The Lost and Found Collection

by Dan Arnold

  Lowering his head, he brought his right eye down in alignment with the scope of his black M24 sniper rifle. Built on the Remington 700 platform and chambered in .308 Winchester, this was his preferred weapon for this type of operation. It was fine tuned to be accurate to less than a half minute of angle.

  He’d scoped the range to be six hundred and seventy two yards to the gate sentry and roughly another twenty to the place where the foot patrol sentry would appear around the corner of the house.

  A sound suppressor would absorb most of the sound generated by the ignition of the charge sending the one hundred and eighty grain bullet down range at two thousand and six hundred feet per second.

  He steadied his breathing, taking the time to marry his body to the ground on which he lay and the rifle to his frame, until he and the rifle were one.

  “Rangers lead the way,” he whispered to himself.

  Seconds later, the thump of the rifle and familiar red mist around the head of the sentry indicated his rifle had fired and the subject was dead.

  Shifting a little, he brought the reticle to rest on the spot where the foot patrol sentry would appear.

  Forty five seconds passed before he too fell dead without ever hearing a shot.

  A few minutes later, He observed his quarry through a window. The man was talking on a mobile phone while watching a football match on the giant screen which served as both a wall and a television.

  A moment with the lock picks, allowed him to open the sliding glass door from the patio to the dining room.

  Although he’d been confident there was no alarm system, he was none the less relieved to discover he was right. After all, an alarm system this far from help would only serve to alert someone within the house or in the immediate area. It would take at least fifteen minutes for anyone to arrive by road from the nearest town.

  He eased inside and silently slid the glass door closed. As he did so, his heightened senses began screaming an alarm in his head only he could hear.

  Before he even identified the threat, he rolled to his left, bringing his 9 mm Browning High Power to bear on the figure now appearing in the doorway to the den.

  The two men fired almost simultaneously. He felt a tug on his left arm and heard the glass door shatter behind him as he fired his second shot.

  The man in the doorway fell forward, trying in vain to get off another shot. It caused him to land face down on the polished tile without being able to catch himself with both hands. The impact with the floor gave his assailant just enough time to step forward and plant his foot on the man’s outstretched gun hand.

  “Hello, Tommy,” Dr. Jacob Walker said.

  “…You? I thought you were dead.”

  “No. You’ve gotten careless. You didn’t make sure of it. My good friend the pilot is dead and my female friend may not live, but I’m very much alive. You, on the other hand, are dying. You’ll be dead within minutes. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

  Tommy Kirkpatrick closed his eyes and nodded.

  “Aye. You’ve done for me. Sure and certain. How did you find me?”

  “The chopper wasn’t yours. I found the pilot. He sent me in the right direction.”

  “Did you kill him too?”

  Jake pulled the pistol away from the man’s hand and stepped back.

  “I tried to avoid it, but he died of lead poisoning—same as you. Tell me who hired you.”

  Tommy shook his head and coughed blood into the spreading crimson pool on the tile beneath him.

  “Don’t die protecting your employer from what he has coming. Tell me, Tommy. It costs you nothing and you can go to your grave having done one last decent thing.”

  “I can’t. There are rules. I never break the rules.”

  “You break the rules of man and God for a living. In about another minute you’ll be facing God to give an account of your life. Tell me who hired you.”

  For a moment, the man was so quiet and still, Jake thought he might’ve died.

  “Ask the Turk. He knows…”

  With those last words, Tommy Kirkpatrick ceased to be a professional assassin. He also ceased to be alive on this earth. He was no doubt, far, far away, kneeling before a Higher Authority.

  After holstering his Browning, Jake reached down and grabbed the dead man’s blood saturated shirt collar with both hands. He lifted the body so he could look into the assassin’s lifeless eyes. Seeing nothing but emptiness there, he dropped the corpse. After a moment he took a deep breath and sighed.

  Leaving the house and returning to the silence of the night, one question plagued his mind.

  “Who is the Turk?”

  Postscript

  Circles of Stone, is a work of fiction. Where the first modern humans actually emerged is not presently known to science. It is certain there was at least one cataclysmic event before the dawn of recorded history which could have annihilated cultures and societies existing at that time. The earliest known historical writings speak of a great flood.

  Was there a continent or island called Atlantis? Were there other prehistoric cultures and societies as yet undiscovered?

  The research is ongoing.

  The Sotho people (part of the Bantu language group) were known to build dry, stone walled, cylindrical kraals and huts with conical thatched roofs as early as 1100 AD. Many of the villages had more than a thousand people farming and raising livestock. These villages were spread across southern Africa, and many were interconnected by stone lined paths. The Sotho people made pottery and some of them mined for gold. This suggests a level of sophistication and culture beyond that of the other people dwelling in the region at that time.

  Where or how the Sotho people learned these skills and techniques is another mystery waiting to be solved among the circles of stone.

  Outback of Beyond

  Prologue

  The horses were screaming.

  Captain Abernathy couldn’t focus on the terrible sound. The serpents were lifting him off the ground, rising higher with each beat of their beautiful wings. His euphoria was again interrupted by the horrified whinnies. Why wasn’t Lieutenant Tremaine silencing those blasted horses? He’d kill him for that. Now where was his pistol?

  “Captain, sir, please lower your weapon. It’s me, sir, Lieutenant Tremaine.”

  For one brief fraction of a second the roar of the gunshot drowned out the sound of the crazed beasts. Through the gun smoke and iridescent shimmer of the serpent’s wings, the captain watched Tremaine slowly crumple and fall. What a pleasant sight! He couldn’t help dancing with delight. He floated farther upward...Wait; did this mean the man wouldn’t silence the horses? Ah well, he’d just have to do it himself. Now where were those pesky animals, and where was his sabre?

  One

  Professor Charles Madison of the University of Sydney clapped his hands to get the groups attention.

  “Alright, ladles and jelly spoons, I hope you all had a merry Christmas. Let’s get down to business. Here is what you need to know. We’re about to step off into the Never Never. Some of you may be familiar with Barcroft Boake’s poem, ‘Where the dead men lie’. He talks about dancing heat waves and dire circumstances in the wilds of unexplored Australia.

  I don’t think Boake ever got up into the Tanami Desert, but you get the idea. The region is hot. I mean it could be nearly fifty degrees. That’s like one hundred and twenty Fahrenheit. It’s the worst possible time to go there, but if we want to be first at the site, now’s the time. The area will be virtually uninhabited. Even the local drovers will have finished the muster and be off on holiday. We have to do this now before our rival, the University of Western Australia, gets wind of the find.

  Tomorrow we fly into Darwin in the Northern Territory, and then take a puddle jumper to Hall’s Creek in Western Australia. It’s the nearest airstrip with any scheduled service. We’ll spend the night there in a decent motel. You’ll think its paradise. They have air conditioning, proper pubs, fast food, even Targ
et. Enjoy it while you can. The research site is about two hundred kilometres from there.

  Our base camp will be at Yarramalong Station. That’s still more than sixty clicks from the site. At this time of year, in the Tanami Desert, the water holes and most of the creeks are dry. We’ll have to haul water. There isn’t an established track, so we’ll be using rented four-wheel drive utility vehicles to get back and forth. Let me make this clear-- where we’re going, the only fast food is goanna, and the only comfort is shade. Are there any questions?”

  “Do we plan for just a few days, or a whole week?”

  “Plan for ten days, if we don’t find anything significant, we’ll come home sooner.”

  “Do they have laundry facilities at Yarramalong Station?”

  “Yes. While Yarramalong Station is one of the largest cattle and sheep stations in the region, they also provide lodging and outfitting during the tourist season. That’s primarily during the winter of course, but they’re fully equipped, so they’ll have whatever we need.”

  “Any other questions?” Professor Madison asked. “No? Listen up—the heat can kill you. Hydrate every chance you get. We’ll try to work during the coolest part of the day and rest when it’s hottest. Even so, heat exhaustion is likely to happen to any of us. Heat stroke, out there, could well be fatal. So, if you start feeling crook, stop what you’re doing and let someone know.”

  “What if someone gets hurt or falls out?” Becky Davenport asked.

  “Is that your question, Ms. Davenport, what if?”

  “What I mean is; if someone has need, how do we get emergency treatment?”

  “In a grave emergency, the Royal Flying Doctor Service is your best hope. They can land at Yarramalong Station, but we don’t want that to happen, do we? Let’s all work together to stay safe out there. Does anyone else have questions? Better ask now. No? Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late. If you are, we’ll leave without you.”

  Becky Davenport was irritated with herself. She knew better than to ask an open ended question, but she’d done it anyway. Once again, Charlie called her on it in front of everyone at the meeting. He seemed to delight in embarrassing her. Maybe it was just his way of deflecting attention away from their carefully concealed relationship. She busied herself cleaning up the rubbish and remains from the food and beverages on a table at the side of the room.

  As the room cleared out, Gerald Showalter walked over to have a word with Charles Madison. Charlie looked annoyed, but nodded his agreement in response to whatever he’d been told.

  As soon as Professor Showalter left, Becky turned to Charlie.

  “What did the Dean have to say?”

  “It seems we’re to have another person join us on the dig.”

  “Oh, who’s that?”

  “He’s some anthropologist from the States. A fellow named, Jake Walker. Evidently he’s here as part of some arrangement with the Uni. I suspect some of the funding for this project came from him or his contacts.“

  “Well, that makes sense.”

  “Does it? It makes me wonder how many other people know what we’re doing.”

  “Sure, I get that, but anthropology is our sister discipline. An anthropologist might be useful to have along. Do you know anything about Mr. Walker? Is he any good?”

  “The Dean assures me he is highly experienced in the field. I’m told he has doctorates in both anthropology and palaeontology. He’s supposed to be an expert on ancient indigenous peoples over there. I don’t see how that’s relevant to our research here, down under. If I wanted an anthropologist, we could’ve taken one of our own.”

  “He’s probably seen some or all of the earliest known habitations on the continent of North America, possibly Central and South America as well. Wouldn’t you love to find and research an ancient pyramid in Central America?”

  “Perhaps, but...”

  “I’d like to hear his opinion on how the native people arrived in the Americas. You know, the general notion is most of their ancestors travelled across a land bridge from Asia. There’s also evidence some may have come by sea from Africa, Asia, or possibly even Europe.”

  “Maybe he’s an authority in the States, but I doubt he knows anything about the history of our indigenous people.”

  “Perhaps that’s why he wants to be included in our research project. Australian anthropology is a fairly new field of study.”

  When Becky opened the door to carry out the bag of rubbish, she startled a tall man who was just about to enter.

  “Oh, excuse me. Hello, I’m Jake Walker. Professor Showalter told me I might find Professor Madison here.”

  Becky smiled, extending her hand.

  “G’day, Dr. Walker. I’m Rebecca Davenport, his assistant. Please come in.”

  Jake Walker didn’t look at all the way she expected. She’d imagined he would be fiftyish, balding and a little bit portly—like Charlie.

  Typically, Australian men were of medium height, slightly shorter on average than most American men. Jake Walker would be a tall man in anyone’s company. She reckoned him at least two meters in height, with tan skin and dark wavy hair. He looked very fit in his chinos and polo shirt. She guessed his age at closer to forty than fifty. He looked more like an American eco-tourist than a college professor.

  Accepting her handshake, Dr. Walker said, “Thank you, Miss Davenport.”

  “Just call me Becky, everybody does. Charlie, our American anthropologist is here.”

  “So I see. G’day, Dr. Walker, I’m Dr. Charles Madison, Professor of archaeology.”

  “How do you do, Dr. Madison? I’m familiar with your work. Please call me Jake.”

  “Right-o, is this your first trip to OZ?”

  “It is, yes.”

  “How’s it strike you, so far?”

  “Well, I’ve only been here in Sydney about a week. It reminds me very much of the way California was when I was a child. The eucalyptus trees, the smell of the sea, even the climate remind me of home.”

  “Is that so? I’ve been to Los Angeles, California. Didn’t care for it much, too many people, cars and urban sprawl.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Let me bring you up to speed. We’re meeting at the airport tomorrow morning at six thirty in terminal A, at gate 12. Be prepared to spend at least a week in the worst heat you can imagine. Do you have suitable gear for the desert?”

  “I’m good to go.”

  “Any questions?”

  “Several. How did you acquire the satellite imagery of the site?”

  “Google Earth. I routinely have my graduate students study the photos of known archaeological sites, and then search for similar structures in the same area. Becky here was planning a holiday trip to the Bungle Bungle Range. She was curious about this uplift, so she shifted over, zoomed in and spotted the site accidently.”

  Nodding, Jake said, “Unless I’m mistaken, the sandstone formations of the Bungle Bungle Range are part of the Kimberley, only farther east, closer to the Northern Territory. That uplift is part of a seabed reef dating back to the Palaeocene.”

  Professor Showalter’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Actually, a bit north of east, how in the world do you know that?”

  “I did a quick internet search.”

  “Hmmm, I see. I believe our site is located on a similar uplift to those.”

  “That would seem likely. Technically, I believe the hills are actually exposed ancient seafloor. It’s not so much uplift, as it is the result of erosion of the surrounding soil surface. Do I understand that correctly?”

  “You do. As I said, the hills were once an ancient reef. They’ve been standing exposed for thousands of years. Finding a structure on the top of one of these hills would be remarkable.”

  “Part of the reason I got so excited about this opportunity is how rare a find it would be. My understanding is the Aboriginal people were mostly nomadic in ancient times, especially in arid regions. Like our
Plains Indians, they built very few permanent structures. If this site proves to be man-made, it may be the oldest human construction ever discovered on the island continent, possibly the earliest found on earth. Is that correct?”

  Professor Showalter nodded thoughtfully.

  “The oldest in Australia? Yes, it’s possible. The earliest on earth? No, that’s highly unlikely. They’ve found artefacts in Europe believed to be about forty five thousand years old.”

  “They’ve found artefacts in caves, Professor, not construction. Ancient artefacts and cave dwellings don’t qualify as early civilization.”

  “I agree, but the ancient structures recently discovered in South Africa are believed to be more than one hundred thousand years old. Still, our site could date back some fifty or sixty thousand years or more. It’s probably a bit much to hope for, but well worth researching. It took me some time and effort to convince the University to cough up the funding. That’s why we have to do it now. As you know, being the first on the site is the name of the game.”

  “Yes, sir, I do. I’m sure you’re aware there’s still some scepticism about the South African discovery. If it proves to be as immense and ancient as described, it would completely alter our understanding of human history and ancient civilizations. Either way, I’m honoured to be a part of the team.”

  “Well then, welcome aboard, Dr. Walker. I trust we can rely on you to keep all this under your hat.”

  Looking at the two people standing before him, Jake replied, “It’s your expedition, Professor. Your secret is safe with me. I’m just along for the ride.”

  Two

  By the time everyone was checked into the Hall’s Creek Motel, it was late in the day.

  All the younger members of the expedition were frolicking in the swimming pool, with the exception of Rebecca Davenport. She was having dinner at Russian Jack’s with the professors, Madison and Walker.