Why, yes, honey. What do you need?

Isaiah is a book in the Old Testament, right?

Yes, you know that, silly. It’s about in the middle of the whole Bible.

Can you look up chapter 55, verses 8 through 9?

Absolutely. Give me a second. There was a pause as she opened the Bible sitting on the end table next to her chair. Finding what she was looking for, she said, Okay, I’ve got it.

What does it say?

It says, ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’

They both paused as Ben was waiting for more. He asked, That’s it?

That’s what it says. Why, what are you looking for?

Oh, nothing. I saw it written on something and wanted to know what it was.

Well, those are powerful and deep words if you really think about it, son.

He replied, not taking any of her religious stuff seriously anymore, Uh-huh.

Keeping to her upbeat personality, she asked, So, you’ll get back to us on going with Dad on the trip?

Tell him I’ll think about it. His tone indicated he really wouldn’t.

His heart would jump for joy if you would do this with him. We want you to know that even though you don’t believe the way we do anymore, you’re always in our prayers, and we will always love you, Ben.

I know, Mom. I love you, too. Talk to you later, okay? he said, trying to elude the uneasy topic the family had wrestled with for eight years.

Sounds good. Bye, son.

Hanging up and setting the cell phone on the desk, Ben picked up the smaller envelope again with the name of the airline on it and then remarked, London, huh.

He looked at the first boarding pass outlined with the date and time stating the departure from San Francisco, California, and arriving in London, England, and noticed the next boarding pass didn’t have the name of an airline, destination, departure time, or date. It only said, Private air service. Ben looked through the rest on the paperwork, thinking something was misplaced within it, and then realized, thinking back to what the letter said. They really don’t want me to know where I’m going.

***

Weeks passed, and Ben graduated with his doctorate in archeology. Now he was in Nathen’s car, being given a ride to the San Francisco Airport.

So, what are you doing in England? Nathen asked. I really don’t understand what this trip is about.

It has something to do with a grant and the research I’ve been doing. I could get into it, but it would bore you.

Bore me? Are you kidding? Nathen laughed. It’s just strange. You’ve been very quiet about this trip. Usually, you won’t shut up about your work—digging up old cities, civilizations, and dinosaurs while finding new life from millions of years ago. So, when are you coming back?

Not sure. The people gave me an open-ended ticket.

You did your research on them, right? They’re a legit company? Not taking you on a wild goose chase?

Hesitant to answer and not wanting to give anything away, he said, Oh, yeah, they’re legit, all right. I can’t believe you’d ask that.

Well, this trip seems to be so hush-hush. One would think you’re working for another country or something? You’re acting like an Indiana Jones going rogue. It’s just not your nature.

Oh, please, Nathen. Benjamin laughed at the thought and then said, As soon as I know anything about this grant, you’ll be the first to know.

After Nathen dropped Ben off at the airport, he waited in the long line to get to the ticket counter and check in his extra-large heavy-duty duffle bag. Not knowing how long he was going to stay or what climate he was going to be in—high altitude cold mountains, dry, hot deserts, or humid, wet jungles—he brought clothes for each scenario. Also, he had a medium-sized, carry-on day pack filled with his laptop and other items he thought he might need to keep him busy during the flights and for possible research and study when he got to wherever he was going along with toiletries and a change of clothes just in case his duffle bag got lost and, of course, his key for the trip—the invitation letter with the red wax signature stamp.

Getting to the counter, the ticket agent smiled, saying, Next time, Mr. Maschel, please don’t wait in the regular line when you fly first class. Use our priority and first-class passenger line. It will be a lot quicker.

Oh, yeah, sorry. I forgot, Ben replied in a way so as not to let the lady know he hadn’t noticed the ticket was first class. Suddenly, the eleven-hour flight didn’t seem so bad. Thanks! he said with a smile, taking back his ticket and ID from the agent.

He left San Francisco late in the evening, landing in London mid-morning the next day. Now what… Walking down the concourse and passing through customs, Ben got his answer before he fully formed the question: In front of the crowd of people exiting the concourse, there was a person holding up a sign with the name Benjamin Maschel written on it.

I’m Ben Maschel, he said to the clean-cut gentleman in his mid-thirties with a tannish complexion almost exactly like his own. But this man had a short-cut, solid, black beard and mustache and perfectly combed black hair. He wore a sleek black suit and tie with a snow-white shirt.

Good morning, Dr. Maschel. Welcome to London, the man said in English with a middle eastern accent while giving him a slight bow. I assume your flight was restful?

Yes, it was. Thank you.

Wonderful. Please come with us. We will take you to your connecting flight.

Ben felt the weight of his backpack being lifted up. He quickly turned around, grasping it tight, only to see another gentleman mirroring the appearance of the other man smiling as he started giving a slight bow. Please allow me. It will be in very safe hands, Dr. Maschel. Instantly, Ben was overwhelmed. He was being given the first-class treatment throughout the whole trip. Being a poor college student in his young adult life and with the university always having budget cuts or limits, he lived life as though leftovers were the prized meals.

Sure. It’s got my laptop and other sensitive equipment and valuables in it, so please don’t drop it or let it leave your sight.

Very well, sir, the gentleman kindly replied.

Ben followed the first man through the main part of the airport, with the other man walking in stride right behind him. An awkward feeling was washing through him as though these men knew everything about him.

Soon, Ben found himself passing an airport security guard and walking through a door that opened to the tarmac of the airport, where the planes were parked at their gates. A full-size black SUV was just outside, with the driver waiting to open the back passenger door. He had the same appearance as the other two men but older, in his mid-fifties, with a much stronger, taller, intimidating build and a full-sized, neatly groomed beard and mustache.

As they walked up to the driver, the man in front introduced Ben to him. This is Benjamin Maschel.

Good day, Dr. Maschel, the driver said in a deep accented voice, giving him a much lower bow than the others.

Hello, Ben said, not sure if he should bow in response. He thought to himself that he faintly recognized the man from somewhere.

Before I permit you into the car, I must see your key, please.

Ben now understood that what was written in the letter was true, and everything suddenly became serious. The three men around him were not smiling but firmly waiting for him to show them what they needed to see.

He turned to the gentleman that took his backpack as the man held it out for him to open. Ben had secured the letter in its original full-size envelope and then put it inside a hard-sided flat notebook, bracing it up against the back of the backpack so it wouldn’t get bent. Taking out the notebook, Ben was stunned at what he saw and then looked at each man as though he had done something wrong.

What is it, Dr. Maschel? What is wrong? the driver asked, narrowing his eyes.

I…I don’t understand… Ben looked for the envelope the letter was in.

What do you not understand?

My bag was with me the whole time. I secured the letter, protecting it just like I was told.

Do you not have your key, Dr. Maschel? the original man with the sign asked as he took a step toward Ben.

It was right here in this notebook, I swear. Ben frantically moved things around in the backpack, trying to find the envelope with the letter in it.

The men looked back and forth at each other and then back to Ben. His appearance was one of bewilderment turning into fear. He suddenly felt he was way over his head in something, and he didn’t even know what this something was.

The driver stated, My apologies, Dr. Maschel, but we do not take our security lightly.

Ben shook his head, knowing he had failed. But how? Where did the letter go? he asked himself as he heard the man finish.

We took the liberty to pre-check for your key. The letter… It is with you. The man, still holding the backpack up for him, reached inside his suit, pulling the envelope out and handing it to the very distinguished driver.

How did you… When did you…?

Dr. Maschel, the driver spoke up. Security for this—The driver pulled the letter out of the envelope and pointed to the wax imprint—is something that can’t be trusted. You must be wise at all times with this. He was still pointing at the symbol. For that seal must be protected so well that there’s no trace it exists.

Have you spoken to anyone or researched anything about this letter or its contents, Dr. Maschel? The driver now stepped closer while asking the question.

Ben was beginning to psychologically suffocate as their presence and the pressure they were giving him took effect.

No, I did exactly as the letter told me. The only thing I looked into was the bank account, that’s all. What’s going on here? Why are you doing this to me?

Dr. Maschel, please remain calm. Everything is being done for the protection of the seal, the driver answered.

Why? What is so important about it?

Sliding the letter back into the envelope, he handed it to Ben. Ben put it back into the notebook, securing it back into the pack and taking it from his escort, draping it over his shoulder. The escort replied, That is not for anyone to know or for us to answer. Our duty is to protect the knowledge of the seal. We know you are telling the truth, as we have been closely monitoring you. You have not shared or researched anything in the letter you were not supposed to, and we thank you for your honesty and obedience. The three men dressed in black suits slightly bowed their heads toward Ben as he understood their genuine gratitude.

Then it struck him. You’ve been watching me?

Yes, for a very long time. For your safety, the driver responded.

My safety? he exclaimed with a questioning look at the men, confirming they definitely knew much more about him as he was still at a complete loss.

The driver opened the back passenger door of the limousine. Please have a seat. We have been out in the open way too long. His eyes began to peer around, looking for something or someone watching them as Ben moved through the open door of the strong black SUV.

Sitting down, the door closed behind him, and immediately, the other doors opened. The three men took their positions quickly.

The escort that had been holding Ben’s pack and who had slyly taken the letter out sat in the backseat with him and said, pointing to the pack that Ben rested down between them on the seat, This must stay with you to the end. You must never let anyone carry it or even get near it. The man put on a sinister smile that made him look like a thief.

I understand. I apologize. I was careless. Ben was uneasy with the chain of events but began to think where he might be going and what these people had waiting for him as a grant. It must be huge for this tight security.

As the vehicle started to pull away, Ben urgently said as he suddenly remembered, Wait, my duffle bag!

We took the privilege to get it off your plane directly. It is in the tail.

He looked over to the guy sitting next to him with a blank look. The man responded to Ben’s nonverbal question, pointing backward with his thumb. It is in the back. He nodded, understanding, and then looked away.

They drove out of the airport into London, getting onto a main thoroughfare. Where are we going? Ben asked.

A ways out of the main city to a remote private airport, the driver responded.

Where am I headed to next? Still uneasy, he was starting to feel like he was being kidnapped, but at the same time, the atmosphere was one of which he was on a mission.

That, we cannot discuss.

O…kay. Is there anything I can know about?

The man that held the sign in the concourse sitting in the front passenger seat turned his head back and point-blank said, Nothing.

It went silent as Ben was denied any information and began to look out the window at what England had to visually offer. Soon, it was only the countryside with its green pastures fenced in with old short rock walls as spots of forests dotted the landscape. After a while, they were at their destination, parking outside of a small stone building positioned next to a paved runway surrounded by rows of full trees standing tall. They had the appearance of being sentries guarding the area and hiding the runway, which couldn’t be seen from any road.

Entering the building, an older, formal-looking woman with similar but lighter complexion as the men and who had long black hair streaked with grayish-white hair in a bun walked into the open entry area to greet everyone. Her top was a white blouse with a pink, fluffed-out ruffle draping down her chest. She wore a light pink pleated skirt going down slightly past her knees as white shoes with medium-sized heels adorned her feet. She first asked the driver in a charming English accent, All went well?

Yes, ma’am.

Good. She turned, smiling and putting her hand out to Ben as he slung the daypack around his shoulder. Benjamin Maschel, I presume?

Yes, ma’am, he said, echoing the driver as she, too, gave him a slight bow at his answer. Why is everyone bowing? It must be a cultural thing.

Please make yourself at home. She pointed over to the lounge area that had two plush couches facing each other with end tables and antique lamps on them as a large coffee table separated the couches. The room faced a wall of large windows looking out onto the runway.

They walked into the room, and the lady asked, Would you like some tea?

Ben looked over to each of the men who had smoothly positioned themselves each at one of the three solid walls of the room. They all gave him a slight nod to accept as he replied, Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.

Please have a seat. I will be just a moment.

He walked in and around the room, stopping at the wall of glass and looking out onto the empty runway, and he asked, There’s no plane. When do I leave?

Not until the sun sets, the driver answered.

Ben looked back at him. That’s not for, what, six hours or so?

Six hours and forty minutes, to be precise, the lady said as she walked back into the room, holding a tray with an antique teacup and saucer with a matching teapot.

She sat the tray down on the coffee table in front of a couch and poured the teacup full, saying, Your favorite—green tea with ginseng and a pinch of lemon grass and a half teaspoon of honey.

For a moment, Ben was at a loss for words and then said, Thank you, but how did you know what I like?

She stood tall, lifting only the empty tray while smiling, and said, If there is anything else you need, please just push one of the white buttons you see placed around the room. She pointed to the ones closest to him on the end tables. But until your plane arrives, please relax. The billiard room is the next room over. She pointed to an entrance with double doors. It also has a theater and a library. If you need to stretch your legs and get some fresh air, let these gentlemen know, and they will accompany you to the grounds outside. She gave another quaint sweet smile and then asked, Would there be anything else for now, Dr. Maschel?

Ben still stood with his pack hanging from his shoulder and feeling extremely out of place; he only shook his head no.

Very well. Again, welcome, and please make yourself comfortable. She immediately turned and walked back to where she came from.

Again, Ben looked over to the men that were calmly watching on. With his eyes and a nod of his head, the driver of the limousine directed Ben to the couch and tea.

Not knowing what else to do at the moment, he dropped the pack on the couch as he sat down. Picking up the dainty teacup, he smelled the hot steam floating up. Recognizing the aroma, he slowly took a small sip. He raised his eyebrows and said out loud, That’s really good. I guess the British do know how to make good tea. He smiled around at the guys standing straight, almost to attention, with their hands crossed in front of their waists. Ben thought to himself as he took several large swallows of tea, I’m not sure if I’m being protected or if they are protecting something from me?

After a few moments of enjoying the tea, he sat back on the couch, looking outside. Reaching over to his pack, he brought it close to him, holding it securely. Suddenly, he felt himself quickly becoming drowsy and, unable to stay awake, mumbled out loud, Why am I so tired? As his eyes closed, he started leaning sideways. He saw the men quickly come to him, laying his body out flat on the couch as he pushed out the words, You drugged me.

Chapter 2

Ben moaned, slowly stirring awake. He was in a leaned-back position, and his head slowly rocked back and forth on a pillow as though he was on something moving. The thick fog in his head was keeping him from fully waking up as his eyelids felt very heavy. Off and on, a buzz of a fly going by or birds squawking in the distance would come and go.

Beside him, he felt something push up against his lips as a calm, female voice said in a foreign accent, Drink, Dr. Maschel.

He tasted cool water slowly filling his mouth and began to anxiously slurp, feeling extremely dehydrated. Water streamed down the side of his mouth as Ben clumsily worked his tongue and lips, drinking and trying to get words out with no success as his muscles were having difficulty working.

The woman said, You are being taken care of, Dr. Maschel. Go back to sleep. Everything is well. Her words were so inviting, and being very drowsy, he couldn’t help himself as his mind went blank, falling back to sleep.

Hours later, he woke up again. This time, his head wasn’t cloudy as he rapidly blinked his eyes, attempting to flush away the darkness as he inhaled deeply. The air going through his nose and mouth tasted dirty, with a musty smell to it.

Squinting his eyes while looking around, at first, he thought he couldn’t see. Then he sensed he was in a small dark room. Ben couldn’t tell if it was the room or the lethargic motion in his head moving as the gentle voice he heard before said, You are awake, Dr. Maschel. How do you feel?

Ben went to say something but had to clear his throat first as he sat up precariously, putting his feet on the floor. They oddly tingled with pain, and he thought to himself, I must have been lying down for a long time. Then, he asked out loud, Where am I?

We are on a journey.

What’s going on? Why did you guys…drug me? he said, still working his lips to move properly.

All will be explained to you in time.

Who are you?

She calmly answered, My name is Mariah. But you may call me Mary.

Could you please turn on the lights, Mary, so I can see?

What I can do is open up a small hole in the roof to let the sunlight in. Please close your eyes. It will be very bright at first. Ben didn’t follow the instructions, afraid he’d miss something.

She reached up about a foot above his head and folded over to the outside a small square piece the size of a man’s hand of what looked like strips of bamboo covered on the outside with a thick rug. Sunlight blasted in through the small opening, forcing him to drop his head and cover his eyes as though he had been physically hit. Wow, you’re not kidding. It’s bright.

His eyes had been closed for a long time, and it was so dark inside it appeared it was nighttime, but now he knew better. As his head was still down, he could see the floor was made of bamboo as well as the framework of the walls that were only about six foot by six foot and five feet high. With his equilibrium finally coming back, it was confirmed the room was moving, not him.

Where are we? Why are we moving?

Like I said, we are on a journey.

Ben was getting impatient. The feeling of being violated and not getting any answers was beginning to irritate him as he raised his voice while lifting his head, I want answers! Tell me what’s going on. Where am I?

In front of him, he could finally see the young adult female he’d been talking with. She was dressed in a middle eastern-looking silk top dropping down near her knees where her pants, made of the same material, covered her legs. The clothing was loose-fitting and had many designs and colors woven through it. Her light tan face brightened up with the sunlight as beautiful, long, black hair flowed down past her shoulders to the middle of her back.

A knock on the bamboo wall came from the outside from behind the woman. Hello, Dr. Marchel. Are you awake?

Yes, I am! he exclaimed, irritated, recognizing the deep voice.

Good, I’m coming in. The woman quickly moved to the floor off to the side. A small door flapped open and quickly shut as the stout middle-aged driver of the SUV from London crawled in. It happened so fast that Ben couldn’t see anything outside. The man was now wearing outdoor clothing as though he was on an expedition. How are you feeling? Has your head cleared up?

Yes, it has. Now, what’s going on here? Why did you drug me?

Confidently stating, the driver replied, I assure you, it is all for your safety.

My safety or the safety of the seal?

Keeping to his firm demeanor, he answered, Both. With you sleeping, it was easier to keep you out of sight. The closer we get you to Journey’s End, the more important your safety becomes.

You still didn’t have to do that. I’m not going to say anything to anyone. I’ve already proven that. Besides, shouldn’t I know where I’m going to be effective as an archeologist?

No, not until you are to your destination will you know where you are. We risk nothing, and we do not want to burden you.

Burden me?

Yes, the less you know, the less knowledge you have to share. And with you out of sight, the less the outside world will know where we are going.

At least you could have told me you were going to do that to me? The large man peered at him, raising a questionable eyebrow.

And if we did, would you have drunk your tea?

Ben paused, still trying to figure out if this was real or just a big joke, and then he answered, No, I wouldn’t have.

Precisely. With you reading the letter with the seal imprinted on it and obeying all the instructions and then flying to London with it, it told us you accepted any and all measures and precautions we would need to take for security and confidentiality purposes.

Ben tilted his head slightly back and forth with a frown, somewhat acknowledging what he said was true. Then he replied, But isn’t this James Bond stuff a bit overboard?

Where we are going, and what you are about to encounter, James Bond might as well be…what do you Americans call them? Boy Scouts?

Suddenly, they could feel their transportation had stopped as a man outside spoke up in an unknown choppy language. The driver answered back in the same language and then turned to Ben, reaching under his bamboo seat and getting out a couple of deflated life vests.

We need to put these on right now, Dr. Maschel.

As Ben reached out for it, he asked, concerned, Is everything okay?

Absolutely. These are only for precautions.

Precautions for what? Are we on a boat?

The driver moved his eyes to the woman seated quietly on the floor, understanding that she didn’t divulge any information. Then, he looked back to Ben, saying, At the moment, this is just in case something goes awry, which it rarely does. But if it does, you would be mentally and physically prepared. He paused, not wanting to give out detailed intelligence, and continued, We are riding on an elephant and are about to cross a sizeable river.

Ben was stumped, shaking his head and trying to come to the reality of where he might be. This has to be a dream, he stated under his breath.

I assure you, this is no dream, Dr. Maschel. Then the man showed a rare smile, holding back for what was to come.

This definitely wasn’t anything Ben was expecting. Then, as they could feel the elephant slowly move forward, stepping in a downward direction, he said, So how long was I out?

Knowing what Ben’s reaction would be, he replied, Two and a half days.

No way! Are you serious? Where in the heck are we?

That I cannot say. All your questions will be answered at Journey’s End.

And when is that?

Our travels with the elephants end tonight, and then we continue on foot for another two nights.

Don’t you mean days?

No, we will only travel by night.

Let me guess—for the safety and security of the seal and myself.

The driver nodded to affirm Ben’s statement, then said, You are understanding.

***

Ben and a party of about twenty that he could see but was not totally sure had been traveling on foot in the dark with minimal lighting for two nights after leaving the comfortable ride of the elephants. Three men at the party were the ones that met him at the airport in London. A few others dressed as the three were of the same nationality, all of whom carried advanced automatic weapons. The rest, who were obviously native to the area, had black skin, very short, black, curly hair, and were wearing primitive animal skin attire with no shoes. Ben knew a hundred percent what continent he was on but wasn’t sure which part.

Some of the natives carried supplies as the others carried primitive weapons, scouting ahead or keeping watch at their backs. The original three men stayed very close to Ben, as did Mary. Again, he wasn’t sure if they were acting as bodyguards or prison guards restricting him not to veer from the group or running away.

They were in a dense, broad, leaf forest, but no one would tell him which one. During the daylight hours, he was detained in a tent, which was just fine with him. Traveling all night in the dark, following no trails, and continually going over, under, and around the unforgiving vegetation was very tiring. In turn, he would sleep hard and long, not being used to the extreme physical exertion, heat, and humidity. Mary kept him as comfortable as she could under the conditions with fresh water and cool towels to wipe his face, always giving him the best treatment she could. Even when he took his boots off at dawn to go to sleep, she strangely was always right there to take his socks off to care for his feet, washing them and rubbing a soothing oil on and then putting on a fresh pair of socks, telling him, Your feet are the most important part of your body that need taking care of when you are in the forest.

Because of the broad canopy of tall trees, he was only able to get brief glimpses of the night sky with stars gleaming brighter than he had ever seen before. This told him he was definitely very far away from any civilization for city lights to flood them out.

Ben’s emotions went up and down. The excitement of the unknown and the dreamy adventure of what he was involved in resonated deeply with his childlike playfulness. But the illusive secrecy and deception of it all tore at his adult control, logic, and understanding while frustrating him at the same time.

The answers were always the same when he would ask where they were, where they were going, and how much farther. The intimidating driver, who Ben found out was the one in charge, and his name was Horasha, continually told him, You must be patient. I cannot explain anything. At Journey’s End, I assure you, you will not be disappointed.

It was midafternoon of the third day after the elephants. Ben woke up much earlier than usual. Looking around the tent as he sat up on his cot and pushed the mosquito netting to the side, he was taken back by the absence of the others and their things. Also, the floppy canvas door was tied back, and he could clearly see the outside.

A sudden hollow feeling swept through him, being alone for the first time on the trip in a part of the world he had no idea where. Then, as though right on cue, he heard movement outside the tent. He stood up and said, Hello, is anyone out there?

Ah, yes, Dr. Maschel. You are awake. Please come out. That is, if you had enough rest? The male voice was very mature, older than what he’d been used to during his travels so far, and the accent was the same middle eastern one as the men from the airport and Mary.

Anxious to finally see the forest in its full splendor in the daylight, Ben quickly responded, I’ll be right out! He only had to put his boots on as they all stayed fully dressed when they slept. Picking up his daypack, which he had been closely protecting and sleeping with, he swung it over his shoulder and then stepped out.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the light while looking around. Everything and everyone was gone except for a skinny, short, old man leaning on a cane as a tall, stout, rugged gentleman in his early thirties stood behind him. His legs were about a foot apart, as his